by J. A. Saare
“I won’t,” Lacey promised, leaning over and picking up her heels. She stood tall, spine erect, head held high, and pranced toward the curtains.
“And you, Rhiannon.” His dark eyes placed the blame directly on numero uno, and I braced myself. “You are supposed to be on the lookout for this very type of transgression. Where were you?”
“Doing my job.” I crossed my arms defensively. “I’m the bartender, Hector. Not the bouncer.”
“Then I suggest you multitask. Or is that too much to ask?”
“Multitask? What do I look like, a fucking secretary?” My temper flared before I could bite it back.
“If I say so, yeah.” Hector stared into my eyes. “Next time, watch the floor. Butch and Cletus can’t cover everything. If you can’t handle it, tell me, and I can find someone who will.”
He stomped off, his back more than an adequate good-bye. Hector was a man of few words. He said it; you did it. End of discussion.
I released an exaggerated sigh and lowered my head, dropping my guard just long enough for Disco to make his move. His cold hand grasped my arm and my chin jolted up.
“We need to talk.”
“Let go of me, Disco.” I would have attempted to yank free but I’d only embarrass myself. Vampires are strong, unbelievably strong, and his grip would be as unbreakable as steel.
“Only if you promise we can talk.” His blue eyes flashed, striking against his pale skin and golden blond hair. His face was smooth, his jaw strong and squared. With high cheekbones, a straight lean nose, and full lips, he would forever be a twenty-something looker frozen in time.
“Not here.” I glanced around. No one had noticed our little chat yet. I couldn’t afford to lose my job. Personal relations during office hours were a big no-no.
“Where?” His grip loosened and he studied me.
“After close, meet me outside, around the back.”
I waited until he let go before I turned and strode back to the bar. I returned to my spot, apologizing and pouring a free one for the unlucky schmuck with a purple thumb. Tonight was not going to be a good night, and it wasn’t even over yet.
I glared at the clock—12:58am. Wonderful.
I was on for another hour, and instead of making the gym for some quality muscle burn, I had a meeting with a guy who scared the piss out of me.
“Bartender!” Lonnie’s deep bellow ricocheted off the ceiling like a frazzled fart.
I stomped over, feet pounding against the plastic mat, anger coursing through me. I always kept my head with Lonnie, but damn it, this was getting old. Deena would have to find it in her heart to forgive me.
“What the fuck do you want, Lonnie?” I was aware that my brown eyes were as dark as my temper. The first warning sign you’d pushed my big red button.
His gaze swept over me, starting at my long dark hair, roaming past my chin and nose, and finally resting on my eyes.
He stared at me until I couldn’t stand it anymore, and I demanded, “What the fuck do you want?”
“Can I have a Crown and Coke, Rhiannon?” he asked politely.
I managed to keep a straight face as I crafted his drink. He watched as I poured the Crown and mixed in the ice and cola, sitting patiently while I placed the effervescent drink in front of him.
Chapter Two
Normally, I can’t wait for the clock to tick over to 2:00am. That means I’ve finished working for the man and it’s my time. But when those little flashing red LED lights hit 1:56, I started to panic. I didn’t have a good feeling about meeting Disco. My internal alarm bell was sounding, a fight or flight instinct we’re all born with.
It’s called your fucking logic.
No one knows about vampires, although the basic concepts and myths are true. They’re pasty, stay out of the sun, and have abnormally good looks. They are also cold, extremely fast and agile, and have lethal sex appeal. The living dead give off what I like to call a vibe. The first time I went clubbing and spotted one, I thought the speakers were blaring and the DJ was shit. In actuality, it was my natural talent weeding them out. They’re not dead, but they are dead. It’s impossible to describe and equally impossible to ignore.
The first vampire I ever met taught me an invaluable lesson too. Don’t trust them. He took my best friend home from the club that night, and we never saw her again. She’s either dead, un-dead, or somewhere in between. I chose to leave shortly after. Miami was a popular place for the recently non-deceased, and I preferred the company of those who enjoyed the simple things in life.
Like masticating.
It went without saying that the night I slipped up at Shooter’s Pool Hall, I promptly broke down my cues, collected my money and case, and hauled ass out of there.
And what do you know? The next night while I did my part inebriating a solid portion of the city population, Cash showed up. He tried to sweet talk me into spilling the beans, saccharine and playful in his antics, until I blew him off good and proper. Since then, Disco had been scouting the lounge, growing more and insistent, bordering on frightening.
“Almost set?” Cletus asked, coming around to stand at the edge of the bar.
“Yeah.” I snapped out of it, smiled weakly, and reached under the counter for the jimmy club. Deena made it after a drunken asshole came over the counter when she cut him off. She suffered a black eye in the shuffle, but being the cockeyed optimist I loved, took something away from the experience, constructing a deadly weapon using thick electrical wire reinforced with black electrical tape.
I bent over and shoved the black taped length of metal inside my boot. Would the club save my life if I needed it? Probably not. But I sure as hell felt better knowing it was there.
I pilfered inside my pockets. Keys, ChapStick, butterfly knife, cash, and extra set of keys from Cletus—all there. I walked past the floor and pushed aside the velvet curtain. The lights in back were bright and my pupils burned as the retinas readjusted. A little trip down the hall led me past bulbed vanity tables with wigs, rhinestones, and accessories.
Hector was waiting in the back, just as anticipated. His jacket was gone, and his dress shirt was unbuttoned at the neck. No need to pimp for the masses here in the back, and he could care less if I was impressed.
“Got a minute?”
“What’s up?” I ambled over, relieved for the distraction. Anything that would keep me from walking outside those back doors sooner than necessary was welcome.
“I fired Erica. She tried to threaten me, and I sent her ass packing. We need a new girl. Do you have the applications from last time?” He reached inside his pocket and produced a cigar. He smelled the tobacco, running the spiff under his nose and breathing in the potent fragrance.
“I put them in your office, top cabinet with the older ones. Maybe you could sift through the top choices and I can make some calls.”
“Deena won’t be back until next week, so I’ll need you to come in. Did you ever get a cell? It’s too difficult to reach you at home, and I hate answering machines.” He put the cigar in his mouth and reached inside his pocket for a lighter.
“What is up with the need for cellular devices?” I complained. This was by no means a new conversation we were having. Hector had been whining about calling my place since I started working for him. “Our parents got by without them. Hell, our ancestors had to get by with a little something called the Pony Express. I don’t like cell phones. They are the bane of our society, and I don’t want to add to the downward spiral of technology that is ripping mother earth a new one.”
“Get a cell phone, Rhiannon. It’s not a request.”
“If you want me to get a cell, you can pay for it. I’m not busting my ass here to foot the bill for something I don’t even want.” Hector loved his money, hopefully enough to let the cell phone issue slide.
He exhaled a big cloud of smoke, smiling as it released into the air in a billowy cushion of grayish white that flew up to the ceiling like an offering.
His curved lips said it all. I was about to become the not so proud owner of a device I couldn’t stand. Everyone today had one practically glued to their ears, and here I was, about to join the lemming majority.
“Fine, stop by tomorrow to pick it up.” He walked past me, toward the office. I heard a click as the door opened, followed by the crack as it slammed shut.
My shoulders drooped in defeat. Of all the shitty luck.
The only way my life could get worse is if I got my throat ripped out. Coincidentally, I was due to leave my place of employment and enter into a darkened alley to meet up with a vampire. So the odds weren’t stacked in my favor. Not at all.
My boots squeaked on the linoleum as I strode past the coat rack, walked down the hall, and entered the narrow concrete hallway. The big steel door at the end distorted, appearing too close and then too far, invoking images of The Shining. I finally reached it and limply grasped the knob.
I stood there, fingers loose and flaccid. Once I turned the knob, I was sealing my fate. My pride wouldn’t stand for beating on the door and screaming like a pansy to be allowed back inside. I exerted my backbone, grasped the knob, and twisted. The door opened with a protest of metal against metal.
I scanned the area quickly and then sagged in relief. The alley was empty. Thank you God, hallelujah! The door slammed shut behind me as I rushed down the narrow street. I was dodging a bullet, and I knew it.
The moon wasn’t out but the streetlights lit the way decently enough, the circular swells of white shining bright against the darkened concrete. The air was slightly chilly, sending prickles along my skin. I’d have to break out the jeans and sweaters soon.
I hooked a right, keeping my ecstatic pace, until I glanced up.
Disco was propped casually against the wall, his broad back braced against the red bricks. He was standing beneath a nearby street light that shone off his hair, the pale honey blond intense. Pulling out a cigarette and lighting up, he waited as I approached. I watched the red tip brighten as he took a long puff, lifted his head, and exhaled slowly into the darkened night.
So much for dodging a bullet.
Some girls get to be prom queen, others get a perfect SAT score, but not me. I was the biggest winner on The Price Is Right, and Johnny just told me to come on down.
“You ready to talk?” Surprisingly, his voice was soft and eloquent when he wasn’t inside a pool hall or bar.
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.” He looked at me, pushed off the wall, and stepped over.
“What do you want?”
“What do you think I want?”
Let me answer your question by giving you a question. What a cocky bastard.
“This isn’t the Psychic Friends Network, and I’m not Ms. Cleo.” I started to walk past, my patience threshold shortened considerably. “Since you obviously need help I cannot provide, I’ll be on my way.”
His hand lashed out—cold, hard, and immobile against my arm.
“You can provide exactly the help I need,” he bent low, whispering the words. His grip on my arm wasn’t painful, but it was firm—firm enough that I might or might not have bruises to show for it in a few hours.
“What do you want?” I forced back panic, keeping my voice even.
“I’ll be damned,” he laughed. “I never thought I’d see you afraid of anything. What’s got you spooked, little rabbit?”
“Nothing,” I lied, tossing my hair back. The strands cascaded around my shoulders, covering his hand in waves of brown.
“Don’t bother lying, Rhiannon.” He leaned closer, inhaling softly. His silky blond hair brushed against my nose. “I can smell it.”
“What the fuck do you want?” I spat angrily, pulling back my arm. Surprisingly, he let go and stepped away, giving me space. I brought the wrist up and massaged the skin and muscle, keeping my eyes on him.
“I want you to answer some questions.” He pulled out his cigarettes and lit up. I didn’t see him finish the first one. I guess they smoked abnormally fast too.
“About?”
“About what you are.” He exhaled as he spoke, and I wanted to ask him how in the hell it was possible. Did his lungs still function? How about the heart? Could you be classified as dead if it still beat? Fucked up questions, I know. That’s the point.
“Bartender extraordinaire that moonlights as a pool shark, we’re a dime a dozen,” I hedged, knowing perfectly well what he meant. From the look in his face, he was expecting it. He inhaled again, taking another long drag before blowing it out slowly.
“Do you really want to do this?” He lowered his chin and studied me intently. “We know, Rhiannon. We spotted you the minute we came into Shooter’s. That little radar of yours isn’t a one-way frequency.”
Well screw my wretched ass sideways! I gave off a frequency too? I contemplated my options. I could continue with the gee shucks gosh I have no clue what you’re talking about, or I could pony up, grow a pair, and get this shit out in the open. The truth was I was tired of hiding it. It was burden sitting on the subway watching random John Q’s behind white soulless eyes, their spirits trapped in some strange flux between here and there. And I couldn’t see how lying would benefit me at the present time.
“Fine.” I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms. “You’ve got me. Cat’s out of the bag. What the fuck do you want?”
He grinned, tossed his cigarette onto the pavement, and placed his hands inside the pockets of his coat. “The man you saw that night. Describe him for me.”
“What man?” I frowned. Then it dawned on me. I struggled to remember. I didn’t look at him long, only paying attention as I prepared to pocket my ball. “I don’t remember much, long dark hair, maybe in his twenties.”
“How did he die?” He watched me from under long dark lashes, moving from foot to foot so quickly the motion seemed constant.
“I couldn’t tell you,” I answered truthfully. “I didn’t pay attention. I just saw a body standing in front of my pocket.”
He stared at the ground, eyes unfocused as he internalized my information. I tried not to get antsy, keeping my boots firm on the pavement, but the minutes ticked away and I became uneasy. I bit my cheek, my patience wearing thin.
“Are you off this weekend?” He was still staring at the ground as he asked. I considered snapping my fingers to break the trance, but I wanted to keep them.
“Actually, no, I’m not.” I didn’t offer any more information. Straight, factual and to the point—this is the no spin zone.
“What about this week?” He stopped staring at the ground and looked at me instead. His eyes were brighter up close, like the clearest span of ocean.
“No again.” I shook my head.
It wasn’t his lucky night either, but my fortune seemed to be turning a corner. Deena’s vacation had booked me solid, which meant I could go around with him all night long. No, no, and did I say no?
“Let me try a different approach. When will you have a free night?” His lips curved mockingly as he waited for my answer.
Rhiannon’s Law #37: Don’t get so high and mighty. God will only reward that arrogance with a huge bitch slap back to reality.
Don’t you absolutely despise questions you can’t answer with a simple yes or no?
Chapter Three
I had a date with a vampire. Or was it a date? I was still sketchy on the entire situation, as well as completely mortified. One minute I was asked about a clear night on my schedule, and the next, it was booked. The week and a half had flown by and tomorrow Disco and I were set to meet at the Razor in SoHo.
Deena’s absence would have put a severe cramp in my social life—if I had one. I was in and out of the BP all week, and when I wasn’t there, I was on that damned scrap of metal that Hector insisted I carry around at all times. He kept my ass on the wire until we managed to hire a new girl. Thank God, we lucked out with Cassie. She was pale and exotic, with raven hair and the never-ending legs of a gazelle.
I leaned across the bar, watching Cassie buff the stage. Lacey had some serious competition for a change. With her striking looks, it wouldn’t be long before she had her own stash of regulars.
“Excuse me.”
Seeing someone new inside our establishment didn’t surprise me. We always had a rotating door of patrons. He was older, in his mid-thirties at least. His short black hair was neatly combed, his face was smooth from a recent shave, and his brown eyes were warm and inviting.
“What can I get you?”
“Do you have Grey Goose?” He gave a friendly smile when I nodded. “Double shot, then.”
I poured his double and turned to hand the drink over. He was waiting, cash in hand.
“Keep the change,” he said, exchanging the glass for the money.
“Appreciate it.” I bestowed a friendly ‘thank you for your patronage’ smile in return and walked to the backdrop to cash out his drink.
I pushed the button on the register and moved to the right, out of harm’s way. The bottom drawer came barreling out of the ancient piece of equipment, and I lifted the metal clip to slide in the twenty. I took the left over cash from the corresponding grooves and slammed it shut, shoving the remaining eight dollars and change into the tip jar.
“Slow night,” he said.
I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He was nursing the drink, eyes downcast, fingers twisting the rim of the glass.
He appeared harmless.
Rhiannon’s Law #16: If it looks like a rabbit, and it hops like a rabbit, run the other way and fast. That shit is liable to tear your arm off Monty Python and the Holy Grail style.
“Yep,” I answered noncommittally and reached under the counter for a towel.
A new group came in as I was mid swipe, and I could taste trouble. They were just the type, preppy with egos and attitudes the size of Everest. They were tall, six-foot plus, and built. Muscles formed mounds underneath their designer shirts, and veins bulged from their tanned forearms like juicy spaghetti noodles. They were laughing and talking loudly over the room, juiced up from some other place.
