Vampires vs. Werewolves, Part Three

With the end of the vampire wars, the city had set up a series of blood distribution centers for vamps. We stopped at one of the HBDCs (Hemovore Blood Distribution Center) so Jason could get his fix. He had to give his vampire name and add his poto to the database, but that was the only registration the techs there required. The cops had pressed for full details, but Anemone and Page both insisted that no vamp would give up information on where they slept, making the whole operation useless—they’d just go back to hunting humans.

            “A pint? That’s it?” Jason stared at the bottle.

            “That’s the amount.” The tech was a nervous Hispanic woman. “One pint every three days.”

            “We had to negotiate for that much,” I told him. “Don’t argue.” They had security guards armed with stakes as well as Glocks.

            So Jason drank his pint in a small private room and emerged, disappointed. But he came back to the car with us and sat quietly in back as I drove back to my apartment.

            Upstairs he sat down on my couch and I handed him my phone with his parent’s number queued up. “Call.”

            He looked at the Mickey Mouse clock over the door into the kitchen. “It’s three in the morning.”

            “They’re your parents. They won’t mind.”

            He pressed “Talk.” After a moment he stuttered, “H-hello? Dad?”

            Rachel and I went into the kitchen.

            “At least it’s not strippers,” Rachel got a beer from the refrigerator.

            One time I’d brought a bunch of dancers home after a monster had attacked them behind their club. “I had to do something. By the way, did you have to flirt with Adam like that?”

            She giggled. “A girl’s got to keep in practice. Jealous?” She ran a finger down my chest.

            “Of course. I saw his chest just like you did.”

            She kissed me and then opened her beer. “Feel better?”

            I grinned. “A little.”

            “Mr. Jurgen?” Jason called from the living. “My parents want to talk to you.”

            I grabbed a bottle of water and went out. “Tom Jurgen speaking.”

            “Mr. Jurgen?” It was Jason’s father. “Thank you.”

            “No problem.” Jason was sitting with his head in his hands, trembling. “He can stay here tonight—tomorrow, I mean. Then you’ll have to make other arrangements.”

            “I understand. Send me your bill. You can include tomorrow on it if you want.”

            “Thanks. I’ll be in touch.”

            “Now what?” Jason sat up. “Can you keep the sun out?”

            “I have blackout curtains in the bedroom.” And a sleeping bag. “I’ll need to come in once or twice to use the bathroom.”

            He rolled his eyes. “Okay, I guess.”

            I checked the weather on my phone. Dawn wasn’t for another three and a half hours. I pulled a chair from the dining room table. “As long as we’ve got some time, I want to ask you a few questions.”

            Rachel yawned. “I’m going to bed.” She lived upstairs.

            “Okay.” She had to be tired. Like me.

I sat down. “So Jason, what do you know about Rigo’s murder?”

            Rachel let her hand drop from the doorknob. “Maybe I’ll stay for a few minutes.”

            “Whatever you want.” Maybe she could pick up a lie or two. “Jason?”

            “Nothing.” He lifted both hands. “I mean, everybody was upset. Even Tina.”

            “Tina?” I swallowed some water.

            “They had a fight. I mean, they had a lot of fights, so it wasn’t a big deal. Adam was more mad at him, but he was almost crying when I saw him. And vampires don’t cry easy.” He glanced at Rachel.

            “Why was Adam mad?”

            “He thought Rigo was getting too chummy with Weregild. Tina was on his side, but he really got into it with Rigo one night.”

            I frowned. “I thought you guys—I mean, the band hated Weregild.”

            “We do. But Adam hates them more than anybody. I don’t know why. Tina just hates Valentine.”

            The skank. “What do you know about Weregild?”

            He closed his eyes for a moment. “Their music’s okay. I’ve met a few of them. Kind of stuck up, like Adam says, but not that bad.”

            “Did you hang around with them?” Rachel sipped her beer.

            “A little. I really like Vamperica, though. For years. And they were pretty nice to me for a while.” He groaned softly. “I guess I got on their nerves, hanging around so much. Especially after Rigo.” He bent forward, staring at his shoes. “Can I have a beer?”

            I got him one from the fridge. “Quentin says you were at their show last night.”

            “You talked to him?” He gulped the beer. “Yeah. I had to do something, right? It was a decent show. Not like tonight. But Quentin did his transformation thing again. That’s always cool.”

            Rachel and I looked at each other. I rubbed my eyes. “What about the werewolf thing? How did they all get turned?”

            “I don’t know about all of them. Quentin got bit when he was 11, but he didn’t start transforming until a few years later. A puberty thing, I guess.” He glanced at Rachel, embarrassed. “Valentine had a boyfriend who was a werewolf, and I guess that did it, because of, you know—sex.”

            Rachel smirked. “It’s okay. I’ve heard of sex.”

            “So having sex with a werewolf might make you a werewolf?” I thought about that for a moment until I caught Rachel’s glare. “I’m not thinking about it for myself.”

            “I guess.” Jason turned red, like a 9-year-old in Sex Ed class. “I don’t really know.”

            “I wonder if it works with vampires.” Rachel smiled. “Don’t worry, I’m not thinking about it either.”

            I went to my laptop and pulled up the Atragon’s website. Both bands were playing tomorrow night. Those tickets were twice as expensive.

            My eyes were tired. This wasn’t my problem, after all. I’d found Jason, reconnected him with his parents, and by tomorrow night he wouldn’t be my problem anymore.

            “You’re going to keep working on it, aren’t you?” Rachel stood behind my shoulder.

            I nodded. “I was a reporter too long.”

            She sighed, but kissed my head. “I’m going to bed. Call me before you do anything stupid.”

            Jason looked over the couch as Rachel left. “Hey, do you have any video games?”

Jason watched TV until 6:30, when I unrolled my sleeping bag on the bed and got blankets and a pillow out so I could sleep on the sofa. I made sure the blackout curtains were tight as Jason huddled in the sleeping bag, and then I collapsed on the sofa, exhausted.

            I dreamed about werewolves in London, to the tune of the Warren Zevon song. Rachel walked out of Trader Vic’s drinking a piña colada, and her red hair was perfect.

            Then Tina stalked down the street, half werewolf, half vampire. Literally—her left side was covered with fur, but on the right her skin was pale. She flicked her middle finger as she walked past me.

            I woke up sweating. 9:15. Not enough sleep, especially since I’d be up late tonight. But I had bills to pay.

            I crept into the bedroom. Jason was wrapped inside the sleeping bag, breathing shallowly as I grabbed clothes from my dresser. I brushed my teeth and showered as quickly as I could, got dressed in the bathroom, and tossed yesterday’s clothes into a corner.

            Coffee helped me wake up. So did a bowl of Lucky Charms and the morning comics. I scanned the newspaper headlines, growling at the latest news from Washington, Springfield, and city hall. Scandal, budget deficits, police shootings, and taxes. The world was going to hell in a handbasket, even without vampires and werewolves helping.

            It reminded me to take my medication. It was helping with my depression and anxiety. Lately I’d been feeling almost normal again. I’d have to talk to Dr. Neral about that. My psychiatrist.

            I swallowed my pills, carried my bowl back to the kitchen and refilled my coffee, then sat down at the dining room table again and opened my laptop.

            I found a short review of Vamperica’s show last night on an independent news website. “Vampireca draws blood, sets the stage for tomorrow’s battle,” the headline read.

Last night’s show gave viewers Vampireca at its best, the so-called ‘Vampire Band’ unleashing its strongest songs on an enthusiastic crowd with ear-blowing music, even in the absence of its lead singer, Rigo Holland, victim of an unsolved murder only a few nights before. New lead singer Adam Destry carried the mantle with confidence, his voice a howl of anger and contempt. Backup guitarist Brandon Y melted the strings, and singer Tina Destroyer blasted the room with her vocals. Tonight, the band faces off with its rival, Weregild, in a battle of the bands that’s sure to leave no survivors.

I only hoped “no survivors” was hyperbole.

            After a second cup of coffee, I clenched my teeth and called Hawkins. One buzz . . . two . . .

            “Jurgen?” Hawkins actually laughed. “I’m busy with paperwork. Or what they used to call paperwork. Now I’m just filling out reports, and anything is better than that. What the hell do you want?”         

            I let my jaw relax, relieved that Hawkins wasn’t yelling at me. Yet. “The Rigo Holland murder. Yesterday morning? Do you know what killed him?”

            “Knife wounds. But we didn’t find the knife. Funny that it wasn’t a stake. And that there was still a body. I didn’t know he was a vamp when I got there.”

“You said there was fur all over the place. Did the fur have blood on it?”

            “Man, that seems like a long time ago.” I heard fingers tapping on keys. “Yeah, there was fur, and blood, and . . . what’s this about?”

            I took a deep breath. “Does the blood on the fur match Holland’s blood type?”

            “Hang on.” More tapping. “Well, what do you know? We don’t have any DNA back. But yeah, the blood types match. Does that mean something?”

            “Maybe.” I’d started thinking about it last night. It was a theory without proof though. “Why are you in such a good mood today? You haven’t called me an asshole yet.”

            Hawkins laughed. “Caught a gangbanger last night. Dead to rights. He’s in lockup right now, talking about his friends. We’re going to get two or three convictions out of this. I do get to arrest humans sometimes, you know.”

            I sipped some coffee. “Good for you. Thanks.”

            So maybe Rigo was killed by a werewolf with the same blood type.

            Or maybe Rigo was a vampire . . . who was also a werewolf.

            The first thing was to find out whether that was even possible. But both Anemone and Page were asleep. I did call and leave messages.

           Then I moved on to some other work, keeping the problem in the back of my mind—how to ask the questions I wanted without getting killed.