Vamp City

by CD Brown

  “I think I know where he’s headed.”

  “You gonna tell me?”

  “No, I’m gonna let it play out.”

  Sure enough, he veered west at Olympic, then north again on Fairfax. They were headed for the building she’d already seen.

  “This building where he’s heading, they’ve got an electronic door.”

  “Can’t you just fly up or something?”

  “I still ache from flying across the city.” The pain had decreased, but the energy spent changing form would make it hard for her to do any spying. “Hopefully there’s another way.”

  They parked six blocks away on busy Melrose Avenue, so if they did get in trouble, the people milling might deter any vamp violence. As they approached, Jeremiah snapped.

  “That building?” He pointed at the brick lump, ugly in its efficiency.

  “Yeah.”

  “I’m all over it. I can climb right up.”

  “That’s great.” But Sophia needed something extra from his work. “Give me a nip, boo. I need to see through your eyes.”

  “I’m gonna be a zombie?”

  “No, you’ll have full control. You will be a vessel for my consciousness.”

  “Coolio.” He held out his arm and she re-opened the bandaged wound. “That ain’t never gonna heal, is it?”

  “It will. When you want to stop having sex.”

  Jeremiah shook his head and backed away from her. His body contorted and she heard the crackling of bones resetting. He didn’t go full change, just enough to give him possum strength and a shaggy ‘do. Sophia thought he was cute enough to cuddle, except for those gnarled blue hands. She would hate for them to caress her, even with Jeremiah’s light touch.

  He headed straight for the drainpipe as Sophia scanned for foot traffic. They were far enough into a skinny alley where seeing them would be difficult, but the time was still too early to count on solitude.

  Jeremiah was onto the third floor in under a minute. He worked his way to the one lit window, the obvious spot in the mostly abandoned structure. His opposable feet let him cling to any outcropping more than half a brick wide. He’d pulled his tail over the top of his jeans to give him balance and an extra grabbing appendage.

  “I can see your butt crack.” Sophia’s connection to him allowed for limited telepathy.

  “Keep your mind on the mission.” Through Jeremiah, she could hear conversation. He wheedled as close as his could and pressed his ear to a window, but his eyes were strong enough to see within.

  “Damn, your vision is amazing.”

  “It’s much better in this form. But I gotta watch the reflections.”

  As Sophia centered her consciousness into his vision, she saw Lil Bun shaking hands. Two of the men were the helicopter guys, but two others were strangers. The talk was light, as if the real meeting had yet to start. When the man built like a brick wall entered, everyone immediately deferred. This must be the Whale.

  Frank Whaloosie was dressed in an immaculate suit, obviously cut to accentuate any curves in his square body. Sophia drew the vision to his hands, large and sausage fingered, but manicured to a glow. Power radiated from him, back straight but a predator’s walk on the balls of his feet. He extended his arms and pulled Bun into a hug, the Bomb Squad gangster a kewpie doll in this vampire’s grip.

  Jeremiah focused his ears to hear.

  “So, tell me what Alpha’s thinking.” Whaloosie’s voice retained an East Coast Italian throatiness.

  “He ain’t stupid, boss.” Hearing that title applied to anyone else except David tugged at Sophia’s heart strings, but she powered through. “He been talking to this white woman. She was at the hit in Boyle Heights.”

  “Oh, we know about her. She thinks she’s the new Caballero.”

  “It’s cool, see. If we can get one more hit on the Muertos, I’ll take Alpha out myself. Then we’ll line up right behind you.”

  “But you fucked up in Boyle Heights. There was supposed to be no Muertos left.”

  “It’s that bitch, yo! I didn’t know nothing about her until after the raid.”

  “I admit, she’s a tough one.” Whaloosie shrugged his massive shoulders. “We got some hooks into her already. Right, Jimmy?”

  Sophia was shocked to see Jim Ferriday enter the room. This partnership Steve talked about looked cemented beyond his knowledge.

  “I’ve got a few ways to keep her in line. By the time this is all over, she’ll be begging to be part of the Council.”

  “So, that leaves one loose end.” Whalossie reached out and grabbed Bun’s face in both hands. “You, ya stupid fuck. Take a hit, coward. Split some flesh. You were obviously our inside man. Your only use now is another false flag.”

  Bun tried to wriggle free, but the grip held him. One of Whaloosie’s men drove a stake in his back, Bun’s crumbling to ash a sure sign it hit the heart. As Whaloosie rubbed his hands together, Jeremiah fell against the window, the shock too much for him to handle. Five sets of eyes locked onto the form outside.

  “Frank, this is crazy.”

  “Not now, Jimmy.” In a second, Whaloosie was to the window and sliding it open. Jeremiah tried to slide to the drain, but he moved too fast for his feet, slipping from the building side.

  As he fell through the air, he contorted his body into a ball, but he still couldn’t avoid the fence that made the alley narrow. He bounced off its top and Sophia heard a crack as he hit the ground in front of her.

  Looking up, she locked eyes with Whaloosie. Anger streamed off his face, even though he kept his expression neutral. She could feel trouble boiling around her, so she threw Jeremiah’s body, now human again, over her shoulder and sprinted for the car. Her super speed bested those in the building as they were blocks behind her when she arrived at the car.

  “My leg is broken. I can’t drive.”

  “What? I can’t either.”

  “Fuck. Okay, just open the door.” She cobbled Jeremiah into the driver seat, leapt over the car in one bound and got it the passenger side. She saw Jeremiah use his left leg to press the pedals.

  But Whaloosie’s gang didn’t look ready for a confrontation on Melrose, just like Sophia planned. They stood in a line and watched them drive off. Only Ferriday looked nervous. The rest were visibly angry.

  “We can’t go back to the center tonight.”

  “Okay. Guess it was about time you saw my place.”

  Jeremiah lived in Van Nuys in the San Fernando Valley, the home of nasally inflected girls and pornographers. Sophia had never crossed the mountain line and, after seeing generic strip malls and industrial parks, never needed to again.

  “It ain’t beautiful, but it’s cheap.” Jeremiah didn’t need to qualify his choice of neighborhoods, but everyone on the northern side of the city usually did.

  “I’m not complaining.” Sophia heard Jeremiah groan with each shift in position, his leg needing attention as soon as they landed. She felt so helpless being scared to drive and that just made her even more angry at herself for putting him in harm’s way. Being helpless fit her poorly, a nagging itch beyond her grasp.

  They finally made it to Jeremiah’s. At almost a foot taller than her, Jeremiah couldn’t lean on Sophia for support. But at 3 a.m., no one was in the parking lot. She hefted him and slipped quickly to his front door, both a blur in the early morning blackness.

  Once inside and on his bed, just a mattress and box spring on the floor, she stripped his pants off. It wasn’t a bad break, as his skin was bruised and no bone protruded. As she touched the spots, he hissed in pain.

  “There’s a quick fix to this.” Sophia didn’t have the skills to patch him up but knew what he could do.

  “I guess I know what it is.” Jeremiah scooted himself up, his back against the wall. “Let me do this myself, ‘cause you never know what kind of thrashing I might do.”

  “Should I lock the door?”

  “Naw. Just give me a bit by myself.”

  She close
d the door as she went into the living room. The apartment was horribly generic: brown carpet, white walls and rectangular rooms. It could be anywhere, having none of the charm of the French Quarter or even Silver Lake for that matter. Jeremiah had no decorations, adding to the rubber stamp feel. Nothing but a large television and gaming console. He didn’t even have a coffee table.

  “Boys and their toys,” she thought as she leaned into his cheap fabric sofa, no doubt from IKEA. The first pained moans and muscular cracks ripped from the bedroom. She pulled up her phone, anything to distract her.

  Another e-mail from Ferriday awaited her. She knew it couldn’t be good, but she had to know what his next move was.

  “Th Insiders have made a definitive discovery in the case of our dear, departed Caballero. We have definitive proof that Sophia Fontanelle, the recent arrival from New Orleans, is the perpetrator of the crime. While we have applauded her rehab efforts and planned to support the ZLVG monetarily, this disturbing new evidence means we will sever all ties with her as well as put her on the hunted list. We consider her fair game for anyone wanting revenge. Our proof will be presented at the inaugural meeting of the new Los Angeles Vampire Council to be held this Saturday.”

  From the bedroom, Sophia could hear a chuffing sound, something like a sneeze. Although she hadn’t lived in the country for a century, she knew that as a baby opossum’s call for its mother. Hopefully the regression meant Jeremiah’s tweaked metabolism was doing its job stitching the bones back together.

  Her phone rang: Sandy. Sophia blew out a breath, then took the call.

  “What happened?” Sandy’s normally sharp tone was even more razored. Sophia filled her in. “I’ve been getting calls from everybody. Everybody believes him.”

  “I take it you don’t.”

  “Please. I was a district attorney. I know a mob-style move when I see one. Whaloosie’s going for the power with Ferriday as his front. Thing is, you’ll never guess who’s still with us. Steve.”

  “Really? I’d have thought he’d be the first to go.”

  “Well, our little douche bag saw the writing on the wall first. He’s gonna stay inside, so we can have all of the info.”

  “Good on the kid. I’ll have to wrangle some extra special blood for him.”

  “Remember, you still owe me.” Sandy paused. “Not that I care, but how’s Rat Boy?”

  “You know he’s a possum. And…” Sophia looked up as the bedroom door opened. Jeremiah limped to the kitchen, his white t-shirt soaked through with sweat. “Looks like he’s gonna be okay.”

  “Good. Look, what’s our play here?”

  “I need you to take over the group. Play along with Ferriday and represent us at the council meeting.”

  “That should be easy enough. What are you gonna do?”

  “I’ll let you know when I figure it out. I’m staying here tonight and will see Carmen tomorrow. We only have a few days to get it together.”

  “Okay. Be safe.”

  Jeremiah appeared in the doorway, beer bottle in his left hand. “How bad is it?”

  “Bad. But what’s worse is where am I gonna sleep?”

  “You’ll never believe.”

  What had looked like a small coat closet near the front door turned out to be a walk-in, almost enough room for a second bedroom. A cramped one with no light, but good enough in a pinch. They pulled a sleeping bag and pillow in there, plus towels for the bottom crack of the door just in case. Jeremiah, exhausted from his injury and repair, went back to his bedroom. Sophia wanted to be in there with him, to caress and massage and tell him it would all be better, but she couldn’t take the chance. If she survived, or when she survived she corrected, she’d set up this house better so she could visit every now and again.

  As soon as the sun dipped down the next day, Sophia and Jeremiah drove to the ZLVG Center. She hoped to spend only an hour there, make a few calls and then get out. She didn’t want any danger at her home base.

  But she was too late. The reception area was trashed: holes beat into the walls, front desk torn out, and computer busted on the floor. Sophia smelled smoke and ran upstairs. Her room had been burned, but in a controlled way. The bed and armoire were charred, but the walls were still intact. In the center of the blackened remains were the boots, ripped and cut with a knife, the lines straight and even.

  “Aw, fuck!” Jeremiah yelled from downstairs, Sophia swiftly moving to his side. Jeremiah was on his knees, just outside Carmen’s office. “Those bastards. Those fucking bastards.”

  Sophia steeled herself and went in the office. Carmen’s body sat in her desk chair, a withered and desiccated husk drained of all blood. On the wall spelled out in crimson was “Leave town or die.”

  She wanted to collapse into a mound and cry her eyes out. She wanted to smash everything in front of her, finish the job these vandals had started. She wanted to jump into Jeremiah’s car and drive off, leaving these beasts and the goddamned town behind. But she couldn’t do any of that.

  She did what she had to do: she called Tamar and Alpha to set up a meeting so she could make a little pile of ash out of Fudgie the Whale.

  “I don’t trust this white man. Not one bit.” Alpha tried to keep his cool, but he also knew he’d lost eight people in the last few weeks to this new movement.

  The sit-down was in a neutral spot, L.A. Live, the open mall across from the Staples Center. There weren’t any sports happening tonight, but foot traffic between the restaurants kept the place busy enough that three people would not draw attention as they talked near the golden statue of Magic Johnson.

  “He made his move. He tried to take both of us out.” Tamar was furious, too, but tried to keep her voice down around all the mundanes. “We been fighting for years, but now’s the time to come together.”

  “That’s right.” Sophia kept her head on a swivel, unable to relax as long as her kill order hovered in the air. “But here’s the thing. He’s not expecting you, right?”

  They both shook their heads, as the e-mails had not been sent their way.

  “But we gonna show up anyway.” Alpha nodded, getting what Sophia was hinting. He liked this part of the plan. “It’ll be fun to make them peckerwoods shake in their boots.”

  “Peckerwoods?” Sophia hadn’t heard that term in decades. “How old are you?”

  “Old enough to want to whup some whitey ass.”

  “See, it ain’t all whiteys. Just that Italian motherfucker.” Tamar’s eyes were slits, accentuated by the heavy mascara she wore. “They may think they mobbed up, but they don’t know the wrath of my goddamn familia.”

  “Y’all have to be cool, now. We can’t tip our hand.” Sophia saw Sandy who sidled up quietly. “This operation’s gonna need perfect timing.”

  “And a hell of a lot of luck.” Sandy looked over a printout. “Ferriday’s building is hard to approach without being seen. Fudgie will probably have tons of muscle outside, so when your gangs make their moves, they’ll need the surprise.”

  “We know how to move silently.” Tamar’s assault on the blood feast bore out that statement. “And your homies got the drop on us. Still trying to figure that shit out.”

  “Same damn thing. Y’all weren’t paying attention. Ferriday don’t think we gots the balls to pull this off. But he done messed with the wrong negro.”

  Sandy flipped the pages, reading from one print out near the bottom. “Each cabal is allowed one representative. That puts maybe ten people in the room. Add the VampAmp staff, fifteen, twenty.”

  Tamar turned to Sophia. “You think these people are really gonna listen to you?”

  “Maybe not solo. But there’s five of us pleading the case. And few know Fudgie.”

  “Babe, they barely know you.” Sandy ran her fingers through her hair. “But you are a persuasive little thing. I give you some odds.”

  “In favor?”

  “No. Maybe a snowball’s chance in L.A.”

  “Meaning that’s better than
Hell?”

  “You’re quick.”

  “I wish I had more time, people, and firepower. Hell, I wish I had David and Chip back. But we roll with what we got.” Sophia looked them all in the eye one at a time. “We may not have much, but we got something good.”

  “Hell, yeah,” said Tamar, confidence brimming in her smile.

  Sophia nodded. “Sleep well. Tomorrow is not a given.” With that, she left them to return to Jeremiah waiting in the car.

  Chapter Eleven

  “What do you want out of life, girlie?” The twinkle in his eye showed David was in a rascally mood. They sat in her Storyville bedroom, him wasting another dollar only talking.

  “More than what you’re giving me.”

  “There’s more than that in the big, bad world. Much more.” He puffed out a cloud of cigar smoke. “But that’s the problem with being human. It’s hard to feel past the naughty bits.”

  “What should I say here, boss? Husband? Family? Nice little shotgun in Jefferson City? If I wanted the normal things, I would never have left the bayou.”

  “Is being a whore enough of an adventure for you?” He kept his smile and twinkly tone, although aggression hovered below his tomfoolery.

  “Big city is a double-edged sword. I do what I can to live easy. And most of my work is in the bouncy bed right here.” Sophia stood up to get her own cigarette. “But do I want some adventure outside of this house? Yes. But women don’t get the same opportunity like you do.”

  “Those like me don’t care about all that. I’m gonna see about you joining me in the adventure. You feel good about that?”

  “I’ll listen if you’re talking.”

  David stood up and opened her door. “No more talking tonight. I’ll let you rest before another randy john comes lumbering up.” He started to walk out, but then he looked over his shoulder. His smirk had returned. “You called me boss. I like that.”

  There were so many moving parts, Sophia wasn’t sure they could do this in order. They had a few advantages, hopefully enough to give them an edge in this operation.