“Beautiful.”
She turned back to me. “Yeah?”
“Yeah. Very. Sexy.”
She turned toward me fully, looked into my eyes. “Yeah?” She looked down at my pants. “So, then. Take it out. Show me what you got.”
I blinked. “Pardon--?”
“The gun, Ed. Take it out of your belt and show me how to use it.”
“Oh.” I took it out, held it before me. She rolled her eyes, took the bore and pointed it away from her, took my other hand and cupped it under the butt of the gun.
“For support. She kicks a little.”
“I see.” Legs trembling.
She motioned with her head. “Okay. Go on in.”
“The front door.”
“That’s right.”
I looked at the little porch. “What if the bad guys are in there?”
“I’m banking on it. Walk softly.”
“Where are y—“
“Around the side. I’m your back door. There are usually two guys, sometimes three, playing cards at a folding table, waiting for her call.”
“Alicia’s.”
She nodded. “With luck you’ll surprise them. Try not to shoot anyone, it’ll make noise, bring others. But don’t take the gun off them. And don’t come closer to the card table than ten yards. If you see only one, it means someone’s in the john--green door to your immediate left. Keep an eye on it. Can you remember that?”
I nodded, already forgetting most of it.
She shook her head slowly as if addressing a child. “If we live through this, you can buy me dinner.”
Looked like she was maybe going to peck my cheek. Didn’t.
Then she turned and disappeared out of the ring of porch light.
* * *
I took a deep breath, opened the big metal-faced porch door, and stepped quietly inside the warehouse.
It was dark.
Which wasn’t right.
Hadn’t Clancy said there would be a big room, several thugs sitting around playing cards? I was in the wrong warehouse! That was the only answer! I turned to leave quietly again…
Except Clancy didn’t seem like the kind who’d make so obvious a mistake. Didn’t seem the kind to make any kind of mistake, one of those people who knows exactly what she’s doing and how, never wrong, and when she is wrong makes it immediately right. Truth was, I wouldn’t have minded having her around at that moment, wished she hadn’t elected to split us up. I felt naked, even with her gun.
Then I saw the dim light at the end of the long, dark hallway. And heard the mutter of deep, male voices…grunts, laughing and swearing the way tough males swear.
Gun before me steadily (okay, not steady but before me) I crept as noiselessly as possible down the hall toward the soft yellow light and hard voices.
There were three of them, sitting around a lopsided card table as Clancy had predicted, an old fashioned black rotary phone at one edge of the table. They were all big. One of them like a Winnebago, snapping cards. The one next to him shorter but like a fire plug, puffing a cigar beside the phone. The one across from the others was tall, deceiving lanky; looked like he could move. They all wore dark suits, a day or two’s worth of beard, yellow teeth and constant sneers of boredom. They held cards in their huge hands. Winnebago kept tilting and farting loudly, sighing satisfaction, Fire Plug next to him punching the other’s massive shoulder to little effect. “The hell you have for lunch, horse meat under glass?”
“If that’s what you call your mamma’s pussy.”
That kind of thing.
Winnebago tossed a bill on the pile, making his jacket open, exposing a chest holster. There was a large shotgun leaning against the table near Cigar Guy; the big thug didn’t look like he’d need either; muscles straining at his Hawaiian shirt under his suit jacket; not a snappy dresser.
All I wanted right then was to get the hell out of there. Also, badly, to pee. Not necessarily in that order.
Instead, dragging another deep breath, I walked into the room, trying hard not to let show my badly shaking gun hand. I felt less than impotent. “Gentlemen…”
I’m not sure what I expected. But it wasn’t what happened. Nobody jumped up, yelled, pulled a weapon, or even cursed mildly. I’m not sure Winnebago, the biggest guy, even looked up. But the one nearest the phone took the cigar from his fat lips, took time to blow smoke, and pointed his chin at me. “Who the hell are you?” All without bothering to lower his cards. Maybe he had a good hand.
Good question, though.
Just who the hell was I?
Hadn’t thought that part through too well, at least not past the part where I had the drop on them, which apparently I did. Didn’t much like the close proximity of that shotgun to the cigar guy, but also wasn’t so sure how me giving orders would likely change the situation.
“Name’s Bill Sutter.” I said. Getting so I liked the name.
Cigar Guy nodded, lifted a brow. Winnebago finally looked up from his hand. “Uh-huh. And what can we do for you?”
Phlegm in my throat, a big nervous gob of it; I tried to clear it with a modicum of noise. “Came here to get my dog.”
Knowing it was stupid the instant it left my mouth. But the three thugs didn’t seem to think so or didn’t react like they did, anyway.
“Get your dog,” one of them said.
“That’s right.”
“He lost?”
“She. Thought I saw her run in here.”
“Uh-huh.”
“So I came looking for her.”
“Uh-huh. With a gun?”
I blew out casual breath. “Yeah. You know, rough neighborhood. Ere on the side of caution, that’s my rule.”
“That’s yer rule, huh?” I wondered if he was going to repeat all my replies.
“Nick, you seen a dog tonight?”
Winnebago fingered his ear daintily, looked at it. He hadn’t seen a dog.
“Randal?”
Lanky guy remained silent, went back to his cards. Cigar Guy’s left hand moved an inch on the table…closer to the shotgun. He was going to go for it, I could just feel it, any second now. Blow a hole right through me.
He stuck the cigar back in his mouth. “Nobody here seen your pooch, pal. Sorry.”
I nodded amiably without lowering the gun.
After a moment Cigar Guy began to stare at my gun. “Was there something else?”
Now all three of them were staring at my gun.
“What the hell is this?” Clancy said, coming in behind me.
Behind me, not circling around to be my ‘back door’ at all.
All three thugs turned to look at her. Stare at her, really, with great interest. Cigar Guy nearly lost his cigar. I turned to find Clancy sweeping past me with no top on, no bra, just those little pasty things over her nipples. And her bottom was different too: a skimpy red thong with gold tassels dancing at her hips. She came on like she owned the place, stopped in front of the card table with her fists poked on her hips and jerked her head back toward me. “What’s with the artillery?”
Cigar Guy addressed Clancy’s breasts with interest. “We don’t know him.”
She jerked a thumb back at me. “You don’t know him and he’s got a gun on you?”
Cigar Guy reluctantly lifted his eyes from her pasties to her face, tone not so friendly now. “Who the hell are you?”
Clancy stared him down. “Who the hell am I? I’m your party, pencil dick, who do you think I am, dressed like this? Alicia said there’d be no rough stuff,” and she jerked her chin at me.
“Alicia sent you?”
Clancy gave him a squint-eyed look, gave all of them one, cool and protracted like she had all the time in the world. “This 1310 Industrial Park Avenue?”
“Yeah,” Winnebago muttered. He could speak.
“You’re the guys took the mutt, right?”
Everybody but Cigar Guy nodded. He held up a warning hand. “Maybe. So what?”
; “So I’m your present. Didn’t Alicia call you?”
He considered a moment, not liking being pushed around but fascinating with the chick with the attitude and gold tassels. “Not yet. You brought the payment?”
“No, putz-face, I am the payment. Part of it, anyway.” She strolled to the table, bent to her elbows and thrust out her rump. “You want a party or not? Who’s first?”
Winnebago grinned, started to push up and Cigar Guy pushed him down again—had to push hard. He appraised Clancy suspiciously. “Alicia was supposed to call us about when to whack the dog. That’s when we get paid. Cash.”
Clancy straightened with an irritable groan, thrust out her pasties and strutted around the table, all giggles and curves, impossible to take your eyes off. She stood in front of Cigar Guy, just beside the shotgun. She reached down to him, yanked the cigar from his mouth and stuck it between her white teeth, puffed once. “Look, Einstein, I’m just a working girl, the logistics are your problem. You can have me tonight and the cash or you can have just the cash, I really don’t give a flying fuck. Actually I really do, but that cost extra.” She thrust her hand in his face, snapped her fingers. “First off, though, I get paid. In advance.”
“How’d you like to get gang banged and tossed in a dumpster?” from Fire Plug beside them.
Clancy answered with her eyes on Cigar Guy, whom I assume she thought was the ringleader. “How’d you like a buzz cut, short stroke?”
“What’s a buzz cut?” from Winnebago.”
“A blow job with teeth,” Clancy said.
Fire Plug grunted.
Cigar Guy, tired of this suddenly, stubbed out his cigar in a glass ashtray and reached quickly for Clancy’s hip. “Take off the dental floss.”
Clancy stepped back just as quickly, but it put her further from the gun, which maybe was what Cigar Guy intended, I wasn’t sure if he was that smart.
“Cash on the table first,” Clancy waved her hand around the group, “all of you, hundred bucks.”
Winnebago and Fireplug complied. Cigar Guy just sat there.
Then he threw ten bucks on the table. He grinned challengingly at Clancy.
Clancy grinned back—
--swept up the shotgun and leapt onto the table in one smooth motion. She landed right in the middle, ducking low as she lit.
There handguns came free of three holsters at the same moment, fired almost as quickly.
There was so much sudden smoke I almost lost sight of Clancy atop the table. Then flame leaped from her shotgun barrel and the lanky guy was blasted backwards out of his chair and into the cement wall behind him in a red smear.
Some of the blast caught Winnebago on the shoulder but he ducked low and kept firing at Clancy. Cigar Guy turned his chair over backing up, stumbled and fired wildly. Clancy swiveled like a dancer, pulled the second trigger on the shotgun and Cigar Guy’s cigar vaporized into brown confetti along with his head. His body stayed upright long enough to drop his .45 on the table. Clancy discarded the empty shotgun, scooped up the .45 and fired once, twice, three times into Winnebago. The big guy sat there with his mouth open stupidly, looked down curiously at the little red holes in his massive chest, then back up at Clancy. Incredibly, he raised his own gun at her again. Clancy put a slug through his open mouth and Winnebago heeled to port and dropped like a sack of cement.
In all it took probably ten seconds. Seemed far longer.
I hadn’t done squat during any of it.
Just stood there like an idiot. I think I was stunned by all the sudden violence but stunned by something else too.
Clancy hopped off the table amid all the blue haze and came toward me. “Thanks for all the help.”
I started to say something when a movement behind her caught my eye: Cigar Guy, face on fire, was half up on one elbow for a last go. I started to yell a warning. There was a blast and Clancy stumbled a little, wavered on her long legs. She twisted around and shot Cigar Guy through the eye. Sure that he was dead for good now, she turned back and kept coming at me, frowning now, jerking her chin at me.
“You’re hit, Ed.”
I looked down at myself, saw nothing, shook my head. I was about to say, I couldn’t be hit, you were blocking me…when I saw the spot of red on the thigh of my jeans spreading into a pond, soon a lake.
“Sit down,” Clancy ordered, but I was already on my way, knees buckling.
Everything was getting swiftly cold. I blinked up dreamily. “He shot you…” I said dreamily, “…he shot you in the back…”
“No, Ed. You.”
I knew something about the femoral artery, got a bad feeling, then a worse one as Clancy unbuckled me, got my pants down, and the stuff sprayed over Clancy’s chest.
“Shit,” I said, feeling a not unpleasant fading, “I’m going to die, aren’t I?”
She bent to me, ruby blonde curls spilling out.
“What are you doing?” I whispered.
“Going down on you, big guy. Just relax now.”
I must have already been dead, or dreaming. “Y-You’re giving me a—“
“No. But it’ll feel almost that good.”
Then a bloom of pleasure in my thigh over what had a moment ago been dull, building pain.
Followed by quickly descending darkness, followed by nothing…
NINE
I woke up in my bathtub.
Freezing.
Not surprising considering I was surrounded by bobbing chunks of ice.
I sat there a moment in a kind of idiot’s torpor, then heard a creaking sound nearby.
I spun around with chattering teeth and saw the bathroom door open a crack, a dark muzzle thrust in curiously, sniff the air. Then Mitzi loped inside, crossed the tile floor and jumped on the porcelain lip of the tub. She bent low and looked into my eyes. Then she turned her head and looked the length of my lobster pink chest and stomach. Shook her head distastefully. “Disgusting.”
I lifted my head, glanced down at myself. I had an erection; a pink buoy in a sea of Icelandic gridlock.
Mitzi growled betrayal deep in her throat. “You and that blonde vamp.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said.
“That Clammy, or Cunny or Clitzy or whatever her name is.”
“Clancy.”
She snorted reproach. “’Don’t know what I’m talking about,’ she quoted, “--my skinny canine ass!” She pointed her nose at my left thigh, the two little punctures. “And what are those, Sport, hickeys?” Then she lifted her left hind leg and pissed in the tub.
“Christ, Mitzi!”
She hopped down, headed haughtily for the door, paws making little scrapping sounds on the tile.
“That was incredibly gross!” I called after her.
“Look who’s talking! The vampire fucker!”
“I did not lay a hand—“
But she was through the door again, nudging it closed with her rump.
Okay. Now granted, this may have all been delusion, I’m not real sure; feeling pretty out of it at the time. But a minute later Clancy came into the bathroom, shut the door behind her, padded barefoot in blouse and shorts to the tub. “How are we feeling?”
“Like a Popsicle.” I gazed up desultorily at red-blonde curls. She looked terrific. Did this woman ever not look terrific? “How long have I been floating here in the polar wastes?”
“About half an hour.”
I nodded, teeth chattering.” I’d say about another ten minutes, then,” stuttering blue lipped, “until my heart cracks.”
She smiled amusement, turned her head and accessed the length of me with a clinical air, eyes lingering.
I cleared my throat. “Sorry about the…you know…”
She shrugged. “I’ve seen bigger.”
I shivered a nod. “Thanks. “I feel a lot warmer now.”
She snorted dismissively. “It’s a normal reaction to the treatment.”
Treatment?
I closed my eyes in du
ll agony. Felt the tub edge vibrate lightly, looked up to find Clancy sitting gracefully on the smooth lip, hands on hips. She pressed a palm to my head momentarily, nodded satisfied. Then bent, reached an arm deep into the frigid water, felt around.
“Can you feel that, Eddie?”
“What?”
“My hand on your leg.”
“Oh.” I thought about it. It seemed to take a while. “Yes. Nice. Warm.”
She nodded satisfaction again, withdrew the hand, reached for a towel. “You’re okay.”
“I’m freezing to death, Miss Cummings.”
“No one ever froze to death with an erection. From strangulation, maybe, but not ice water. You’ll be fine.”
She consulted her watch. “We’ll give the treatment another ten minutes.”
I craned up languorous. “Treatment for what? Am I a vampire now?”
“No, Ed. You can work on your tan with impunity.”
I searched the pretty eyes for duplicity. “He shot you, Clancy. If that is your real name. You were standing right in front of me, shielding me from that big goon. You took the slugs.”
She wiped her hand with the towel, said nothing.
“You told me you weren’t a vampire, Clancy.”
She began unbuttoning her blouse matter-of-factly. “I told you I wasn’t one of them.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
She shrugged out of the blouse, unhooked the bra, gave me her back. Three purple bullet holes showed between her shoulder blades. No blood. “Bullets pass through true vampires, Ed. As you can see, these didn’t.”
“Bullet also kill humans.”
She tugged down the shorts, kicked them at the wall. “They were only small, thirty-eight slugs. They’ll drop out eventually, heal over.”
“You mean there’s a slug that can kill you?”
She stepped lightly into the tub between my ankles. “Well, I wouldn’t want to face off with a bazooka, if that’s what you mean.”
She hunkered, settled round bottom into crusted surface, making the water list. She didn’t react in the least to the cold.
She nodded at my loins with that half smile. “And before you get paranoid, I’ve seen smaller ones too. Much.”
Then she lay back against the tile wall with a contented sigh. After a moment she looked back at me, frowned. “What--?
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