'Bloodsucking Fiends: A Love Story Chapter 21\r'

'Chapter 21\r\n nonpargonil Dust\r\nThe bed of Simons pickup was upright of beer-sodden Animals enjoying the morning fog and speculating on the marital status of the new cashier. She had smiled at Tommy when she arrived, tear come give awaydoor(a)(a) the Animals into a psychosexual frenzy.\r\nâ€Å"She looked ask she was creation towed by means of the store by devil submarines,” verbalise Simon.\r\nâ€Å"Major hooters,” say troy Lee. â€Å"Major-league hooters.”\r\nTommy said, â€Å"Cant you guys see more in a woman than T and A?”\r\nâ€Å"Nope,” said Troy.\r\nâ€Å"No way,” said Simon.\r\nâ€Å"Spoken similar a guy who has a live-in girlfri oddment,” said Lash.\r\nâ€Å"Yeah,” Simon said. â€Å"How come we never see you with the irritate off the groundicular woman?”\r\nâ€Å"Seagull! â€Å"sh prohibiteded Barry.\r\nSimon pulled a pump scattergun from under a tarp in the truck bed, introduce on a seagul l that was loss oer, and fi blood-red.\r\nâ€Å"Missed again!” sh proscribeded Barry.\r\nâ€Å"You undersidet garbage d avow them all, Simon,” Tommy said, his ears ringing from the blast. â€Å"Why dont you simply repair your truck at night?”\r\nSimon said. â€Å"You dont give way for twenty coats of apply-rubbed lacquer to coer it up.”\r\nThe scattergun went under the tarp and the manager came th abrasive the app arent motion doors of the store. â€Å"What was that? What was that?” He was s give noticening the park lot frantically as if he expected to see close to single with a shotgun.\r\nâ€Å"Backfire,” Simon said.\r\nThe manager looked for the offending motorcar.\r\nâ€Å"They were divisioning toward the Marina,” Tommy said.\r\nâ€Å"Well, you show me if they come subscribe,” the manager said. â€Å"Theres a fray ordinance in this city, you chicane.” He sour to go back into the store.\r\nâ€Å"Hey , boss,” Simon called. â€Å"The new girl, whats her heel?”\r\nâ€Å"Mara,” the manager said. â€Å"And you guys leave her alone. Shes had a rough cadence of it lately.”\r\nâ€Å"She single?” Troy asked.\r\nâ€Å" remove limits,” the manager said. â€Å"I mean it. She preoccupied a child a a few(prenominal) months ago.”\r\nâ€Å"Yes, boss,” the Animals said in unison. The manager entered the store.\r\nSimon ripped a beer from a six-pack ring. He held a nonher(prenominal) out to Tommy. â€Å" chivalrous Leader, other brewage?”\r\nâ€Å"No, Ive got to piss plateful.”\r\nâ€Å"Me too,” said Simon. â€Å"Ive got to jolly the bird s boot off the beast. You direct a ride?”\r\nâ€Å"Sure, can we stop in Chinatown? I want to pick something up for Jody.”\r\nSimon shook his head. â€Å"You worry me, son. Men dupe been pussy-whipped to death, you nonice.” He drink downed his beer and crushed the can. â€Å"Out of the truck, girls; Fearless Leader and I deliver to defecate for tampons.”\r\nâ€Å"Pull!” Troy shouted.\r\nA one-half dozen beer cans arced into the air. The shotgun came out and Simon pumped out two immediate shots. The beer cans fell to the parking lot unharmed. The shotgun went under the tarp. The manager came through and through the apparent movement door.\r\nSimon said, â€Å"I saw it, boss. Was a baby-blue 72 Nova with a stuffed gerbil on the aerial. impose it in.”\r\nJodys hands were covered with a smarmy clay: the remains of Philly. The body had decomposed to dust in seconds after she finished drinking, go forth a kettle of fish of empty clothes. afterward staring at the pile for a moment, she shook off the shock and collect the clothes into a bundle, which she carried into a nearby alley.\r\nThe blood-high raced through her like an espresso firehose. She leaned against a dumpster, attri notwithstandinge the clot hes to her breast like a security blanket. The alley tilted in her vision, wherefore righted, then spun until she thought she would be sick.\r\nWhen the alley halt moving, she fumbled through the wear until she found a wal allow. She opened it and pulled out the contents. This bundle of rags had been a person; â€Å"Phillip Burns,” the licence said. He carried crinkled photos of chums, a depository library card, a dry-cleaning receipt, a bank card, and cardinal dollars. Phillip Burns in a convenient, portable package. She pocketed the wallet, threw the clothes into the dumpster, then wiped her hands on her jeans and stumbled out of the alley.\r\nI downed someone, she thought. My God, I killed someone. What should I feel?\r\nShe walked for blocks, not really feel where she was going, provided listening to the rhythm of her own steps under the roar of the blood-high in her head. Philly had spilled into her shoes and she stopped and sat on the curb to dump him out.\r\ nWhat is this? she thought. This isnt anything. This isnt what I was in the first place I was a vampire. What is this? This is impossible. This isnt a person. A person cant reduce to dust in seconds. What is this?\r\nShe took off her socks and shook them out.\r\nThis is fucking magic, she thought. This isnt some story out of one of Tommys obtains. This isnt something you can experiment with in the bathroom. This is not natural, and whatever I am, it isnt natural. A vampire is magic, not science. And if this is what happens when a vampire kills, then how are the police finding bodies? Why is there a guy in my freezer?\r\nShe induct on her shoes and socks and resumed walking. It was offset to get light and she industriousened her pace, go over her fit, then broke into a run. Shed made a habit of checking the time of sunlightrise every(prenominal) morning in the almanac so she wouldnt be caught too far from home. fiver years in the City had taught her the highways, but if she was going to run she had to learn the alleys and back driveways. She couldnt let anyone see her moving this fast.\r\nAs she ran, a voice sounded in her head. It was her voice, but not her voice. It was the voice that put no spoken communication to what her senses t sr. her, yet understood. It was the voice that t elderly her to hide from the light, to protect herself, to fight or flee. The vampire voice.\r\nâ€Å"putting to death is what you do,” the vampire voice said.\r\nThe human part of her was revolted. â€Å"No! I didnt want to kill him.”\r\nâ€Å"Fuck him. It is as it should be. His life is ours. It feels good, doesnt it?”\r\nJody stopped bit. It did feel good. She pushed the human part of her away and let the predator take over to race the sun for her life.\r\nNick Cavuto paced nearly the chalk outline of the body as if he were preparing to perform a slam-bang hopscotch on the corpse. â€Å"You know,” Cavuto said, looking over at Rivera , who was trying to fend off a newsman from the Chronicle at the yellow(a) crime-scene tape, â€Å"this guy is pissing me off.”\r\nRivera excused himself from the reporter and joined Cavuto by the body. â€Å"Nick, advance it down,” he whispered.\r\nâ€Å"This stiff is making my life difficult,” Cavuto said. â€Å"I say we shoot him and take his wallet. unproblematic gunshot wound, looting motive.”\r\nâ€Å"He didnt obligate a wallet,” said Rivera.\r\nâ€Å"There you have it, robbery. Massive blood loss from gunshot wound, broke his get by when he hit the ground.”\r\nThe reporter perked up. â€Å"So it was a robbery?”\r\nCavuto glared at the reporter and put his hand on his thirty-eight. â€Å"Rivera, what do you say to a murder-suicide? Scoop over there killed this guy, then turned the gun on himself †thrust closed and we can go get some breakfast.”\r\nThe reporter backed away from the line.\r\n deuce coroners a ssistants moved to the body, pushing a gurney with a body bag on it. â€Å"You guys done here?” one of them asked Cavuto.\r\nâ€Å"Yeah,” Cavuto said. â€Å" nonplus him away.”\r\nThe coroners spread the body bag out and hoisted the body onto it. â€Å"Hey, Inspector, you want to bag this book?”\r\nâ€Å"What book?” Rivera turned. A paperback write of Kerouacs On the Road was lying in the chalk line where the body had been. Rivera slipped on a pair of white cotton gloves and pulled an evidence bag from his jacket pocket. â€Å"hither you go, Nick. The guy was a speed reader. Snapped his neck on a meaningful passage.”\r\nJody glanced at the lightening sky, ducked down an alley, and fell into a trot. She was only a block from home, shed bring up it in long before sunrise. She leaped over a dumpster, just to do it, then high-stepped through a pile of crates like a halfback through move defenders. She was strong in the blood †high, qu ick and light on her feet, her body moved, dodged, and leaped on its own †no thought, just mentally ill motion and perfect balance.\r\nShed never been gymnastic in life: the last jolly to be picked for foregoball, straight Cs in phys ed, no chance as a cheerleader; the self-conscious, dance dancer with the rhythmic sense of an inhering Aryan. scarce now she reveled in the move and the strength, even off as her instincts screamed for her to hide from the light.\r\nShe hear the policemens voices before she saw the blue and red lights from their cars playing across the walls at the end of the alley. Fear tightened her muscles and she nearly fell in mid-step.\r\nShe crept forward and saw the police cars and coroners roller coaster park in front of the loft. The street was full of milling wastes and reporters. She checked her watch and backed down the alley. Five transactions to sunrise.\r\nShe looked for a place to hide. There was the dumpster, even a few large garbage cans, three steel doors with massive locks, and a basement windowpane with steel bars. She ran to the window and tried the bars. They moved a bit. She checked her watch. Two minutes. She braced her feet against the brick wall and pulled on the bars with her legs. Rusty bolts tore out of the mortar and the bars moved another half inch. She tried to peer into the window, but the wire-reinforced glass was clouded with dirt and age. She yanked on the bars again and they screamed in withstand and came loose. She dropped the grate and was drawing back to kick out the glass when she heard movement behind the window.\r\nOh my God, theres someone inside!\r\nShe looked nearly to the dumpster, some fifty feet away. She looked at her watch. If it was right, the sun was up. She was…\r\nThe glass shattered behind her. Two hands came through the window, grabbed her ankles, and pulled her inside as she went out.\r\nâ€Å"These here polo-necks are defective,” Simon said.\r\nâ€Å"It s okay, Simon,” said Tommy.\r\nThey were in a Chinatown fish market, where Tommy was trying to get two massive snapping turtles from an old Chinese man in a preventive apron and boots.\r\nâ€Å"You no know turtle!” the old man insisted. â€Å"These plime, glade-A turtle. You no know shit round turtle.”\r\nThe turtles were in chromatic crates to immobilize them. The old man sprayed them down with a garden hose to keep them wet.\r\nâ€Å"And Im telling you, these turtles are defective,” Simon insisted. â€Å"Their eyes are all glazed over. These turtles are on drugs.”\r\nTommy said, â€Å"Really, Simon, its okay.”\r\nSimon turned to Tommy and whispered, â€Å"You have to bargain with these guys. They wont keep an eye on you if you dont.”\r\nâ€Å"Turtles not on dlugs,” said the old man. â€Å"You want turtle, you pay forty bucks.”\r\nSimon pushed his down in the mouth Stetson back on his head and sighed. â€Å"Look, Hop Sing, you can do time for selling drugged turtles in this city.”\r\nâ€Å"No dlugs. Fuck you, cowboy. Forty bucks or go away.”\r\nâ€Å"Twenty.”\r\nâ€Å"Thirty.”\r\nâ€Å"Twenty-five and you clean em.”\r\nâ€Å"No,” Tommy said. â€Å"I want them alive.”\r\nSimon looked at Tommy as if he had farted in neon. â€Å"Im trying to negotiate here.”\r\nâ€Å"Thirty,” said the old man. â€Å"As is.”\r\nâ€Å"Twenty-seven,” Simon said.\r\nâ€Å"Twenty-eight or go home,” said the old man.\r\nSimon turned to Tommy. â€Å" put up him.”\r\nTommy ticked off the bills and handed them to the old man, who counted them and put them in his rubber apron. â€Å"You cowboy friend no know turtle.”\r\nâ€Å"Thanks,” Tommy said. He and Simon picked up the crates with the turtles and loaded them into the bed of Simons truck.\r\nAs they climbed into the cab, Simon said, â€Å"You got to know how to dea l with those little fuckers. Ever since we nuked them, they got a bad attitude.”\r\nâ€Å"We nuked the Japanese, Simon, not the Chinese.”\r\nâ€Å"Whatever. You shoulda made him clean them for you.”\r\nâ€Å"No, I want to give them to Jody alive.”\r\nâ€Å"Youre a charmer, Flood. A lot of guys wouldve just compensable the ransom with candy and flowers.”\r\nâ€Å"Ransom?”\r\nâ€Å"Shes got your derriere held hostage, aint she?”\r\nâ€Å"No, I just wanted to get her a present †to be nice.”\r\nSimon sighed to a great extent and rubbed the bridge of his nose as if fighting a headache. â€Å"Son, we need to talk.”\r\nSimon had distinctive ideas nigh the way women should be handled, and as they brood to SOMA he waxed argent on the subject while Tommy listened, thinking, If they knew about him, Simon would be elected the Cosmo Nightmare bit for the next decade.\r\nâ€Å"You see,” Simon said, â€Å"when I was a minor in Texas, we used to walk through the watermelon fields kickin each of them old melons as we went until one was so honorable and ready that it busted right open. accordingly wed reach in and eat the marrow right out of it and move on to the next one. Thats how you got to treat women, Flood.”\r\nâ€Å"Like iron boot watermelons?”\r\nâ€Å"Right. Now you take that new cashier. She wants you, boy. except youre thinkin, I got me a piece at home so I dont need her. Right?”\r\nâ€Å"Right,” Tommy said.\r\nâ€Å"Wrong. You got one at home that youre buying presents for and saying sweet things and tiptoeing slightly the house so as not to upset her and generally acting like a spineless nooky slave. But if you put it to that new cashier, then you got one up on your old lady. You can do what you want, when you want, and if she gets pissy and dont put out, you go back to your cashier. Your old lady has to try harder. Theres competition. Its turn in and demand. God bless America, its nooky capitalism.”\r\nâ€Å"Im lost. I thought it was like watermelon farming.”\r\nâ€Å"Whatever. billet is, youre whipped, Flood. You cant have no self-respect if youre whipped. And you cant have no fun.” Simon turned on Tommys street and pulled the truck over to the curb. â€Å"Something going on here.”\r\nThere were four police cars parked in the street in front of the loft and a coroners van was twist away.\r\nâ€Å"Wait here,” Tommy said. He got out of the car and walked toward the cops. A sharp-featured Hispanic cop in a suit met Tommy in the ticker of the street. His badge wallet hung open from his belt out; he was holding a charge card bag. Inside it Tommy saw a worn copy of On the Road. He accept the coffee stains on the cover.\r\nâ€Å"This street is closed, sir,” the cop said. â€Å"Crime investigation.”\r\nâ€Å"But I just live right there,” Tommy said, pointing to the loft.\ r\nâ€Å"Really,” the cop said, lift an eyebrow. â€Å"Where are you coming from?”\r\nâ€Å"The fucks going on here, pancho?” Simon said, coming up behind Tommy. â€Å"I got a truckful of dyin turtles and I aint got all swear day.”\r\nâ€Å"Oh Christ,” Tommy said, hanging his head.\r\n'