Texas Hold 'Em

by PATRICK KAMPMAN

  We got lucky on parking when we got back up to Austin, pulling into a recently vacated spot a few blocks off the main street. It was after two, but the area was still packed. More than seventy clubs lined Sixth Street in Austin, and thousands of college kids and young urbanites descended upon them like a plague of locusts every night. On Fridays and Saturdays the police blocked off the roads to give the crowd more space. We walked among the students and twenty-somethings that jammed the street from sidewalk to sidewalk. Music poured from most of the doors, a mishmash of every genre imaginable.

  We were looking for a place I had never heard of, which wasn’t too surprising. Between work and school, I didn’t have the opportunity to spend as much time downtown as I would have liked. Kristi and I went once in a while, but we tended to frequent the same places over and over. A sports bar with pool tables that I liked, and a dance club that she did.

  Styx was neither of those. With a back-alley entrance a couple of blocks off Sixth Street, the club tried to set itself apart. Obscure band posters in various states of decay plastered the wall to either side of the large red door that served as its entrance.

  A huge doorman in tight jeans, a black t-shirt and sunglasses perched on a stool at the end of a black rope used to guide the nonexistent line. Several groups of black-clad patrons littered the alleyway; most of them were smoking, forced outside by Austin’s no-smoking ordinance.

  “This is the place?” asked Lacey, distaste clearly showing on her face. She was more of a trendy dance club girl.

  “Unfortunately, yes,” Megan said, frowning at the red neon sign proclaiming the club’s name. It was clear she wasn’t prepared for this either. Megan’s tastes were harder to pin down. I would have guessed she preferred swanky elegance or upscale reserve. But the bar where I had met her was neither. It was more…backwoods watering hole. Of course, it had been a vamp bar and I supposed, at least in California, they preferred to keep things lower profile. The place now before us was more cliché than low profile.

  “They named the club after an eighties rock band?” asked Lacey.

  “I think it’s supposed to be named after the river in Hades,” said Megan.

  “What are you guys even talking about?” asked Bryan.

  “Never mind; let’s go in and find this…whoever it is we’re supposed to meet,” I said.

  None of us were dressed appropriately. Megan at least was in black, but it was a classy cocktail dress that was too short, too devoid of lace, and entirely the wrong style to be considered gothic chic. Lacey was wearing jeans and a Salem, Massachusetts t-shirt that might have worked if it wasn’t pale pink. Bryan and I wore jeans and t-shirts as well, but again, they were the wrong style.

  “Maybe I should wait outside with Bryan,” Lacey said.

  “That’s what I’m talking about. Let’s you and me go find a darker spot in this alley.”

  “On second thought, he can wait out here on his own.”

  “Like hell. Why would I do that?” Bryan said.

  “Because you’re not twenty-one,” Megan said, smiling as she realized the one upside the club had going for it.

  “Seriously? Screw that,” said Bryan.

  I came to Megan’s aid. “No choice, Bryan, we can’t draw attention to ourselves trying to sneak you in. So unless you have a fake ID, you’re out here watching the door. Keep an eye out for vampires. If you see any you recognize, call us.”

  Bryan had been watching from the van the night the vampires came and burnt down my mom’s trailer. He had gotten a good look at a few of them, including Christian. It actually would be useful having him outside making sure no surprises walked in the front door.

  “Dude, this sucks,” Bryan said.

  “It’s not so bad. At least a couple of the chicks over there look cute.” I nodded to a group of patrons huddled near the entrance to the club. This particular group had a disproportionate amount of black-clad, milky-white-skinned hotties.

  They were keeping to themselves, but Bryan had no social qualms about inserting himself where he wasn’t welcome. He perked up after seeing a couple in the herd that must have caught his fancy. Without another word, he started off in their direction.

  I pitied them.

  The smoking contingents outside of the club uniformly looked startled when, instead of passing them by and continuing down the alley, the three of us walked up to the bouncer.

  I froze for a second before recovering and pulling out my driver’s license. The bruiser was giving off a familiar vibe. He was a troll. I had tangled with one once before, and it hadn’t been a pleasant experience. They were incredibly tough, easily able to handle even the toughest werewolf or vampire by themselves. Which, I’m sure, was why one had been chosen as security for this club.

  His look of surprise as we walked up to him made it clear that even he thought we were at the wrong bar but, to his credit, all he said was, “IDs.”

  We complied, and after handing over a cover charge of ten bucks each to a cute purple-haired attendant who never looked up from the game on her phone, we entered into an unexpectedly large club.

  The theme was underworld chic with a dash of scuzzy. The walls and ceiling were black, and the decorations were all suitably gothic in nature: a collection of gargoyles, horror and geekophile movie posters, walls covered in sexually twisted macabre murals that would have done H.P. Lovecraft proud, and the final touch, a battalion of fog machines working away to ensure that the first several feet of the floor were continuously shrouded in smoke.

  All of the tables littering the floor, along with the series of circular booths that ran along the walls, were upholstered in blood red and were full of customers. Several dozen more pale patrons filled the dance floor. Most of them danced by themselves, rather than in pairs, swaying to Bauhaus pounding out of the speakers, like morose marionettes.

  Two bars—a large one in front, and a smaller, more intimate one set way in back—were both buried several rows deep by thirsty consumers of cocktails and red wine. A better-lit area in a corner was set aside for pool tables, pinball machines, and old-school video games.

  A line of people stood in front of a window next to the games. A scrawny guy covered in facial tattoos and piercings took food orders.

  As we stepped down into the club and swam through the throng of people, the suffocating heat conflicted with the cool presence of several vampires. I had no immediate way to pick them out of the crowd, but they were here. It was the same familiar sensation that emanated from Megan by my side.

  I looked to Megan for direction, having no idea what this head vampire looked like. She was busy scanning the crowd as we moved, her brows drawn together. When we finally made it to the critical mass crowding the large bar, she stopped.

  “Any idea where this guy is?” I shouted, forgetting she could hear me regardless.

  She shrugged. “Let’s grab a table and see if he comes to us.”

  Somewhere during our journey, Lacey had disappeared. On a hunch I looked toward the food window, but now that we were down on the same level, it was lost from view.

  Megan and I threaded our way through the people to the tables situated farthest away from the dance floor, making it slightly less impossible to communicate over the music.

  Megan walked up to one of the booths, where a bored-looking guy wearing black jeans and a “Sisters of Mercy” shirt nursed a vibrant green drink. The table held half a dozen glasses in various states of fullness, and I guessed that this man was the designated table watcher.

  Megan leaned over and, making sure she had his full attention—which, when you looked as good as Megan did, wasn’t difficult—began speaking to him. I couldn’t hear what was said, but he got up and wandered off toward the pinball machines. It was the first time I had witnessed her Push someone: using the innate ability vampires had to convince the weaker- willed to do their bidding.

  I slid into the booth feeling more than a little guilty at sending the poor guy off. He was going t
o catch hell from his friends when they found out he had lost their table.

  I forgot all about stealing the table, however, when Megan scooted in next to me. I instinctively put my arm around her as she pressed against me and rested a hand on my thigh.

  Amazingly, a waitress found us not long after we sat down. The vampire cleared the table, expertly balancing the glasses on a black plastic tray while she took our order without the assistance of pen and paper. We went ahead and ordered for Lacey, assuming she’d return sooner or later.

  Once the waitress left, I leaned back and did my best to look casual while scanning the club for the vampire master of Central Texas. Everyone was dressed the same, and in the mass of black clothing, pale skin, and long dyed hair, it was impossible.

  Every once in a while I sensed a vampire coming close, but it was so crowded I couldn’t pinpoint who it was. And nobody seemed particularly interested in us, other than one irate girl who came off the dance floor and was surprised to find us sitting at what presumably had been her table. She stormed off into the crowd to find the poor guy who gave it up.

  “Give it some time; he’ll turn up. At least he better. If he insists on receiving us in public, with no other instructions than a time and the name of a club, then he should come to us.” I wasn’t sure if Megan was thinking out loud or had assumed I was impatient. Either way, her displeasure was evident. It was obvious that some sort of vampire etiquette was not being followed to her satisfaction. She had removed her hand from my leg so she could cross her arms, and her brows were getting more furrowed by the minute.

  “The waitress is a vampire—should we ask her?”

  “If no one shows up soon, we might have to.”

  I was on edge enough without Megan’s usually calm demeanor crumbling. She was nervous bringing me here, and it was rubbing off on me.

  I sucked in a breath and tried to pull things back into perspective so her displeasure wouldn’t send me over the edge: The music wasn’t my taste, but it wasn’t bad. The beer the waitress had just delivered was cold, and the girl sitting next to me was smoking hot.

  I let out the breath, pulled Megan closer, and took a swig of beer. Closing my eyes, I pushed everything else but the present out of my mind. Megan kept her arms crossed, but nestled into me a little further. Her cool skin felt nice in the heat of the club.

  We ordered a second round of drinks, including one for Lacey in case she decided to show back up. I was going to ask Megan if she wanted to dance when the bench seat cushion bounced up a couple of inches. Megan’s quick reflexes prevented her from spilling her drink. I wasn’t quite as lucky; a splash burped out of the bottle and ran down my hand.

  Lacey had launched herself into the other side of the booth. She dropped a huge basket of fries hidden by a mound of chili and melted cheese, along with a couple of juicy burgers, between us.

  “Check out these fries!”

  I was met with an intoxicating aroma of grease, meat, and spices. I decided dancing could wait a bit, and if the master vampire continued to be a no-show I might finally get to eat a decent meal. The trick would be to eat quickly, before Lacey could consume hers and start in on mine.

  Lacey said something around a mouthful of burger that sounded like “Do you have an umpire?” but which I interpreted to be “So, where is this vampire?”

  “Not sure. Megan thinks he’ll show himself soon.”

  Lacey shrugged, indicating that with food on the table, finding him was currently low on her priority list. She snatched a second fry and scooped up a smear of melted cheese with it.

  “Okay, Megan, so ‘fess up. What do you know about the man in charge?”

  “Nothing,” Megan said. “Are you really going to eat that?” She was staring at our food with a mixture of wonder and revulsion.

  “Yes. And you are such a liar—you do too know something,” said Lacey.

  I had reclaimed my arm from around Megan so I could use both hands to eat. I was determined to finish my meal before something interrupted it. The waitress showed up with our drinks: a rum and Coke for Lacey, a martini for Megan, and a Newcastle for myself. I lost precious seconds having to get out my wallet and pay her.

  Megan gave a last uncertain look at our meals and then answered Lacey. “I don’t know much. I know the master’s name is Mirari, and they have a certain reputation…Seriously, guys, that looks disgusting. Even if I was still human, I don’t think I could do it. It’s like pure grease.”

  The chili-cheese fries were actually good. I tried telling her as much, but through the mouthful of food I’m not sure she understood me.

  Lacey was slightly better versed at talking with her mouth full, and got across, “Reputation, huh? Is this clown a brutal killer or what?”

  “Not exactly.” Distinctly uncomfortable—at either the question or watching us consume our food, I couldn’t be sure—Megan turned away from me slightly and resumed searching for the vampire amongst the crowd.

  Lacey took a rare pause to prod Megan. “Well? Spill it, girl. If they don’t have a reputation for draining humans dry and leaving their empty husks buried out in the woods somewhere, then what’s the problem?”

  “They have a reputation for indulging in carnal pleasures,” said Megan without turning around.

  “What’s wrong with that? So they throw wild parties. It could be a lot worse,” Lacey said.

  I had to agree. “Horny vampires are better than murderous ones.”

  “Well, Chance, you would be the expert.”

  This time Megan turned. She tried to take a swipe at Lacey, but I was in her way.

  “Anyway. Some vampires see themselves as above humanity. They think people are for fun, entertainment, and of course food.”

  “I’m still not seeing a problem here,” said Lacey. “I feel the same way about most guys.”

  Megan sighed. “Fine, but some of these vampires trade their…humans back and forth. You know, they share.”

  “Oh. Oh! I get it!” Lacey scooted around the booth, probably to get closer to my burger, and gave me a little elbow in the side. “This guy is a vampire swinger! Megan wasn’t worried about us getting killed; she was worried about having to share her boy-toy with the other kids on the playground!”

  “Of course I was worried about you getting killed!” said Megan.

  “And getting lucky, apparently,” Lacey said, pulling her almost-empty basket to her new location. I believe she considered whether she could switch baskets quickly without my noticing.

  “Hey. Luck has nothing to do with it. I got mad skillz with the ladies. Women want me,” I said, placing a hand on my basket.

  “What if it’s not a lady?” asked Lacey, frowning at my move.

  “Dude, lady; it doesn’t make a difference. My hotness defies gender boundaries. Seriously, though—whoever it is, they’re sure taking their sweet time. Are you positive you got the right day?” I asked Megan.

  “Maybe he stood us up?” Lacey ventured.

  “I talked to Donovan less than two hours ago. This is the right date, right time, right place,” Megan huffed.

  “Well, there are definitely vampires here; I mean, besides the one sitting next to me. You would think one of them would bother to stop by and greet the newcomer.”

  “So which ones are the vamps?” asked Lacey.

  “No idea. Without invading their personal space, I can’t tell them apart from anyone else.”

  “So go stalk some vamps until you find the most powerful one and then tell him to get his ass over here. Or are you worried the vampires might think you’re creepy?”

  “Funny. And nice try, Lacey, but I’m not leaving my food unattended.”

  Chapter 14

  I ate as fast as I could, but Lacey had polished off her basket while I was only halfway through my burger. She was helping me eat my fries when Bryan walked up, surrounded by the pleasant-looking group that had been sequestered outside the club. This close up, I knew that at least a couple of them were
vampires and, by the vibe I was getting, powerful ones.

  Bryan had somehow managed to find a girl, despite this scene being the polar opposite of what he thrived in, which was something like a bastardization of redneck and Guido. The way he treated women, it never stopped amazing me that he constantly attracted them.

  This one was pretty—a cross between a Latina Morticia Addams and a Suicide Girl. When they stopped, she scooted under his arm, wrapping her own around his chest.

  Standing next to my brother and his latest girlfriend was an older guy, maybe in his forties, fully decked out in burgundy and black Renaissance- gothic attire, including a large tri-cornered hat with an enormous plume sticking out of it. His dyed-black hair hung in long glossy ringlets, framing a face caked with makeup that would have done Alice Cooper proud.

  “Dude! Check it out! My brother with the two hottest girls in the joint!” Bryan said, ignoring the hurt pout from the raven-haired waif hanging off of him. The rest of the entourage had backed off a little, giving the costumed guy space.

  “I see, Bryan! And I thought we were going to be talking to Donovan’s emissary from California, but it’s clear who’s in charge here.” The fop gave me a smile he thought was clever, but it ended up just smarmy.

  I realized then that between Megan pressed against one side of me, and Lacey leaning over the other to get at my food, I must have looked like a sports star or pimp.

  The vampire bowed, going so far as to roll his hat off his head with one hand. He winked at me before standing, replanting his hat, and giving the girl attached to my brother a questioning smile.

  “Oh, by all means continue,” she said, and the fop directed his next words to Megan.

  “We apologize for keeping you waiting, my dear. We met your companion’s brother outside, and were so enraptured by all his witty discourse, I’m afraid we lost track of time.”

  I had no idea what Bryan had told them, but I assumed that any amusement that came from it was directed more at him than at the contents of his speech. And it would most definitely come back to haunt us.