X-Rated Bloodsuckers

by Mario Acevedo

  “Councilwoman Petale Venin?”

  “Ever wonder,” Polly replied, “What would happen if you mated a shark with a bulldozer?”

  “She’s that subtle? What’s her relationship with Cragnow?”

  “As far as I know, none other than the usual influence peddling,” Polly said. “This is L.A. The land is paved with crooked politics and shady deals.”

  I let the next name slip out casually. “The Reverend Dale Journey.”

  Polly halted. Her lips bunched into a snarl. “That son of a bitch. Journey’s done his best to shut off what tiny drops of funding Open Hand gets from the government. Meanwhile that pious bastard swims in tubs of money provided for his ‘faith-based initiatives.’ Seems he can’t tutor school kids or feed the elderly without a new Mercedes every year.”

  “Would Journey have anything to do with Cragnow?”

  “You’re kidding? Of course not. That’d be like Larry Flynt and Billy Graham meeting for coffee and donuts. Why do you ask?”

  “Because Cragnow and Journey both had the same real estate broker, Rosario.”

  Polly repeated the name. “Interesting. For Journey to have contact with Cragnow, even through a go-between like Rosario, would be political suicide.”

  I studied Polly. “You know Roxy had a sister?”

  “Where?”

  “Here in L.A.”

  Polly kept silent for a moment. “Wow. She never mentioned a sister.” Polly started walking again. “And I don’t remember meeting any of Roxy’s relatives at the memorial service.”

  Polly stopped beside a white Infiniti sedan and pulled a remote and keys from her purse. “I’ve got to get back to the office.” She clicked the remote, and the sedan’s lights flashed. She reached back into her purse and produced a business card. “In case any more questions come up, call or email.”

  I took the card and put it in my shirt pocket. “Thanks.” I needed to verify what Polly told me, and for that I had to be alone with her. “I’m parked down the way. Could you give a lift?”

  “Sure.”

  We sat in the sweltering interior of the Infiniti, I in the front passenger’s side and Polly behind the wheel. While she fit the keys into the ignition, I removed my sunglasses and contacts.

  “Polly?”

  She turned the air conditioner up full blast and looked at me.

  I plucked the sunglasses off her nose. Her hands jerked up and her gaze locked on mine.

  Those blue-gray eyes dilated into black circles. Her aura shone like a red lamp. It’d be a treat to fang her and play around—easy enough, considering the tinted windows and the sunshade on the dash gave some privacy—but not now. Business first.

  I kneaded her hands and asked my questions. Polly was an easy read. She didn’t kill Roxy. She didn’t know who did. Everything she told me was the truth. And she knew nothing of vampires.

  I put on my contacts and sunglasses. I returned Polly’s sunglasses to the bridge of her nose and commanded her to awaken. She rolled her head in a confused, where am I motion.

  “Anything the matter?” I asked.

  She touched her temple. “Must be the heat. And the strain.”

  “Of what?”

  “I feel like a lout for saying it. Managing Open Hand. Fred was the second of my former clients that I buried this month.”

  “Really?”

  “There’s no connection,” Polly said. “The other client died of HIV-related pneumonia. Open Hand’s like a conveyor belt, the same faces and problems coming at you over and over. It’s worn me out. I could use a change. Any ideas?”

  “Change of what?” I asked.

  She sighed. “Everything.”

  “What are you looking for?”

  “A different kind of man, for starters.” Polly folded the sunshade and tossed it onto the backseat. She put the Infiniti into drive. “Felix, when I find him, I’ll let you know.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The conversation with Polly made me want to go quiz Rosario, Cragnow, and Journey. Plus corner Niphe and question him until I got tired of listening. And there was someone I hadn’t yet introduced myself to: Councilwoman Petale Venin. I moved her to the top of my list so I could learn what levers she pulled in this conspiracy.

  I drove into downtown Los Angeles, parked, and made my way to city hall. In L.A., everything, even the government buildings, led double lives for the camera, and this art deco structure had once served as the home of the Daily Planet in the Superman TV show. For the longest time, it was the tallest building in the city by ordinance, but it has since been dwarfed by the surrounding banks and corporate offices, the real seats of power.

  I climbed the steps into the lobby. Velvet ropes funneled traffic to a security checkpoint with an X-ray machine and a metal detector. How could I get past with my pistol? A notice on an easel pointed left toward a counter and said that everyone had to show a badge or sign in.

  A man in a business suit stepped around me, barking, “Excuse me,” and glaring, as if I was slowing him down from getting his asshole-of-the-year award. He halted at the counter and signed in with the attending cop, an LAPD officer. The cop selected a badge from the board behind him. The man clipped the badge to his lapel and continued inside, bypassing the security checkpoint.

  The cop went back to glancing at a book. When I approached, the cop closed the book, Selling Your Screenplay, and flipped it upside down to hide the title.

  Deep wrinkles mapped years on his tanned face. No doubt he was tired of being a career police officer.

  He pointed to a clipboard. “Show me an ID and sign in.” Next he pushed a sheet of paper name tags toward me. “Write your name on one of these, then go through security.”

  I had to show my ID? I didn’t want to leave a trail, and I couldn’t go through the metal detector. I would hypnotize the cop and get one of those special badges. But he stood on the opposite side of the counter, and with so many people around, zapping him might be a challenge.

  I pointed to the cop’s book. “That’s a tough racket.”

  “You a screenwriter?”

  “I’ve been optioned. Nothing’s made it to film yet, but it pays my bills.”

  The cop’s eyes glistened with envy. He shook his head. “Man, I’ve been at it for years and getting nowhere. How do you do it?”

  I leaned close. “There are tricks.”

  “Tricks?” He put his weight on the counter and gave an eager grin.

  Perfect. I tapped his book to distract him and removed my contacts. “These kind of tricks.”

  He looked up. His aura flashed. His posture relaxed and his mouth dropped open.

  “Give me a badge.” I couldn’t risk reaching over and grabbing one myself.

  The cop fumbled with the board. He gave me one with numbers written in big red print.

  I fastened the badge to my collar and told the cop. “Stare at your book for ten seconds, then wake up.”

  I put my contacts in and walked away. The cop on the other side of the checkpoint acknowledged me with a nod. I gave a smart wave of thanks. Keep up the good work. The bad guys will never sneak past you.

  At the end of the hall, a placard listed the council members by room number. Venin was in 497. I took the elevator to the fourth floor.

  Men and women in power suits filed into the elevator when I got off. The doors closed behind me and I was alone on the floor.

  Venin’s office was at the end of the hall, behind a wide wooden door with a frosted glass window bearing her name and title. This investigation was moving at turtle speed. Time to sprint. I removed my contacts again and decided to bust into Venin’s office, my vampire eyes blazing. I was going to hypnotize everybody if I had to. If other vampires were inside, well that’s why I had my talons and pistol.

  Voices mumbled from inside the room. I put my ear close to the glass pane. The voices quieted. They sensed my presence. Did they expect me, or someone else?

  I tensed my legs and grasped the doork
nob.

  Get ready. Vampire attack.

  I pushed the door open and sprang inside.

  A dozen voices yelled, “Surprise.”

  Twelve humans stared at me. They crowded inside Venin’s office and held garlands and a banner that read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

  Their eyes popped open in terror. Waves of panic lashed through their auras. When they twitched to move, I zapped each one in turn, like I was plinking tin cans off a fence.

  I nudged the door shut with my foot. I had to work fast, as this hypnosis wouldn’t hold them long. I went down the line and ordered, “Close your eyes and go to sleep.” Their arms dropped and they teetered in place.

  Colored balloons floated in the room. A cake sat on a round conference table. The cake frosting said Happy Birthday Cecil.

  I stopped in front of the oldest-looking human, a woman in her thirties. I stared into her eyes to strengthen the hypnosis.

  “Who’s Cecil?” I asked.

  “An intern.”

  “Where’s Venin?”

  “In Sacramento.”

  “When will she return?”

  “Late this evening,” the woman answered.

  A balloon bounced against my face and I slapped it away. I could rifle through the office but I needed to interrogate Venin. Other than learn she wasn’t here, this visit gave me bupkus.

  I told the woman to sleep. After the group woke up, they’d be confused for sure. Maybe word of that confusion would reach Venin, and if she knew anything about vampires, then I would’ve made her suspect something. So actually, I did worse than bupkus.

  I returned to my car and found a parking ticket stuck under the wiper. The meter had run out.

  I stared back at the city hall building. Venin had given me the slip without even trying. And here I thought of myself as a professional.

  I balled up the parking ticket and flung it into the trash. My superpowers sure did wonders today.

  Hoping to salvage the afternoon, I swung by Katz Meow’s town house. It looked more deserted than the first time I visited. With every passing day I was certain I’d never see her alive again.

  At 5 P.M. Veronica called. “We still on?”

  Her voice lightened my gray mood and made all the good parts of me tingle. “It’s the only reason I got out of bed.”

  “Where are you?” she asked.

  “On the Golden State Freeway. About a half hour from your place.”

  “Great. I’ll wait out front. See you then.” She hung up, and the screen on my cell phone blinked. My date with Veronica would make up for the frustration of what turned out to be a wasted afternoon.

  I finished a coffee frappé mixed with the rest of the blood I’d brought and gobbled Skittles to hide any trace of vampire breath.

  I rounded the corner onto Veronica’s street. She stepped from the breezeway of her apartment building. After my time with the über-voluptuous JJ Jizmee, Veronica looked downright anorexic. But only for a second. She had plenty of natural padding in all the right places.

  Veronica wore sunglasses and her usual capris, in white, that brought out the caramel tan of her shapely legs. She wore a light blue sleeveless blouse. Veronica exercised, and she liked to show off the results.

  I slowed and honked the horn. I lowered the window on the passenger’s side and called out, “Can Veronica come out and play?”

  She slung a canvas musette over one shoulder and bounded down the front steps with the eagerness of a girl let out from school. Veronica paused by the Chrysler and peeked over her sunglasses. “Nice wheels.”

  “Don’t be impressed. It’s a rental.”

  She got in and set the musette on her lap. She pointed south. “That way.”

  “What’s there?”

  “The beach.”

  “And your plan?”

  “Visit my mother’s.”

  Oh great. Why not let all the air out of my tires and feed me saltpeter?

  Veronica leaned over the center console, kissed my cheek, and pinched my side. “She’s not home. I gotta feed her cats.”

  Veronica gave directions to Venice, and we arrived at a modest cottage on Dell Avenue. I maneuvered the big 500M into a narrow space between the cottage and the newly built yuppie monstrosity next door.

  We squeezed out of the car. A late afternoon breeze whisked through the neighborhood, rustling trees and palms and bringing the heavy scent of ocean air. I put on a black hoodie for the growing chill. Veronica pulled a windbreaker out of her musette and zipped up.

  She unlocked the front door and we entered the cottage. The living room was filled with a lifetime’s accumulation of bric-a-brac collected from every souvenir shop between here and Mount Rushmore. Veronica filled pet dishes—commemorating a visit to Flagstaff, Arizona—with cat food and water, and we left for the beach.

  “There’s something I don’t understand about Roxy,” I said. “I keep hearing that her involvement in Project Eleven is what got her killed. She got the media attention, but stopping Project Eleven was your baby. Why has no one has come after you?”

  The breeze played with Veronica’s hair. She snagged loose strands behind her ears. “Never occurred to me.”

  “Never?”

  “Let me tell you why,” she replied. “If you’re a community activist, then you’d better be rattling cages on behalf of your constituents. You make enemies. But that’s not a bad thing. It builds respect. Street cred.”

  “And these ‘enemies’ never threatened you?”

  “Not a physical attack,” Veronica said. “There’s a lot of bluster and bullshit. Plenty of mind games and backroom maneuvering. But I never felt someone wanted to kill me.”

  “Then what made Roxy different?”

  “She knew where to get the real dirt on some very powerful people.”

  “And that’s why you think she was killed?”

  “It’s a guess.”

  We crossed a bridge over a shallow canal. A pelican on the bridge railing flexed its wings and took off.

  “Did it bother you what Roxy was up to?” I asked.

  “Felix, politics is a dirty business. When our opponents made her character an issue, then their character was fair game in return.”

  We stopped at Pacific Avenue and waited for a gap in traffic.

  “So you approve of what Roxy did?”

  “Hell yes,” Veronica replied. “It’s because of her that we made the city ditch Project Eleven.”

  “Even if that meant Roxy being murdered?”

  “So it’s my fault she’s dead?”

  We trotted across the street.

  “Of course not,” I answered. “In her digging through the dirt, did Roxy ever learn anything dangerous?”

  “Explain ‘dangerous,’” Veronica said.

  “Something worth risking murder to keep quiet.”

  “I don’t know. Roxy discovered plenty and aired it all. If she had found something dangerous, she never told me about it.”

  We reached the boardwalk and walked past the pier.

  Veronica hooked her arm into mine. “Felix, I appreciate you confiding in me, but I didn’t watch the clock today waiting for this conversation.”

  “Me either.”

  The sun settled into the gray haze above the ocean. The day’s remaining vendors along the boardwalk sat bundled in jackets behind card tables piled with candles, tarot cards, and homemade trinkets. All of the crazies were gone except for one diehard who sat on a plastic crate and bellowed, “I need money. I gotta buy some pot.”

  Veronica stopped at the window of a pizza stand and asked if I wanted some.

  I did, but only if drenched in blood. Otherwise, it’d be like eating paste on newsprint. “No thanks.”

  I rested my arm on the counter. The sudden, pungent odor of garlic stabbed my nostrils like tear gas. I yanked my arm from the counter in a bee-sting dance. I scrambled for a napkin to brush dirt-colored grains of garlic powder from my sleeve.

  “Are you okay?
” Veronica asked.

  Carefully, I balled the napkin and dropped it into the trash. “This is going to sound weird, but I’m allergic to garlic. Hives. My face swells up. I get gas like nobody’s business.”

  “That would kill the evening.” She took a slice of cheese and mushroom. Yellow grease dripped from the stained paper plate. “Not the same without garlic though.”

  “I’ll make it up to you.”

  Veronica turned the pointy end of the slice toward her mouth. “I’m holding you to that.” Her lips parted and presented teeth as iridescent as opals. Her mouth opened wide, and it should’ve been me instead of that pizza sliding onto her tongue.

  Veronica finished the pizza and chewed a tablet of Nicorette gum. We continued past the beach shops for a block and turned around.

  I pulled her close. I was going to nibble her ear when I noticed the silver pendant earring. I kissed the back of her neck instead and it smelled delicious. Those good parts of mine tingled even more.

  After returning to the cottage, I sat in a leather cigar chair and watched Veronica mix cranberry juice and vodka to make Cape Codders. She filled glasses stenciled: SANDS HOTEL AND CASINO.

  She walked barefoot, and her candy red toenails begged me to admire her feet. From there I worked my eyes up the curves of her calves, past the swell of her hips, her trim waist, a nicely formed back and an even nicer chest, the firm muscles of her arms and shoulders, and ending my appraisal where it should—on the smooth skin of her tempting throat. I wanted everything Veronica’s body could offer.

  She turned to stand against the kitchen counter with her back to me and sliced limes.

  I removed my contacts.

  Veronica’s aura glowed like the filament of an electric heater. The fringes of her aura rippled with sexual excitement. Veronica had very naughty plans.

  In my years as a vampire, this was the first time I had romanced a human female. I’ve bedded quite a few, of course, and used my vampire powers to shuck their panties and inhibitions. Veronica was different. I wanted this to be normal, as normal as it could get when one of us was an undead bloodsucker.

  Could such a relationship be possible? How had the situation developed between Coyote and Heather? Would this be the same?