"That's a relief. I thought you were going to say I smelled like I had spent the night in a kennel."
"There's a grocery bag with some clothes," he said.
I found old trousers and a frayed sweatshirt. I shrugged off the blanket and put the clothes on.
Bob's gaze lingered on me. "You're in good shape, Felix, even if there is shrinkage of the important parts. Blame that on the cold. It's been a while since I've had a nice-looking naked man in my car."
"I thought you were celibate."
"I'd make an exception for you." He squeezed behind the steering wheel. "Vampire to vampire. What you don't know, I'll teach."
"Think I'll pass." I pulled the door closed. The dome light went off. "Thanks, though."
Bob handed a large plastic 7-Eleven cup over his shoulder. "It's half cappuccino-yogurt shake and half goat's blood. Should perk you right up."
We left the parking lot. I sipped the shake, its rich coolness refreshing me. Coffee and goat's blood go so well together.
"Make sure you stay on that blanket," he cautioned. "I don't want your funk stinking up the upholstery."
"Where we going?"
"Isn't it obvious? Take a whiff of yourself. The closest shower or bath. I ought to dip you for fleas."
"Take me to Wong's place first." I related what had happened at the condo.
"Vânätori?" Bob's aura throbbed in concern. "Could you recognize them?"
"By their auras but not by their faces. It's kind of hard to loiter when someone's drawing a bead on you with a shotgun."
"And you ran down the stairs?" he asked. "Why not up to the roof and then crawl down the outside wall? They'd never be able to follow you."
I paused, too embarrassed to answer right away. "I've been having problems clinging."
Bob slapped the steering wheel. "Goddamn it, Felix, I told you that not drinking human blood would weaken your vampire powers."
"And Ziggy? He was never more than five minutes away from a human neck and the vampire hunters still got him."
"Ziggy's arrogance did him in." Bob's voice sharpened. "As for you. Clinging against gravity is the first power to go. Then your sixth sense falters. After that—"
"Take the next right at Broadway," I interrupted.
"Aren't you listening?"
"Stow it, Bob. I'll deal with this on my own terms."
"On your own terms all right. Until your head is cut off and your fangs carried away as a trophy by those fanatics."
"No one knows the risks better than I."
The silence in the car became thick with antagonism. I liked Bob, respected him, but he knew better than to broach the subject of my not consuming human blood. We said nothing until I gave him directions to the condo. We turned off Broadway and continued on side streets. A police van, a cruiser, and two government sedans were parked in front of Wong's building. A police officer stood guard at the lobby door.
"I'm not surprised to see the cops here," Bob said. "Didn't think that someone blasting a shotgun in the halls would go unnoticed. Sure you want to stop?"
"I need to get my things from the Dumpster."
We turned the corner toward the alley. A police cruiser was parked between the Dumpster and the rear door of the building. The car's hazard lights flashed.
"Shit," I said. "Keep going past the alley and park down the block."
Bob slowed and halted alongside the curb. "What's so damn important that you can't replace?"
"For one thing, cops find my ID and they'll know I was here." I cracked the door open and got out. "Plus, I hid Dr. Wong's diary in the bottom of the Dumpster."
"This diary has sensitive information?"
"According to Wong it explains everything."
We rounded the corner and headed up the alley. A perimeter of yellow tape surrounded the dumpster. I walked lightly, the rough asphalt and litter pricking the bottoms of my feet. In these thrift-store castoffs, I felt like the lowliest of bums.
A cop sat in the cruiser. The dim blue glow of a cell phone splashed alongside his face. He whispered romantic palaver. "Yeah, babe, she doesn't mean anything to me. Not like you…"
"Let me do the talking," Bob said. "I'll bet he doesn't understand Romanian, and that will buy us time."
The cop glanced up and snapped his cell phone closed. He jerked open his door, climbing out.
"You're going to have to leave," he commanded gruffly.
The gloom hid our eyes, allowing us to get closer.
The cop came around the rear of his cruiser. "You two deaf? I said leave. Now."
Bob started talking Romanian and gesticulated over his shoulder. We kept approaching the cop.
He put his right hand over the grip of his pistol. "I don't understand a word you're saying. But stop right there." He looked at my bare feet, my rumpled clothes, and then back at Bob. With his left hand, the cop clasped the radio microphone clipped to his shoulder.
I sprang forward and gripped the cop's head. His left arm twisted out to parry me, but…too late. My gaze locked onto his eyes. He froze.
Bob pulled the cop away from me and sank his fangs into the cop's neck. The cop gurgled and went limp. Bob knelt beside him, sucking on his neck.
Bob stood, wiping his mouth. "Pure beef cake, this one. Definitely filet mignon."
The cop lay sprawled on the asphalt, twitching.
"Can't leave him like that," I said. "Someone finds him, they'll go ape-shit."
"You're right. Better put him back in the car."
We carried the cop to the cruiser.
The back door of the building opened. A uniformed female cop and a man in a suit with a badge hanging from his neck stepped out. "What the hell?" he muttered.
Bob and I dropped the cop and he plopped to the asphalt.
The female cop sprang into the alley, her pistol leveled at us. "Don't move."
Chapter 18
I STANK LIKE COMPOST and an unconscious police officer lay at my bare, dirty feet. What could I say?
The plainclothes cop drew a snub-nosed revolver from inside his sport coat.
Bob raised his arms. "We found him knocked out. Just like this."
The cop's forehead wrinkled. The spikes of his aura blunted as his mood changed from anger to confusion. Why would two men—meaning us—be carrying a uniformed cop? Maybe we were telling the truth.
Bob pointed to the ground. "He was right there. We were gonna put him in the squad car and then get help."
The female cop's aura remained as prickly as a thistle. She kept her big semiautomatic trained on us. "On your knees. Put your hands on your heads."
I turned my back to the lamp on the opposite alley wall and let the early-morning darkness conceal my tapetum lucidum, and Bob did the same. We knelt and carefully set our hands on our scalps. Our one chance to escape was to get the cops close enough to subdue them with vampire hypnosis.
The cop in the suit circled past us for the cruiser. "Keep 'em covered. Call for backup."
Damn. Backup. The situation was complicated enough without more cops on the scene.
The cop stopped in mid-stride. "What the…?" He squinted at me. "What the hell is with his eyes? I've never seen eyes shine like that."
Bob motioned to me with his elbow. "Yes, he's got a medical condition. He blacks out and wanders the streets. That's why he looks like this."
The cop stepped close, then grimaced. "Oh yeah—and that explains the smell."
"You should get a whiff of him after he's been out a couple of days. He smells like a rose now in comparison."
I knocked Bob's elbow with my own to let him know that I didn't appreciate being the butt of his snarky jokes.
The female cop set her flashlight parallel to her pistol. "Let me see."
I closed my eyes and turned my head.
"Open your eyes," she said. "Come on, it's for your own good. You might need medical attention."
The flashlight beam shone through my eyelids as a red haze.
Bob nudged my arm.
"Go ahead. Open your eyes now."
I did. Both cops stood close and leaned into one another. Their heads almost touched. Their two pistols remained pointed at my face.
Their eyes popped wide open, as at such close range, my tapetum lucidum bore into them like lasers. The female cop's jaw slackened. The male cop lowered his arm. His revolver clattered to the ground.
Bob yanked the male cop's necktie and jerked him down. Bob clasped the cop's head and tilted it back to expose the neck.
I kept my gaze on the female cop and unbuttoned her shirt midway, then spread her collar to examine her neck. I traced my fangs across the inviting contours of her throat. Her warm blood beckoned me. I sank my fangs into her fat, welcoming jugular.
Her blood filled my mouth. I dammed the flow with my tongue and proceeded to work my saliva into her wounds.
She relaxed. Her aura became muted. I took the pistol and flashlight from her hands and returned them to her belt.
Bob smacked his lips. "Mmmm. My cop had a note of Johnnie Walker in his blood. Black Label. Somebody's got problems with the bottle."
"This isn't a tasting party." I motioned to the Dumpster. "Let's get that diary and beat feet before more cops come along."
Bob dragged his cop to the cruiser. "You go Dumpsterdiving while I take care of these three."
I rested the female cop against the front tire of the cruiser. I pushed aside the yellow police tape, climbed into the Dumpster, and searched through leaking bags of garbage. Damp coffee grounds clung to my hands. Slimy, rotting vegetables lapped my wrists.
I found my trousers and jacket, and examined the pockets. My wallet, keys, cell phone, and scout knife were still there. I kept digging to the bottom of the Dumpster until I discovered Dr. Wong's diary. Garbage water dripped from the soaked pages as I climbed out of the Dumpster.
Bob had arranged the three cops in the rear seat of the cruiser, the female in the middle. They slumped, shoulder-to-shoulder, their heads resting on the back of the seat.
Bob stroked his chin as he studied them. "They look bored."
He got back in the car and unzipped the male cops' pants, then shoved the female's hands into each of her companions' crotches. As a finishing touch he opened her shirt to the navel and pulled her bra down.
Bob shut the door, locking them in. "What do you think?"
"Nice rack on her."
"I'd love to hear them try to explain this. ‘Vampires hypnotized us,'" Bob whined satirically, "‘made us play with each other and locked us inside.'"
We walked out of the alley and back toward his Buick.
"Don't take this wrong," Bob said, "but you stink even worse than before."
"I don't care what I smell like, as long as I have this." I showed him the diary.
Bob examined it. Sections of wet pages disintegrated at his touch.
"Hey, careful." I took the diary back and smoothed the pages to see if the writing remained legible.
We reached his car and climbed in.
"What's that diary prove?" Bob asked. He started the Buick and drove away from the curb.
"That Wong knew what had caused the nymphomania, and that he helped cover it up."
"What caused it?"
"He said red mercury and EBEs."
"Which are?"
"Red mercury, I assume, is a material used at Rocky Flats for making nuclear weapons. I've never heard of it before."
"And EBEs?"
"I'm going to let Gilbert Odin explain that."
Bob's aura flashed. He tapped the brakes. The car lurched. "What's to explain? The investigation's over. Give your friend the diary, collect your fee, and disappear. Case closed."
"I've got to tell him about the people who killed Dr. Wong."
Bob resumed normal speed. "Are you crazy? You're going to tell your friend, a federal employee, that vampire hunters are on your trail?"
"Of course not. But they did murder Wong, so why not let the police catch them? And if they capture the vânätori, think the police will believe their story that they killed Dr. Wong by mistake when they were aiming for a vampire?"
"So what the hell were we doing back there, ditching those cops? I thought you wanted to stay clear of that."
"I needed to get the diary first. Let me tell Gilbert about the murder when I see him." I caressed the damp cover of the diary. Instead of drawing assurances that my investigation into the nymphomania was definitely closed, I felt a twinge of doubt. My fingertips tingled to alert me of danger. But of what? And from whom?
"I'm not so sure this investigation is over," I added. "There's more to the conspiracy than what's in this diary."
Bob pulled the Buick to the curb and jammed the transmission into park. He turned to me. His tapetum lucidum glowed hot in the reflection of the street lamps. "And so what? That book explains the outbreak, and that's all that you were hired to do. Our priority now is the vânätori. I'll inform the Araneum and call for a council of the nidus. You'll testify about what you know."
"Not yet, Bob."
"Your investigation is over."
"Sorry. This investigation is far from over." I held quivering fingertips before him. "I can feel it. You and I, all the vampires in Denver, are in greater danger than ever because of this. Something's been set in motion, and the more we try to ignore it, the worse it will get for everyone."
Chapter 19
LIKE THE LAST TIME when I'd seen him in his office, Gilbert Odin put his telephone inside the credenza behind him, along with a boom box playing heavy metal turned up full volume. He closed the credenza door, muffling the screaming of guitars and the hammering of drums.
Gilbert folded his hands on his desk and gave me a genial smile. "It's safe to talk now."
"Couldn't there be any more bugs? In that, for example?" I pointed to the lamp on his desk.
"Oh no. I know exactly what listening devices Security has. I'm on their budget-approval committee. A Seven-Sigma telephone eavesdropping microphone is all they're authorized to use on me."
I suppose the logic made sense to a professional bureaucrat, but it gave me a headache. I pinched the bridge of my nose to ease the pressure.
"How's the investigation going, Felix?"
The investigation. That word alone worsened the headache. When I handed Wong's diary over to Gilbert, I wanted him to kiss me in gratitude, then write a check and send me on my way.
"Well, Gilbert, for starters, Dr. Wong is dead."
"We all know that." Gilbert tapped the newspaper on his desk. Page one of the Metro Section showed a picture of the doctor under the headline ROCKY FLATS NUCLEAR SCIENTIST MURDERED. Gilbert added, "The police say it was a botched robbery."
The cabbage smell swirled from him, not as strong as before but enough to make me think he needed to vary his diet.
"It was no robbery," I said. "I know who killed him."
"Who? Terrorists?"
"No. Enemies of mine."
Gilbert held a hand up. "Whoa. Back up. What enemies?"
I couldn't tell him the truth, that they were vampire hunters. "Enemies with a vendetta from a previous assignment. Wong got shot by mistake."
"A vendetta?" Gilbert asked. "The Mafia's after you?"
"No," I answered. "I have enough enemies, thank you."
Enemies savvy enough to ambush me. I had the mysterious gunman and the vânätori after me, a lethal double threat. Suddenly I realized that Wong had been shot only moments after I arrived at his condo. How did the vampire-hunter marksman set up his rifle so soon? Unless he had the place staked out. Which meant he, and his companions, knew I was going to see Dr. Wong. But only I knew about the visit. A chill ran up my spine and out to my hands. My fingertips tingled as my vampire senses went on alert.
"Hey. Hey," Gilbert snapped his fingers. "You okay?"
I rubbed my hands together to calm the tingling. I wished I didn't have to hide my eyes behind contacts—I needed the reassuring ability to read auras, even my friend Gilbert's.
&nb
sp; "I'm all right," I answered.
"I thought you were having a seizure." He gestured to my face. "Something related to that Gulf War Syndrome of yours."
"I appreciate the concern. The question now is, what should I tell the investigators?"
"About what?"
"What I know about Wong's murder."
"Let the police worry about it. You said it wasn't terrorists, so there's no threat to Rocky Flats."
"Only a threat to me," I replied.
"And you can't handle it?" His question was a dare. "You said that it was enemies from a previous case. Should I be concerned?"
"No. It's my problem." I didn't want the cops to find the vânätori until after the nidus had torn the vampire hunters to pieces. "You don't want anyone to know that I've been talking to Dr. Wong, correct?"
Gilbert nodded. "That's right. Keep this between you and me."
"You're saying this investigation into the nymphomania is more important than Wong's murder?"
Gilbert focused his gaze into my eyes. "Yes. Even more important than Wong's murder."
Or mine for that matter. What kind of a conspiracy was this? "Why?"
Gilbert shook his head. "Because if you go blabbing that you were with Dr. Wong when he got killed, then you're likely to be locked up as a person of interest and forgotten. The wall of security around the conspiracy will only grow more formidable and I'll be SOL forever."
People with guns had already tried to stop me, so I appreciated Gilbert's well-grounded concerns.
I pulled out a Ziploc bag containing Wong's diary. "The doctor didn't have the chance to tell me much. He did mention"—I paused to gauge Gilbert's reaction—"red mercury."
Gilbert narrowed his eyes. "Red mercury?"
I laid the Ziploc bag on his desk. "It's all right here. Dr. Wong kept a diary."
Gilbert's face reddened. "A diary? With classified information?"
"According to him."
Gilbert sighed. "What the hell did he do that for?"
"Wong was convinced that safeguarding the secrets behind the outbreak would serve as insurance."
"For what?"
"His safety."
"Bullshit. This was about Dr. Wong and his inflated opinion of his own work." Gilbert used a mechanical pencil to slide the diary out of the bag and flip it open. The damp, filthy pages clumped together and exuded a disgusting smell. Gilbert stifled a gag reflex. "Where did this come from? A toilet?"
The Nymphos of Rocky Flats Page 13
