“Vampires?” I shook my head. “Uh, no. Why?”
“Sorry, I can’t divulge that.” The inspector said. “If you remember anything else, just contact us. Here’s my card.” And for the second time that night, a detective gave me his card. I stowed this one in my back pocket.
“Oh, hey,” I reached into my apron's pocket, and pulled out Francis's card. “Here, he gave me this.”
“'Thanks, Mister Carpenter.” Hernandez took the card and whisked it away into one of the many pockets of his coat.
I got dismissed, and I went back to the bar. Almost immediately when I entered the bar, all the waitresses swarmed me. “What did they say?” “Who was that guy?” “Did you grab that detective’s number?”
I was way too tired for gossip. “God, I am not going to contribute to your imaginations. This is a police investigation now, for crying out loud.” I walked my way back to the office, where I grabbed my wallet, phone and back pack. I couldn’t go out the back way, as that was now a crime scene, so I went out front and left the job of closing to the head cook.
It was two-thirty by the time I hit the street. I walked home, as always. I didn’t like driving in San Francisco, for the most part, and I was terrible on a bike. Walking accomplished most things just as easily.
I made it home, eventually. Home was a four-story apartment building, with my dwelling on the third floor. The elevator wasn’t working ever, so I hoofed it up the flights of stairs to the third floor.
I live in a small apartment. It consists of a main room, where my futon served as bed and main piece of furniture, a kitchen, and a bathroom. By most standards, I was ripped off for what I paid for it, but it was San Francisco. It was a given you were ripped off living here. I didn’t bother turning out the lights, instead just letting my exhaustion take over the minute my head hit the futon.
Chapter 3
I didn’t dream, often. Or maybe my dreams just weren’t worth remembering. I heard my phone’s alarm blare out the theme of the sixties Batman show. “Na-na na-na na-na na-na na-na Batman!”
It took me a few moments to, in my foggy state, slide my fingers in the pattern that would turn the thing off.
A voice came from my kitchen. “Dude, that is possibly the loudest alarm I’ve heard in my life.”
I blinked myself to vision, glad I’d kept the blinds closed. “That’s sort of the point, Matt.” I said, looking to the kitchen.
Matt was standing in the kitchen. Matt was a tall guy, matching my six-four, though he was built more solid than I was. He had a mixing bowl full of cereal in one hand, a spoon in the other. Mentally, I regretted ever giving him a key. I didn't need people sneaking into my place in the crack of unholy morning.
“Yea, yea,” He rolled his eyes. “You sleep like a freaking brick. How else could I get into your apartment, make breakfast, and eat half of it without you noticing?”
“Point.” I stood up, and ran a hand to sweep my hair back from my eyes. I grabbed my jogging clothes, a t-shirt and shorts, and went into the bathroom to change. Breakfast consisted of raisin bran and orange juice. “You know, I didn’t eat like this before I came to San Francisco.”
“Yea, yea, Mister ‘Home-grown country boy.’” Matt teased. “Your grandpa did the steak and eggs route. Come on, eat your bran and drink your OJ. We’ve got miles to run.”
We were about thirty minutes into the jog when Matt brought up the body. “So, what happened at the bar?”
“Oh.” I sighed. “Some detective got killed and dumped in our garbage.”
Matt rolled his eyes. “Dude, I love the gossip. So, what was up with it?”
“The detective was asking around about that one gal from college, Samantha Coolidge. I didn’t know much, so I saw him for all of, like, two minutes.” He said. “You want gossip, talk to the gals. I’ll just give you cold facts.”
“Spoil sport.” He said. “Samantha, wasn’t she the one after, uh...?”
“Yea,” I nodded. I’d had a lot more of a social life back then. There had also been a brief point when I'd been engaged. That was ancient like Babylon now. “Ah, way back when. We were all so bright and cheery back then.”
“Tell me about it.” Matt said. “Hey, are you working tonight?”
“Naw, my night off. I was planning on heading to the bookstore tonight and just being a shut-in after picking up something new.”
“Seriously? You get a night off, and you want to stay at home and read?”
“Better than what you do, man. Well, at least for me. I’m not the party type. Give me a nice book, a few beers, and a burger any day. Besides, I saw a dead body last night. Last thing I want to do is go party.”
Matt laughed at that. “Hey, all right. I won’t judge. But, will you live at least a little by chatting up that cute redhead who works the counter?”
I found myself rolling my eyes. I didn’t share Matt’s one-track mind towards women. In fact, I’d had a good period of my life when they just plain couldn’t be in the picture. I blanched a little. After close to going on three years now of self-imposed solitude, Matt had decided to play yenta for me.
I fell back on my usual answer. “No promises.” Ah, the hermit life. Way of the great ones and idiots.
By the time we were done with the run, I was wondering about going back to sleep. It had been a long night, and I never slept well. Matt grabbed a shower at my place and headed off to his job at the school district.
When I was done showering, there was a message on my phone from Inspector Hernandez, telling me what precinct he would be at, if I remembered anything more. I wrote down the address and deleted the message.
My afternoon mostly consisted of me trying to clean up around the apartment. It wasn’t a big place, but hey, I was a twenty-five year old bachelor. You’d be amazed at the mess I could amass.
It was about two in the afternoon by the time I went out and grabbed lunch. I was in the middle of a burrito when my phone started playing the Ghostbusters theme. Work.
“This is Eric.” I answered.
“Eric, it’s Terry.” Something was up. I never got called on my days off, unless…
“Who bailed out tonight?”
“It’s Jared. Self-important jackass got himself off to Vegas.”
I rolled my eyes. Great. Self-important jackass was just about right. “I can be at the bar in twenty. You owe me like nothing ever before.” I said.
“Lunch rush is almost over. I can handle until the evening. Just get here by four so you can work tonight. Okay?
“Gotcha, boss. Later.” I ended the call. Well, there shot my evening with a nice fat book. I still had a few hours, at least. I decided to make the most of it and head down to the bookstore.
~
Pacific Books is everything I want in a bookstore. They have a good selection, no coffee shop, and generally no kids running around. Just a lot of tall shelves, books, and some friendly employees.
I’d had a standing affair with books since before I could read. I had been raised by my paternal grandparents, a kindly southern couple who lived in a town that was barely on most maps.
My grandfather had, back in his hey day, done some acting work. He’d abandoned those dreams to start a family when he married, but he still liked to hold onto it. It had started when I was younger, reading from fairy tales. He loved to do the voices, and he was wickedly good.
As soon as I could convince my grandfather to teach me how to read, I’d buried my nose in whatever books I could find. I made quick work of the Red River Public Library when I was younger. When I’d gotten into high school, the wonders of online shopping had captivated me, and I’d spent more than one paycheck completely on books at my first part-time job.
The woman behind the desk was not the usual cute redhead. Instead, she was a blond, with features that seemed very sculpted, carved from ivory. The lines of her face were sharp, yet graceful, intent on the book she was reading. Her green eyes were darting across the page, and her comb
at boots were up on the counter, propped up in a careless manner.
I waited a moment before clearing my throat. “Excuse me?” I said.
She looked up from her book. “Oh, yea, sure.” She dog-eared the page she was on and set the book on the counter. She swung her feet down and stood up. “All right then…” She started to ring up the books.
I took a look down at her book. “Night Politics?” I asked.
“Yes, it is on the new Arcane Rights Amendment that is being batted through Congress for a few years. Giving Arcanes an equal right and all that.”
I nodded. “All right. What’s the view point?”
“Well, Wilson is a pretty pro-human hardliner. Makes some points about how, well, the Arcanes have not been out in the open for too long. They would still be hiding if that pair of vamps had not gotten crazy on national television and came out of the closet, as it were.” She shrugged. “But, anyways, what can I do for you?”
“I have a order, for Eric Carpenter.”
She nodded. “Of course, I will pull them up right now.” She turned around, and headed off towards the holds. She came back in a minute, holding the books, and read my total.
I paid with plastic, and put the books into my messenger’s bag. “So, how’s the actual writing?” I asked.
She shrugged. “His arguments are solid, but he himself is pretty dry.” She said. The blond extended her hand. “The name is Amy. Paulson just hired me on earlier this week.”
I smiled a little. “Well, that would explain why I hadn’t see you before. I’m one of the regulars. I’ll be back in a week or so with more stuff to grab. Nice to meet you Amy.”
“The pleasure is all mine, Eric,” she said.
“How did you get my name?” I asked.
“The plastic.” A little smirk crossed her features.
I wanted to hit myself for being that daft. “Oh, yea, right.” I took the receipt she offered. “Well, thanks a lot. See you next week.” I said.
“I look forward to it, Eric.”
As I was walking home, I started to think about Raymond Francis and Samantha Coolidge. Sam had been a good friend, and she was, besides Matt, the only friend I had kept in contact with after I had gotten my Master's.
After I got home, I dug up my old address book from the memory on my computer. I had Sam's old number there. I hadn't really known if she'd changed it in recent years, but I figured I would have to give it a shot. I wanted to see what had happened to my friend.
On the third ring, someone answered, an older woman. “Hello, Coolidge Residence.”
“Hi, is this Sam Coolidge's mother?”
There was silence for a moment. Finally, the woman said. “Who is this? Who the hell are you?”
“This is Eric Carpenter. I'm a friend of Sam's from university.” I said. “We dated for a while.”
“Eric?” She thought a moment. “Yes, right. This is Bethany, Sam's mother. I'm sorry for the little outburst. But, Sam's been missing, and I'm just so worried.”
“It's understandable, Mrs. Coolidge.” I said. “I'm calling about Raymond Francis, the private detective you hired.”
There was another pause from Bethany. “Ray? What's happened to Ray?” Her voice was touched with concern. Maybe Francis had been a friend of the family, and that was more than just a story.
“Mr. Francis was asking questions around the bar last night,” I started. “We found him in the dumpster after closing, dead.”
“Oh my God.” She gasped. “Oh, God, no.”
“I wasn't sure that the police had called you yet.”
“No, they hadn't,” she said. “Thank you for calling, Eric. Even if it is bad news.”
“Was Sam still living with you?” I remember Sam had always talked about her mother. Protective, but loving. Sam had been incredibly fond of her, even when they were living together back in our State days.
She shook her head. “No, she wasn't. She was living with a student, a friend of hers.”
I sighed. “I just wish I could help, ma'am. Honestly, I do.”
“Thank you for saying that, Eric.” She sounded warm, kind, motherly. I didn't have too much experience with that. I'd been raised by my grandparents, and my grandmother was sweet, but never very maternal.
“If you can think of anything I can do to help, just let me know.” I said.
“I'll hold you to that, Eric.” Bethany said.
I'd just promised I'd help look into a kidnapping, which I knew nothing about, with connections to the Arcane. Yea, I really hoped this wasn't going to come back to bite me.
Chapter 4
The night had been pretty dull. It was a Wednesday, and not the most lively. I was taking a quick break with some chips when Terry approached me. “Hey, can you believe what those cops did? They took our dumpster down to their crime lab. What the hell am I supposed to do without a dumpster?”
“Can you blame them?” I asked. “You know, a guy was killed in our own back alley.”
“Yea, yea, and I can’t get a new one in here until Friday. Until then I’ve got garbage that needs to go out.”
I thought for a second. “What about La Maria? They’ve got a dumpster, and it’s just a small walk.”
Terry narrowed his eyes. “Well, guess who just volunteered to talk with the manager of La Maria.”
I’ve learned in recent years to keep my mouth shut when I get ideas. Most of the time. Well, some of the time. La Maria was a taqueria that we shared some business with. They were two doors down, with the establishment in between us closed for renovation. I let Terry take the bar, and I ditched the apron before heading out onto the street. Thankfully, tonight was cooler, closer to the standards of San Francisco.
The walk didn’t take long, and I found the manager of La Maria easy enough, a Latino with more girth than height. He agreed to it, though I had to haggle him down to a bottle of our good vodka. I wrote down what we owed him for the favor, and headed out their back entrance into the alley, hoping to cut back to get back a little quicker and just to go in through the back and grab my apron before reappearing.
I was half way to the bar, behind the renovation, when a figure in black came out of the shadows of the alley. “Hey, are you Eric Carpenter?” The figure asked. His voice was masculine, rough.
“Uh, yea, I am. Who are you?” I asked as the figure walked towards me. He was tall, matching me easily, though I couldn’t really tell what his build was like from the shadows surrounding him.
“You talked with Raymond Francis last night, yea?”
“Yea, bu-“ I didn’t have time to finish my sentence. The man moved faster than I could have imagined. He scooped me up by my Aerosmith t-shirt and slammed me against the wall of the alley. “Freaking ay!” I hissed as the figure pinned me against the wall.
His face drew closer, and even in the dark, I could make out his features. He was gaunt, with sunken eyes and a jawbone that looked particularly fierce. “The name is Darius, and it will be the last thing you know.” His lips peeled back, revealing a pair of wicked fangs that stood out from the rest of his teeth.
I had never met a vampire before. Sure, they were a larger part of San Francisco’s arcane population, compared to the rest of America. But that didn’t mean they were everywhere. I stuck to human circles, for the most part, and I was a pretty clean guy.
It was plenty scary the first time. Darius’s strength was something new to me. I’m not skinny guy, though most it’s muscle. But here I was getting tossed around like I was a child’s rag doll.
“What do you want?” I squirmed against Darius’s grip.
“Knowledge.” His tongue seemed abnormally long in the dark, flicking against my jugular. I shuddered. Goosebumps prickled against my skin. Every single sense in my body told me that this was trouble, that I needed to run. But I couldn’t.
“I don’t know anything. Listen, man, I just met the guy last night before he died.”
“So you say. The truth, however, will le
t itself be known.” He leaned his head in and sniffed at my skin. “Something is off…”
“What the hell, man?” I didn’t know any of the vampire habits back then. I should have. I would have known what to expect.
His fangs were an instant fire when they pierced my skin. I would say that I toughed it out like a good trooper, but in reality I whimpered. Fear, pain, helplessness. They all flooded through me as he lapped blood from the punctures. Every cell in my body was shouting at me, telling me to run, to do anything to make the pain end. But I was helpless. As he drank, the only things keeping me from falling over were the wall and Darius’s fierce grip.
“Hey, vampire.” I felt Darius’s grasp break, letting go of me. I fell down to the floor, discarded for the moment. More pain came as I hit the concrete. I looked to see the source of the voice.
It was Amy, the clerk from the book store. She wore a pair of canvas trousers, a black tank top, and had a wicked looking knife in one hand, with a short wide blade. The tall skinny blonde woman definitely didn't look like the pleasant clerk now.
“What the hell do you want, bitch?” Darius spat. “Me and the boy here are just having some fun.”
Amy flipped the knife to her left hand, and she raised her right. Her voice changed, down to a deeper tone that seemed to resonate into me. “Back, vampire. Or would you like to complete the process of death?”
When she spoke, it was like a hundred lights sparked to life inside of me. I felt better, like everything would be all right. It was instinctual, like something in her voice spoke to my genes.
Darius ran like he’d just seen the entire Life League. Amy didn’t pursue him, but instead folded the knife in to its handle and stowed it on her belt. She walked over to me, taking a moment to kneel next to me. “First time being bit by a vampire?”
“Uh, yea.” I looked up at her. “What the hell was that, with your voice?”
She shook her head. “We need to get out of here first. Can you get off work?” Amy helped me sit up. I was woozy, from the blood loss, but I felt a little fortified at least for the moment.
West Coast Witch Page 2
