Fat White Vampire Blues

by Andrew J. Fox

  Straws. That’s what the glass tubes had been. His killers had sucked Doc Landrieu dry, like a shared ice cream soda.

  Something had been forced into the doctor’s mouth. Something dark brown and roughly egg shaped. Half of it still protruded from his dead, blue lips. Jules stared at it. It was a coconut. A small, painted coconut. It didn’t make sense. Not until Jules pulled it from his friend’s mouth and saw what was painted on it.

  It was a Zulu coconut. Not a true Zulu coconut, but a close facsimile of that most prized throw from New Orleans’s oldest black Mardi Gras krewe. It was painted just like a real Zulu coconut, a dark smiling face with white rings around its eyes and mouth. The only difference from the authentic article was that this Zulu coconut had fangs.

  Jules had seen many dead bodies during his long sojourn on earth. Hundreds of them. But apart from his brief viewing of his mother’s lifeless body before he had consigned her plain pine coffin to the damp earth of the paupers’ cemetery, Jules had never seen a friend’s corpse before.

  Doc Landrieu’s grotesquely disrespected body expanded until it filled Jules’s entire field of vision. Staring into this horrible abyss, he saw his own future. He had three antidiabetes pills left; they were jangling in a little plastic pill bottle in his pocket. When they were gone, he would degenerate back into the arthritic, breathless, almost immobile hulk he’d been five weeks before. He would be a sitting duck. They would catch him without even breaking a sweat. They wouldn’t be satisfied with simply killing him. He would be humiliated. He would be disgraced. He would be put on display.

  His fleshless skull would be mounted on a spear, a painted coconut jammed between its jaws.

  Jules hadn’t been back to his old place of employment in years. He pushed open the heavy, art-deco doors that led into the morgue’s examination rooms, and the overwhelming odor of formaldehyde sent thirty years of memories cascading through his weary brain. He’d never had any reason to come back here after he’d retired; with all the changeovers in city administrations, none of the staff working there now would even remember him. With one important exception. One employee would still remember Jules, and after Doc Landrieu’s demise, only he could prevent Jules from becoming a helpless, crippled target.

  Marvin Oday owed Jules a big favor. As the first black employee above the level of janitor hired by the coroner’s office, and then only at Doc Landrieu’s insistence, Oday hadn’t had any friends among the otherwise all-white technical staff. With the exception of Jules, that is. Jules knew what it felt like to be the odd man out, so he’d befriended Oday and shown him the ropes.

  Since Jules’s retirement, Oday had gone on for several advanced degrees, and he was now the office’s highest-level civil servant, second only to the publicly elected coroner. During the few years they’d worked together, Oday had always shown a marked preference for working the graveyard shift. Jules hoped this trait had remained constant.

  For once, Jules was in luck. He found Oday in the gunmetal-gray office behind the examination rooms.

  Jules knocked on the large window that separated the office from the closest examination room. The short, gray-haired chemist-physician looked up from his paperwork, and his eyes immediately widened with surprise when he saw his old coworker.

  “Jules Duchon! Is that you?”

  Jules walked through the door into the office. Despite renewing a friendly acquaintance, a circumstance he’d normally have treasured, his voice was leaden. “Hey, Marvin. Yeah, it’s me. How ya been?”

  Oday stared at him with disbelief in his eyes. “Jules, you must be blessed with some of the mostyouthful genes on earth! I swear, you haven’t aged aday since the night you retired. You’ve, uh, well, you’ve put on a little weight since I saw you last, but then haven’t we all?” He shook Jules’s hand vigorously. “What brings you back here? You aren’t looking for your old job back, are you? Heh. I’m only a few years away from retirement myself, you know. Amazing as it seems. I was just getting started when you were still here, and now I’m gray-headed and ready to be put out to pasture.”

  Jules removed the pill bottle from his pocket. “Yeah, it’s good to see you again, Marvin. But this isn’t a social call. I need to ask you a favor.”

  “Sure. If it’s within my power, and it’s not unreasonable, I’ll do whatever I can for you. You have a dead body you need to get autopsied?” He smiled.

  Jules didn’t return the smile. He placed the pill bottle on Oday’s desk. “You’re a chemist. I need you to analyze these pills. They’re a special kind of medication, and they’re real important to me. I can’t get any more from where I got them the first time. I need you to find out what they’re made of. If it’s possible, I want you to make more for me, or at least tell me where I could get it done.”

  Oday raised an eyebrow. He frowned. “We aren’t talking about anillegal medication, are we? If not, I don’t see why you can’t take these to a pharmacist and get your prescription refilled-”

  Jules cut him off. “They’re an experimental medication. Doc Landrieu came up with them for me. But he can’t make any more.”

  “DocLandrieu came up with these for you?” Oday’s face relaxed into a grin. “How’s that old rascal doing? I’d heard that he was still fooling around with a chemistry set between rounds of golf. So now he’s in the medicine business? Let’s see… the last time I saw him was a couple of years back, at a charity fund-raiser. You’ve seen him recently, I take it?”

  “Yeah. I’ve seen him.”

  “So how come he can’t give you more of these pills he invented?”

  Jules involuntarily grimaced. He felt lost in a poisonous fog. “It’s a long story. I can’t go into it. Look, Marvin, just analyze these for me, okay? I won’t ask you to make more for me. Just tell me what’s in them.”

  Oday picked up the pill bottle and eyed it thoughtfully. “Well… I suppose there’s no harm in that. I can set aside some time later tonight, in fact. You’ll leave these with me?”

  Jules took the bottle back from Oday. He popped the top off, shook out two of the white tablets marked with anA, and placed them on Oday’s desk. That left only one pill for him to take. One pill for tomorrow night. After that, he’d be at the mercy of some chemist somewhere. Or at the mercy of Malice X.

  “Thanks, Marvin. You’re a good friend.”

  “Yes. Well,you were a good friend, back when I needed one.” Oday sighed. “How can I reach you once I have your results?”

  “You got a White Pages I can use?”

  “Of course.” Oday opened up a desk drawer and handed him a phone book.

  Jules looked up the number of the Twelve Oaks Guest House. “Try me at this number. I’m in cabin number four.” Then he thought to give him Maureen’s number, as well. There was always a chance he might have to seek refuge in her house. “If you can’t reach me at this bed-and-breakfast, try me at this friend’s number, okay?”

  While he was writing Maureen’s phone number on a pad, Jules’s thoughts were tugged to Malice X’s final, mocking words of advice.Get some pussy while you still can. He’d taken the taunt as just another installment in a long series of threats. But after the obscenity that had been committed against Doc Landrieu, those words took on a different and awful significance.

  The pen burst in Jules’s fist, splattering ink across the desk. A surge of terror-propelled adrenaline nearly exploded his heart from his chest.

  “Maureen!”

  SEVENTEEN

  Maureen hadn’t answered her phone.That doesn’t mean anything, Jules told himself over and over. He pushed the Lincoln hard, overextending its flaccid suspension and denting its axles in the pits of unseen chuckholes on Canal Street.That doesn’t mean anything, ‘cause she’s probably workin’ at Jezebel’s. No one had picked up the phone at the club, either. Butthat didn’t mean anything, because no one ever picked up the phone at that damn dive. So he’d had no choice but to drive like a bat out of hell to the French Quarter.

&nbs
p; Even this late, parking was tight in the upper Quarter. Jules had to park three blocks west of the club, just a block from Maureen’s house. He walked as fast as he could, brushing past bunches of wild-eyed frat boys and sport-jacketed conventioneers crowding the sidewalk. He nearly tripped over the legs of an unconscious drunk, half hidden in the shadows at the intersection of Iberville and Bourbon, but he recovered his balance and hurried onward.

  The caricature of Maureen posted in the glass display case in front of Jezebel’s was even more faded than Jules remembered. He propelled himself up the foyer’s steep steps two at a time, vaguely recalling the nights when he’d had to rest after every third step. Tonight his muscles answered his desperate commands without complaint, but he wondered how long it would be before his drug-fueled vitality evaporated.

  The club was surprisingly empty. The greeter, a balding retiree in a plaid jacket, looked half asleep. He perked up slightly when Jules approached. “No cover charge tonight, buddy. Buy three drinks, get the second one free-”

  “Is Maureen here?”

  “Who?”

  “Maureen.One of the dancers. I’ve gotta see her right away.”

  The greeter’s tall forehead wrinkled with thought. “Maureen? One ofour dancers? Can’t say I know of any ‘Maureen’ around here, mister. ‘Course, I’m kinda new, just doin’ this to supplement my Social Security-”

  Jules grabbed the old man’s shoulders. “You’vegotta know her! She’s only the biggest fuckin‘ star this dump’s got! She’s blond, got hips out to here-she’s as big asme, practically-”

  The greeter’s eyes sparkled with sudden understanding. “Oh! Thatone! You mean Round Robin, mister. Ain’t got no ‘Maureen’ around here-”

  Jules nearly screamed with frustration, but he managed to control himself. “Yeah.That’s who I mean. She here tonight?”

  The old man sighed disgustedly. “Boy, that girl’s sure got a following! You’re the tenth customer been askin‘ after her tonight. Well, she ain’t doin’ her regular show. I don’t know why, no sir. But don’t walk out on me-we got one hell of a terrific drink special tonight-”

  Jules spotted a bartender he recognized. “Yo!Winchell!” Jules called out when he was still five paces from the bar. “You seen Maureen around anytime tonight?”

  The bartender looked up from the glasses he was scrubbing with a dirty wipe rag. “Not tonight, pal. She was in last night, but she left after her first set, and she didn’t make it back for her second. The boss was pretty pissed. Dinah might know something. She filled in for Maureen last night.”

  “Thanks, Winchell,” Jules said. He stalked past the stage, where a slender, buxom dancer wriggled in front of mostly empty tables, and headed for the door markedPRIVATE-EMPLOYEES ONLY. He shoved the door open and went down the hall to Maureen’s private dressing room, which Dinah sometimes shared with her. The room was dark and empty.

  He tried the other dressing room next. Thankfully, Dinah was there. She was carefully applying a ponderous set of false eyelashes in front of an illuminated mirror when Jules burst in. The eyelashes fluttered to the floor as she spun around. “Jules! Honey, am I ever glad to seeyou! What’s going on with Maureen?”

  “I was about to ask you the same thing,” Jules answered, barely remembering to step to the side so Dinah wouldn’t spot his unreflection in the mirror. “I’m tryin‘ to find her. The bartender said she skipped outta here last night.”

  “What? You haven’t been with her? But that call last night-I thought she ran out of here to be withyou!”

  Jules felt a tremor in his chest. “You know who called her?”

  “No. I’ve got no idea. She wouldn’t say, but she looked awful worried-”

  “You were with her when she took the call?”

  “Yeah. We were in her dressing room. She’s got a private line installed, since nobody ever picks up the phone out front. It hardly ever rings, so I was pretty surprised when it rang last night. After she said hello she got this terrible look on her face, like she’d just heard somebody had died or something. I asked her what was up, but she wouldn’t tell me nothing. She just said she had to leave right away, and asked could I cover her second dance shift. Then she ran out of here. She was so worried, Jules, I figured the call was eitherfrom you orabout you.”

  “And you haven’t heard from her since?”

  Dinah’s eyes grew wide. “No! And that’s what worries me so. I mean, it’s not like Maureen to miss work. She’sdevoted to this job. She’s never out sick. The few times she’s had stuff come up, she’s always gotten hold of the boss the night before and arranged for someone to cover for her. Her running out of here was strange enough. But then when she didn’t come in tonight for her first shift, and nobody had heard from her-”

  Jules spun toward the door. “Thanks, Dinah. You’re a peach.”

  “Where’re you going now?”

  Jules was already out in the hall when he answered. “To her house,” he called out hoarsely, not looking back.

  “But, Jules, I already been there! I rang and rang, but nobody answered-”

  Dinah’s words faded in his ears as Jules charged through the club. He didn’t even notice the consternation he caused the embattled dancer on-stage, or the exaggerated haste with which the greeter abandoned his stool and got out of Jules’s way. His mind had room for only two thoughts. The dreadful tableau he’d left behind at Doc Landrieu’s house. And the even more terrible vision he feared was ahead of him.

  Back on the sidewalk, he began to run. He pushed himself as hard as he could, cursing his body for its inability to move faster. He couldn’t breathe the thick summer air fast enough. Were his heart an engine, it would’ve burned oil and thrown a rod. A skinny wolf would be faster, he thought. A cheetah, faster still. Not worth it, he told himself-he’d have to waste time squirming out of his clothing, and he only had a couple of blocks to go.

  A calming notion sprang to mind, a counterweight to the wave of panic that was threatening to give him a coronary. Maybe he was imagining a horror show that didn’t exist? Doc Landrieu had meant nothing to Malice X; all the good doctor had been to him was a tool with which to jam splinters under Jules’s fingernails. Killing Doc Landrieu had been like spitting out a wad of gum.

  But Maureen… Maureen was another story entirely. In the world of vampires Jules had been raised in, one’s blood parent was every bit as dear and precious as one’s birth parents were. Malice X had been willing to smash the rules in other ways-particularly in his blithe willingness to abandon the mutual nonaggression pacts that had stabilized vampire societies for untold centuries. But Maureen… hadn’t she told Jules that Malice X had loved her? Hadn’t this whole rotten feud been at least partly fired by jealousy? If the thought of Malice X’s romance with Maureen had been a dagger in Jules’s heart before, now he clung to that very same thought like a life raft in a storm surge.

  He finally came to Maureen’s stoop. Her front door was locked. This was a good sign-if Malice X or his goons had been there, why would they have bothered to lock the door when they left? Some of the murderous tension unknotted in his shoulders as he fumbled through his pockets for the key. But as he unlocked the door, he couldn’t help thinking,What if he’d wanted to make sure no strangers walked in and disturbed things? What if he’d wanted to make sure only folks with a key could get in? And who else would have a key to Maureen’s house but me?

  His heart pounding hard, he opened the door. The house was dark. All was silent, except for a steady, rhythmic swishing sound. After a second, Jules recognized the noise as the ceiling fans in Maureen’s front parlor, turned up to their highest setting. Maureen, like most vampires, enjoyed the heat. She wouldn’t have the fans on unless she was entertaining company. But the darkness ruled that out.

  “Maureen?”

  No one answered.

  Jules stepped into the pitch-black entrance foyer. He held his hands extended in front of him, fumbling along the wall for the light switch. Somethi
ng hard and blunt struck him in the face. He swung his fists wildly, blindly. His left forearm connected. Whatever his assailant was, it was surprisingly light. It clattered on impact. A second later, completely silent, it hit him in the face again.

  Jules batted it away a second time. This time, he ducked before it could hit him. His fingers found the light switch.

  His antagonist was an oblong black object hanging by a piece of twine from the light fixture. It was about the size of a large paperback book. Jules grabbed the rope to stop the thing from swinging. It was a videotape. It had a note taped to it. The words were written with a black marker, in large capital letters:

  WATCH THIS-DON’T EAT IT

  Jules yanked the plastic cassette from the rope and wadded up the note. He walked into the parlor, steeling himself for the worst. The heavy purple draperies that lined the windows billowed inward, outside breezes battling the countervailing wind power of the ceiling fans. Maureen never left her windows open. She hated the drunken chatter from tourists passing on the street. With her windows closed, the thick walls of her two-century-old house cocooned her in silence. But now the draperies fluttered inward. Not just in the parlor; the windows were open in every room that Jules could see.

  “Maureen?”

  It was a forlorn, useless holler. Jules knew that. But he repeated it twice more, as though her name were an incantation to drive away evil spirits-or turn back the clock. He turned on more lights. A thick coat of fine, white dust covered all the exposed surfaces in the parlor and dining room-end tables, seat cushions, Victorian red velvet sofas, the hardcover biography of “full-figured gal” Jane Russell that Maureen had been reading when he’d stayed with her last. He’d never seen dust in this house before. Maureen was an impeccable housekeeper; one more reason why it had been virtually impossible for them to live in the same home together. Jules touched the dust on the dining room table with his forefinger. He felt sick.