Human Interaction

by Cheyenne Meadows

  I sputtered, trying to swallow and not have another choking spell. At this rate, I'll have aspirated a ton of water before the night is through.

  "He is?" My voice cracked as I stared open-mouthed at a beaming Alex.

  "Yep!" He sat back in the chair a bit. Whether he toyed with me or told the truth, I couldn't tell.

  Obviously, the waiter escaped on break a few minutes ago and missed the whole 'I think he's a jerk and he thinks I'm a certifiable fruitcake' conversation.

  Pausing a second, I finally asked, "And, how do you know this?"

  Leaning back in, Alex explained. "He asked about you. The water came from him."

  Wonderful. And I'd already drunk some. Correction, make that aspirated some. What does arsenic taste like anyway? I looked closely at the bottle. It appeared clear. Was cyanide clear and odorless? Didn't locoweed have a purple color? Monks knew about things like poisonous plants, right? They study all their lives: study, pray, work in their chemistry labs in between their bus-pulling chores, that is. No matter the top was sealed. I'm sure a genius monk could find other ways to get poison into the bottle. Hadn't I heard something about monks and magic, too?

  Perplexed, Alex shot me an odd look. "What's wrong? Every woman in this place would love to be in your shoes right now."

  I blinked. For some reason, I truly doubted those words. Being turned into a human cannonball by the bouncer didn't seem to be a plight others searched for.

  "You should have seen the look on his face…" Alex continued.

  "Oh, now that I did see," I interrupted.

  His grin widened. "That was a look of interest if I ever saw one."

  "Funny you should say that. Myself, I would classify that expression closer to terror than to lust."

  Shooting me a final puzzled look and a shake of his head, Alex palmed his tray and returned to wandering the room.

  Having guzzled down two complete bottles of water, I felt the inevitable urge. Just great. The place brimmed with over-stimulated women, the speakers thumped loud enough to cause the floor to vibrate, a flock of women surrounded every table, and I needed to pee. Crossing my legs, I surveyed the room once more, hoping for a backup seat. None to be had. I would just have to run to the ladies' room and leave my tiny corner table in the hands of the fates. With a small wave to a nearby Alex, I set about on my journey.

  Sidestepping more than one half-intoxicated woman, I focused on trekking to the other side of the room before someone conveniently trampled me or I sprung a leak. Neither option boded well.

  "Excuse me, pardon me… excuse me." I dodged a waiter and ducked into the arms of a modern day Amazon woman. Blinking, I eased to the side to continue my quest for the bathroom. "I'm sorry."

  The tall blonde just grinned back. "I'm not." A hand cupped my rear. Her eyes roamed over my body, sizing me up for the lunch buffet.

  I squealed and pushed farther into the masses.

  After what seemed like forever, I found the sign with the stick figure in a skirt. "Thank goodness."

  Opening the door, I put on the brakes before I ran headlong into the woman at the end of a long line. "Jeez." There had to be at least a dozen women waiting.

  My bladder tingled in warning.

  Desert. Hot, dry deserts. Heat wave. Those illusions people had in the desert. I tried to get my mind off my insistent bodily need any way possible. When people spoke of illusions in the desert, they always saw an oasis, right? Full of fresh, cool water? Grumbling, I commenced doing the happy dance.

  Finally, after what seemed half an eternity, my turn arrived and I breathed a huge sigh of relief. I washed my hands and popped out the door, ready to make the dangerous migration back across the room. Knowing my luck, my table would be occupied and the risky trek would be meritless.

  One step back into the room and a solid mass knocked me halfway to my knees. The vision of a wildebeest stampede had me scrambling to my feet in a jiffy.

  "Oh, sorry." A large hand grabbed my elbow, gave it a good yank, and powered me to my feet.

  I looked up to locate an annoyingly familiar voice. "Oh, no."

  "Well, shit."

  The tall, lean blond man glared down at me. "Of all the rotten luck." He spat a litany of curses. "Maybe I should just stake myself right now. It would be less painful than dealing with such a lackwit."

  Lackwit? Oh, no. He didn't call me that, did he? "Oh, now there's an idea. I'm sure I can find a nail file and you can poof into dust right here. I happen to like that suggestion."

  "You would."

  Since that option seemed far-fetched at the moment, I opted for a different approach. If you can't stop them, then annoy them. That's my motto. "Well, hello to you too, Dick of a Duck." I returned his glare. "May I inquire what you're doing here?"

  Long white fangs flashed in my direction.

  "You're so inbred," I couldn't help but casually add. Oh, goody. He was in a snit again. How unusual. Somehow I managed to refrain from rolling my eyes.

  I had known Duck Dick for at least twelve months. We had a simple understanding. I couldn't stake him. He couldn't eat me. Insults were a given. Since his name happened to be longer than my arm in an ancient language no one spoke anymore, it was no surprise I couldn't pronounce it. Dick of a Duck was the closest I could manage. Even so, he never seemed to appreciate my phonics version.

  Our first meeting had set the stage for future run-ins. He'd wanted to dine; I had an aversion to vampire cooties. I'd learned my self-defense skills really did work. He had learned… I'm not sure what he'd learned, but he had ended up doubled over, trying to catch his breath, and promising retribution.

  Clearwater City enjoyed a thriving population of vampires and shifters, alike. Thus, the higher concentration of Enforcers in the area. A person commonly ran across representatives of either variety on a daily basis, particularly in my job of being a gopher for the Peace Protection Division. I knew many of the contenders in the city and definitely picked out some favorites. Ducky didn't make the favorites list. Luckily, I did work for the PPD, which garnered me and other workers the luxury of blanket protection from all groups. Otherwise, I hated to think what one ticked-off vampire might do to a small morsel like me.

  I gestured to the room full of salivating women. "I believe they only let women in…"

  He scanned the room before returning his attention back to me. "And what business is it of yours?"

  Yeah. Good point. I wasn't an Enforcer looking to weed out the bad guys from the good. Didn't have any weapons or magic to take out a blond vampire for behavior violations, bad attitude, and a potty mouth. I could call someone up on the phone, but by the time they showed up, Duck Dick would be gone again. Yet, knowing he was going to eat a visitor didn't set well either. Well, maybe not completely eat, if the human possessed good fortune. The law frowned upon such things, after all. Vampires that killed their prey disappeared quickly to never be seen again.

  "Didn't know your gate swung that way." I tilted my head toward the man presently stripping on stage.

  "Doesn't," he clipped, searching the crowds once more.

  "Looking for dinner?" I prodded.

  His quelling look spoke volumes on that subject.

  "So, you sneak in, find prey, and dine out every evening?" Only I would choose a vampire infested club/dining hall for my research.

  He sighed deeply, eyes flicking down to mine. "No. I don't sneak."

  My eyebrows shot up. "You don't?" Can they teleport nowadays, too?

  Shifters cornered the market on magic, pretty much making Houdini appear an amateur. To my knowledge, vampires didn't possess many magical abilities. They preferred to eat and muscle their way through life. Not only had other species been revealed, but many humans began to exhibit magical powers once believed impossible. Even humans without any DNA ties to shifters or vampires could possess amazing abilities. One of the most powerful and least understood was the ability to teleport. Others included mind reading, mediums to contact the deceas
ed, illusionists, human lie detectors, and those who could predict the future.

  "No, you dunce cap. I dance here."

  My jaw dropped open. Before I could utter an intellectual "Huh?" a strong force hit my back. Once more the ground came up to meet me. I landed into something or someone hard enough to break my fall. Climbing up off hands and knees, I shook my head, and dusted my rear off. Hearing a loud groan, I looked down.

  Dick Duck lay on the floor holding his knee, pain racked his face.

  Uh-oh. "Ummmm. Are you okay?" I leaned over and reached out a hand.

  "Shit, no!" He groaned once more. "You're a walking accident about to happen!"

  Affronted, my back stiffened. "Am not!"

  "Are too!" His deadly gaze bore into mine as his hand splinted his injured knee.

  "Am…"

  Another man rushed over and kneeled beside the downed dancer. After a few words, Ducky struggled to his feet, hopping to keep the weight off the injured leg, and leaning heavily on his assistant.

  "It was an accident. I swear." I shifted my weight and chewed my lip. Like he was going to believe that. Thanking him for breaking my fall probably fell under the proper protocol for situations like this. "I'm sorry Di…"

  He turned and fixed with me a truly angry, evil stare. "You're nothing but a menace. Damn it." He took a breath and adjusted his hold on the other man. "Don't come near me again. I mean it. Don't care what the boss says about you being off limits."

  Looks like I'm back on the vampire menu. Goody.

  After such a pleasant encounter, I made my way slowly back across the room, hearing the vampy's words ringing through my head.

  Maybe I should rethink my place of observation. Surely the library would offer safety? Dull and boring would be more like it. I could always sit in a few church services. There are people there. They interact. More than likely humans didn't get eaten during mass.

  Reaching my destination, I glanced at my table in stunned silence. Yeah, it was occupied. That wasn't a shocker considering the size of this crowd. However, the person there had my mouth falling open once more.

  Meat sat there, tapping his fingers. Pure black leather from jacket to pants replaced his street clothes, very similar to his first outfit of the evening. The painted-on material accented his bulges and wide expanse of a chest. His collar-length, nearly-black hair didn't quite fit the persona, but I'm sure the half sex-crazed women left in the club at this time of night wouldn't mind.

  I looked down at his leather boots and shook my head. Who knew the biker look turned up women's temperatures and opened their wallets? Sort of like Harley hog man meets Navy Seal.

  "Is this seat taken?" I gestured at my original chair. Goodness knows he wouldn't be waiting for my return.

  He shook his head.

  I plopped down, relieved to get off my feet after the dangerous trek. Looking up to the bare stage, I chewed my bottom lip. Why was Meat back? Maybe he'd just found the table empty and wanted to rest a bit? Maybe he waited to meet one of the women he danced for earlier, fulfilling a night of carnal activities? Maybe he'd decided to strangle me after all? Or, maybe he had decided the bus-pulling monk clan he'd escaped from hired me to be a spy, on the lookout for him in their endeavors to return him to their midst.

  We both sat mute, glancing around the room, and absorbing the pounding beat of music. After a couple of minutes, I became uncomfortable with the awkward muteness between us. He sure knew how to work that silent treatment. "Ummm. Whatcha doing?" Oh, now that was original. Maybe I needed to go to the library after all and find a book on interviewing research subjects.

  His attention returned to me. "Getting ready to take the next set. Seems Fabio twisted his knee. So, I'm going to take his spot."

  "Oh, how… unfortunate for him."

  Well, what was I to say? Oops, I believe that is my fault. You see, we were discussing how Mr Duck Dick wants to stake himself to avoid being in my lackwit presence…

  "So, you're just hanging out until it's time?" I rested my chin on my palms.

  He turned to me, sporting a half grin. "You got any money?"

  "What?" I asked, caught off guard by the question out of nowhere. "Don't they pay you?"

  Did someone backstage grab all the money out of their undies? Or maybe a large laundry basket sat just offstage so as each man walked by and pulled their thong off, tossing the bills right in? Did they not get to keep their 'tips'? Surely, they paid the monks to pull those buses around? Although, do monks get paid? On salary? Paid by each religious ceremony they attend? Do monks get a tax exemption?

  "Monks get paid right?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I wished them back.

  His dark eyes peered into mine. A moment of emptiness passed before he chuckled quietly. "You have a monk fetish?"

  "I… I…" My face heated as I stammered badly.

  "I've seen some crazy stuff in my time. Never seen anyone with a monk fetish." He grinned wickedly. "What does this entail? You like your man to dress in robes with nothing underneath?"

  Choking, I managed to squeak out a pitiful, "What?"

  "I know. You're the altar they worship at. Statue of Venus." He leaned forward, pointy fingers making a steeple that he settled under his chin. "Their worship turns you on." Those eyes sparked with mischief.

  I thumped myself in the chest, finally able to quit coughing. "No. That… no." Just great. Mr Meat now thinks I'm loonier than any loon he's seen before. My self-esteem quickly tanked to the basement.

  Darn it. I'm a scientist, a researcher. I'm supposed to be intelligent and learned.

  He stood, grinning widely down at me. "You got any money?"

  Without thinking, I burrowed into one of my pockets, pulling out a quarter. I reached out, unfolded my fingers and showed him what I had.

  His low laughter followed. Digging into one of his pockets, he pulled out a bill and dropped it onto the table in front of me.

  "What's this?" I looked at the ten dollar bill then back up at him.

  "Do me a favor. Get some change." He arched an eyebrow, looking at me like he expected a light to come on.

  Nope. My light stayed dim as ever. "I don't get it."

  He leaned down, hands flat on the table, eye to eye with me. "Get some change. I'm on next. Management frowns if you stick your hand in my thong without leaving money." Meat grinned once more, then stood and turned.

  "Wait!" I picked up the money. "I'm confused. You gave me your own money to use. How does that benefit you?"

  Straight white teeth flashed as he smiled. "I get your hand in my pants."

  "Oh, boy."

  With a wink, he turned and strode into the crowd.

  Sitting at my tiny corner table, I drummed my fingers against the worn wood finish. Perplexed, I stared down at the ten dollar bill Meat had given me.

  He wanted me to place his own money in his underwear. For the life of me, that still didn't make sense. After all, this is the guy whom I de-thonged at a prior club. Accidentally, of course, but true. Now, he believed I have some sort of freaky monk fetish. Wouldn't most guys hear the words 'monk fetish' and run in the other direction? Maybe he really was a former monk seeking asylum from the bus-pulling chores after all.

  I looked at the money in my hand. It seemed I would be copping a feel of Meat's assets once more. Whether good or bad, I couldn't be sure.

  Alex trotted by and I waved him down.

  He grinned down at me. "Drinking heavy again?" His flirtatious grin must earn him all sorts of tips and multiple lecherous offers. Heck, with his athletic build and cute face, he could easily make a living as a dancer, too.

  "Ah, no. Not right now. But, can you break a ten?" I held the money up.

  His smirk turned downright evil. "Gonna feel Meat up after all." He made it a statement.

  Flushing, I cleared my throat. Didn't he have other customers to embarrass?

  His grin remained as he dove into a pocket, pulling out a small wad of bills. "How do you want this brok
en?"

  My eyes flew up to his. "Ummm…" Oh, jeez. Hadn't thought of that.

  Alex simply tossed his head back and laughed full and hearty. "Debating on how many times you want to get into that G-string, huh?" He shook his head.

  "Well, not really." I lowered my eyes back to the table. How did I ask this without sounding like a strip club imbecile? Taking a breath, I continued, "If you stick a one dollar bill in his thong is that considered cheap or an insult?"

  He erupted in a fresh round of guffaws.

  Furrowing my brow, I tapped my foot, frustration mounting at being the brunt of his amusement for the evening. The question had merit and logic, in the same area of, 'Why in the world do they make those stiletto high heels in size fourteen?' I can't be the only woman in the whole world who had at least considered such.

  Two five dollar bills appeared in his hand. "Here." Alex smiled down at me.

  "So, a one dollar bill is really offensive?" I took the money and folded it.

  "Let's just say I don't think you're ready for ten dives into a man's basket of jewels tonight." He gave a wink and headed back into the masses.

  Oh, yeah. Good point.

  The lights dimmed overhead as the spots flickered on the stage. Music thumped in response. "Born to be Wild." I rolled my eyes. How predictable.

  He stepped on stage, the black leather shining beneath the lights. Hips gyrated as women flocked over to be within easy reach of him. Voices carried with "Meat! Meat! Over here. I need you!"

  Talk about Jerry Springer wannabes. The show has to get those idiots from somewhere and this club teemed with numbers of them. I could almost hear it now.

  "He's the papa of my babies!"

  "No, he's my babies' papa!"

  "Mine!"

  "Mine!"

  "He likes my boobs better."

  "No, you floozy, he likes mine better. They're bigger than your fried eggs."

  "My brain is the size of a walnut, I'll have you know."

  "Yeah, well, mine is the size of a… a… beer nut. Besides, you have a big ass."

  "Why, you trailer trash."

  "Takes one to know one!"

  Crash. Slap. Curses.

  Yep. I think some of those women would be the perfect candidates after all. Hmmm. There's a possible title to my paper. Bimboland and the men that come… visit.