The trouble with hairy, p.21
The Trouble With Hairy, page 21
part #2 of West Hollywood Vampires Series
Guy choked down the howl and blinked twice in astonishment. Whoever, or whatever, the driver was, he was definitely not human! Without getting closer, Guy was unable to determine the young man’s exact nature, except for the certainty that he was not a werewolf. Guy’s mind raced, filtering through the options, and quickly narrowed the field to three possibilities; the youth was either a ghoul that had somehow overcome its fear of normals, a vampire, or some type of demon.
A ghoul, he could handle easily; the merest growl and the damned thing would probably die of fright. A bloodsucker or demon, however, would not be so easily dissuaded. Guy decided to err on the side of caution and, rather than rushing in, ducked behind some bushes to keep vigil.
In ten minutes, the three emerged, the black man carrying the still empty cardboard box. They wore varying looks of unease as they went to the car. But the driver paused before he got in, furrowing his brow in concern as he glanced nervously toward the east. Guy sat back on his heels, pleased one of his original guesses had been correct. Only a vampire would have looked toward the dawn with such trepidation.
The presence of the bloodsucker, though, could hamper his movements. If the creature had become friendly with Louis — and trafficking with vampires would only be the latest of his cousin’s perversions — he could prove a formidable obstacle. Guy had no desire to tangle with one of them. Destroying Louis in single combat would be difficult enough. His only chance of emerging victorious would be to catch the vampire unaware, preferably during the day; a frontal attack might well prove to be suicide.
What I need, he thought with frustration, is more information.
Guy had two choices. He could track the vampire to his lair, catch him off guard and, hopefully remove him from the playing field. Or, he could continue trying to catch Louis’ scent again before it grew too cold to follow. While he was debating, the sound of the fat woman’s huffing and puffing as she tried to squeeze her bulk into the Volkswagen’s tiny front seat, came floating across the street. Guy smiled wickedly, baring his teeth as another inspiration came to him. Perhaps there was a third option after all.
He changed fully into lupine form and, as the car pulled away from the curb, darted across the street just behind its rear tires, making sure to remain low against the ground. Within seconds, his sensitive nose had filtered out the stench of the car’s exhaust and had sifted through the sweet, oily smell of the black man’s heavy perspiration and the vampire’s faint odor of dried blood to focus on the fat woman’s scent. He paused, savoring her body odor and fixing it in his mind until, he was certain, he’d easily be able to track her down from several blocks away. Then, at a leisurely pace, he followed the white car.
He kept to the shadows, just out of sight of the car’s rearview mirror as it proceeded westward, past West Hollywood Park, to Doheny Drive and pulled into an empty space in front of a three story white building. He watched as the fat girl heaved herself out of the car and, after waving goodbye to the other two, waddled up the path to the building’s front door and inserted her key.
Guy sat back on his haunches, unconsciously licking his lips. All his instincts were aroused; the girl would be easy prey. He controlled himself with effort and, after making a mental note of the building’s address, contented himself with idle fantasies of her plump limbs being crushed in his jaws. Then, he turned tail and headed for home.
Waking this morning, his anger at losing Louis’ trail had faded, leaving him with a somewhat clearer mind. After all, he thought, why take risks with a bloodsucker on the scene? He could bide his time, survey terrain and hunt for a different sort of prey; prey that sooner or later, would answer all his questions and lead him directly to the soft flesh of his cousin’s throat. Oh yes! With the Walking Whale’s help, the vampire could be disposed of and then, it was only a matter of time until his cousin the fairy was scented, tracked, spotted and killed.
CHAPTER 12
Troy was perched on the edge of the autopsy table, bare-chested and shivering a bit in the chill morgue air.
“Is this gonna hurt?” he asked, his voice small with trepidation.
“Nope,” Becky said as she readied her equipment. “No worse than when we drew the blood. And if you’re good, I’ll give you a lollipop when we’re done.”
“I am not a child.” He affected a most mature air. “A vodka and seven will be just fine, thank you.” He shivered again. “Can’t you turn up the heat in here?”
“It’ll smell like a ghouls’ picnic,” Becky warned. “I’ve got five bodies in those drawers.”
“That’s okay,” said Troy quickly. “I’ll freeze. I don’t mind.”
“Where did you get that underwear?” Becky asked, trying to make conversation and distract him so he wouldn’t see the hypodermic needles she was preparing.
“Oh, these old things?” Troy looked down at the violet and orange tie-dyed briefs he was wearing. “They were popular in the early seventies. I found ’em in the back of the closet. We packed all the really good stuff.”
Becky shuddered, silently, at the thought of what he meant by “the good stuff.” She finished her preparations and turned to face him.
“Okay, I’m ready. Turn around.”
“Why?” Troy asked with trepidation.
Becky sighed with slight impatience. “I’m going to subcutaneously inject some of the samples I got from Louis this morning. I’ll put some on your back and some on your arm.”
“I don’t know what sub-whatever means,” Troy said, hopping down off the table, “but ‘inject,’ I recognize.” He grabbed his white T-shirt which had the legend “Homo Sex Y’all” emblazoned on the front in bright pink letters.
“You get your ass back up there,” Becky demanded.
“No,” said Troy stubbornly, backing around the corner of the table as Becky drew nearer.
“Look, mister. If I have to pick you up and tie you to that table, I will.” She darted forward, but the blond boy deftly eluded her.
“Sorry,” Troy said, flippantly, “not into bondage.”
“Damn it, Troy! It goes like an eighth of an inch into the skin. I promise it won’t hurt.” She lunged across the table, trying to grab him, but he ducked underneath and she landed, chest first on top of the autopsy table with an “ooof” of exploding breath.
“You’re sure?” he asked doubtfully, his voice floating up from under the table.
“I told you already.” Becky wriggled forward and thrust her head over the edge of the table, fixing Troy with a deadly, albeit upside down, glare. “I am not gonna play Ring Around the Rosy with you. Do I have to call Chris?”
“No,” Troy crawled out from under the table and hopped up onto it again as Becky got off, throwing his shirt onto the floor, “You’ll wake him.” He bravely held out his arm, squeezing his eyes shut. “Go ahead.”
Becky took his arm. “And do what?” she asked, deftly pricking the skin of his forearm with the tip of the needle.
“Huh?” Troy was puzzled. “Put the stuff in me, of course.”
“I just did,” Becky grinned, turning his arm over so he could see the tiny red puncture. “Now, turn around.”
Troy shifted so that Becky could reach his back. “Well, how ’bout that!” He murmured, examining the marks on his arm. While he was engrossed, Becky performed the other tests on his right shoulder.
“All done,” she said, putting the testing equipment away. “Now, we wait for a reaction.”
“I didn’t even feel it,” Troy exclaimed, pleased.
“Yeah, you’re a real trooper, all right,” sighed Becky, in mild irritation. Honestly! He’s old enough to be my father and he’s such a baby. What does Chris see in him? She shook her head in wonder at the follies of the male animal and, taking up one of the tubes of blood she’d taken earlier, deposited it in the centrifuge.
“Can I get dressed now?” Troy asked, meekly.
“Just stay right there,” she replied, shortly. “And hush. I’m going to be busy.” Her tongue poked out of her mouth in concentration as she fussed with one of the other blood samples.
The room was silent for some minutes. Finally, Troy spoke.
“It itches,” he complained.
“It’s supposed to.” Becky dismissed his complaint and looked up at him. “Will you do me a favor and fetch me something to eat from the top drawer of the counter next to the chemical cabinet? The one you broke last time.”
“What do you want?”
“Oh, anything.” She re-absorbed herself in her work.
Troy slid off the table and went over to the counter. He opened the drawer and his eyes widened at the assortment of candy bars, cakes and packages of cookies within.
“Wow!” he said with delight. “Tasty-Cakes! I didn’t know you could get these out here.” He picked up a couple and shut the drawer.
“You can’t. Not without driving all over hell and tarnation to find them. Chris has them sent in for me.”
“I’m taking a Chocolate Junior,” Troy informed her as he plunked several down on the counter next to where Becky was working and began to tear into the wrapping.
“I guess the diet’s history, huh?” he added, not too unkindly, once his mouth was full of cake.
She ignored him, immersed in her work, pausing only to take short, quick bites from the three Butterscotch Krimpets on the counter next to her. Again the room was quiet as Troy marched himself back to the autopsy table. Suddenly, his voice rang out clearly, disturbing the uncomfortable silence.
“Becky,” he began tremulously. She grunted. “Why don’t you like me?”
Becky paused in her work, mouth full of butterscotch icing, startled by the question. She swung around in her chair to face him.
“What makes you think I don’t like you?” she asked, once she’d swallowed.
“You don’t,” Troy said, disarming her with his simple honest tone. “You’re never nice to me. Not like you are to Chris. You’re even really mean sometimes. And you treat me like a two year old, always telling me to hush up.”
“But, I do like you, Troy,” Becky tried to placate him.
“No you don’t. You tolerate me. That’s something different.”
Becky opened her mouth to reassure him again and stopped in amazement at his perception. For Troy, of course, was right; Becky just hadn’t realized that she’d been so obvious about it.
Why the hell Chris ever married the little twit, I’ll never understand. She came to a decision, inspired, in part, by her irritation that he’d caught her so obviously off guard.
“All right, Troy,” she snapped, standing up. “You want me to talk to you like an adult? Fine. Start acting like an adult.” At Troy’s irritating look of innocent confusion, she felt compelled to continue.
You vicious bitch! she mentally chastised. You’re enjoying this!
“For starters, you’re the type of person that gives gay men a bad name. No sense of responsibility. Worried about nothing but how you look.” Troy flinched as if he’d been struck.
“But…” he began.
“I’m not finished. You asked for this,” she warned. “You flirt with everything…”
“Only if they’re cute…” Troy muttered, under his breath.
“See what I mean?” Becky was triumphant.
“I’ll be quiet.”
“Good! Where was I?” She took a breath to give herself time to think and, suddenly, with a vindictiveness that surprised her, the words began to pour out.
“You spend thousands of dollars on your back while people are starving. You’re obnoxious. You’re an irresponsible spoiled child. You never shut up. What’s worse, you never say anything. You talk only so you can hear yourself speak and to impress everyone with how clever you are. Camp is funny on some people, but on you, it’s just irritating. You’re bitchy to everyone, only worried about your own feelings and you don’t give a shit about anybody else. And…” She leaned forward menacingly, “I am fucking sick of your fat jokes!”
She backed away and threw her hands into the air. “As for how Chris puts up with your tricks, that, I’ll never figure out. Chris is a kind, gentle, wonderful human being — no matter how you slice it. He deserves better!” She stopped, amazed at herself.
“Like you, maybe?” Troy asked with surprising gentleness.
“Why you little…!” Becky purpled with rage. Then, the meaning of Troy’s words penetrated, and her anger collapsed to be replaced with confusion and not a little doubt.
“Becky,” Troy said earnestly, “I can’t help it that you’re a girl. That’s just the way it is. Chris knows how you feel, but he doesn’t need you the way you want.”
Becky was momentarily speechless.
“I give him what he needs,” Troy added, with a simple innocence, “not because I need to give it, but because he needs to have it. He needs you too,” Troy conceded, “just differently.” He shrugged then, genuinely not understanding, “And why do I have to be responsible?”
“Because you can’t go through life like…well, like a child,” Becky said.
“Why not?” Troy’s confusion showed. Becky was amazed; she could see that he honestly had no idea what she was talking about.
“Chris loves me,” he said as if Becky were being obtuse. “He takes care of things so I don’t have to. He likes being responsible. That’s what I do for him. I give him stuff to deal with, to take up time. That’s what he needs.” Troy felt a sense of frustration, trying to put words to something that seemed so natural to him and feeling certain he wasn’t doing a very good job.
“The flirting?” Becky threw at him. “The camping?”
Troy sighed. There was a note of defeat in his tone. He spread his hands dramatically. “What you see is what you get. I stopped trying to change myself probably before you were born. And, besides,” he added defiantly, “I like who I am. And I never, ever trick with anyone who’s not human!”
“Like that makes a difference?” Becky said sarcastically.
“Of course it does!” said Troy, his eyes widening in surprise that such a thing would have to be explained. “Otherwise, it’d be cheating. After all, Chris and I always take something from them. It’s only fair that we give them something in return.”
Becky grabbed another Tasty-Cake, a fruit pie this time, ripped off the wrapper, and shoved half of it into her mouth. Her thoughts and emotions were in a whirl. The little prick’s got a point, she thought reluctantly.
Becky was honest enough with herself to admit that, perhaps, some of the attraction she’d first felt toward Chris a decade or more ago still remained. Maybe, she thought, she was just taking some of her frustration out on Troy. She swallowed her mouthful of pie and took another bite, resolving that, when she had time, she’d take a cold hard look at her feelings toward Chris. In the meantime, she’d try to stop being so hard on Troy — no matter how insufferable he might get.
Jealousy doesn’t become you, old girl, she thought wryly as she chewed. She was more than a little shaken by her little spat with Troy, but realized she’d been unfair. She turned to offer a grudging apology, but Troy’s next words absolutely floored her.
“And, you won’t believe this,” Troy said in a whisper, “But, I’m sorry you’re going to have to die…one day.”
Becky’s mouth dropped open, the partially chewed cake almost falling to the floor.
“What?” she breathed.
“What you really get ticked at,” Troy said, without malice, “is that you have to worry about the future. I don’t.”
He sighed, his brow wrinkled with thought. “I suppose one day Chris and I might get tired of living and decide to do A Star Is Born scene.” He met Becky’s stunned gaze with a gentle look of his own. “But it won’t be in your lifetime. Or your kids’, if you have any.”
Becky was flabbergasted. Troy rose from the table and came up to her, patting her shoulder awkwardly.
“You see, Becky,” he said earnestly. “I’ve always liked you. I tease a lot, but really I do.” He paused and wrapped his arms around her in a tight hug. “I’m sorry about the fat jokes. I didn’t know they bothered you so much. And Becky,” he continued earnestly, childishly trying to reassure her, “We’ll both miss you when you’re gone.”
He went back to his seat on the table. Becky stood, silently, rocked to the core by what Troy had just said.
“Now, if you don’t mind, Gladys,” he went on with a studied attempt at camp, “This itches like a son of a bitch!”
Becky moved to examine the results of the first allergy test. But, for the first time in years, she moved through the rest of her tests with only part of her mind focused on her work. With the other part, she heard the muted tick tock of some implacable clock. It was only with great effort that she could maintain her composure and ignore it.
Finally, she reached out and clutched Troy’s hand tightly in one of her own.
“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, unable to look him in the eye.
Troy said nothing. But, with his other hand, he softly stroked Becky’s wrist.
CHAPTER 13
“And what the fuck did you have planned for the rest of the day?” Burman asked, as she looked around her now spotless apartment dazedly.
“I dunno.” Louis shrugged as he gave the glass-topped dining table a final wipe with a dry rag. The rag was the only piece of cloth anywhere in the werewolf’s vicinity; he was completely nude.
Burman had awakened late, with just enough time for her morning jog, showered quickly, dumped her sweat suit on the end of her bed and rushed off to City Hall. When she returned home for lunch, the jogging suit had been washed, pressed and neatly folded. The remainder of her dirty laundry was in a similar pristine condition.
The rest of the apartment was practically blinding in its cleanliness; the windows sparkled, the floors had been scrubbed and waxed to a brilliant shine, even the woodwork on her antiques had been polished. What’s more, not a single one of her treasures had been chipped or broken.
