Re-Vamping Las Vegas

by Jen Pretty

  It was the dead of night as I walked back out of my building and into another cab to take me downtown. First thing in the morning I would need to call Brian and check on my car. Cabs were inconvenient.

  “Town square,” I said as the cab pulled away from the curb. The cabbie’s eyes kept flicking to the rear-view mirror. His eyes focused on me instead of the road behind him.

  “What?” I asked, after I caught him looking at me for the fourth time.

  “I think I met you at the club last weekend,” he said, timidly.

  I looked down at his license, displayed on the back of his seat. It was my puppy, Eric.

  Aw. So cute in his license photo.

  I looked at the back of his head, at his soft hair and wanted to run my fingers through it again, but I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t drink from anyone more than once. It was a rule. Humans got weird and clingy if they stayed with a vampire too long, like the disciples.

  “Sorry, you don’t ring a bell,” I replied blandly and turned to stare out the window until the car rolled to a stop half a block from the gazebo in the center of town. I gave him twice the fare rate and stepped out, sighing as he drove away. He smelled delicious.

  In the center of town, there was a square park that surrounded a gazebo. It wasn't more than a city block. Old-growth trees dotted the area, and paved paths wandered through and led to the gazebo.

  I hopped the curb onto the grass and walked into the park across the grass to stay out of the lights that illuminated the path.

  Up ahead, a group of women painted the side of the recently repaired gazebo and nattered about some woman named Brenda who had an affair, but her husband didn’t know. This would be fun.

  They had a few floodlights set up and were buzzing away with more town pride than a Texan on the 4th of July.

  They didn’t notice my approach, so I stayed behind the floodlight to hide my presence until the very last second. When I reached the floodlights, I pulled the plug.

  The women screamed even though there was plenty of light between the moon and the streetlight. I watched them scramble around for a minute and then walked out of the shadows.

  “Hey ladies, how’s it going?” I asked, strolling in as though nothing had happened.

  The lights flicked back on as one woman found the unplugged extension cord and jam it back in. She was busy blaming a short, squat woman for not plugging it in properly.

  “Oh, hey there,” a tall thin woman said, approaching me. Her hair was taller than the statue of liberty, looking just as hard. Her yoga pants and baggy sweater screamed mom, and I couldn’t help but snicker. These ladies would be fun.

  “Hi, I’m ready to get started. Where do you want me?” I asked, smiling wide enough that my fangs showed. The supermom took a step back and then picked up a garbage bag and wooden handled trash picker. She leaned forward, her arms outstretched as far as could, trying to hand the items to me.

  When I didn’t take them from her, she backed up again.

  “We thought it would be the easiest thing for you to do. Do you have any experience with painting?”

  I tried to decide if garbage picking or painting was worse. It was a real toss-up. The garbage wasn’t likely to get on my clothes, but it was still garbage.

  “Give me the thing,” I said, holding out my hand.

  She leaned forward again, and I snatched the bag and picker away from her. I turned and strode around the gardens and manicured lawn, picking up random bits of paper and flattened soda cans.

  The refuse of a material world.

  They mainly used the gazebo and surrounding area for the various festivals the town planned through the year. The local teenagers enjoyed it the rest of the time. They would hang out at night and smoke cigarettes and drink cheap beer until Officer Jenkins or one of his buddies showed up to break up the fun. Sometimes I joined them. From now on they would be picking up their own damn garbage.

  Once the garbage bag was full, I moseyed back to the gazebo to find a note taped to a stack of four cardboard boxes.

  The note said to plant flowers from the boxes in the empty garden beside the gazebo. There was a hand drawn picture of how they wanted them planted. There must have been thousands of little flowers in the long, flat, boxes.

  The top box was all white flowers. I slid it off the top of the pile and set it beside the garden. The second box had red flowers. I smiled. My favourite colour. The last two boxes had more white and red flowers. I was all set.

  I got to work, digging holes in the black earth and plopping little, coloured pansies in place.

  Hours passed as I worked. When I finished, I stood back and admired my masterpiece.

  It was glorious.

  My finest work. It would go down in history as the greatest piece of landscaping I had ever done. Admittedly it was my first attempt, but it was perfect in its genius.

  The mud caked my hands and knees, and the dew had settled on the ground making me feel damp and cold all over. I moved the empty boxes into the gazebo and unplugged the floodlights, then turned and walked back towards home. I pulled out my cell phone and called a cab. I told them I was walking down the main street.

  I put my cell phone away and walked the darkened streets, whistling a happy tune. The crisp autumn air filled my lungs with the scent of molding leaves and fresh bread. Up ahead, the bakery lights shone out onto the sidewalk. The baker scurried about, making morning treats for the people who worked downtown.

  As I walked by the alley just beyond the bakery, I heard a noise that made me pause. It sounded too big to be a cat, and two heartbeats thumped in the darkness. I took a step out of the street light and into the shadow. My eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight as a woman came staggering out towards the street. She teetered past me, and I searched the darkness. The scent of her blood drifted to my nose, and I knew she had just been a snack.

  I took two more steps into the darkened alley, my senses on high alert — a predator hunting.

  A tin can rolled out from behind the dumpster at the end. I took a deep breath and caught the scent.

  “You shit, get out here,” I called out to the darkness.

  Ryan stepped out from behind the dumpster and posed with his chin lowered and his arms out to his sides like Jesus on the cross.

  “Were you trying to scare me?” I asked.

  He raised his chin, displaying his wicked grin. “Just intrigue you. Did it work?”

  “No, you just disgusted me,” I said, walking back out to the street.

  “Nia, wait, please?”

  I stopped and sighed. “I’m not going out with you, Ryan.”

  Ryan joined me on the sidewalk, facing me with a pleading look on his face. “Let me walk you home, at least?”

  The cab rolled up, saving me from the awkward and annoying conversation.

  “Gotta go,” I said and stepped into the backseat. I gave the cabbie my address and gave Ryan a little wave as the cab rolled away from the curb. The sun would rise soon, and the city would come back to life. Humans would rush about like ants searching for dropped candy at a fair.

  Back at my apartment I turned the shower on hot to warm up and scraped the mud off my hands. It had soaked through my jeans to my knees, leaving them black and pruney too. By the time I was clean, it was lights out.

  A few hours later, when I woke up, I discovered Brian had left a voice message saying he was ordering car parts. He knew I would approve whatever he had to do, so he didn’t need me to hold his hand, but I wanted to check on my car, anyway.

  I called yet another cab, and it delivered me to Brian’s Garage just as my favourite mechanic was opening it up.

  He lifted the garage door and there she was. Like a patient in the middle of surgery, the insides of my precious car spewed all over the shop floor in front of her.

  “Oh, Priscilla,” I exclaimed, as I stepped past Brian and ran my hand up the undamaged front panel.

  “Nia, don’t worry, she’s gonna be fine. I’m waitin
g for a new radiator and then she’ll just need some bodywork,” Brian said in his gentle voice.

  I crouched down beside my car and leaned my shoulder into her driver’s side door then looked back at Brian. He was an unreasonably tall person. Probably pushing seven feet, but he hunched over, making him a few inches shorter. Most likely a habit, so he was less intimidating. I found people did that; tried to make themselves into what they thought other people wanted them to be. Brian’s face was always friendly, and he was a great mechanic too, but he didn’t have the drive for business, and so had been running this single-car garage his whole life.

  I met Brian at a car show one summer when I was still looking for parts for Priscilla. He had a Firebird there too and helped me find what I needed. No other mechanic has touched her since.

  “Thank you, Brian.”

  “No problem. Accidents happen.”

  That was true, but if I ever saw those guys I suspected spiked my drink, they might find they had an accident too.

  “If the new rad comes in today, I can start body work tomorrow. Another week at most,” Brian continued scratching his neck like he was nervous about telling me that.

  “Take your time, Brian. I want her fixed right.” I smiled, and he nodded in reply. I ran my hand over her glossy white coat one more time and walked back through the minefield of parts.

  “Thanks, Brian,” I said as I walked back out of the shop and headed for home. It wasn’t too far to my apartment, and maybe a good walk was what I needed to get my head back in the game. I was feeling low and nostalgic which was not a good combination.

  When I rounded the corner onto my street, several people were standing around outside Gamil’s variety store. As I approached, I recognized a few of the people from the neighbourhood and Mrs. Henderson, my neighbour, was there too. Gamil's front door was closed, and someone had taped a note to the window.

  “Oh, isn’t it terrible, dear?” she said in a hushed tone as I approached.

  “Isn’t what terrible? What happened?” I asked, trying to read the note past her shoulder.

  “I heard it was a gang.” She said in a harsh whisper. “They robbed Gamil and beat him.” She shook her head. “I just don’t know what this world is coming to.”

  “Terrible,” I agreed.

  The note said closed until further notice. I would have to get my paper somewhere else. Inconvenient.

  “Do you want me to get you a paper?” I asked Mrs. Henderson.

  She studied me for a moment then slowly replied: “No, thank you, dear.” Like she wasn’t sure if I was serious.

  I carried on down the street past my apartment building. Another block farther there was a newsstand. They didn’t have energy drinks, but they had newspapers.

  I bought one and walked home. The sun was getting up in the sky, and I was getting cold again.

  Back in my apartment, I flicked on my laptop and heated blankets. Time to get to work.

  The front page was a story about a man named Ed Florence. They had arrested Eddy boy in connection with some bad street-drugs that were killing people. He was released because the only witness in the case turned up floating in a river. Also, Ed was a vampire. The Blood Guard was investigating, but so far had found no link between Ed and the floater.

  I went to work on our new friend Ed. Criminals were harder to steal from because they knew first-hand about stealing and were paranoid beyond belief.

  I traced an email address through the website of a nightclub he owned and sent him an email saying I had blackmail photos of him and that he needed to drop one million into a dumpster behind a street in his city I picked randomly. The attachment was the real prize. When he opened it, I would have remote access to his computer, but he would see a picture of a kitten in a birthday hat.

  I moved to the couch to wait. Setting my Laptop on the coffee table, I wished I had some energy drinks, but it was too late now.

  About an hour into my wait, there was a knock at my door.

  I opened it to find Jenkins standing there, his arms crossed and bushy eyebrows raised to his hairline.

  I smiled. “Good morning Officer. What can I do for you?” I kept my body in the doorway. I didn’t need him inside while I was working.

  “You want to explain yourself?” he asked.

  “I have no idea what you mean,’ I replied, hand on my chest, ready to swear innocence.

  “I was just downtown. The Women’s Auxiliary called me, in hysterics, because someone made an anarchy symbol out of flowers in the centerpiece garden bed that was supposed to have the town name in it.”

  I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I laughed until tears, of bright red blood, rolled down my face.

  “You better fix it tonight, or the judge will hear about it, Nia.”

  I took deep breaths to calm my laughter so I could speak. It took a few more minutes. Jenkins tapped his foot and waited. He had no sense of humour.

  “Ok, fine. Tell them not to get their panties in a bunch.”

  He scowled at me, then turned on his heel and stomped off. The poor, long-suffering police officer, lowered to settling disputes about flower arrangements. I laughed several more times over the next few hours remembering Jenkins’ eyebrows.

  CHAPTER SIX

  The rest of the day was a bust. Either Ed didn’t check his email very often, or it had gone into his junk folder, and I would have to try a different tactic. It was getting dark, so I showered again and changed into some clothes I didn’t mind getting dirty. Fixing my flower garden would suck; I thought it was top notch work.

  I took a cab downtown and had it drop me off at the gazebo.

  The lady with the tall hair who had introduced herself last time and whose name I had forgotten, was there with the other grumpy-looking ladies.

  “Oh, hey there, Nia. So, I guess, uhm, if you don’t mind doing the flower garden, we will be over here raking the leaves.” She must have lost a bet, or maybe she was at the bottom of the pecking order in this group of old hens. She was even more nervous tonight than last night.

  I smiled at her, licking my fangs. She stood frozen like a deer in headlights. She stood there staring at me for so long it got super awkward, so I turned around and got to work.

  The town name, Belcrest, looked fine in the flowers. Not as nice as my original art, but I suppose these people had zero taste for these things. I should have taken a picture of my original art.

  “Nia,” I heard from behind me as I was planting the last row of white flowers. I recognized the voice, so I kept working. My luck could be worse, probably.

  I felt Ryan come up and stand behind me and didn’t like how close he was. I wished I was swinging a hammer so I could ‘accidentally’ let it go of it and nail him in the nuts. But alas, my only weapon was a floppy pansy, and that was a pretty pathetic weapon.

  I planted the final flower and stood, dusting off my hands. I turned around reminding myself what Father John had said. “Make amends”. I was struggling to remember why I had cared about personal growth in the first place when the idiot vampire was breathing down my neck like I was the last bit of blood on earth and he hadn’t eaten in a month.

  He smelled like blood and vanilla. Some silly girl had already donated to the mouth breathing Neanderthal earlier in the night. He most likely feasted every evening, despite how unnecessary it was.

  “What do you want Ryan?”

  “I want to see you. I heard a rumour you were here, digging in the dirt like a commoner.”

  “Ryan, oh my god, you can’t just call people commoners,” I said in my best Mean Girls voice. He gave me a quizzical look, apparently not up to date on pop culture. “How old are you? Get with the century, Ryan.”

  “I changed my name just 50 years ago,” he complained. Like changing his name qualified him as current. Most vampires fell into the same trap as Ryan. Outdated and weird. The silly girls that worshipped the old vampires thought it was charming. Barf.

  “Ok, well, I have work to do.�
��

  “You wouldn’t have to do this if you had simply called your father,” he muttered.

  I spun around and glared at him. He flinched, which made me smile on the inside. “I do not need to call my father. You leave him out of this or I will cut out your tongue!” Ok, so sometimes when I get angry, I speak in an old-fashioned way too. The threat was real though, and Ryan raised his hands, palms forward in a placating gesture.

  He followed me back to the gazebo, where the ladies were packing up to go home. It was well past midnight, and I wondered if they had been sticking around to keep an eye on me and their precious flower garden.

  “Oh, hey, thank you, Nia. That looks so great. Listen, we are going home, but if you could finish bagging the leaves, that would be just so wonderful.” The woman’s eyes kept darting between Ryan and me. Her cheeks were a bit pink, and I wondered if Ryan had snacked on her at some point. Probably had. He was a blood slut. I wasn’t sure there were any women left in the town he hadn’t snacked on.

  “Sure,” I replied, grabbing some paper bags off the steps on the gazebo and walking out towards the first pile of leaves.

  Ryan didn’t leave. He watched me struggle with the stupid paper bag for a while then came over and took it from me. He held it open, and I scooped up leaves and squished them in. I was pretty sure there was dog poop in the leaves and hoped some of it would smear on Ryan. He was wearing an expensive t-shirt. One of those top designer labels that cost two hundred dollars in the store but made by some poor kid in a sweatshop for pennies.

  Ryan didn’t speak while we worked. Thank god. His voice was smooth and fake and always irritated me. When I packed the last of the leaves into the last brown paper bag, Ryan spoke.

  “Come to dinner with me tomorrow night,” he said.

  “I don’t eat till Saturday night,” I replied, setting the bag of leaves with the others.

  “I’ll pick you up at 7.”

  I looked up at him. His smug smile screamed: caught you!