Uprising. Scott G. Mariani

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СКАЧАТЬ said graciously. He turned and snapped his fingers. ‘Charlie!’ A heavyset assistant came out of the next room. His unsmiling gaze landed on the two VIA agents.

      ‘Charlie, get this lovely young lady and her friend a drink,’ Baxter said. Charlie stared a second longer, then went away.

      ‘It’s okay,’ Baxter said easily. ‘Charlie’s one of us.’

      ‘I can see that,’ Alex said. She and Greg sat on armchairs facing Baxter, and a few seconds later Charlie returned carrying a tray with three cut-crystal tumblers brimming with red liquid. He laid it down on a coffee table before leaving the room. Alex took a glass and sipped it. Greg sniffed uncertainly at his, pulled a face and set it back down on the coffee table.

      Baxter was giving Alex admiring looks. ‘Anyone ever tell you, Agent Bishop, you have beautiful eyes?’

      ‘Plenty of times. Let’s get down to business. Your first big movie break was Down and Dirty, am I right?’

      Baxter smiled. ‘That was a good movie. You a film fan, Agent Bishop?’

      ‘As a matter of fact, I am.’

      ‘But you didn’t come here to talk movies, I imagine.’ Baxter looked at his watch, like saying he was a busy man and didn’t have all day.

      ‘Of course we did,’ Alex said. ‘We take a great interest in your work. But here’s the problem. We couldn’t help but notice, Baxter – Down and Dirty was twelve years ago.’

      ‘Yeah, so?’

      ‘Our sources tell us that a week ago, you read for the part of Jake Gyllenhaal’s younger brother in the new Universal production, Firestorm. Is that true?’

      Baxter reddened slightly. ‘Sure it’s true. It’s a great role for me. What’s the big deal?’

      ‘Baxter, you’re so fucking stupid,’ Alex said. ‘Don’t you think people will think it’s a bit peculiar, you never ageing? You think you can go on playing thirty-year-old guys for evermore?’

      Baxter’s composure was slipping fast. ‘So I have boyish good looks. So did Mickey Rooney. So does DiCaprio. I work out. What the fuck is it VIA’s fucking business what I do, anyway?’ He stood up, spilling his drink over himself; a red arc across white cotton. ‘This is what you assholes came here for, to hassle me about the roles I take? Get the fuck out of here. Charlie! Show these two dipshits the door!’

      Alex leapt to her feet. She was on him in two steps, grabbing him by the throat and throwing him violently back down on the sofa. Her hand snaked inside her coat and came out with the stainless steel .44 Smith & Wesson revolver. She shoved the three-inch barrel of the magnum point blank in his face.

      ‘What ya gonna do, shoot me?’ Baxter snorted. ‘You can’t hurt me with that thing.’

      ‘Let me tell you something, Baxter. I am a senior special agent of Vampire Intelligence. That means I’m authorised to use Nosferol-tipped bullets. I have six of them right here. You do know what Nosferol is, don’t you?’

      Baxter’s cocky grin left him and his face fell.

      ‘Of course you do,’ Alex said. ‘Do not fuck with us, because if I want to terminate you right now, I have the authority to do that and nobody will ask questions.’ She lifted his chin with the barrel of the magnum and thumbed back the hammer. Baxter went pale as he felt the hard click-click resonate through his jawbone.

      Alex went on. ‘This is a matter of Federation security, Baxter. You’re in the public eye and the Federation wants vampires to keep a low profile. You go on like this, you’re a risk to everyone. That makes you expendable.’

      Charlie came into the room, a threatening look on his face. Keeping the gun and her eyes on Baxter, Alex called out to him, ‘Stay right there, Charlie. One more step, I blow his head off and yours next.’

      Charlie wavered, his eyes wide, and backed off.

      ‘Okay, okay. What do you want from me?’ Baxter couldn’t take his eyes off the gun, putting his palms up, hands shaky.

      Alex stepped away from Baxter, uncocking and lowering the gun. ‘Do what Irene DeBurgo did, and Jeff Caplan. You’re worth, what, eighty million? Get yourself a Pacific island hideaway. Retire, become a recluse. And if you can’t do that, get yourself a good makeup artist and start acting your age. Either way, I don’t give a shit. You know I’m a movie fan, Baxter. I see you playing Jake Gyllenhaal’s little brother, I’ll come after you and I will fucking destroy you. That’s a promise.’

       Chapter Twelve

      ‘You wouldn’t really have shot Baxter, would you?’ Greg asked as they got back in the Jag.

      Alex twisted the ignition and the car roared as she pulled out of the Ritz car park onto the street. Apart from a few gulps of Baxter’s Bloody Mary made with real blood, she hadn’t had a proper feed since before the Romania trip and she was feeling drained.

      ‘For being a lousy actor, I might have. But I hardly think the guy’s going to bring down the Federation single-handed, whatever Harry might say. I just wanted to put the point across.’

      ‘I think he got it. His face when you told him about the Nosferol bullets.’

      ‘Only thing we fear,’ she said. ‘Apart from decapitation.’

      ‘So it’s true that all the stuff about garlic is a myth?’

      ‘Sometime we’ll have lunch at Rudi Bertolino’s place. He makes the most amazing ragu sauce. Loaded with garlic. And you’ve probably noticed you can still see yourself in the mirror, too. As if the laws of physics don’t apply to us, just because we’re not human.’

      ‘And what about crosses?’

      Alex popped open a button on her blouse as she drove and fished out the little gold chain she wore around her neck to show him the tiny crucifix dangling from it. ‘Frightened? On a scale of one to ten.’

      ‘Uh, I’d say that’s a one,’ he said, peering at it.

      ‘There you go. We can walk into churches, drink the damn holy water if we feel like it.’

      ‘So, basically, what you’re saying is all these old legends are bullshit.’

      She shifted in her seat and didn’t reply.

      ‘What?’ he said, noticing her expression.

      All but one, she was thinking. ‘Nothing. Don’t worry about it.’ She drove on, and the tingle of apprehension soon passed.

      ‘What’s the key for?’ he asked. She glanced at him, and saw he was looking through the open neck of her blouse at the little black antique key she wore on a thong around her neck beside the crucifix.

      ‘You ask too many questions. And keep your eyes out of my blouse.’

      ‘Sorry.’

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