Chapter 7: The Hanged Man

Tanzer, Nicky, The Vampires, The Board, Katherine, it all swirls above Anton’s head like a pack of carrion birds. Like on so many nights, he wishes he had a cigarette, to think this all over. There isn’t anything better to do on North Brother Island at 1:40 a.m. The dark brown cutout of Hunts Point shines against the rest of the Bronx. The docks were a bust. Anton’s team spent the past two days opening and closing shipping containers.

There was, however, some headway made with the surveillance footage around the building. One car, a dark green SUV, made routine stops at Tanzer’s address. Never in front of the building, but always the same story. One individual gets out, car leaves, he enters the building and get picked up again by the same car hours later. Anton thanks God that the driver is not as smart as the passenger. The license plate and vehicle were traced easily enough to one Leon Frost. The Division’s Mythic registry had him filed under ‘vampiric,’ but the rest of his record was suspiciously empty. Due to either the understaffing of the Division’s Classification Department or his own impatience, Anton now finds himself here, hat in hand, about to walk into Vant Roshu territory. The Roshu are the premier Vampire gang in the city, with multiple chapters operating across the East coast. Their leader is someone the PNCD has labeled under “Extreme Threat”.

A troupe of pigeons gathers around Anton. He kicks at them, wondering where he went wrong with his little brother. Just how much damage did these past two years incur on Nick? He resists the urge to check in on him, knowing how much he hates being micromanaged. The pigeons refuse to go away, clumping together, until the big metal door swings open. A shaven-headed man comes out, pallid skin and blackened veins just below the surface.

“Come on. She’s ready for you.” He barks at Anton. Anton sees the pigeons frantically fly away at the sight of the man. He rubs mint oil under his nose and proceeds inside the abandoned hospital. He follows the man deeper inside, hoping the Roshus don’t get jumpy. Who knows with these animals? They cross paths with two more pale men carrying body bags. Anton eyes them up and down. One of the body bags is moving slightly. “Is the Boss in her office?”

The bigger of the two snarls. “Nah, she’s with Stevie, in the loading bay. New shipment just came in.” He points at Anton. “Who’s the bleeder?”

“A friend of the organization.” Anton beats his chaperone to the punch.

“Panic.” The chaperone says.

“Pfft, whatever. Make sure he don’t touch anything.”

The pale man leads Anton deeper, down the dim corridors. Shade cuts into moonlight as Anton wonders just why the hell he thought it would be a good idea to come to the island alone. He looks above him, to the leaky ceilings and missing paneling.

The man warns Anton, likely a rehearsed speech, “You make one wrong move, step out of line…” Anton studies the back of the bald man’s head as he speaks. “We’ll make you wish you were dead.”

“Save the threats, count. I just have some questions.”

“Whatever.”

In the loading bay, trucks carrying cargo from boats coming from all over the city are being unloaded. Anton approaches the shape of a lady, draped in white. Her slender back stands eerily still as she watches her children unload the unusual cargo. The guards tense up at Anton’s approach.

“It’s alright, children.” Her voice comes calm and muffled. She turns to him, revealing a white porcelain mask on her face. Her face is contoured by a golden veil. “He will not hurt me.”

“Miss Lilith,” Anton shakes her hand, a cold and lifeless feeling.

“Mr. Rhyner,” Lilith answers, pastel purple eyes look right through him. “I hope nothing happened to my usual Division liaison.”

Anton smiles politely. “This isn’t related to that. It’s something a bit more complex. Delicate touch required.”

“Then let us discuss this somewhere privately.” The last of the cargo gets unloaded. Anton sees what the Xerfit shipment contains. People, vacuum sealed in giant plastic squares. Their eyes are closed and an oxygen tube leads out of their mouths to a filter in the plastic. Their bodies are packaged tightly, squeezing them into a fetal position. Dozens of these have been unloaded, like sous-vide steaks. “We are done here anyway.” Anton takes one last look at the packaged humans being carried away before following Lilith.

On the roof, the Bronx still shines in the distance. Anton picks at his cuticles. Lilith’s footsteps make no sound on the way up the stairs and her words carry no breath. She stands beside him, dismissing her guard and itching under her mask.

“These are the prices one must pay for appearances, no?” She attempts something akin to a laugh.

“I need the location of one of yours.” Anton hands her Frost’s file. She looks it over, then hands it back.

Anton continues, “I would also like the green light to detain him. This is time sensitive, so I need an answer right now.” Lilith stays silent, staring directly at the other end of the East River. “I don’t expect you to just give the go ahead.”

Lilith continues her thought, “Appearances are quite important in this little game of ours. She calls herself Santa Muerte,” she says. “But I know “her” secret… And she knows mine.”

“I’m not sure I follow.”

Lilith looks into Anton’s eyes. “Los Olvidados and my Vant Roshu don’t have the easiest relationship. But up until now we’ve been civil. Muerte’s men have been intercepting our shipments. Muscling in on our territory. I see their boats treading our water every sunset. They are scared of us. We could fight them, but the Frau would be upset, and no one wants that. believe in stability, Mr. Rhyner. Get her to stand down, her men off my routes, off my territory, and she can expect us to stay in our lane.”

“Done.” Anton says.

Lilith tries to laugh once more, making more of a gaping sound. “You are so desperate you’ll make such promises.”

“It’s not that. I just know how to get things done. You know who I answer to, and I’ll make sure your liaison is aware of this. Now your end of the deal.”

“Frost is not one of mine…” She breathes heavily, scratching under her mask. “Not my child. But he is a vampire, I feel his hunger, it’s intense.” Anton’s questions about the case keep piling on.

“And?”

“I’ll have his location delivered to you within the hour. My man will send you a message.”

“Thank you, Miss Lilith.” Anton begins to walk away but Lilith stops him.

“Mr. Rhyner?” She holds her hand out, gentle and ladylike.

Anton, hiding his discomfort, kisses her hand.

“Pleasure doing business with the PNCD.” Lilith says as Anton is escorted off the roof.

“The pleasure is ours, Miss Lilith.”

Four hours later, Nick receives a phone call from Anton.

“How goes it?” Anton asks.

“We’re eating. Just went to see if any of my connections know anything.”

“Being careful, I hope.”

“I’m always careful. Any luck on your end? How were the docks?”

“Irrelevant. Gonna need you to come in. It’s important. I’ll send you the address. I’d suggest ditching the partner. It’s a bit intense.”

“Wait, what is—” Nick says before hearing the call end. He looks at Liv, sitting across from him in the booth.

Liv, chewing her noodles, swallows and asks, “Should I cancel the mochi?”

Nick makes an excuse, something about it being a personal matter. Liv accepts with a disappointed understanding.

The drive all the way to the address is tiring. Nick finds himself at a warehouse nestled cozily under the Brooklyn Bridge. The two enter, greeted by sneers and nasty looks. Anton’s men definitely know who he is.

“Can I help you?” He looks at one of them, an Ivy League type with a fuzzy mustache and stylish glasses. He scoffs and gets back to work.

The upstairs office is a mundane room mangled into the form of an interrogation chamber. Nick observes four, no, five ultraviolet projectors pointing to the center of the room, arranged like a coven waiting for a miracle. A blonde crown of a head points at him, belonging to a man half-conscious, muttering to himself. His hands are bound behind him, and his ankles are tied to the chair legs. Nick sees a power drill, screwdriver, blowtorch, pliers, and a miniature buzzsaw arranged lovingly on a desk, not used.

Nick examines the man and the UV rigs. He points to him. “Who’s the guy?” He eyes the man drift in and out of consciousness.

“Cameras around Tanzer’s building picked up his car dropping off a possible suspect regularly,” Anton answers.

“Why him and not the suspect?” Liv asks. She has never witnessed anyone get tortured, and she hopes that doesn’t change tonight.

“Leon isn’t as smart as the suspect, couldn’t hide from us.”

“God, is the Ichabod Collar necessary?” Nick recalls seeing all the Vampiric prisoners rounded up using these back when they still took prisoners. Interlocking curved blades, controlled with magnets, with the press of a button, the target’s head is cut clean off. “This and the UV lamps. You scared of one little vampire?” Nick asks. Anton offers no response.

The door squeaks open. Liv watches Nick enter and close the door behind him, pulling up a chair from the corner of the room. He sees nothing but his reflection in the one-way mirror.

“Leon,” Nick says. A silvery line of drool from the man’s mouth is the only response. “My name’s Nick. I work as a consultant for the Division. I need you to tell me what your involvement is, or if you know anything that can help our investigation. Otherwise, I cannot help you.” The man’s head tilts up slightly, enough to see his fangs. ‘Interesting,’ Nick eyes his sharp bottom canines. Especially striking is the lack of inward curving at the top of his central incisors, a telltale sign of a common Xerfit.

“y-you…” He mutters.

“Yes?”

“You got a smoke?” He makes out weakly.

“Sure.” Nick loosens in his chair. “I’m sorry about that guy, he’s a bit on edge.”

“He drugged me. Beat me. Brought me here. I didn’t do anything.” The man’s disheveled clothing is enough indication that he hasn’t missed out on that famous Rhyner hospitality. Nick reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a vial. “Drink.” He lifts the man’s chin and pours blood down his throat.

He comes alive at the hint of blood. Thirst grips him. He convulses, his hunger more intense than anything Nick’s seen in New York. “No Xerfit I’ve ever seen reacts to blood that rapidly.” The man breathes deeply for the first time. “You’re not with the Vant Roshu.”

“That’s what I told that psycho. He didn’t believe me. I don’t mess with those VR freaks.” He coughs.

“Easy. Here…” Nick pulls out two cigarettes and lights one in the man’s mouth. He holds it in his teeth and pulls it like a last meal. Smoke fills Leon’s lungs, burning his eyes and soothing the ache in his muscles.

“Oh, that’s good. What is that?” His eyes cross to look at the cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“Burley, something from back home.” Nick shows the image of the mountain on the package. “Only thing I smoke.” Nick blows a ring to the ceiling, like a halo that the two men can share. “You got a last name?”

“Frost. Leon Frost.” Nick wonders how old this man is. What century was he born in? Not usually one to muse on a vampire’s life, Nick finds himself in a thoughtful mood. It’s not every day he sits across from an uncommon vampire. Did he come on the Mayflower or a 747? Did he fight in Gettysburg or Vietnam?

“Tell me something, just between you and me, was it chance that put you in that neighborhood, or are you just that unlucky?” Nick plucks the cigarette from Leon’s mouth and flicks it to a corner. “Or are you involved in this somehow?”

Leon finds relief in Nick’s candor. “If I were involved in whatever it is you’re talking about, why would I tell you?”

“My partner is waiting just outside and is just gonna kill you if you don’t. I’d say that’s enough motivation.” Nick sits back. He takes out another vial of blood and uncaps it. “Here.” Before the vial can reach Leon’s lips, Nick drops it to the ground, and in a heartbeat, Leon’s jaw snaps at Nick’s hand. He convulses against his shackles.

“Gosh, I’m really sorry about that.” A gator-like bellow comes from his throat. He eyes the blood in a sad little puddle at his feet. His eyes dart around the room, every few seconds locking on Nick like a jungle cat. “I’m sorry you had to see that.” Nick’s mind turns at the taxonomy of the creature sitting across from him. “I didn’t mean that.” Leon continues struggling, now deeply troubled by his bondage.

“Tell me what you were doing there, and I’ll give you another one,” Nick says.

“So your friends can kill me? I’ve known vampires that ‘helped’ you people. Gave them what they wanted and weren’t ever seen again.”

“I’m not with them.” Nick protests.

“Might make a difference to them but not to me, or any of us.” Nick’s brow flattens as he hears this.

“Please tell me. I’ll talk to him. I won’t let them hurt you.” Nick kneels before Leon. Seeing his bright amber eyes, fear. “I give you my word. I’m not gonna let them hurt you.”

“I’m dead either way. Whatever.”

Nick puts a hand on Leon’s shoulder. “What do you say?” He waves another blood vial in front of him.

“I am the proprietor of a specialized business. I provide transport for those not wanting to be tracked…by anyone.”

“The Division?” Leon shakes his head.

“Part of my selling point: I ask no questions. I don’t know my clients, I don’t know their names, and the screen between my seat and the backseat means I don’t even see them.”

“So that night, were you picking up or dropping off?” The question picks at Leon’s professionalism.

“Dropping off.”

“What time?”

“Around two a.m,” Nick notes it all down.

“Leon, I’m going to need a name.”

“I can’t. It’s part of the gig not to give out names. Confidentiality and stuff.” He says while craning his neck from the beating Anton gave him.

Nick sits back in his chair. “C’mon, Leon. I gave you my word, and you make a fool out of me? If you don’t take our deal seriously, then I’ll have to go. I’ll leave you in the psycho’s hands.”

“Guy’s name was Dex. We only do first names. But I do know that he was scared senseless of someone. Who they are, I preferred not to know.” Nick continues noting. “I kept telling him to keep his mouth shut and asked him to stick to general topics if he wanted to talk, nothing personal, you know? But this guy just kept on talking, like he needed to confess or something.” Leon pauses.

“What did he talk about that struck you as too personal?” Leon grimaces, trying his best to remember.

“He kept talking about some kind of project he was helping with. Sounded like rambling. Something had this guy scared. The project was something with a P or an O.” Nick is silent. “Oh, and he also kept a journal on him, called it his “insurance policy”, and wrote down all kinds of stuff about this project. Said if anything were to happen to him, the journal would ‘make them regret it.’”

“That still isn’t a lot to go on. A journal and two possible initials for some project I know nothing about.”

“That’s all I know, I swear!” Leon barks. “Now you keep up your part of the deal.”

“Alright, alright. Calm down.” Nick leans back in the chair and looks to the ceiling, a thin film of smoke covering flat concrete. “I got one last question, though, a more personal one.”

Anton and Liv turn their attention to Nick as he closes the door behind him. The scaffolding perches over the ceiling lamps enough not to be caught in the light.
“Got what you needed?” Anton asks.

“Some guy named Dex. Leon runs a transport business. People mostly. This guy was helping Tanzer with a project, got spooked, and hired Leon to avoid whoever he felt was watching him. The night of the murder, he was dropping Dex off. That’s when the cameras picked him up.”

“Good job, boss,” Liv says, relieved Nick isn’t the torture-type. She looks at Anton, whom she has reservations about.

Nick turns to Liv and smiles. “Thanks, partner. You can take off for the night. I have something to discuss with Anton.”

“One of my men can drive you.” Anton offers.

Bidding Liv farewell, Anton walks back to Nick.“You know, Dad always said I was the pragmatic one.”

“You are.” The two lean against the railing, taking turns to look at Leon through the door now and again.

“You sure promised our guest stuff you couldn’t deliver.”

“Protecting him from you? I think I’ll manage.”

Anton pouts mockingly and puts a hand around his brother. “You remind me so much of her. She was just like this. Once she draws a line, you can’t get through to her.” The mention of their mother achieves its usual effect on Nick. “She would get so angry when she saw something wrong with the world. Not like you see nowadays with people being sad over the news, so everyone thinks they’re a good person. No, you’d get the impression that the TV screen was the only thing keeping this woman from putting her hands on these warlords and murderers herself.” Anton’s grip tightens for a second. “You two even have the same brow when you’re upset.” Nick politely brushes Anton’s hand away.

“She sounds great.” A courteous smile from Nick.

“She was the best.”

“By the way.” Nick points to the prisoner. “You will let him go. I wasn’t joking around. “We let him go, but keep tabs on him. If he skips town, he’ll be right back here, and I can’t make promises then.” Anton bargains.

“Deal.” The brothers Rhyner shake hands.

Nick goes back to the room to explain the deal to Leon. With a bag over his head, Leon sits in the passenger seat next to Nick.

“I guess I should say thanks,” Leon says.

Nick takes the bag off with one hand. “Tell me something. When did you become an Upior?”

“Is that what I am?” Leon flashes a toothy grin.

“Your teeth, behavior, blood response. You didn’t even flinch at the UV lamps being in the room.” Leon feigns surprise at Nick’s deductions.

“1919, December, I think it was. Colder than cold.”

“Were you a Bolshevik?”

“Hell no. Any more questions?”

“Not really.” The two stop at an empty lot. Leon stretches and massages his wrists.

“You skip town, you’ll be right back there.”

“I got no reason to run. But Nick…”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks. And I sincerely hope we never meet again.”

“Stay safe, Leon,” Nick says, watching the vampire shuffle into the dark, then under the buzzing street lamps, then finally gone.