by Mark Henwick
He looked almost disappointed, but he nodded and I got out. I watched as they drove off.
I hadn’t told him how I really felt. I hadn’t told him my suspicions about yesterday’s murder. Whatever supportive things he said about good reasons, I couldn’t afford for him to start thinking I was going flaky, or that the PTSD was out of hand and my paranoia was taking over. I wasn’t going to give him any reason to take me back.
As for the murder, time enough to alert him if I found proof.
‘You’re here in Denver for a reason.’ He hadn’t been explicit about the catch in that. He’d even sounded sort of supportive, but he had to know I’d thought this through. The army needed me to find vampires. Once I’d found vampires, what else would they need me for? Certainly nothing that left me here in Denver. I could think of lots of things they might want from me, but they all involved being back under observation.
As for the colonel, we’d gotten along well in Ops 4-10. He was in overall command of the unit, and that meant he was where the buck stopped when I’d messed up, gotten my squad killed and gotten myself bitten. He’d lost the Ops 4-10 position and ended up running the small medical Observations team which was investigating me, Obs for short. I could hardly be surprised he wasn’t my best friend forever, that he seemed to radiate disappointment in me.
His car turned the corner. I eased the tension out of my shoulders and closed my eyes. This morning had felt too close. I hoped tonight would turn up something that would take the colonel’s attention off me.
I should have been more careful what I wished for.
Chapter 4
My first stop was a thrift shop, where I bought a pair of coveralls. Then I had to go chasing for clothes that would suit a visit to Club Agonia’s Blood Orchid Market later. That search took me all the way out to Candy’s in Boulder. Every mile with the car threatening to stall if I went above forty. After that, I was downright eager to get fixing it.
It took way longer to find a suitable garage than I thought.
I’d bought a ten-year-old Ford from a guy who thought he was selling me a problem, with a price to match. I knew I had a bargain. The engine and drive train were sound. I knew what the problems were and I actually preferred the stick shift. But I needed to replace the alternator and fuel pump, and to do that I needed a proper workplace and tools.
By the time I reached Aurora Car Services, time was running out. The other garages had turned me away or wanted too much. If this one went the same way, I’d lose my chance of doing anything this afternoon, and the problems needed fixing before the car gave up and left me stranded somewhere.
The garage was a small, clean operation with two car bays. One bay was empty—good. There was a Harley outside, a chop job, and well maintained—also good. As I walked in, I noted the tool cabinets, all full but for the tools being used. I hoped I’d get lucky here.
The guy spotted my shoes and emerged from under the Honda he was working on.
“Yeah?”
Not exactly a welcome. His hair was black and wavy-wild, his eyes dark and his chin unshaven. He was about my height, skinny and strong. Tattoos showed at the edges of his coveralls.
“Hi, I’m looking to rent a space to work on my car, and tools.”
“What you got and what you doing?”
“Ford Focus. I need to replace the alternator and fuel pump. I should be able to do the alternator today. I’ll have to come back for the fuel pump.”
“Just you?” he said suspiciously.
I nodded. He thought I was eye candy trying to get a good deal for my boyfriend. Flattering, sort of.
He strolled to the door to look at the car, wiping his hands on a rag. I followed.
“Great bike,” I said.
“Thanks. I’m Rom.” He stuck a hand out.
“Amber.” We shook.
He waved at the empty bay. “Ten dollars an hour. Put the tools back where they come from. Pay for anything you break.”
“That’s a good price.” I couldn’t believe it. A frustrating day had made me as suspicious as him.
He shrugged. “I think you gonna have someone watching.”
I raised an eyebrow. “I’m not working with my shirt off.”
Rom grunted. “Good to hear. Don’t want nothing get caught in the engine. You get asked a couple questions, too.”
He walked away without saying anything more about it. Take it or leave it.
Damn, I had to get started on the car and there was no time to find another garage. Without a replacement alternator, my battery would be dead before I got another day off. I had to risk it. This garage was off the main drag and out of sight. But if whoever wanted to come and watch me fixing my car was going to try something, they’d find that wrenches could be used for twisting all kinds of nuts off.
I quickly had my Focus up in the bay. With my hair tied out of the way and the thrift shop coveralls protecting me, I went to work. I had time, as long as it went without a hitch.
Rom wandered in and out, pretending not to look at the tools I picked and how I was using them. Apparently satisfied, he disappeared back under the Honda.
I’d barely got the coolant tank and steering hydraulics stuff out of the way when I sensed I was being watched from the doorway. She looked about fourteen or fifteen, and shared Rom’s gypsy hair and eyes. She was frowning at me. I mentally shrugged and got on with my task. At least, if that was the limit of my audience, I didn’t need to be concerned.
As I started to loosen the bolts on the alternator, she appeared beside the car.
I ignored her and while my hands occupied themselves, I visualized the exit doors and fire escapes from Club Agonia. Getting in was a problem I’d yet to solve, but my safety, in the event there was something sinister inside, depended on being able to get out again. What if they had locked the exits—completely against regulations, but something clubs were known to do occasionally. There were large windows on the top floor and skylights. I liked the idea of getting out through skylights, but they would definitely be locked and they were more likely to be toughened glass. Take some explosives in?
“Why you doing that?” the girl asked. It came out as aggressive, in the way shy people sometimes are without meaning to be.
I gave a mental sigh. I needed to focus on my plan for tonight. “Needs fixing,” I said, trying for a tone that was off-putting without being downright mean. My fingers kept moving, automatically double-checking that the wrench was sitting neatly on a bolt I couldn’t see clearly, before I put any force on it.
With door security at clubs these days, I’d likely be searched. Not a good idea to take a gun in, but there were other weapons I might use.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the girl had screwed her face up with that adults-never-understand-me look. “No, why are you doing it?”
“Doesn’t fix itself,” I said. What was it to her who fixed my car?
The bolt was rusted hard and I found a length of pipe to give me better leverage.
“What about your boyfriend?”
Oh, for heaven’s sake. She had really come all the way out here to tell me that I was doing men’s work? I was close to snapping out a comeback about the 1950s being long over, but then I heard Rom snort with laughter under the Honda.
Ah. This was part of the deal I had agreed to. I stopped working and took a better look at the girl. She had a look I recognized from my Army days—young women yearning for someone to tell them how much bigger their image of themselves could become. It had taken something for her to overcome her shyness to talk to a stranger. The least I could do was stop being so wrapped up in myself. I could almost feel my army instructors watching me. The unit’s master sergeant, Top, he’d be standing there in a parade rest, rocking forward onto the balls of his feet and glaring at me.
Just not good enough, Farrell.
I pulled my head out from beneath the hood and looked at her squarely.
“I haven’t got a boyfriend, and even
if I did, I wouldn’t ask him to do it.”
From the puzzled look on her face, my answer seemed to create a dozen more questions.
I tapped the alternator with the wrench. “See this part?” She leaned forward and nodded. “That’s the alternator. It’s supposed to charge up the battery, and this one isn’t. If my battery doesn’t get charged I can’t start the car. It’s a simple replacement and I can do it myself.”
I could see her thinking that through before she came up with her next question. “Well, how come you know how to do it?”
“I learned in the army. Seemed a useful thing to know.” I snorted. “Truth be told, it wasn’t an option. Everyone in my unit had to know how to take an engine apart and put it back together again. You didn’t get signed off until the instructor had driven it down to town and back. And heaven help you if it broke down.”
And, joy, the test cars were Fords like this.
“Women too?” she said.
I nodded.
“All of them?”
“Yup. What’s your name?” I asked.
“Jofranka.” She looked away, seeming embarrassed at being asked. “Just Jo is fine.”
“I’m Amber.” I started to put my hand out and then looked at it. Maybe not. But the dirt didn’t put her off; she took my hand and shook it hesitantly.
“Is it all right if I ask questions? ’Cos they say I ask too many.”
I bit my tongue to stop myself asking where the hell they had gotten that idea from. I kept my face serious as I slid the old alternator out. “I can’t promise to answer all of them.”
The floodgates opened.
In the cocoon of Ops 4-10, you got on and did what you had to and forgot how some people were outside. Gender wasn’t an excuse you could use, nor was it a reason that they’d expect less of you. Jo hadn’t had that. She was bright and cheerful, once she stopped being shy, but she just seemed to have picked up a can’t-do-that attitude about herself and women in general.
She was Rom’s niece, and his house or shop was where she had to spend most of her days when she wasn’t at school. I didn’t know what her own home life was like, but I got a sense of why Rom wanted her to talk to me and have her see me doing things for myself. I hoped I did some good. I nearly made her miss her bus. She checked when I was going to come back and flew out the door as I was finishing up.
I’d had my head up my backside, worrying about the colonel and what was happening to me. None of that was useful. Jofranka had pulled me out of it and made me feel good about myself. Even Top would have smiled. I hoped she’d be around when I came back to work on the fuel pump.
I put the tools back and dropped the hood.
Rom slid back out from his hiding place under the Honda. He’d been laughing so hard, there were tears on his cheeks.
“Oh, man, you done good! I owe you,” he gasped, wiping his face with his forearms.
“Oh, no. We agreed.” I handed over the money despite his protests. But a seed of an idea had sprouted earlier. I was missing something for the event at the club tonight; that something was an arrival. I needed to make an impression to be sure I got in.
“Okay,” I said, “I’ll trade a favor, if you’re free later.”
“Yeah, can do. What’s up?”
“I need to get into a club tonight. It’s real difficult, even with the right looks. What I need is to arrive with some drama.”
Rom looked over at his pickup, puzzled, but I shook my head and explained what I wanted him to do.
“You sure?” he said.
“Yup. I’ll need you to pick me up a block away from the club and drop me off at the door. I’ll make my own way back.”
“Okay.” He laughed again. “Crazy. Deal.”
Chapter 5
Being down in Aurora worked out well. Mom lived just a few minutes away, and I was running out of time.
“Mom, hi, can’t stop.”
“Amber! What a lovely surprise. Are you sure you can’t stay for coffee?” I gave her a hug, and she pulled me inside.
“No, I’m sorry, I have—”
“Are you feeling all right? You did hear me say coffee, didn’t you?”
“Yes, Mom, but I have to get to the mall before they close.”
“And shopping too? There’s definitely something wrong. Do you have a fever? Or did you just run out of fruit?”
“Mom!” I’m twenty-nine, and I’ve lived away from home for eleven years, but mothers have some secret magic that turns the clock way back.
“You know, dear, you haven’t used that tone with me since you were a teenager. I miss it so.” She herded me into the living room and took pity on me. “All right, what is it?”
“You know that pillbox hat and veil you have? Can I borrow it, please?”
“Oh goodness, dressing up, as well? You sit there and I’ll call the hospital right now.” She smiled at my expression and relented. “I’ll go get it.”
She returned with the hat, still in its presentation box. It was a sweet little thing with a black net veil hanging halfway down the face. Actually, I wanted to wear it like I wanted to nail it to my head, but it looked the part.
“Off you go, but you’re coming for lunch on Sunday. Bring it back then.”
“Yes, Mom.”
“Good. Then you can tell me all about it. Who was there and so on.”
Big emphasis on the ‘who.’ I was going to have a tough time on Sunday refusing to talk about it. But she’d probably get palpitations if I told her where I’d been, and, of course, I couldn’t say why I’d gone there. I’d had ten years of not being able to talk to her about what I did in the army, and she’d almost accepted that. Then, I’d left under circumstances I couldn’t tell her about and still, half my life now was secret. And among all the other things, the army wouldn’t allow me to get intimate with anyone, in case I was contagious. So, there was no ‘who’ for me to tell my mother about.
She knew I was holding back, of course.
I watched helplessly as the tension grew, day by day. We were due for an argument. Maybe on Sunday.
I left at a run, and had the pleasure of my mother watching me pull away with the car lurching erratically until the fuel pump picked up.
I barely made it to the Cherry Creek mall in time. The Neumann store had a promotion going on in the cosmetics department. ‘Challenge us,’ the sign said. ‘Give us your face and thirty minutes and we’ll give you a new you.’
I intended to take them up on that, if I got there before the cutoff. I could do makeup, of course, I have the double X chromosome. But when I wanted it done right, I got an expert.
“Challenge you,” I said, rapping my knuckles on the counter.
The assistant looked at me and then meaningfully at the clock on the wall. By my reckoning, there were thirty minutes and about ten seconds left before closing.
“I’m sorry, ma’am,” she said, which meant she wasn’t sorry at all, but if she could keep me talking for ten seconds, she could turn me away. Either she wanted to get off work early or she liked the feeling of power she got from refusing me.
Her life was saved by her manager.
“I’ll take this,” she said, ushering her assistant away and sitting down opposite me with a big box of cosmetics and a broad smile. “Now, what’s the look we’re going for?”
I couldn’t stop myself from glaring. I so did not appreciate the irony of this, but I knew I needed to look the part to get into the club tonight.
“Vampire,” I said. And I got it. Angry vampire.
Chapter 6
Rom was as good as his word. I had half expected he wouldn’t show up and I’d have to drive the rest of the way, but I didn’t have to worry. Shortly after ten that evening, a block away from Club Agonia, his Harley pulled in behind my parked Ford.
He’d joked he didn’t have a chauffeur uniform, but I didn’t want that. He was in his heavy biker jacket and studded jeans tucked into steel-toed work boots. His wavy hair was c
ombed back by the wind. Perfect.
“Hey, Amber, you sure ’bout this?” He looked to the side, not meeting my eye. “I asked around. This’s not a good place, this club.”
“I know. I’m not going there for fun.” I patted his arm. “Now, how the hell do we do this?”
In a couple of minutes, we were set. I was wrapped in my long velvet cloak and perched uncomfortably behind him, riding sidesaddle. I had my arms around him, holding tight. I had no intentions on anyone that night, but it felt far too good, feeling his heat soak through my gloves while the seat buzzed me wickedly from below. Motorbikes are real bad news for celibates.
Rom brought the Harley around the block, the engine barely muttering at that speed. As we approached, he twisted the throttle until we got more of a snarl, as if he were going to shoot past. Then he slammed the back brake on and spun us around in the middle of the road with a shriek of tires.
Every head outside the club came up.
I stepped off and casually hit him on the shoulder to dismiss him, as we’d agreed. He gunned the engine and roared back down the road, front wheel lifting clear.
I waited till the sound of the bike died. I’d certainly got their attention. Could I carry this off?
Hell, yeah. I summoned up all the brash confidence I’d learned in Ops 4-10.
I could hear Instructor Ben-Haim’s coaching about disguise—The persona you adopt is a shell, a dead thing, a shadow. Pour yourself into this shell. Your life glows. You light up the persona. You shine through the shell, and people see the persona as a living thing. They don’t see you.
I freaking owned this damn club. I prowled, slowly and deliberately, towards the door, ignoring the line of people waiting hopefully. It was unthinkable that I would join them.
As I came into the light, I eased the cloak open and pushed the hood back. My arms were sheathed in elbow-length black gloves.
The dress I’d found at Candy’s was a 1920s knee-length, backless, black cocktail dress with sequins. Beneath that I wore black tights and half-boots. My mom’s hat sat to one side of my head and the veil hung down, not obscuring my wonderful vampire makeup at all. I couldn’t quite sparkle, if that’s what they were expecting, but I slunk up to the door, shimmering in the lights.