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CHAPTER 30

At 0330, Ariel stood across the street from the Palmyra Club. It had amazed him when he first arrived in Israel that the bars and clubs stayed open so late almost every night. Some of the clubs were open twenty-four hours. Even now, after being in Israel for a few months, that just seemed unreal to him.

“You ready to move in?” He heard Mordechai’s voice over his earpiece. He knew that the older vampire was parked around on the other side of the club.

The anger that had erupted within him when he had found Yael and found out what had been done to her was still present in him, growing harder and hotter with each passing hour. It took much of his strength to keep it under control.

The club sat on a corner, and there was a neon palm tree on the front of the building behind the outside seating area. Torch fixtures cast flickering light and shadow across the large group of mostly young people, some of whom were seated, some of whom were milling around, all of whom were talking loudly.

Ariel leaned up against the building he was standing in front of. He was in a pool of shadow, so he was fairly certain he couldn’t be seen from the club. He just watched for a while, getting a feel for the crowd, restraining his wrath.

“I guess.” Ariel muttered, anger smoldering under his words. “I’d really hoped we’d find him before now. We’ve hit most of the bars in the area.”

“Is this number four or number five?”

“Five, and no luck so far.”

“That happens. Patience is a requirement. At least you have two solid clues: his name, and his odor. I’ve waited much longer with much less in my hand to help find the target.”

“Patience,” Ariel said in a controlled tone. “I’m a Generation Z-er. I don’t have time for patience.”

“You ready to move in?” Mordechai repeated. “You’re burning moonlight.”

Ariel snorted at that one. “Okay, okay, I’m moving.” He closed his eyes, placed his hand over the medallion that was under his shirt, and whispered the Sh’ma. After a moment of motionless silence, he dropped his hand and straightened. “Time to do this,” he snarled.

He crossed the street, dodging traffic, feeling almost like a matador in a bull ring. One of the things that had been a major culture shock when he’d moved to Israel was that pedestrians would cross anywhere, not just at the crosswalks where they were supposed to cross. The flip side of that was that vehicles very seldom would yield the right-of-way to pedestrians, even in crosswalks. Even at this early hour of the morning, crossing a major street in this area sometimes seemed to require speed, agility, and even a definite touch of foolhardiness.

Arriving at the other side, Ariel was greeted with cheers and a couple of bold souls who offered high fives, something that had fallen out of favor during the Covid years but was now making a comeback. He slapped palms with them and slipped into the crowd.

He went to the bar inside, bought a bottle of Perrier, and began quartering through the crowds, first inside, then outside. Nothing. No sight, no scent, no sound. Nothing.

Ariel had to remind himself that this was a hunt, not a game, and that he shouldn’t expect to find his quarry right away. He wasn’t playing hide-and-go-seek—he was searching for a dangerous man. He felt his rage move from hot to cold, a coldness that entered his spirit. His mind settled, and his vision seemed to sharpen. He started moving again, focused, intent.

It was during his second circle through the outside crowd that Ariel caught a hint of what he thought was Davidoff’s scent. Just a hint—not even a whiff. He stopped stock-still, and inhaled very slowly, very deeply. Yes, there was that wisp of scent.

Ariel closed his eyes and tried to judge which direction it was coming from. He turned his head first to the left, then to the right, in a very slow motion. The scent seemed to be stronger to the left. He opened his eyes, turned his body, and began moving in slow steps, inhaling slowly, exhaling quickly, following the scent.

The scent was getting stronger, so he was going in the right direction. The tang of oily body overlaying acrid musk was now unmistakable. Ariel’s nostrils flared as he followed it. He licked his lips, anticipating. Step by sliding step he moved through the crowd like a knife through water, leaving no ripple or eddy behind.

Ariel kept his eyes moving from side to side. The scent was getting stronger, true, but there were still a lot of people in the area he was moving through, most of whom were men, which made his task more difficult. Based on odor alone, a number of the men before him hadn’t bathed in some time. Normally he could ignore it, but he couldn’t tonight because he was concentrating on scent. It made him want to spit. But even so, the redolence of his quarry’s odor was even stronger. Why other people couldn’t sense it, he didn’t know.

Now the scent was weaker. He slowed, and turned his head slowly to the right, then back to the left. Stronger to the left, so he curved his steps that way, still sliding through the crowd slowly, step by step.

The circle he traced was large, thirty feet or more in diameter. He made two circuits of it, and even though there was some movement of people in and out of that crowd, the spoor remained in it. “Potential hit,” he murmured into his earpiece.

“Take it slow,” Mordechai cautioned.

Ariel didn’t respond, but after a moment, he took a chance. He paused, did a slow pivot, and started edging straight through the circle. He had no idea what to look for, but with each step the odor, the spoor, grew stronger. As he neared the center, he slowed his steps even more, ostensibly because the crowd was thicker there, but actually so he could spend more time testing the air.

He turned his head to the right as he inhaled, and got a strong draft of the scent that was almost enough to start him coughing. He paused, leaned a bit to his right, and took a short sniff. An almost overpowering musk, it seemed to him, even though no one else was reacting to it.

Ariel’s gaze shifted up. He couldn’t get a glimpse of the profile, but on the back of the man’s head was a beanie knit from black and white yarn in a pattern of white lightning-bolt symbols on a black background. Okay, that was distinctive. That would help track him.

Excitement surged, elevating his wrath along with it. He bowed his head for a moment, fighting for calm. He caught his hands clenching, and forced the hand holding the Perrier bottle to relax before the bottle shattered. Having already had that experience recently, he had no desire to repeat it.

He was two steps past the target. He started curving back to the right again, trying to catch a frontal glimpse of the man out of the corner of his eye. Someone else moved out of his way, and gave him a split-second view. His quarry appeared to be wearing a long-sleeved T-shirt in a checkered pattern of gray and green. Jeans of course. Those were ubiquitous in this crowd, especially given that the weather was a bit cool after dusk. Large, if a bit soft around the edges. His facial features were heavy and coarse, and were unfamiliar to Ariel. A fringe of dark hair stuck out from under the edges of his beanie.

Elation danced with rage in Ariel’s heart. He could now identify his prey. But he couldn’t take him now—not in the crowd. So he choked down the rage yet again. “Found him. Know what he looks like,” he reported to Mordechai almost sotto voce under the buzz of the surrounding conversations. He started circling toward a place where he could observe the beanie wearer head-on. In less than a minute Ariel had his desired vantage point.

The crowd had thinned enough that Ariel had a good look at his quarry and the two men he stood between. He edged through the crowd at a tangent, always keeping at least one eye on the man he was increasingly sure was Davidoff. His attention was rewarded when the crowd parted for a few moments and gave him a clear view of Davidoff’s feet.

Ariel couldn’t believe what he was seeing. One of Davidoff’s pants legs was rucked up and the cuff was sitting on top of…a cowboy boot. When Davidoff turned a bit to look at the guy to his right, Ariel realized that it was an American-style cowboy boot as big as life. Double confirmation that this was his target. He suppressed a shake of his head at the sight of a magen symbol inset into the outside quarter panels of the shaft of the boot. In blue on a white field, even.

The next moment Ariel remembered that cowboy boots had very pointed toes—which brought to mind some of Yael’s injuries. He spent the next minute staring at Davidoff as he forced the rage down yet again. He sighed once he accomplished that, not at all certain as to whether or not he could continue to do so much longer.

He couldn’t take Davidoff in public. That would cause too many problems, and would likely make trouble for Mordechai as well. Davidoff needed to leave. The question was, could Ariel somehow maneuver Davidoff into leaving? How could he provoke him to leave?

That thought rolled around in Ariel’s mind as he stared at Davidoff. Before he reached any conclusion, Davidoff shifted his gaze in Ariel’s direction. He happened to lock eyes with Ariel, and frowned as he registered that Ariel was looking at him.

That gave Ariel an idea. He gave his best imitation of Mordechai’s razor-edged grin and leaned forward a bit. Davidoff’s frown grew deeper. Ariel then placed the tips of his left index and middle fingers below his eyes, then pivoted his hand to point them toward Davidoff. Finally he dropped his left hand down to pull the left side of his jacket back enough to just reveal the handle of his pistol in its shoulder holster. That caused Davidoff’s eyes to go wide, and he grabbed for one of his friends.

At that moment, someone moved between them and blocked the line of sight. Ariel moved with that person, thankful for once that he was a bit smaller than average. It made it easier to lose himself in the crowd. He wanted Davidoff to see him, but to reveal himself in unexpected ways. He wanted to amp up Davidoff’s uncertainty to the point that he would leave the club.

Ariel shifted to his left about a meter while moving forward about a half meter before moving to clear the crowd. Then he adopted a pose, left leg advanced a half step, weight on his right leg, left hand holding the Perrier bottle in front of his sternum and his right fist propped on his hip. The crowd had thinned enough that they mostly passed behind him. He pasted the razor grin back on his face.

Davidoff was looking around now. He seemed uncertain and disturbed. The next time that Davidoff looked toward Ariel, he moved the bottle slightly, which caught the other man’s attention. Davidoff’s frown returned, a little darker. He stared at Ariel for several seconds, then turned to his friends and said something. They looked toward Ariel as well. Ariel tilted his head to one side and broadened his grin. They all stiffened.

A moment later, an eddy of the crowd broke the line of sight again, and Ariel moved. This time he shifted to his right about a meter and a half, not drawing any closer. Unpredictable. He half turned, pointing his left shoulder at Davidoff, shifted the Perrier bottle to this right hand, holding it almost horizontal so that the mouth of the bottle almost resembled a muzzle opening, while he let his left arm just hang and turned his head to look down his left shoulder at Davidoff, his grin approaching mockery.

Davidoff was definitely looking around nervously, and it didn’t take long for him to find Ariel again. His resulting frown in reaction to Ariel’s stalking him was thunderous, and Ariel could see him start forward as if to force a confrontation. But one of his friends grabbed an arm and talked to him until he stepped back. He did, however, point a finger at Ariel before he turned away. Ariel chuckled at that.

Ariel’s next move was back to the left about the same distance and another half meter forward. This time he faced fully frontal with his arms folded across his chest, holding the Perrier bottle up in his right hand. No smile this time. Just a serious, straightforward glower. This time when they locked eyes, he mouthed the words, “You’re mine,” and gave a definite head nod.

It took both of Davidoff’s friends to hold him back this time. Ariel could imagine the things they were saying to him, because he eventually threw their hands off of him and snarled at them before turning and stomping away, pushing through the crowd toward an exit on the side street.

Ariel was able to track the beanie as it moved through the crowd. He finished the contents of his bottle and dropped it in a nearby trashcan as he headed toward that same exit.

“Got him,” Ariel murmured. “He’s leaving the club with two friends. Other side from you.”

“Be careful.”

In full hunting mode, a snarl on his lips, Ariel exited the club, rage pushing to the fore, feeling like a predator for the first time.


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