J.R. Rains Vampire for Hire World_Dead Ahead

by Eve Paludan

  “I’m not really a fan of tanning,” Sam said and put a gentle suggestion in his mind not to notice that she might be a vampire. Almost immediately, Tyrone relaxed.

  He said in his regular deep voice, “Yeah, that sun’ll kill you if you get too much of it. I mean, from melanoma, that sort of thing. But I figure that if the donuts don’t get me, the sun and the lawn-mowing on the weekends will.”

  “That’s a bit cynical.”

  “I like to think of my cynicism as built-in self-control,” Tyrone said with a straight face. “I’d like to be as tough as you, not even daunted by the thought of following an armed undercover cop.”

  “Just part of the job, Tyrone. Routine, really.”

  “Sherbet is the same, just taking in stride the danger of getting up close and personal with suspects. Do you get close to the people you’re watching?”

  “If I’m doing my job right, your wife won’t even notice me watching her,” Sam said.

  “That’s a relief. I don’t want her to know about you,” Tyrone said.

  “Nor do I. That would be pretty embarrassing,” Sam said. “Not to mention it could get awkward since my client jobs are confidential.”

  “That’s good.” He breathed easier. “You and Sherbet make it seem like the paperwork aftermath is the hardest part of what you do.”

  Sam did smile then. “You sound as if you have a good rapport with Detective Sherbet.”

  “Yeah, we’re the good guys of the world, sticking together. We’re a little round around the edges but kind and mostly patient with other people.”

  “I applaud you. Sometimes, I lose it with my kids, but by lose it, I don’t mean physically.”

  “I know what you mean. But it gets better as a parent. Just wait until you have a grandkid on the way. Our daughter will be a good mother, even though she’s still our little girl to us.”

  Sam noticed he said, ‘our’ and ‘us.’ There was still some hope for this marriage.

  “You sound like a good dad and a nice guy, Tyrone.”

  “Tell that to my wife, who’s made her own life without me; what a keeper I am.” He frowned. “This cheating thing, if that’s what it is, is the worst thing that has ever come between us. I hope you watch her and then come back and tell me it was all a figment of my mid-life crisis imagination.”

  “I’ll get you the truth soon. I can see this is torturing you.”

  “It is.” He pressed his fingers to his temples for a few moments. “Ugh, sorry… high blood pressure makes me get headaches. Or maybe it’s all the sugar and carbs I ate today.”

  “I’m sorry. May I ask you just a few more questions?” she asked gently.

  He nodded. “Okay, I’m fine now. Ask me anything.”

  “Can you tell me more about your wife’s background, her upbringing?”

  Tyrone rubbed his chin for a moment, thinking. “Amber was raised in a law enforcement family and her own family business also stuck to her like she was vaccinated with it. Donuts and cops. It’s in our blood. It’s the family joke that our paths seemed pre-destined to cross and keep crossing.”

  “I know that feeling. Of pre-destiny. No matter how hard you try, it sometimes seems inescapable that someone you fall in love with and grow to love over years and years is going to break your heart.” Sam sighed softly, not something she often did, especially since she didn’t need to breathe. She hardly ever talked to a client in such personal terms, but it seemed that their cheating spouses united them in solidarity.

  “I just hope she escaped the family curse on both sides,” Tyrone said.

  “Family curse?” Sam perked up, thinking he was speaking of something paranormal or supernatural.

  “Yeah, the curse that none of our parents survived past their fifties in either the donut shop business or law enforcement.”

  “Why not?” Sam asked.

  “Heart attacks and diabetes on my side of the family. Violent deaths while on duty on her side.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. My condolences on all your family’s losses.” She relaxed a bit since his family curse was all too human.

  “Thank you, Sam. Human life is fragile and fleeting.”

  She nodded. “It seems so. Where does your wife hang out when she isn’t working?”

  “Amber works out on her days off. That’s usually Fridays and Saturdays, so she’ll be at her gym when her shift is over tomorrow morning at six or so. He opens early, just for her.”

  “How nice of the proprietor. Where?”

  “A little hole-in-the-wall place called Jacky’s Gym.”

  That startled Sam a bit. “Huh. That’s where I work out, too,” Sam said, leaning forward in her seat. “Boxing lessons. That’s my fitness sport.”

  “Hers, too. She takes private kickboxing lessons from Jacky, the old guy who owns and runs it.”

  “I know his sparring style well. Fullerton is a small world, very small,” Sam mused, wondering if Amber using the same gym was going to be a help or a hindrance to the infidelity surveillance.

  “You know what I really miss most about my wife?”

  “What?”

  “She’s funny, really funny when she gets going. No one else gets my jokes or appreciates them except her. And she makes me laugh, too. If she’s cheating on me, I feel like I might never really have a belly laugh again for as long as I live.”

  “Hang in there, Tyrone,” Sam said. “Maybe I’ll end up having good news for you.”

  “That would be a miracle, seeing as how I know she comes home to change clothes, but she hasn’t slept at home during the day for quite a while.”

  “How do you know that?” Sam asked, interested.

  “When I come home from work, she’s there, but the bed hasn’t been slept in and the hood of her car is warm as if she rushed home to arrive before I do. And she has obviously showered somewhere else, with different shampoo, soap, and body wash than what she uses at home. Also, I carefully make the bed by hiding a white thread in between the tucked-in sheet and the mattress on her side. We have white sheets and a white carpet, so if the thread fell, she wouldn’t notice, but it’s easy for me to check since I know where I placed the thread.”

  “That’s very observant of you. And very clever.”

  “I may be just a donut maker, but I watch a lot of CSI.”

  “Me, too.”

  “And I never see her undressed anymore. She’s always wearing long-sleeved turtlenecks, too, which is weird for her since she hates them.”

  “You think she has a drug problem and she’s covering her arms?” Sam asked.

  “It would be unlike her, but I gotta wonder just what the heck she’s hiding under there.”

  “I’ll let you know if I see anything like that, I mean… tracks.”

  Tyrone grimaced. “She would have easy access to drugs since she works in Narco, and she and her partner are the ones who bag up the evidence from drug busts.”

  “Oh, dear, I hope it’s not that.”

  “You and me both. That would be worse than infidelity. I don’t wish any harm to come to her.”

  He still loves her. “Good to know. What’s her partner’s name at work?”

  “Detective Kevin Holden.”

  She pointed to her temple with an index finger. “Got it, Kevin Holden.”

  Sam’s cell phone rang, and her eyes flicked away to her phone. “I’m sorry, Tyrone. I have to take this. My daughter’s high school guidance counselor is calling. Again. I swear, she must have me on speed-dial by now.”

  Tyrone raised an eyebrow and began to clear off their empty paper coffee cups. “I’ll get out of your way. Take the call, Sam. Family comes first. The counselor is calling awfully late, though.”

  “That’s never a good sign, is it?” Sam said and answered her phone.

  Chapter 3

  That night, Sam dressed as a transient in a blond dreads wig and black knit watch cap, her navy pea coat from high school, torn jeans and holey tennis shoes. She par
ked her minivan at Heroes Bar and Grill a few blocks away. Then she walked with a large frame-style backpack stuffed with wadded newspaper to the bus stop at Commonwealth and Highland, just across the street from the front of the Fullerton Police Department.

  For an hour, she sat on the bench with the backpack gripped between her legs, as if it contained all her worldly goods. She also clutched a bus schedule in her hand and fake-perused it, as if she were waiting for that critical bus to come. A fully lit law office was behind the bus bench, but of course, it was closed at this hour.

  Across Commonwealth, the FPD’s Spanish-style white stucco buildings and clock tower reminded her of the train station in Los Angeles but on a smaller scale. Must have been the same architect or scaled-down plans. Across Highland was Amerige Park with its baseball diamond and community center complex that included a Boy’s and Girl’s Club. A dozen or so homeless people trickled in and out of the ‘closed’ park, trudging tiredly back and forth on the sidewalks but going nowhere; it was against the law to sleep in the park and none of them had destinations. They just had to keep moving.

  A homeless man who smelled of the road and cheap wine came and sat on the bus bench with her. “Hi,” he said shyly, a cloud of his breath and B.O. hitting Sam’s nose like a fist. Her eyes even watered.

  “Good evening,” Sam said and gave him the once-over.

  “Hey, I’ve never seen anyone as pale as you who wasn’t dead.”

  “I have a fatal disease,” Sam said, hoping he would leave.

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Is it contagious?”

  “Only if I completely drain someone’s blood and leave them twitching in the gutter in death throes,” she said, watching the driveway of the PD across the street.

  He moved away a little. “Geez. I can take a hint. I was just trying to be nice and let you know you missed the last bus a while ago. Like an hour ago. I also came over to tell you that you might get a ticket for sitting on a bus bench when the buses are done running for the night.”

  “I know,” Sam said.

  “You’re not really homeless,” he slurred.

  Sam gave him the side-eye and then returned her eyes to the driveway across the street.

  “I know you’re some kind of private eye or bail bondswoman because you don’t smell bad and you’re not even scared of me, so you’re probably carrying a gun. And you’re watching the police station, maybe waiting for someone to get bailed out of jail so you can follow them and re-arrest them and collect more money.”

  “Sir, do you mind? I’d like to just sit here by myself.”

  “Suit yourself,” the man said and moved off a few feet. “But next time you pretend to be homeless, don’t smell like strawberry shampoo and laundry detergent and then, maybe someone will believe your lame disguise. I mean, that’s a blond wig and your eyebrows are black. So, tell me, does the carpet match the drapes?”

  “Bug off,” Sam said.

  “That’s not very nice. What if I was God talking to you right now?”

  Sam gave him a sharp look. “You aren’t.”

  “Okay, you’re right, I’m not God, but I could be that angel named Unaware.”

  “Who?”

  “His name is right in the Bible. Angel Unaware. Hebrews 13:2.”

  Obviously, surveillance in this location was going not going to work out. It didn’t seem like Amber Tarkington was even going to show up for work tonight. Sam got to her feet. She was stiff and cold from sitting on the hard bench. She stretched and lifted the backpack with one hand.

  “Where ya going, Stephanie Plum?”

  Sam stopped walking for a moment and turned back to him. “You read that series, too?”

  “Yep. I go to the main library every day and read books all day. I’ve learned a lot about bail bonds and FTAs and crime stuff from that Janet Evanovich series. I could be a bounty hunter like Stephanie Plum or even a detective like you if I just had a second set of clothes and a place to live. And, if I wasn’t a raging alcoholic.”

  He smiled, and she saw that his teeth were rotted down to the brown stubs. His breath smelled like chewing tobacco and wine barf.

  A sudden wind buffeted them, and he visibly shivered in the chill of the April night.

  Sam took off her old pea coat, emptied its pockets into her jeans pockets and handed him the oversize coat that had once been Mary Lou’s before it was a hand-me-down to her.

  “Put this on,” she said.

  “Really?”

  “Yep. It’s yours now.”

  “You don’t need it back?”

  “No.”

  “Thanks.” He put it on his skinny body. “Hey, it’s cold inside the coat. I expected it to be warm from you.”

  “I don’t really have any body heat, but you should be warm in a few minutes.”

  “Okay, then. Goodnight, dead detective.”

  “Goodnight, Angel Unaware.”

  Sam shouldered the backpack, walked down the street and turned onto Malden. She kept walking and turned onto Santa Fe to retrieve her minivan. She was surprised to see Detective Sherbet’s unmarked car in the parking lot next to Heroes. She’d know that license plate number anywhere.

  She dropped off the backpack, the dreadlocks wig and the knit watch cap in her minivan and walked inside Heroes where it was nice and warm and brightly lit. The place was full of the delicious smells of roasted or grilled meat and French fries. The hostess was away from her station at the door, so Sam just walked around until she found Detective Sherbet sitting by himself in a booth. He had a beef brisket sandwich, fries and a steaming mug of coffee in front of him. He was about to take a bite of the sandwich when she sat across from him.

  “Boo,” she said playfully and patted the table with both hands.

  He put down his sandwich. “Sam! What a surprise.”

  “Same here. What are you doing here at this hour?” she asked.

  “Waiting on a search warrant for one of my cases. They’re waking the judge. I should get a text in the next hour or so to move on it.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  “Thanks. Sam, what on earth are you doing here?”

  “I was hoping to catch a glimpse of a certain someone working the graveyard shift tonight with her partner, but I don’t think she ever showed up.”

  “That’s weird.”

  “I thought so, too.”

  “Maybe she’s got the flu. It’s going around the office and she’s been looking pretty rundown lately.” He took a bite of his sandwich. “Want the other half of this? It’s really good.”

  “No, I don’t like to eat or drink while I’m working. It might slow me down in a critical moment.”

  “Okay. Want me to call the desk sergeant to check the duty roster, to see if she called in sick tonight?”

  “No, that would kind of be cheating. I’ll just swing past her house and see if there are two cars in the driveway, or just one.”

  “That works, too.”

  “Thanks for the referral.”

  “No problem, Sam. I think you’re the perfect person for this little gig.”

  One of her eyebrows went north for a second or two. “Oh? Why’s that?”

  “Just a hunch.” He took a bite of his sandwich.

  “You think this is more than your average case of this type?”

  “Like I said, I have a hunch it is. That’s why I specifically recommended you.”

  “Oh, you’re playing this up to be so mysterious.”

  “We’re in a public place.”

  “I get that. Okay, we’ll catch up when I get further along in the case and see if your hunch played out.”

  “Sounds good,” he said with a full mouth.

  “By the way, I like the donut man.”

  Sherbet chewed his food and swallowed. “Me, too. He’s a good friend, and his heart is breaking.”

  “I noticed. Hopefully, I’ll have better news for him than he expects.”

  “If only,” Sherbet said.
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  “Okay, well, I just wanted to say hi because I saw your car outside. I’m going to take off now.”

  “Happy hunting for your target,” Sherbet said.

  “Thanks. Stay safe on that search warrant tonight.”

  “Back at ya, Sam.”

  Sam rose from the booth and walked out of Heroes, lightly touching the bar where she and her best friend and sister, Mary Lou, had once sat ogling the hot bartender, a guy who had turned out to be Fang, her online confidant at the time, but back then, he’d been mortal. By now, Fang was her best guy friend, and he was also a vampire. And instead of working at Heroes in Fullerton, he owned Fang’s Place, a private club in Echo Park that served blood to vampires.

  How things change.

  Back in her minivan, Sam pulled out the contract that had the client’s home address on it. She glanced at the address and headed out. She swung by the Tarkington house in its suburban neighborhood where the 1980s’ houses were well-kept, and the front yards were as diligently manicured as the shrubs in Disneyland. Tonight, there was only one car in the Tarkingtons’ driveway—they didn’t have a garage because that space had been closed in to make a rec room of some sort, from what she could see from the street. So, that meant Amber was not at home, but Tyrone was. He was probably asleep—in a couple of hours, it would be time for him to get up and make the donuts.

  Sam decided to drive past one more place before she called it a night and just went home. She used her access to the Orange County property tax database to find the residence of Amber’s detective partner, Kevin Holden. He owned a condo in an upscale complex in Placentia, near her sister’s neighborhood, so Sam knew the streets quite well. She memorized the address and headed for Placentia.

  It was a gated complex, but the gate was stuck open, so she cruised the minivan right through the gate, silently congratulating herself on the lucky break. She slowly drove past the hundreds of parked cars and finally found the numbered space outside of Holden’s condo. There was a car in it, an almost-new BMW sedan with a discreet parking sticker that she recognized as a Fullerton PD sticker. She memorized the license plate. So, Holden didn’t go to work tonight either.