So, there's this group of leeches that gets together every once in a while, nothing too formal, to sit down and contemplate their vampirehood. When it first got together it was like a group of warlords sitting around a bonfire sharing tales of battles and conquests. Then it evolved into more of men's locker room banter, tales of sexual conquest and glory days.
Then all at once it turned into the Joy Luck Club.
I'm not sure why I still go, or better yet, how I got emotionally bitched slapped into hosting the damn thing this month. Only a few of the original founders are still alive (relatively speaking) and active, the others are newer members who weren't around for the glory days to keep pace.
If not for my loyalty to the remaining few originals, I'd quit. Of course, if I were a stronger man I'd quit and bag the others to fend for themselves. Maybe it's my delusion that I can turn the fresh fish away from their sad, pathetic, emotional masturbation and help them find enjoyment in their new found vampirism.
Too vain?
I blame Christianity. Don't get me wrong, it did a lot for our society's moral fiber, but it wove a thick thread of guilt within that cloth that 'new era' vampires just can't seem to shed. The result is, well, a group of emotionally retarded, self loathing vampires. It's no wonder why we're depicted the way we are in the media, but that's another rant entirely.
At any rate, the stage of drama that is Sebina seemed to close its final curtain and the next few days passed without incident. I should have known it was merely the intermission.
A little heavy on the similes? Yeah. Won't happen again.
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All day my phone was ringing and someone was pretty eager to get in my apartment. But that's the day. I couldn't wake up and be functional even if I wanted to, that vampiric kiss and all.
I've been told of a few who were touched differently than most and the day is friendlier to them than the rest of us, but I haven't met any of them.
I woke up, finally about five when it was nice and dark. I had scheduled two clients for their required blood letting. Was it wrong to accept money from people feeding me? That's for the ethics committee to decide.
Miriam knocked at the door. I could tell it was her by the way she knocked. I greeted her with a smile.
"Come on in. Scrubs are waiting behind the curtain."
"The cops were here?" she asked, a slight hint of concern and panic mingled with her voice. She had more than once verbalized how impressed she was with my ability for discretion. Cops at my door was a poke in the eye of that discretion.
"Were they?"
"They left their card. It was stuck in your door."
I took the card from her. It read, Lt. Sean Cole.
"I wonder what he wants."
"She." A woman stood in the open doorway flanked by two uniformed officers. "I still punish my parents for giving me a boy's name."
"Lieutenant, now really isn't a good time," I offered.
"That's okay, Mac. I'll call and reschedule." Miriam tightened her coat and made for the hall.
"Miriam. If you have any complications, feel free to call and I'll come to you." It was more than just letting Miriam down; I was about to be fairly hungry now that my schedule was interrupted.
She nodded and moved past the police toward the elevator.
"May we come in?" Cole asked. She was an older woman quite comely. She would be a hot number if she took a little more care and pride in her appearance.
"Maybe. What do you want?"
"We found a corpse with your name on it. Thought we'd start here and ask if you knew anything about it." She held up the card which was in a plastic evidence bag.
The card was also seriously decayed and covered in what can only be described as corpse soup.
"Interesting. I hope I'm not your only lead."
"No. May we come in?"
"No. Do you have a name to tag on the body?"
"Jared Stillwater. Do you know him?"
Now here's where it gets tricky. When a vampire dies, it's not as clean as people in Hollywood would have you believe. It's not a shower of ashes and dust. It's a corpse that seems to have been rotting for any where from a year up to about fifteen or twenty, tops.
If I told her I knew him and had seen him just yesterday it would raise all sorts of questions. As would the question she would inevitably ask about how he got my card. I make it a point to update the look of my card once a year and my graphic designer had done just that in September. How did a corpse that had been dead for well over a year get my newly designed business card and have drinks with me yesterday?
Shit.
"Yeah, I knew him."
"When was the last time you saw him?"
Yesterday.
"I really couldn't say. It's been a while. I dated his sister but he and I were never that close."
"His sister, Sebina?"
"That's her."
"She tells us you two were practically inseparable."
"Huh. How about that?"
"How about that? How did your card get on his body?"
"It's a business card, they travel. Again, I was dating his sister. She was helping me build my business, but really he could have picked it up from anywhere."
"I don't suppose you'd be willing to show me your clients' records, would you?"
"Not without a warrant."
"I thought as much. Is there anything you would like me to know before I come back here with a warrant?"
"You should see a stylist about your hair. Your face would look stunning if it was framed properly."
Cole smiled, amused. "You can be sure to see me again real soon, Mr. Mondragon."
"Looking forward to it." I watched them as they retreated down the hall until the elevator took them away.
Double shit. Not only had Jared ignored the solid advice I gave him, he got himself killed and implicated me in the process. I speak clearly without guile, why is it people have a hard time listening?
I was hungry and needed to cancel my next appointment. I had a back up plan for such an emergency, but it was like settling for cold, week-old pizza when a turkey roast dinner was at your finger tips.
It was plausible Jared's death was unrelated to the trouble his sister was in, but not likely. That cop barking at my door would only make the rest of my life complicated. Vampires, as a rule, tried to make lives well outside the law to ensure they never dealt with the police and jail cells. Or, they planted themselves firmly within it for the same reasons. Being in a general population cell when the sun came up was bad news. Waking up in the morgue after being pronounced dead more than complicated ones life.
Waking up in the morgue, by the way, would be the best case scenario and the least likely. Chances were you'd stay in the cell all day, stripped of your shoes and possibly a limb or two.
I needed to get ahead of this mess and fast.