2021-05-10 - Monday
15:30 "Carmine"
Carmine looked down at his shoes and checked that they were tied. Momma always said that you had to make sure your shoes were tied else you would trip and break your neck. He was standing next to the mailbox ‘cause nobody used the mailboxes no more on account they had email now. Carmine had email and he liked to send jokes and funny pictures to his friends. Some of them got angry so he didn’t send them pictures no more, but they still made him laugh.
Carmine liked to send pictures to Magdalena. He sent her pictures with sparkly hearts and puppies and those cute cats that talked funny cause they made her laugh. Magdalena laughed like an angel. It was musical and pretty not like those other girls that hung around Balthazar. Carmine had tried to tell them a joke and they laughed. But they wasn’t laughing at the jokes they was laughing at Carmine.
Mr. Balthazar told them to get lost and gave Carmine a bag that he was waiting here on the corner to give to a wise-guy with the weird ears and the bumpy green skin that was gonna come by here at exactly 3:30. Carmine could tell time real good since he got one of those digital watches with the numbers and not the hands. He could read the other kind but he had to look at them real careful sometimes to make sure.
He looked at his watch. Three thirty came and then he spotted the guy. He was right ugly, but a lot of the guys Mr. Balthazar worked with was ugly so he didn’t mind. Carmine figured that their money was a green as the next guy and that was all that counted. “You Carmine?” the guy asked, “You look like a Carmine.”
“Yeah, I’m Carmine. Mr. B. said I couldn’t say your name and that I shouldn’t try but you look like the guy I was supposed to meet too. Here’s your bag.”
The guy hefted it and reached into a pocket and dropped a few folded bills into Carmine’s hand. This was the part of the job he liked. Sometimes the wise-guys gave him cash and sometimes they bought him lunch or a coffee. It was fun trying to guess what kind of thing that they’d give him for being discreet and stuff.
“Carmine, listen, you did a god job here, take this too.”
The guy dropped a little red dot into his hand. It was about the size of a pin-head, red, and real sparkly.
“Wow, is that a ruby? I ain’t never seen one before!”
“Nah, its a Drop of Frustuglach. Its kind of a lucky charm among us Grathoki.”
“Bless you. Momma says to say ‘Bless you’ when people cough.”
The guy laughed and smiled, “I like you Carmine, you’re a funny guy.”
16:01 "Barnes & Noble - Union Square"
Barnes & Noble - Union Square
With frappuccino in hand, Alison settled behind the desk the staff had set up in an open area of the bookstore. A handful of people were already lined up waiting for her, each clutching a brand-new copy of her latest book, Darque Desires. She was framed by life-sized cardboard cutouts of her main character, Donatien Darque. She'd never met the model they'd used to capture his image, but had sat down with her editor one afternoon going through head shots. This had been her second choice, but he still embodied the 'every woman wants him' aspect of the character and it was a choice she was not unhappy with. Taking a sip of her coffee, she smiled brightly at the first person in line and brandished her pen with a flourish.
"Hi, I love your work," the young man blushed as he spoke, fumbling with the book as he laid it on the desk.
Alison was used to tongue-tied fans, and warmed her smile a fraction. "Thank you," she said. "I'm glad you like it. Who would you like me to make this out to?"
"Uh. Greg, thanks."
To Greg, she wrote in her flowing script. May you find your heart's desire.
She signed it Lucinda Graves and drew a love-heart beneath her name. When she handed the book back to Greg his blush had deepened to crimson, and for just a moment she was uncomfortably aware that he was staring down the cleavage of her low-cut top. It usually took her a handful of lovestruck fans before she stopped feeling self-conscious about her body being on display, but she did her best to shake it off and kept her smile warm as Greg mumbled his thanks and moved away.
She looked up to the next person in line and kept up the high-wattage smile. At least this early in the proceedings the line wasn't too long yet. By 5:30 or 6pm it usually got so busy that she had no time to say anything much.
Anne was very nervous. It didn’t matter how many times she had attended an author’s signing, she always got nervous. She loved urban fantasy writers, they were imaginative and romantic and witty, and they got to put magic and allure to what, at best, was a fascinating realm. Sure, if you don’t get to be sucked by a real vampire, bitten by a werewolf or have your brains eaten by a Falanjoid demon… if so, fascinating my ass.
She got out of the short line in front of her and took a peek at the woman signing books; she liked urban fantasy writers, but she specially loved Lucinda Graves. In addition to being imaginative, romantic and witty, she was friendly, down to earth and decent. Not like Esmeralda Hermes who didn’t bother to raise her eyes as she signed a book, or Sara Lucia Montes who misspelled her name every time.
“Well, she's finally started. She looks nice.”
Cadee’s words startled Anne and she turned to look at her friend. “She is nice, you’ll see.” Cadee shrugged and looked at her watch, her boredom showing. “Come on, we’re almost there; it was you who wanted to come, remember?”
“I thought it was at 3 o’clock. You said it was at 3 o’clock. We’ve been here longer than an hour.”
“If we hadn’t got here early we’d be waiting outside the store; look at the line! Stop sulking. You’ll like her.”
Cadee looked at the line behind them and counted five people, raised her eyebrows and answered. “You’re right, maybe we should have camped out there last night too.”
Alison chatted briefly with each of her fans, writing something different for each one, and growing more relaxed as she got into the swing of it. The second and third in line were some of what she considered her 'regulars' - fans who showed up at almost every public event for Lucinda Graves. She lingered a little with them, trying not to spend too much additional time but genuinely glad to connect with her fans. The fourth in line was, like Greg, nervous and fidgety. He looked vaguely familiar so she welcomed him back and placed an extra love-heart beneath her name for him.
Then she glanced up at the next couple of women in line and grinned. "Hello again, Anne. How’s the acting career going?"
Anne smiled so brightly that her face became all teeth and blue eyes. It was incredible, Lucinda not only recognized her, but remembered her name and her career!
“Hello, Ms. Graves. It’s great seeing you again. Career’s going fine, I’ve got an audition tomorrow, and if that doesn’t work out, yet another next week.” For all her nerves of the previous hour, she felt confident now. She handed the book to Lucinda and smiled again. “I really loved the book, it’s your best one ever! Please tell me you’re planning on writing more Darque books, please do.”
“Oh yes, I’m working on the next one already. I can’t seem to get Donatien Darque out of my head.” Alison’s grin turned a little salacious. “And I’m not sure I want to. He’s quite a dish.” She grasped her pen and wrote in Anne’s book: My dearest Anne. Best of luck with your audition. Keep reaching for the stars. With warm wishes, Lucinda Graves.
Passing the book back and including Cadee in the sweep of her smile, she said, “And who’s your friend?”
“This is Cadee, my roommate. She’s not a book person, but I’m planning on turning her.”
“No luck, probably. My blood is not very tasty, I’ve been told,” Cadee chirped in, and she smiled at Lucinda. “Nice to meet you. Anne is such a fan that I wanted to know you in person and not only from the cover of your books. Congratulations on your success; it’s good to know that critters actually pay.”
Alison kept her smile in place, but she blinked once. What an odd thing for someone to say. “Well, vampires and werewolves have been the stuff of good story-telling for decades. I’m just glad people still love to read about them.”
Noticing the author’s discomfort, Cadee frowned, regretting her words immediately. She hadn’t discussed the topic with Anne; she had just assumed the woman knew that the critters she wrote about were real. Me bad. Me bad, bad, bad, she said to herself.
“Of course,” she told the woman quickly, forcing a smile. “I was just joking. Actually vampires are the coolest, most romantic creatures ever. I just love how they sparkle in the sun and everything.”
Oh my! Anne cried to herself, watching as her friend worsened it with every word that left her mouth. She needed to make her stop talking, so she laughed aloud and punched Cadee in the arm. “Vampires don’t sparkle since Stephenie Meyer, Cadee. You’re a little outdated, you know?” She then turned to Lucinda and mocked a whisper. “Sorry, told you she wasn’t a book person.”
Alison laughed with relief. "It's no problem, Anne. Some like vampires that sparkle, while others like theirs a bit more..." She nodded to Cadee, who held no book. "Well, maybe Anne can lend you her copies of my books and you'll see what I mean. It's been a pleasure to meet you.”
Relieved as well, Cadee smiled in response. “Will do, I’m sure I’ll love them too. Come on, Anne, I embarrassed you enough for today.”
“Yeah, you did,” she answered, and then turning to Lucinda she added. “It was great seeing you again, Ms. Graves. Thank you for the signature. It’s a great book.”
After exchanging the last pleasantries, Anne walked away from the desk, with Cadee tagging along. Sulking, she started to walk home, she wouldn’t even look at her friend. She had never been more embarrassed, not even when she had spilled coffee on William Capuleto’s lap when he was signing his last Juliet series book. She just hoped Lucinda wouldn’t remember this conversation along with her name and profession next time. God forbid.
16:04 "Evie & Yves"
The store clerk turned away, taking her too “eager to please” smile with her as Evalyn continued her perusal of the diamond encrusted choker without bothering to glance up.
No, I do not need your help to see zat a piece of jewelry is pretty. She stole a look then at the clerk under her eyelashes and saw she was freshly occupied, nodding attentively with her head cocked to one side as she listened to a woman in a pink velour tracksuit making gestures over her wrist. Evalyn suppressed a shudder – she was sure that by now people would have had the sense to burn any form of pink velour tracksuit they possessed, or at least had the common decency to keep them out of the public eye!
What are you doing???
Ta gueule! Evalyn hissed inwardly, I am looking at a necklace, so sit tight.
I 'ave been sitting tight for thirty minutes! It is nearly 4:20! Get your ass out 'ere!
A small girl on her mother's distracted hand gaped at Evalyn who was growling in a low, threatening tone. Evalyn cut the growl short as she noticed the staring child and narrowed her eyes. The girl squeaked, darting for refuge behind her mother's legs and Evalyn suppressed another shudder.
Fine! Zere is too much pink velour and small children about anyway. Evalyn wasn't usually one to visit department stores, but she'd seen the necklace in a random catalogue and thought she'd pay the trinket a little visit and see what promise it held.
“Ello, Miss? Ello? Yes, oui, I would like zis necklace 'ere.”
What are you doing???
Shut up!
“No I would not like it gift wrapped.”
Eevie!
“Shut up! I said no! No gift wrapping!”
I am ready to go 'ome now!
Zen go 'ome! You 'ave short legs. I'll catch you up by ze end of ze block!
“I did not tell you to 'shut up'! Just put it in ze fucking box and let me pay!” Evalyn was all but fuming. She knew he was doing it on purpose too, but still, Yves small snickering in the back of her mind wasn't helping matters.
The store clerk finished the transaction with a tight lip. At some point, it appeared, the manager had wondered over and was giving Evalyn a flat, disapproving stare. And what for?!? Evalyn raised her eyebrows defiantly and stuck her chin up. After all, she was a paying customer today! They should feel privileged. There were definitely better places she could be spending her time and money. They should mind their own business and just do the mediocre jobs they're paid to!
“Merci,” Evalyn gave a curt nod as she claimed her bag from the clerk and turned to leave, the click of her heels following as she navigated her way through the too crowded store to the relatively less crowded street outside.
A silver striped cat sat perched just inside the alcove that was the store entrance way where it avoided being kicked by passers by. He was giving her a flat stare as the cold as the manager's inside. She didn't need him to speak to know what he was thinking. Instead, before he opened his mind, she calmly delved into her recent purchase, flipped the lid off the box inside, and pulled out a diamond encrusted choker to dangle before him.
“Your ozzer collar is starting to look a bit tatty, Mister Schnooky-poos!” She grinned wickedly, but the cat didn't move a muscle.
Je vais te tuer.
Evalyn chuckled and popped the choker back in it's box with it's cover, then set off, readjusting the bag on her shoulder as she walked. After a few strides Yves caught up and they continued side by side.
It is past 4:20.
Oh, désolée, I did not realise you were wearing your iddy biddy kitty watch today! Evalyn rolled her eyes. It is actually only 4:12, she continued on as she pulled out her phone to confirm and gave a nod of satisfaction. And anyway, I 'ave ze salad in my purse. We will be on time. Despite her words, though, Evalyn still picked up the pace.
They'd only walked near half a block when simultaneously, Evalyn and Yves' hackles rose as they sensed a certain creature approaching through the crowd, and automatically they made their way to the side to avoid it.
A woman appeared just then totting her petit little dog in a custom Louis Vuitton shoulder bag. Evalyn tried to ignore her upset and continue on, but she suddenly realised the woman was talking to her, “- Irresponsible!” she was saying.
“I'm sorry. Pardon?” Evalyn tried not to breathe through her nose as she replied to the woman.
“You should have that thing on a leash if you insist on walking it. It's irresponsible!” The woman repeated in what had to be a strong competitor for the world's haughtiest voice.
Evalyn glanced down at Yves who was now glaring at the pampered dog and emitting a menacing growl. When Evalyn glanced back, the woman was readjusting her dog to shield it from Yves as she returned glares and started to make shooing noises.
Evalyn paused for a moment, eyes narrowed, and wondered where this woman thought she had bought the right to lecture her on the street while she coddled a pathetic little cur to weak to even walk on its own!
“Yes, well. Zat it very interesting, and I am sure that if my cat 'ad a pea sized brain as small as your dog's that 'ee would run in front of a car too. Thankfully, 'ee does not! Au revoir!”
She left the woman then, ignoring her stuttered outrage and sympathy seeking of other passers by who could care even less than Evalyn at that moment. They all had better things to do.
After a few more strides, when she'd had a chance to calm down, Evalyn started to feel the warmth of Yves satisfied approval of her and turned her eyes to smile down at him. There was a genuine warmth and longing in her eyes as she held his gaze. It had been so long since they'd properly been able to hold each other and it all but killed her on the inside.
Come on – don't go soft now. Nous allons être bien!
Je sais, Evalyn sighed, I'm fine. Lets just get home.
16:58 "Graveyard Club"
18:45 "Barnes & Noble - Union Square Part 2"
Barnes & Noble – Union Square
“NYPD, please stand back.” Pablo flashed his badge at the young woman standing in line with no less than three books clutched in her arms. He stepped over the velvet rope and up to the table where Lucinda Graves sat signing a book to a fan.
Pablo remembered her as Alison, but she must have changed her name when she got famous, like so many actresses and actors did. He had known she’d be successful in whatever she did. He had not expected to find her here dressed like this. He was about to wax philosophic about his memories when he realized he was next in line.
Alison finished signing the third book for Sarah, who had bought copies not just for herself, but for her mother and sister. Deliberately not looking past Sarah at the rude police officer who had used his position to jump the queue, Alison smiled at the young woman and accepted her gushing praise of the Darque books. When Sarah reluctantly gathered her prizes in her arms and stepped away, Alison let her gaze drift back to the interloper.
Her cool rebuke died on her lips when she recognised him. "Pablo?"
For a moment Alison Scruggs warred with the Lucinda Graves façade that she cultivated at these events, and she blushed. Her eyes were drawn to the book he'd laid on the desk before her and she swallowed her nerves and embarrassment.
"I didn't realise you were a fan," she said, trying to regain her composure. "That was a bit rude, though, butting into the line like that."
"I'm not, but I am a friend. I saw the display and recognized your ... face,” he said, lifting his eyes consciously to meet hers and feeling a little flush in his face. “Sixth in a series, eh? And from the crowd it looks like your books are popular."
He set the book he had picked up from the display in front of her. "I've am glad to see you are doing well. It's been at least six years hasn't it?"
Unsure exactly how to act, the Alison/Lucinda war still raging within her, Alison nodded a little distractedly. "Closer to seven, I think. Look, I'm sorry. Lucinda is my pen-name, and it comes with..." She glanced down at her attire. "...all this. Tell you what, if you're not busy I'll sign your book now as Lucinda, and maybe Alison can meet you in a little while. I'm due to finish in about 10 minutes, but it might go a little longer."
She glanced at the line still behind Pablo and gave a wry smile. "Say, half an hour tops? They have great coffee here, if you don't mind waiting."
She glanced up at Pablo and remembered the young rookie cop she'd gone out with all those years ago. Given that he'd flashed his badge he obviously still worked for the police, but had graduated to a plain-clothes position. For a moment her sultry Lucinda image dropped completely and she smiled at him with the fresh, open expression that she normally wore as herself.
"I do well at drinking coffee; I am a cop after all. Listen, after the signing, why don't we go out for dinner rather than hang around this bookstore? We can catch up properly."
He turned to smile at the impatient fan waiting eagerly behind him, "Without a crowd, and without our," he looked down at his attire, "work clothes, so to speak."
Suppressing a chuckle, Alison grabbed his book and opened it to the title page. She sobered as she realised he may not be single and hesitated to write what she'd been about to write. "Should I make it out to you, or is there someone you're giving it to?" she asked.
He hadn't thought that far ahead. "Me I guess, I don't have anyone in my life other than my Mama who reads books like this. Who knows, maybe I'll become a fan."
“Maybe you will, at that,” Alison replied with a grin, and she began to write her inscription. To Pablo: I’ll never forget that night by the fountain. With love, Lucinda Graves.
She added a couple of her trademark love hearts and passed the book back to him with a saucy wink. The mere act of writing out a dedication had snapped her back into focus on her job at hand. “Thanks,” she said. “And I’d love to catch up over dinner. I’ll come find you in the café here when I’m done.”
She watched his back for a moment as he turned away, then turned her attention to the next fan in line. “Sorry about him butting in like that,” she said. “Oh, I remember you. Robert? Robin? You’re the one with the arthritic dog, right?”
The young man nodded, obviously pleased that she’d remembered him. “How’s he doing?” Alison asked, drawing his book towards her and surreptitiously glancing out of the corner of her eye to see Pablo was making his way to the café at the back of the bookstore.
On his way past the table, Pablo bumped into a standee of a tall blonde model in a leather jacket. He fought the urge to grab the stake in his jacket when he saw the fangs before it registered that it was a cardboard cutout and not a real vampire.
He took his book and headed to the coffee bar at the back of the store. He glanced at her inscription and laughed. He remembered the fountain. He'd gotten a lecture from a park cop for 'abuse of authority' when he had told Alison it was all right to wade in the fountain. That afternoon had been one of their last dates. After five months they sort of drifted apart. Still friends, but not a couple.
He thought back to the cold November morning when they had met outside the SoHo walk-up surrounded by police tape...
2013-11-20 06:55 – Wednesday
It was unseasonably cold and Sandoval watched his breath form clouds that drifted, illuminated by the morning sunlight. He patted his arms at his side to keep warm. Puerto Rico never got this cold and even after years of attending school in New York he had never acclimated like a local. Morning commuters wandered past, focused on getting to the Subway or into their cars before feeling the bite of the cold. Guarding the crime scene while the various units did investigation was a boring and menial job, but it was appropriate for someone who had only graduated in June of this year. Rookie. That was him.
Yellow police tape stretched across the street, not that there were many onlookers this early in the morning – certainly not in this weather at any rate. A young officer stood huddled miserably against the biting wind and Alison felt a pang of pity for him.
“I hate to say this, but it feels like there’ll be snow later,” she said to him as she approached. She fished out her press pass and showed it to him. “Alison Scruggs, Officer… Sandoval.” She read his name off his uniform. “May I pass?”
“Sorry ma’am. I have strict orders – nobody gets inside. Especially people who tell me there’ll be snow.”
Alison shrugged, a motion almost lost in her heavy coat. “I deal with the truth. And it really does feel like snow I’m afraid. Maybe it’ll hold off until after your shift.” She craned her neck to see if she could spot anything, but there was nothing much going on outside the building. All the action was inside, where she couldn’t get to. Still, it might not be a totally wasted journey if she could get some details out of Sandoval.
“I’m doing a piece on this string of murders lately. People are saying they’re cult killings. Is this one of them? There were three others within a couple of blocks of this area just this week.”
"I'll tell you if you promise to go and get me a cup of coffee."
"Sure. Do you take milk and sugar?"
"Black is perfect," he said baring his teeth only long enough to smile and then burying his face back in his fur-lined collar and scarf. "It could be a cult. For my money, most likely, it's a vampire."
"Black is perfect," he said baring his teeth only long enough to smile and then burying his face back in his fur-lined collar and scarf. "It could be a cult. For my money, most likely, it's a vampire."
He continued despite her incredulous look. It was his experience that it was easier to bull through rather than to get into an argument over whether it was possible, "Two bodies exsanguinated. Forced entry with once body in the foyer meaning the vampire broke in after being invited. No signs of a meaningful struggle like skin or blood that isn't theirs. And the neck wounds."
He waited to see if she'd laugh, leave or report him to his superior.
For a long moment Alison just stared at Sandoval in disbelief. She’d thought at first that he was having a joke with her and only managed to stifle her laughter at the last second when she realised he was deadly serious. Did they really let cops join up who believed in fairy tales?
“Um… that’s an interesting theory. Vampires, eh? I… look, I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make fun of you or anything, but there’s really no such thing as vampires. What you’ve described fits the MO of the other murders. I’ve got statements from the detectives on the case – it’s a cult that likes to emulate vampires by pumping the blood out of their victims. Heck, they may even drink some of it in some bizarre ritual. But that doesn’t make them, you know, Dracula.”
He shrugged. It wasn't anything that he'd not heard before. Most of the cops in his unit thought he was out of his mind already. They'd cut him some slack because he had trained as a priest. He was, after all, almost qualified to turn bread and wine into flesh and blood of Christ. If he could believe that, then vampires weren't that far off the mark were they?
But there were a few of the old guard who knew the truth and they'd defended him. "It could be albino alligators, if you choose to believe that too."
This time Alison did chuckle. "They'd have to be crazy cold-inured alligators if that's the case. Why don't I go get you that coffee and you can see if there are any other mad ideas you want to try out on me."
Without waiting for a reply she left him standing there with his arms wrapped around his body trying to keep himself warm. It was several minutes before she returned with two large, steaming cups. She didn’t fail to notice the look of relief and gratitude on Sandoval’s face as she approached with the promised reward.
“One black coffee, for services rendered,” she said as she handed his to him. “So apart from vampires and albino alligators, do you have any other theories?” She grinned cheekily. “Maybe a sasquatch would be more appropriate, given the weather.”
Sandoval sipped his coffee, but her cheer had already warmed him. "You'll forgive me a cold day's humor. The salient points from the press release are same M.O. and probably related. Aside from my 'crazy' theories there isn't much more to go on."
"However, I'd be willing to discuss some more pleasant subjects in a private interview with dinner and perhaps some dancing later, if you like."
Alison looked at him over the steam rising from her coffee and appraised him more carefully. There wasn’t much of Officer Sandoval to glimpse beneath his winter gear, but what did see she liked. And he seemed nice enough, albeit with some odd notions about mythical creatures. She’d been out with other guys, both back home in Indiana and since she’d moved to New York, but nothing had lasted more than a couple of months. And maybe this would be no more than just dinner.
“All right,” she said finally. “But only if you tell me what the J. stands for. You already know my name.”
"Juan. Juan Pablo. Pablo. My friends call me Pablo. My family calls me Paco, but that's only because my full name is Juan Pablo Federico Francisco Sandoval. But that's more than you wanted to know. Pablo. Call me Pablo."
Smooth. Rookie. That's me.
Present
Pablo saw Alison finish talking to her agent and heading back to the coffee bar. He went and grabbed a frappuccino for her and handed it to her as she arrived. He held his up to touch the rims. "To vampires?"
Alison smiled broadly. “To vampires,” she murmured, tapping her cup against his. “And to chance meetings.”
20:28 "Bluewater Gril"
2021-05-10 20:28 Monday
Outdoors
Bluewater Grill
31 Union Square West at 16th St
“Oh, excellent – more sushi.” Alison smiled her thanks at the waiter as he laid a fresh platter of sushi between her and Pablo. They sat at a small table in the courtyard of the Bluewater Grill, enjoying the warm spring weather and catching up on the last seven years. So far they’d kept it fairly light. Pablo had told her how he’d got promoted a few times and was now the highest-ranking Detective in his unit. She had a feeling there was more to it that he hadn’t told her yet, but for her part she’d also been a little coy.
When they’d been seeing each other they’d both been just starting out and neither of them had much by way of money or success. Now he was doing very well career-wise, but Alison still felt a little self-conscious about the wealth that her Darque books had brought her and was loathe to bring up exactly how well-off she was these days. She’d talked about her career as a journalist, and was pleased when Pablo revealed that he’d been following her byline, and he even remembered that she’d been nominated for a Pulitzer for that exposé piece on government corruption. She’d also told him about the various romance novels she’d written under assorted pseudonyms, but as she expected he hadn’t heard of any of them.
She selected a piece of eel sashimi and popped it in her mouth, savouring the sharp tangy flavours that exploded across her taste buds, and the cool fire that ran through her nose from the wasabi. She watched Pablo do likewise with some spicy shrimp and took a moment to appreciate that he’d obviously been looking after himself. They’d both taken a few moments to get more casual – Pablo had removed his tie and loosened his shirt, and while she didn’t have a change of clothes so was still wearing her book signing outfit, at least she’d been able to tone down her makeup. Without the dramatic dark eye-liner and vivid lipstick she was able to relax and feel more like herself.
“It wasn’t until I started writing the vampire novels that people began to take notice of me as an author,” she said once she’d finished chewing. “At first it wasn’t anything spectacular, but then after the second book it got a write-up on Wil Wheaton’s blog and he has a gazillion followers, so people began to read them.”
She paused and pointed a chopstick at Pablo. “You know, it was all your doing. I have you to thank for my success, I suppose.” He quirked an eyebrow at her and she explained. “You remember when we first met, at that crime scene? You tried to kid me and tell me it was vampires who’d murdered those people. It planted a seed – when I decided to write in a slightly different genre I thought about that and figured that vampires are always popular subjects. That’s why I made my new hero a vampire.”
Pablo smiled. He had thought about that very day many times himself. In some ways that same day had launched his career. Pablo had insisted to the detective in charge and to his superior that vampires had been responsible. Finally, despite the abuse his fellow officers had inflicted on him - fangs in his locker among other things - a Unit Chief named Kevin O'Barrow had told him that he had been absolutely correct. He had taken him to the Old Police building and down into the basement where he had seen the monsters that preyed on the citizens of the city. That week he had been transferred to SCU. His career had rocketed from there. And he had Alison to thank for not making him feel like an idiot for speaking his mind.
"Alison, I’m glad things have been so good for you. My life hasn't always been easy but I’m doing important work for the city and I even though I’m still alone, I'm happy."
“Believe me, I know how important police work is. I still do crime pieces now and then, and I know how dangerous it is too. And I honestly can’t imagine you doing anything else. I remember the fire you had about your work. Those times I stayed over, you’d head out in the mornings with such purpose.”
Her expression altered, grew a little wistful. “And sometimes you’d come home and I could tell something profound had happened, but you didn’t want to talk about it very often. I’m sorry you’re alone now – you need someone to hold you on nights like that.”
She dropped her gaze to her plate and blushed, something she hadn’t done in a long time. “I’m sorry, that sounded like a come-on, and it wasn’t. I just meant that you deserve someone nice in your life. Not that I meant me or… you know what, I think I’ll just shut up now.” To underline her statement, she popped another piece of sushi in her mouth and mock-glared at Pablo, daring him to make fun of her.
"Alison, it could easily have been you. Under different circumstances. I still have the church though. For those times I have to talk, I talk to God."
Pablo reached for her hand, "But it is nice to have someone you can hold, too."
“You haven’t mentioned anyone in your life. How is an intelligent, gorgeous,” he grinned evilly, “rich woman like you not seeing anyone?"
She let him take her hand, and ran her thumb over his knuckles. “Oh,” she said airily, matching his cheeky tone, “there’s been a veritable bevy of men through my doors, don’t you know? I keep a stable of them handy for social occasions, and one for Sunday best.”
She chuckled, and squeezed his hand lightly. “Well, there’ve been one or two guys I dated for a while. But they never seem to work out. Mostly they can’t understand that I have to devote an awful lot of time to my work. One of them in particular seemed to think that I should just retire and be his housekeeper for the rest of my life.” She made a face. “He didn’t last long.”
"It’s sort of the same here. The usual collection of supermodels and actresses, but the few that hung around past the length of time it took to get to know me weren't willing to share me with my duty."
She had to laugh. “Supermodels, eh? Anyone I might know?”
She’d forgotten how easy it was to talk to Pablo, how he got her sense of humour when so many others hadn’t: the way he’d seen her stable of boy-toys and raised her a few supermodels reminded her forcefully of that. Her last boyfriend would have had a fit if she’d made a joke like that with him.
“I feel like a bit of a fraud,” she confessed once her laughter had subsided. “You’ve got a far more important job than I do. I devote most of my time to making up fantasy stories about mythical creatures, and doing the occasional bit of investigative journalism, but you’re out there saving us from drug barons and murderers. I think you’ve got more right to be bitter about lovers who won’t stay the course.”
"Your work is important in the same way that any successful woman's is. You prove to the world that you’re a match for anything in this world. You don't need a man to protect you, provide for you or to speak for you. Don't sell yourself short, Alison, your work is important so that others will follow."
Pablo smiled and grabbed another bit of spiced tuna. He thought how ironic that he really believed what he had said but at the same time he was protecting her from the truth that was out there. The underbelly of monsters that lurked in the dark places. The same monsters that were cloaked in the very fantasies that she wrote. He knew he had to say something. But experience he had not yet earned when they had first met told him that this was not the moment.
“You make it sound so noble,” Alison commented. “Though I get what you mean. In a culture that’s still essentially patriarchal a strong, independent woman can be a role model for others. But,” she paused and sipped at her sake, “there are times when it’d be nice to be a tough, independent woman with someone safe and strong to snuggle down with.”
She rolled her eyes and withdrew her hand from his, ostensibly to pick up another piece of sushi. “And here I am again, sounding like I’m interviewing you for the job. I’m really not, honestly.”
Right now she wished she’d had the foresight to bring a change of top at the very least. Her low-cut ‘Lucinda’ look suddenly made her feel self-conscious again. She was interested, sure. She and Pablo had got on very well when they’d dated, and it’s not like it had ended badly or anything. They’d just sort of drifted into their own worlds and saw less and less of each other. But tonight, every time she opened her mouth it seemed like she was making veiled suggestions that they should get together. While she couldn’t say it was the furthest thing from her mind, it wasn’t something she wanted to leap into.
Pablo enjoyed sitting quietly with Alison. It was...comfortable. It had been a weird encounter. From seeing her picture in the window of the bookstore to now. Not planned, but organic and natural. It felt like something that had been meant to occur. "Listen, Alison, I know you’re a busy woman and that your life is going to be full of book signings and promo tours. It’s been a lot of fun to reconnect with you and I'd like to see more of you."
His eyes unconsciously strayed to her cleavage and he blushed. "I mean...see you again."
Something about meeting Pablo again had made her feel more like herself than she had for a long time. Maybe it was because she rarely met men who knew her as anything other than Lucinda Graves, and that was what they expected of her all the time. Even when she told them it was her public persona for the books, they still wanted her to be sultry in private and it simply wasn’t her nature. That was probably why she’d had so few relationships that lasted more than a handful of dates in the last few years.
“That would be great,” she replied warmly. “I’ve got signings most afternoons and evenings this week, and a party on the weekend, but I’m free most nights from about eight.” She toyed with her sake glass, watching the blush slowly fade from Pablo’s cheeks. “I’m really glad you came into the bookstore tonight.”
"I'm glad I made the impulsive choice to go and see you again. My evenings are usually busy since I work mostly in the evenings but I have a very flexible schedule. One of the perks of rank," he grinned, "I'm free tomorrow night, for instance, after 10 o'clock. I know this great Irish bar in Little Italy with some of the best food. And a lot of my friends...meaning cops...hang out there."
Alison grinned. “It sounds perfect. I’ll have time to get home and get changed after tomorrow’s signing, so I don’t give your cop buddies heart-attacks with my heaving bosom or anything.”
“It’ll do some of them a bit of good, more likely,” he laughed. “I’ll give you the address.”
He pulled out one of his NYPD business cards and wrote the address on the back. As he handed it to her he said, “I look forward to our second first date.”
22:18 "The Grindhouse"
The Grindhouse - 10:18pm
The lights faded and Meredith left the stage, naked except for her shoes and thong (there was no cover charge so if patrons wanted to see more they had to pay for the pleasure) and grabbed the bottle of ice water the backstage security held out to her. His name was Max and at a hefty 185lbs of pure Afro-American, muscle seemed to take up most of the space in the crowded dressing room. Meredith gulped down half the water before she even reached her dressing station.
“Great act Vi,” he growled, “damn sexy as always, nearly got a boner myself.”
“And we know that never happens.”
“Hey, there ain’t nothing I ain’t seen before.”
“Yeah well it’s what you do with it that counts. Or at least, that’s what my last boyfriend told me.”
Max chuckled, his huge frame shaking as he did. “Look, Charlie wanted me to tell you, your regular’s waiting for you in Room Three.”
Meredith sighed, “again?”
“Make it… twelve times in a row?”
“More like thirteen, I swear he has a screw loose.”
Max grinned, chuckling some more as he went to return to his post. “Nah, but if you need me, you know what to do?”
Meredith nodded at Max’s reflection in the dressing room mirror and started getting dressed. Not that it mattered. The client in question was Leonard Marsden and possible one of the strangest men she’d ever encountered - in a strip club anyway. Pulling a scrap of sheer scarlet fabric from the bulging dress rail, Meredith wriggled out of her sequined thong and tossed it into the laundry basket. Their whole arrangement was a joke really, as well choreographed as one of her routines. Leo first showed up at The Grindhouse about three months ago, as far as looks went he seemed nice enough (although Meredith had known many monsters with kind eyes and gentle smiles) and he was handsome she supposed, in an aging movie star sort of way, the kind of guy middle-aged women swooned over and called ‘distinguished’ rather than just plain ‘old‘.
With a twang of elastic, Meredith pulled a matching red micro thong into place, followed by spangled garter. She didn’t bother changing her shoes since the six-inch platform wedges went with pretty much everything. She did however, grab a pair of long, sheer arm sleeves. Meredith glanced in the mirror as she rolled them up past her elbow, covering the ugly redness of the puckered flesh on her left arm.
She sighed, fluffing up her hair before heading back out into the club. The music pounded from the stage as the new act twirled wildly around the pole, proving once again that fake tits really did have benefits in this line of work if only for their gravity defying properties. Meredith smiled at the clientele as she worked her way through the club - not the jaw aching smiles that most of her fellow ‘entertainers’ wore plastered across their faces, Meredith’s was actually genuine. Well, as genuine as anything got in this place. After chatting with some of the regulars and securing a couple of lap dances for later, she went to the back of the club where the private rooms were situated. Meredith opened the door and stepped inside.
Heavily cushioned, blue metallic walls greeted her - a soundproofing measure though Meredith couldn’t help but think of a padded cell. In the centre of the room was a brightly lit podium surrounded by plush velvet seating and the ceiling held a large glitter ball that brightly reflected across every seat and wall. Sat in the middle of all this was a man - about fifty years of age but still physically fit. Well-built in a way that his finely pressed slacks and fitted shirts couldn’t disguise, with a crop of dark hair that fell into his bright blue eyes, as though he were a couple weeks late getting it cut.
Meredith let the door close silently behind them, blocking out all sound except the music which was filtered into the room via speakers. “Good evening, Leonard,” she purred, leaning back against the wall to show him how every inch (and there were precious few of those) of thin, see-through fabric stretched tightly across her body and rode even higher up her thighs.
His eyes lingered, especially when he realised the only thing she was wearing underneath was a tiny pair of panties. Wetting his lips he looked away then pushed a bottle of beer towards her, clearing his throat before he spoke. “Sometimes you make it very hard-”
“Only sometimes.”
Leonard cleared his throat again. “What I meant was, you make it difficult for a man to keep his mind on track.”
Meredith walked up to the podium and took the offered beer, sliding onto the couch next to him as she took her first swig. “Good, then I’m doing my job properly.” Putting the bottle back down she looked at him directly, sliding one arm over the back of the couch while she absently twirled a lock of hair around the index finger of the other. “Leo, you come here every week, you always sit at the same table to watch me perform, you always neatly tuck a twenty in my g-string and afterwards you always book a private room and have a bottle of Sam Adams waiting.”
Leo’s dark brows furrowed, his jaw tightening beneath three days worth of stubble that somehow managed to look debonair rather than just plain scruffy. “And?”
“I assumed you wanted to get in my knickers only you never let me dance for you, in fact you never ask me to do anything for you.”
“That’s not true. I did ask, you refused.”
Meredith blinked. “I already told you, I can’t tell you my real name. You could be a psycho, you might find out where I lived and murder me in my bed.”
A slight smile tugged at the corners of Leo‘s lips. “Then the only way I can enjoy your company is to pay for it.” Meredith began to say something but Leo held up his hand. “Not that I mind, I like spending time with you though it would be nice to see what you look like without the body glitter and stilettos… and in something other than underwear.”
Meredith smiled sweetly and ran a hand slowly down her throat to rest between her breasts. “I could show you what I look like in my birthday suit.”
“That’s… not what I meant.”
“Don’t you like what I’m wearing?”
Leo sighed. “It’s… very nice Violet. But not very conducive to platonic conversation.”
“I think you’ll find that’s the point,” Meredith leaned back against the couch, her dress riding up her thighs again. “Most of my clientele don‘t come here to chit chat.”
“Most of your clientele only want to get a glimpse of what’s between your legs.”
“Except you. Unless you do, and you’re just too polite to ask.” Meredith scooted up to sit on the podium, her legs resting on the couch next to Leo. “You can, you know? Have more than a glimpse if you like-”
“-Violet. No.” Leo rose to his feet, taking hold of Meredith’s wrists as she moved to raise her dress even higher. He noticed her wince and loosened his grip though he didn’t release her until he’d pulled the long red sleeve from her left arm. “Shit.” he looked up at her, his glittering blue eyes full of concern and something else… fear? Or was it anger?
“Charlie said you’d been in some kind of accident the other week. That’s why you didn’t show. He said a stray dog bit you?”
A frown spread across Meredith‘s forehead as she looked at the scar. It was gross, red and angry looking. “Damn thing was huge, like a Great Dane but furry, you know? Like those sled dogs in the arctic? People shouldn’t be allowed to have dogs if they’re not gonna keep them under control.”
“Are you… okay?”
Meredith shrugged and looked up. Leo was watching her closely, genuine sympathy causing tiny wrinkles to form in the corner of his eyes. “Aside from having one ugly ass scar? I went to the hospital, had the shots. They said I was fine. I have the medical bill to prove it.” She ran her fingers down the length of the scar. “It itches a bit, but it’s healed loads so it must be okay, right?” Meredith narrowed her eyes slightly. “You’re not a doctor are you?”
Leo chuckled slightly, shaking his head. “Afraid not. But look…” he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. “I know someone who’s something of an expert in these sorts of… injuries. If you get sick, please, give me a call and I can arrange something. Will you do that?”
“Leo, I’m fine, but I appreciate your not too subtle attempt at once again trying to get me to meet up with you.”
Leo sighed, heavy with frustration and took her hand, pressing the card into it. Then he removed a couple more bills from his wallet and tucked them into her garter. “Make sure you eat, okay? None of that salad rubbish you girls are so fond of, something substantial, a steak or something.”
“Yes, Daddy.”
Another sigh. He straightened his jacket and walked to the door, his last glance lingering as though he wanted to say something more but thought better of it. “Take care, I’ll see you next week.”
22:32 "Inside the Hellfire Lounge..."
2021-05-10 22:32 - Monday
Inside the Hellfire Lounge...
By the time she got time to herself that night, Jasmin was already frustrated. It was a rare night when she dressed down, in a black dress with corset and lace shawl, and boots, her blonde hair hanging down straight. So she found herself, seated now in a booth in the lower lighting, listening to the music. Jasmin absently ran a finger over the rim of her glass, filled with blood that had a bit of green and black specs floating in it.
Her mind drifted to the day, and her schedule for the rest of the week. Monday evening free, and not an aide in sight. “That is an interesting choice of drink. What's in it?” she heard come from behind and draw her back into reality.
Jasmin turned her head, one arm over the back of the chair. She actually gave a light smile at the speaker; a young, fairly attractive woman in a knee-length skirt and short-sleeved top, and a distinctly scaley look to her skin. Holding up her glass and sipping at it, she spoke lightly. “Oh, this? It's a blend of crushed herbs and spices. Like to mix them in sometimes. Gives the blood flavor.”
“That really works?” The question sounded incredulous, but there was just something there. Some hint of genuine interest she thought that she detected.
“Oh, yes. It can fit moods. Tonight is steak. The right amount of cocktail sauce and spices, and it's like seafood.” She looked the other woman over again. To hell with it, before gesturing towards the empty part of the booth next to her. “Care to join me?”
She watched the other woman move around, and then stop, stammering out an apology as she turned to leave. Jasmin felt her annoyance level rise, even without a great deal of prompting; sometimes, you didn't need to ask what happened. It was just obvious. Without bothering to turn, she spoke up. “Why thank you, Balthazar. I do so enjoy the company, and must thank you for your many contributions to my social life.”
A jovial bellow rang out from behind her, "Oh Jasmin, darling, no need to pout about a silly demoness when you can have supper with two gorgeous studs like us."
Before he and his companion sat, Balthazar leaned over to Jasmin, giving her a kiss on each cheek. "As ravishing as ever," Fake pleasantry was always on the menu with Romano. "Jasmin, I'd like to introduce the newest of my associates, Logan Hunter."
Logan gave a brief smile and an almost inaudible 'hello' as he took his seat next to Balthazar.
"You know in our world, can never have too many people watching your back, which is why I got good ol' Logan here." Balthazar, said, slapping the young man on the back. "Actually, the real reason is because it's a lot easier to pick up pretty little things with this young stallion next to me!" The old man laughed loudly at his own joke.
Jasmin finally turned to face him, and actually returned the duel kisses. As much as she deeply disliked the human sorcerer, he at least tended to pay well, and the ripartee was enjoyable.
"Of course - and how very generous of you to bring an additional doner with you." She turned her head slightly, glass of blood in hand as she sipped at it. The opportunity was too good to pass up. "Tell me, Mr. Hunter. Have you ever enjoyed the rush of an attractive woman giving you a good bite, and trusting her to know when to stop?"
A stern look crossed the body guard's face but when he opened his mouth to speak, Balthazar cut him off.
"Jasmin i'm hurt. You've never offered me such an invitation. Is it because of my grey hair and wrinkes? You know, I couldnt possibly be too old for you. If anything, you'd be a cougar even coming after me, forget young Logan here." The man's tone became uncharacteristically serious for a moment as he locked eyes with Jasmin. "Now you know I love you Jazzy, but Logan is off bounds, so let's leave it at that."
The smile never left her face at the obvious discomfort, though hers did disappear at the use of the nickname. Jasmin hated the name; it was just the kind of thing he did. And then, she decided, the war or words was even… for the moment. "Come on, Balty. I fed from a sorcerer, once. Made me feel ill, and I'm not sure if it was the Belladonna, or just a property of his blood."
The anger melted away quickly from the elderly man's face. "Anyways, we're all just here to have a good time right?" Balthazar motioned to the closest waitress, who immediately scampered over. "Another round for the lovely lady, a Gin tonic for myself and..." he looked at Logan.
"Molson if you've got it"
Balzathar already slipped a 100$ bill into the girls pocket "Thanks, you're a love."
"Now Jasmin, honey, I must confess, I had alterior motives to ask you here tonight. I'm looking for something, and maybe you can help an old man out. See what I need..."
"Who's that?" Logan interrupted strangely. The man rarely spoke let alone interrupted Balthazar.
The old sorcerer was visibly annoyed for just a moment "who what?"
"That woman there," Logan said, pointing across the room towards to a young woman, in a tiny black dress. "Sorry to interrupt, it's just, she looks really familiar and she keeps looking over this way."
Both Balthazar and Jasmin recognized the woman Logan was pointing at - Persephone, the mysterious owner of the establishment.
The woman was indeed staring back. Her gazed lingered on Logan before turning dissaprovingly to Balthazar. One of the triplet bouncers suddenly strood up next to her, whispered something into Persephone's ear and immediately they both dissapeared to the back office.
"That's the beautiful Persephone my dear boy. I really doubt you know her, not many people do. Don't lose sleep over her stud, you'll soon find out, noone gets into those knickers!"
She looked more amused at the young bodyguard checking out Persephone. Granted, she had done it enough times as well. "You know, not everyone looks at a woman and thinks of nothing but sex," she idly mused, with a light sigh.
"Well I know when I was Logan's age, that's all I thought about, right!" he laughed again, nudging his bodyguard. Logan smiled politely, but said nothing.
Jasmin's drink sat on the table, running her finger around the rim. "So, what does my favorite sorcerer need?"
"What makes this complicated is that i'm not sure exactly what it is i'm looking for. Me and some associates are looking for some sort of artifact, potion, anything really that would aid in magical thermographication. Basically the end goal is to move someone from one body to another."
In the short time he was employed by Balthazar, Logan had gotten used to hearing weird and wacky things. He was just getting used to magic, vampires and demons, let alone the idea of people changing bodies. This sounded a bit sinister, even for Balthazar.
Sensing the concern on the young man's face, Balthazar piped in immediately. "Think of the possibilities, if someone comes down with an incurable disease or has a terrible accident, presto changeo, we put them in a new body. Even a synthetic, magically created body. Very positive stuff my boy, and also potentially very lucrative."
Thermograph… Jasmin's mind turned the word over two or three times. Personally, she blamed Star Trek for every single sorcerer thinking that they just had to technobabble up their art in an attempt to sound deep and mysterious. "Well, not off the top of my head anything quite that specific."
She moved again slightly, resting the side of her head in her hand. This was going to be one of those nights. The possibilities did occur to her, though far less altruistic. Stealing bodies could mean stealing power - she filed that in the back of her mind, and tried to push the film idea that occurred away. "Not sure I've heard of anyone actually accomplishing body theft - there was a rumor, once, that I heard from a vampire back in… 99? Something about someone on a Hellmouth turning into a giant snake. Not sure how accurate that was, since it was a third-hand story."
"Well that's not overly helpful is it," the sorcerer chuckled. "Plus, if i'm thinking of the right story, I dont think it ended to well for him did it?"
"If it even happened at all," she responded evenly. "Sure, he might have, but you can't honestly expect me to believe that an army of high school students brought it down, and then the entire town promptly forgot that? It's like all those stories about `And then I almost destroyed the world this one time at band camp`. If even half of those were true, the world would be Hell by now by the law of averages."
She returned to her thoughtful pose, racking her brain. What was that think she had heard of…. "There was also Lasarna's Seal from my days in LA - heard about that. But if half the things about the group of do-gooders that supposedly have it is true, you might as well just kill yourself now and save them the trouble." The moment the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them for actually being useful. Oh, well. There would be other chances to send the sorcerer to an untimely demise.
Sensing that Jasmine may not be able to give him the answers he wanted that night, he needed to move to plan b. There were other people in the city that could likely help and he needed answers fast.
"Logan, buddy, I hate to ask you this, but I need you to go across town."
"Now?" Logan replied, somewhat confused.
"If you don't mind".
"Uh...sure boss." the bodyguard took an uneasy look at the rest of the clientele in the Hellfire Lounge. "You sure you'll be ok here without me?"
Balthazar laughed heartedly. "Of course, don’t worry about me. Plus, I have this lovely lady with me incase anything goes south. Trust me, she's a lot nastier than she looks!"
"Whatever you want".
"Great, you are seriously number 1 in my books Mr Hunter!" Balthazar waved his hand across the table and a grey envelop appeared out of thin air. "I need you to go to this bar called Slainte and see the owner. You can't miss him, big burly redhead. Just give him this for me".
"Sounds easy enough." Logan took the envelop and tucked it into the inside pocket of his leather jacket. "Jasmine, nice to meet you". With that, Logan, left.
The vampire kept an eye on the young man as he left, giving a half-smile to Balthazar. Her instincts were right: the night was going to be hell, but damnit, this was supposed to be pleasant `me time.` She made a show of checking the time for his benefit, downing the remainder of her glass and standing. "I'm afraid, Balty, that I have to go. Have to make sure the party-goers are enjoying themselves. If anything happens, just turn on that wonderful personality of yours. I'm sure they'll respond appropriately."
Balthazar feigned disappointment. Jasmin was usually quite knowledgeable, and therefore useful, but if she knew nothing, he wasn't sad to cut the evening early.
"Enjoy your evening darling!" he called out to the vampiress as she walked away. While debating to stay and have another drink or not, something caught his eye. Once again, across the room, Persephone was blatantly staring at him. "You're one weird lady," he mumbled to himself as he folded his napkin and left the table.
23:15 "Slàinte"
Slàinte Bar
270 Centre St New York, NY 10013
The music was too loud, the people were too crazy, the lights were too bright, and her temples pounded too hard. Cadee usually liked her job and she loved the Slàinte, but tonight wasn’t the best of nights. *And it’s just Monday,* she told to herself, still two days to go till her free night.
It was unusual for Cadee to feel even slightly unwell, her constitution was literally waterproof, but today wasn’t the best of days. It didn’t help that Angus had needed to run some errand or other, and she had to stay at the bar. *But I love the bar,* she spoke to herself again. Well, she loved the bar, but not the annoying drunken customers, and that was probably it.
She smiled to the man in front of her, a young yuppie with sandy hair and bright eyes while she served him another whisky on the rocks; he thanked her absently and continued talking business to the guy next to him. She quickly checked the rest of the bar, but it seemed everybody was content, even the bothersome one, so she relaxed a bit.
“Hey, precious!”
*Damn, you’re an optimist, Cadee*, she thought, as she put on her best bartender smile and walked towards the other end of the bar, where the man sat. She had positioned herself the farthest from him, but duty called.
Cadee could recognize bothersome customers right away; after all, she had been a waitress for many years, and most of them she could manage without much trouble. But she could also recognize the troublesome ones. And he was one of them. Drunk, too.
“It’s Cadee,” she replied, a little too sweetly. “I think I told you a couple of times already. What can I do for you?”
The man pushed one of the drinks in front of him towards her, “you can accept me a drink, I bought it for you.”
Cadee sighed. “I already told you I can’t drink with you. Policy.”
“That’s the problem? Tell me what time you get off then. We can have a drink then.”
It was not an unusual dialogue for a pretty waitress like her, she had been invited drinks countless times, and she always declined in a polite and friendly way, it wasn’t good for tips to go antagonizing customers, after all. However, this one was different. The man had an intense quality that repelled Cadee, she was sure something was off with him.
At that moment another customer called her from the other end of the bar. “I’m sorry, I have to go.” She said and walked away quickly.
As she handed the customer a pair of Guinness longnecks, she noticed a man walking towards the bar, scanning the seats to find one. *Nice bod, boy. Can’t deny this job is nice to the eyes.*
A hand in her wrist startled her, and she saw that the off-guy had followed her from his spot. “If you weren’t to drink with me, why let me buy the booze?” he said, while he squeezed her arm.
Logan was pissed; nowhere in the damned bar was a brutish bartender with flaming red hair. "Just my luck..." he mumbled to himself, stopping short when he noticed just who was bartending. The girl was fit...really fit, the type that attracted creeps like the one following her across the bar.
"Hey buddy, how about you take a seat alright," Logan said, as he pulled up one of the stools at the bar.
"And why don’t you mind your own business," the man slurred back, still holding on to Cadee's arm.
"I'm not asking brother," Logan replied calmly.
Temporarily forgetting about Cadee, the man trampled over to where Logan was sitting. "Oh you're not asking," he mocked. "What? you a big tough guy? Why don’t you do something about it, tough guy?"
Logan kept his cool, never rising from his stool. He wanted to clock the guy, but he was drunk after all. "Listen, why don't you just calm down, take a seat and enjoy your drink alright?"
"You fucking loser," the creep chuckled, obviously pleased with himself. Now back to the bartender.
Now, Logan swiveled the barstool so he was facing the man. "Come again?"
"You heard me. I said you fucking loser. F. U. C..." before he could continue, Logan stood up, his hand whipping out around the man's throat.
The drunkard struggled to free himself, even trying to punch Logan in the face, but the young man was too quick. With one hand still on his throat, Logan used his other to grab one of the man's wrist and twist his arm behind his back.
The patrons around began to scramble, fearing they would get caught up in some sort of brawl. When they figured out however that the fight was really one sided, they all just stood around, waiting to see how the scene played out.
"First, you're going to apologize to the lady," Logan said, holding the man firm.
"Dude you're going to break my fucking arm!"
"Just apologize"
"Alright...I'm sorry"
"And you're going to leave her alone?"
"Yeah," Logan increased the pressure causing the man to yelp. "Yes, yes!"
"Ok buddy, now why don’t you go home?"
Finally, relief came as Logan released the hold. The man rubbed his sore arm and shoulder. He wanted to finish his drink, but his ego had been too badly bruised. Everyone in the bar was staring and he had been humiliated. He almost ran to the door, and when he was halfway through the threshold he turned back. "Yeah fuck you douchebag!" With the entire bar between them, the creep got some of his confidence back.
Logan jerked forward as if he were going to rush to the door. The slight movement was enough to send the man running.
To Logan's utter shock and embarrassment, the entire bar, which had been deathly silent during the whole ordeal, began to clap and whistle.
"Good stuff bro!" some frat boy called out from a booth, as Logan, now red as a tomato, took back his stool.
Cadee was surprised. She had been ready to mop the floor with the guy –or at least put him in his place, since she didn’t mop floors with people publicly– when the *nice-bod* guy intervened, And quite well too. Her trained eye had noticed the faster-than-normal speed and expertise of his movements, he had managed the drunk with an economy of effort that was nothing but extraordinary.
And she was moved. She wasn’t used to be the damsel in distress, and she liked it. She specially liked the way the guy blushed at the customer’s response to his gentlemanly behavior. Handsome, gallant and humble, a great combination.
Waving to the crowd to stop, Cadee smiled brightly to him and spoke.
“That was great, thank you. I’m Cadee, welcome to the Slàinte. What can I serve you? On the house, it’s the least I can do.”
"Well, if I knew I’d get free beer out of it, I’d make it a habit to beat drunk assholes," Logan replied, his face still blushing from the scene. "I'm sorry, that was a lame joke."
Cadee laughed, as she reached behind the bar for a glass. "I'm Logan, by the way. I'm actually here to meet an Angus. Is he working tonight?"
“I’m sorry, but he isn’t,” Cadee answered, as she poured beer in a high cup. “He’s out for some errands, and I don’t think he’ll be back tonight. He asked me to close the bar.”
She pushed the glass to Logan and smiled again. “Do you want to leave him a message or something?”
Logan reached into his jacket pocked. He could feel the envelop safely tucked away but stopped short before pulling it out. The type of things Balthazar dealt with were strange at best, and the man knew better than to leave one of his messages with an unknown bartender... even a fit bartender like Cadee.
"You know what," Logan said as he took a sip of his beer, "I think I should probably just come back when Angus is here. Is he in tomorrow?"
Cadee nodded.
"And will you be in tomorrow?"
Cadee nodded again, smiling this time. She liked him, she certainly did. “Every day but Thursdays. But what’s the rush, you can stay a little longer, right?”
The man definitely didn't want to leave but he knew he shouldn’t linger. Balthazar wouldn't be happy that he couldn’t deliver the message tonight and would be even madder if Logan didn’t get back to work sooner rather than later. Of course, if Angus was here tomorrow, then he had a good reason to be back.
"Not tonight," Logan sighed, before chugging the rest of the beer. "See you soon, Cadee." Reaching into his pocket, Logan left a sizable tip on the bar before walking away.
Cadee smiled as he walked away, she was sure he’ll be back, Angus or not Angus. Hell, she wanted him to come back. *Girl, you need a social life, a.s.a.p.*
“Oh, yes. I certainly do,” she sighed, as she hurried to pour yet another drink.
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23:24 "NYPD Special Crimes Unit"
Pablo's mind was elsewhere as he passed Slainté on the way to the office. He took a few steps past the door and stopped. He turned and walked back to the bar. Just one beer before closing out he day. He had one foot into the door when his shoulder collided with a muscular young man in riding leathers headed out.
"Sorry buddy," Sandoval murmured.
The man ignored him and straddled a Ducati that was parked on the street and pulled out into traffic.
Sandoval was half admiring the bike and half considering the dangers of riding in the city without a helmet when his mind connected the dots. The mystery newcomer at Hellfire. The dead Kaosian demon that had attacked Balthazar.
Balthazar loved to call the SCU to dispose of his demon corpses. He knew that they wouldn't tell anyone and that he couldn't get in trouble as long as he said it was self defense. It made him feel important to have the city do his housecleaning for him. But the uniforms had spotted the new guy hanging around and had gotten a photo. It was on Sandoval's desk right now. The guy was even wearing the same outfit.
Sandoval sprinted down the street. The Ducati was headed up Broadway. He'd never catch him. But he'd been here in Sandoval's backyard. And he'd probably be back.
Sandoval walked back to his office and skipped the beer even though it meant missing that cute waitress of Angus'. It was late and he wanted to get to bed. The doorman opened the door for him with a salute and Sandoval smiled and nodded. He greeted the security guard at the desk in the lobby and walked down the wide marble staircase to the basement where he entered an ancient 2-person elevator marked "Official use only".
The cage rattled and jerked on its way down into the first sub-basement until is came to a squeaky halt with a thump. Sandoval opened the cage door and walked down a hallway with marble floors, steel doors and lit with florescent lights. He stopped at the set of double doors at the end and looked over his shoulder.
Nobody there. He could never seem to shake the feeling that something was down here every time he walked down this hall. He shook his head and pushed into the room. The large room was segregated with glass partitions into a foyer and a collection of desks arranged in a more-or-less grid-like pattern in the center. In the foyer was a desk Sergeant who greeted him.
It being nearly midnight the desks were full of activity. He could see that there were victims in both of the interrogation rooms giving statements. One of them had a bloody compress on his neck. Vampire, he thought. The other seemed to have her coat in tatters and a uniform was helping her re-enact the events that led to her wardrobe misfortune.
Sandoval grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot always present on the counter and went to his desk. He passed the large whiteboard with the grid of open cases on it:
| Detective | Case# | Status |
|---|---|---|
|
Sandoval
|
Werewolf in Central Park | Open Investigation |
|
Neumann
|
Balthazar connection to cursed artifacts | Open Investigation |
|
Hendrikson
|
Ghost @ The Metropolitan Opera | Open Investigation |
Sitting at his desk he looked at the picture he had on his desk. The post-it that Neumann had stuck to it lay curled to one side, "You know this guy, JP?"
"Nope, still don't know him," Juan Pablo muttered into his cup, "but I'll definitely keep an eye out for him."
Officer Green came over to his desk. Green had the tattered coat from the victim in the interrogation room in an evidence bag. "I brought this to you because I know you are pursuing a werewolf case. The woman's testimony doesn't sound like a wolf. She mentioned it having horns and couldn't remember if it was hairy or not. I wondered if you had anything on subnormals in Hell's Kitchen."
Sandoval logged into his desktop to open the spreadsheet he kept of sightings and rumors. Green looked in the Barnes & Noble's bag at the Darque Desires book while they waited for the always underpowered equipment of the NYPD to do its work. "My wife loves that trash. I keep trying to tell her it is all crap. Is it a gift for someone?"
Sandoval opened the book to the title page to display the inscription. Green raised an eyebrow. "Nice!" he said turning the book over to leer at the sexy picture of Lucinda on the back, "Is she "researching" something?" he said adding his own "air quotes".
"You are awfully nosy about my personal life, Michael. I suggest you focus on your job."
Sandoval scrolled through the hundreds of unconfirmed sightings, calls, rumors, stories from the Post and bits of information that they picked up every day but lacked the manpower, resources and ultimately money to pursue. He spotted a likely lead. "Fyarl demon at an antique store from back in November. Jumped out of an old steamer trunk found in an estate in Hells Kitchen and never found. I'll bet that's our subnormal trying to get home. Find out if our victim has recently rented a new place in the neighborhood or bought a house there recently. Fyarls are notoriously thick-headed and this one might just think that she's an intruder in her own home. You might want to get the recovery boys on the horn and line up a grab, too."
He pointed to the bag with the shredded coat, "Drop that in Sierra's box. She can go over it tomorrow to make sure we're on the right track."
Green took the bag, "I'm on it Detective. Thanks."
Sandoval went back to his coffee and watched the video from the werewolf attack in the park from last week on his computer. In the grainy video a shapely, athletic woman with brown hair in a short ponytail runs at full tilt past the camera. Seconds later the huge wolf glides through the frame so fast that it looks like a blur. To an untrained eye it could be a dog or even a large man in a fur coat. But to Sandoval it was as clear as if he had seen it with his own eyes.
His mind cast back to Puerto Rico and his family. His father telling him about the attack and seeing his sister, only fifteen at the time, hanging on by a thread. He remembered her struggles to recover. He remembered her crying to end it. He shook his head and wiped his cheek. That was the past. This woman had a future if he could find this creature and end it before she turned.
But it wouldn't be tonight. The full moon was weeks away and he had had a full day. Time to take the train home.
Sandoval went down the elevator to the second sub-basement and slipped out through the exit that led to the platform on the "6" that would take him home to East Harlem. He wasn't supposed to go out that way but frankly it was a lot quieter and safer than walking down the street.