The Vampire Stalker

By Vincent McKalin

Someone or something is terrorizing the prostitutes on the streets of New Kingston. Two of them went missing. They later turned up dead and others are expected to follow.
The style of the killings baffles the Jamaican police. Detective Sergeant Kacent McVi who is in charge of investigations is tackling his toughest case to date. Detective Corporal Anthony Briggs and businessman Richard Green are also at a loss.
All three men, for different reasons, want to get their hands on the killer, who came to be known as the Vampire Stalker.
For Kacent McVi, he has to bring back some pride to himself and the rest of his colleagues. For Richard Green, he wants revenge and Anthony Biggs has to prevent the woman he loves from becoming a victim of the Vampire Stalker.
Who will be the first to get to the Vampire Stalker? Then again, what if the Vampire Stalker gets to them first?
One thing is certain, before this nightmare is over, the undertakers are going to have a field day.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vincent McKalin
• Release date: Aug 10, 2011
• ISBN: 9781465723352

Book preview

PROLOGUE

He could not be termed a regular patron of the Godfather Night Club in New Kingston, since he had been there only occasionally. In fact, in the last six months, he had visited that particular nightclub on four occasions only, a month ago being the most recent. He would have gone to the club more often, yes, he would have liked to, but the fact that each of his appearances there cost him a few thousand dollars that he could not afford to spend on a regular basis, prevented him from visiting it more regularly.

He liked the location, and the inside setting of the club. The bartenders, who were skimpily attired, sexy, young women, were polite and friendly, and fellow patrons were the decent, quiet types. What he preferred most about the club, however, was its beautiful dancing girls, and the fact that for a fee they would provide you with sexual favors. He spent most of his money in this manner each time he visited the Godfather Night Club.

The services that the club's dancers provided were more expensive than those of the girls on the streets, sometimes more than five times as high, but he found the club more convenient and safer too.

Still, what the dancers charged for their services, sometimes, would be only a part of your expense. If you choose to use any of the available rooms, it would cost you extra, so too if the girl you want was on duty at the time. You would have to compensate the club's operators for the time she would be absent.

He, however, had never gone after any of the girls during her official work hours. He went after the off-duty girls. They were free to move around as they wish.

On any given night, off-duty dancers would mingle with the patrons, waiting for the adventurous men to approach them. The girls, however, would approach first-timers, making their intentions known to them.

Tonight, he did not intend to change his mode of operation. He would stick to the evil he knew. He hoped that an off-duty girl was available.

He was keeping his fingers crossed.

As he drove towards the entrance of the club's parking lot, he saw someone in a group of four or five persons, about thirty meters ahead of him, pointed in his direction. Disregarding that action, he made a left turn from the road, and drove into the parking lot.

He spotted an unoccupied parking space to his left, and immediately positioned his car to reverse into it. He preferred to park facing out. He would move faster in an emergency.

As he reversed into the parking space, between two other cars, he saw three persons entered the parking lot. Not having any particular interest in them, he disregarded them and concentrated on parking his car.

He had no time to waste on strangers.

He had no idea that they were heading directly towards him.

Satisfied that he had parked the car properly, he started winding up the windows. As he started winding up the driver's window, a figure appeared on the outside, and, with both hands, pushed down on the window glass, preventing it from winding up.

The intruder spoke to him in a low, but serious and commanding tone, and then waited for him to act.

I don't know what you are talking about, he replied to the accusation, defending himself. You've gotten the wrong person. I'm not the one you want.

The other two persons, who had also approached the car, entered the conversation, accusing him of a misdeed as their friend had done.

Again, he denied being the offender.

This upset his accusers, and the first one on the scene pulled the door open and proceeded to drag him from the car. The others helped.

All three of his accusers dragged him from the car, and immediately after, started raining blows to all parts of his body.

He was out numbered, and was, therefore, no match for his attackers. He could not even fight back.

While they were battering him, he saw someone entered the parking lot. The person appeared to him to be the one who pointed in his direction earlier. He suddenly realized what had happened. The person had not only pointed in his direction, but had pointed at him. The individual had pointed him out, but he was the wrong person. He was an innocent man.

These people had never been acquaintances of his at any time, so what did they want with him?

They had accused him, but he knew nothing of what they were talking. They had mistaken him for someone else.

The newcomer shouted to his attackers. What are you doing? Leave him alone. I already told you…

He did not hear the rest of the sentence, as, at that time, a blow caught him to the right side of his head, just behind his ear, that almost knocked him senseless. The fist delivered the blow with such force that he tumbled sideways. He was in no condition to break his fall, as the beating he received had weakened him, and he was already standing on wobbly legs.

He fell to the asphalted driveway of the parking lot, hitting and injuring his left shoulder. He suffered only minor injuries to his shoulder, however. His slim built was responsible for this. His nearly six feet frame weighing just about a hundred and twenty pounds.

The fall may not have caused much injury, but still, his health was deteriorating, as the beating had already done its damage.

A pain, which started in his lower abdomen, had now spread to his groin, and it was getting more severe as the seconds ticked by. He felt as if, anytime now, that area was going to explode.

He needed medical treatment, and soon.

He tensed himself in an attempt to soothe the pain, and rolled into a supine position to be more comfortable, his face turning to one side.

It did not help. The pain got more excruciating.

A throbbing developed in his head, probably a symptom of that final blow. It soon became unbearable. His eyes were also losing their focus.

What was happening to him? It could be only one thing, one thing only.

Christ, he was losing consciousness.

He could still see, though, one of his attackers approached him, from the left, with an object in one hand. He could not identify the object immediately.

He watched as his attacker came closer and closer, and the object got bigger and bigger, clearer and clearer.

The object began to take shape.

God, it was a knife.

He heard someone shouted: No! P… put down the knife!

He identified the speaker as the one who had pointed at him.

The knife wielder, however, ignored the newcomer.

The newcomer had called the name of the knife wielder, but he did not catch it. It could have been Peaches, Peter, Phillip or any of a similar sounding name. He did not think the name of his killer matters at all. What good would it do to a dead man, anyway?

He saw the hand that held the knife rose, and then slashed out. He used his remaining strength in an attempt to block the blow.

He did not know how successful he was.

He did not feel the stainless steel blade as it ripped into him. He lost consciousness a fraction of a second before the blade sliced his flesh.

PART 1

THE GAME BEGINS:

THE FIRST INNING

CHAPTER 1

Peppermint posed at her favorite spot along Trafalgar Road, in the business district of New Kingston, doing what she did best, soliciting.

At 2:00 a.m., she had already had seven customers, and was trying to contact an eighth.

Peppermint signaled to the driver of a black Mercedes-Benz SUV. The driver honked and continued along, apparently not interested in what Peppermint had to offer.

Nineteen-year-old Peppermint had worked the streets of New Kingston for only eight months, and already she was the most popular girl on the streets. Most customers seemed satisfied with her services, thereby returning to her repeatedly.

It was obvious why Peppermint was a favorite. She was young, beautiful, had pure, velvet-like skin, and a figure for which any man would die. She had never borne children, so her breasts were as firm as ever. She attired herself in such a way that even if you were reluctant, you found yourself staring.

Peppermint was of a dark complexion, and although brownings, the Jamaican slang for girls with a fair complexion, were the order of the day, her good looks, neat body and other qualities, placed her ahead of her browning colleagues.

One of her customers once suggested to her that she was pursuing the wrong career.

My girl, he had said while viewing her naked body, "I have checked things out, and you are in the wrong business. You are beautiful, not a visible scar or birthmark anywhere on your body. Your skin is perfect. If my wife possesses the type of breasts and body you have, probably I wouldn't be here with you. Beauty is being wasted here, my girl.

You should be making a career out of modeling. You should be entering the Miss Jamaica Contest. Ninety percent of the girls who enter each year don't look half as good as you do. I'm telling you; you have ‘Miss Jamaica World’ written all over you.

Please, don't flatter me, she had answered.

It’s the truth; it's no flattery.

Well, maybe, but I wasn't cut out for that sort of thing, and if I was modeling for the public, you wouldn't have had me here with you. You would have had to settle for some other girl, who is, probably, not as sexy as I am.

Yeah, that's true. He paused, then continued: As a matter of fact, let me correct myself here, I wouldn't have settled for another girl. If another girl had stopped me when you did, I wouldn’t have stopped. I am sure of that. I would like you to give it a thought, though. I think you would make it as a model. If you ever make it to the Miss Jamaica Contest, and I know you would, you wouldn't have to worry about sponsorship. My company would sponsor you. You said you are on the streets for a little over a month. Well, it's not too late to get off, girl. It is early days yet.

He had given her one of his business cards for her to contact him, if, according to how he phrased it, she became serious about life.

Peppermint had thought of the offer, and she was tempted to try it, but in the end, she decided against accepting it. She would need more than beauty, she reasoned, to enter the Miss Jamaica Contest. She would need a higher level of education than what she had achieved. With her standard, she would not make it past the first interview.

Peppermint had watched the contest on television over the years, and she remembered some of the occupations that the hosts announced when they introduced the girls to the audience. There were flight attendants, bank tellers, administrative assistants, and even one year a newscaster from one of the local television stations had entered. She also remembered that the hosts introduced most of the girls as university students.

Now, such a company was way out of her league. No, she would not embarrass herself, not even for him.

She was where she wanted to be. She was comfortable here. What's more, she enjoyed having sex, and she received payment for it. What more could she asks for?

He was now one of her regular customers, and one of her better paying ones, and he had not brought up the subject since. Peppermint respected him for that.

If Peppermint had given the modeling subject more thought and get out of prostitution while the opportunity was there, probably she would have lived to be a senior citizen. Now, her days, or to be more accurate, her hours, were numbered.

****

Peppermint's true name was Angelete Blake. She had no idea how she got the name, Peppermint. Her family members called her Peppermint from as far back as she could remember. She did not inquire of anyone how the name came about. She accepted it as it was.

Peppermint was born in a small district in St Elizabeth; there she lived until about a year ago when she decided to move to Kingston.

Before migrating to Kingston, Peppermint lived at the family's residence, along with her mother and three brothers, two of whom were her elders.

At the time, Peppermint was unemployed, so she depended on her mother and her two elder siblings. Peppermint however, wanted to be independent. She did not want to be a burden to her brothers, who had other responsibilities. She wanted to earn her own money, and spend it as she saw fit.

Peppermint had one problem, however. The jobs that pay top dollars, she did not meet their requirements, and the ones that she could apply for, and get at will, did not pay the type of salary that she hoped to receive. Therefore, Peppermint found her way on the streets of New Kingston.

One of her friends introduced peppermint to prostitution, in a sense. They attended the same school, though Peppermint was about two years younger.

Before she left for Kingston, Peppermint told her mother and brothers that her friend, Carla Rowe, an acquaintance of the family, had gotten a job as a waitress for her in, as she phrased it, one of them big time restaurants in Kingston. She also told her family that she would be staying at Carla's apartment until she could afford a place of her own. Peppermint's family respected Carla, so they did not object to the living arrangement.

The job as waitress, however, did not appeal to Peppermint, and she left after the second week.

After a week at home doing nothing, and not able to contribute to the living expenses, Peppermint decided that she would accompany Carla on the streets one night.

Thus began Peppermint's life as a prostitute.

Peppermint's family still believed, though, that she worked as a waitress in a restaurant.

They had no idea that she had abandoned her job as waitress, and was now the leading prostitute in and around New Kingston.

In addition, they had no idea that the Taker of Souls, was on his way to knock on Peppermint's door.

CHAPTER 2

Peppermint stood next to a bus stop along Trafalgar Road. This location was hers and Carla's headquarters.

Both girls had been there earlier, but Peppermint left in a white car. When Peppermint returned, Carla had left.

Now, Peppermint watched as a car turned from Knutsford Boulevard on to Trafalgar Road. The car traveled slowly towards her. Peppermint hoped that the driver of the oncoming car intended to do business with a prostitute. If he intended to, then the work would be hers. He would be client number eight. Peppermint smiled; business was good.

As it was, the driver of the car had such an intention. Only, it was a different business from the one Peppermint had in mind.

Her mind drifted a little, and she thought of her favorite customer. She realized that she had not seen him in about a week. She thought of what could have happened to him. Maybe he was not well.

Was it possible that he had made the money, which he seemed to have so much of, by illicit means? If so, could it be that the police had arrested him? This meant that he could be in jail.

It could be even worse. He could be dead.

Peppermint quickly erased the latter thought from her mind. The man was not dead, she assured herself. He was alive and well. Maybe he did not find the time to visit her. Who knows, maybe, at this very minute, he was on his way to see her.

Peppermint liked the man. She thought of what she liked about him. What did he have over other men? One thing that she was certain of, she did not like him for his money. She liked him for something else. He was friendly, kind and caring, and what's more, he seemed to like her, too.

In fact, if she had another profession, she would have sworn that he was in love with her.

Peppermint's mind began to wander, and she fantasized about Richard being the ideal husband. She found herself smiling at the thought.

She immediately brought herself back to reality. What was she thinking? Could such a union be possible? Could she expect to be more than just a whore to him?

No, she said aloud. Men like him don't wish to spend the rest of their lives with girls like me.

If only she knew.

Still, Peppermint longed to see him. She missed him. She... No, that must not happen, she thought. She could not afford to fall in love with her clients, could she? No, that was entirely out of the question.

Could she trust her heart to listen to her brain, though? That was the big question. She hoped she could.

She knew, however, that her heart had already disobeyed her brain.

She wanted him, and she hoped that the oncoming car was his.

She hoped it was Richard Green.

Richard Green was happily married, to some extent that is. His marriage was a happy one in all respects but one, the sex.

His wife, a medical doctor, of late, complained, on a regular basis, that she was too tired to indulge in intercourse. He understood her situation, but wished she would understand his.

Richard yielded to temptation that morning when Peppermint stopped him because of his forced sexual abstention.

Now, Peppermint, a prostitute, was the other woman.

When the car was close enough for Peppermint to identify the make, she realized that it was not Richard's car. She, however, did not give up hope. Maybe it was Richard driving one of his friend's cars, as he had done before.

Once she asked him about the change of cars. He had told her that it was safer that way. He had not offered an explanation, and she did not ask for one. After all, he was just a paying customer.

Peppermint was sure