Angel of Salvation
Dimitru Alexandrith stood concealed within the sanctuary of the many shadows that the bright casino lights of Las Vegas, Nevada cast throughout the hapless city. He watched his latest victim from an alley near the 4 Queens Casino. "Victim" was such a harsh word and Dimitru refused to consider his contracts as such, for those he sought were far from being victims of society; they were the killers, thugs, rapists and malicious deviants that ran amok in the world. They deserved the touch of death for their crimes against humanity. They deserved Dimitru.
He thought of himself not as a contract killer, but more as a courier of justice, a knight of retribution or an angel of salvation. Dimitru was very selective in his acceptance of contracts, choosing only those he felt deserved his intervention. This was his absolution for what he was, for Dimitru was Nosferatu; a creature of the dark who is cursed to feed off the blood of lesser beings to survive. To know Dimitru's true nature meant that death's icy grip had come for you for longevity came only with anonymity.
Jimmy "Rocketman" Carlton ran "Old Town" Las Vegas and had his fingers on everything from the women of the night to drug peddlers, pickpockets and rip-off artists. He had claimed "Old Town" as his zone of operation after the unfortunate, and opportune for Jimmy, disappearance of his former boss five years ago. The new Fremont Experience had helped his business dramatically, no longer did he have to cater to the junkies that hung out by the Gold Spike and El Cortez, he was moving up. He hung out on the renovated Fremont Street and nobody gave him trouble.
Jimmy meandered through the "Fremont Experience"; a boardwalk type environment lined on either side by tourist shops and casinos. He basked in the power and freedom his position in the organization granted him. His crew, the people that ran his everyday operations, feared him, and fear brought respect and loyalty. Jimmy strolled into a darkened alleyway, not knowing why or caring what his destination was; he was scared of no one in this city.
"How goes the spreading of pestilence." Jimmy heard snarled in his mind before his ears could perceive the words.
"Who the hell-" Jimmy said as he brandished a chrome plated 9mm pistol from the shoulder holster that hung securely under his white sports jacket.
Dimitru stepped from the shadows wearing a neatly pressed Armonti suit and matching black mandarin collared shirt that blended with the night. His immaculate shoes made not a sound as he flowed to within inches of Jimmy. He snatched the weakly held pistol from Jimmy's grasp; Dimitru's motions were smooth, measured and lightning fast. Jimmy cringed involuntarily taking a step back.
"It…it is you." Jimmy rolled his shoulders and straightened his jacket in an attempt to collect his composure, but it was of no use, for his eyes told the truth. Jimmy was petrified. He had contracted this man over five years ago to take care of his boss and if he was back, it meant only one thing; his time had come.
"I…I will pay you d…double what they are pa…paying you," Jimmy tried to scream, but it only came out as a whimper then drifted off into nothingness. Dimitru's eye's bore into his soul, stealing the thoughts from his mind. Images of the gunned down teenagers, overdosed children and beaten junkies flowed openly between the two, depicting Jimmy's life. A wicked sneer crept over Dimitru's face, revealing fangs.
Horror swept over Jimmy, rooting him where he stood, as the visage of death bore down on him. Dimitru's fangs easily dug through the soft flesh of Jimmy's neck. The blood, the life, flowed thick and rich into Dimitru's system. He felt the strength building within himself, beginning at his feet and surging upward to envelop him in an euphoric high that no junkie could every hope to achieve. He felt Jimmy slipping in his invigorated grasp and had to thrust himself from the man's throat before he completely drained him. Dimitru salivated on his finger and rubbed it on Jimmy's neck, where two small puncture wounds remained. The saliva worked quickly and soon the wounded flesh had completely healed itself leaving no trace of the marks.
Jimmy staggered back, reaching for the wall of the alley in desperation for support. The world was spinning and he tried to cry out, but he had not the strength. He looked up at Dimitru and saw him for what he really was, a vampire.
"This can not be happening," Jimmy's mind screamed to him over and over. "Vampires are only things of legends and myths, not of the sane world."
"Oh, we exist. Now take it, Rocketman," Dimitru snarled in Jimmy's head as he offered the pistol. Jimmy snatched the gun from Dimitru's outstretched hand, almost toppling from the exertion. He lifted the pistol, pointing it at Dimitru, but another thought assaulted him; one he struggled to push away, but could not hope to fight. Jimmy opened his mouth and inserted the barrel of the 9mm into it, his eyes crossed as he watched barrel slowly enter his own mouth. Jimmy's eyes were wide with the realization of what was to come.
The gunshot echoed down Fremont Street, startling tourists and drawing more attention than a slot machine that had just hit. The police could not figure out why the 32-year old man had shot himself, nor did they really care, for Jimmy "Rocketman" Carlton had a thick arrest folder that could finally be tucked neatly away in the police files and, like Jimmy, would not see daylight again.
* * * * *
Dimitru leaned back in the soft white leather business chair that sat behind his matching white oak desk. He felt comfortable in the silent darkness that surrounded him. The only noise came from the clicking sounds of the keys on his notebook as he finished an encrypted electronic mail message to his latest employer,
"Fund transfer in the amount of $1,000,000 has been confirmed. I am pleased to here you enjoyed this mornings article about the unfortunate death of James Carlton. As always, it has been a pleasure doing business with you.
Angel of Salvation"