All put together, he looked like a calm, quiet, geeky kind of guy, a fact that the pens and notepad sticking out of the plastic pocket protector on the front of his shirt only reinforced. But he was anything but the mild-manned fellow he appeared to be. I knew him by reputation too.
Beauregard Benson, the drug-dealing vampire king of Southtown.
5
While Benson studied Troy, I studied Benson.
Even among the underworld bosses, Beauregard Benson was someone everyone talked about in hushed whispers. Unlike some of the other crime lords and ladies, Beauregard didn’t bother with selling blood, running hookers, or bankrolling bookies. Drugs were his forte. Uppers, downers, pot, heroin, crack, meth, oxy. If it could get you higher than a kite, then Benson was the one you were paying for the ride up into the wild blue yonder—and the piranha that was waiting to chew you up and spit you out on the way down.
Benson finished his perusal of Troy before turning to Silvio. “Is this the one?” he asked in a high, nasal voice that perfectly matched his geeky wardrobe.
“Yes, sir,” Silvio replied in a soft, bland tone.
Benson nodded, then pointed at the two vampires standing with Troy, snapped his fingers, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “Gentlemen, you may leave now.”
“Sorry, Troy,” one of the vamps muttered.
The two vamps skirted past Benson and Silvio and hurried out of the garage as fast as they could. Meanwhile, the six men who’d been in the Escalades closed ranks, forming a circle around Troy. And I realized exactly what this was: an execution.
Troy had come here to hurt Catalina, but he was the one who wouldn’t be leaving.
Troy frowned, not comprehending that he was a dead man standing. “Mr. Benson? What’s going on? Why are you here?”
Benson plucked his glasses off his nose. He held out a hand, and Silvio stepped forward and passed him a white silk handkerchief, which Benson used to clean the lenses.
“I’m here because apparently, you can’t handle having your own territory,” Benson said, focusing on his glasses. “Did you think that I wouldn’t find out what happened?”
“If this is about last night, I can explain—”
“Of course this is about last night,” he said, sliding his glasses back onto his nose and peering through the lenses at Troy. “You and your friends went to one of our Air healers to get patched up. Your friends were smart enough to contact Silvio immediately afterward and confess their incompetence. Yet you did not. Do you want to tell me why?”
“It was nothing,” Troy insisted. “Somebody got lucky and got the drop on me. I was going to take care of it. Tonight.”
“Hmm.” Benson cocked his head to the side, as though Troy were some curious specimen he was examining. “And yet here you are, all alone, in an empty garage. That doesn’t give me a great deal of confidence in you, Mr. Mannis.”
Troy’s eyes flicked from the face of one vampire to the next. For the first time, he seemed to realize that his boss and his entourage hadn’t dropped by for a polite chat. He swallowed and rubbed his hands on his jeans to wipe the nervous sweat off his palms.
“I can explain, Mr. Benson—”
“Explain what?” Benson cut him off again. “How someone threatened, embarrassed, and beat up you and two other members of my organization, the men I specifically gave to you to help with the new distribution at the college? What do you have to say about that?”
“I—I—I—” Troy sputtered, but he couldn’t get the words out.
They wouldn’t have saved him anyway.
“Don’t you know that your embarrassment is my embarrassment?” Benson said. “You know that I don’t tolerate mistakes or people hiding things from me. And I especially don’t like my employees talking about my business interests to outsiders.”
I frowned. It sounded like Troy had been blabbing. But about what? And to whom?
“But you’ve done all of those,” Benson continued, “with your worst offense being running your mouth when you should have known to keep it shut, And now I’m afraid that you have to suffer the consequences of your actions, all your actions, Mr. Mannis.”
Troy bolted.
He knew what was coming, and he wanted no part of it. Couldn’t blame him for that. But the two vampires at the front blocked his exit and pushed him back into the waiting arms of the four men behind him. Two grabbed Troy’s left arm, while the other two held tight to his right side, immobilizing him.
Beside me, Catalina let out a soft gasp, her right hand fisting in the fabric of my T-shirt sleeve, even as she clamped her left hand over her mouth to muffle the noise she’d made. Lucky for us, everyone was focused on Troy and his frantic attempts to buck, thrash, and kick free.
Everyone except Silvio.
The vamp frowned, his gray gaze scanning the garage before latching onto Catalina’s car. His frown deepened, his brow furrowed, and his eyes narrowed. I tensed, wondering if Silvio might ask one of the men to make sure that the garage was empty and how many of the vamps I could cut down before they surrounded me. But after a few seconds, Silvio fixed his attention on Troy again.
By this point, Troy’s struggles had dwindled down to tremors that racked his body from head to toe. “Please, Mr. Benson,” he begged. “Please. I’ll do better. You know I can do better.”
“I’m afraid that it’s too late for apologies, pleas, and promises, Mr. Mannis,” Benson said, his voice calm, if still very nasal. “You are only as strong as you appear to be, and I can’t have any weak links in my organization. Especially not now, when I’m rolling out a new product.”
New product? I wondered if he meant the red pill Troy had given me at the college.
Benson snapped his fingers. Silvio reached into the Bentley and drew out a long white coat, the sort that a scientist might wear in a lab. Benson held out first one arm, then the other, and Silvio carefully helped his boss into the garment, smoothing the fabric down over his arms and back the way a valet might. Silvio even did up the buttons on the front, so that the white coat covered Benson’s clothes.
Troy shuddered, as if he knew what was coming next. So did the vamps holding on to him.
Benson smiled, his fangs glinting like pointed diamonds in his mouth, the sharp tips ready to cut through flesh and bone—Troy’s. He strolled toward his minion, his stride smooth and steady, and snapped his fingers again. At the command, the four vamps holding Troy let go and stepped back. If I was the kid, I would have been hightailing it out of here, but he didn’t move at all. Instead, he stood absolutely still, as if he was frozen in place by the Medusa gleam of Benson’s glasses.