by Lee Hayton
“You said you worked the scene in Waverly Heights,” I said. “How do you think my business would do transitioning there?”
“I think enough husbands are doing the dirty on their wives, or vice versa, to keep you sweet for a billion years. Suburbia, you know.”
She raised her eyebrows, and I nodded back with a grin. The chemical spike that had sent my heart racing started to lower, settling it back into the usual beat.
“I heard they had a massive building project going on around there.” I frowned as I tried to connect that thought with the source who’d told me. I needed a refurbishment, the old synapses were running slower and slower, these days. “Billy Andley,” I shouted, striking gold.
Billy was a young man who I occasionally put to good use breaking into something when the owners had the good sense not to fit an electronic lock.
Nika frowned at the rise in my voice, and I popped my head out to recheck the street. No change. I shrugged and took a step out to lean against the wall on the pavement instead.
Nice and casual, we’re just having a friendly conversation here.
“Billy Andley told me they wanted to extend the land out past the waterfront. The ‘New Venice,’ I believe he called it.”
The phrase earned me a snort, and Nika nodded. “They were talking about that for a year before I moved on. It’ll never happen, I reckon.”
I raised my eyebrows. “Why’s that? Aren’t the suburbs full of wealthy businessmen the way they used to be?”
“Nah. The money’s there, all right,” Nika said. She gave a shrug. “It’s the labor that’s running tight. Between runaways and explosions, I think the vampire capacity is stretched further than it should be. Add in a massive project like that?” She shrugged again.
I wanted to ask her about an increase in runaways, but I didn’t need another overreaction to draw attention our way. I looked down at my feet, shuffling them along the sidewalk instead. I went so deep into my contemplation that I missed the signals it was sending out.
“You’re busy,” Nika said, drawing the wrong conclusion. Unfortunately, she drew it with such finality that I couldn’t scramble it back. “I’ll let you get on your way. It was good to see you again.”
It had been nice. I reached out tentatively and felt a quiet joy when Nika’s body relaxed, and she let me draw her into a hug. I didn’t get a lot of human contact. Wouldn’t welcome the stuff that’s on offer half the time.
But this touch was different. Friendly. I stocked up on the warmth of Nika’s embrace knowing it might be a while before I got another hit.
“I’ll see you around,” I said, waving as I pulled further away down the street.
Nika wasn’t looking my way. Her attention was fixed on the foot traffic coming from the other direction, searching for a new mark.
After leaving Nika, I cycled on further, getting back into familiar territory. My stomach churned, with hunger or anxiety it was hard to tell. There was a vending machine a few blocks down, but I’d done a hit and run on it a few months before. Nothing like the gentle coaxing I use on the neighborhood machine. More like blunt force trauma.
If I touch it up again so soon, there’d be a report filed, and someone might even wander down here to check. No matter how good a job I tried to do of wiping my body from the visuals of every camera in sight, I knew from experience, I wouldn’t get every single one. There were too many, their lenses too tiny to spot.
A candy bar or bag of nuts would tide me over nicely, but I could never justify that level of risk. A bar, though… Something was always on offer in a pub.
Hustlers congregated in seedy bars all over the city. The great thing about a hustler was their eyes were so focused on the money, they didn’t pay attention to other things. Easy to hustle a hustler, when you get down to it. Not with pool—my fine motor skills left much to be desired—but there were other things I could try. A business deal. A buy one get one. A back-alley swindle, though that presented its own danger when it was just me working.
I pulled my blonde curls down to cover the rivets on my forehead, learning from my earlier mistake. As I walked in, tossing up the possibilities in my mind, the bar owner nodded at me, and I gave him my widest smile back.
“I’m meeting a fella here later,” I said, touching my wrists together and pressing my elbows tightly to my sides to balloon out my cleavage. “Is it okay if I take a drink now, and he pays when he comes in?”
“Have one on the house,” he said, pouring something from a shelf so low that I didn’t recognize the label. Beggars couldn’t be choosers, so instead of a grimace as I sipped, I plastered on a grateful smile.
The bartender winked. “I haven’t seen you ‘round here before.”
I shook my head and laughed. “Nope. This is far different from my neck of the woods. I live out closer to the country. This big city is making my head spin.”
Another giggle and I walked away to a table, shaking my ass while inside I groaned and hung my head.
“Why not just strip your clothes off while you’re at it?” my inner critic snapped. I told it that unless it had a way to come up with cash on short notice, to bite its lip. At least until I got fed.
There weren’t many men there, and the ones who did populate the bar stools weren’t interested in the ladies. To start your day in this kind of place required a dedication to drinking that didn’t leave scope for much else.
A sign hung halfway down the wall opposite the bar. A pool tournament, the arrangement a long-standing one judging by the faded names on it. The grand prize? Your bar tab paid for the night.
I bet that ended up in trouble for whoever took the winning shot. Men and women tasked with drinking their prize money’s worth would need to be escorted home in a shopping cart.
It was no use to me, even if I had the dexterity required to play pool. I didn’t want to get hammered. Least, not as much as I wanted to get fed.
Next along was a sign for arm wrestling. I felt a tingle start in the base of my skull and work its way upward as I read it through. Bets laid by the contestant. Best of three, winner takes all.
Perfect. The sign might as well have had “Hustlers apply here,” written on it.
A few men were hanging about the designated area. Whether they’d be up for a tussle wasn’t something I could work out without asking. I finished up the last of my drink and gently set the glass down, summoning up my courage.
When it arrived, I pushed away from the bar and sauntered over to them, pretending interest in the poster I’d already read and memorized while casing out the competition.
The two oldest codgers were probably just here for the beer and entertainment. The young guy, though? His T-shirt sleeves were cropped high to showcase the bulge of his biceps. In case that hadn’t been enough to draw attention, he’d also decorated each of them with an intricate tattoo.
I doubted the Chinese symbols on it said what he thought they meant. The one I could decipher, “A fool and his money are soon parted,” sounded more like a jibe at the ignorance of the client than a tattoo request.
“What’s this about?” I squealed, working my baby-doll voice for all it was worth. If I went any further into the upper registers, dogs would stampede the bar.
“Ever tried to arm wrestle before?” the young man said, twisting his forearms to make his biceps bulge larger.
“Is that like with leotards and stuff?” I asked and giggled. “My brother used to wrestle in high school.”
The men all joined in a chorus of laughter. Look at the silly blonde girl, isn’t she cute?
Each laugh would just earn me more in the end, so I let them have it. I tried a simpering smile on for size and lifted my tongue to the roof of my mouth to accentuate my dimples.
“Nah, love,” the young guy said, wrinkling his nose. “Not a lot in common with it.” He kept his eyes glued to my chest as though holding an intense conversation with my nipples.
“Can you show me?” I asked, tilting m
y head to one side and getting my eyes as wide as they would go. “I have money.”
I reached into my pocket as though it was bulging with cash. My timing was perfect, the act hooked him. The young guy stretched his arm out and caught my hand.
“I believe you, doll. You don’t need to show us. How much do you want to bet?”
He raised his eyebrows and gave a slow look at the men sitting drinking behind him. They offered up a few appreciative sniggers, and that fed his confidence so that he squeezed his muscles larger again.
I held one finger up to the corner of my mouth. “What’s the largest bet I can make?”
“Hoo. I don’t know that you want to start off at the top end, doll.”
“It’s best of three, isn’t it?” I asked, pretending to pout. “It can’t be all that hard.”
“If you’re determined to lay your money down, then I’ll take you up on it,” the young man said. “One hundred’s the top bet—and that’s old-fashioned cash not credits. Else the bar has to account for it with the betting syndicates. Still up for it?”
He raised his eyebrows at me while snagging a chair and sitting on it backward. The young man leaned forward until his chest pressed against the high wooden slats. With one elbow down on the tabletop, he gestured for me to come forward with his fingers.
“You’re on.” I walked around to opposite him and daintily sat down on a chair, facing the right way but pulled too far back. My fingers grasped his hand, leaving my elbow floating in the air.
“Like this?”
“Let me show you,” an older geezer said. He paused long enough to swallow the last of his pint, then shuffled around the table behind me, pushing my chair forward with his knee.
When his arms went either side of my body, and his boozy breath blew into my face, I resisted the impulse to jerk my elbow back into his face. “Think of the money, doll,” I said to myself.
“Pop your arm down here.” The man pushed it into the table with such force that my funny bone shrieked with pain. “You need to keep that locked in place. Otherwise, you’ll throw the game.”
The man across the table grabbed my hand, tossing another eye-roll at the fellows still gathered behind him.
“Thanks,” I said, smiling at my trainer in the hope he’d go away.
One more leering glance and he did. Game on, suckers.
“So, what now?” I asked. “Do we just—?”
I broke off, widening my eyes again as I let my hand be slammed down on the table. It landed in a drying puddle of what I hoped was beer, and I pulled it away.
“Gosh, you’re strong,” I said, massaging the back of my hand and surreptitiously wiping away whatever liquid it had landed in. “I barely got a chance!”
“That’s the game, doll. Did you want another go, or did you just want to hand the money over now?”
I ducked my head as though pondering the choice and gauged the flex of his hand, the line of his arm.
“I want all three goes, thank you very much.” I shook my hair out and pursed my lips. “At the very least, I get to hold hands with the best-looking man in the bar.”
While the old dudes whistled, the younger guy looked unsettled. For a second, I worried that I’d overplayed my role, but then he shrugged. “If you’re happy with that, so am I.”
“Could you take it slower this time?” I snaked my tongue out to moisten my lower lip. “Just so I can get a better feel for what I’m meant to do?”
“Of course, doll. Just don’t be thinking you can bat your eyelashes and win me over. My reputation is at stake.”
“Of course not.”
I lined my arm up again, looking at my elbow as I placed it on the table as though I was struggling to remember even that simple rule.
“Ready when you are,” I said when I grasped his hand.
This time, I felt a tiny bit of give in his grip. Nodding at the opportunity, I pressed against his hand.
Damn it. Too strong.
His arm tipped, and his eyes widened in shock. Instead of leaning nonchalantly to one side, the man straightened and placed his feet flat on the floor.
I couldn’t take the motion back now. It was too late. He recognized that he had a fight on his hands.
I’m such an amateur sometimes. Everybody knew that the art of the hustle was to beat them by such a small edge that the sucker thinks they genuinely had a fair chance.
Still, I had to make the best of the situation. I eased off while still keeping enough pressure applied that the man struggled to try to move me back.
The older jokers behind him appeared to be having the time of their lives. One slapped another on the shoulder and leaned in, eyes twinkling in delight.
I could take him at any moment, but my senses started to fire off a warning. Something was wrong here. Something worse than mistiming the hustle and striking too hard too early.
Even with the enormous bulk of his arm muscles, this man should have gone down by now. I increased my pressure once again and felt him rally.
This wasn’t the strength of a man. His resistance contained something more.
I checked him quickly for the signs that he might be like me. Nope. No telltale rivets or flesh stretched too tight so that it glowed like taut rubber.
He was flesh and bone, not flesh and steel, but beyond that was something else I would have noticed if I’d been paying more attention. The skin on his face was tanned, but it looked pallid underneath. Like someone who’d gone on summer holiday then spent the last day undergoing Montezuma’s revenge. His irises were colored blue, but edged with a faint tinge of purple. The burst capillaries on his nose looked like etchings made with black pencil.
My opponent was a vampire. Newly-turned too by the looks of it.
Who the hell would let that happen given the undead’s current status?
I upped my force and slammed his arm down on the table. With one hand out, ready to receive the money I was owed, my other grasped the leg of my chair. I could stand, twist, and wallop him with it in one motion if necessary. It wouldn’t do more than wind him, but it might buy me a few seconds’ time.
“You owe me one hundred, is that right?”
My baby doll voice had gone from reassuring him to riling him up.
Once upon a time, vampires roamed the earth bending men to their will. They shaped the great cities of our world in distorted images of their depravity. They hunted human beings like cattle, chasing them through the streets at night, howling for their blood.
The vampires were so strong, so indomitable, that they ruled the earth for a thousand years. Held captive, men and women were farmed—livestock to feed the never-ending blood fixation that vampires must quench, or die.
I mean, it sounded great, right? Who didn’t like a nice fairy tale? Good on those men and women for overthrowing the vampires and bending them to their wills for a change. Thank goodness that we turned the tables. Otherwise, the world would be a dark place, indeed.
Rubbish, of course.
Vampires ruled the earth for a thousand years? Give me strength. You’ve seen them, right? Pale creatures who explode if you left them out in the sun.
Any kid could fathom that with a weakness that significant, they’re hardly going to be the ruling species. Add to that the reliance on only one food source and… Well. I’m sure a Giant Panda could tell you how particular quirk works out.
So, that’s the history as written by the men who enslaved the vampires. Tales to scare small children into looking away and accepting the evil paraded down the streets.
What’s the legend then?
Once upon a time, there was a gentle race of vampires. They hunted at night for animals from which they could draw blood for sustenance and slept during the day.
Their strength was mighty and formidable, but they never used it in anger against another living soul. As soon as their needs were taken care of for the day, the vampire was replete. None of them ever hunted for sport or fun, at least none that the
collective allowed to survive.
One day, learning of their peaceful existence in the dark forests of the land, a human came calling, asking for assistance. The vampires were afraid at first, but then delighted to offer help. Once the human saw the strength that the monsters could wield, their fate was sealed.
The human creatures rounded them up in barbaric hunts that slew half of the race. The other half were chained in silver, held in packs to be used as slaves.
Now, when the roads were built, it was vampire slaves that built them. When buildings were constructed, it was a chained gang of vampires that laid every brick.
Poor things.
Now, that’s a delightful story, too, except for all the flaws.
The truth was much easier. Despite the legend, vampires could only feed on human blood. Okay, cyborgs count, too, but just because we’re base human.
Over time, the vampires got greedy. There was never any need for them to be discovered. Not if they were careful. Not if they only took what was required to live.
Until the great uprising, vampires existed in fantasy books or horror movies rather than real life. Then they started to shove their existence in everyone’s face, and what happened, happened.
Sure, they were enslaved now. It was terrible. Just as awful as all slavery ever was or will be. It’d been made worse because, at the heart of it, they were human. They looked like albino versions of us. God help an actual human albino if they ever got caught outside without their ID card.
The vampires thought like us, too.
It was the thinking like us that made them so dangerous.
It was the thinking like us that—against all the odds—might have meant this dreadfully conceived plan was true.
After my day of adventures, I arrived home close to midnight. I updated Norman on the situation. From the grunt, I guessed he appreciated my efforts. Either that, or he wished me an early death.
I’d picked up a new supply of vending machine snacks on the way home. At the time of purloining them from the machine, I’d thought there’d be more than enough to eat so I could add to my stash under the bed. Turned out, I ate them down and then sat on the couch, still feeling empty.
