B007JBKHYW EBOK

by April Campbell Jones

  It suddenly dawned on me we’d left the stairs and were moving back through the throng, headed toward what looked like Ivan’s office…and a door on the far wall marked: Private.

  “You’ll join us of course!” our host turned to me.

  “Join you?”

  “For the private auction! The reason our good caliph here spent so much precious time and money flying halfway around the world to us!”

  I balked. “Well…I…”

  “I don’t think he’s asking,” from Mitzi.

  I looked down, gestured at her. “Uh…my dog…”

  “Oh, indeed!” from the jolly caliph. “Bring her along! I’d very much enjoy the fuzzy thing’s company!”

  “How’d you enjoy a fuzzy pom-pom up your ass, fat boy?”

  Ivan watched me patiently. “Well, Miss Smith, what does the dog say--?”

  The caliph was bending his bulk red-faced to stroke Mitzi’s head.

  Mitzi gritted her teeth. “Can’t we find Shamu here a little boy to bugger somewhere?”

  I yanked on the pink leash. “I think she’d be delighted!”

  SIXTEEN

  The Private door—locked of course—led to a short knotty pine hallway with another Private door, also locked.

  The Prince unlocked it and gestured us into a smallish, sound-proofed theater of thirty or so raked movie seats, a curtain-drawn stage, luminous deco sconce lights lining the walls. There was a podium at stage right, behind which a whisper-thin man in tux and sash stood waiting obediently above a green banker’s light, a sheath of papers and goose-neck microphone.

  Ivan guided us to the center row where the four of us including Mitzi took plush fold down seats near the middle.

  The caliph seemed particularly jolly. “Isn’t this pleasant, though! You progressive Americans and your fervor for all things technical!”

  “We run art films sometimes,” Ivan explained, “when we’re not auctioning.”

  The caliph’s eyes lit. “In three-D?”

  “Art films,” Ivan said.

  “How can you be truly progressive without three-D? What about ‘Avatar’?”

  “Art films,” Ivan explained. “Truffaut. Bergman. Fellini. Kurosawa.”

  “Who?”

  “Rashomon?”

  “Never heard of him. He is a friend of George Lukas?”

  “I’ve no idea.”

  “Spielberg?”

  “You do collect fine art, yes, caliph?”

  Someone was taking a seat in the row across from us; a broad shouldered man in an out of style suit and hat.

  “Serge,” Ivan explained. “The Russian.”

  The caliph looked mildly panicked, put an urgent hand on Ivan’s wrist. “You promised the piece was mine!”

  Ivan turned calm eyes on the Iraqi until Mansur removed his hand. “I promised it to the highest bidder.”

  The caliph flushed visibly.

  “Relax,” Ivan smiled, “you’re far wealthier than even a Russian mobster.”

  “Gentlemen, if we’re all here,” from the podium, “we’ll start the bidding.”

  Ivan nodded and the auction began.

  The first item was a Tiffany lamp. The Russian bought it for ten thousand dollars American.

  The second item was a running Chinese horse from the Ming Dynasty. Mansur bought it for twenty-seven thousand dollars.

  The third item was one of Elvis Presley’s first known guitars. Nobody wanted it. Except me. I wanted it badly, but then I may as well have wanted the Pope’s hat for all the cash I had on hand.

  “…do we have any bids on the Presley instrument?”

  “Christ,” I groaned,”--it’s got the king’s name engraved on it!”

  The Vampire Prince glanced over at me.

  “There are no starting bids? Going once…going twice—“

  “Thirty-thousand!” Ivan called.

  “I have thirty-thousand from Mr. Kolcheck. Do I hear forty? Thirty-five? Going once, going twice—sold to Mr. Kolcheck!”

  “I didn’t know you were a fan,” I murmured to the vampire.

  “I didn’t know you were. Consider it a gift. In conjunction with what we discussed earlier.”

  My jaw dropped. “I can’t accept something like that!”

  “Don’t be silly. Ah! The final item at last!”

  I turned to see the curtain behind the podium speaker split and draw apart.

  The caliph sat upright like a kid preparing for Santa…or, in his case, maybe the other way around. Even the Russian was leaning forward in his seat.

  In a moment, so was I.

  The item behind the curtain was a nude statue of Clancy.

  Only it wasn’t a statue.

  “Our final item, number 614, gentleman, this very rare and lovely piece of Americana! A one-of-a-kind item, to be found nowhere else on Earth to our knowledge! Possessing an extremely unique bio-system, as you know. No matter how toxic the venom of the…ah, predator, the young lady does not succumb! The only one of her kind known to science! Truly a collector’s item of the highest order! The bidding will start at one hundred thousand dollars—“

  “Two hundred thousand!” the caliph spat before the auctioneer could quite finish.

  I stared incredulously at the lithe, willowy form on the stage pedestal, pale skin like luminous porcelain under the single spot, golden-white tresses perfectly quaffed around ivory shoulders. Deep, blue eyes perfectly blank with incomprehension.

  “My God,” I whispered and heard Mitzi say the same in my head.

  The Prince smiled proudly at me. “Lovely, isn’t she? Something only God—or perhaps the devil—could make, eh? A true work of art.”

  “Five hundred thousand!” from the English-perfect Russian.

  I forced liquid back into a parched mouth, leaned to Ivan. “You’re not…surely you’re not selling her!”

  “A million!” from the excited caliph beside us.

  “Apparently I am,” Ivan smiled at me.

  I stared dumfounded at the stage, the gentle rise of breasts, the still intelligent gleam in the blue eyes. She was real all right.

  “Two!” from a slightly more vociferous Russian.

  “But you can’t do that!” I begged Ivan. “It isn’t….”

  “Legal?” He see-sawed his head casually. “Depends on where one is in the world, yes?”

  I stared until my eyes burned and I had to remember to blink. “But it’s…barbaric!”

  Ivan patted my wrist. “Thank-you, my dear.”

  I quickly probed Mitzi’s mind.

  “I don’t know what you’re probing me for, Sport, my brain went back to Kansas half an hour ago…”

  “Thanks! Thanks a bloody bunch!”

  “Well, what the hell do you want me to do? They’re all vampires! You do realize that, right?”

  “I do now! Thanks for the heads up!”

  “Three!” from a trembling Mansur.

  “That fat pig! Like his harem isn’t big enough over there!”

  “I think that’s Arabia you’re thinking of, Eddie.”

  “Three-five!” from the slow-to-anger Russian.

  “We’ve got to do something, Mitzi!”

  “I’m wide-open, Sport. You could yell ‘fire’ but I think that’s illegal in a theater. And we wouldn’t want to do anything illegal, right?”

  I couldn’t take my eyes off Clancy. “Is she even aware? What’s the bastard done to her?”

  “Not much, according to you. It’s what Santa Claus there will do to her I’d worry about.”

  “We have three point five million,” from the auctioneer, “do I hear four--?”

  The caliph ground his teeth.

  “Three point five going once…”

  “Five million!” the caliph bellowed.

  The Russian threw him dagger eyes.

  Ivan leaned toward me with amusement. “I think our former Soviet minister has reached the extent of his reserve! It appears I won’t be doing any imm
ediate business in Moscow for a while yet.”

  I was grinding my own teeth. “I didn’t realize your influence reached that far north, Mr. Kolcheck.”

  He shrugged. “Today the middle east, tomorrow the Balkans.”

  “I have five million,” from the auctioneer. “Who will make it six? Gentlemen?”

  The Russian sat back stiffly in his seat, arms crossed in a tight pout over his broad chest.

  “The price is five million? Do I hear six? No?”

  “Even more than I’d thought,” Ivan whispered to me smugly.

  “…going once…going twice…”

  “You can’t have her,” The Count said in my head, “but you can keep her…”

  “Six million!” I yelled, raising my hand.

  Everyone looked at me.

  Except Mitzi.

  Who put her head between her paws and groaned. “Let’s hear it folks, for the gentleman with the inoperable hemorrhoid of the cerebellum!”

  Ivan was gazing quizzically at me. Smiling his Ivan smile. “Well! The ever unpredictable Miss Smith!”

  The enraged Iraqi grabbed Ivan’s shoulder tightly…released it just as quickly. But his eyes remained flashing red.

  “Something I can do for you, caliph?” The Prince addressed him calmly.

  “A promise is a promise, Ivan! If you intend to insure my cooperation in moving your operations to the middle east, it is imperative that you fulfill your part of the bargain!”

  The Prince of Vampires smiled at the cherry-cheeked caliph and turned his attention back to the podium.

  “I have six million dollars, from the young lady in aisle six! Do I have a counter bid?”

  The caliph sank down in his seat like an over-cooked toad.

  “I have six million dollars for this lovely, golden item! Do I hear another bid? No? Six million going once…six million going twice—“

  “Ten million!” the caliph growled.

  “Pardon me sir?” from the podium, “I didn’t quite catch that—“

  “Ten, you idiot!” And I could feel his hotly defiant eyes burning into my very pale profile.

  “I have ten million dollars for this priceless vision of loveliness. Are there any other offers, gentlemen?”

  “Well,” Ivan sighed sympathetically, patting my back, “what would someone like you have done with her anyway? Set her in a corner by the fireplace? They do need food and watering, I’m told.”

  “You’re an asshole,” I told him evenly. “No! You’re a blood-sucking asshole to boot!”

  I felt Mitzi’s hind leg jump reflexively against my leg. “Take it back, Eddie! Take it back!”

  “No!”

  “For the love of God, take it back! He may have only taken the ‘blood-sucking’ part metaphorically! Apologize! Quick!”

  “I won’t!”

  “Pardon me?” from The Prince. I must have blurted that last one out loud.

  “I won’t apologize!” I told him firmly.

  I stared at Clancy, feeling the vampire’s eyes on me but unable to read his expression. I also had a very strong urge to urinate.

  “You too?” Mitzi whimpered. “Mine’s running down the aisle!”

  “I have ten million dollars from the gentleman from Iraq. Are there any other offers? Very good, then. That’s ten million going once…going twice—“

  “Twelve million!” I shouted, tears in my eyes. “No! Make it fifteen million. Fifteen million dollars and fifty-six cents!”

  “Nice of you to remember the sales tax,” Mitzi whimpered miserably.

  I turned rabidly to the visibly shaking caliph, shaking pretty hard myself. “You insufferably bloated buffoon,” I spat, “now go spend your money on a magnifying glass when you get home so you can find your dick!”

  Dead silence dropped over the theater.

  Dead being the operative word.

  Then the air split with the sharp thunder of Ivan’s laugher.

  His head fell back in his seat and he roared at the overhead chandelier.

  Between The Prince’s bellows, I heard a sly, near-metallic clicking sound and turned just in time to see the caliph--fangs extended fully--leap across The Prince for my throat.

  I caught a quick whiff of frustrated sweat just before my neck was rent open in a rushing hydrant of blood—

  --or would have been if Ivan—in a blur of movement I don’t think even the caliph saw—caught Mansur by the front of his blouse and slammed him back in his theater seat like so much stuffed sausage.

  Then he bent and looked deep into the Iraqi’s eyes.

  I couldn’t see Ivan’s own eyes from that angle, I only know that the red-faced, enraged Mansur grew abruptly meek as a kitten and seemed to shrink several pant sizes in his chair before quickly turning away.

  “We had a bargain!” his now child-like voice a whimper.

  Ivan rose to his full height. His fingers had become ragged claws. He loomed over the quaking Iraqi. “You are a guest, Mansur, both in my gallery and my country! You will not forget yourself again! Nod if you understand.”

  Mansur nodded. Several times.

  Mitzi peeked meekly from under her seat. “Eddie? Are you dead yet?”

  “Not yet. Soon, I think.”

  “Okay. Let me know, huh?” And she scooted back under.

  Ivan turned to me, face expressionless. He reached down and lifted me weightlessly from my seat by a shoulder.

  He turned to address the auctioneer, as well as the others assembled.

  “Gentlemen, my friend Miss Smith here is attending her very first auction, an event about which she knows very little, specifically the rules and procedures. As the proceedings are being held in the inordinate confines of a theater and stage, I’m afraid she misunderstood her role here as that of a fellow actor. I therefore offer her my sincerest apologies for an error clearly of my own making and suggest her bids be considered forfeit in this instance until she is more fully tutored in the nomenclature of bidding.”

  He looked around the room. “All in favor, please say ‘aye.’”

  Everyone did.

  Ivan then turned to the huddled caliph. “In light of this agreement between the principals present, I hereby duly submit that my good friend and colleague Al Mansur be named winner of the final item by default...”

  He turned and smiled companionably at the Iranian. “…at the buying price of ten million dollars.”

  The caliph started to open his mouth—shut it again.

  “All in favor please say ‘aye.’”

  Everyone did.

  Ivan turned to the podium.

  The auctioneer rapped his gavel.

  “Gentlemen, the auction is closed. Thank you for your attendance!”

  The curtains swished together.

  Clancy disappeared from my life again.

  On the way up the aisle Ivan patted the caliph sympathetically on the back. “All things, considered, caliph, an absolute bargain, I think!”

  I didn’t like the look in Mansur’s eyes—or the tone of his voice--but he managed a begrudged nod. “I’m pleased enough.”

  “Good!” Ivan laughed, and gave me his arm. “Shall we get back to the gallery show, my friends?”

  I kept craning back to the closed curtain, not caring anymore who saw me.

  “I do, however,” the caliph was saying as we approached the door, “believe some small recompense in order, considering the rather large hit my purse took tonight.”

  Ivan patted the fat man’s arm. “What sort did you have in mind, old friend?”

  Mansur shrugged noncommittally, waved an indifferent hand at the air. “Nothing major. A little balm to assuage my financial wounds.”

  “Name it!” Ivan beamed.

  The Iranian paused, turned his considerable bulk there in the narrow aisle. “I think…yes! The dog.”

  I choked.

  “I’ve grown quite fond of the little pink beast! Might go rather well with my drapes. What do you say, Ivan?”
/>
  Ivan turned a raised brow to me. “I’m afraid that’s an issue you must take up with our lovely Miss Smith.”

  The caliph bowed to me. “Miss Smith--?’

  “Oh, SHIT!” from Mitzi beside me.

  I couldn’t seem to think of a fast enough reply.

  The caliph construed it as acquiescence, bowed again. “Good!”

  And to Ivan: “Have the girl delivered along with the animal to my suite tomorrow! By three p.m. if you please!”

  And waddled his way up the aisle in triumph.

  SEVENTEEN

  I was in a fog by the time we were back at the gallery; too much input for my waning psyche to assimilate in one night.

  “Yeah, well you can just tell your psyche to get un-waned and back off its ass!” from a mortified and considerably shaken Mitzi. “I am not getting on a plane to Iraq with the creature that ate Des Moines! And since this whole hair-brained drag queen scheme was yours, I assume you have a back-up plan that doesn’t include me taking it up the pooper from that jihad-happy vampire! They eat little doggies like me over there, you know!”

  “Define ‘eat.’”

  “’Eat’, Ed! As in masticate and ingest! And don’t get cute with me now! For two cents I’d turn you right in front of them and leave you to un-tape your own balls!”

  “As I recall, it was you who dived through my living room window in Topeka, Kansas and shanghaied me into this ‘let’s-kill-all-the-vampires’ cause!”

  “What cause? So far we’ve managed to lose your girlfriend, perform a premature burial on me, put Sylvie and the twins at incredible risk, vaporize a nice old lady in Topeka after burning down half the town! Where in that do you find anything remotely resembling a ‘cause’?”

  “I’m afraid I must leave you, my friends!” from the caliph. “The artist just arrived--fashionably late, of course--for his own show, and there’s an ugly little piece of mayhem on the south wall there I’d like to cheat him out of!”

  Ivan nodded and handed Mansur Mitzi’s leash. “I’m afraid I’ve some unfinished business of my own, dear caliph. You may as well take the animal now.”

  The caliph proffered a sour expression and took the leash like someone accepting a fresh turd. “Very well. And in the event we don’t see each other again tonight, I look forward to your visiting my country in the coming weeks and further delineating our business!”