Chương 9: “Vampires and whores are related species; neither have souls.” —Caine Deathwalker
Rhino's Bar and Grill was owned by Rhino, a former lineman in the NFL. He was big as one of the African brutes, and almost as intelligent, hence the nickname. His afro was close-clipped, and he sported a goatee and mustache. His 4X shirt was a Hawaiian monstrosity; olive green palm trees on a field of arterial red. Above his head, a large screen TV set to the sports channel displayed a soccer game re-run.
He looked up from wiping the bar as I came in. His nose had been broken several times, actually improving his face. A huge grin appeared. One of his teeth had a snap-on gold sheath.
"Gonna start trouble?" he asked. "Been a while since we had a good fight in here."
"Just might be your lucky day," I said.
"Looks like yours, fer sure." His glance slid over Angie who trailed me in.
I slid onto an empty bar stool. Angie took the one to my left.
I said, "Give me a Bacardi Hurricane, and a Cosmo Cocktail for the lady."
Down the bar from us, a couple of werecat ladies had both hands bracketing strawberry daiquiris, as if afraid someone might snatch them away. I understood their attitude. The kitties were often picked on by the rest of the shape-shifting community because they were perceived as weak. That was true here in L.A. but up in Sacramento, a stranger had recently blown into town, bonded with a local tabby, and had broken the back of the local wolf pack. He'd ripped out the heart of the local Alpha, as well, carving out his territory with brutal efficiency.
I'd heard he was a wereliger, half lion, half tiger, weighing in at twenty-five hundred pounds after changing. Mass usually didn't get added with shape-shifting. This guy broke a lot of rules. Sounded like someone I'd like to meet, when all this trouble was over.
The kitties sniffed the air, turning their faces toward Angie.
She smiled at them, showing a little fang while in human form.
I'd never seen a person literally go white with fear, but the kitties did. They looked to be in their late teens, and reeked of nervous inexperience. Since I might need a little good will with the cat clans one day, I intervened. "Angie, down girl."
She looked at me like I'd stolen her chew toy.
I put steel in my tone. "Be nice or go wait in the car."
Looking forward, she grumbled beneath her breath, but was glad enough to pounce on the cranberry vodka set in front of her. A tall electric blue drink with a slice of lemon on the rim appeared in front of me on a napkin.
"There you go," Rhino said, his towel thrown over a shoulder.
I nodded thanks, and jerked a thumb toward the kitties. "Their next drink is on me."
"You're buying a drink, Rhino said, "and there's no gun to your head?"
I glared at him. "You trying to say I'm cheap?"
My glower bounced harmlessly off of him the same way a two-by-four might have. He grinned, not when you're spending on yourself. "Hey, Caine, have you heard…?"
At the casual dropping of my name, the supernaturals in the room went deathly quiet—for some reason. Only the humans with their normal, weak hearing were oblivious. The tension around the kitties got thick enough to carve with a katana.
I met Rhino's cold, dark stare. "Heard what?" I asked.
"There's strange folk in the city, making the rounds."
Took a sip from my drink, testing the flavor. "Wolves?"
He shook his head. "No, humans, but tough bastards all the same. They're well strapped, and don't seem to like your kind."
Angie offered a comment, "Maybe some kind of government taskforce, or spooks, looking into PNs?"
Just what the preternatural community needs." Just what I need; something else to look into. I slid Rhino a hundred. "Thanks. You hear anymore…"
He smiled, flashing that gold-capped tooth. His meaty palm slapped over the bill. "You'll be the first to hear."
I raised my voice, wanting the kitties and other shifters in the bar to pick up on what I had to say, "By the way, you hear of a succubus working my territory, I want to know. She'll have two abducted women with her. I'm offering fifty K for information leading to their recovery."
Several PNs hurried from the room, wanting to get a running start on that reward. Word would go out. Fast. Even things that go bump in the night need cash. My work here was done, but I lingered over my drink.
The werecats finished their drinks and ordered two more. One of them got up. Circled Angie at a respectful distance, and came around to my other side. "I want to thank you for the drinks," her voice had the faintest suggestion of a purr to it.
"No, problem."
"You're Caine Deathwalker," she said.
"I know."
"I mean, dude, I thought you were just made up, an urban legend or something."
"That too."
"Look, normally I mind my own business—"
"Good idea," Angie growled.
Eyes wide, on me, she ignored her. "—But seeing as how you bought us drinks and all…"
"Get to the point," I suggested.
"Yes, Sir, I thought you outta know, these strangers in town, they're not feds. Word is they're looking for some kinda stolen artifact, and waving around some woman's picture."
"Interesting. That all you know?"
"Yes, Sir."
"You have our thanks and mayest now leave our exalted presence." I waved her away. Too bad I didn't have a ring for her to kiss. I think she'd have been thrilled. It is good to be the king.
We finished our drinks and moved on to few more bars. The one I saved for last was going to be tricky. I parked the car across the street and turned to Angie. "I don't think this is a place where you want to be. You should wait here for me."
She looked out the window at the club. Above double doors painted crimson, a black panel sported neon lettering; Pandemonium. The first three and last three letters were yellow. The word demon in the middle was rendered in red. The bouncer outside was dressed like an old black-and-white movie version of a vampire. He had slicked-back hair, a widow's peak, a dark Victorian suit, white gloves, and a red-lined, black cape.
"Isss that a vampire?" Angie slurred.
"Probably not. They have too much pride to do so lowly a job. That's probably a human with plastic fangs. There will be a lot of wanna-bes inside, and a few of the real thing feeding on them discretely. The place serves a great Bloody Mary."
"You think I can't handle a few Vampsss?"
"You are rather drunk," I said. "And I'd like to get you back to William in one piece."
She blinked at me. "I'm in one piece."
"So far," I said. "Look, just stay here, and if you feel like throwing up, open the car door and stick your head out. I just had this vehicle detailed."
"I wanna go in and get another drink."
"Stay here and I'll buy you some beef jerky."
"Don't want beef jerky. Wanna drink." She opened the door and slid out, tottering toward the door.
I got out and went around; closing the door she'd left open. I hurried after her. She was halfway across the street where a '62 cutlass convertible low-rider had stopped. The vehicle was full of Latinos wearing black and gold bandanas. One of them stood up in the back, making beckoning motions toward her. "Hey, chica, c'mon, come party with us. We'll treat you right."
Angie pointed at the club. "I'm going in there for a drink."
The man in the front passenger seat held up a twelve pack of Tecate beer. "I got your drink right here, chica."
By then, I'd caught up to her, taking her arm, pulling her back from the car's grill. "Lady's with me," I said.
"Fuck you," the driver said. "We saw her first."
I looked at him, warming up my Dragon Voice tat, feeling meat hooks yanking on my spine. I growled through the blinding pain and shouted, "Go drive into a street light."
My voice shattered the windshield. The driver's eyes glazed over. He floored the gas pedal and the car peeled rubber, tearing away. I steered Angie for the nightclub door, figuring I'd better keep her somewhat near me.
We'd just reached the bouncer, cutting to the front of the line, when the sound of a car crash reached us. A moment later, there was an explosion. A fireball rose in a cloud of oily smoke. Finding this hilarious, Angie had a fit of giggles.
"You can't cut the line," the bouncer told me.
I handed him a hundred.
He pointed at Angie. "Don't you think she's had enough already?"
I handed him another hundred. He started to say something else. I opened my coat and showed him one of my guns. "If you say anything else but 'come in,' I'm going to empty a clip in your face."
He moved to the side and waved us in.
Who says you can't get good service anymore.
The décor reminded me of an old school insane asylum; cracked concrete walls, lanterns swinging on chains, chains and manacles on the walls, a bedlam of voices, and bartenders in straightjackets with the sleeves torn off. There was a girl band on stage with pink and green hair, orange coveralls, matching lipstick, heavy black and purple makeup around the eyes, and spiked dog collars. The lead singer was hot with a body made for sin. She wore combat boots and a diamond chip on the side of her nose, and razorblade earrings. Unfortunately, her voice sounded like she'd gargled with Drano. Her lyrics stabbed through the haze stage lights, the mash of screaming guitars, and thudding drums:
Broken dreams cut my feet,
Ill winds drive me into the street,
Sanity's just a mask I wear—
Take some pain— I'm glad to share—
Angie started dancing, her boobs bouncing pleasantly as she jerked and weaved about. I let her go, figuring if I made it fast, I could get back quickly and round her up. As the crowd absorbed her, I went to the bar and caught the eye of a bartender with a handlebar mustache.
"What can I get you," he asked.
"Tell Adrian I want to see him."
"And you would be?"
"Just tell him to move his ass. I'm in a hurry."
"Hurry to die," the bartender said. "You stay right there. I'm passing your message on verbatim."
"Reading the dictionary again?"
He flashed fangs at me that were real. "I just hope they leave a little of you for me to taste when they're through."
I smiled at him. "Can we just get this party started? It's been a long night."
Like smoke from a fire, vamp goons appeared on both sides of me, taking my arms. They squeezed so I'd feel their unnatural strength and tremble. Vamps like their prey scared. It's supposed to enrich the flavor of blood. They hustled me to a private room where a small part was in progress. Three scantily clad girls were strewn on a long table, eyes glassy, throats ripped out. At the head of the table stood Adrian, a Champaign glass filled with blood in his hand. He wore a black suit, with red shirt and pocket handkerchief.
A female vamp hung on him like a barnacle. She had black hair, too red lips, and pallor borrowed from a corpse. Her dangerous curves had been shimmied into a little black dress. She eyed my throat hungrily.
Adrian smiled without baring his fangs. He understated what he was, having a distaste for the usual posing that's so much a part of vamp culture. "Caine, didn't I tell you that the next time I saw you I'd put stakes through both your eyes?" The passion in his voice told me he meant every word.
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