The Demon Deception Page 7

  They discussed the relative merits of the different items on the list, the different calibers, and different weapons. The discussion stretched into four more beers each before they finished. They settled on weapons that would be easy to transport and conceal, which left out the Barrett .50 caliber. Instead they opted for the .338 Lapua Desert Tactical rifle. They also went with Rock River Arms LAR8 in .308. Kimber Warriors in .45 were on their list as well. For anything that wouldn’t be put down with those calibers, there was the Smith & Wesson .500. That was it for the small arms. There was also an extensive list of explosives on the list as well.

  “So, where we goin’?” Sam asked.

  Lazarus wrote it down for him. Sam stared at the paper, “I wasn’t expecting a road trip for this.”

  Lazarus laughed, “Yeah, you and me, like Hope and Crosby.”

  “Who?”

  Lazarus laughed again, “Sorry, before your time.”

  Lazarus grabbed a piece of paper, and started writing, “The Desert Tactical rifles, and the ammunition for them need to go to this address.”

  Sam completed the list, then began doing the figures in his head. Since he began working with Lazarus, he had developed contacts who dabbled in some more dubious enterprises. It was amazing what you could acquire if you had the contacts and the cash.

  Sam wasn’t foolish enough to call from his own cell phone. He pulled a burner phone out of the drawer, walked down the street, and called a number that he had memorized. Then he waited. A text arrived with a series of numbers. He wrote them down. He walked down an alley, away from his house, pulled the battery out, put the phone on the ground, and crushed it under his foot. He kicked it into a storm drain, and walked back to the house.

  As he was walking, he motioned to one of the kids on the street and had him run down to get today’s New York Times. Sam sat down on the stairs in front of his house to wait. It wasn’t that Sam was too lazy to go get the paper. The kid’s family didn’t have a whole lot of money, and this was one way Sam could feed a little to them, without stepping on the father’s ego.

  Sam wasn’t an ego guy. He didn’t need the praise of others. He was happy to help families in the neighborhood, glad to be in a position where he could do so. He didn’t need recognition for the money he spread around. He was happy knowing that he was helping one of the families on the street. The kid ran down to the corner grocery, and then ran back, handing the paper to Sam. Sam told him to keep the change, and walked back into the house.

  Sam walked back over to the table, sat down with the numbers, and began looking for pages, columns, and words. Lazarus watched him and recognized the book code.

  “Smart, changes daily, and they can’t figure it out unless they know what paper you’re using.”

  Sam nodded, “Yeah, I introduced the code to them. They have to travel around; otherwise the Feds’ll find them. Not a good idea to stay in one place.”

  Lazarus laughed, “By them, I guess you mean the gun smugglers. Great, now you increased the OPSEC of the weapons traffickers. I don’t think that’s necessarily a good thing.”

  Sam shrugged, “As long as I don’t go to jail, I don’t care. Plus, they’ve narrowed their operations after some of their less OPSEC capable associates were snapped up by the Feds. Evidently somebody tipped them off.”

  He paused, and spread his hands, a look of innocence on his face, “I’m not sayin’ who tipped them off.”

  He continued, “Since those associates were snatched up, less guns are going to gangs in the area, and gun crime seems to have dropped. These guys seem to understand the consequences of their actions and possible repercussions if they stray outside the parameters that’ve been set for them.”

  Lazarus was impressed, “Win for the community, win for us, bad guys go to jail, and less guns in the hands of gang bangers. Good solution for the problem set.”

  Sam nodded, “Yeah, now they mostly fence stolen goods.”

  Lazarus stared at him.

  Sam looked back at him, “What? I had to leave them something. If I didn’t let them do that, they’d turn to something else that would either get them snatched up by the Po-po, or get them killed. Either way, no supplies for us. So, I made sure that they’d get a little something.”

  Lazarus sighed, “No rest for the wicked, I guess. No matter what we do, there will always be iniquity in the world.”

  Sam agreed as he finished the book code. He wrote the location down and passed it over to Lazarus. Lazarus looked at the location, “Not too far away. Do you want me to back you up on this?”

  Sam shook his head, “No, it’s just a dead drop. I’ll leave the instructions for what we need, and they’ll contact me with instructions on where to wire the money and the location to pick up our supplies.”

  Lazarus was becoming more and more impressed by the level of security that Sam had initiated with the gun runners. Still, he wasn’t pleased about wiring money to an unknown account. He didn’t want to throw his money away, “Are you sure you can trust these guys?”

  A sharp guttural laugh erupted from Sam’s mouth, “No, I don’t trust them at all. We send one quarter of the payment, we get one quarter of the supplies. If we’re satisfied, we wire another quarter, receive another location, and then proceed until the transaction is complete. Trust is not a commodity to be dealt in with these guys.”

  Lazarus was satisfied with the answer. Now that the particulars were settled, and he knew what safeguards Sam had in place, he was happy with the plan. There was only one important thing to talk about, “So, can I crash in your spare bedroom?”

  Sam smiled at him, “Yeah, sure. Just as soon as the money hits the bank.”

  Lazarus laughed. He deserved that after California.

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  Chapter Four - Myra Rothstein and her cousin, Arnold

  Lazarus was heavy into his workout for the morning, trying to work up a good sweat. He stood in the back yard, two Eskrima sticks whirling through the air. He spent his morning doing yoga, stretches, calisthenics, and a variety of different katas from many different styles of martial arts. He was limber and fast. His katas were flawless, the product of centuries of practice.

  Now he used the ironwood sticks to go through his Filipino Eskrima Sinawali exercises. The two sticks flashed through the air as they weaved in and out in the stylistic katas. Lately, he put emphasis on his Krav Maga and Filipino styles of fighting. They were more direct, with less movement, aimed at destroying the enemy as quickly as possible. He still had other techniques that he gleaned from Aikido and Wushu. He enjoyed running through the various styles to keep himself limber, and maintain his mastery over them. He was worlds away from where he began, with the simple Greco-Roman style of grappling and the Roman method of using the shield and gladius.

  He was starting to sweat, his body steaming in the cold of the October morning. A cloud rose from his body as he whirled through the different stages. He heard leaves crunch as somebody entered the yard through the side gate. He shifted and he was facing the intruder. Sam stood there, watching him, “So Eli, looks like you aren’t slowing down in your old age.”

  Lazarus smiled, “Old? You’re calling me old? I don’t feel a day over one thousand.”

  Sam snorted, “Yeah, well, you may not feel it, but you do have a few millennia on me. So, yeah, I have to put my money down on old.”

  Lazarus stood up straight and pointed one of the sticks at Sam, “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”

  Sam laughed and started taking his jacket off, “What are we going to bet?”

  Lazarus thought about it, “I haven’t had Jamaican food in a while. How about loser buys?”

  Sam nodded, “Okay, you’re on.”

  Sam stripped down to his undershirt. He grabbed two sticks and they faced each other. Sam moved towards his left, and the two began circling. They were relaxed, arms and bodies loose, the sticks held in front of them. The first move was
made by Lazarus, testing his pupil to see if Sam had continued with his martial arts studies.

  The stick whipped out and Sam easily blocked the blow. He followed with a strike of his own. He was large, with a muscularity that drove the sticks with great force. He also had reach on Lazarus. Lazarus was incredibly quick, though, and his blows were very precise. His strength was in his forearms, the result of millennia of using weapons, and he was able to divert the force of the blows that Sam delivered. They moved at full speed and force, relying on each other’s mastery of the weapons to avoid injury. The sticks slammed against each other in a staccato rhythm. The rhythm sped up as they enjoyed the competition. Soon, they were both surrounded by a cloud of mist as their bodies heated up in the cold air.

  The staccato sound of Eskrima sticks echoed off of the surrounding buildings, and drew observers. Faces looked out windows from adjacent buildings, watching the competition. As the sound penetrated into the street, kids came around back to see what was going on. Several boys and two girls watched as the men tried to best each other. Soon, everybody in the neighborhood was rooting for their home boy.

  Breath frosted through the air as chests heaved from exertion. The sticks were moving so fast that the crowd could only see a blur. Sweat coated them, soaking t-shirts. Suddenly, a mistake was made and a stick whipped forward to tag Sam in the stomach. Lazarus pulled the hit so that he wouldn’t hurt Sam.

  Sam stepped back, leaning towards the side that had been struck. Catcalls followed as he stepped away from Lazarus. He glowered at the faces in the brownstones, “Hey, if you think it’s easy, come on down and try your luck!”

  The heads pulled back into the windows, nobody willing to take up the challenge. One of the girls asked, “Sam, are you going to do that again? Can we watch?”

  He looked at the little girl, “Sarah, you’re always welcome to watch. But I think we’re done for today, sweetheart. Maybe next time.”

  The children looked disappointed. They wandered back to the street in front of the brownstones to find something else to occupy their interests. Sam leaned back against the fence, “So, old man, I guess you haven’t lost your touch.”

  Lazarus didn’t want to tighten up, so he kept moving, “You aren’t too bad either. I guess you kept up your studies since I saw you last.”

  Sam nodded, “Yeah, I took your advice and stuck to Krav Maga and Filipino Eskrima. I like to do a bit of Brazilian Jujitsu as well.”

  “It’s done you well. Your stick work is much better. You’re faster, and you’re able to anticipate my moves.”

  Sam smiled at the praise from his mentor. Lazarus motioned towards the back door of Sam’s house, “What say we go in before we start cooling down too much. If we can avoid a cold, I say we do so.”

  Sam gathered up his coat and shirt while Lazarus grabbed the ironwood sticks. They walked up the stairs and into the house.

  Lazarus put the sticks on the kitchen table and picked up a towel that he laid out previously. He toweled the sweat off his body. Sam moved past him to his bedroom, hung up his coat and dumped his shirt and t-shirt into the plastic hamper in his closet. He walked into the bathroom and grabbed a towel to wipe the sweat off. He walked past Lazarus, grabbed the towel from him and walked into the laundry room and dumped both towels into the washing machine.

  From the kitchen, Lazarus asked, “Did you get the directions to the first pickup?”

  Sam walked back into the kitchen, “Yeah, I got the directions from the dead drop. Our first stop is in the Poconos. We have to wire the money to their offshore account tonight, and it’ll be there, waiting for us. I gave them a city in the general direction, and they have the four caches geo-located. Each location will be available as we pick up a cache, then wire the next set of money.”

  Lazarus was impressed, once again, by his protégé, “Do you have a pistol? As soon as we get out of New York, I think we need to carry.”

  Sam pulled out two of the ubiquitous Labatt’s Canadian Ales, popped the tops, and sat one in front of Lazarus, “We can do that. My Springfield XDM is hidden downstairs. I have extra magazines, if you need some. And, I have my concealed carry license for the pistol.”

  Lazarus shook his head, “No, I have plenty, but we’re going to have to exchange your regular bullets for my frangible ones.” He paused, “How did you get your concealed carry? You live in New York. I thought concealed carry was only available for the politically connected.”

  Sam sat down in the chair across from Lazarus, “Yeah, well, I became a Florida resident. My uncle has a house down there, so I use that as my address now. That way I can have a concealed carry license to use outside of New York, and I don’t have to worry about state income taxes. Basically a win-win for me, though the property taxes here still rip me apart.”

  Lazarus looked at Sam. When he met him ten years ago, Sam wasn’t what you would call a worldly individual. Things like tax shelters were not high on his list of things to know. Lazarus approved of the changes, “Good choice.”

  Sam took a drink, “So, about the concealed carry. Expecting trouble so soon?”

  Lazarus mirrored his movements and felt the cool liquid slide down his throat, “Not from Lilith. That would violate the parameters of our working agreement. I think that her boss wouldn’t understand too well if she broke our agreement this quickly. We can expect her to make her move shortly after we deal with the incursion, though, if not during.” He took another drink, “But, she might spread the word around. If others found out, they might do her dirty work for her.”

  Sam smiled, “And since we have to deal with nefarious individuals to procure our supplies, you think we may have to deal with problems along the way.”

  “Yes. Unfortunately, sometimes word travels even when you wish it wouldn’t. I have no doubt that Lilith will be using her influence to track us the entire way. But, better safe than sorry. Sometimes, it’s not primeval immorality and evil you have to worry about. Sometimes it’s just a thug with a gun. Better to be able to deal with the situation instead of standing there flat footed, looking foolish before he kills you.”

  Sam understood. As a Marine and an iron worker, he understood about risk management and mitigating the vagaries of chance and other people’s poor, or malicious, choices. Besides, with the amount of hardware they’d be carrying on this particular mission, somebody may want a big score. There were a lot of gangs that would literally kill to get their hands on the weapons that he and Lazarus acquired along the way.

  Still, if there was going to be trouble, there was no better man to face it with than Lazarus. Sam had faced the minions of hell with him. Lazarus would always have his back, California notwithstanding. Sam was yanking Lazarus’ chain when he mentioned California. In fact, he was proud that Lazarus had such a good opinion about his capabilities that he didn’t worry about Sam dealing with the three lycans on his own. Dealt with them he had indeed.

  It was unfortunate that there had been a group of state police and California National Guard cutting down marijuana plants not five miles away from where the big battle against the vampire coven and their lycan body guards occurred. He had to run three miles across rough terrain, to the old Ford Bronco, to get clear of the area. Then he had to drive through pitted logging roads until he was able to get to Nevada. All of the weapons were sold to a survivalist in Reno for a reduced sum of money, and the Bronco was left with the keys in it in a bad part of Las Vegas. The survivalist wasn’t stupid. Those weapons wouldn’t see the light of day until the apocalypse, whenever that might be.

  Sam asked, “When do you want to get on the road?”

  Lazarus replied, setting the empty bottle down on the table, “Well, I’d like to pay a visit to Myra before I leave. But I want to get to the first site pretty quick.”

  Sam nodded, “When you go to see Myra, give her my respects.”

  Lazarus smiled at the idea, “Sure.”

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  He
stopped at a flower shop and bought a dozen red roses, and took a bus cross town. Along the way, women smiled to see him with the flowers, thinking that he was going to see his girlfriend or his wife. He was, though they didn’t understand the circumstances. He just smiled back at them. He got off the bus at the gates of Union Field Cemetery, a Jewish cemetery between Queens and Brooklyn. He walked through the gates, and calm replaced the bustle outside. As far as the eye could see there were Stars of David on the monuments. He took in the dignified monuments, well-tended lawn and the trees turning scarlet and orange. The quiet of the cemetery made him thoughtful. The chill from the morning remained.

  As he walked, he looked at the row numbers to find the one that he wanted. The area he was looking for was older. Myra Rothstein had passed in 1964. He met her in 1920, just after the passing of the Volstead Act. Myra was related to Arnold Rothstein, the Jewish racketeer, which was, in a roundabout way, how Lazarus met her. At least, the second time he met her.

  When Lazarus came to New York, it was to talk to Arnold Rothstein. One of his earners was dealing with demonic powers. Joey Donovan wasn’t happy just being an earner, he wanted to be the big boss. Joey didn’t have the talent to rise above his station, though. The only way Donovan could ever get into that position was with a little help.

  While Rothstein was a reprehensible human being, dealing in numbers, prostitution and anything else he could get his hooks into, he wasn’t dealing with demonic powers to feed his corruption. Rothstein was safe from Lazarus. Lazarus doubted Rothstein would be standing at the right hand of God when the time came, but Rothstein wasn’t his problem.

  Donovan wasn’t as lucky. Lazarus couldn’t get to him without going through Rothstein, though. Donovan was not a smart man, but he was brutal enough to be a good earner for Rothstein. It was much more trouble trying to get to Donovan without Rothstein’s permission than with it.

  Money talks, so Lazarus posed as a wealthy business man from Israel, which, in a way, he was. Still, he pressed flesh and greased palms, and got to a place where he and Rothstein could talk. He brought evidence that Donovan was creeping up on Rothstein, some of it real, some of it fake. Rothstein bit, and let him go after Donovan.