Unholy Deuce - Amelia and Ichabod: Delta Underground Operatives by Ben Zackheim

Author:Ben Zackheim [Zackheim, Ben]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2023-05-04T16:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ICHABOD

I made the most out of my quest through the sewers. The acoustics of the tunnels were pleasant so I sang a few old songs. ‘I Ride an Old Paint’ and ‘Git Along Little Dogie’ got special attention. I’d sung those songs constantly when I’d rode the cattle to market.

The stench of sewage was strong but the odor of thousands of people packed into an underground room was stronger. I followed the smell of mortals and ended up finding a hidden door to the 34th Street Penn Station subway system. I’d been trekking, singing and fighting in the sewer for hours so I definitely didn’t make any friends as I took the downtown train to my stop. In fact, I cleared that whole subway car within five seconds.

I got off the train and slipped into the station’s tunnel as usual. I moved with my back to the wall. The electric third rail was no joke. One wrong step and Alder would have to scrape up some fried vampire. At one point, the ground shook and I almost lost my footing. It was probably a train coming to a stop somewhere further down the track.

I reached my secret door to my apartment building’s basement and pushed it open, checking to make sure one of my neighbors wasn’t doing their laundry. The coast was clear. I took two steps before my phone rang. Apparently, my reception was back. It was Amelia.

“Hey Amelia. I made it…”

“Ichabod. We need to meet. Are you at your apartment?”

“Yeah, but we can talk on the phone.”

“No we can’t. Did you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

“I’m on my way to your place.”

“Amelia, that’s not…”

She hung up. I hate phones.

I entered my apartment. It was not an ideal place for social calls. I only used it for sleep. It was one room with its walls and ceiling painted black. A hammock stretched from one side of my home to the other — twenty feet from end to end. It was a custom piece crafted by a Peruvian friend of mine. The thing was 80 years old and held up strong. I sometimes prefer the sensation of swinging when I sleep. Maybe it’s the bat in me.

I peeled off my clothes and dropped them where I stood. I dug up an industrial-grade garbage bag in my closet, then stuffed it with my garments. I tied the bag as tight as I could. There was no saving that wardrobe.

I looked around the room for something, anything for Amelia to sit on. The window ledge I’d removed when I’d vampirized the place leaned up against a wall. It would make a great seat. If only it had legs.

Then it hit me. The toilet! That would do the trick just fine.

The large rug I stored in the bathroom met me when I opened the door. Even rolled up, it took up the entire space. It was nice and all, but I’m not a rug kind of guy. Alder had given it to me when I’d agreed to do contract work for him.

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