Chicago Lockdown, Part Four

I blinked, nauseous. I managed not to throw up on the sofa I was suddenly lying on.

            Wait—where—what the—

            A hand slapped my face. "Sit up. Here's the trash can. Throw up in here if you have to, not on my oriental."

            I focused as the world stopped spinning. Anemone stood over me, a smirk on her face. "Alone at last."

            The room was large, with paintings on every wall and a long window, dark curtains closed. A big-screen TV, a fringed oriental rug across a hardwood floor, and bookshelves stuffed with large art books. A laptop lay on a small desk in the corner. A big ceiling fan swung through the air overhead. Heavy black curtains hid the windows. 

            I gripped the trashcan until I was sure my dinner was secure in my stomach. Then I looked up. "How?"

            "I have one of those rings." She held up a hand, showing me a thick gold band with a glowing red stone. "Like Ricardo, remember him? I don't use it every often, because even vampires have problems with to it." She coughed. "See? By the way, you're welcome."

            "Yeah, sorry. Thank you." Catching my breath, I reached for my phone. "Do you have anything to, uh, drink? Water, I mean. Or a beer."

            She laughed. "No plasma? I've got some beer. Hang on."

            I called Sharpe while she was in the kitchen. "Anita? What the hell?"

            Usually it was the cops asking me, "What the hell?" Now Sharpe was on the defensive. "I didn't know they were going in like that! What the hell happened there?"

            "It backfired. They're angry and hungry and frustrated, like everyone else. This one vamp named Rodrick started whipping them up. Then—they saw me. That's when it all went to hell."

            "You okay?" She actually sounded concerned. 

            "I got away. Somehow." Anemone came back with a bottle of Corona. "Thanks. Okay, I've got to call Rachel so she can yell at me. But the city's got to get those centers open again!"

            "I'm just a lowly police detective! The mayor doesn't answer my calls!"

            "Well, this is going to get out of control if we don't do something—"

            "Wait." Anemone yanked the phone from my hand and put it on speaker. "How many vamps did you kill tonight? Did you come with silver bullets and stakes?"

            "I don't know. I'm just on the vamp squad, half of the cops don't believe in you guys. Silver bullets are expensive, and they're hard to explain in a budget detail." She sighed. "What if you got rid of this Rodrick guy?"

            Anemone's eyes glowed red behind her dark glasses. "You're not asking me to declare war on one of my own, are you? I didn't hear that."

            "Killing him wouldn't change the mood," I said quickly. "It's like those protests around the country. But these aren't right-wing idiots, they're vampires. They're here and they're not going away."

            "All right." Sharpe sighed. "I'll talk to Hughes. Maybe he can make the new super listen. I'll call you in the morning."

            She hung up. I snatched my phone back. "Give me a minute." I punched Rachel's number. 

            "Tom! What the hell?" Rachel almost blew out my eardrum. "There's all this stuff on the news about a riot in Lincoln Park! Where the hell are you? Are you okay? What the hell happened?"

            Anemone grinned. "Give your girlfriend my love."

            "I'm with, uh, Anemone. She rescued me. I'm fine. I'll come home as soon as I—"

            "No, stay there. Wait until daylight. I don't believe I'm saying this. Yes, spend the night in a sexy vamp's apartment while I sit here and worry about you. Just don't do anything stupid. Stupider than usual. Although that's a pretty low bar at this point."

            "I love you."

            "Me too." She hung up. 

            I finished my beer. "Looks like I'm spending the night. Do you have more of this? And by the way, is buying Corona a joke?"

            "I got a case of it on sale before this whole thing started. Knock your socks off." She stretched. Still in just her magenta bra and jeans. "I'm going to change. Remember, this is my awake time, so I'm going to be up all night watching Gilmore Girls. Maybe writing some poetry."

            "Gilmore Girls? I love that show."

            "Then grab another beer if you want. This is the one with Norman Mailer."

            I snagged another beer from the refrigerator. Anemone emerged from her bedroom. In a loose pink T-shirt that drifted close to her knees. "This is better. Isn't it?""

            "F-fine." I sat back as she bent down and poured herself a glass of dark red wine from a table next to the TV. I gulped the beer, trying not to stare at her butt, my mouth suddenly dry. Anemone sat down next to me and lifted the remote.

            "Relax." She crossed a leg over her knee. "Let's just watch TV."

            "Uh, okay." I sat back.

            Okay, I'm a guy. And a hot woman, nearly naked was sitting next to me. Her hand was next to my leg. And I was stressed out, halfway drunk, and close to panic.

            I reminded myself that if I did anything stupid, Rachel would kill me. Then she'd kill Anemone. Then she'd somehow bring me back to life to kill me again. 

            It helped. I leaned back as the Gilmore Girls came on. La, la, la . . .

            I dozed off as Norman Mailer was talking. I'd never been able to get through any of his books. I was still slowly working my way through Infinite Jest.

            I dreamed. 

            I was floating in the Lincoln Park lagoon, with piranhas nipping at my flesh. The water was freezing, my skin icy. I couldn't move. 

            I sank down in the cold water, choking. 

            A shark swam by. A big white. Its jaws opened wide. Two long fangs jutted down. They closed on my throat . . .

            I jerked up as Anemone's thick door splintered and split. Shards of wood dropped onto the rug. A bony hand reached through and unsnapped the deadbolt, then yanked the chain off.

            I bolted up from the couch, dizzy. Anemone was up on her bare feet, fists clenched. "Stay back, Tom."

            The door burst open. Rodrick stalked inside. "Anemone!"

            "Get out of here." She pointed at the doorway. "You're not welcome here." 

            He laughed. "That only works on TV. We're both vamps, and I can come anywhere I want." He crossed his skinny arms. "And I want him."

            I staggered to my feet. "Look, can we talk about this? Over coffee?"

            "Shut up, Tom." Anemone stepped in front of me. "Look, Rodrick, I don't know what you want, but Tom Jurgen is under my protection. I'm the queen of half the vampire population in Chicago, and Clifton Page is—"

            "You're no queen, you're a bitch." He pointed at me. "And that one is responsible for everything that happened tonight, and hunting down hundreds of us. He killed Asmodeus! It's time for you to make up your mind—whose side are you really on?"

            "Hang on a minute!" I was just awake now to be pissed off. "First of all, hundreds? I wish I was that good. Second, Asmodeus killed a friend of mine, and I'm not sorry he's dead. Third, I didn't start that riot, you did. Fourth . . . uh." I shook my head. "Give me a second."

            "It doesn't matter." Rodrick glared at Anemone. "It's time for a new king. Not a weak queen."

            "How old are you?" Anemone crouched. "Since you got turned?" 

            "Thirty years ago. I was strong then. I'm stronger now."

            She laughed. "Come and get it, then. You want a piece of me?"

            Rodrick rushed forward.

            Anemone dodged and kicked at his knee. He fell face first on the rug, and Anemone drove a bare heel down on his neck. Rodrick grunted, trying to roll over, but Anemone kicked at his throat.

            "You may be young and strong," she hissed, "but I'm old and I play dirty. Right, Tom?"

            Rodrick rose to his knees and lunged forward, punching at Anemone's gut. She staggered back and fell, grunting, pounding her fists at his face.

            Rodrick wrapped his hands around her throat. "You'll see, bitch. Once I snap this neck off you, they'll all follow me. And we'll get the blood we need. And the humans—"

            I leaped forward, clutching the stake I'd brought to the lagoon meeting. Somehow it hadn't snapped in my back pocket. Still solid and hard.

            I drove it through Rodrick's White Sox jacket and into his back as hard as I could. Right into his undead heart. 

            Rodrick's head jerked back. "No!"

            Very old vampires just crumble and disappear when they get staked. Younger ones leave traces of bones and flesh behind. 

            Rodrick wasn't too old. He dropped, and started dissolving. Part of his skull rolled under Anemone's desk, and bits of skin scattered under the ceiling fan's swirl.

            Anemone rolled away and lurched to her feet. "Crap. Cleaning that rug is going to be a bitch."

            I dropped the stake, trying again not to throw up. "You're welcome."

            She leaned forward and patted my neck. "Thanks, Tom."

            Then her mouth opened, fangs down. Oh, no . . .

            I flinched, but all she did was kiss me on the lips. Then she stepped away. "What's the matter?"

            "Nothing." I staggered back and fell on the sofa. "More beer?"

            "After we board up the door. I'll get a hammer."

Usually I can't sleep after almost getting killed, but I dropped off before finishing my beer, or the next Gilmore episode. 

            When I woke up, Anemone had put an afghan over me. I checked my phone for the time. 7:31. The sun was up outside, not that I could see it through the thick black curtains.

            I stretched and looked for the bathroom. It was a one-bedroom apartment, so I knew where I had to go.

            The bedroom door was ajar. I peeked in and saw her coffin, lid closed. It wasn't large and lacquered—just a bare wooden box, narrow at the bottom, a scattering of dirt around it. Anemone was apparently a traditionalist vamp when it came to her sleeping arrangements during the daylight hours. 

            I tiptoed around the coffin to the bathroom, did my business, washed my hands thoroughly, and crept back out of the bedroom and closed the door.

            I called Rachel. "You up?"

            "I am now!" She sounded cranky. I couldn't blame her. "Are you coming home soon? The sun's up. What happened? Did she try anything on you?" Rachel gets territorial.

            I decided not to tell her about the kiss. "I, uh, had to kill a vamp." I looked at the rug. Most of the flesh bits had blown into corners, but the shards of Rodrick's skull still sat under the desk with the laptop. 

            "Are you okay? What happened? You're an idiot." Rachel took a deep breath. "Just come home. Is she asleep?"

            "Tucked into her coffin." I grabbed my jacket. "I think I still have my face mask here. As soon as I can get a cab—"

            My phone buzzed with another call. Sharpe. "See you soon. —Anita? I mean, detective Sharpe? How are you this fine—"

            "Cut the crap, Jurgen. Show up at City Hall at 11 for the mayor. Don't be late."

            "Wait, what—the mayor?"

            "We're trying to get this under control. Hughes will be there. And the superintendent. You're the ambassador. Don't tell anyone."

            I gulped. "Can I bring Rachel?"

            Sharpe laughed. "As long as she doesn't ask for an autograph. Just be there on time."

            I sank onto the couch and looked at the boarded-up door. Then I tapped Rachel's number again. "Hey, you want to go meet the mayor?"