Woody was allowed entrance by Corporal Johnson. The man was so black that he practically disappeared in the dark, unless he smiled.
“Good evening, Mr. Woodford,” Johnson greeted The Committee member.
“Good evening, young man, I hope all is well,” Woody returned the salutation, smiling broadly. “Is Lieutenant Farragut available?”
Jognson chuckled. “He’s available, but I would say indisposed at the moment.”
Woody lifted his eyebrows. “That sounds…quite intriguing.”
“Would you care to wait in the common room, sir?”
“Actually, no.” Woody leered at Johnson. He walked past him directly to the door of Sarge’s private quarters.
Woody stopped at the door and listened. Smiling, he heard gasps, soft moans, sucking, the slap of skin against akin. He nudged the door open and slid through.
The Lieutenant had the other man on his knees, bent over at the waist, holding on for dear life to the metal frame of the military-style bed while Sarge fucked him. The sweat glistened on the human as the ultimate masculine specimen that was Lieutenant Farragut pounded into him. Both men moaned.
Woody enjoyed the unexpected entertainment. He knew that the young Lieutenant had a splendid body, but the reality went beyond even his expectations. He watched for a few moments more before he took his leave, exiting as quickly and quietly as he had entered.
Joining most of the other soldiers in their common room, Woody observed Sergeant Burrows in the corner, cleaning a rifle. By the way he plunged the rod down the barrel, Woody knew Burrows was more than slightly upset. The set of his jaw and the twitching facial muscles only confirmed Woody’s suspicions.
Two Marines were involved in a video game, cheered on by the others. Woody looked on in amusement, but also with concern. Burrows’ mood drew his attention. He had seen that type before, and it didn’t bode well. From his experience, vampires with such attitudes often didn’t last long. They either killed themselves or went and did something stupid, resulting in them being brought before The Committee. Both were sad endings. I must remember to bring this up with David.
“Good evening, gentlemen.” He let his presence be known. All the men in the room turned in his direction, except the two playing their game, but all returned the greeting heartily. Walking over to Corporal Johnson, the man who had let him in, he asked, “I was wondering, dear sir, if you would kindly show me to the prisoner. I would like to see if he is ready to answer a few questions.”
“Umm…” Johnson hesitated for a second or two. “Certainly, Mr. Woodford, if you’ll follow me.”
The two vampires went to the newly updated prisoner holding area. Two small cells contained the prisoners, with thick, reinforced, state of the art bullet-proof glass. The area was also under twenty-four-hour digital camera surveillance.
The smell coming from the prisoner was the very pronounced, sickly sweet scent of a young vampire. He was obviously less than a year, but more than likely only a few months old. The young vampire was no more than nineteen in human years, disheveled, with tattered clothes, grubby skin and greasy hair. What a waste. As he and Johnson approached the glass encased cell, the captured vamp puffed up defiantly, but fear radiated from him.
“Good evening, young man,” Woody began, smiling easily. “Hope you are well?”
“Who da fuck are you, and what you want?” The young vamp spat, literally. “Why am I here?”
“The reason you are here is that you are a criminal. Yet I have the distinct impression that perhaps you don’t know that,” Woody explained, his hands behind his back as he stood only inches from the glass.
“Huh? I din’t do nuthin’,” the youth said, obviously caught off guard.
“Ahhh, but you did. You have killed at least one human, have you not?”
“Yeah, so what?” That’s what we suppose’ to do. Ain’t it?”
“Actually, it is against all vampire law.”
“That ain’t what he tole me!” The young vampire lost all the previous bravado he had tried to assume. He slammed his hands against the glass, his eyes wide, his breathing rapid. “He tole us that’s what we was suppose ta do, I swears it!”
“Who told you this? It is very important that you cooperate now.”
“The guy in them cool motorcycle leathers.” The vampire stood in front of Woody. “He has the coolest bike leathers. He said he would take all the pain away. Make it where I wouldn’t have to worry about nuttin ever again, and I’d live forever.”
“He was correct about part of it,” Woody tried to soothe the youngster. “However, he misinformed you of the law. Murdering humans is not allowed.”
“Ahhh man,” the young vamp whined, wringing his hands together. “Man, I didn’t know. I swears it. I didn’t know!”
“Calm down, young man. It is apparent to me that you did not understand our laws. How about you, Mr. Johnson?” Woody asked his Marine escort. “Do you also feel that he is telling the truth?”
“Yes sir, I believe that he is,” Johnson agreed, clearly feeling sorry for the kid.
“What’s gonna happen to me?” the young vampire asked, almost in tears.
“There may be a trial, but at this time, I am not sure,” Woody informed him. “Part of it will depend on you.”
“What you want?” The youth looked at him with narrowed eyes, his lips tight.
“We need to know how many of you there are.” This time it was Johnson, who spoke. “And where you guys hang.”
“Man, I don’t know how many anymore.” The vampire scowled. “Used to be just ten of us. But then some went and made they girlfriends, and then some went and did it to they homies, and started they own gangs, and those dudes are fuckin’ scary. I don’t know no more.”
“What is your name?”
“Jamie.”
“Just Jamie?”
“Jamie Jameson…sir.”
It looks like he does has some manners after all, Woody thought.
“Well, Jamie, can you tell us where the main lair is for your group?”
Jamie stared at Woody for a moment.
“Man, he wants to know where you and your buds hang and sleep,” Johnson translated.
“Oh, I get it. Sure.” Jamie’s brow cleared. “We found this old place all boarded up down by the railroad depot on ‘W’ Street. It weren’t like anyone was using it.”
Woody had to smile at the youth’s justification.
“Me and my friend Two-Cent, that’s what he’s called, quit staying there though,” Jamie said, thrusting his hands deep into his dirty baggy jeans pockets. “It was getting too crazy there for us.”
“Not to worry, Master Jameson, not to worry.”
“Master?” There was that look of confusion again.
“Never mind, man,” Johnson interjected. “Just chill out while this shit gets figured out. Cool?”
“Yeah, man, I’m down wit’it.”
“We will return later, Jamie,” Woody looked at Johnson, waiting for another translation.
“’K,” was the young vampire’s answer as he dropped down onto the bunk provided in the cell looking tired.
Woody and Johnson left the holding area. Woody needed to talk to Sarge, quickly, and then communicate this information to The Committee. It sounded more and more as if Léonide Durand was indeed the culprit here. Now they needed to figure out if he was acting alone or not. And if he wasn’t acting alone, who was he working with? Was Léonide the mastermind, or a puppet? Woody despised Léonide for preying on unfortunate youths such as Jamie. It was nothing if not cruel to turn those in such circumstances, and then, on top of that, let them loose into the world without education. Just the thought of it made Woody clench his fists, his nails digging into his palms.
* * * * *
Bronson and Sarge lay spooned together, breathing heavily, Sarge's still stiff dick lodged in Bronson’s ass.
“Man, you don’t know how much I needed this,” Bronson huffed as he pulled Sarge’s arm tighter around him.
Chuckling softly against Bronson’s neck, Sarge said, “Yeah, I kinda do. It has been way too long for me too, almost a year.”
“About the same for me,” Bronson sighed. The dick in his butt was starting to become a little uncomfortable.
There was a soft knock on the door, and Sarge quickly reached down and pulled the sheet and blanket over them.
“Enter,” he said, once they were covered.
“Sarge, Mr. Woodford is here.” Private Sanderson opened the door enough to get his head through.
“Shit.” Sarge pulled his dick from the heat of Bronson’s body.
“Corporal Johnson took him down to the prisoner,” Sanderson informed the Marine.
“Thanks, Sanderson.”
“Anytime, Sarge,” Sanderson replied, smiling broadly.
As soon as the door was shut Sarge threw the covers back, popped Bronson sharply on the ass and said, “Come on hot stuff, let’s grab a quick shower.”
“Hot stuff huh?” Bronson laughed. “You think I’m hot stuff?” He started looking for his pants.
“I’ve always thought you were hot, Rudan.” Sarge pulled the reporter in for a quick wet kiss. “I used to watch you when we were in Iraq.”
“Then why didn’t you ever say anything or at least approach me?”
“Things were different then… more complicated.” Sarge stole quick kisses in between words. “And if you hadn’t noticed, there was a war going on all around us.”
“Oh yeah, I think I remember something about a war,” Bronson teased, tweaking a nipple tucked in amongst the thick chest hair.
“Ow!”
Another pop to his ass.
“Ow.” Bronson rubbed at the handprint just left on his ass.
“Come on, gotta get that shower before Woody gets back.” Sarge took Bronson by the arm.
“Wait, let me get my pants on at least.” Bronson made to turn around.
“You ain’t got nothing to be ashamed of, and it’s just us men here.” Sarge pulled Bronson out into the open barracks. “Damn, everyone’s already up and ready. Oh well…”
Sarge took Bronson into the large open shower area where they quickly showered.
“What’s up with all the tats?” Sarge asked as they rinsed the soap off their bodies. Sarge watched the soap run down Bronson’s tattooed arms, the tattoos so heavy they looked like sleeves of a shirt.
“I saw a guy in San Diego with a really colorful tattoo and liked it,” Bronson explained, washing the soap out of his hair. “I thought it was cool. So much better than some of the ones I’d seen. I hooked up with the guy and asked who did his, and then I went and checked the artist out.” Bronson paused as he swiftly washed his face. “At first I thought it would make a good human interest story. It was when I was still in school and a struggling newbie. I liked it so much, and the artist and I really connected, so I decided to get one. The rest, as they say, is history. After the second one, he looked at me and told me that I needed to think long term because he knew I was already addicted, and it was better to have a plan on how to connect them.” Bronson showed his right arm that was tattooed from wrist to shoulder then turned, showing how the tattoo ran across his shoulders onto the upper part of his left arm. “I plan on working on the back this year.”
“They’re some of the most colorful I’ve seen,” Sarge said admiringly. Flexing the muscle on his right arm, he showed off his Marine bulldog tattoo. “I have this one and the one on my chest. Not that you can see it,” he joked, “since you’d have to dig through all the hair.”
Bronson came over to admire the tattoo, appreciating the muscled arm which served as its canvas. He was no slouch, working out as often and as regularly as he could, but was in no way as ripped as this hard Marine.
“Can I ask you a question?” Bronson asked hesitantly.
“Yeah, sure.”
“Now that you’re… well the way you are, will you always have this body?” Bronson ran his hand over Sarge’s shapely bicep.
Sarge appeared not to take offense. “Yeah, I’ll always look the way I do right now. I only wish I had shaved first,” he snickered. “I still have to shave every day if I don’t want to have a full two days beard growth.”
“I’m glad you didn’t,” Bronson stroked the side of Sarge’s bristly cheek. “I think it’s sexy as hell.”
“Glad you do.” Sarge smiled and then kissed Bronson quickly. “Come on, we need to get dressed. I’ve got to introduce you to Woody, and then we need to have a serious talk. I hope you have a clear plan as to stating your case.”
“Yeah, I think I do.” Bronson toweled himself dry as he talked. “Like I told you, I’ve already got a strong outline started about the bodies found all over Afghanistan. My editor already knows part of the story.” Bronson stood up, looking Sarge in the eye. “I trust you, so I’m gonna tell you, that as far as I am aware, I’m the only reporter who knows. If you wanted to take me out, you could and your secret would stay quiet, for a while at any rate. However, it won’t stay that way for very long, not the way it stands now. There are too many people out there who know about it.”
“No one is going to take you out, Rudan. I keep tellin’ you that,” Sarge reassured him once again.
“What I’m trying to say is, that if I can break the story and tell it the way we want it told, that would more than likely, put an end to it. We make it our story, and that is the one that will probably stick.”
“Those are the points you need to make.” Sarge led the way back to his room. “I know that the least amount of publicity this gets, the better they’re gonna like it, especially right now.”
“You going to fill me in on what that is?”
“I can’t right now. If there comes a time when I can, you can be guaranteed that I’ll tell you.”
“Okay, I’m really going out on a limb trusting you.” Bronson knew he had repeated the trust issue in as many minutes, but he was determined to hammer it home to Sarge.
Sarge stopped, turned and took Bronson by the shoulders. “The one thing I can say about myself, Bronson, is that I am honest and try to be honorable. So if I tell you I give you my word, that is something you can take to the bank.”
“I got that impression, but you never can tell sometimes,” Bronson said, placing his hand over the barely visible Marine Corps tattoo over Sarge’s heart. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve been screwed over. Sometimes I have a hard time with trust.” Bronson Rudan was revealing more about himself than Sarge knew…for now anyway.