by D C Young
Just as I was about to chat some more with Justine, a party of four regulars breezed through the door. They headed for a corner booth with their usual chess sets. They’d be here for the night.
I laid down a coaster that read “Fang’s Place” and poured her a generous goblet of Which Witch. I placed a napkin next to it. “Would you excuse me?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll be back when you need another.”
“Thanks.”
The place got busy when more regulars showed up. Soon, I was rushing around like crazy, collecting money, pouring Bloody Marys and whipping up blender drinks.
I kept Justine’s tab running. She’d imbibed quite a bit and kept catching my eye and swinging her long leg that was crossed over her other long leg in a not-so-subtle invitation.
It took me a while, but I served all the vampires. I was getting pretty tired as the night wore on into the wee hours. Dawn was my weakest time.
Just before closing, I announced last call and replenished everyone’s drinks. That night, Justine had been the only vampiress in the place. She’d caught the attention of the male vampires, though she’d not joined any of them at their tables when invited. She’d refused their drinks, too.
I ran to the back, sent the phlebotomist home and secured that area—blood donors had their own entrance on the back of the building.
I had a system. In the back of the building, a little money went out for supply. In the front of the building, Fang’s Place, a lot of money came in. So far, so good. I had this business in Echo Park and a seaside residence in Malibu. Both paid for.
No one was using the private rooms tonight for drinking from the source, which was much more expensive than drawn blood served on the rocks or still steaming because it sometimes involved escorts that members brought in with them. But I was no pimp. I only rented rooms and vampires did what they wanted in there for private parties, except the obvious, like killing, which was not allowed. Also, no one was supposed to create other vampires. So far, that had worked out, too. Vampires were on their honor not to cause trouble, or their membership in my private club could be revoked.
I wiped down tables and booths, collected glasses and put them in the dishwasher. I said goodbye to my regulars and walked them to the front door where they filed past Bruno Banderas, my intimidating doorman. He kept track of members who came and went, discreetly logging the club’s traffic in a spreadsheet.
“It’s a wrap,” I told Bruno. “Thanks for your hard work.”
“De nada. How’d we do?”
“Another exceptional night of capitalism at its finest. I saw some new faces. You’ve got a bonus coming for signing up those new members.”
“Sweet!” Bruno said.
I clapped him on the shoulder, paid him for the night and told him he could go home.
“Okay, but you have a straggler.”
I tilted my head. “You sure?”
He nodded. “New member with the killer legs. She went in, but never came out. I signed her up for free, on account of ladies’ night.”
“Justine,” I said, rolling her name off my lips.
“I still smell her Joy perfume.”
“Is that what she wears?”
“Yes.” He waggled his eyebrows. “It probably costs five bucks a squirt.”
I laughed. “I’ll find her. You can head out.”
“Adios, jefe. Sleep tight and don’t let the vampires bite.”
I grinned. “Jefe” was what he called me—it was the Spanish word for “boss.”
I locked the front door behind him.
When I turned around, Justine was gone and so were her clutch purse and laptop bag. She owed about a grand on her tab, but I was more upset that she hadn’t said goodbye or even left me her number. I hoped she hadn’t slipped out the back door. Most locks don’t pose problems for vampires. The locks were to keep mortal thieves out of my establishment.
I heard a door swish and saw Justine come out of the ladies’ room. She’d fluffed up her hair. Impossible, but she looked more beautiful than she had when she’d come in, hours ago.
“There you are.”
She looked around. “I didn’t know you were closing. I was just freshening up.” She pulled out her wallet and paid her tab. She did smell amazing.
I said, “I was disappointed to see you gone.”
“I wouldn’t leave without paying.”
“I didn’t think you would. It was the not-saying-goodbye part that about killed me.”
She gave me a sultry look. “I wouldn’t leave without saying goodbye to you, Fang.”
I accepted her money and put it in the drop safe. I resisted the urge to tell Justine that it was ‘on the house.’
She seemed like she’d wanted to tell me something all night, so I asked, “What’s been on your mind, Justine?”
“I’ve returned to the scene of the crime.”
Chapter 2
“What crime?” I asked.
“A crime against me.” She pointed to the sign on the wall that read:
The Rules:
Don’t turn anyone.
Don’t kill anyone.
Don’t talk about Blood Club.
“Are you trying to tell me that someone turned you in my club?”
She nodded. “It’s a long story.”
“I’d love to hear it, but the sun will be up in two hours and I wouldn’t have time to drive home once the beach traffic gets going. And I don’t want to be stuck here in my crash room all weekend.”
“You have a crash room?”
“I have a few scattered around L.A., but they aren’t as comfortable as my home.” I paused. “Do you live nearby?”
“No, in Vegas.”
“Got a hotel room?”
“Not yet.”
“You won’t get a decent room at this hour. It’s not like Vegas here.”
“Can we talk in one of your crash rooms?”
“We could, or you could just come home with me.”
She arched one of her eyebrows. “What kind of invitation is this?”
I smirked but then wiped it from my face. This was serious stuff. “We should discuss what happened to you at my place of business.”
“I did come to talk, but when other customers came in, I couldn’t say anything in front of them.”
“Understandable. Want to follow me in your car?”
“No wheels with me on this trip. I took a plane from Vegas to L.A. then used Uber from LAX to your club.”
“You can ride with me.”
“Great!”
I headed to the walk-in refrigerator to provision us. She followed me as I loaded up my iceless cooler that plugged into my car dash. “I know you prefer warm blood, but we’ll have it chilled. I don’t like reheating blood—it gets congealed.”
“Cold blood, then? It’ll be like a picnic.” She hesitated. “What’s your last name?”
“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” I said, not quite joking. “What’s your last name?”
“Black. Justine Black.” She said it like: Bond. James Bond.
“Wait a minute. Are you the Justine Black, the reclusive vampire romance author whose books made the New York Times list? The Justine Black whose photo is nowhere to be found on the Internet?”
Justine winked. “So you’ve heard of me?”
Vampire She Wrote
is available at:
Amazon Kindle * Amazon UK
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