Re-Vamping Las Vegas

by Jen Pretty

“Probably once more, at least. Third times a charm,” I replied with a winning smile.

  Yeah, I might have caused a small stampede at the department store on Black Friday. I told everyone in line there would be free laptops for the first ten customers. It was funny. No one got hurt. Well, no one died.

  “Please, Nia?” The plaintive cry of my lawyer. He was always trying to shush me. I used my fingers to zip my lips and throw away the key.

  Aaron took a deep breath. “Your Honour, could I have a moment to consult with my client?” he asked in his super-formal court voice.

  The judge waved at him and took out his book of Sudoku puzzles.

  Aaron sat down, and I sat beside him.

  “What the hell happened?” he asked.

  “I have no idea. I remember nothing.”

  He looked at me with blinking eyes for a second. “You lying?” he asked.

  Harsh.

  “No, I was at the club, then I was in a cell,” I replied.

  “You think someone spiked you?”

  Being spiked wasn’t uncommon. The Dracaena plant has no taste. It only knocks us out for a couple of minutes, but some humans think it’s fun to grind it up and put it in our drinks. If I catch the jerks who gave it to me, the human court system will be the least of their worries. I don’t like being messed with. Shocker.

  “It fits,” I replied.

  “They won’t believe you. You’ve used that excuse before.”

  “I remember. Thanks,” I said looking around for eavesdroppers. My lawyer didn’t whisper very well.

  “All right, let’s get this over with,” he sighed. “Your Honour, we are ready to proceed.”

  “What did I do, anyway?” I whispered to Aaron as he straightened his tie and the judge put his puzzle book away.

  “Your client is charged with driving while intoxicated and destruction of property,” the judge said. “How does your client plead?”

  “Destruction of property? Oh shit, is my car OK?” I asked louder than I intended too.

  The judge narrowed his eyes at me.

  “Not guilty, Your Honour,” Aaron said, shushing me.

  The judge sighed, “She is never guilty, is she? I am releasing her on the condition she wears a monitoring device and stays home until her court date one week from today. Except for one evening a week as guaranteed her by vampire law four point one when Officer Jenkins will escort her to and from an approved feeding area. Lavinia, for the love of God, stay out of trouble.” With that, the judge stood and left the room.

  I raised an eyebrow at my lawyer. “A monitoring device? House arrest? That’s terrible work, Aaron.”

  “Come on, Nia. Let’s get you fitted for your new ankle bracelet,” Officer Jenkins said. I was still scowling at my lawyer as he pulled me away.

  “I could break that hand,” I said, eying Jenkins’ hand as he dragged me from the courtroom.

  “Yeah, yeah, but then I’d have to call in the Blood Guard, and they would call your father,” he said with a bit of a sadistic smile. He loved hanging my father over my head.

  Uppity human.

  He walked me back through the building to the police station and into an empty interrogation room. The threat of the Blood Guard was more than enough to keep me quiet. They were ruthless vampire warriors that would hunt down their own mother and end her existence if she stepped out of line. Kind of dramatic if you asked me.

  Jenkins walked out and shut the door behind him. I picked at the nail polish peeling off my fingers and waited for him to return.

  A deep baritone murmur on the other side of the door pulled me into old thoughts.

  —

  1823 Rome

  “We have a beautiful girl. Her whole village died in a plague. She was the sole survivor. The hand of God touched her.”

  I had heard this same speech four times already. I doubted this time would be any different.

  “She is quiet and doesn’t cry.”

  The mistress who ran the orphanage scrubbed my skin that morning until it burned and dressed me in a pretty pink smock dress. She told me to keep my mouth shut and smile.

  “I require an heir. A girl cannot be my heir,” A man's deep voice said.

  “Please, darling. A miracle girl! What a wonderful heir she would make. Let us at least meet her?”

  A heavy sigh reached my ears through the closed door. “Very well, let's see her.” the deep voice said.

  The doorknob turned, and people entered the room. I kept my eyes on the floor, but not wanting to disappoint the mistress, I pulled back the corners of my mouth, so I was smiling.

  A man's hand reached out and tipped my head up. His harsh features and dark eyes inspected me before he turned back to the mistress.

  “She is small.”

  “She is the appropriate size for her age, but her arms and legs are very long, she will be quite refined and elegant as an adult.” Mistress smiled fondly at me. It was a stark change from the way she usually looked at me.

  I glanced at the woman standing behind the large man. Her eyes were nearly in tears, but she smiled at me with a tenderness I recognized from my own mother. I wanted to run to her but stayed in my place.

  The man crouched in front of me and continued to study me. “Does she speak?” His sudden voice so close startled me.

  “Yes, of course, she speaks,” the mistress said. “She is not educated yet, but that just makes her a lump of clay, you can mould her as you choose.”

  The man looked back at me. “What is your name, child?” He said sternly. When he spoke, I thought I saw long pointed teeth in his mouth, but his tone demanded a reply.

  “Lavinia,” I whispered.

  “Oh my. Lavinia means child of the King,” the woman with wet eyes said as a tear rolled over her eyelid. The tear looked pink, and I wondered if she was sick, but she wiped it away.

  The man stood and gazed at the crying woman for a long moment before he sighed heavily. “Very well. Come along Lavinia.”

  He took my small hand in his and led me from the orphanage and into my new life.

  --

  When Jenkins walked back through the door with the monitoring device and my purse, I remembered the judge had said something about destruction of property.

  “Hey, where is my car anyway? I still don’t know what I did last night.”

  Jenkins knelt to fit the device to my ankle. “Well, you wrapped it around the gazebo in the center of town, but now it’s at the impound lot. Might need repairs,” he said like he hadn’t just told me that my baby was dead.

  “What? My 1968 Pontiac Firebird is in the impound lot? Do you know how many kids go in there and steal stuff?”

  “It’s monitored 24/7, and you are lucky you didn’t hit a person.”

  “A person is better than a gazebo! Poor Priscilla!” I exclaimed, leaning back. I’d have to get her back to the garage so my mechanic could get her back in one piece.

  “You named your car Priscilla?” he shook his head like he couldn’t believe he was arguing about this. “You could have killed someone,” he finished with a sneer. When he furrowed his brow like that, he looked even more like Bert.

  Jenkins was definitely a muppet.

  “Excuse me, but I was spiked last night,” I replied.

  “Sure you were, Nia.” He clicked the monitoring device onto my leg. It sat uncomfortably against my skin and bobbed when I moved my leg. Lovely.

  “Fine, don’t believe me, but get my car to Brian so he can repair it before it gets rust. Can I go home now? It will be light out soon.”

  Jenkins stood and held open the door then let me follow along behind him to the garage. He opened the back door of the police car; apparently, I was getting the royal treatment today. I climbed in, and he slammed the door behind me.

  The drive from the police station to my apartment wasn’t long. I watched the cars go by until Jenkins stopped in front of my building. He turned off the engine and got out, then held the door open for me
.

  “Thanks for the ride,” I said.

  I fished my keys out of my purse. The sun was peeking over the horizon, casting a glow across the sky. Contrary to popular belief, vampires don’t have an aversion to the sun, but nothing fun happens in the daytime.

  “I’m walking you up, Nia. Stay in the building, or an alarm will go off, and I will have to hunt down your vamp ass. So, stay put, all right? Some of us sleep at night.”

  I turned on a dime and walked through the lobby to the elevator, Jenkins hot on my heels.

  On the eighth floor, I turned right and unlocked my front door.

  “See ya later, Jenkins,” I said slamming the door behind me. I waited until the elevator door shut and then heard the hum as it lowered Jenkins to the lobby.

  I kicked off my shoes by the door and walked past the empty kitchen with the built-in island and down the hall to my bedroom. My dirty clothes went into the hamper. Sleeping on that bench had chilled me to the bone. My fingers were blue. Attractive.

  My bed called to me. My heated blanket lay on top of the soft sheets and duvet, but I was icky and needed a quick warm up. The bathroom was my favourite part of the apartment. The shower was spacious with several jets that sprayed a lot of hot water.

  I flicked on the shower and stepped beneath the spray. It pounded against my back in a steady rhythm. Steam filled the bathroom, blocking me away in a quiet world. I looked down at the device strapped to my ankle and wondered if it was waterproof. It wasn’t electrocuting me, so it was probably fine.

  When my body temperature returned to normal, I stepped out of the shower and wiped the fog from the bathroom mirror. My joints felt loose again — no more creaks. My stark reflection stared back, the same as always. So, I got dressed in some baggy sweats and dragged my heated blanket to the couch to watch my soaps.

  My electric blanket kept me warm, and the constant stream of the television kept me company for the next twenty-four hours.

  Monday morning arrived, and I had work to do.

  I stood up and stretched. The pull of tight muscles and crack of joints felt good. I flicked off the TV and turned my attention to the laptop sitting at the kitchen table, waiting for me like a beacon in the morning light.

  I started it up and then got dressed, slipped into my running shoes and walked out into the dingy hall of my apartment building. The smell of fresh paint still lingered from the walls, but the carpet was getting old and worn.

  “Good morning Lavinia,” a crackly old voice called.

  My neighbour was about a hundred years old and human, so her face had deep lines around her mouth and at the corners of her twinkling eyes. Her hair was silver and thinning, but she kept it fluffed in a 60s beehive style. She wore monotone leisure suits and pink fluffy slippers. I wasn't sure how she still lived on her own, but she was a tough old bird, and I respected that about her.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Henderson. I’m going to get the paper. Do you want one?” She could hardly see, nearly blind, but I offered to pick her up a paper every Monday for the last ten years. By now it was a tradition.

  “Oh, no dear. Thank you.” She reached out and patted my cheek like I wasn’t twice her age. “I saw that nice gentleman walk you home the other morning. A police officer. I hope he is treating you like a lady.” She rolled her walker back into her apartment.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Henderson.” Such a weird old lady.

  I hit the button on the elevator, went out the front door and took a right. There was a variety store owned by a Muslim man named Gamil on the corner of the block. It was a tiny bodega, but it stocked my third favourite drink.

  On my way in, I grabbed a newspaper and then picked up four energy drinks from the cooler. I wove between the narrow aisles until I got to the tall, crowded counter. There were all manner of things lining the counter, from lighters to candy canes to weird spinning kids’ toys.

  “Good morning Nia, how are you today?” Gamil said in a sing-song voice. His grey beard matched the grey of his turban today, and he looked regal and wise.

  “Fine, how about you?” I asked, rooting through my wallet to find exact change.

  “I am well, very well. I thank you."

  He glanced past my shoulder with a worried expression. When I followed his stare, a pair of youths had come in and were staring at the drink fridge that ran along the back wall. I looked back at Gamil, and he smiled like he hadn't just had a worried look. I returned his smile and set my four drinks on the counter.

  "You know those energy drinks will kill you someday,” he said with a laugh.

  “We can only hope,” I replied, scooping up the bag of drinks and newspaper before walking back out the door.

  I was halfway up the block when I heard sirens behind me and a police car pulled up to the curb.

  “Damn it, Nia. I told you to stay home!” Grumpy Jenkins yelled from behind the wheel.

  Oh yeah.

  “I was just getting the newspaper,” I smiled, holding up the offending merchandise.

  “Well get your ass back to your apartment and stay there.”

  I gave him a salute, and he followed me in his car until I disappeared into the apartment building.

  Lord, humans were hot-headed sometimes.

  CHAPTER THREE

  In my apartment, I flicked on my laptop and set out the things I needed for the next couple of days of work: four energy drinks and, of course, my heated blanket.

  I unfolded the newspaper and started skimming through. There were corrupt politicians, cheating athletes, but then I found my target.

  On page nine, there was a small article about a businessman named Allan Murphy. He owned several contracting businesses and a string of fast-food chains. Good old Allan was in the paper today because, over the weekend, they charged him with assaulting his fiancé. A beautiful woman named Kelly.

  Kelly was a former model turned actress and Allan had taken it upon himself to rearrange her face after a loud argument at one of his restaurants. He was out on bail because, you know, he’s an upstanding member of society. I bet he didn’t even have a monitoring device strapped to his ankle.

  I also bet this moron had a dating site profile. He seemed the type.

  I opened my laptop and logged in to my private network, routing my Internet connection through a warehouse on the other side of the country. I typed a few commands to make sure the connection was secure. Once I switched to an anonymous browser, I made a hot dating profile with a picture of a large chested blond I found in an image search. Allan lived in Detroit, so I selected that city too. Sifting through the dating profiles, I found him. He hadn’t even used a fake name. Classy guy.

  I sent him a little love note and then switched tabs.

  I Googled his business phone number and made a quick call to his secretary.

  “Murphy Contracting,” The young-sounding woman said.

  “Yes, hello.” I used a southern accent, so I sounded more trustworthy. “My name is Nancy Shoemaker, and I am calling on behalf of my boss, Mr. Penderson.” I paused for dramatic effect. “He has asked me to call you today because he’s gone and lost Mr. Murphy’s email address. They met at the big hoopla last month and had tucked the piece of paper with the email in his suit coat pocket, and then I accidentally sent that to the dry cleaners.”

  “I have been there,” the woman said, and I knew I hooked her.

  “This is the second time, and I'm afraid he might fire me if I can’t get this straightened out.”

  “You would think they could do a simple thing like emptying their own pockets,” she said.

  I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing.

  “My thoughts exactly. He would lose his head if it weren't attached to him.”

  The woman laughed, and I joined her.

  I sighed dramatically.

  “Anyway, if there is any way you could give me his personal email address, it would really help me out of some hot water.”

  “Sure, let me get that for you.�
�

  I pumped my fist in the air and then jotted down the address.

  I thanked her and hung up while sending the phishing email that he would hopefully open, giving me access to his computer.

  Step one complete.

  By that evening I was settling in to watch some soaps when my laptop dinged. I grabbed my mouse and woke up my laptop to find Allan himself messaged me on the dating site.

  “Hey beautiful, how are you this evening?” He wrote.

  “Feeling lonely, how about you?” I replied.

  “Me too. I would be better if you sent me a pic,” he wrote.

  I replied, “I can’t figure out how to send a picture here.” With a sad face emoji.

  “That’s OK, darling. You can send it to my email.” He then helpfully supplied his personal email, like a moron.

  I laughed and sent him a file with two pieces of malware. One would sit in his computer and monitor every keystroke until he logged onto a bank account as long as he opened the attachment. The second one would give me access to his computer.

  “Bingo!” I shouted as his computer connected to mine.

  “I didn't get a picture, try sending it again,” he typed into the chat window on the dating site.

  I logged off thoroughly disgusted by the woman-beating bastard and happy with my success. I slipped into his files and started looking through things. He had a bunch of boring tax information, a few games and a folder called 'pix.' That looked interesting. I clicked it and wished I hadn't. It seemed our friend Allan had a bit of a fetish for large men in leather. Very small scraps of leather. The leather was covering nothing important. I clicked through a few more and was horrified to find a picture of Allan, dressed.... err, undressed in the same way as the previous men. His large gut hung forward, not quite enough to cover his man bits, though I wished it did. His breasts were nearly larger than mine, and the grin on his face was seriously disturbing.

  Gross.

  I popped my second energy drink and chugged it, wishing I could bleach my brain. Then I moved to my couch with my laptop to wait.

  I could easily go without sleep for three or four days, but I hoped it wouldn’t take that long.