Bite my fire, p.24
Bite My Fire, page 24
So I went back to thinking about the case, much more solid mental ground. “There’s at least two sets of DNA. One matches our favorite hooker.” Drusilla’s hair, the one I recovered after our last chat, didn’t have a root tab. But the hair itself was enough for mitochondrial testing.
That got his attention. “My kind has DNA?”
“Yes. Remember those two guys who attacked us?” I explained about the char marks. It was a relief to be able to be completely honest about it, although I still avoided the v-word in public. “‘Your kind’ not only has DNA. The DNA’s completely human.”
“Incredible.” Bo gazed at me with respect. “Brava, Detective. That’s quite brilliant.”
I blushed, glad he couldn’t see it in the dark. I hated anyone knowing I was such a pushover for compliments. Especially my boyfriend.
Then he grazed my cheek with one finger, a gently amused look on his face. Busted. I forgot he could apparently see in the dark. “Yeah, well it doesn’t really tell us anything. Drusilla’s saliva is consistent with her story. And we still can’t identify who else had their mouth down there. Only that it’s male.”
“Thus the ‘he’.”
“Yeah. Since Nieman’s is right next door to the crime scene, and since most of the bar’s clientele is male—” A yellowed bra, its straps let out to the knees, hit me in the cheek. I winced at the sting, then checked quickly to make sure my own aged tit-trap was holding up. Left One was slipping loose, so I surreptitiously stuffed her back. “I thought the bar the logical place to start looking.”
Buddy the bartender returned. “Your special, Mr. Strongwell. Your boilermaker, lady.” He handed Bo a glass, and me a glass and a shot. Mine were amber and clear. Bo’s was dull red.
Bo arched one blond brow. “Should you be drinking on the job, Detective?”
A thong came zinging through the air, hit a bowl of bar peanuts. Peanuts flew everywhere, little legumey pellets spitting into patrons, mirror, and floor like machine gun bullets.
I craned my neck to see behind the bar. The thong lay amid scattered peanuts like a dead snake.
I had decided never to break the rules again, but if I didn’t blind myself pronto, I was going to run out the door. Screaming. And if I ran out (screaming), I’d never get the names. Without the names, we’d never crack the case.
So, break the rules and drink. Or not break the rules and fail justice. ’Cause Dirklet was never solving this case on his own.
Pulling my gun, I ejected the clip. Brass-checked the chamber, empty. After handing Bo the ammo, I dropped the shot glass into the beer. “Hazard pay. Cheers.”
I slung back enough to make my eyes water. This was as close to blindness as I was going to get.
Tomorrow, I promised myself. Tomorrow, I could go back to being by-the-book O’Rourke. I could quit any time. As the alcoholic glow threaded my veins, it occurred to me that’s what all the addicts said.
Bo smiled. “I understand. Skål.” He sipped his own drink. The liquid in his glass moved sluggishly, like tomato juice.
“What’s that?”
“A Red Special.”
Maybe he thought he could put me off with that lame excuse for an answer. He’d forgotten I had a younger, pestier sister. “Uh-huh. Which contains…?”
The lip-curve thing. “If you asked for a Red Special, it would be cranberry juice and brandy.”
I tinked a finger against his glass. The liquid shivered like setting gelatin. “That’s too thick for cranberry juice.”
“Is it?”
He wasn’t going to tell me. I decided to play big-sister hardball. “Okay, buster. How about you give me the glass and I try some?”
“Buster. I like the way you say that. Sounds almost like lover.”
“Does not.”
“Does too.” The curve deepened.
“Does…fuck. What is that?” I emphasized each word with a poke to his iron-hard stomach.
“So persistent. All right, Detective, What do you think it is?”
I stared at the drink in his hand. “Red, viscous, smells like pennies…oh no. That’s just…ew!” Blood, here? A bar wouldn’t have donors, would it? And if the bar didn’t have donors… “Where does that stuff come from?”
He shrugged. “The mortuary, most likely.”
I should just learn to keep my mouth shut. “Oh, yuck.”
“Or the hospital. Don’t worry. My kind pays top dollar, and we never take rare blood types.”
“Great. A conscientious bloodsucker.” I slugged back the rest of my drink. A nice buzz hit my brain, dulling the horror of sluggish red drinks and yellowed thongs.
Buddy unfortunately thought my empty meant I wanted another. Within moments he plopped a refill at my elbow. Without a word, Bo paid.
Well, I just had to drink it then, didn’t I? I didn’t want to let Bo’s money go to waste.
I drained it. Plop, plop, fizz, fizz, oh what a relief. It did make me feel better, and warmer. I set my empty down. Buddy swooped in with a third boilermaker. Bo paid for this one too. I knocked back half and felt even better. And much, much warmer.
“Detective O’Rourke?” A finger tapped my shoulder.
I swiveled to see the horse face of Dieter Donner. I blinked. This was good for some reason. Oh yeah. I was here to get the names of Nieman’s customers on the night Schrimpf was killed. Donner had been here, and he might know who else was. I should intrrograte…intrro…grill him. “Just the guy I wanted to see.”
Beyond Donner, the refined, polite Franz Blitz bowed. “Not here for the floorshow, Detective O’Rourke? Brunhilde is in rare form tonight.”
I slewed a one-eyed glance at the bar. Wrinkles undulated way too close. Ow. My eye throbbed like I’d been clocked in the face.
I set my half-empty glass down. Picked it up again when the silver loafer threatened to send it flying. Yikes. Better, but not better enough. I slapped the glass to my mouth and drank more.
An aged ass wiggled in front of my eyes. It was now totally naked.
I spazzed. The rest of my drink poured into my nose and gaping mouth. I snorted, choked, and coughed. My eyes watered uncontrollably but some demon of black karmic hell was at work because I could still see.
Bo pried the glass gently from my hand. Replaced it with another, straight beer this time. I drank. For an evil creature of darkness, he was pretty considerate. “So, Bzziz. Blitz. Who wus…I mean was—here? Then. That night. When youze guys found Chimpf…Shim…yeah.”
Donner exchanged a look with Blitz. “That night? Here?”
I nodded. Strangely, the room wobbled.
“At Nieman’s?”
I nodded again. The room started spinning. Like a merry-go-round. It was kind of fun. I nodded some more.
“You want to know who was in the bar that night?”
I nodded until I thought my head would pop off. The room twirled like a kaleidoscope. Whee!
“I’m not sure…” Blitz cut a troubled glance at Donner.
Bo put a hand on my rattling head. Slowly, the room stopped spinning. Bo said for me, “Surely you remember who was here, Mr. Blitz. Since I know you have a photographic memory.”
He did?
Donner looked worried. “This is a neighborhood bar, Mr. Strongwell.”
Somehow I’d lost control of the intrrogra…inerroga…fuck. I broke in with a clever, witty comment. “Yes.” I looked from Donner to Blitz to Donner again, waiting for an answer. They really did look like a horse and carriage. Or carriage and horse. Horse, carriage. Carriage, horse. Which came first? No, that was chickens and eggs.
Neither horse nor carriage answered so I prompted, “That’s why I thought you’d know who was here. In the bar. That night.” The words were clear in my head. They didn’t make as much sense when I said them out loud.
Donner picked up an unlit bar candle. Examined it. “We know who was here.”
“So whazz the problem?” As I lifted my glass a breeze wafted over the skin of my tit. I looked down. Sure enough, Left One was peeking out. She obviously wanted to hear the problem too. But Left One wasn’t the cop, I was. I tucked her back in. She didn’t fit as neatly as she had before. I spent a couple moments trying to stuff her in right.
Bo’s purr sounded right in my ear. “Allow me, Detective?”
“Sure.” That was nice of him. Now I could get back to my hard-boiled interrogation without Left One poking her nose in. So to speak.
Bo’s warm hand slipped over my breast. Cupped it gently. Kneaded it a few times before sliding it home.
I gulped down the rest of my beer before I choked on it. “So, Blitz. Donner. Uh, Blitz. Tell me who wuz…was here.”
“We can’t.” Donner tipped the candle at the other customers. “These are our friends, Detective O’Rourke.”
“Good friends.” Blitz pulled out a matchbook. “Like family. We can’t betray them.”
“Befray…betray? I’m a cop. It’s not like you’re befray…traying them if it’s legal. Wait. That didn’t come out right.”
“Drink this.” Blitz slid another glass into my hand. “It will help.”
“Okay.” How nice they were. How helpful. Except for telling me who had been here that night. I smiled amiably around me.
“Perhaps a compromise,” Bo said.
I turned my smile on him. Everyone was helpful. Especially Bo. Left One nodded her agreement. I shushed her.
“A compromise.” Donner set down the candle and tore out a match, carefully closing the matchbook cover. “Well…it would be different if you were one of us, Detective O’Rourke.”
Who was us? Fuck, us. Was everyone in Meiers Corners a vampire?
“A regular customer,” Blitz clarified.
“Oh.” I giggled with relief. Immediately I stifled myself. I never giggle. What was wrong with me?
Nothing another drink wouldn’t fix. I drank. “My parns…parets…dad and step-mom were born here. Does that count?”
Match poised to strike, Donner paused. “In Nieman’s Bar?”
“Not in the bar. In Meiers Corners.”
“Has to be Nieman’s if you want to be—a Niemanner.” Blitz emphasized the word with a heartfelt thump on his chest, a whump loud enough to make me jump.
Donner lit the match. His tongue stuck out as he concentrated on extending the flame into the candle vase. The dancing flame caught, lighting a corresponding bright look on Donner’s horsy face. “She’s not a Niemanner.” He set down the candle and thumped, not quite as chest-resonant as Blitz. Too stringy, I guess. “But she could be.”
“I could be.” I nodded eagerly, like a boingy-toy.
Bo put his hand on my head. He had a nice, warm hand. I nodded into it, feeling his palm rub against my hair. But when he spoke, he was growly Bo. “How, exactly, would Detective O’Rourke become a Niemanner?”
Donner thumped.
“It’s simple, Mr. Strongwell,” Blitz said. “All the detective has to do is prove herself.”
“Like Brunhilde,” Donner agreed.
I kept nodding like a fool. “Yeah, like Brun—Granny Butt?”
“Exactly.” Blitz was beaming. “Bar dancers are automatically granted Niemanner—” whump, “—status.”
“And if you’re a Niemanner—” Donner thumped, “—we have to ’fess all.”
“It’s required,” Blitz agreed.
“So up you go.” Donner grabbed my hands and yanked me off my stool.
Chapter Twenty-One
“One moment.” Bo flashed his teeth. No fangs, but Bo’s knife-sharp pearlies were enough. Donner released me like I was the burning match.
I reeled, the whole room spinning.
Bo caught me. “Elena. You don’t have to do this.”
“Izz’ere any other way to be a—Niemanner?” I thumped my chest like Blitz and Donner had.
Lefty popped out.
Bo’s hand flashed. Lefty was back snug in her nest before anyone but me knew.
“There’s no other way,” Donner said.
“There’s one other way,” Blitz said.
Bo and I leaned forward.
“Attend five consecutive dart tournaments. Or sheepshead. The next tourney is in two weeks.”
“Yeah.” I deflated. I sucked at darts and was what Gretch kindly referred to as a chronic underachiever at sheepshead. So… “Gotta dance.” I maneuvered one foot onto a stool and hoisted.
“Elena,” Bo said.
Wavering on the stool, I looked down. Bo’s attitude was a peculiar mixture of protective, outraged and—wow, was that a hopeful little testosterone monster I saw? Without Hulk It?
The protective wouldn’t have stopped me. The outrage certainly wouldn’t have.
But it was kind of cute to see Mr. Loch Ness poking his head up for a looky-see. “Iz my job.” I clambered onto the bar and stood. And swayed.
Whoa. The bar looked much narrower from here. And there were road hazards. Bowls of peanuts, beer spills, and…ew. Granny’s yellow bra. Apparently when she threw it into the peanuts, the peanuts had thrown it back.
“Woo-wee!” A gravelly voice bellowed from the back. Louder than Niagara Falls, it cut through talk and music like a foghorn. “New blood! Dance, girly!”
I tried a few experimental jumps. My shoes hit a wet spot and bang, my legs went out from under me. I nearly swan-dived into the floor.
A strong hand instantly steadied me so I only landed on my butt on the bar. “Elena.” Growly again. I guessed Bo was upset.
“I’m fine, I’m fine.” I leaped to my feet to prove it, instantly skidded. Caught myself, barely. I saw my arms flail in the mirror to my right.
“Elena!” Bo leaped onto the bar in front of me. Seized me by the arms. “Don’t do this. Please.” His face was absolutely serious.
He was so cute, worried. I grinned up at him. “Have to.” I shimmed around in his arms, turning my back on him.
“I guess you’ll do anything to get your clue,” he muttered.
“Not anythin’.” I wouldn’t be doing this if I weren’t desperate for those names. Well, I was pretty sure I wouldn’t.
He sighed loud enough for me to hear before his heat disappeared.
When he was back on his stool, I started again, a little more cautiously. I worked myself from shimmy up to gyrate.
A chant came from all around me. “Do it, do it!” Foghorn Bullhorn led the pack.
So I tipped the sleeve of my pink shirt off my shoulder. Glanced down. Donner and Blitz were all appreciative grins. Bo’s face was thunderous.
But his testosterone love bat was hitting random fly balls.
Bat. Like baseball bat, get it? The wooden kind. No, not like the squeaky flappy kind. I know, I know, a vampire lover implies the flappy kind. But a girl has to have some standards.
I twisted the other way. Several patrons were watching. The jukebox started pumping out DragonForce. Their great driving rhythm loosened me up.
“Take it off!” Bullhorn-man yelled. Several voices joined in.
I twirled back to see Donner and Blitz nodding in agreement. And to see Bo, steaming, both mad and aroused. So I smiled and raised my arms over my head as I danced. It lifted my breasts. And incidentally blocked his red face from my sight.
In films, the stripper turns, unzips her gown, and it falls away. I turned, but my pink shirt was a pull-on. I groped along the back for several seconds before I remembered. Turning back, I took the hem with both hands. Pulled up. It was stubbornly tight. I pulled harder.
The shirt peeled away like stuck wallpaper. I had to practically mud-wrestle it.
But finally, I got it off. A huge cheer greeted my small contribution to stripper history. I twirled my shirt triumphantly over my head a few times before throwing it behind the bar.
I mean, I was drunk but not stupid, right? I wanted to put the shirt back on. If I threw it into the crowd, it was gone forever.
A breeze tightened my nipples. I glanced down. Stared, caught by the horror. Not stupid? Then how about stoopid?
Because my bra, my good old baggy bra, had come off with the shirt.
I crossed my hands over my naked tits. Got booed.
That hurt. I mean, this was free, right? They should be grateful for what they got. And they got a whole hell of a lot more than I had meant to give them.
Though to be fair, with my near-B’s they only got about a tenth of what Double-D Drusilla would have given them.
Still, free was free, true? So I booed back. And anyway, only Bo fully appreciated small and mine over big and hers. So only Bo should get to see my good buds Left One and Right One in their full nipply glory.
And speaking of Bo… “Dance,” he murmured in my ear.
I looked back in surprise. “How’d you geddup here?”
“A better question would be why.”
“Oh…’kay. Why’d you geddup here?”
That got a small lip-curl out of him. “To return this.” He held out my traitorous bra. “Keep moving. They’ll think it’s part of the show.”
“Puddin…puttin’ on clothes?”
“Dance,” he murmured, so I did.
The man had magic fingers. He got the bra back in place under my tightly clenched hands while I was dancing like a pogo stick.
“Take it off,” Bullhorn-man shouted.
“I jus’ did!” I shouted back.
“The jeans,” Bo said.
“Oh.” I unsnapped my jeans, forgetting all about Level Five.
