Harvest Of Evil

by William Lehman

  Feododr looked at me with hate and fear in his eyes, and whispered, "It was a mistake, I was caught up in the moment, I beg your forgiveness and I offer you my throat. You are not my food, I offer you myself as sustenance."

  Such an apology requires an appropriate response. I turned my back to him and very clearly dug first one then the other of my feet into the floor and scraped it back, repeating this three times, as if covering my scat. Cat sign for "you're shit, I bury you, and move on." Then I turned around and looked at Viggo. "Don Viggo, can we continue this conversation without this distraction? It smells." I seemed to have a talent for getting off of people's Christmas list lately. Oh fucking well, it was virtually inevitable that I was going to go head to head with Feododr eventually, but I was willing to let it rest until he brought it up again, and being the arrogant ass that he seemed to be, I could count on it being in my face. Oh, he wouldn't attack until he thought he had all the edges, but he wouldn't snipe me from a mile away on a roof top. No, that wouldn't 'prove his superiority' over this simple Lycanthrope. He would need to be there and actually performing the kill. Gosh I couldn't wait for him to try.

  Feododr excused himself, explaining that he had a pressing engagement. I refrained from mentioning that what was pressing was Viggo's thumb into the nerve cluster at the base of Feododr's neck. I'll allow the rotting little bag o' flesh some little dignity, I won, I can be gracious. After he left, I looked at the rest of the council and asked "So, Guillermo, do you know any more about these legends?"

  Guillermo thought for a second, and said, "Well, they are supposed to be able to fly on broomsticks, and maybe to turn into eagles. They prey particularly on children, leaving them dead, or with a wasting disease like polio. They also act much like a succubus, preying on husbands and boyfriends with unhealthy lust and luring them to their deaths. I spent many happy years in the area now called Mexico City, and its surrounding environs, back shortly after the Spanish conquest of the Americas. It was a good time to be alive. I never met anyone who had a run-in with them though, and I believed them to be a myth."

  Well it's sort of amusing to hear a fifteenth-century Spanish Don, Vampire, talking about something being a myth, but…

  Jeremiah spoke up. "I don't know if these Civatateo are real or if we have someone in the area with out our permission, but I move that we offer John our full support in trying to locate them, if for no other reason than to clear our names." After that, there was some brief discussion and they came to the conclusion that it was in their best interest to help track these Mexican Vampires down. Shortly after that, we finally got to leave. It was after midnight, but I still had to go dancing. On the other hand I got to go dancing with Mary Two Elks.

  12

  Leaving the Council offices was very similar to entering, except that suddenly I was Mr. Fisher, in the same tone that Mary was Ms. Two Elks. I don't think science has adequately studied the capability of the office grapevine, I suspect that there are space travel applications, as it is the only current form of communication that breaks the light speed barrier. We got out of there with good wishes and 'always a pleasures' being spewed all over us, I guess that Jeremiah and Viggo are popular bosses, and that Feododr and Ama-Katerina are not particularly well thought of by the staff. Ya know, it's always easy to find out who in an organization is worth a damn, and who is an idiot or an asshole, find out how the underlings feel. Especially the bodyguards, those are the guys that see everything, and have no vested interest in sucking up, or bad mouthing. When I got in the truck, I checked in with dispatch, and then went out of service for the night. The rest of the weekend was mine. (except for some studying I would need to do before testifying on Monday)

  After we pulled out of the garage, I headed for Old Town, which wasn't very far. In fact I ended up parking a little further away than if I would have stayed in the B of A Tower parking garage. I half figured that this would happen, but I really didn't want to leave my truck to the tender mercies of Feododr, Kat, and company. We were headed for the only obvious choice for clubbing, considering how we were dressed. Cowgirls Inc. This place was sort of 'Cocktail' meets 'Coyote Ugly' Western Chic. It's also about the only western club in downtown. You would think that with the fact that there are real working ranches within twenty-five miles of Seattle, tied in with the fact that the Seattle area is one of the largest country radio markets in the nation, we would have more high end country music clubs. Alas, no. Now country isn't my only music choice, I grew up on old rock and roll (Springsteen, Kansas, ELO, Bob Seger and the rest), folk and ballads are great, I've even been known to, on rare occasion, listen to Jazz and the occasional R&B song. Techno is a bit too weird for me, some of the hard rock gets too hard, and hip hop, punk, and grunge are right the fuck out. But considering how we were dressed, country is the obvious choice. I mean really, can you imagine walking into a rock club in a Stetson, and cowboy boots? Or Mary with her beaded, leather, western cut, jacket and boots? Shit, they would have had fights for the privilege of trying to kick our asses. Not that they would have succeeded, but I really didn't want any more excitement tonight.

  As we walked up to the front door, I could see that there was a line. This is nothing new, there's usually a line here. We got in the queue and settled down to wait. You could hear the band from out here, in fact, you could hear it better out here, than in there. I looked over at Mary, who was swaying to the music, and said "So, you want to tell me why the council knows you so well, and has such a schizophrenic attitude towards you?"

  She looked at me and grinned. "If I said no, I'd be in the shits, wouldn't I?"

  I looked back with the same grin, and said "Yeah, pretty much. I know it's your business, and I can't force you to tell me, but… not telling me would, shall we say, show a certain lack of trust. It might change the nature of our relationship a bit."

  She looked back with a wider grin, "Oh-ho, gato, so, we have a relationship now, do we?"

  "Hey, you don't make cat jokes, I won't make Indian jokes, 'K?" I was still grinning, still teasing, but I really don't like cat cracks.

  She grinned again, and said "I'm sorry John, I understand what being the odd man out can be like. And you know what, I think I like the idea of having a relationship." We didn't get to go any further on our discussion at the time because one of the security types came up to me.

  This guy was the size of a small tank, black hair in a short pony tail, tucked back, and dressed all in black. Security looks pretty much the same all over. He smiled down at me and said, "Could you and the lady come with me, sir?" and walked to the front of the line.

  We followed him, and when we got to the ropes, he said, "Sir, I can't let you in wearing that."

  I looked at him with a raised eye brow, and said, "Wearing what?"

  "Sir, what you have on your left hip, and in your right boot," he said looking me dead in the eye. Then he got another look, and his eyes got wider. "Sir, are those contacts?"

  I looked him over, and said, "I am going to reach into my back pocket, for my wallet. It's not a bribe, and not a weapon. Is that OK?" When he nodded, I reached back and pulled my wallet. As I went forward with it, I said "I think this will explain why I can't go and put that stuff you are concerned about back in my truck." and opened my wallet and showed my ID and badge. I had it shielded so that no one else saw it, I didn't want to start a problem, nor did I want it to look like I was rousting the place. But I wasn't giving up my gun, or my backup.

  He looked down, and shone a small light on the open wallet. Then looked up and smiled at me. "I see sir, that does indeed change things a bit. Are you here officially?"

  "No, but as a Federal officer, I may not surrender my weapon. I'm sure you understand. Is this going to be a problem?" I didn't want it to sound like a threat, because it wasn't. I just wanted to know if I was going to have to leave. State and Federal law exempts me from the rules about guns in bars, but if the bar owner has an issue, he can still ask me to go, and if I'm not on duty, I
really can't say much.

  He looked at me and said "I have no problem here sir. Please go right on in. But you didn't tell me, are those real?"

  I looked back on the way in, and said "yes" with a grin.

  When we walked through the door, the sound hit us like a wave. I don't know what bars' fascination is with big fucking amplifiers, but it doesn't seem to matter what type of bar it is, they have to crank the sound system to the threshold of pain. And then go about two notches beyond. The bartenders were busier than a one-legged man in an ass-kicking contest, except for the one up on the bar shaking her thing to the music. All of them were dressed in the same get-up, which is to say not much. What little of it there was included lots of fringe. I'm sure tips were good. We got back enough from the speakers to hear each other and found a table. The place was hot, and I don't just mean it was happening, though it was hot in that sense too, but the temperature had to be eighty-five degrees at least. There were so many different smells in the area that I couldn't pick them all out, but lust and perfume were the primary components. The band was playing a cover of "Earl Had to Die" by the Dixie Chicks. A case of justifiable homicide if ever I heard one; however, the band was murdering the song as badly as the heroine in the song murdered her husband. The barmaid was there almost before we could set down, so we ordered. I had an Evan Williams and water, Mary ordered a Rusty Nail. By the time we got our orders out, the band had swung into "Save a Horse, Ride a Cowboy". Which at least had enough beat for me to dance to.

  I looked over at Mary, stood up, and offered her my hand with a smile, saying "I did warn you, I don't dance. I don't know how, never learned, I have two left feet, and no sense of rhythm. However if you are determined to mortally embarrass me, and put your toes at risk, I can hear the beat in this." Which may be the most awkward way in the history of the world to say 'shall we dance'. It did however give her fair warning that as a dancer, I suck.

  She smiled back at me, and said, "Do you want to not be embarrassed, and look like you're a complete natural out on the floor?"

  I looked back at her with what I'm sure was a puzzled expression, and said "Sure," with that inquisitive tone that says "what the hell do you have in mind woman?"

  Mary reached into a pocket and pulled something out. I didn't see what it was. As she lit it and said something in a low voice, she dropped it in the ash tray. I immediately got a huge whiff of sage and sweet grass with an overtone of musk. She looked at me and said "Don't fight it, just go with it, John. Your feet know what to do, if you let them."

  We walked out onto the floor where they were doing a line dance. Now I knew I was in trouble. I can sort of, kind of, waltz, and fall my way through a two step, but line dancing? While I was thinking this, my feet were suddenly caught up in the moves. All I had to do was play along, and get the hand moves right. Shit, this rocks! It's a good thing Arthur Murray never heard about this. He would sue for unfair competition. We finished this song and segued into "She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy". I didn't know what I was doing out here, but they cleared some space to give us room. If we weren't the favorite couple on the floor, we were at least in the top ten.

  After one more fast one, and a slow dance, (which, I must say, was truly enjoyable, as for once I could get into the snuggle, instead of being deathly afraid that I would break my partners foot) I looked at Mary and said "This was great, and thank you from the bottom of my heart. But I really need something to drink, and I suspect our booze is getting warm." She nodded and smiled back and we headed for the table. By the time we got there, the exercise had caught up with me, and I had broke into a sweat. I had to take my hat off to wipe my brow. And me a great big mean cop. Shit. I slugged down half my drink, and then had to fight off a sputter. I will say this for them, Cowgirls Inc. gives fair pour.

  Mary sipped a bit of her drink, and looked at me with a smirk, "I thought you didn't know how to dance, cowboy."

  "Uh, yeah. Say, how long does this spell last? And is it liable to have any side effects, like, oh say, breaking into dance in the middle of court on Monday?" I grinned as I said it, to take the sting out, but I was half serious. I have rarely run into as smooth a spell as this one. It made me nervous.

  She looked at me and said "Now, do I look like the sort that would do something that silly? Of course it doesn't have any side effects, other than that you're a bit more tired than if you were dancing without magical help. The body supplies the power. There's a bit to the spell that only allows it to kick in on your own volition. That is the only ethical way to cast such a spell, after all. If you don't feel like dancing on your own, the spell doesn't kick in. It'll wear off in about two or three days, unless I reinforce it, and make it permanent. Would you like that?"

  "Um, yeah, not breaking my date's toes has always been high on my list of good things." I was actually having fun, holy sheep dip! I haven't had fun on a date in uh, let's see, oh yeah, since the divorce.

  Humm, time to change the thought train. This one's about to go places I don't have a ticket for. It's not that I still carried a torch for the ex, except maybe to light her pyre with. It's just, that whole "you're a monster, and should be locked in a cage" bit messed with my head a mite. I haven't been celibate since then, but they all have been very clearly understood things, no romance, just one-night stands 'pour le sport' or for money. This looked like it was going in a different direction entirely.

  I must have been lost in space, because the next thing I heard was, "Hey, Earth to Major John."

  "Sorry, Mary. Lost in thought for a second, it's easy for me to do, because it's unfamiliar territory." I said with a straight face. "So, before we were so rudely interrupted by the 'Rent a Thugs', you were going to tell me what was up between you and the council."

  "Oh that, I was hoping you had forgotten about that." She glanced over at me, I raised an eyebrow sardonically. "No, huh. Didn't think so, but it was worth a try. OK, well, you have to understand that my parents were both Native American Activist Lawyers. Mummy and Daddy were both in on the sit-in at Wounded Knee, both involved in the civil rights trials and up to their necks in the activist movement. They branched out to helping other minorities fight 'the man', uh, that's you by the way, if you weren't aware. At one time they helped prepare the briefs for the United States vs. Grant, and Sotheby vs. the State of Missouri. They were also magic users, before it was fully legal, and were both members of the Dog Soldiers. Dad had been asked on a couple of occasions to assist in the defense of Vampires accused of crimes during the early days of the local council coming out of the coffin. When the council had a problem with a magic user, they came to my folks. Unfortunately, the folks are a bit long in the tooth for the sort of field work this job called for, so mom and dad 'sent in the understudy', me. As a result of helping them with their 'problem', we have a blood debt between us. Half the council sees this as a debt of honor, and consider me to be the Vamp equivalent of a 'made man'. The other side sees me as a liability that knows too much, is owed too much and they resent owing anything to 'cattle'."

  I looked over at her, suddenly all cop. "So what was their 'problem'?" I asked. "If this is going to reach out and bite us in the butt, I think I want to know what it's all about. Besides, why did they go to the 'Dog Soldiers' whatever the hell that means, rather than the cops?" The moment I got this out, I knew I had pushed too far, but damn it, I need to know what the Hel is going on, and my professional suspicion had kicked in. Had Mary been involved in offing someone for the Vampire council, for gods' sakes?

  Mary looked over her drink at me and said "Let me address those questions one at a time. First, their problem was their own, and what help I gave them didn't include breaking any laws. Nor did they break any laws as a result of anything I did. Other than that, it's sort of like attorney / client privilege. As to why they didn't go to the cops, are you fucking serious? Who would the Vampire council be sent to with a problem, anyway? How about the FPI? You met the local head of the FPI, would you go to him with a problem i
f you didn't have a badge, a gun, and the drop on him?" Well, she had a point there. I could certainly understand why no one would want to deal with the Fuckin' Pricks and Idiots. She went on, "As to why they would go to the Dog Soldiers, it might be because we have a three hundred plus year history of being the incorruptible arbitrators between the clans and tribes of the Cheyenne nation. We are the ones who enforced the peace, and defended the nation as a whole against any threat, internal, external, or spirit world, until the white man managed to finally overpower us by sheer force of numbers and technology. We could still have beat you if you hadn't found a way to destroy the Spirit-Shirt Brotherhood." By the end of this rant, she was red in the face from more than genetics. Damn, I knew I had pushed too far. Damn, my big mouth.