Bill The Vampire - 01 (27 page)

Oh, yeah, and you might want to avoid Queens for a while, just in case...
*beep*

Motherfucker! So I almost got myself killed because she was too busy getting babied by Starlight to bother with little details like a whole ass-load of vampires that were going to be out for my blood. Guess that explained a lot. It also meant that my brief career as a martial artist was going to be at an end until this blew over. I fought off two vamps because I managed to psych them out. No way was I taking the chance of running into a bigger, potentially armed, group of them. Oh, well, no big loss there, I guess, unless I inexplicably started missing the feeling of getting kneecaps rammed into my sternum.

* * *

The next morning I got up, or more precisely
peeled
myself out of bed. Ugh! Whatever I had gotten from that vamp's blood the night before, I was paying for now. It wasn't exactly a hangover, but more like coming down from an intense caffeine rush (
like a few months back when I wound up downing almost an entire twelve pack of Mountain Dew during a particularly intense gaming session
). It felt like I had run a marathon (
disclaimer: I have no idea what that would actually feel like
) and then slammed into a brick wall at the finish line.

I recounted my tale of the night before to my roommates, after downing an enormous cup of blood-infused coffee (
if Starbucks ever plans on introducing a type-O Frappucino, I'm there, dude
). To my great surprise, Tom actually started to apologize for setting me up with that Krav Maga class. However, Ed cut him off.

“I don't think you need to apologize for bad luck,” he said.

“I know, but I kind of feel bad anyway,” Tom replied.

“That's like apologizing because someone didn't win the lottery,” Ed argued. “You can't take responsibility for coincidences. Unless, that is, you masterminded the whole thing, in which case I am in awe of your amazing abilities.”

“I don't think we have to worry about Tom turning into
Doctor Doom
anytime soon,” I said, then turned to my somewhat repentant roommate. “Apology, or lack thereof, accepted.”

“Thank you.” Tom raised his coffee mug to me. “I'd hate to have to endure work burdened with such guilt.”

“Bite me,” I quipped.

“That's
your
thing. Not that I wouldn't make a better vampire than you, anyway.”

“You want to join the party?” I asked.

“Only if that Sally chick is doing the biting,” Tom replied, causing us to all dissolve into laughter.

Once it was over, I decided to broach a slightly less whimsical subject. “Seriously, though, guys, I'm a little worried. What if these HBC assholes figure out where I live?”

Ed nodded. “There's also the little fact that your buddies in SoHo obviously know how to find us. From what you've told me, I wouldn't put it past that Night Razor dick to rat you out to them. Let them take care of his dirty work.”

Oh, crap, I hadn't even thought of that. Forget a compulsion, one phone call and my apartment could be turned into Fort Apache... or more likely the Alamo.

Tom turned to Ed and asked, “Think they'd let the two of us walk out of here?”

“I don't know. We could always tell them we never liked Bill much, anyway.” Ed grinned.

There was a moment of silence while I just glared at them both and then Ed continued, “Realistically? I doubt it. We'd probably end up as an appetizer.”

Tom sighed, “Yeah, I guess you're right. Not really sure I want to go out like some quesadilla platter.” Then he suddenly brightened. “On the other hand, I still have Optimus. He's vampire kryptonite.”

“Good for you. Doesn't help Ed much, though,” I replied.

“True enough. But I took a little time to think that one out already,” he said, sharing a quick smile with Tom.

I looked between the two of them for a second before asking, “And are you going to share this little secret with me, or are you just gonna keep making goo-goo eyes at each other?”

Ed shrugged and then said, “Might as well. Remember how I said I took a little road trip this weekend?”

“Yeah. What, did you drive to a church and get ordained for the priesthood?”

“Not quite. I took a little drive out to my stepfather.”

“Over in...” I thought for a second, but couldn't remember the name of the town, “Bumblefuck, Pennsylvania, or wherever?”

“That pretty much sums up where he lives,” Ed agreed. “Out in the backwoods where everything... and more importantly...
everyone
is relative.”

That elicited a chuckle from both me and Tom as Ed got to his feet.

“Well, Pop and I had a little talk,” Ed said to me. “Don't worry, nothing about vampires. However, I may have exaggerated a bit about our current living conditions. You know, how we all live in fear of being mugged and raped by drug dealers every second of our lives?”

I smiled as he walked into his room. It wouldn't have taken much. It was ridiculously easy to convince anyone living outside of the immediate area that the city was, and I quote, 'a hive of scum and villainy.' Apparently, plenty of people, especially those in rural areas, had seen
Escape from New York
at some point in their lives and assumed it was a documentary.

However, that knowledge didn't prepare me for when Ed walked back into the room packing some serious heat.

“What the hell...” was all I could say for a second, “Where did you...” Ed's look answered that one for me. “Pop?”

“Of course. Old man's been getting paranoid in his golden years. You should see the small arsenal he owns. He said this one should help
dissuade
all the bad guys just waiting to violate our young, middle-class selves.” He gave it a quick pump. “Remington 870, police combat twelve gauge,” he said proudly. When he saw the absolutely blank look on my face, he gave an annoyed sniff and added, “The same gun Sarah Connor used in
Terminator
2
.”

That rang a bell. “Badass!” I said. “But don't you need a license for something like that?”

“Are you kidding?” Ed replied. “In Pennsylvania, you can pretty much buy these things on the side of the road next to the fireworks.”

“Yeah, but we don't live in Pennsylvania,” I countered.

He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, “Well, then let's just say if you don't tell anyone, I won't.”

Tom got up to wash out his coffee mug. As he did so, he gave a mock sad shake of his head. “No idea where I went wrong. One minute I'm just minding my own business, and the next I'm shacking up with Dracula and the Lone Ranger.”

Ed just ignored him. “I figured that by the time the city gave me a license, I'd be long since pushing up daisies. Besides which, I'm pretty sure that they ask you your purpose for owning a gun. Writing
protection
against
vampires
on the application might raise a few eyebrows.”

“In New York?” I scoffed.

“I did say
might
.”

“There
is
the little problem of actually using it as protection against vampires,” I pointed out. “I've seen stakes and sunlight work, but unless that thing shoots solar flares, I'm not sure what good it'll do.”

“What about silver bullets?” asked Tom, preparing to leave for work.

I thought about it for a second. “Not sure. That's usually werewolves, but I think it works against vampires in some stories.”

“Do either of you have silver bullets?” Ed asked. When we both shook our heads he continued, “Well, neither do I. So, who gives a shit if they work against vampires, werewolves, or the goddamned tooth fairy? It might kill vampires, or it might not. What's important is that this gun will
hurt
vampires.”

“How do you know?” I asked.

“Because of you, numbnuts!” he replied. “When you burst into flames, did it hurt? When I stabbed you in the hand, did it hurt? When you jumped out of that freaking window you were telling us about, did it hurt?”

I nodded. Yeah, it had hurt, in some cases quite a bit.

“Well, then,” he continued, “that tells me that no matter how strong you are or how fast you heal, your nerve endings still work pretty much the same way as they did before. So, using that logic, a twelve gauge shell in the stomach or maybe the kneecap...”

“Will hurt like a bitch,” I finished.

“Exactly,” agreed Ed. “Which should give either you,” he indicated Tom, “enough time to run in with your little doll, or you,” motioning toward me, “enough time to do something vampiric to them.”

“Action figure,” corrected Tom.

“What?”

“It's an action figure, not a doll,” Tom insisted.

“It doesn't matter!” Ed rounded on him. “It could be My Little fucking Pony for all I care. As long as it works.”

“Nah,” Tom said. “Last I checked, the market value for
My Little Pony
wasn't all that high.”

Ed pumped the shotgun again. “Don't you have a job to go to?”

With the exception of Tom's trips to and from work, the rest of the week was spent with us more or less all acting like shut-ins. I just couldn't shake the feeling that I, and by extension, Tom and Ed, was now a target. Fortunately, Brooklyn is a pretty good place to be a recluse, as almost everyone delivers. The problem, though, with being extra careful, was that it was sometimes hard to tell the difference between reasonable precautions and being outright paranoid.

Friday night came and went with no word from Sally or any other denizens of the night (
except maybe this homeless guy who accosted Tom for change on his way home
). I was lying awake in my bed during the wee hours of Saturday morning, contemplating my weekly trip back to the coven and debating whether I should borrow Ed's shotgun, when someone buzzed to be let in from the downstairs door. I glanced at the clock, 4:28 a.m. Probably some drunken asshole forgetting where they were.

A minute or so passed and the buzzer rang again. Maybe one of the other tenants had locked themselves out? Possibly, but it’s not like any of us had a master key. Fat lot of good it would do them. Although I guess they could just hang out in the hallway until the landlord could show up to let them in. Another buzz, this one persistently longer. Okay, now it was sounding deliberate. I was starting to let the paranoia creep back in when I realized that a gang of vampires hell-bent on killing me would probably not bother with such trivial matters as waiting to be buzzed in.