by P. N. Elrod
Having been raised on a farm just north of Cincinnati, I didn’t know what I’d been missing, and it was probably just as well. When your day-to-day focus is on making enough food to get you through the winter, you don’t have time to take exception to your neighbor’s religion or skin color. Either that, or maybe my parents were a little smarter than most with their seven kids. Real intolerance didn’t come up to bite me in the ass until I joined the Army and got labeled as a know-nothing hick, and when that happened I decided I didn’t care much for it. Live and let live, I figured. Everyone’s got a right to breathe the air, and to hell with anybody who wants to put a price on it.
Crazy opinions like that made me real popular in the barracks. It was the first time I’d been glad to have had older brothers who used to beat on me. Having survived countless behind-the-barn donnybrooks with them, I’d un-knowingly learned to fight to win. After I thumped a few thick skulls, the troublemakers took the hint, got more respectful, and left me alone.
I hoped the same thing would happen now. My arrival in this town last August might have gone completely unnoticed by Chicago’s mobs if I hadn’t offered to help the wrong man at the wrong time. It ended up with me getting killed. I soon got better—and I started throwing my weight around. But I wasn’t stirring up grief so much as trying to defend myself. This made a strong impression on a few people, though. Things were quiet at present. Hopefully, with Gordy having put a word or two out in my favor, the mobs would keep clear of me so I could get on with my humble ambitions about Lady Crymsyn in peace.
The Red Deuces was close to the Loop and, like any good nightspot, had terrible parking. The street was lined solid with cars, most of them belonging to the people living in the area. At this late hour the club’s neon lights were dark. Most of the patrons were staggering off home or in search of another watering hole. They were on foot, though, so nothing opened up for me. I had to park a good long block away and hike back.
Bobbi, all finished with her singing for the night, met me at the halfway point. “I saw your car go past just as I was coming through the front door,” she said, a little breathless from hurrying. She had a lovely flush on her cheeks.
I kissed her hello and told her she looked too good to be out walking alone.
“No one’s roaming loose this late.”
“There’s a few who could give you trouble.”
She opened her purse and pulled out a couple of pounds of serious-looking blackjack. “Then I give it right back again—but they have to catch me first.”
I tried to put most of my worry for her away. She was a big girl, after all. But next time I’d keep my eyes open for her at the door. Being a knockout blonde with a gorgeous figure, she’d learned to take care of herself, but some guys didn’t understand the word “no” unless you tattooed it to their face with a car fender.
We strolled slowly down the block to my buggy, not saying anything, just walking close and holding each other. It was something neither of us had yet gotten tired of doing. The way I felt about her I hoped that time would never come. I’d asked her to marry me more than once, but she always said she liked things just as they were. It had nothing to do with me being dead half the while; she made it clear that she only preferred to keep her independence. I accepted her answer and always backed off… until the next time the fit came over me.
Sooner or later in a weak moment she might say yes.
“How did the show go?” I asked after we were in the car. I hit the starter, threw it in gear, and pulled into the empty street.
“Fairly well. One of the guys got too drunk to sing his last set, so I did it for him.”
“That’s good.”
“Not really, since the management said I got paid the same.”
“That’s bad.”
“Not really, because I was able to trot out some fresh songs. They liked me, and that’s all that really matters.”
They being her audience. “Anyone important see you?”
“A few, maybe. Someone told me there was a Hollywood producer in the house, but it was probably just wishful thinking. Anyway, no one tried to come backstage except for the usual johnnies, and the bouncers take care of them. Someone who was really in show business would send his card first or get the manager to make introductions. Nothing like that happened, so it was quiet.”
“Yeah, yeah, sure it was. I know how you light up a stage.”
She snuggled closer to me and chuckled. She knew she was good, but liked hearing me say it. “How did your night go?”
“It’s a long, grim story with no ending.”
“What happened?”
So I told her pretty much what I had told Gordy, but put in more small stuff to fill out the picture. I did not give a detailed description of the body. Bobbi got through the incredulity and shock part pretty fast. She’d been in Chicago a while, and even a murder as terrible as this one was not beyond easy belief. She said how awful it was and fired a dozen questions at me, most of which I couldn’t answer.
“And Gordy couldn’t guess who it might be?” she asked.
“Not off the top of his head. He said he’d check around, but I don’t think anyone’s going to own up to something like this. I’ll do my own checking, though.”
“You sure you want to?”
There was a lot unsaid behind her question. I’d been through some hard times in the last few months. If I poked around in the wrong areas, it could make fresh trouble for me, and she was only reminding me of it. I pushed that aside. “I don’t want to, but I have to. Someone walled that poor woman up alive, and if I can drop a noose around the bastard that did it, I will.”
She shot a guarded look my way. “Then keep your eyes open, huh? I’ve seen what it does to you.”
“I’ll be careful. I’ll let Lieutenant Blair take all the heat and get the glory for the arrest. Maybe after that he’ll start liking me for real.”
But the conversation stalled out. She wasn’t happy at my decision, but neither would she ask me to lay off. It was like her dream about going to Hollywood. I didn’t care much for our being separated when the time came, but I wasn’t going to stop her. On the other hand, that was something she really wanted to do. This was something I was stuck with.
In her flat on the tenth floor of her residence hotel the atmosphere between us eased slightly and warmed up. She was in her own territory now and better able to relax. Not bothering to turn on the lights, she dropped her purse and hat on a chair by the entry and marched across the living room to one of the big corner windows. She opened it wide and leaned on the sill, letting the breeze pluck at her. It was her favorite spot, giving her a grand view of the city and a slice of the lake. Lights glinted everywhere, even at this hour: starlike shimmers from the water, the steady cold blue of streetlamps, and the whites and reds of slow-moving cars. From this high up everything moved slow.
“Isn’t it cold for you?” I asked, standing close. Low temperatures didn’t affect me like they used to; I was only aware of them in a distant sort of way.
“I need it after the heat of that stage. The days have been nice and cool, but when that spot hits me it makes up for them. We haven’t had much of a summer yet, have we?”
“Not that I’ve heard.”
She turned slightly so her back was to me. She had nice round hips, taut from the muscles she’d built up after hours of dancing practice. Tap, ballroom, jitterbug, she was learning it all to be ready in case she got that phone call to go west. I let my hands wander over them, caressing and giving her an experimental squeeze through the thin fabric of her dress.
“You forgot your underwear,” I said.
“No, I didn’t. It’s all in my bureau drawer.”
“Oh.”
She bumped against me once and looked over her shoulder, an impish smile flashing briefly over her face.
Well, you don’t have to clobber me between the eyes when it comes to certain types of invitations. I reached over to pull the blinds
down, but she stopped me.
“I want the air,” she said.
“I’ve read about people like you. They’re called exhibitionists.”
“That’s only if I take my clothes off.”
“From the feel of things”—and I did, thoroughly, to make sure—“you’re halfway there.”
“Less work for you, then.”
“Sweetheart, this is not work.”
She pushed her hips against me, raising all sorts of reactions. God, the power she had over me didn’t bear thinking about, so I stopped thinking and just let it take over. She held tight to the sill and laughed and sighed while I explored everything I could get my hands on.
It was times like this that the shedding of interfering clothes took too long. Complicated, too. I wanted to keep touching Bobbi, but had to divide my attention between her and undoing my belt and buttons. Then I had to loosen my tie and shirt, so I could lean forward over her. I lifted her hair up and nibbled the base of her neck.
“That’s lovely,” she murmured. “Just do…”
I next lifted her dress, crumpling it around her waist. She arched herself upward, but I wouldn’t let her straighten completely, and pressed her down over the sill again.
“Now, try now,” she said, a while later.
I did, and slipped right in, both of us sighing together at the sensation. It was absolutely wonderful. It always was with her. She braced herself against my slow thrusts.
“I think—I think someone’s watching us over there,” she said, looking out at the view. Her voice soft, breathy with excitement.
“It’s two blocks away, let him stare.”
“Yes, let… him… yes.”
Then we were past speech. It was all about touching, now, acting and reacting. And when she was just to the edge of things, I pulled her up enough to get to that special spot on her sweet throat where the blood rushed close to the surface.
My corner teeth were out and had been the whole time. I kissed her soft skin, first tasting, then breaking through it as gently as I could to give us that crashing mutual release. From the cries she made and kept on making, I was successful. I drew things out, holding her, taking from her, just a drop or two at a time. When it came to making love it was the quality, not the quantity of blood, and it was the best for me when she was in the midst of her climax. The pleasure looped back upon itself, too, for as long as I kept taking, she lingered in its grasp—as did I.
I’d once been on the receiving side of such kisses. Then it had been beautiful Maureen who’d tasted and supped on my blood for hours at a time. Once you’ve experienced such an intense union like that anything else is kid’s play. It took me years to get over her after her abrupt and, at the time, inexplicable departure. Years, until I met Bobbi Smythe. But by then I was a vampire myself, and ready to discover what loving a woman would be like for me after my change. I soon found out, and it only just kept getting better.
I began supporting more and more of Bobbi’s weight. She was still caught in the spell, but tiring. Time to pull back. If we’d been stretched out in her bed, I’d have kept going, but positioned as we were it was a bit awkward to comfortably maintain things.
We gradually sorted ourselves out. She was drowsy, but spared a giggle for the sight of me with my pants tangled around my ankles and still in shoes and socks—with shin garters holding them up, yet. There are few things in all of Western civilization that are more ridiculous-looking than a man in such a state. Comics have known about it for ages and exploited it mercilessly. I snagged up my trousers and tried to restore what little dignity remained. Bobbi merely shook her skirt down and grinned.
“I win,” she said. She pecked me on the corner of my mouth while I was only halfway buttoned, then glided past, where she spent a few minutes in the bathroom. Then she spent some more time in the bedroom. When she returned, she wore fancy red silk pajamas with a Chinese collar that covered the marks on her neck.
“Those are new, aren’t they?” I asked, all eyes for the way the fabric clung to her figure. Through the thin silk I could see she’d again omitted underwear. It was one of the things I loved about her.
She gave an artistic turn, standing on tiptoe in her matching slippers like a fashion mannequin. “Like it? It set me back three bucks, but I couldn’t resist the embroidery.” There was an oriental-style tree stitched all over the jacket front.
“It’s worth it. You make it beautiful.”
“That,” she said, coming over to bestow another kiss on me, “was the right thing to say.”
I followed her to the kitchen, where she poured out a big glass of grape juice. As food goes it was one of those few exceptions, like coffee, that still smelled good to me. Anything else usually drove me off. Even though I don’t breathe much, it is necessary for talking, and I wanted to keep her company.
We sat at her little white kitchen table. It had two chairs. Enough.
“You drink a lot of that stuff,” I said.
“The magazines say it’s good for dieting.”
“You don’t need to diet.”
“I still crave it. And liver. Did you crave those when you were still like me?”
She meant breathing regular and walking around during the day. “I guess. I used to eat steak and hamburg half-raw when I could, and I’d have greens instead of potatoes. Couldn’t get enough of them for some reason. Does that count?”
“I suppose. You’d be getting iron that way. Good for the blood. I’ve always thought that when you want some special kind of food real bad it means your body’s telling you what it needs. Read it in a magazine ad somewhere.”
“What do you mean ‘crave’? You’re not—”
“Don’t be silly, you know that can’t happen with you.” She sipped her juice, watching me over the glass rim. “You ever regret that part of your condition?”
“What part?”
“Not being able to have kids.”
I shrugged. My change made me like Maureen, everything worked, but I was no longer fertile in the ordinary way. “It’s not something I’ve thought about much. What about you?”
“I’ve never wanted any.”
“I thought all girls wanted babies.”
“Not this one. They’re noisy, smelly, expensive, and you’re stuck with the responsibility of them for your whole life, and what if you mess up and raise them wrong? They get into trouble and break your heart. I can’t imagine why anybody would want one.”
I couldn’t think of a real reply to that, then wondered what was going on under her words. “Bobbi, this is a very strange conversation.”
“Am I shocking you?”
“It’s just different. I thought you liked kids.”
“I do, but I don’t want one of my own. They’re not a responsibility I’m able to handle, so it’s better for the kid’s sake that I avoid it.”
“Why are you telling me this?”
She put her glass down. “Because you had that look again, like you’re going to ask me to marry you.”
“Uh…”
“I just thought you should know my turning you down is not just because we couldn’t have kids.”
“Ah…”
“Well, you keep getting the same answer from me, and lately you didn’t look like you believed it anymore. You deserved to hear a different one for a change. It’s still the truth. Just like the other reasons I’ve given you.”
“What’s this ‘look’ I get?”
“It comes and goes, I can’t describe it, but I thought you might propose again tonight.”
God damn it, but she’d pegged me square. Again. “Am I that transparent, woman?”
“I guess you are to me. Charles isn’t the only detective around here.”
“Private agent,” I automatically corrected. Hunching over, I clasped my hands together on the table and frowned at them a minute. “Should I just stop asking?”
“I don’t know. Does it hurt you when I say no?”
“Som
e, but I can live with it.”
“Then you do what feels right to you. But fair warning, my answer’s always going to be no.”
“Always?”
“Yes. Getting married would be bad for us.”
“I don’t see it that way.”
“But I do, Jack. I’m happy with the way things are. I don’t want some piece of paper with our names on it changing anything.”
“Why should anything change?”
“Trust me, it would.”
“But we love each other—I mean, don’t you—?”
“Of course I love you. I adore you. But I won’t marry you.”
“You’d rather live in sin?”
“If that’s what you want to call it.” She put both her hands lightly over mine. “I don’t feel particularly sinful when I’m with you.”
“That’s good to know.”
“I like it this way. It’s all honeymoon for me and none of the drudgery of a marriage. You’ll never have to worry that I get sloppy and let myself go.”
“That’ll be the day.”
“And I don’t have to worry about why you’re with me. I’ll always know that it’s because you want to be here, not because you have to be here. The same goes for why I’m with you.”
She did have a point. “Maybe it’s because I like the sex.”
“If that were the only thing then you’d have left while I was changing clothes.”
“Honey, if I ever get that stupid, you tell Charles to stake me.”
“Bite your tongue,” she said quickly.
