“Well, then, if I took out two of your buddies, what makes you think I can't take out you and your girlfriend, here?”
He stopped, indecision on his face. Apparently El Gigante here wasn't used to someone half his size throwing a challenge into his face. I had to keep pushing it. When you're staring down an alpha dog, whoever blinks first loses. I had to make them blink first.
I took a casual step forward, still trying to think quickly, as I said, “Tito and Big Mike, you say? Based on the way they went out, I would have thought their names were the screaming bitch twins. So, how about you, big guy?” Another step forward, “Are you a screamer?” (Was I really saying this?)
“Yo, man...” Roberto tried to say, but I cut him off.
“Shut the fuck up, you little Chihuahua!” I snarled. Oh, yeah, if this didn't work, I was going to be in for an epic level ass beating.
I saw the big guy tense up. Oh, shit! They were going to take their chances. Fortunately, my unexpected (to me, as well) aggressiveness appeared to be doing a job on their overall confidence. As a result, the larger one telegraphed his punch from a mile away. I acted fast and did the only thing I could think of to avoid a face full of fist.
As he started to swing at me, I leapt inside of the punch and latched my arms around him. Before I could think about what I was about to do (and psych myself out of it), I clamped my teeth onto the side of his neck and bit down with everything I had. Yeah, this was pretty fucked up, believe me.
I held on for dear life as blood started gushing from the wound I had just made. I once again buried my teeth into his neck and kept biting. As I did so, his blood poured into my mouth and down my throat. Whoa! And here I thought human blood was a rush! The vampire's blood burned as it went down, but it was more a fine Scotch than hot coals burning. It hit my stomach with what felt like a jolt of electricity. I already had him in a death grip, but somehow I felt my arms grabbing him even more tightly. I don't know what his blood was doing to me, but I felt freaking amped. Forget those espressos James favored, this was the shit!
I felt hands pummeling my back and trying to gain purchase to pull me off. However, when someone is clinging to you like a new suit, it's a little hard to get any leverage to pry them off. Add in a bunch of gushing blood and I was now a slippery suit, as well. Unfortunately, it was that train of thought that once more brought me out of my blood lust. “So here you are... all lubed up and sucking on another guy,” I heard the voice in the back of my head say. Sometimes my subconscious can be such an asshole!
Still, judging by the fading strength of the big guy's struggles, I had probably taken the fight out of him. I figured I should turn my attention to Roberto, just in case he decided to do something cute... like maybe come up from behind and rip my spine out. I pulled back from the goon's still-gushing neck and gave him a shove. Hot damn, I really was juiced! My push sent him flying back a good ten feet to land in a heap in the middle of the street. This guy must have been over two-hundred and fifty pounds and I just dumped his ass like he was little more than ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag.
I turned my attention toward Roberto, but I needn't have concerned myself. He was still rooted to the same spot, a look of abject horror on his face. I grinned at him and took a step forward.
He just kept looking back and forth between me and his buddy. “No way, man,” he muttered. “No fucking way!” and with that, his nerve broke. He turned tail and took off down the street, his friend forgotten. What a pussy! I mean, I was sure I had surprised the hell out of them, but it's not like they'd never seen someone's throat get bitten before. Not that I was complaining, mind you. I didn't have worry anymore about watching my own back. I wasn't sure I'd continue to get lucky, but at least the odds were even now.
Speaking of which, I spun back toward the vamp I had bitten. He was already getting back to his feet. Not too surprising. If I could eat pavement from a third story nosedive and get back up, I was sure this guy could easily take as much, if not more, considering he was built like a truck.
He stood up, one hand to the wound on his neck. I prepared myself for his inevitable charge, mentally debating between standing my ground and cutting my losses and running. The latter was looking to be the tastier option. I'm not entirely delusional. In an all out fist fight between computer geek and street thug, I know which one I'd put my money on. I was ahead on points so far, but if this guy managed to get his hands on me, he'd probably snap me like a toothpick.
As it turns out, I was much further ahead on the scorecard than I had thought. His eyes were wide with fear... actual fear (Roberto had been a fairly small guy, but this one looked like he ate guys like me for breakfast).
“What the hell are you?” he gasped.
The small part of my brain where all my machismo resides was ready and waiting for that question. “Me?” I grinned, showing my teeth, “I'm Dr. Death.”
99 Problems and a Bitch is Definitely One
To my great surprise, his response to my introduction was to mirror his friend and take off down the street. Guess I must be getting better with the one-liners.
And then it hit me... I had won. I had actually won! No way would my roommates believe it. Hell, I barely believed it! I felt my knees go rubbery and I plopped down onto the curb. My head was still swimming, whether from adrenaline or the other vampire's blood, I wasn't sure. Probably a little of both. But damn, I felt good. If ever there was a time I wished I had the theme from Rocky on my phone, this was it!
The problem with elation is that reality always has to go and stick its nose into things. So, after a few moments of basking in my own greatness (a rare enough event), I remembered that here I was, sitting at eleven p.m. on a curb in the middle of Queens, absolutely drenched in blood. The first conditions were easy enough to fix. The latter one might present a bit of a problem. Bus drivers tended to frown upon their riders being all bloody. If this was going to start becoming a habit, I might have to make it a point to go everywhere in a rain slicker.
Anyway you looked at things, I couldn't stick around where I was. Who was to say that the two vamps I had just chased off wouldn't be returning with reinforcements? I smiled at the irony. Earlier I had let my imagination run wild at the dangers of this area. Now I actually found myself with a real reason to fear these streets.
That brought up the little issue of getting home. Mass transit, as well as cabs, was out of the question. Getting a ride without having the cops immediately called on me would be asking for a near miracle, and I had a feeling I was all out of those for the day. I could hoof it. My weekend with Jeff had proven I was capable of some pretty remarkable speed. The problem with that idea was that it was a good ten miles to get home, much further than I had ever even considered running during my life. Also, fast or not, a direct trip home would entail traversing several crowded streets. That left the alternative, several detours which would add a ton of time to my trip. I stood up and sighed, having resolved that I would be getting home pretty damn late.
* * *
On that last note, I was fortunately wrong. A few minutes into my trek, I came across a park with a working fountain. One quick dive later and the worst of the mess was taken care of. I didn't look great, but looking dirty was better than looking bloody.
About a mile later, I was able to flag a cab. I pretended to be drunk and let the cabbie gouge me a bit by taking the scenic route home. I had him drop me off about half a mile from home (which my paranoid mind said should be a safe distance), and made it a point to tip him well. I ran full speed back to my place from there. If anyone suspected anything, they'd take one look at me and immediately discount my ability to move from point A to point B as quickly as I did. I sure as hell didn't look like a long distance sprinter.
It was with palpable relief that I entered my home and locked the door behind me. My plan was simple: go to bed, then wake up and beat the shit out of Tom for signing me up for that fucking class. After that, I’d try to contact Sally to see wh
at she might know about those HBC nutcases.
Thinking of Sally reminded me that I still had a message from her on the machine. Wondering what she wanted, I pressed play and listened...
Yo, Dr. Death...(giggle), just wanted to give you a heads up. James shot me a message while you were out with Jeff. I forgot to mention it before you left. Better late than never, though. He wanted you to know he had some business with a coven not too far from your neck of the woods. Rumor has it they've been exceeding their allotted membership. So, he was planning on sending them a message, if you know what I mean, and he wanted me to let you know he was gonna use your name when he did it... help out your street cred a bit. He said to say, 'You're welcome' in advance.
Oh, yeah, and you might want to avoid Queens for a while, just in case... *beep*
Motherfucker! So I almost got myself killed because she was too busy getting babied by Starlight to bother with little details like a whole ass-load of vampires that were going to be out for my blood. Guess that explained a lot. It also meant that my brief career as a martial artist was going to be at an end until this blew over. I fought off two vamps because I managed to psych them out. No way was I taking the chance of running into a bigger, potentially armed, group of them. Oh, well, no big loss there, I guess, unless I inexplicably started missing the feeling of getting kneecaps rammed into my sternum.
* * *
The next morning I got up, or more precisely peeled myself out of bed. Ugh! Whatever I had gotten from that vamp's blood the night before, I was paying for now. It wasn't exactly a hangover, but more like coming down from an intense caffeine rush (like a few months back when I wound up downing almost an entire twelve pack of Mountain Dew during a particularly intense gaming session). It felt like I had run a marathon (disclaimer: I have no idea what that would actually feel like) and then slammed into a brick wall at the finish line.
I recounted my tale of the night before to my roommates, after downing an enormous cup of blood-infused coffee (if Starbucks ever plans on introducing a type-O Frappucino, I'm there, dude). To my great surprise, Tom actually started to apologize for setting me up with that Krav Maga class. However, Ed cut him off.
“I don't think you need to apologize for bad luck,” he said.
“I know, but I kind of feel bad anyway,” Tom replied.
“That's like apologizing because someone didn't win the lottery,” Ed argued. “You can't take responsibility for coincidences. Unless, that is, you masterminded the whole thing, in which case I am in awe of your amazing abilities.”
“I don't think we have to worry about Tom turning into Doctor Doom anytime soon,” I said, then turned to my somewhat repentant roommate. “Apology, or lack thereof, accepted.”
“Thank you.” Tom raised his coffee mug to me. “I'd hate to have to endure work burdened with such guilt.”
“Bite me,” I quipped.
“That's your thing. Not that I wouldn't make a better vampire than you, anyway.”
“You want to join the party?” I asked.
“Only if that Sally chick is doing the biting,” Tom replied, causing us to all dissolve into laughter.
Once it was over, I decided to broach a slightly less whimsical subject. “Seriously, though, guys, I'm a little worried. What if these HBC assholes figure out where I live?”
Ed nodded. “There's also the little fact that your buddies in SoHo obviously know how to find us. From what you've told me, I wouldn't put it past that Night Razor dick to rat you out to them. Let them take care of his dirty work.”
Oh, crap, I hadn't even thought of that. Forget a compulsion, one phone call and my apartment could be turned into Fort Apache... or more likely the Alamo.
Tom turned to Ed and asked, “Think they'd let the two of us walk out of here?”
“I don't know. We could always tell them we never liked Bill much, anyway.” Ed grinned.
There was a moment of silence while I just glared at them both and then Ed continued, “Realistically? I doubt it. We'd probably end up as an appetizer.”
Tom sighed, “Yeah, I guess you're right. Not really sure I want to go out like some quesadilla platter.” Then he suddenly brightened. “On the other hand, I still have Optimus. He's vampire kryptonite.”
“Good for you. Doesn't help Ed much, though,” I replied.
“True enough. But I took a little time to think that one out already,” he said, sharing a quick smile with Tom.
I looked between the two of them for a second before asking, “And are you going to share this little secret with me, or are you just gonna keep making goo-goo eyes at each other?”
Ed shrugged and then said, “Might as well. Remember how I said I took a little road trip this weekend?”
“Yeah. What, did you drive to a church and get ordained for the priesthood?”
“Not quite. I took a little drive out to my stepfather.”
“Over in...” I thought for a second, but couldn't remember the name of the town, “Bumblefuck, Pennsylvania, or wherever?”
“That pretty much sums up where he lives,” Ed agreed. “Out in the backwoods where everything... and more importantly... everyone is relative.”
That elicited a chuckle from both me and Tom as Ed got to his feet.
“Well, Pop and I had a little talk,” Ed said to me. “Don't worry, nothing about vampires. However, I may have exaggerated a bit about our current living conditions. You know, how we all live in fear of being mugged and raped by drug dealers every second of our lives?”
I smiled as he walked into his room. It wouldn't have taken much. It was ridiculously easy to convince anyone living outside of the immediate area that the city was, and I quote, 'a hive of scum and villainy.' Apparently, plenty of people, especially those in rural areas, had seen Escape from New York at some point in their lives and assumed it was a documentary.
However, that knowledge didn't prepare me for when Ed walked back into the room packing some serious heat.
“What the hell...” was all I could say for a second, “Where did you...” Ed's look answered that one for me. “Pop?”
“Of course. Old man's been getting paranoid in his golden years. You should see the small arsenal he owns. He said this one should help dissuade all the bad guys just waiting to violate our young, middle-class selves.” He gave it a quick pump. “Remington 870, police combat twelve gauge,” he said proudly. When he saw the absolutely blank look on my face, he gave an annoyed sniff and added, “The same gun Sarah Connor used in Terminator 2.”
That rang a bell. “Badass!” I said. “But don't you need a license for something like that?”
“Are you kidding?” Ed replied. “In Pennsylvania, you can pretty much buy these things on the side of the road next to the fireworks.”
“Yeah, but we don't live in Pennsylvania,” I countered.
He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Well, then let's just say if you don't tell anyone, I won't.”
Tom got up to wash out his coffee mug. As he did so, he gave a mock sad shake of his head. “No idea where I went wrong. One minute I'm just minding my own business, and the next I'm shacking up with Dracula and the Lone Ranger.”
Ed just ignored him. “I figured that by the time the city gave me a license, I'd be long since pushing up daisies. Besides which, I'm pretty sure that they ask you your purpose for owning a gun. Writing protection against vampires on the application might raise a few eyebrows.”
“In New York?” I scoffed.
“I did say might.”
“There is the little problem of actually using it as protection against vampires,” I pointed out. “I've seen stakes and sunlight work, but unless that thing shoots solar flares, I'm not sure what good it'll do.”
“What about silver bullets?” asked Tom, preparing to leave for work.
I thought about it for a second. “Not sure. That's usually werewolves, but I think it works against vampires in some stories.”
“Do either of you have silv
er bullets?” Ed asked. When we both shook our heads he continued, “Well, neither do I. So, who gives a shit if they work against vampires, werewolves, or the goddamned tooth fairy? It might kill vampires, or it might not. What's important is that this gun will hurt vampires.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“Because of you, numbnuts!” he replied. “When you burst into flames, did it hurt? When I stabbed you in the hand, did it hurt? When you jumped out of that freaking window you were telling us about, did it hurt?”
I nodded. Yeah, it had hurt, in some cases quite a bit.
“Well, then,” he continued, “that tells me that no matter how strong you are or how fast you heal, your nerve endings still work pretty much the same way as they did before. So, using that logic, a twelve gauge shell in the stomach or maybe the kneecap...”
“Will hurt like a bitch,” I finished.
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