Bloody Banquet

by Leod D. Fitz

  The stairs next to my office led directly down to the loading bay. I hopped down them and headed for the back door.

  Percy is kind of like a puppy; if you aren't looking directly at him, chances are good he's tearing up the furniture or shitting on the rug. Sadly, it isn't enough to run into the room yelling whenever he's done something bad: like a puppy, he'll whine and hide his face and swear up and down that someone else did it. You have to catch him in the act and rub his face in it.

  I pressed my ear up against the back door and listened.

  “No, no, I'm not saying that. I'm saying I need a few more days.” There was a pause. “Come on, you know I'm good for it. I've always been good for it; you just need to give me a little more time.”

  He owed someone money he didn't have. Not surprising, but more importantly, not my problem. As long as he was shitting outdoors, I was happy.

  “No, not my place. Meet me at the stiff-house. Tomorrow.”

  My hackles rose, though I wasn't sure if it was because he'd called my mortuary a 'stiff-house' or because he was bringing his problems right to my front door.

  “Son of a bitch!”

  Somehow Percy managed to hang up his phone and slip it into his pocket before the door slammed open, into the alleyway wall.

  “Hey! Walter! Don't tell me you're done with that body already?”

  He was smiling, but the tension in his jaw told me that he was frightened. He didn’t know exactly how much I’d heard, so he wasn’t sure what, if anything, he needed to confess to.

  “No, I’m not done with the body, but I got interrupted by a potential customer who wandered downstairs.” I wasn't about to let Percy know about a seventeen-year-old girl who needed a friend. I might not give a damn about the girl, but I wasn't actively looking to destroy what was left of her life.

  “Oh. Shit.” Percy took a step and a half away from me. “Sorry, boss. I just stepped out for a minute. I didn't think anyone would be stopping by.”

  “Do you have any idea what that woman almost walked in on? I pay you to deal with the customers, Percy! I pay you a lot more than you're worth, so that I don't have to worry about people interrupting me down there!”

  He was also supposed to help me on body pickups and keeping the place clean, but he never carried his own weight with those. I turned a blind eye to those failings, as long as he acted as a buffer between me and people.

  “Sorry, boss.” Percy began to relax. He figured that if I hadn’t brought up his conversation yet, I hadn’t actually heard it.

  “And what exactly were you doing out here, anyway?”

  Percy's left eye twitched; he was about to lie. “I just wanted some fresh air.”

  “And the air back here is fresher than the air out front?”

  “It's definitely cooler.”

  That much was true. The loading dock got less than five hours of direct sunlight a day.

  I briefly considered confronting my assistant with what I knew. He'd just weave together some bullshit story that I couldn't quite disprove, though. Better to give him enough rope that I could strangle him with it later.

  “Fine, whatever. Are you done breathing now?”

  “Um, yeah, I’m good.”

  Back at home, I made sure to lock the door behind me before I sank into a comfortable crouch and shuffled off to the bedroom to change out of my work clothes.

  It had been a long day: one of the bodies needed more repair work than I’d expected, and my coffin supplier was giving me excuses about a shipment that should have come in two days earlier. All of that before I found out that I was going to have to come in on what was supposed to be my day off to see what mischief Percy was getting up to.

  But those were all concerns that could wait until tomorrow. Today I had special plans. I glanced at the clock: six twenty-five. Plenty of time. More than enough time. Too much time, really.

  I could have watched TV for an hour or so, or maybe read a book, but I was too excited. I headed into the kitchen, pulling a broken crock pot that I’d stolen from a neighbor’s trash can off the top shelf.

  A few months back I had gone through what I liked to think of as a ‘long hard weekend,’ and the circumstances of it had significantly depleted my financial reserves. Pretty much all of the money that wasn’t dedicated to rent or utilities was gone. All of it except my rainy-day fund. Eighty-five dollars in ones and fives that I’d tucked away one bill at a time, then completely forgotten about when I needed it most. I would have been stoked if I’d remembered it back when hunters were chasing me, and a bimbo neckbiter was spending all of my money, but it had been even more exciting, a week later, when I remembered it.

  The bills made for an impressive stack of cash, even if the total value of it was slightly less than the value of a new tire.

  The most important thing about the money, however, was that it was cash. Part of the agreement that I’d made about tonight was that it had to be secret. It wasn’t enough, I’d been informed, that nobody knew, there should be no way for anybody to find out about it. Ever.

  I straightened the wad of bills as best I could, secured it with a rubber band, made a quick phone call, and headed to the door.

  There were several stops to make before my final destination. If history had taught me anything, it was the value of preparation.

  I stopped at the hardware store first. A decent sized roll of plastic was available for twenty-three bucks. I considered buying a gallon of paint, just so the checkout girl would assume I was repainting my house, but that stuff is surprisingly expensive. Instead I bought the cheapest paintbrush I could find. Hopefully the girl would assume I had the paint at home.

  Next stop was the butcher shop. He sold the bits and pieces he was supposed to throw away under the table for pocket cash. Neckbiters prefer blood straight from the vein, and human blood over animals, but they could only drop so many bodies before people started paying attention. The older vampires kept stables of willing donors, but the lesser bloodsuckers of any particular household had to supplement the volunteers if they didn’t want to go hungry.

  I wasn’t sure how much the butcher actually knew about the supernatural community, but he was definitely human, so odds were good he couldn’t tell me from a neckbiter. And even if somebody did find out I was buying pig’s blood, I reasoned, I could claim that I liked to mix it in to some of my meals. Nobody really knew enough about ghoul eating habits to contradict me.

  A quarter gallon of blood set me back five dollars. The price seemed a bit high to me, but it was a seller’s market, and I had no idea where else one would go to buy blood.

  Stop number three was the dump. Or rather, right next to the dump. As a rule, people aren’t allowed to just dive in and grab whatever they want, but a business acquaintance of mine had given me the name and number of someone who worked there. That was who I’d called just before I left home. About fifteen yards past the gate to the landfill, I rolled up on a young man pretending to work on the car he’d pulled off the road. He’d positioned the queen size mattress in some tall grass, on the downslope of the hill that the road ran up. I wouldn’t have even seen it if I hadn’t been looking for it.

  The thing about mattresses, if you ever have to get rid of one, is that you can't do anything convenient with them. You can't donate a mattress, or sell it, at least, not to any organization in Colorado. It's a health issue, apparently. I don't know if it's an actual health concern, or just a perceived risk. Being a ghoul, I don't have to worry about that kind of thing. The point, though, is that a lot of high quality, barely used mattresses end up getting tossed out because there simply isn't anything else that can be done with them.

  The boy glanced around for prying eyes before tossing the merchandise in the back of my truck, and walking around to my window.

  I gave him twenty bucks in ones.

  He raised an eyebrow.

  “Secondhand mattresses stolen from dumps don't get bought by people with rolls of twenties in their
pockets,” I informed him.

  He shrugged, shoved the money into his jeans and hopped into his car.

  I made a u-turn and headed back into town.

  My last stop was at a flower shop. More specifically, the dumpster behind a flower shop. I've never understood why anyone is willing to pay the exorbitant fees that those places charge for what amounts to weeds. Especially dead weeds. I do have a hookup for flowers. When you’re in the funeral business you end up on good terms with certain groups, but the guy I bought through was a notorious gossip and I didn’t want word getting out through him.

  I filled a small garbage bag with half wilted flowers, jumped back in my truck, and pulled out.

  All told, it had been less than an hour since I stepped out my front door, which left me with over two hours of waiting, but by this point I was almost jittering with excitement. I knew I should head back to my house for a bit, or maybe out to a nearby cemetery, just to calm down, but I couldn't make myself do it.

  So I headed to the motel.

  The thirty-three bucks and change I had left turned out to be more than enough. I didn't spot any security cameras, and the man behind the desk didn't even look up from the porno mag as he took my money and handed me a key. It occurred to me as I walked to my room that I probably didn't need to take all of the precautions I was taking; this was the kind of place a serial killer might take a victim if he didn't want to clean up afterward.

  In some motels, the furniture was bolted down to prevent theft, but the owners here had apparently decided that anybody desperate enough to steal their shit could have it. I didn’t want it, but I did want it out of the way, so I stacked everything against one of the walls.

  Once I had the center of the room cleared out, I headed back out to the car for my supplies. I covered the floor and walls with plastic. My junkyard mattress went in the middle of the room. I filled the sink with hot water and put the container of blood in to warm up.

  As for the flowers, I spent the next half hour pulling the petals off of the stems and covering the bed. I ate the stems. Not that I was hungry, but I am a bit of a nervous eater.

  Admittedly, between the plastic on the floor and the lack of sheets on the bed, it wasn't the most romantic setup in the world, but given what we'd done to the last hotel room we'd stayed in, I thought Sherry would appreciate the practicality of the arrangement.

  All that was left was to wait for an hour and a half.

  I sighed, mentally berating myself for coming so early. I didn't even bring a book. I briefly considered watching some tv, but the last thing I'd seen on television that was remotely interesting was a necropsy video done on a rotting whale carcass, and somehow I doubted that this hotel had sprung for that particular viewing package.

  I headed into the bathroom and lay down in the tub to try and get some sleep.

  When it comes to places to nap, my personal preference is a nest. I like dried leaves, partially eaten carcasses, torn up cloth, twigs, the occasional insect scurrying over my face. Things like that. Barring that, I'll take a hole in the ground, or an old sarcophagus. If push comes to shove, however, I can also get some decent sleep in a bathtub. Folding myself into a ball, cool hard plastic pressed against me, some dripping water and, best case scenario, something heavy laying over the top, it's kind of like sleeping in a tomb, which I find soothing.

  Of course, I was far too wound up to actually get any sleep.

  After about an hour of laying in the tub, smelling the grimy remnants of the hundred or so people who'd used it before, I climbed out and headed to the bedroom to twiddle my thumbs. On the way, I stopped to empty the sink and refill it with hot water.

  She'd come soon.

  I sunk into a comfortable hunch in the bedroom and waited.

  And waited.

  At half an hour late, I assumed she had some unexpected problems to deal with and would be heading my way as fast as she could manage.

  At an hour and fifteen minutes, I supposed that she must’ve had an emergency and hadn’t been able to call to tell me.

  At the two-hour mark, I realized that she must have completely forgotten me, and the smart thing was to get out of here with what was left of my dignity.

  By the time I caught the smell of my lover approaching, three and a half hours after our agreed upon time, I was tempted not to answer her knock at all. I didn't mind that she didn't want to be seen with me in public: neckbiter politics being what they were, even the suspicion that she and I were on speaking terms would have been enough to turn her into a social pariah. I didn't mind that she expected me to drop whatever I was doing and make arrangements to be with her on her schedule.

  But she hadn't even respected me enough to tell me she would be late.

  On the other hand, this was the first woman who was willing to have sex with me without money changing hands.

  I popped open the door on her first knock, trying to twist my face into a combination of disappointment and anticipation. I doubt I did a very good job of portraying either, but whatever the physical result, the effects were wasted.

  Sherry and the woman she was making out with nearly fell into the room.

  I had smelled the other woman coming, but I'd assumed she was heading to one of the neighboring rooms.

  Sherry guided the other woman over to the bed and the two of the fell into it together, arms wrapped around each other.

  “Oh, Gawd,” the woman gasped as Sherry lowered her mouth to nibble on her neck.

  I stared at the two women for several, bewildered seconds.

  Sherry raised her head long enough to roll her eyes at me. “Shit, Walter, shut the fucking door.”

  I blinked at her, then obeyed.

  “Is this yer boyfriend?” the girl gasped, looking me over, appraisal in her eyes. “He's kinda cute.”

  That was a lie, but it was a polite lie, which is a kindness I'm not especially used to.

  “Uh, thanks,” I managed.

  The woman spotted the discomfort on my face and looked away, her mood going from arousal to fear in a matter of seconds. “What the fuck? Why's everything shrink wrapped?”

  “We get a little messy sometimes,” I replied as I grabbed Sherry's arm. “If you'll excuse us for a second, my girlfriend and I just need to have a little talk.”

  “Wait, but...” Sherry protested as I pulled her into the bathroom. “Dammit, Walter, she's going to leave.”

  “Good.” I slammed the door. “Who the hell is that?”

  “What, you've never had a three-way before?”

  “Of course I haven't!” In the other room, I heard Sherry's friend climb to her feet and move towards the door. I lowered my voice to be sure she couldn't hear what came next. “You know how I make love: she couldn't survive that.”

  “Well, duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I was planning on draining her in a few minutes anyway. I figured, you know, mid-coital meal for me, and you could have what was left. You have no idea how hungry I am.”

  The front door opened and slammed shut. Through it I could hear uneven steps moving quickly away.

  “Aw, fuck. Now what am I supposed to eat? It isn't easy to find someone who can disappear without anyone noticing, you know!”

  I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Fucking neckbiters.”

  “Hey! What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Look, I don't know if it's a vampire thing or a sociopath thing, but not everybody gets off on killing someone in the middle of sex.”

  “Oh don't get all puritanical on me! Like you've never killed anyone in your life.”

  “Sure, I’ve killed people. When I had to. I don’t run around slitting throats just to get my rocks off.”

  “No, that's right, you like them to be dead before you get started.”

  “Well, yeah.” I shrugged. “I'm a ghoul.”

  “And I'm a vampire.”

  She actually had a good point, there. It pissed me off when people got in my face about acting like the scavenger I was
. Did I have any right to judge her for being a predator? I didn’t approve of indiscriminate killing, but I’d known from the get-go what she was. I sighed. “Touche.”

  “I’m a hungry vampire, actually.”

  “You said.”

  “I'm just reiterating, since, you know, you let my meal get away.”

  “Well, you're in luck. I actually picked something up for you. Food without the inconvenience of murdering anybody.”

  Sherry sighed. “Please tell me you're not talking about that pig's blood in the sink.”

  “I thought you liked pig's blood?”

  Sherry cursed under her breath. “It's practically the only thing I've had this month. I think that's what's making my stomach hurt.”

  That took me by surprise. “I thought you were at Aldred's place, surrounded by willing blood donors and whatnot.”

  Aldred, the local province master of the vampire community, had agreed to take Sherry in after her sire was killed. My understanding was that his acceptance of her gave her status equal to that of neckbiters of his own making.

  Sherry's expression darkened. “It isn't first come first serve, Walter. You don't just walk up and sink your teeth into one of them. They can only give so much a day, and they all have their favorites. Every human in the place is at Aldred's beck and call, of course, but after that it's all about politics and power and relationships.”

  I blinked. “Really?”

  “Of course. A human in a vampire nest has a limited life span. Ten years, maybe fifteen, before the stress on his body is too much, and that's assuming somebody doesn't lose control and just fucking drain them. So you figure, a decade and a half to convince someone to turn you.”

  “Right, but only the Masters can turn them.”

  Sherry rolled her eyes. “Duh, but not everyone can get significant face time in with their Master. Especially when they're the new donor. You have to strategize; you have to play the long game and position yourself for advancement. For the humans, it's all about getting the most out of every drop of blood. Every time they let someone feed off of them, they're placing a bet on the vampire they're feeding.”