But I somehow endured and by the end of it I was feeling better, more human than I had in a long time, and best yet, I hadn't started smoking again. That would have just been replacing one bad habit with another stinkier one and to tell you the truth, I'd gotten used to my clothes smelling clean. It's a hard habit to get rid of but there it is. Not smelling like the bottom of an overused ashtray was nice and that was hard to top, nicotine be damned.
“It's not like the cigarettes are going to kill you,” Claude had pointed out on one occasion when I had glared at a group of smokers outside some bar or the other. I forget the name of the place, but the name isn't important to my story here, just the obnoxious, smelling of tobacco and matches, group of smokers outside.
“It's the principle of the thing. I know the cigarettes won't kill me, but I can taste the tar in the smoke. It isn't even that great you know. The taste.”
“Then why do you want to smoke so bad for if it tastes so bad?”
“Simply because I want to. You wouldn't understand unless you'd been a smoker.”
So that was one less habit that I didn't revert to. There was another reason that I couldn't go back to smoking, and I knew it in the back of my head, but it was something that I'd never say, not to Claude and not even to myself. All he had to do was ask me why I'd quit smoking in the first place, and he would have had his answer to everything.
Jaime. My reason for everything good I'd done in the past two years.
I hadn't been by her store in three months since Claude had permanently attached himself to me, making sure I didn't go Dracula on any unsuspecting gorgeous tattooed sluts in the vicinity.
Life is tough when you can't even have a tattooed slut for a midnight snack.
I try not to think about Jaime too much these days.
I'm just not very good at it.
So anyway: sobriety.
I think Sammy was a bigger jerk to me after I'd begun to get clean. It was either that or she hadn't changed, and I just hadn't noticed before. But then again, lots of things seemed different now. Even the sunsets looked brighter and for the first time in along time it felt really good to be alive.
I should have known it wouldn't last too long.
I should have known a shit-storm was brewing and heading right my way.
I really hate Tuesdays.
***
I have this theory about Tuesdays. It's partly based on observed patterns and more than a little conjecture, but it's pretty simple. Anything bad that's ever happened to me has happened on a Tuesday. The big things at least. I'm not talking about little things like stubbed toes, hangnails or public drunkenness. I'm talking about the big life altering events that storm in and completely fuck up my life.
For example: remember Frankie from the Support Group?
I hadn't seen him in a while. I'd kind of bummed out of the support group thing after they'd gotten fed up with me and my moping and gone off to start their own group. They had left me with my books and a stack of porno magazines that I had no idea whose they were, and I sure as hell wasn't touching them. I think some of the pages had even stuck together, but I wasn't looking too closely. I'd planned just to burn the lot of them, but mostly I just went up to the room and pretended to read, mainly just to get away from Claude's ever watchful eye. It sucks to be dumped by your own support group, but I wasn't getting depressed over it. Mostly I just slept anyway.
So those guys had gone away and on the rare occasion that we'd run into each other on the street, we'd say hi and there'd be that awkwardness where neither of you knows what to say except “hello." All I would be thinking is “oh you fucking asshole, I hate you” and Frankie is probably thinking the same thing... but we smile and nod and don't go for the jugular. That just wouldn't be proper. Anyway, you know those moments, best left reserved for ex-girlfriends, bad roommates and drunken one night stands where the chick is still there in the morning, and you don't know who the fuck she is. If you haven't had one of those moments, do yourself a favor and get out there and have one, just so you know where I'm coming from.
Whichever one you choose is up to you, but wear a condom.
So imagine my surprise when on a Tuesday, I'd gotten my evening watered down coffee, picked up the paper, feeling full of life and pep... and immediately put the newspaper right back down.
It's not every day that you see a vampire on the front page of the local newspaper. And to make it worse, it's not every day that you happen to know said vampire and it's also not every day that said vampire also happens to be dead. The part about being dead would, of course, be the only reason that he's on the front page of the paper.
“Fuck me,” I said to myself, and for some reason the sound of my own voice surprised the crap out of me. Maybe I hadn't been expecting to speak or something, I dunno, but there it was. I was giving myself the creeps.
Now there are about two reasons that your picture would wind up on the front of any newspaper: either you did something amazingly bad or good or you died in an amazingly bad way. Whether or not you agree with me, I don't care. That's just my opinion, and I'm often wrong, but those are two of the main reasons anybody is on the front page of any newspaper, and ABOVE THE FOLD at that. Below the fold is where they put any idiot with a political opinion and an acronym, but above the fold is big freaking news.
Frankie's picture was above the fold, and he hadn't done anything amazingly good. Or bad for that matter. He was just apparently in many pieces, all of them equally dead.
There is a sinking feeling you get in your gut when something bad happens, and it's worse when it's happening to you. The feeling that you have to throw up but your stomach feels empty, hollowed to the core and your heart is dropping quickly into the vast cavern that used to be your gut, strength and fortitude. It's simply called by many the “oh fuck” feeling. Others call it “impending doom”. When you're looking it in the eye you can feel it, and you know it for what it is, and somehow you know it's out there looking for you and when it gets you in its sights, well it's goodnight Gracie, don't forget to turn out the goddamn lights.
I wondered if other vampires around the city, some I'd met and the hundreds, thousands, that I hadn't met… I wondered if they were all looking at this same picture, reading this same story and feeling that same doom that I was. I certainly hoped so, because then I wouldn't have to feel so alone and so... exposed.
***
“So some guy gets whacked and chopped into pieces and you're coming over all paranoid? Who'd want to kill you?”
Sammy wasn't buying it. She was currently nose deep in her Chinese takeout, the kind that comes in the little boxes instead of the Styrofoam containers, and someone somewhere hadn't bothered to teach her to eat with her mouth closed. Claude had gone off on an expedition somewhere and wasn't picking up his phone, so that only left Sammy for me to freak out on.
“You don't remember Frankie? He was the first one who joined!”
She shrugged. “I dunno. So many faces in here, who can keep track of you freaks? Besides Paul usually has the Thursday shift when you freaks got together, so no, I don’t remember him.”
I ignored her very obvious slur. She'd started referring to me and other vampires as freaks, mainly just to piss me off, and partly because she was just being a jerk, and she knew it would piss me off.
“Look, this kind of thing doesn't happen.”
“Why not? Happens to regular people all the time.” Sammy took another look at the paper and shoveled more noodles into her mouth. “I'd hate to be the coroner on this job. You sure this dude was a vampire?”
“Yes I'm sure! I read comics with this guy and books and stuff. He was in the support group for Christ's sake.”
“And now he's dead.”
“This is so wrong.”
“Don't you guys heal and come back from the dead?”
“Some things you can't come back from Sammy. Especially when they can't even find the head.”
“In the movies, vampire
s come back from stuff like this all the time.”
“In the movies, they can also fly. I still have to drive if I wanna get anywhere. You can't trust the movies for information.”
Sammy was silent for a long moment. Sure it was mostly because she was stuffing her face with her General Tso's chicken, but it was still silence, and thoughtful as well.
“Bob, why is this freaking you out so much?”
This is the point where I'm supposed to say something deep and foreboding, something that signals an ominous change in life, the universe and everything around me. I just kept my mouth shut and hoped that would stop my thoughts from leaking out into the universe.
I just knew something bad was coming. I didn't know how or even what I knew from reading that story about my very dead friend, but I knew something was up and I was determined to be ready for it.
***
A week went by, and nothing happened.
When good things happen to bad people, we never hear about it. But when bad things happen to good people, you can never get them to shut the fuck up, they're just whining so much. I should know; I'm one of them, the ones who never shut up. Now, there's something ironic I should probably say at this point, something witty to break the mood and let you know how clever and composed I really am, but I won't, because it would all be bullshit, and nobody would believe me anyway.
Truth is, I had been freaking the hell out for about two days now and the newspapers weren't helping either.
One vampire turning up dead is bad enough, but then another one turns up dead, all over the morning newspaper and the nightly news, on fucking CNN of all places, and you know it's more than coincidence. This guy had been floater to the group (his name may have been Tom or maybe Nic), and I hardly knew him, but still it was scaring the shit out of me
When the third one showed up dead, I personally knew that it was time to go all the way into panic mode and get the hell out of town. It wasn't some random guy from the group this time.
Benjamin. Poor, sweet, earnest Benjamin. I’d been meaning to grab a beer with him, but just hadn’t gotten around to it, and then the group had kicked me out… And now this. He didn’t deserve to die like this.
It was me freaking out, and this is why: I knew every single one of those guys. Each of the dead vampires had all been part of my Friends of Vlad meetings, and now they were just in parts. I mean that literally. Sure it's a little tacky, but I wasn't having a very good day at all, so I think I was allowed a little leeway.
Patterns emerge above the fold on the newspapers, and when you don't have to look very hard for them, that makes the pattern very disturbing. Even Sammy finally admitted to seeing the pattern, even after the second-newspaper article, and especially after the cops showed up at the store. From the newspaper to reality and my world reeled in the turbulence.
“You know this guy?”
My heart was in my throat, and I could feel it hammering away in my chest, ready to burst free and run away. The photograph the detective had shoved into my face was definitely recognizable. I took the photo, not even looking at the detective holding it. He was just a cop doing his job and and his job was to make my life miserable.
“Yeah, I know him. He used to come to my support group.”
“'Used to' huh? What happened? You guys have a fight or something?”
“Nothing like that officer. We just could never agree what kind of donuts to get. Personally I like Krispy Kreme--”
“You being a smartass?”
Fuck. I had made that comment in all sincerity. That had been one of the issues that had plagued the group, since most of us liked Krispy Kreme donuts, and some of the other guys liked Dunkin Donuts. Wars have been fought for less reasons, and that discussion just opened a lot of sores. The group had broken up after one vicious argument involving crullers, ice-cream, maple syrup and a rubber duck. Now the cop thought I was making a transparent joke about cops and donuts. I'm officially a complete and total idiot.
“Sorry officer. That was a dumb thing to say.”
“It's detective, smartass.”
And cue stupid thing to say number 2:
“You mind if I call you 'Smart', or would you prefer the more formal Detective Ass?”
Did I mention that I was a complete and total idiot before? Then I was being optimistic. Now it's definite.
In all fairness, I was asking for it. I had no reason to be such a smartass, it was just that cops irritated me, and I couldn't help myself. The various run-ins I had had with cops over the years had usually ended with me having the shit beaten out of me (resisting arrest), or with a narrow escape (evading arrest), or too stoned to run (“I was holding it for a friend officer,” otherwise known as: lying my way out of the arrest). So it was no surprise to me to be watching my sunglasses flying across the store in slow motion. The sunglasses were followed shortly after by my head, which had been propelled in that direction courtesy of officer Smartass' rocklike fist.
Damn. And I had liked those sunglasses too.
Lucky for me, cops tend to travel in pairs, and Officer Smartass' partner managed to stop any further assault on my face. Lucky me. Do you know how hard it is to haul a pissed off 200-plus pound cop off of a smart-mouthed twerp like me? Let's just say Officer Smartass got in a few dozen blows before we parted ways, and I was left panting on the floor in a throbbing pile of vibrating dildos.
Some of the dildos had managed to get switched on during my unfortunate “fall to the floor, which had been completely unaided by the officers,” and lying there, wondering if I should bother to get them, I also wondered, not for the first time, exactly what was the pluralization of “dildo” anyway? It would have been fun to say to the boss that I had sold 12 “dildi” today, but for some reason that didn't sound right. Thoughts like those are of course, the kind that are only possible when one is lying in the midst of a hundred vibrating rubber penises of varying sizes. Damn bargain bin.
When I pulled myself up, Officer Friendlier-Than-The-First was waiting for me.
“I'm Officer Davies, and this is how things are going to go,” he said, and believe me, that got my attention immediately. “I'm going to ask questions and then you are going to answer them. If you fail to answer, I'm going to assume that you're invoking your right to remain silent and that you understand that anything at all you say will and can be held against you in a court of law. The fact that you resisted arrest and had to be... 'restrained' very strongly by my partner here will be of course be a matter of public record. Do you understand what I'm telling you?”
I nodded, and Officer Davies frowned at me.
“What the hell happened to your eyes?”
“Birth defect type thing. Rare disease.”
Officer Davies pulled out a picture of Benjamin. Benjamin's dead pale blue eyes stared out of the photo at me.
“Looks like you guys had something in common.”
“That's what the support group was for,” I found myself saying before I could even think about it. Damn that was a good one. “We all had the same rare disease. Brothers in pain and all that shit, you know…”
“Where were you Monday around two in the afternoon?”
“Probably sleeping getting ready for the evening shift. I work graveyard you know.”
The cops exchanged a look, and I knew I was already doomed. Wild thoughts occurred to me of trying to make an escape before they hauled me into jail and then got a really big surprise in the morning when I burned to a crisp in front of their eyes.
The ability to turn into smoke or bats was a very attractive looking one right now and for once, I wished the movies had gotten something right.
There is a moment when you consider all of your options, and you realize that your feet have suddenly gotten a clue way ahead of you and they're deciding that getting the hell out of dodge might be the best option, screw what the head is thinking. You know that moment: it comes right after the “oh fuck me” or the “fuck I'm screwed” feeling in yo
ur gut, and you can feel your feet already turning, and they're not listening to you, oh for the love of god they're not listening to you-
I had almost made a full turn when Sammy decided to save my ass.
“I called him yesterday around two.”
All of us, including me and my traitorous cowardly feet, turned to look at Sammy. I don't think any of us believed her, especially me, and I had apparently taken the alleged call.
Sammy held out her cell phone for the cops to see.
“See? Right there: two-oh-seven PM. We talked for two minutes.”
“We did?” someone said, and then I realized it was me. Sammy just rolled her eyes and gave me a look. It was a look that I had seen a hundred times before, and it mainly said “shut up you idiot” but it was also usable when she wanted to communicate disdain, disgust, utter disdain, total disgust and sometimes happiness. It was that kind of look and for once I took the hint: I zipped it.
“Well, I talked... you mostly grunted and then snored at me.”
“That's not a very good alibi. “ Officer Davies narrowed his eyes. “Maybe we should just take both of you in.”
Officer Smartass grinned at that, and I could see my life flash before his eyes, me screaming in most of it.
“What's this all about anyway? What was I supposed to have done?” I actually didn't care and was already eyeing the distance to the door and wondering if my vampire-like strength had made me a much faster runner. Like fast enough to escape a bullet fast.
“We just have a few questions to ask you. About your friends.”
“Which friends? The guys from the club? You know we used to meet here.”
“We know. That's how we ended up here talking to you.”
“I didn't kill anybody. I haven't seen those guys in months.”
“Whether you killed them or not is entirely up to us.”
It turns out that this particular vampire doesn't run very fast or far, especially when there's a wall in the way. They caught up to me in the alley twenty seconds later.
***
The back of the squad car looked liked the back of every other squad car I'd ever been inside. Smelled like it too. Sammy watched from the door as I was driven away, and I hoped she'd be nice and do the right thing and call Claude to get me out of there.
So You Might Be a Vampire Page 19