Bill The Vampire (The Tome of Bill Book 1)

by Rick Gualtieri

  She wasn’t kidding either. A few minutes of swinging the dead body violently against the door left the place looking like something out of a horror movie. Sally then tore up her dress from the night before and tossed it into the pile of gore to complete the effect. Anyone walking in out of context would think that a freaking grizzly bear had attempted to tear its way into the bathroom. All things considered, I'm pretty sure that was the plan.

  About fifteen minutes after we finished, we heard sounds on the stairs.

  She quickly turned to me, said, “Sorry about this,” and then slashed her nails down the side of my face. Fuck! It felt like she had steak knives on the ends of her fingers. What was it with people maiming the shit out of me lately? Before I could protest, she ducked inside the bathroom and locked the blood-splattered, half-broken door.

  The fuck?! Seriously? I ran over and started pounding on it. “You goddamn bitch! I'm gonna rearrange your fucking face!” I screamed, which is apparently what she wanted as, right there and then, the front door opened and in stepped Night Razor, followed by Firebird, Starlight, Dread Stalker (it's like the retarded Justice League) and two other male vampires whose stupid comic book names I didn't know.

  I stopped my attack on the door and stared at them. They, in turn, were frozen in place, trying to take everything in. It must have been quite the scene to make a pack of apex predators just stand there, looking aghast.

  It was Sally who finally ended the moment. Before anyone could say anything, the bathroom door flew open (catching me in the face in the process and nearly dumping me on my ass). She came running out, covered in gore and wearing nothing but a bloody towel.

  Throwing herself at Night Razor's feet, she started whimpering, “Thank God! Thank God!” I'll give credit where credit is due. She was pretty damn convincing.

  Night Razor narrowed his eyes at me. Whether or not he bought the little scene in front of him, he was at least smart enough to know that it would make him look bad to act like it. He simply nodded toward Starlight and Firebird and said, “Get her cleaned up.” When neither of them moved, he added a little compulsion to his voice. “DO IT!” That was good. If he needed to use mind tricks to get them moving, it said that they were pretty well freaked.

  They gathered Sally up and slowly helped her toward the bedroom. As they passed by me, the redhead, Firebird, spat, “You ... inhuman animal.” She just as quickly averted her eyes.

  Sensing an opportunity, I gave her my best sneer. “Keep talking, baby. I like my food a little spicy.” She gasped and moved to drag Sally (who couldn't quite stop herself from giving me another eye-roll ... must resist urge to really kill her) a little more quickly toward the bedroom.

  Despite outnumbering me four to one, only Night Razor dared to step forward. He walked up and we stared at each other, eye to eye. Yeah, he could’ve creamed me into pulp if he wanted to, but I couldn't let him know that in front of the others.

  “When are we going out?” I asked with an even voice. “Because I'm still hungry.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  “You owe me a fucking door,” was the first thing Jeff said to me as we set out alone into the Manhattan nightlife.

  “Bill me,” I shot back.

  “I'll do better than that. It’s one more thing I'll be taking out of your ass just as soon as Ozymandias is off my case.”

  “If you think you can,” I said, feeling the last of my tough guy persona starting to drain away.

  “You can cut the shit now,” he spat. “I don't know how you've managed to get Sally running scared, but we both know you're full of it.”

  “If you say so.” I got the distinct feeling my voice was going to start cracking any minute now. Amongst the crowd, I was safe. Out here, alone with the guy who both killed me and shortly thereafter beat the snot out of me, I wasn't feeling so good. This was about the time my battlemage would throw down a smoke illusion and run for the hills.

  “Just a week ago,” he snarled, setting a fast walking pace, “you were this scared little rabbit who wouldn't even make a kill. Yes, Starlight told me all about that. And now, just a few days later ... bam ... you're the big bad fucking wolf. Sounds a little too convenient to me.”

  I said nothing. I didn't trust my voice to sound like anything stronger than a whimper. Besides which, silence could be a good thing. It would let him form his own conclusions. Maybe, despite all his bluster, he too had a shred of doubt about me.

  “And that's why I brought this.” He reached into his back pocket and pulled out one of those mini HD camcorders I've seen at Best Buy. “You better shed a lot of blood tonight, because the second you come across as anything other than a complete beast, your little house of cards is gonna come tumbling down. You might as well call yourself Dr. Dead.”

  Okay, so maybe there wasn't much doubt there after all.

  Shit! Who would have thought vampires would go all high tech? That was a bit of a mind scramble. This was going to require a little luck to pull off.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I seriously did not fit in with this crowd. I was actually surprised the bouncer let me in at all. From the looks of the people grinding on the dance floor, I was some combination of too uncool, too poor, and too uncoordinated to be here. Judging from some of the tittering conversations my overly acute vamp-ears picked up, I may have been a tad too intelligent as well. Ye gods, what a vacuous crowd. The club's name was Vicarious, a fitting moniker considering the look of things. It was situated pretty far uptown, almost on the fringe of areas of the city where one might traditionally avoid walking alone after dark. Of course, a good chunk of that was overplayed by people from out of town. The city was a lot safer these days than it had been just a few short years ago. Even so, safer or not, I still personally wouldn't hang out near some areas of the Bronx at night minus a small army of friends.

  I wasn’t overly surprised at Jeff's choice of hunting ground. It was far enough away from the coven's base of operations so that it wouldn't be too obvious where any attacks originated from. Not that it probably mattered. Sally had mentioned to me that the elders in any given area made it a point to keep the wheels of justice well-greased so as to make sure a good deal of vampire-related activity was either misdirected or went unsolved.

  The club was also an ideal place in that the crowd was mostly young, stupid, and hopped up on any number of drugs. On the way there, he’d explained to me, as if speaking to a slow-witted, socially inept child (I resented that first part at least) that it wouldn't be too hard to spot someone in a place like this, someone who could easily be seduced into leaving the club. For most who fell into this category, it would probably be a few days before anyone thought to miss them.

  I, in turn, pointed out that maybe someone who looked like him could pull that off, but I was a bit rusty in the seduction department.

  “You are all sorts of fucking pathetic, you know that?” he scoffed. “I know your type. Weak, scared of their own shadow, probably still living at home with your parents.”

  “I have my own place, thank you for asking.”

  “Okay, sorry. Please excuse me,” he mocked. “Let me guess, you live right upstairs from Mommy. She still packs your lunchbox and washes your underwear. Am I right?”

  I tried to ignore his taunts and be the better man, but he apparently took my silence for affirmation, as he then said, “Yeah, I thought so. As I said, pathetic. It's almost not going to be worth the time it's going to take to rip your fucking spine out (at least that was a step closer to him not wanting to kill me), but I'm still going to.” (Or maybe not.)

  I tried not to show that his last statement had brought me a fair ways along toward a complete panic attack, and instead gave him attitude right back. “This is all really fascinating. It’s good to know I don't need to pay for a therapist as long as I have you around. But it's kind of ignoring my original point,” I said, trying to steer him away from thoughts of brutally murdering me.

  He gave a contemptuous sigh. “I ca
n't believe you even need to ask this shit. You're a vampire now. A superior fucking being.” He looked at me from the corner of his eye. “In theory, anyway.” Fucking douchebag! “Still, there are plenty of ways you can seal the deal.”

  “Very well. Enlighten me, oh master of the night.”

  “For starters, there's compulsion. It doesn't work as well as it does between us ... or most of us. Usually, though, a vampire can plant a suggestion in the mind of a weak-willed human if they concentrate enough and are of sufficient skill and power. But since you have neither (fuck you!), I guess that's out of the question. Relying on charm and charisma is probably also out for you.”

  “It's great to hear about all the ways I'm not going to score. Really, it is. But how about something that might help me?”

  “You could show them your fangs,” he answered. “Some girls still go nuts for that Twilight bullshit. There is, however, one method that never fails, even for someone like you.” He reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small vial, which he then tossed to me. I held it up and examined the contents: a fine white powder.

  “You want me to coke them up?” I asked incredulously.

  “They don't call it whore bait for nothing.”

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  The second we entered the club, Jeff ditched me. So much for this being a father/son outing. Of course, before doing so, he warned that the next time he saw me, I’d better be covered in blood. Wonderful! But when in a meat market, it’s best to get shopping.

  Okay, so that turned out to be easier said than done. My first few attempts to strike up a conversation were met with me being completely ignored. My third was a bit better. I got laughed at when I tried to show off my fangs, but better reaction than indifference, I suppose. Guess I didn’t look effeminate enough for that one to work.

  It was then that I spotted a girl sitting alone at the bar. She was a cute, petite thing in a white dress that left little to the imagination (including that she was either chilly or sitting under an air conditioning vent). Most importantly, judging from the empty shot glasses in front of her, she looked to be pretty well on her way to Margaritaville.

  I approached her and tried to think of the best way to strike up a conversation. In the end, though, I couldn't come up with anything appropriately smooth sounding, so I opted instead to dangle the vial of drugs in front of her face and say, “Hey. I got coke.” Okay, so maybe there's some small part of me that can understand all of Sally's eye-rolls.

  Credit where credit is due. Much to my surprise, Jeff was right. Her eyes immediately lit up at the sight. She gave me a naughty little grin and licked her lips. “You thinking maybe a blow for a little blow?” she purred. Damn, and to think I've wasted the last decade or so trying to actually talk to women.

  I was about to respond with something appropriately cool like “okay” when I saw her eyes go wide at the sight of something behind me.

  “What the fuck do you think you're doing?” an angry voice growled. “You macking on my woman, asshole?”

  I spun around and came face to face with one ugly son of a bitch. He had a shaved head and several bad tattoos running up and down his tightly muscled arms. Twenty-four years of instinct came into play and I immediately tried backing down.

  “Sorry, man. Just a mistake,” I said, trying to slip the drugs back into my pocket.

  However, the girl, proving that all women share a gene that lets them become instant bitches, decided to 'help' the situation along. “This fucker was trying to slip me something, Jake,” she said in an accusing tone that suggested she got off on watching her boyfriend kick the crap out of guys like me.

  “Oh, yeah?” growled Jake, balling his hands into fists. “Trying to slip my girl some X? Probably only way a faggot like you is gonna get laid.”

  I was about to try the old “I don't want no trouble, pal” routine to weasel my way out of this when I remembered why I was here. I was a goddamn supernatural creature of the night. Why should I be taking shit from anyone? I could take apart this whole place with my bare hands if I wanted to.

  “Back off, fuckface,” I said with a sneer. Oh, yeah, this felt good. I stepped up into his personal space. “Your bitch is a lying little slut. Before you came back, she was practically begging for my dick.” Holy crap, this was actually kind of fun. I could get used to this alpha dog thing.

  We both made a move at the same time. I was faster. I was stronger.

  Unfortunately, he was better.

  Several years back, I saw this movie called Legend of the Seven Golden Vampires, a low budget flick that pitted kung-fu masters against the undead. Here were these karate guys kicking the ever (un)living shit out of a pack of vampires who had ravaged the land. At the time, I had laughed. Maybe I shouldn't have.

  Before I knew it, I was immobilized in an arm lock, experiencing my face being repeatedly smashed into the top of the bar. I was just starting to see a head-shaped dent appear in it when multiple sets of arms grabbed hold of my body. Security had arrived to save me.

  Of course by “save me,” I mean drag my ass to the exit and toss me out into the street. Go figure – the one time I tried to pick a fight and it turned out to be with someone who could do a reasonable impersonation of Chuck “The Iceman” Liddell.

  I could feel whatever damage had been done already starting to heal, so I picked myself up and scurried off. No way was I about to sit there and wait for Jeff's laughing face (and camcorder) to catch up with me. As it was, I very much doubted he had missed my unceremonious exit from the club. Hopefully he hadn't also captured it on tape. If so, I could count on a lot of unpleasantness in my foreseeable future.

  I wandered for several blocks, not really paying much attention, but also not realizing I was walking in the opposite direction I probably should have been. Getting one’s face smashed into hardwood tended to do that.

  I was finally pulled out of my funk by a husky female voice calling out to me, “Hey baby, wanna party?” Turning toward the source, I found myself staring at a woman, obviously a prostitute, standing at the mouth of an alley. She looked ... well, she looked pretty bad. She was overweight and wearing a far-too-small tube dress. Her mouth lacked several teeth and looked like it had seen its fair share of fists.

  When people think of hookers, they often want to imagine beautiful and classy ladies of the night, maybe women who looked like Rebecca De Mornay from Risky Business (sorry, but I'm not one of the dozen or so guys who sat through Pretty Woman). The truth was that the vast majority probably looked a lot closer to this mess than some glamorous coed working her way through college.

  “Huh?”

  “Wanna party? Ten bucks for an appetizer. Twenty for the full menu.” She had the bored tone of someone who had seen far too much of the world and found it to be an ugly place.

  I remembered the purpose for the outing. This was a hunting trip and, despite not having any great desire to go on a killing spree, I couldn't return empty handed. Unfortunately for her, I needed to make a kill, and she happened to be someone who probably wouldn't be missed. Besides, she'd be better than noshing on a fat naked dude ... if only marginally.

  I dug out my wallet and showed her a twenty. “I'm kinda hungry tonight,” I said, waving it in front of her. Figures – the best line I've had all evening and it was wasted on a crack whore.

  She turned to walk down the alley, beckoning me to follow. I did, mentally steeling myself to act as soon as we were deep enough inside to avoid unwanted attention. I planned to make it as quick as I could. No point in causing needless suffering (for either of us). I'd move to take her from behind and then quickly snap her neck before taking a bite. It would be fast and minimize any screaming ... hopefully.

  Luck just wasn't on my side, though. She reached a corner and then stopped. “Afraid I'm gonna have to charge you a little more, sweet thing.”

  “Like what?” I indifferently asked, preparing to close in on her.

  “Like everything you got,
motherfucker,” said a voice from behind me. I felt the barrel of what I assumed to be a gun pushed against the back of my head.