by Mark Henry
I released her and smoothed the front of her smock. “No, I don’t suppose I do. Just thank you. That’s what I wanted to say.”
“Mmm-hmm.” Britney pulled out a little plastic remote and pointed it at the Tesla ball. “How about this, you don’t ever touch me again and then I won’t ever be forced to do this to you.”
“What?” My eyes drifted from her hand to the humming globe above me. The arcs jumped in broad sweeping curves down into the needles and before I could even contemplate what that could mean, my body was jumping on the mattress like a demon possession.
Britney released the button and I dropped back into the bed, only seconds later to have the entire scene replayed, this time to the tune of several little girls clapping and giggling.
Monsters.
She leaned in close to my ear and whispered, “Besides, Hillary told me to tell you we’ve still got the matter of your bill to settle. You’re not leaving here until we get our money.” With that, she planted a kiss on my cheek, started to scamper away, twisted around cheerleader style and zapped me again.
“God, y’all. Really?” a male voice chastised, instantly recognizable as my friendly neighborhood collection artist, Vance Ventura. He probably drove to the reaper clinic in my Volvo, spitting chaw on the floorboard, or whatever it is men do on the rare occasion they don’t give a shit about a car.
Britney giggled and strode up to him, hips wiggling seductively.
Now.
I know the reapers look like little girls, no matter how old they get, and that this one was probably older than me, but it doesn’t change the fact that it’s unnerving to witness a child attempt to seduce a full grown man even when that man is technically a bug or twig or something. Still, I’d have rather taken another humiliating shock than endure Britney rubbing Vance’s thigh.
Grossed out doesn’t even begin to cover it.
“Ew,” Wendy muttered.
The look on Vance’s face implied agreement. He soured and brushed her hands away, a shiver rolling through him with such violence you’d think someone took a metal rake to a chalkboard.
Britney shrugged her shoulders and cooed. “You silly. I’ll just leave you to your visit.” She turned and shook her finger at me sternly.
Crap. Here we go, I thought. Not conscious five minutes and already I’d been treated to a litany of my failures. Apparently, it’s not enough humiliation to be shocked to the point of bowel release—no, I didn’t, I’m just sayin’.
What did the guy need to repo now, anyway? My soul?83
He pulled up a metal folding chair and crossed his leg far more elegantly than I expected from a glorified car thief. “Ms. Feral. I’m glad to see they’ve been so fastidious with your care. Hillary assures me you’ll be good as new within the hour.”
I scanned the rows of needles piercing my body and wondered how she figured. “Oh yeah. They’ve been lifesavers.”
“Literally,” he added.
“Though, I suspect they’re scouring their dungeons for even more inventively torturous treatment modalities, as we speak.”
“They do enjoy their humiliation, but you can’t deny the results are nothing short of miraculous. You should have seen your bodies when they brought you in. Your friend there was like a pile of ground beef laced with satin ribbons.” He jerked a thumb in Wendy’s direction.
“Ground sirloin.” She propped herself up on her elbows behind him, drool pooling in her mouth, I’m sure.
“So what is it now, Vance. Do you need my teeth or something?”
He slapped his knee, chuckling. “No, no, nothing like that. In fact, I’ve been running some numbers and if you sign over your condo to the reaper clinic, that’ll cover your bill, and get you out of here pronto.”
“You can’t be serious?”
“Oh, yeah.” The excitement spread across his face like a rash. He pulled a spreadsheet printout from his briefcase and pointed out various strings of numbers. “If you’ll notice here…” Vance continued jacking his jaw about equity and figures and so on, but all I could think about was how far I’d fallen. It seemed like just a few days ago I was living the high life. Expensive shoes, bags, gowns, an awesome boyfriend, who sparkled on my arm like antique Bulgari.
Living the dream.
Vance’s scruffily handsome face was bright with the kind of hopeful glee I wanted to slap clean off.
“If I do that it’ll cover all of it. I won’t owe those bitches another dime?”
“Well, most of it, there’ll be some charges for today, but I’m going to take care of that for you with my collections commission.”
“And why is it that you’d help me, Mr. Ventura? Did your last porn tape go platinum or something?”
As if on cue, Gil strode into the ward, Ethel following close behind him, chattering on about insurance payouts. I thought I’d be miserable seeing Mother again, but instead there was an odd tinge of regret. After all, she’d lost her business, as I was surely about to lose mine.84 Then there was Gil. His attitude always cheered me up.
So you can imagine my displeasure when my best friend, and first supernatural I met after my zombification, ran into Vance’s arms for a deep kiss and a quick butt grope.
“Seriously?” I looked to Wendy for some support.
She shook her head. “It doesn’t seem right.”
Gil turned towards my bed, arm slung around Vance’s waist. “You’ve met Lars, then. Doesn’t he glitter like new money?”
To Vance’s credit, he cringed at being shown off like a trophy wife, but his easy smile in Gil’s direction loosened some of those coals in my dead heart. “I know him as Vance, and yeah…he’s cute.”
“That’s his work name.”
“Don’t make many friends in my line, so I keep it up, like a stage name.”
“Yeah. I figured.” Though I figured something entirely different.
Ethel squeezed past the happy couple and sat next to me on the bed. She grimaced at the needles and attempted to feel my forehead with the back of her hand. “Ew. Cold.” She withdrew her hand with a snap.
“Yeah. It goes with the whole zombie thing. And it’s actually room temperature, so…”
“Well, darling. I know the delightful Mr. Ventura has spelled out your options and I just wanted to offer up a spot in my guest room. It’s small but I have clean sheets and towels and a basement for you to keep your victims if you like a late-night snack. I don’t know exactly how it is you…creatures deal with that kind of thing.”
“Or,” I suggested, head snapping in Wendy’s direction, waiting for her to make an offer.
She stared at me blankly. “Or?” she asked.
“Or I could stay at your place for a while.”
“Yeah. The thing about that is, I’ve got this whole Abuelita thing going on. And so, until I get that dealt with…”
“I could just roll out a sleeping bag next to the stove.”
She shook her head, nose crinkling.
My mouth hung open.
I turned to Gil. “Gil?”
“Your mom’s is a really nice place and it’s only for a little while, until you get on your feet again.” He shot an uneasy grin at Ethel, who was nodding conspiratorially.
I glanced at the papers sitting on the side table, next to a small tray of what looked like false teeth, though they weren’t set into any acrylic gums. They lay loose like charms, only instead of a loop each root ended in a long nail head. I was reminded of Wendy’s broken grin and shuddered to imagine what the reapers had in store for her dental needs, also secretly glad that she’d be getting a healthy dose of pain for what she was willing to put me through.
“Fine!” I snatched up the papers and Vance/Lars rushed over with a pen.
“Here and here and here.” He pointed out little exes and I scribbled my name next to each one, stabbing the pen at the paper with rage.
“I hope you know I’ll be bringing Honey and Mr. Kim. They go wherever I go.” I glared at Ethel.
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“Well, I’ll just run on home and set up a spot for the dear girl right now.” She leaned over with vampire speed, or else I would have pushed her away, and kissed my forehead. I went to rub it off and then stopped myself. Gil already thought I was childish in my interaction with Mother—I’d be damned before I gave him more ammo. Ethel gave each of the men a quick hug and then clopped off down the hall with the kind of spring in her step that could only come with the knowledge that I’d be in her evil clutches once again.
Gil and Vance left shortly after.
I was numb.
“You know,” Wendy said. “There’s always the show. If that hits big, you might be able to buy the condo back.”
A little glimmer of hope shined into my pre-suicidal mind. The show. Absolutely. All we needed to do was solve the mystery, compile all the footage in a fresh and stylish way and I’d be rollin’ in it again. I’d probably be able to keep the business too.
“Thanks, Wendy. That actually helps.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And at least we have the camera.”
“Oh, thank God. You do have it. I’ve been lying here wondering.” Wendy whistled in relief.
I sat up and scanned the little table next to the bed, reached down and opened the drawers, nothing but gauze and little jars filled with spiders—undoubtedly considered medically necessary by the Marquises de Sade of the candystriper set.
“What? You don’t have it?”
“Hello? I was kind of falling off a cliff and being crushed by a building. Didn’t have time to worry about the Amanda Feral Show.”
My stomach flipped.
The camera was gone.
Of course it was. Even inanimate objects got the memo. Must fuck Amanda Feral. Kick her while she’s down.
What’s next karma? World destruction?
“Well, I’m not going to sit here and take this lying down.”
“Huh?” Wendy looked up as I started plucking the needles from my pores.
“Reapers! Bandage me the fuck up, I’m getting out of here.” Britney stomped down the hall toward our beds. I stabbed a thumb in Wendy’s direction. “And this one, too. I’m putting her back to work.”
“Well, aren’t you demanding?”
“You bet your ass.”
CHANNEL 19
Monday
4:00–5:00 A.M.
Wolfbait
Things heat up when the lights go down and these six lupine beauties know how to shift into something a little more comfortable. (For mature pups only)
I pulled on a pair of jeans—Gil rustled up some clothes for us at a nearby Urban Outfitters—and shoved a pair of borrowed twenties into the front pocket. I’d owe Ethel back for the cash in blood, but I’d rather that than be beholden to the woman, especially with her so glib over her apparent victory.
We hailed a cab and slipped into the back.
“Where are we going,” Wendy asked, picking at the bandages on her arms.
I slapped her hands away. “Don’t pick.” I gave Wendy’s address to the cabbie—I wondered if he knew Baljeet and Raj—and we were off.
“What’s at my place?” Her face dipped into grievance. “Other than a cracked-out vamp whore?”
“Your camera, the one you’ve been spying on Abuelita with. Once we get it, you can keep filming me as I search for the real camera. This shit is going to make for some intense TV.”
She lifted her phone. “Couldn’t I just film you on here?”
“Well, yeah. But then we wouldn’t know what the hell’s going on at your place.”
Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “True.”
She lived in a turn-of-the-century walk-up on Queen Anne. The peek-a-boo view of the sound added five hundred a month and was worth every penny, though the vampires littering the living room floor brought down the property value dramatically. Abuelita, passed out on the couch and pasty as a glazed donut, grunted as we entered.
“Wake up.” Wendy kicked the woman’s foot.
“Hmm?” Her eyes opened with a snap. “Oh! Missus Wendy. I can explain.”
“I save your ass from a life of wearing poorly constructed sandals, beading handbags no one wants and pushing Chiclet sales-children out of your snatch and you repay me by throwing wild drug parties in my home? You’re damn right you’ve got some explaining to do.”
I scanned the mass of vampire flesh. Most were spooning in pairs or trios. A few curled up, fetal as babies. I nudged one of them I knew from the clubs. George, I thought, or Gio. He smiled up at me dumbly, pulling his arm out from under another passed-out vamp, this one totally fug and wearing a ratty thrift store sweater. I gave him a wink and helped him to his feet. “You better get your friends and get into the hall. Wendy’s pissed. She’s likely to chew her table into enough wooden stakes to finish all of you.”
George or Gio scrambled to his feet, kicking his buddies and rushing for the door. Threats are particularly effective with cloudheads. Even the smallest gesture gets blown out of proportion in their drug-addled brains. In a matter of seconds, the vampires cleared out, leaving the floor a mess of blood stains and dried pools of drool.
“I need to make moneys to bring my family to the States. You no pay me, so I make moneys the way I know how.” She reached for the empty paint can and held it to her chest like a Teddy.
“Moneys?” I asked, stepping up beside Wendy. “How much moneys?”
Wendy’s head jerked toward me. “What are you doing?”
“Just chill.” I petted Wendy’s hair, then to Abuelita I said, “How much money are we talking about here?”
“Five hundred for each gringovamp.” She opened the canister and pulled out a fat roll of twenties.
Now if I were an ethical zombie with designs on simple brain eating and shambling around, I couldn’t very well sustain your interest. I require a certain level of income to keep up my stylish demeanor. It ain’t free. Fabulousness costs.
Big.
And no. I had no intention of eating the little mule.
I’m not in the business of burning bridges, in case you haven’t noticed. I looped my arm through Wendy’s and led her into the kitchen for a chat. “Okay. So this is going to sound bad. I know you feel violated and betrayed and all that, but I counted at least twenty bloodsuckers up in this cuddle party. At five hundred a head, that’s ten grand.”
Wendy’s face was stolid.
“How much do you expect to make with your jewelry line? A couple extra hundred a week?”
She shrugged, clearly irritated at my direction.
“I’m just sayin’.”
Abuelita had followed us to the doorway and caught on, agreeable to the unspoken idea, probably out of fear of being eaten than anything else. “Sí, Missus Wendy, we go into business together. I have connections for the clouds and you know lots of the vampires, sí?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I’m gonna go downstairs and wait while y’all make a decision. Don’t forget the camera.”
Wendy glared at me.
The vampires hadn’t made it very far, taking my suggestion of going to the hall quite literally. The hallway was lined with the addicts and no fewer than three of them were snoring at top volume, forcing me out to the fire escape at the end of the hall to call Scott.
“I need your help.”
It was more than that. I’ve never needed help from a man before, I’ve always been able to manage on my own. It wasn’t help I needed. It wasn’t little tips or clues or direction on how to solve a mystery—one I wasn’t even sure I cared enough to figure out. No. It was Scott.
I needed Scott.
“I was just thinking about you.” His voice was husky and deep.
“You were?” Did the words sound desperate?
“I was,” he said.
“Well, you needed to be. I almost died last night.”
“What?” he barked. There was a sudden urgency to it that thrilled me.
I told him about the accident
at the Hooch and Cooch and gave him general directions to the site of the collapse, clicked off and promptly screamed. Holy crap. Did he say he was thinking about me? Oh yeah. I climbed down the ladder and sat on the hood of someone’s car, drumming my fingers hopefully.
Wendy blasted out of the back door of her building, a pair of car keys jingling and a bit of a smirk on. She didn’t say a word until we pulled out onto the street.
“Well?” I asked.
She nodded. “I’m a drug dealer.”
“Awesome.” I slapped her thigh. “What are the keys to? I was pretty sure you were carless.”
“Let’s see.” She punched the alarm button on the ring and a sporty little red Mazda flashed and honked like a game show prize. “We have a winner.”
“Let’s go get famous.”
It took a little while to find the spot, since we’d only ever seen it for an instant and then only from the vantage point of the rear of the building, but it wasn’t too difficult once we found the spot on the ridge where the Hooch and Cooch should have been. It would have been way easier to spot from the bridge, but who wants to put up with all those ghosts on a beautiful sunny afternoon?
Wendy paralleled and pulled a pink stuffed rabbit out of her bag, shoved her hand up a tear in its ass and pulled out her video camera, then tossed the violated animal into my lap. I was reminded of the tiger Johnny had left in my room to welcome me to the set and actually felt sort of sad at the thought of him cut down in his prime. Or in my prime, to be more accurate.
“Nanny cam?”
“Hell yeah. Clandestine is the way to go. I watch To Catch a Predator. I know what it takes to get the footage.”
“Clearly.”
Scott arrived at the collapse before us and was knee-deep in debris by the time we rounded the corner of the Chinook Apartments, battling the mushy grass in my stilettos.
“Why the hell don’t they have a sidewalk around here like regular people?” I asked.