There was a pause, and Topper could imagine Edwin’s tired, reasonable tone as he tried to talk sense to this nut. But dammit, this wasn’t the time to be reasonable. This was the time to show up with the cavalry. With sunlamps and stakes and garlic and flamethrowers.
DeChevue continued. “Very well. I shall hold onto the mi-ghey until you have arranged a satisfactory place for us to meet.” Mi-ghey. Midget. Again, that word.
Inside Topper, Anger had a quick fight with Fear. At the end, Fear was carried from the ring on a stretcher while Anger danced around the arena singing the long, vowel-laden, adrenaline-fueled song of Victory.
Topper crept back down the hallway and tried another door. It opened into a room paneled with white plastic. In the center of the room was a floor drain. But none of that interested Topper. He was fixated on the casement window built into the far wall. “Hot damn, Sam. We’re getting out of here!”
“No!” Sam said. “This is the bad room. Bad room.”
“Ya know, pal, you really need to work on that negativity,” Topper said as he walked to the window. He climbed up on the wide sill that was cut into the thick exterior wall of the building. The window opened easily, and Topper saw that he was six stories up. Far below was the river. “Ah shit, Sam. That’s a long way down. Even into a river.”
Sam whimpered. Topper shook his head. Sam just wasn’t any fun at all. The way Topper looked at it, just because you were a hostage slated to be an appetizer for a vampire who had purchased Liberace’s entire collection of candelabras didn’t mean you shouldn’t enjoy yourself.
“What do ya mean you can’t swim, Sam? Ya big baby, the fall is probably what will kill you,” Topper said with a wry smile. He took another look at the drop. Yeah, they were going to have to find another way out.
Behind him, Topper heard DeChevue say, “But why do you want to fly, my little bird?” Topper turned and saw that the velvet-robed vampire held Sam in his clutches. Poor Sam’s eyes were wide and crazed. He gave another whimper.
“Ah, crap,” Topper said.
The vampire’s eyes glittered like daggers. “I have very good hearing, mon petit otage.”
Topper opened his mouth to crack a funny, very acerbic insult. Oh, this insult was going to be the best. It had everything: sodomy, necrophilia, velour, and the true horror of DeChevue’s taste in home furnishings. But, unfortunately for you poor reader, Topper’s devastating and profane conversational riposte was cut short when DeChevue bit into Sam’s neck and ripped his head off.
Topper’s was going to begin with ‘y’know’, but when he saw Sam’s blood fountaining off the ceiling, his scream came out, “Y’oooooollly Shit!” Topper’s arms and legs shot out to the stone that surrounded him, and sheer terror pinned him to where he stood. He couldn’t turn away. He couldn’t even close his eyes. Blood was everywhere. While drinking from Sam like a man guzzling from a fire hose, DeChevue no longer seemed meek and silly.
When the stuff of Sam’s unhappy life had pumped itself out, DeChevue slung his blood-soaked hair over his head and turned his attention to Topper. He advanced upon Topper, picking at a piece of skin stuck between his teeth. When he spoke, his tones were measured and even, as if nothing had happened. “Now, you will come away from that window and return to your room.”
Something about the vampire’s eyes made Topper feel he was falling into a dark void. His arms and legs loosened their pressure against the wall. Part of him knew that it would be a terribly wrong thing to do, but the rest of him, including parts like feet and legs, moved back towards the room. They seemed bent on obeying the vampire’s will, against every instinct of self-preservation Topper possessed.
“Yes, come to me like the good, trained mi-ghey that you are.”
The word “midget” broke the spell. Topper’s anger flared bright and hot again. He stopped moving, and DeChevue knew something was up. The vampire made a desperate grab, but he was one lunge too far away. Topper didn’t think. He just turned and jumped out of the open window.
DeChevue still managed to grab his ankle. Unable to fall, Topper was swung in an arc and slammed into the side of the building. Now, fear had the upper hand once again. Topper kicked, twisted, and fought against his captor.
“M’sieur, stop fighting. You will fall to your death.”
It was hard enough to get Topper to listen to reason on a good day, but now? Forget about it. “MOTHERASSFAGUNTSUCKER!” he screamed as competing obscenities bottlenecked in his larynx.
Topper kicked and fought and spit and clawed at the stone wall of the building so hard that several of his fingernails came off. Finally, he got lucky. He heard a crunching sound as the heel of his shoe connected with DeChevue’s hand. Gravity took over. He was free. Free and falling to his death.
The profanity turned into a scream.
Topper hit the water like a tiny artillery shell. To him, it didn’t feel like water at all. It felt more like pavement. As he plunged through the surface, all of the air was concussed out of his lungs. His ears rang in the cold and the dark. He clawed for the surface. Even as his body fought to reach the surface, his mind recoiled in horror from what he had seen.
He broke the surface and gasped for air. The smart thing would have been to stay low in the water. Swim for the opposite shore. Move fast. Get home safe. But this was Topper, so the smart thing was overruled by ego and anger. “Yeah, AND THERE’S MORE WHERE THAT CAME FROM!” he yelled, even though it made no sense. Or perhaps because it made no sense.
He swam for the shore. Although he was dripping wet, he managed to hail a taxi. As he slopped himself into the backseat, the driver’s eyes grew wide and he groaned. Topper threw a fistful of damp bills into the forward compartment and barked his address. “And if you’ve got a dry towel up there, there’s another damp hundred in it for you.”
The driver opened his mouth to say something, but Topper cut him off. “You want the story? You want to know what happened? It’s the oldest tale in the book. Boy meets girl. Girl turns out to be a vampire. Boy makes a daring escape from the clutches of the foul creature, hails a cab, and goes home to drink dry martinis with cloves of garlic in them. Now drive.”
Even after three showers, Topper could still not get rid of the chill. He poured himself four fingers of scotch. So armed, and wrapped in a bath towel up to his armpits, he paced through his apartment and tried to talk himself out of his fear.
“Yeah, no big deal. Happens all the time. Of course it does. Well, less often in the suburbs, but, you know, the city is a dangerous place. And so am I. Dangerous, I mean.”
He looked at himself in the mirror and recognized his own bullshit. Scotch went down the hatch. He climbed up into his king-sized, overstuffed feather bed, closed his eyes, and tried to put the whole thing out of his mind. But as soon as he was asleep, his dreams betrayed him.
It was Madeleine, and he was drowning in her hair. Her long, black, fragrant tresses kept them apart. He tried to climb through them to be with her, but the more he struggled, the more he got caught. He had to be with her, to give himself to her so completely that he would be a part of her. In the dream, he fantasized about how his blood would feel as it pulsed out of his neck. What it would be like to become weak and lightheaded. And how wonderful it would be when overwhelming peace finally washed over him.
That was what he wanted. The coolness of peace and love and acceptance that he could never seem to find in life. A stillness in death and — could he believe it? — one girl, just one girl.
For the first time in his life, Topper found himself in love. And, as befitted the odd logic of the odd little man, he was in love with someone who would surely kill him. Whattya gonna do? Cupid is a motherassfaguntsucker.
The next morning, Edwin arrived at work with a set of hastily drawn plans. He called Agnes into his office and announced, “I have a solution to the problem of the meeting place.”
“Oh, Edwin, I was hoping a night’s sleep would have brought you to your considerable sen
ses. You simply cannot give in to their demands!” Agnes protested.
“But what if their demands are to my advantage?” Edwin asked.
“It is the principle of the thing. One should not negotiate with hostage takers, or terrorists, or blackmailers.”
“Agnes, in one way or another, that would disqualify most of our client base.”
“Edwin, you know what I mean.”
Edwin showed Agnes his plans. “You see, we will remove that useless koi pond at the front of the building.”
“Edwin, there are no koi in that pond. It’s a reflecting pool, a marvelous architectural feature, and I refuse to let you remove it.”
“It simply is not functional.”
“Yes, and that is the point. All function and no form, as they say, makes Windsor a dull boy.”
“I have no need to be interesting,” Edwin said. But Agnes was already focused on the sketch.
“This will not do,” she said, looking at Edwin's crude plan. "This will not do at all. There is no reception area.”
Edwin raised an eyebrow.
“You cannot answer the door yourself.”
Edwin’s gaze of strained credulity did not slow Agnes down in the slightest.
“For the same reasons that a gentleman does not carry his own luggage. Edwin, it is not fitting. It is not seemly. If you are to treat with this diminished class of people, you will do so with the proper deportment.” She looked up at him, eyes brimming with pride. “You are above them, in every conceivable way.”
She leaned down and with one quick stroke of the pen drew a small antechamber onto the main room. “I will sit here. To get to you, they shall have to go through me. And I assure you, that is something for which centuries of sleeping in moldy catacombs can not have prepared them.”
“Agnes,” Edwin began, trying to get the proverbial word in edgewise or any other way he could manage. But Agnes had the bit in her teeth and wasn’t giving it back.
“Really, Edwin, all of this trouble for some disturbed Frenchman who is, most likely, not supernatural in the slightest. Some sort of mal vivant with a penchant for too much eyeliner, no doubt. You can’t believe such creatures actually exist.”
“Mal vivants? An usual description, but likely enough,” Edwin said, staring at the lines Agnes had drawn on the plans.
“No, Edwin. What I am saying is there are simply no such things as vampires.”
From across the room, Topper said, “Oh no, Sweetcakes, they’re real. Believe me.”
Agnes looked up, and there he was. Like a bad penny, she thought, or, to be more correct, a ha’penny. A frown clawed at the corners of her mouth.
“There, there, sweet Agnes,” Topper said. “I know you were worried sick about me, but here’s ya Topper, all safe and sound.”
“Aren’t you supposed to be doing something useful? Being held hostage, I believe it was,” Agnes said.
“Ah, I released myself on my own recognizance.”
Edwin said, “It is good to see you safe and sound.”
“Yes,” Agnes said. “Hale and half, and your adventure has left you no worse for the wear?”
“Easy, ya mean old bat. I got feelings, you know.” Topper clambered up on a chair and looked at the drawing in the center of the desk.
“So, E, is this a plan to get the miserable bloodsucking bastard?”
“No, this is a room in which to meet with him. Now, Agnes, for the construction of this room.”
“A-hem,” Agnes said. “Two rooms.”
“Very well, Agnes, I will humor you, although I am not sure why.”
“A reverence for hallowed antiquity,” Agnes said, smiling at Edwin.
Topper barged in. “Wait a minute. What the hell is going on here? Seriously, I can’t believe me pointy little ears. You’re still talking about this guy? Screw him. I’m out. I’m free. I mean, look at me.” Topper climbed up on the desk and danced a small jig that ended with a flourish: “Ta daaaaaaa! So, screw them. Screw them right to the sticking post out in front of a beautiful new day. Seriously, we will drink mimosas and watch ’em go up like dry Christmas trees in a trailer park. Then we’ll go get brunch.”
“Brunch?” Edwin asked.
“Yeah, it’s breakfast for lazy people. I love brunch.”
“Brunch does not interest me,” Edwin said.
“Yeah, but, E. We gotta get these fangers. We gotta. I know bad people, and they’re bad people. They’re even worse; they’re not really PEOPLE!”
Agnes found herself in the unlikely position of agreeing with Topper. “Edwin, you should have some idea of how loath I am to say this, but he does have a point.”
“Death is such a waste,” Edwin said.
“Oh no, you don’t,” interrupted Topper. “Look, this is one time that we don’t need your patient, planning bullshit. We need torches. We need... We need a shitload of garlic and a bunch of retard-strong villagers. Right? Right? I mean, I’m not the public service type, but we gotta get these bloodthirsty bastards. And by get ’em, I mean kill ’em. And by kill ’em, I mean stake ’em through their cold dead hearts.”
Edwin’s face remained unchanged.
“Oh, come ON! Agnes.” Topper turned towards her in his desperation. “C’mon, Agnes. You know this is the right play here. Dontcha? You know how hard it is for me to do the right thing, right?”
“I can scarcely imagine the fortitude of will you must be exerting right now,” Agnes said. “And I am also surprised that you were able to locate your single strand of moral fiber.”
“Whatever that means. They are vampires! Ya get me, E? Stake through the heart!”
Edwin took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Halfway through his exhalation, he began to speak. “If the time comes for getting them, rest assured, Topper, we will get them, thoroughly and well. But for now, we shall see what advantage we may derive from these people.”
“Creatures!” Topper protested.
“Whatever the case may be,” Edwin said, “I will meet with them.” He handed Agnes the investment prospectus from the underground bunker construction company. “Agnes, please contact them and make the arrangements. You may keep your koi pond. But we will still place our nocturnal meeting room below it.”
Agnes nodded. “Very well. But I still fail to understand why they can’t meet here like proper, decent clients.”
Edwin just looked at her.
“Well, perhaps proper and decent are awkward choices of adjectives...”
“Delusional or not, they have a deep-seated fear of being trapped in a glass building high in the sky when the sun comes up.”
“Oh, ho, ho, ho,” chortled Agnes, “really?”
“Indeed,” Edwin said, a rare hint of a smile twisting the corner of his mouth.
Topper opened his mouth, and the fear spoke. “Oh, you arrogant bastard. You don’t know what you are dealing with here. You think you’re cool? Well, they’re cold. And they are heartless. You don’t stand a chance. They’re Evil. Evil. Evil.”
Agnes stared at Topper with her mouth open. She had never heard Topper speak to Edwin that way before. In fact, she had never heard a note of fear in his voice at all. Edwin’s mouth remained closed, but he looked at Topper in a way that made Topper feel as low as he had ever felt in his life. Was this a kind of hypnotism? Topper wondered.
After a moment of silence, Topper said, “I’m, uh, sorry, I guess. I’ve been through a lot.”
The line of Edwin’s jaw tightened. Topper was glad to see that Edwin wasn’t mad at him.
“It is understandable,” Edwin said. “You should get some rest. And so you will rest easy, I will promise you that I will take the necessary and prudent precautions.”
Topper smiled weakly. He nodded a couple of times and dragged himself from the room. Edwin did not know what his lawyer had been through, but it impressed him that it was enough to make a reckless ball of screeching irresponsibility like Topper urge safety.
Meeting concluded, Ed
win straightened his tie, adjusted his shirt cuffs, and stood by the window. He looked down on a world on the verge of spring and knew a kind of hope. Of course, not hope for the meeting with whatever unrestrained and appetitive creatures these “vampires” might be. But, at the very least, this would prove a good test of this bunkering technology. Who knew? With a few smart investments, perhaps he could make this his last client meeting.
From the great height of his magnificent tower, on this early spring day, he could almost see a way to be something more than Evil.
The day of the meeting arrived.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Agnes sat a vigil at what she had come to call her auxiliary desk. Of course, the late hour of this appointment was past her usual bedtime, but rising to deal with unexpected adversity was bred deep in her bones. When the yawning started, she went in search of caffeine.
Eschewing her customary tea in this time of expediency, she returned to the main building. Somewhere in the deep, dark-roasted heart of every ’round-the-clock operation, there burbles a pot of coffee. It was to this squat chemical idol that the security guard brought Agnes. He watched with wide eyes as she diverged from the customary ritual. Ignoring the tower of Styrofoam cups, she reached into her large brown handbag and produced a flawless china teacup and saucer.
Agnes paid no attention to the guard. To her, he was just another savage American in a uniform, looking for any excuse to let the veneer of civilization slip. If Agnes had had the time, she would have tried to explain to him that, when the hour is at its blackest, when the circumstances are the most dire, and the straits are at their narrowest, it is even more important to preserve the manners and niceties of the civilized world.
So it was that she had a china cup for foul coffee in the middle of an unexpected night shift. To Agnes, this was as natural and as important as saying, “Excuse me” while pushing your way towards a lifeboat. Abandon the china, and next it would be the silverware. Shortly after that, the cry would be “Women and children second!” and then the masses would revert to cannibalism and football.
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