Barking Dogs

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.

-------------------

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.

Me vs. the Ex

Where was I . . . oh, that's right. I was giving in to Jared's Master Manipulator tactics.

Some of you may get this, but only on a very small scale. Everybody has that emotional leech in their life and at some point you just need scrub them off for the sake of your own emotional health. Sometimes.

The problem facing vampires is that well, we don't really mature. Over the years you humans grow wiser, more tolerant and educated and shift your tactics. We don't have that luxury. The maturity level we have when we become vampires remains pretty constant over the decades and centuries, which can be okay if you're, say, forty when you cross over.

But that's hardly the case, isn't it? I mean, you have a bunch of twenty something boys and girls running around still trying to figure out what an adult relationship is seventy five years and hundreds of companions later. What's a vampire to do?

Like a well-trained yet needy Labrador I wagged it over to the Dead Rest gentleman's club and bar in the heart of Seattle.

--------------------------------------------------

It was raining, cold and downright depressing. Ever since the onset of the industrial age, Halloween had really lost its flare and flavor. What was true a hundred years ago was still true today concerning Halloween; people are fucking weird.

Two large men stood at the door of the gentleman's club, alone controlling the universe behind the mahogany doors to Dead Rest, weeding though the thin line of oversexed testosterone with malignant, judging eyes. Too skinny, too fat, too aggressive, too confused about his gender, scoping out for just the right individuals man enough to be called gentleman.

Of course I was stopped at the door, but not because I didn't make the cut. I'm Machiavelli Mondragon for fuck's sake.

"What do you want, Mac?" Dominic held his arm out in front of him while the other, a new guy, puffed himself up trying to look more intimidating. Between you and me, it worked. The man was a beast and from the smell of him I'm sure he was a moon dog.

"I'm not going to lie to you Dominic, I'm here to see Sebina."

"You think telling me that is going to get you past me? Shit, I ought to shoot you now."

"Or, and this is just a suggestion, you can let me in on my word that all I'll do is talk and promise on the eyes of my mother that I won't cause any hassle."

"All you do is talk. Your mouth is what worries me. What's this about?"

"Word came to me that she was in trouble. I'm here to verify that."

"Help from you is not help, if you catch that."

"Well, I need to hear it from her, you understand."

Dominic probably knew he was going to regret his decision just as much as I was. But also like me was weak and it made him feel better about his weakness to put up the obligatory front of being an obstacle.

"Fine, go on in. The first utterance of trouble from you and I'll be marching down on you."

"With a vengeance, I'm sure. Keep dry."

"Go to hell," Dominic motioned to the next guy in line only to deny his entrance.

A humid wave of heat met me mingled with an enticing aroma of blood, pain and tears. I owned my breath once more for a few more hours and meant to enjoy it.

Scantily clad women walked around the fairly silent room serving drinks to the patrons. By 'scantily clad' I mean they might as well have been wearing nothing at all. Lace covered their taught stomachs and fishnet stockings clung to their legs, but all their pink and private areas were exposed.

Not that I was opposed to that, not at all. I just failed to see such a subscription to clothes while at the same time such a commitment to nudity. Why go through all the trouble and effort of getting dressed just to be naked? Celebrate and embrace the nudity.

At the bar Claire was serving drinks to the few patrons not relaxed in a sofa.

"Machiavelli. Why bother?" She knew why I was here. Hell, everyone knew why I was here. The creatures of the night were nothing more than a small community similar to any in backwater USA, really. We are pretty susceptible to gossip too, which only compounds matters dragging drama and disputes out longer than is sometimes healthy or practical.

"Claire. A shot of Seagrams."

Honor bound by to her post as bartender, she poured the drink and set the shot glass in front of me with a disdain chaser.

"You're on a fool's errand."

"Just tell her I'm here."

"She's busy," she spat. Like I didn't know.

"No shit. Go tell her I'm here."

She turned away from me.

"Either you tell her your way or I'll tell her mine. Your way may be better for the client she's servicing, but my way will be more fun."

Claire thought it over for a minute. I could see the wheels turning around in her head as she contemplated what my way would do for business. She opted for her way stealing my fun before I got the chance to exorcise it.

I slammed the shot, enjoying the disdain more than the alcohol and waited for Claire to return. It felt odd being back at the club. Well, it didn't feel odd, it felt like I had never left, like putting on an old jacket that still fit. It was the ease of the situation that felt odd, like it was supposed to feel uncomfortable and stilted yet it didn't.

Claire returned, still wearing the mask of spite proudly on her face.

"She'll be out to get you when she's done."

"See how easy that was?" I left Claire fuming behind the bar and found a vacant comfortable sofa with a good view of the waterfall.

One of the features Dead Rest was notorious for was their water feature. A ten foot high waterfall lit softly with shifting lights. Six dancing nude silhouettes stepped in time to the gentle music around and through each other. To some they were the center of attention while to others merely white noise in the scenery.

The display was almost hypnotic and a lesser man truly would have been too engrossed to hear someone sneaking up on them.

"Hello, Sebina."

"Mac." She sat in the space next to me. Intentionally close? I couldn't say. I'm arrogant enough to think so, after all there was plenty of real estate on that sofa to allow some breathing room between us, yet there she was practically asking for a skin graph.
I was glad for the life in my senses; I could smell her perfume and the copper tones of blood on her breath.

"Jared came to me this evening." I stated, still slightly engaged with the waterfall.

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't mean for him to get you involved."

"Right," I scoffed.

"Mac, really. I regret even telling him about it. I've got it all worked out. I need you to convince Jared to let it drop and keep out of it."

"I've already told him as much. He's a stubborn ass to be sure, just like his sister."

"You're going to stay out of it, right?"

No. That would be the wise thing to do.

"Of course," I smiled. "You're a big girl and can deal with your own debts. I just needed to hear it for myself."

"And Jared?"

"He's a big girl too."

"You should leave before Geofre finds the time to give you a thought."

"I might, when I'm ready."

"Please."

"You care?"

"About me."

"You've given me fair warning, you've done what's expected of you."

"Mac-"

"Enjoy your evening, Sebina. Go on." My eyes bore into hers free of the weight apologies bring. She was worried about me, I could tell. She was also lying to me through her ivory incisors about the debt, two things that told me she still cared about me.

I should make time to kick my ass for caring back.

It wasn't long before Geofre made his way down to welcome me home.

"You ass lick! You must think your balls are made of iron to just dance your way back in here."

"I'd like to think so." I have a smile that can be both endearing and annoying at will. Right now it was being annoying to a fault.

"Get out of my place before I forget how close we were."

"Are you still mad at me, Geofre?"

"I would kill you now if not for all these witnesses."

"That hurts. I kill one small band of drug dealers one time and I become a pariah. It's not like I got drunk and danced naked at your wedding."

"Every crime taskforce in this state is investigating that. It's only a matter of time before pieces fall into place and they come sniffing around here. The fact that you are alive is a testament to your infuriating luck, nothing more. Get out."

"I'm gone. But know this; I'm still around." I got closer to Geofre, close enough for him to feel the last of the breath I had. "Know that if anything happens to Sebina or Jared for that matter it will be your kneecaps I come to harvest."

I left the club and wandered the wet streets to enjoy the scents the fall rain had to offer up as my breath ran out and I was once again the walking dead.

Where to Begin

I didn't start out with the intention of sticking my nose in the problem it just turned out that way. Of course, that's how it always happens, isn't it? You spin the justifications around inside your mind over and over until you've convinced yourself that what was once a stupid idea is now the forerunner for the Nobel.

I could blame Jared; it was after all his initial half-assed remark that convinced me to Tivo Charmed and go to her place. I could even go a step further back and blame Tivo, those ingenious techno Gods. If I were truly committed to my Charmed addiction then perhaps I would have stayed on the couch and out of trouble instead of getting Tivo involved as an accomplice.

I digress, back to my justified dysfunction. Perhaps I need to start closer to the beginning.

Three weeks ago, Halloween I was having Miriam for breakfast . . .

---------------------------------

"Shit!" she screamed at me. "What the hell is your problem?"
"Relax, it always hurts at first. Now hold still before you make a mess and get it in your hair." I pulled her raven locks to the side revealing her neck.
"How big a hole did you make? That really hurt." She kept trying to get her fingers up to inspect the bite mark.
"Serious, you get blood all over and I'll make your ass clean it up." I kept pushing her hand out of the way.
"Would it kill you to have a little bed-side manner?"
"Perhaps not, but why risk it?"
She laughed, "Ass. Let's just do this. I have work in an hour." Miriam settled her weight back into my arms and chest and readjusted the black scrub top I had supplied for her.

What did you think I did? You should all be ashamed of yourselves. I happen to be a holistic practitioner, massage therapist, dietician and licensed phlebotomist. Given, an unorthodox one, but a professional one nonetheless.

I wrapped my arms gently around her then tilted my head in and licked up the blood surrounding her wound before putting my lips over the slow flow of hot, iron heavy vitae. I let the flow come naturally, listening carefully to her heartbeat as it slowed. It was a delicate procedure and if I wasn't careful she could be seriously hurt.
She suffered from Hemochromatosis, an iron toxicity disorder of the blood. Bad for her, good for the anemic leech I am. Since meeting her two years ago and learning of her disorder, we became quite the symbiotic couple. It was nice not having to rely on blood banks or searching for street urchins at the cusp of my hunger. Miriam was ecstatic not having to worry over high medical bills or dialysis even though the necking was still a little surreal at times.
The fleeting moment of life rushed through me in a wave and I exhaled warm breath through my nose, the action giving Miriam goose bumps. She quivered under my embrace and let out a sigh. If I didn't know better I'd say she was a little turned on by the ordeal.
My heart started to beat once again and kept in time with hers, signaling I had taken my fill and her body had taken all the letting it could for the day. I licked the puncture wounds until they disappeared revealing only her flawless mocha skin and a little blood.
We sat there in the embrace while she sought her balance, the loss of blood leaving her dizzy. The situation was a pragmatic one to say the least, but the intimacy of it was hard to ignore. I wondered if my other clients felt that way when they sat in my arms. Perhaps they did, but I like to think that Miriam is the only one I share the sentiment with.
"Thank you," she tapped my arm.
"Thank you." I stepped from around her off the wide chaise lounge and went to the kitchen to retrieve her food while she changed out of the scrubs behind the rice paper curtain, the least I could do. I make sure all my clients get replenished and not with the cheap stuff either. I have a fully stocked fridge filled with the highest quality food available in Seattle. Meats, fruits, and vegetables selected with my clients specific dietary needs in mind. I may be a bastard, but I've never been accused of being a 'cheap' bastard.
"Here you go. Remember –"
"Lot's of fluids, I get it. Enjoy your night, Mac."
"You too." We stood there locked in stares with one another and even though I was thoroughly enjoying the light in her eyes I'm sure she was constantly reminding herself to be professional, trying hard to ignore the depth of the intimacy. And then the moment was ruined. A deep, diaphragm supported belch erupted, completely by accident.
Miriam closed her eyes and shook her head. "Bastard." She slammed the door and stomped down the hall.
I felt bad, really, but it was too funny and I could only laugh. I ran to the door and opened it, calling after her.
"Miriam, wait. I'm sorry," I laughed, "don't leave angry. Come on. Miriam." The elevator opened and she shoved her way past Jared as he exited.
"Hey, Miriam. You're looking good, baby," he said.
She replied by flipping him the bird as the doors closed.
I left the door opened for Jared and sat on the couch scrolling through the cable menu. Nothing needed doing, bills were caught up for a few months and my hibernation was about to begin. The only activity I vowed to exert any kind of effort toward was eating.
Jared shut the door. "What's her problem?"
"I'm a bastard."
"Oh, that," he said dismissively. "Any plans for tonight?" He sifted through my stack of business cards on the end table. "New cards?"
"New-ish. My plans? You're looking at them."
"Charmed? Seriously?" He pocketed one of the cards.
"What's the matter with Charmed?"
"Gag me."
"I like it. It's like a sexy, underworld documentary, you know?"
"No, I don't know."
"Well, maybe more like a mocumentary." It's a guilty pleasure to be sure, the writing isn't all that great and things tip toward overly dramatic and even a bit predictable, but that's why it's called a guilty pleasure, right?
"Is this really the extent of your plans?"
"I don't even think a shower is in my near future, dude."
Jared's contempt was highlighted on his face.
"What?"
"Nothing," he pouted. Well, he tried to act nonchalant but the edge of bitchy teenager was pretty sharp.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"If you're going to be a menstruating chic, do it in the hallway and out of my Lazyboy."
"I'm cashing in a favor."
"The hell you say. If anything, you're down like five favors in the red with me."
"This is different," he promised.
"Every time I do you a favor I end up broke and smelling like a used wash rag. No thanks."
"Mac, it's Sebina."
The opening credits sequence of Charmed was the only thing dancing on the back of the silence in my apartment.
"I told you to stay out of it."
"I know."
"I told you to leave her alone."
"Mac, I know."
"She's made her choice and there's nothing you or I can do about it."
"I know!"
"You know, yet here we are."
"She's at the Dead Rest downtown. You used to bounce there, right?"
"Yeah. How much?"
"She didn't tell me."
"How much?" I knew he was lying. If he had gotten involved Sebina would make sure he knew exactly how much she owed before sending him to me.
"Fifty large."
"She's not worth that on a good day." I went back to my show.
"She's my sister. You got to help her, Mac. If you ever loved her-"
"Get out." The audacity of that jack ass, questioning the love I had for her.
"Please," he was begging now.
"Get out of my apartment."
"What am I supposed to tell her?"
"She wasted my time."
Jared made for the door. I continued to watch the Halliwell sisters dance across the screen.
"She loved you, still does in fact. Shouldn't that count for something?" Jared couldn't look me in the face.
"It does, just not fifty thousand dollars. Good bye."
Jared slammed the door. I was getting pretty tired of people taking their anger toward me out on my door.
Perhaps better the door than my delicate features.
I think the thing that pissed me off the most about the whole thing was that I knew the piss ant was right; she did love me. Didn't that obligate me on some level?
It wasn't long before I was hitting record on my Tivo, showering and heading out the door to step blindly into the shit baggage piled high around my ex.