BloodWise

BloodWise Chapter 3

This is BloodWise Chapter 3. If you want to start at the beginning or read another chapter, use the navbar above.

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John Zulu didn’t get up from the high back chair that he occupied. He didn’t remove his big, movie-star shades. Instead he gave Winston a tiny nod. “Brother,” he said. His voice was low and gravely. “It’s good to see that Neal Fitzgerald has finally decided to recognize the black man.” Behind Zulu stood two of his enforcers, each cradling a short semi-automatic rifle, and ready to shoot Winston down if needed. But the enforcers were just for show. Everyone knew that John Zulu could rip Winston apart without any help. John Zulu was known for violence and killing, which was how he had forged the first all-black house in Balitmore. And while he styled himself as a revolutionary complete with unlaced combat boots and a Che Guevara style cap, Winston thought it ironic that Zulu’s philosophy and leadership style was essentially Medieval. The big man relied on clandestine warfare, power politics, and blood rights, just like all the old vampries in Europe that he claimed to despise. The only difference here was the color of the skin.

 “Thank you for seeing me, Lord Zulu,” Winston said.

“And what message do you bring from Fitzgerald?” The big meeting room smelled like pot and machine oil

"Not a message, my lord, a question. We need to know whether you were behind the truck bomb earlier tonight.”

Zulu almost smiled. He looked away from Winston and back to his enforcers so they could register his incredulity. “The explosion is Cherry Hill? What a fucking stupid question to ask, Solomon. If I was behind it, would I tell you?”

But it wasn’t a stupid question at all. Winston was good at reading facial reactions, and he saw a measure of confusion under Zulu’s sarcasm. It was why he’d looked away from Solomon for a moment, to hide the surprise. Most people would have missed it, but Winston considered the ability to read faces a vital factor in his political agenda and studied books on FACS, Facial Action Coding System, in his rare spare time. “You might tell me, my lord, because you hope to avoid further incident with House Fitzgerald.”

“Further incident? I didn’t do shit to you and yours, Solomon, but if it’s a fight you want, I’d be happy to send my boys in to cut you down. You know, for a guy named Solomon, you ain’t too wise.”

“Just wise enough, my lord.” Again, Zulu’s reaction- the anger of the falsely accused- cued Winston that this wasn’t his suspect in the bombing. “But I thank you for your time. I’ll see myself out.”

“No.” Zulu motioned to his enforcers, each of whom grabbed Winston by a shoulder and spun him back around. “Now you answer my questions. Information for information. What was the target of the bombing?”

Winston hesitated for a moment. He’d kept the project secret for so long, but there was no reason to hide it anymore, was there? It was obliterated, and even if he could finance a new blood bank, he’d have to do it someplace far away from Cherry Hill.. “A blood bank,” he admitted.

“A what? A blood bank?” Zulu took a moment to process and then he removed his shades. “You were buying blood?”

“It’s the future.”

Zulu started to chuckle. His laughter was deep and throaty. As if this were a cue, the two heavies released Winston. “You’re insane. You know that? It must be those philosophers that you’re so fond of. They say that you carry a small book of teachings. Is that true?”

Winston adjusted the lapels on his jacket and nodded. He reached into his pocket and produced his journal. “It’s teachings about what it means to be free.”