Kitty and the Silver Bullet
Page 42
This wasn't a setting I'd ever imagine finding Rick in. This wasn't the kind of place I'd expect to find any vampire in. They tended to prefer sophisticated, elegant. They didn't spend centuries practicing their charm and accumulating their power so they could hang out in places like this.
Ben insisted on entering first, pulling me in behind him while he scanned inside. My eyesight adjusted to the gloom, while my nose worked. The place reeked. Alcohol, mostly stale beer. Working-class sweat. Tobacco and harder drugs. Meth, maybe, not because I recognized it but because it was a smell I didn't recognize, and that was one I hadn't encountered. And more—the vomit may have been scraped off the floor, but the smell was still there. I didn't imagine health inspectors ventured near here too often. I tried to breathe through my mouth.
A loud TV over the bar to the left showed a baseball game. Rickety tables and chairs filled the rest of the tiny space. The floor was concrete. Most of the tables were occupied, and a crowd lined the bar, chatting, laughing, and watching the game. A group sat in a corner, watching the TV and sharing a couple pitchers of beer. Another group was playing darts in the back. The bartender was stealing a glance at the game while he wiped down the counter. Maybe this place wasn't so bad, even if it did seem like rock-bottom. Even gangsters needed to chill out sometimes.
One of the hunched figures at the bar was Rick, transformed. The Rick I knew wouldn't have fit in here. He'd have gotten hostile, sideways looks from everybody here, and he probably would have been mugged on his way out. But Rick was smart, and he knew this.
This Rick hadn't washed his hair in a couple of days, and it hung limp and slightly greasy. He wore a worn-out flannel shirt over a plain black T, frayed jeans, and work boots. He looked like someone who'd spent all day working at an unpleasant construction site, the kind where workers got paid under the table. Listlessly, he watched the game and gripped a mug of beer in both hands.
If I hadn't scented the undead chill of vampire, I'd never have spotted him.
I approached, and Ben followed a step behind—taking my back. He was close enough for me to elbow his ribs the minute he said something snide. Rick glanced over his shoulder as I reached him.
"See," he said, "I knew if you met me here, you'd be serious."
"You're a bastard for bringing her here," Ben said.
Rick quirked a smile at me. "I think he likes you."
This was impossible. They were impossible. "Are we going to talk or just bitch at each other?"
"There's a table." Rick nodded and made to get up.
"Ah, since you're not going to be using that, I'll take it." I took charge of his beer. Rick didn't argue, and Ben rolled his eyes.
The table was already occupied by a tall blond man, burly and scowling. Both his skin and his hair looked sunbaked. He leaned back against the wall and had a view of the whole place. Rick was standing next to him before he looked up and smiled. It was a hard-edged, cold smile. I didn't think he could smile any other way.
"I think you've met Dack," Rick said.
He did, in fact, have the same scent as the creature in the warehouse. I could almost see the spindly, big-eared dog-thing behind his eyes. Both his incarnations had a watchful air.
"Hi," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "Nice to see, ah, the rest of you."
He smirked. "’Ullo." Even in the single word, an unidentifiable accent came through.
"You want to keep an eye out?" Rick said, taking his own seat.
"Can do." Dack pushed off from the wall and stood, his movements slow and deliberate. Like he had a powerful body and used it sparingly. Without another word he picked up his beer and moved to take Rick's seat at the bar. He was also dressed in denim and flannel. Unless they'd been watching, people might not notice the two had switched places.
Rick gestured for me and Ben to join him.
"Can you trust him?" I asked Rick. The lycanthrope seemed to be watching the game, unconcerned. I wondered if he could hear us from here.
"I do," Rick said. "Though I suppose I have reasons not to. He's saved my life a couple of times now. I've saved his. That has to count for something."
I understood those kinds of calculations. "Where's he from?"
"South Africa. I've known him for fifteen years, Kitty. Longer than I've known you."
"That's not the only criteria for trusting someone."
"But it's a good one for knowing someone."
"Somebody had to have sold you out, Rick. Can you trust Charlie and Violet?"
"Can I trust you? You knew where we were. It's a very short list of people who did."
"But why would I tell anyone?" I said, almost shrilly. "What reason would I have?"
"For protection. Maybe you made a deal with Arturo or Mercedes. I don't know, you tell me."
Great. We were all paranoid now. And I couldn't even blame him for questioning me. I took a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable and not like a traitor. "I didn't know when you were planning on moving. I didn't know enough to be able to sell you out. You're the one who came to me. Don't go putting me on the spot now."
He glanced away.
I sighed. "Rick, if you don't think I can help you, if you don't trust me, tell me now so I can get the hell out of here."
He studied me—and I met his gaze square on, vampire mojo or no. If it would give him some kind of reassurance, it was worth the risk.
And if I didn't trust him not to pull one over on me, I had no business being here in the first place. The logic of it was simple.
He looked away first. "Let's move on."
Ben had brought along today's paper. A story on the front page related the gruesome discovery of ten mauled bodies in an industrial warehouse. The first paragraph of the story included mention of the involvement of Hardin's Paranatural Unit in the investigation, and the following conclusion that vampires, or werewolves, or some combination of the above were involved. The rest of the article didn't reveal too many details. Hardin had given me more information at her briefing this morning. Hard to believe it was only this morning. The editorial pages contained a long rant about the danger paranormal elements obviously presented to the public, bringing up the spate of alleged vampire assaults at downtown nightclubs last month, and demanding to know when the authorities were going to do something about containing the menace. Never mind that all the victims had also been paranormal, and the paranormal hadn't presented such an obvious menace before this slaughter.
Ben insisted on entering first, pulling me in behind him while he scanned inside. My eyesight adjusted to the gloom, while my nose worked. The place reeked. Alcohol, mostly stale beer. Working-class sweat. Tobacco and harder drugs. Meth, maybe, not because I recognized it but because it was a smell I didn't recognize, and that was one I hadn't encountered. And more—the vomit may have been scraped off the floor, but the smell was still there. I didn't imagine health inspectors ventured near here too often. I tried to breathe through my mouth.
A loud TV over the bar to the left showed a baseball game. Rickety tables and chairs filled the rest of the tiny space. The floor was concrete. Most of the tables were occupied, and a crowd lined the bar, chatting, laughing, and watching the game. A group sat in a corner, watching the TV and sharing a couple pitchers of beer. Another group was playing darts in the back. The bartender was stealing a glance at the game while he wiped down the counter. Maybe this place wasn't so bad, even if it did seem like rock-bottom. Even gangsters needed to chill out sometimes.
One of the hunched figures at the bar was Rick, transformed. The Rick I knew wouldn't have fit in here. He'd have gotten hostile, sideways looks from everybody here, and he probably would have been mugged on his way out. But Rick was smart, and he knew this.
This Rick hadn't washed his hair in a couple of days, and it hung limp and slightly greasy. He wore a worn-out flannel shirt over a plain black T, frayed jeans, and work boots. He looked like someone who'd spent all day working at an unpleasant construction site, the kind where workers got paid under the table. Listlessly, he watched the game and gripped a mug of beer in both hands.
If I hadn't scented the undead chill of vampire, I'd never have spotted him.
I approached, and Ben followed a step behind—taking my back. He was close enough for me to elbow his ribs the minute he said something snide. Rick glanced over his shoulder as I reached him.
"See," he said, "I knew if you met me here, you'd be serious."
"You're a bastard for bringing her here," Ben said.
Rick quirked a smile at me. "I think he likes you."
This was impossible. They were impossible. "Are we going to talk or just bitch at each other?"
"There's a table." Rick nodded and made to get up.
"Ah, since you're not going to be using that, I'll take it." I took charge of his beer. Rick didn't argue, and Ben rolled his eyes.
The table was already occupied by a tall blond man, burly and scowling. Both his skin and his hair looked sunbaked. He leaned back against the wall and had a view of the whole place. Rick was standing next to him before he looked up and smiled. It was a hard-edged, cold smile. I didn't think he could smile any other way.
"I think you've met Dack," Rick said.
He did, in fact, have the same scent as the creature in the warehouse. I could almost see the spindly, big-eared dog-thing behind his eyes. Both his incarnations had a watchful air.
"Hi," I said, trying not to sound nervous. "Nice to see, ah, the rest of you."
He smirked. "’Ullo." Even in the single word, an unidentifiable accent came through.
"You want to keep an eye out?" Rick said, taking his own seat.
"Can do." Dack pushed off from the wall and stood, his movements slow and deliberate. Like he had a powerful body and used it sparingly. Without another word he picked up his beer and moved to take Rick's seat at the bar. He was also dressed in denim and flannel. Unless they'd been watching, people might not notice the two had switched places.
Rick gestured for me and Ben to join him.
"Can you trust him?" I asked Rick. The lycanthrope seemed to be watching the game, unconcerned. I wondered if he could hear us from here.
"I do," Rick said. "Though I suppose I have reasons not to. He's saved my life a couple of times now. I've saved his. That has to count for something."
I understood those kinds of calculations. "Where's he from?"
"South Africa. I've known him for fifteen years, Kitty. Longer than I've known you."
"That's not the only criteria for trusting someone."
"But it's a good one for knowing someone."
"Somebody had to have sold you out, Rick. Can you trust Charlie and Violet?"
"Can I trust you? You knew where we were. It's a very short list of people who did."
"But why would I tell anyone?" I said, almost shrilly. "What reason would I have?"
"For protection. Maybe you made a deal with Arturo or Mercedes. I don't know, you tell me."
Great. We were all paranoid now. And I couldn't even blame him for questioning me. I took a deep breath and tried to sound reasonable and not like a traitor. "I didn't know when you were planning on moving. I didn't know enough to be able to sell you out. You're the one who came to me. Don't go putting me on the spot now."
He glanced away.
I sighed. "Rick, if you don't think I can help you, if you don't trust me, tell me now so I can get the hell out of here."
He studied me—and I met his gaze square on, vampire mojo or no. If it would give him some kind of reassurance, it was worth the risk.
And if I didn't trust him not to pull one over on me, I had no business being here in the first place. The logic of it was simple.
He looked away first. "Let's move on."
Ben had brought along today's paper. A story on the front page related the gruesome discovery of ten mauled bodies in an industrial warehouse. The first paragraph of the story included mention of the involvement of Hardin's Paranatural Unit in the investigation, and the following conclusion that vampires, or werewolves, or some combination of the above were involved. The rest of the article didn't reveal too many details. Hardin had given me more information at her briefing this morning. Hard to believe it was only this morning. The editorial pages contained a long rant about the danger paranormal elements obviously presented to the public, bringing up the spate of alleged vampire assaults at downtown nightclubs last month, and demanding to know when the authorities were going to do something about containing the menace. Never mind that all the victims had also been paranormal, and the paranormal hadn't presented such an obvious menace before this slaughter.
