Interview With a Jewish Vampire

by Erica Manfred

  “What did he say?”

  “He laughed about the three crazy old ladies on the dance floor…mon. He said there were a bunch of kids surrounding them and yelling something like, ‘You go girls.’ They wouldn’t have needed to glamour anyone to get in. He said they were really entertaining and kids kept coming back hoping they’d show up again.”

  “That’s not much help.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Let’s go to a café and have a drink. Or I’ll have a drink. We need to think of something else.”

  We walked to the News Café, where we had sat last time. The place reminded me of Hedwig, whom we’d met there.

  “Hedwig!” I shouted. “She said if we ever needed anything to call her. Now is the time. But I don’t have that little pink card she gave us. Dammit. You don’t have it by any long stretch of the imagination, do you?”

  “No, I don’t, but I remember the number. We vampires have superior memories along with our other attributes. You know what those are, don’t you?”

  “This is no time for joking. I’ll take care of your attributes after we find Mom. What’s the number?”

  Hedwig answered immediately. I’d noticed that half of the passersby on Ocean Avenue were talking on a cell phone, the other half were taking pictures with one. Miami was, like New York, a connected City. I told her the whole story.

  “ No problem, you just wait there with your adorable vampire man and I’ll be by soon. Old ladies clubbing are not exactly the norm. They won’t be hard to find in this town. I’ll put the word out on the tranny network.”

  “Tranny network?”

  “Transvestite, transsexual and transgender, dahling.”

  “So how do you find things out?”

  “Ve haf our vays.”

  I had to laugh despite my mood. “We’ll wait.”

  For the first time since Mom disappeared I relaxed a little. Hedwig was so reassuring. I knew she’d come through, and sure enough when she showed up about an hour later she did have some solid information.

  First she gave Sheldon a big smack on the lips, leaving a neat red lip outline that I wiped off with a tissue. She sat down gracefully, crossing her long, long muscular legs and adjusting her miniskirt.

  “I asked around and sure enough, they’ve been seen, at The Morgue, with a couple of Goth boys.”

  “Omigod, the morgue. What are you talking about? They’re not dead. Or they are dead, but you know…”

  “It’s a Goth nightclub.”

  “Pardon my ignorance, Hedwig,” Sheldon said, “but what is Goth?”

  “They’re misfit kids who wear all black and have a lot of tattoos and piercings and listen to punk music.”

  “I can’t imagine Mom hanging out with kids like that or listening to punk music. Reggae I can understand, she’s always liked ethnic culture, but punk, no way?”

  “Maybe they couldn’t resist. They would be heroes to the Goth kids who fantasize about being vampires. After all, who wears all black and is really dangerous—vampires of course. Goths adore vampires.”

  “But they’re little old ladies.”

  “Wouldn’t matter a bit to Goths. Actually it might make them even more glamorous—what could be more cool than a little old lady vampire? A totally new type of killer—someone no one would suspect.”

  “This keeps getting worse,” I said, feeling shaky, “Who were those boys, and what about the bodies?”

  “I know about the boys.” Hedwig raised her eyebrows. “But I haven’t heard anything about bodies.”

  “The vampire grapevine has heard tell of bodies turning up in Miami, with puncture wounds,” Sheldon said. “The victims were drug dealers, according to my sources. No one paid a lot of attention--it seems drug dealers turn up dead every day in this town.”

  I asked Sheldon where he heard this and why he hadn’t told me. Somehow he’d managed to get in touch with Tess who gave him the scoop about the bodies. It seems vampires keep very close track of police blotters, noting any killings that might be vampire related. He hadn’t wanted to alarm me although he knew he’d have to eventually.

  “Geez, that is not good,” Hedwig said, crossing her arms, which I noticed were shaved. “These boys are a nasty bunch according to my friend Faye, who hangs in the Goth clubs. They sell heavy drugs and have rap sheets a mile long.”

  “Does anyone know exactly who these boys are? Do they have names? Where do they live?”

  “I didn’t get anything that specific, Rhoda. Sorry. We’ll have to stake out The Morgue to find them. Assuming they’re still going there.” Hedwig’s mouth turned down apologetically. Her eyebrows should have gone along but they didn’t. Maybe she’d been botoxed.

  “Where is Sookie Stackhouse when I need her? We sure could use a mind-reader about now,” I said.

  “I’m the next best thing,” Sheldon announced. “People will tell me anything if I glamour them.”

  “Isn’t that unethical? You said so yourself.”

  “Not when you’re hunting down the bad guys, only when you’re using it for your own personal benefit.”

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The ad said, “The Morgue at Club Ozone in South Miami is one of the area's hottest clubs. This New Wave lounge features music such as combinations of electro-clash, dark wave, industrial, New Wave, synth pop, 80s retro, future pop, progressive hits and gothic sound. The DJ is Dracula's Daughter.”

  I had never heard of any of those musical genres but I was pleasantly surprised by a group called the Broken Dolls who sang a rather haunting number that I liked a lot. The music at The Morgue was loud, but thankfully, not deafening.

  We didn’t have any trouble getting in. The bouncer at the door was extremely friendly--he knew Hedwig. Everyone knew Hedwig. The club was dark, very dark, especially since just about everyone was wearing black with a smattering of folks in jeans and t-shirts. There were flashing laser lights so it was almost impossible to actually see anything clearly. Sheldon wasn’t having any problem, though. He took my hand and I followed him around. Most of the girls had dead white faces with black lipstick and thick black eye makeup—and multiple piercings. I realized that if Mom and Miriam came here dressed in black with a lot of makeup no one would notice their age since it was so dark. Hedwig seemed to know a lot of the patrons—she circulated, hugging and chatting. I realized the club catered not only to Goths but to gays.

  Sheldon and I started slow dancing, which felt wonderful. Sinking into his arms and being held was just what I needed after one of the most stressful days, and nights, of my life.

  “Sheldon, I can’t imagine my mother in a place like this. She hated rock and was horrified by kids with tattoos and piercings. She went nuts when I told her I was thinking of getting a tiny butterfly tattoo on my ankle.”

  “You know Jews think tattoos are desecrations of the body. The Hasids wouldn’t bury anyone with a tattoo in their cemetery.”

  “I guess that’s where her tattoo phobia came from. She might have been an atheist but she still had Jewish cultural roots.”

  “I wouldn’t mind if you had that butterfly tattoo. It would be cute. You could even get one in a more intimate location, and I’d kiss it.” Sheldon squeezed my butt.

  “OK, after this is all over I’ll get my butt tattooed to celebrate, but only if you get one too.” I squeezed his butt.

  “I can’t get a tattoo, Rhoda, my body would reject the ink. It wants to stay the same as when I was made a vampire.”

  `”Why did Mom change so much when she became a vampire, Sheldon? You stayed the same, didn’t you?”

  “I did, but I was a young man, so I stayed young. Your mom was old and becoming a vampire enabled her to become young again, at least in some ways, so I think she went a bit wild. Remember Tess’s story about being Disco Sally. I guess that’s what happens—to some elder vampires.”

  “Elder vampires, eh? Sounds too politically correct to me. How about alta cocker vampires?”

 
; “I like that better—but only for Jewish vampires, of course.” Sheldon smiled.

  We spun around some more as the music changed to the theme from Phantom of the Opera with an alternative rock spin. Who knew that Goths liked musicals, although if you thought about it Phantom is the ultimate Goth musical. That theme song always made me swoon when I heard it and tonight was no exception.

  I had almost forgotten why were there, what with the three drinks I’d had, the dancing, the hypnotic laser lights, and my favorite theme song. But then Hedwig came over and gestured that we should follow her. There was a new band on the stage, so Dracula’s Daughter wasn’t DJ-ing. She was in the lobby waiting for us.

  “This is Valerie Acosta.” Hedwig introduced us. “Otherwise known as Dracula’s Daughter.” Valerie was a tall, gorgeous Latina with meticulously applied Goth makeup. She wore a skin-tight black leather sheath with a red velvet corset, lace overskirt and black boots with six-inch heels. If there were Goth models she definitely could have been one. “She knows something but she wanted to talk to Rhoda personally. She didn’t want you to get the news second-hand from me.”

  “That sounds ominous.” I was suddenly frightened. .

  “I’m sorry, Honey,” Valerie said, “but I did see your mom and her friend with Moses and Jesus last week. They’re gay boys who sell meth, crack, ecstasy and every other drug you can imagine. They got thrown out of the club that night for dealing in the men’s room.”

  “Gay boys, of course,” I said to Hedwig. “They would see Mom and Miriam as trophies—as the ultimate fag hags—vampire fag hags.”

  “You got it, girl, sounds about right.” Hedwig agreed.

  “What’s a fag hag?” Sheldon asked.

  “A woman who likes to hang out with gay men,” I said, reminding myself that Sheldon was still so nineteenth century. ”Mom always did go for gay guys, and vice versa. She had a campy way about her. She probably had no idea these two were selling drugs. I doubt she knows what those drugs are.”

  “That’s likely,” Valerie said. “I hardly knew what half the stuff was. They were peddling a new designer drug every week.”

  “Where do we find these guys?” Sheldon asked.

  “I don’t know their last names or where they live,” Valerie said with an apologetic shrug. “No one knows that kind of thing about the kids who hang out here. Let me ask the bartender for you, though. He knows a lot more than I do.”

  She walked back into the club while we waited in the lobby. I distracted myself by looking at the erotic Goth art on the wall, some of which was really good. I particularly liked an exquisitely detailed print of a fallen angel bending over her nude lover. There were a lot of depictions of bondage scenes involving leather and whips. I didn’t realize the Goth lifestyle included S&M but of course that made perfect sense. I didn’t even want to think what that meant for Mom.

  Valerie came back. “The bartender actually had a threesome with those guys, so you’re in luck. They ripped him off on the pot he bought from them so he’s no friend of theirs. Seems they live in Little Havana, here’s the address.” The piece of paper also had an address on it and the last name of one of the boys, Moses Shapiro. He calls himself Mush. He didn’t know the last name of the Cuban guy, Jesus. A Jewish drug dealer? I guessed it wasn’t all that unusual in Miami, or anywhere else for that matter.

  I went over to Valerie and hugged her. “Thank you thank you, dear. I am so grateful. I am desperate to find my mom.”

  She hugged me back and said, “Buena suerte, chica.”

  As we walked out Hedwig whistled, a rather loud masculine whistle. “This isn’t going to be easy. I bet these guys are armed up the wazoo. I’m going to call in reinforcements before we visit them.”

  “Reinforcements?” I asked.

  “The tranny police. We take care of our own. We might like to dress like women but we can be plenty macho when we have to. There’s gay bashing down here like everywhere else, but they don’t mess with us—they know the tranny police will whup their asses.”

  “I think I can handle them on my own,” Sheldon asserted. “I’m a vampire after all.”

  “You may be a vampire but dealers down here have assault rifles that could blow even a vampire’s head off, so we need all the help we can get,” Hedwig said, sounding macho all of a sudden.

  “OK, call in your troops. Where do we rendezvous?” Sheldon asked.

  “There’s a café called Versailles on 8th Street in the center of Little Havana. Meet us there in an hour.”

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Versailles was hard to miss. The huge sign said Versailles, Cuban Cuisine. The interior was a strange mix of institutional and kitch. There were cafeteria-type tables and chairs, but the walls were covered with illuminated mirrors, painted—or engraved—with elaborate designs that were supposed to be reminiscent of the Court at Versailles but looked more like they belonged in a Victorian bordello. The food, however, was terrific. I ordered a Cuban sandwich while we waited and gobbled it down with a café con leche. I hadn’t realized how hungry I was. Sheldon sat there looking at me indulgently. I guess after a hundred years he didn’t miss coffee. I couldn’t survive without it.

  “I can’t imagine what these boys wanted with Mom and Miriam?” I said as I munched.

  “I hate to tell you what I’m thinking,” Sheldon said, knitting his eyebrows ominously.

  I didn’t ask. I knew he’d tell me more than I wanted to know.

  “Think about it. They’re at a Goth club where vampires are worshipped. They’re criminals who come across a couple of real vampires. What do they want more than anything? To be vampires themselves of course. Ergo they want your mom and Miriam to turn them. I doubt either of the girls knows enough to accomplish that feat, but I suppose it’s possible.”

  “I’m sorry I asked. Let’s hope it hasn’t happened. What about the bodies?”

  “I suspect that was Mom and Miriam’s work—sadly enough. At least the dead were bad guys who might have been killed anyway.”

  “Not much comfort in that.”

  I turned to see Hedwig and three very large friends of hers, two black and one white. They were dressed as women in the same flamboyant style that she flaunted, but they weren’t women you’d want to run across in a dark alley if you’d just gay bashed someone they knew.

  “Rhoda, Sheldon, this the tranny police: Divine, Eva Destruction, and Morticia DeVille.” They all smiled broadly, Eva and Morticia showing a couple of gold teeth. Divine said hello with a gravelly basso profundo but Eva and Morticia, who looked like twins, had high-pitched, squeaky voices that didn’t match their burly physiques.

  “Wow, very creative names. I was a big fan of Divine,” I said to Divine, who actually resembled her namesake, the star of some really gross campy films. She was over six feet and weighed at least 300 pounds. The other “girls” were equally hefty, though with bulging biceps.

  “Let’s get going,” Hedwig said without sitting down. “The night isn’t young anymore and Sheldon won’t be either unless he gets his beauty sleep. We have a van outside that will fit us and the two ladies when we find them.”

  It was midnight but Little Havana was still rocking. Sounds of salsa and rumba came from all the stores, which were selling everything from café con leche to Santeria candles. The architecture was quirky, with buildings ranging from Art Deco to high-rise to crumbling old condo, most painted tropical colors. Old Cuban guys were playing dominoes in a park across the street from us, on a table with a bottle of rum in the middle of it. Hedwig led us to a battered old Chevy van around the corner, on a quiet street with no hubbub.

  “Where’d you get this van, Hedwig?” I asked. “It’s perfect, so anonymous looking.”

  “It’s mine, Rhoda. All I can afford. I spend all my money on clothes,” she laughed.

  I hoped I hadn’t insulted her, but Hedwig didn’t look the least bit upset. We piled in and she drove in and out of a warren of little streets. She seemed to kno
w where she was going—I would have gotten lost immediately without a GPS, which she certainly didn’t have.

  We wound up on a little street with shabby small one-family houses. There were no big condos or high rises here. Some houses were under construction and there were gaps where others had been torn down. I couldn’t see a whole lot because the streetlights were dim and there weren’t too many of them.

  “This part of town got very run down after the last big hurricane,” Hedwig explained. Then real estate values crashed and it’s become a real dump—most of the properties that are left have been foreclosed on. The ones that are still occupied are either inhabited by dealers who rent, or just squat until the bank throws them out, or hold-out homeowners who have to get elaborate burglar alarms and arm themselves to survive. You wanna pick up a house cheap, this is the spot.”

  “I don’t think so. Looks like a slum.”

  “For now,” Divine chimed in. “But the Cubans are coming back to Little Havana. Trying to revitalize it. Someday this will be a good neighborhood.’

  “This is the place, darlins.” Hedwig turned to us. The house she pointed out needed a good paint job, the hurricane shutters were hanging down, and the porch was sagging. Despite its disrepair, there was a large, new car of some kind in the driveway, I thought it might be a Cadillac. My mom never would have been caught dead in such a place—when she was alive.

  Hedwig parked in front of the house. “This van has its advantages. It’s virtually invisible, especially in a neighborhood like this. We have to stake the place out for a while to see what’s going on.”

  “How do we do that?” I asked.

  “Sit here and watch I guess.” Hedwig turned to Divine, who seemed to be the leader of the tranny police.

  “You’ll all sit here with Eva,” Divine told Hedwig, “while Morticia and I go up to the house and ask to buy some crack or ecstasy or whatever they’ve got. If they want to know where we got the address we’ll just say the bartender at The Morgue gave it to us. They won’t be suspicious about that. He’s a customer, and a good lay.”