B005N1TFVG EBOK

by Bruce Elliot Jones

  I thought about it, nodded. “Yeah, maybe you’re right.”

  “Any more than we know how far they’ve spread outside the Topeka city limits. Alicia’s already setting up shop in KC, after all.”

  Alicia.

  Clancy!

  My foot tromped the pedal again.

  “Eddie, take it easy! It isn’t going to do her any good if we get stopped by a state trooper—vampire or human!”

  “Mitzi, when Alicia finds out about Topeka she’ll go ballistic! And Clancy would be suspect number one—she had the key to the shop door!”

  “Easy, Sport. So did the mayor and the others, so they could take their little mud baths, remember? This isn’t the time for panic. News of vampires going up in flames may never get outside of Topeka unless I’ve missed my guess.”

  I gaped at her, “People exploding on the streets! And neighboring towns don’t find out about it?”

  “How many vampires caught fire depends on the number who used that particular batch of lotion I peed in. As for spreading news, I’m sure the town council’s had control of local TV and radio stations for months now, maybe years. The phone lines too. These aren’t stupid people, Ed. You can bet they planned carefully for any emergency scenarios with every kind of contingency back-up. Just like any army--protect your headquarters first.”

  I tried to stay calm, couldn’t. “What about cell phones, they can’t control those!”

  “They can control local cell towers.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “Not the internet.”

  “Maybe not. So what if someone gets online and starts blabbing to someone else in Muncie, Idaho or Florida? We’re talking vampires here, Ed! Who in the outside world is going to believe reports about flaming vampires? They’ll think the whole thing’s a hoax, a practical joke. It wouldn’t be the first time in our nation’s history. Remember Orson Wells’ radio show? And Roswell. The government did a pretty good job covering that.”

  “You’re saying they’ve already infiltrated the government!”

  Mitzi sighed. “We better hope not.”

  I felt sick all over suddenly.

  It was hard to stay under the speed limit.

  We continued outward across Interstate 435 East under cloudless, sunny skies toward the Kansas City horizon…

  * * *

  The blue skies didn’t last.

  By the time we were parallel with the cityscape and university towers of Lawrence a front guard of clouds had marched in and the first fat drops began pelting the windshield.

  I reached for the wiper button on the wheel and guided the Lexus toward the next off-ramp.

  “What are we doing?” Mitzi asked, lifting her head, “it’s just a little rain.”

  “I know, but I was too upset to eat lunch seeing Clancy off this morning. I’ve got to put something on my stomach. There’s a truck stop at the top of that hill. I’ll grab some Chitos or something. You want anything?”

  She looked ruefully at me.

  “Look, I know you don’t eat Chitos. But I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve got an idea. When we get to KC I’ll check into one of those—what do you call them?--those places where you donate blood. When their backs are turned, I’ll steal a bag for you. Maybe the stuff I just donated. We can keep that up for a few days until we contact Clancy and figure out something else. What do you think, sound like a plan?”

  “If you don’t get caught.”

  “I won’t get caught.”

  It was pounding rain when we swept into the truck stop parking lot.

  There were maybe half a dozen trucks in there, mostly older rigs and one shiny red Peterbilt glistening under the downpour near the pumps; that was all. It was past lunch hour and too early for dinner so customer traffic was light. There was a small convenience shop attached to the restaurant for customers to pay for the gas and pick up fast food.

  I parked in front of the shop, turtled under my shirt collar and dashed through the downpour.

  Inside, I shook my wet head at the door and tried to appear normal, just a guy on the road, even though I was overly aware of the store security camera overhead.

  I forced myself to look casual, take my time, breathe normally. I wandered unhurriedly through the store past racks of novelty items designed for the long haul trucker: silhouette magnets of big breasted women, mirror- hanging deodorizers and key chains of big breasted women, magazines about trucks and motorcycles and rugged outdoor sports. And big breasted women.

  I plucked a bag of chips from a wire rack, got an over-priced Coke from the glass-fronted cooler in the back and stood in line at the counter behind two guys with baseball caps and tanned faces and thick-muscled arms festooned with tattoos of anchors, and dragons and yeah…big breasted women. I paid for my items and was in and out of there in less than five minutes.

  I dodged through the rain, flung open the door and slid behind the wheel of the Lexus with my booty. “Okay, we’re off!”

  The seat beside me was empty.

  The leather upholstery was wet. The passenger window was partway down, rain blowing in.

  “Shit.”

  I hit the power button and the window slid up. I started the car and eased slowly around the lot, craning past the slapping wipers for my missing poodle. I could see nothing but gray mist and the ghostly outlines of hulking trucks. I rolled down my window and called a few times through the rain.

  “Mitzi!”

  Not really expecting an answer.

  I combed the lot twice. There was nothing but trucks, a couple of cars, wet pavement and a greenish blur of woods surrounding the lot, trees leaning under gusts of wind and rain.

  I sat there for a few moments listening to the motor idle and the wipers slap.

  Then I pulled the car into the restaurant parking lot, got out, scanned the lot quickly a final time and ducked into the eatery.

  * * *

  I had a steak sandwich, a Coke and a slice of cherry pie.

  It was dark when I paid my bill and pushed outside again through rain-jelled doors. The storm had slacked but was still blowing light curtains of mist across the lot, the thinning droplets only visible now under the glow of sodium light poles.

  I stood beneath the restaurant overhang and scanned the shiny black macadam one more time.

  It was empty.

  “Mitzi, Mitzi…where have you gone off to? And why?”

  I was about to turn back to the Lexus when something caught my eye.

  No, not quite an empty lot. The shiny red Peterbilt was still there, all alone in the rain.

  I climbed back into the car and drove over to where the truck was parked in the corner of the lot. I parked beside it and got out. The sky growled with muted thunder as the storm moved off on legs of lightning.

  I stood for a moment in the wind-blown rain, finally took a deep breath, came before the truck cab’s red door, reached up and knocked. I could see nothing inside, nothing past the black, rain-dribbled windows.

  I waited a moment and knocked again.

  Nothing.

  I stepped up on the running board, took hold of the silver handle and turned it. The door opened smoothly and the overhead light blinked on. The cab was empty.

  I tried to imagine where the driver might be: still inside the convenience store or better yet, the restaurant…but my heart wasn’t buying it. Old rigs or new, truckers don’t leave them unlocked. Ever.

  I shut the door, hopped down and looked at the pavement at my feet. No blood, but any that had been there would have long since washed away to the gutters.

  I stood in the gusting mist a moment trying to think. Check the other side.

  I came around the big glistening grill past the silver bulldog hood ornament to the other side of the rig and more empty parking lot.

  I thought I heard something behind me.

  I turned and found myself staring at the rows of cement tire blocks marking the edge of the lot; a dark length of rain-drenched ravine was just visible b
eyond it. I stepped over the blocks, walked past the edge of macadam into the wet grass at the top of the ravine, stood with droplets pelting my neck and looked down. A steep embankment morphing into trees and hummocks eventually claimed by darkness.

  I hesitated…

  Was that a moaning sound down there above the storm’s distant rumble?

  “Who the hell are you?”

  I bolted around to find an attractive length of woman in a yellow slicker regarding me suspiciously me through the rain. She had high cheekbones, a red mouth that would have been nice if not smeared by the storm, and a not-so-attractive length of a deer rifle aimed at my chest.

  “I’m Ed Magee,” I told her, trying to sound calm and nonthreatening.

  “What are you doing?”

  I could see the gun tremble in small, pale hands, the anxiety in milky blue eyes.

  “Looking for my dog,” I told her. And because I could think of nothing else to say: “What are you doing?”

  She studied me, finger on the trigger. “Looking for my husband,” her voice cracking on ‘husband.’ She was ready to fall apart from fear and dread.

  I smiled amiably in the mist. “Are you hauling with him?” and nodded at the red truck.

  “I was.”

  The low moan came from below us again.

  The woman joined me quickly at the edge of the ravine, peered squinting down the embankment, the rifle bore still trained on me.

  She leaned over the edge, balancing precariously. “Chris--?”

  Her wedgies went out from under her in the mud and she pin-wheeled. I barely caught her under one arm, righted again her without attempting to grab the gun. That took a little of the fear out of her eyes.

  I used the moment to step ahead of her and over the edge of the slippery embankment, digging in with my sneakers, finding purchase and reaching back a hand to her. She gave me a brief indecisive look, then took my hand, still clinging to the rifle. Stepping and sliding, balancing like tightrope walkers with our arms, we levered each other down the slick, muddy bank.

  Mitzi was at the bottom.

  She was standing over a prostrate man in a once-bright white shirt, mostly red now. Her strong jaws wrapped his neck, her furry throat pulsed.

  “Chris!”

  There was a flash and roar of heat next to me.

  Mitzi flew up and backward three yards without letting go of the man. She landed on all fours, dragged him deeper into darkness and resumed feeding, whiskers smeared.

  “Chris!”

  I grabbed the weapon from the woman’s startled fingers and slid the rest of the way to my dog.

  “Mitzi…”

  She didn’t look up.

  “Mitzi…” I put a hand on her back and she whirled viciously, snapping at me, flinging blood. Her eyes burned hot; I was certain she didn’t know me. She went back to feeding.

  I drew in shaking breath and placed the muzzle of the rifle against the side of her head. “Mitzi, let him go.”

  “The rifle won’t do any good, Ed.”

  “Let him go.”

  “He won’t die. I’ll stop before I turn him.”

  I pulled the hammer back with a click. “Let him go. Now.”

  She lifted her head. “I wouldn’t kill him, Ed. You know that.”

  “Yeah? Even if I hadn’t tripped across you?”

  She licked blood from her muzzle, the light fading in her eyes now. “He’ll be fine. Little headache is all. I needed it, Ed.”

  My stomach coiled. “You disgust me.”

  “I disgust myself. But I needed it. Can you understand that?”

  “No.”

  “Who are you talking to?” from the hysterical-eyed woman behind me.

  I turned to her blanched face, half expecting Mitzi to go for my own throat—certainly giving her the opportunity. She didn’t.

  “Let me have her, Ed…”

  “Go fuck yourself.”

  “Think of Clancy.”

  “Oh,” I said venomously, “now you think of Clancy!”

  “Think of the war, then.”

  “Which war, goddamnit! Whose side?”

  “Give me the woman, Ed. It’s the only way. She’ll tell people. What she saw here. It’s that or kill her.”

  I jammed the muzzle hard against Mitzi’s ribs, making her yelp. “Or kill you!”

  She lowered her head. “Then do it. Go on. Do it. There’s a whole woods full of sharp branches around us. Shove one through me. I’m ready. I’m sick of this.”

  “Maybe I will!”

  The woman’s husband moaned beneath us.

  I stood there clenching the gun.

  Mitzi looked up at me. “She won’t remember, Ed. Neither of them will.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because I’ll put it into her head. It’s already in his.”

  I chewed my lip, mind racing.

  “Look at her, Ed.”

  I turned back to the woman. She looked shell shocked. Like the finest porcelain statue—about to shatter. She’d never recover from this. Never.

  “That’s right,” Mitzi said in my head.

  I tried to think past my throbbing brain.

  I lowered the rifle and turned back to the woman. “Do you have kids?”

  She didn’t seem to hear me. Seemed beyond hearing…just stood there staring quietly at her blood-soiled husband sprawled in the wet grass.

  “Do you have kids?” I shouted.

  She jerked to me as if electrocuted. She nodded rapidly.

  “It’s the only way,” Mitzi repeated.

  “Shut up,” I told her.

  Then I held out my hand gently to the trembling woman.

  “Come. Come to me…”

  She stared at me wide-eyed, body rooted to the wet loam.

  I pushed up a weak smile.

  “It’s all right,” I told her softly, “…it’s all just a dream…”

  SEVENTEEN

  We didn’t talk much the rest of the way to K.C. Didn’t say a word to each other, actually.

  Mitzi just sat there in the passenger seat licking at her muzzle with that pink, curved tongue until most of the blood was wiped clean, though I could still see a dun trace of it. We took the 435 Interstate to the 69 and followed the green overhead freeway signs to Downtown Kansas City.

  “I take it you know which hotel?” Mitzi finally broke the silence.

  I nodded. “The Crown Royal, around mid-town. It’s at the Sprint Center.”

  “And which are their rooms?”

  I sighed. “That’s not going to be so easy. I have no idea what Alicia’s last name is, do you?”

  “Doesn’t have a last name far as I know.”

  I made a face behind the wheel. “Great. So, now what?”

  Mitzi thought about it. “They might have put it under Clancy’s name. The really ancient vampires always have trouble with I.D., credit cards, things like that.”

  I shrugged, nodded at the carriage circle canopy lights of the Crown Royal already coming up on our right. “Worth a try.”

  I nosed before the hotel entrance. One of the smartly uniformed parking attendants opened my door for me with a smile…which faded when his eyes fell on the dog beside me.

  “She stays in the car,” I told him, getting out, and I immediately shoved a big tip into his hand. “Don’t worry, she never bites.”

  “Only his ass,” Mitzi muttered in my head as the young man slid behind the wheel. He handed me my parking stub and squealed away to the underground lot.

  I hopped up on the circle’s curb and pushed through big, shiny brass knobs to the foyer of Sprint Center’s newest luxury hotel. Only the best for sweet Alicia, apparently. And pretty damn nice, I had to admit, for a burg they used to call Cow Town whose main claim to fame before Sprint arrived was The Plaza (world’s first shopping center), the Kansas City Chiefs, some decent downtown jazz, a plethora of sculptured fountains second only in number to Rome, and a tenuous link to Walt Disn
ey. On your way to The Big Apple or The Big Orange?—you could do worse than an overnight stay in The Little Wheat. Nelson Art Gallery ain’t bad either.

  I crossed the plush lobby to the concierge’s desk, gave a pert uniformed blonde my most engaging smile.

  “Hi! Edward Cummings! Meeting my wife here—Mrs. Clancy Cummings?”

  She went right to her computer, tapped the keys with clicking red nails, nodded at the screen and I knew we were in. “She’s staying in our Cotton Wood Suite.”

  “A suite?”

  Pert blonde nod, quick eyes scanning the screen. “Yes, our deluxe accommodation. Twenty-sixth floor, very spacious, size of four regular rooms.”

  “Oh?” Well! Alicia was certainly out to impress someone.

  The quick green eyes showed a glint of embarrassed hesitation. “…um…according to my computer she’s already sharing the suite with another companion…”

  Clancy and Alicia rooming together. I didn’t like the sound of that. Not in the least.

  The blonde cleared her pert throat apologetically. “I’m afraid I’ll have to see some I.D., Mr. Cummings…”

  “Oh,” I chuckled dismissively, reaching for my wallet, “I’m not staying with her. We’re just meeting to finalize the divorce. I would appreciate a room near hers, though.”

  She consulted her screen again, clickity-clack. “The Cotton Wood does take up most of that floor…ah! We do have a single available. It’s small but right next door, will that do?”

  “Perfect.” I slid my Visa over.

  She smiled, picked it up. “And how long will you be staying with us, Mr…” she frowned down at the card. “’…Magee?”

  Oops.

  “Oh, that’s my brother-in-law’s card! Afraid I’m currently unemployed. Recession, you know?”

  She nodded, “I understand.”

  “Staying just the weekend.”

  She processed the card. Smiled relief, handed back the Visa with the room’s entrance-key, one of those plastic swipe-cards that never works the first time. “Room 2610, elevator banks to your right. Enjoy your stay at the Crown Royal, Mr. Mag—sorry, what was it, Cummings--?”

  “Call me ‘Ed.’”

  * * *

  I took the elevator, not up to the twenty-sixth floor, but straight down to the parking garage. I checked the parking stub, found Mrs. Portman’s Lexus among the gray cement aisles and slid in beside Mitzi.