Underground Vampire (17 page)

The bar was a continuous slab of
metal polished to a sheen that provided the illusion of depth when Jesse leaned
his elbows on it and looked into the reflection, seeing his face several feet
down looking up at him.  A Vampire covered in a dress made out of what
Jesse thought were feathers, wearing high heels with straps wrapped up her legs
all the way up under the dress appeared at his side and Jason said, “Take care
of my guest while Arabella and I go to my office; provide him with everything
he desires.” 

Taking her elbow to escort her he
turned, attempting to leave.  Arabella held her place facing the Vampire
and said in that cold and icy voice Jesse had come to register as her ‘I’m
going to hurt you if you annoy me tone,’ “I expect to get him back in exactly
the same shape, without any wear and tear, understand?”  The Vampire
dressed in feathers nodded acquiescence.

Watching her cross the room, Jesse
was aware of her hips moving in the tight black pants she wore and noticed
several of the young Vampires openly ogling her behind.  Bird Vampire
leaned in and, when he looked, he saw her boob exposed as the front of her
dress fell away.  Automatically jerking his gaze up to her face, he caught
her eyes and was momentarily trapped before she looked away, saying, “Please,
don’t tell her that I tried to control you, I wouldn’t want to offend her.”

“My fault,” he replied.  “I
was trying not to look.”  She was impossibly tall, at least six two he
guessed, with a mass of real blond hair done the way the old time movie star
sex bombs did it, all waves and curls down past her shoulders to the middle of
her back. With pale luminescent skin and bright red lips, she was as exotic as
a tiger in the backyard; Jesse found it difficult not to stare and admire her
as one of the most beautiful things he had ever seen.

“Go ahead,” she said with a smile,
“look,” and, resting her hand lightly on his leg, leaned forward, “whatever you
desire.”

“Maybe a drink,” he said, enjoying
the view but disconcerted by her boldness in the crowded bar and distracted by
the thought he could possess this woman., “Where are you from?” he asked, “I
mean your accent; I would guess Eastern Europe somewhere.”

“Russia,” she said, turning to the
bar, “what would you like?”  The back bar was shelved from the counter to
the ceiling with opaque Lalique panes, one bottle to the shelf.  Jesse
didn’t recognize anything and wondered if he should just get a beer, when Bird
girl pursed her lips and whispered, “Dalmore Matheson,” and a bartender
immediately took down a bottle of brown from a shelf where it stood by itself
and presented the label to him for inspection.

“Nice deer head,” said Jesse,
admiring the silver stag emblazoned across the label.  He didn’t recognize
the brand but nodded like he knew what he was doing and watched as the
bartender poured a generous two fingers into a short stubby glass.  He
held the bottle over the glass so that no drops were spilled, then reverently
returned the bottle to its spot. 

Jesse picked up the glass, which
was heavy to the hand, and swirled the liquor till the vapor rose. The alcohol
and the peat enveloped his face and he took a deep breath, pulling the fumes in
so they rolled thick over his tongue and down his throat and he thought he’d
never tasted anything as good as this.  He took a small exploratory sip
and the straight whiskey burned its way down, with the aftertaste filling his
throat and nose.  “Don’t suppose I could get a beer back,” he mumbled,
relaxing into the moment.

“Of course,” she said, pointing a
finger.  “This will be a first.”

The bartender returned with an ice
cold schooner, a perfect one half inch of foam topping the brew.

“What,” Jesse grinned, “you’ve
never seen someone drink a boilermaker?”

“Oh, I’ve seen that,” she said, an
evil smirk on her face, “I’ve just never seen anyone pour two dollars’ worth of
beer on top of Dalmore whiskey.”

“Watch this,” he said throwing back
a shot and following with a pull at the beer.  He held up the glass to the
bartender who appeared, asking if everything was all right, and poured another
two fingers.

“What is this stuff?” he asked when
they were alone again.

“Dalmore is a small Scottish
distillery,” she said.  “What you are drinking is one of twelve bottles
laid up in 1943; it sells for 60 a bottle.”

“Sixty bucks for a bottle of
whiskey,” he marveled.  “Out of my range.  Well, I’m going to enjoy
it.”

“Sixty thousand,” she said, drawing
out the thousand so that her red lips wrapped around the number, “dollars.”

Midway through throwing down the
second shot and when he heard the number, Jesse gagged as his throat reflexively
closed around the number.  He carefully placed the glass back on the
coaster and waived the bartender off as he approached with the bottle.

“Are you sure,” asked Bird girl,
“when are you ever going to have the opportunity to drink this again?”

“She’s got me pegged,” thought
Jesse, as he contemplated the glass and tried to figure out how much he’d had
to drink.

“About four thousand I’d say, but
no one is counting,” she smirked, laughing at his discomfort.  “Arabella
gets what she wants down here.”

“One more then,” Jesse said,
nodding at the bartender, draining the rest of the beer and standing
tall.  “Aren’t you having anything, I hate to drink alone,” he said,
expansive on Jason’s nickel.

“Thank you for asking,” said Bird
Girl, again signaling the bartender.

 “What are you serving this
evening,” she asked, as the suave bartender appeared. Through the comfortable
haze of his third drink, Jesse thought it admirable that he was becoming
comfortable with the disconcerting Vampire ability to move so quickly. 
Giggling to himself he said, “Give her whatever she wants, please,” giving it
his best James Bond.

“Of course, Sir,” was the
professionally unctuous reply, bowing to Bird Girl.

The bartender handed her a small,
custom printed leather menu with “Today’s Vintages” embossed in gold on the
leather cover.  Bird Girl took a moment to review the listing asking,
“Freshest?”  The bartender replied by summoning the sommelier, another
tuxedo clad Vampire, this one with his thick black hair pulled back into a ponytail,
who appeared, saying, “The freshest would be a twenty-two year old female,
vegetarian, with the strong physique of an athlete, a volleyball player for a
local college; would madam care to inspect?”

After an appraising glance at
Jesse, Bird Girl nodded yes, and the sommelier said, “Cellar please” to the
bartender, who turned and pulled on a gleaming stainless steel lever embedded
in the bar.  As the bartender pulled at the lever, the back bar separated
along invisible seams, folding back accordion style.  The movement brought
a palpable pause to the bar as the boisterous crowd silenced and turned to
inspect the cellar behind the mirrored wall.  Jesse could feel the
Vampires pressing up against his back as the crowd pushed forward to be as close
as possible to the vintages on display.

For it was truly a display. 
Hanging from high ceilings was a copse of Humans suspended upside down, rather
like a fantastic forest grown upside down on some pleasant alien planet. 
A collective sigh went up from the crowd as the mirrored back bar fully opened
and the cellar was revealed. 

Each of the Humans’ ankles was tied
in an intricate pattern, which Jesse recognized from his vice days as shibari
and, indeed, there was a smooth featured, hairless Japanese man of indeterminate
age clothed only in a white wrap about his loins sitting impassively on a short
three legged stool tending to his charges.  Jesse counted eight Humans
suspended from the ceiling, five females and three males, four Caucasians, two
Asians, a Black, and a Latino.  Each was naked and appeared deeply relaxed
if not asleep.

Occasionally, the Japanese man
would rise from his stool and inspect one or the other, adjusting a knot here,
turning that one or just observing.  There was an intricate system of pulleys
and tracks, rails and ropes that allowed him to effortlessly raise and lower
the bodies or to move them in any direction he chose.  The bodies bore
stamps or writing, the markings looked like hieroglyphics and ran down their
torsos in a color he would name red but was quite sure Arabella would identify
with exquisite precision as something else, viewing color as if she had a prism
behind her eyes dividing light into its spectrum for accurate analysis. 

For all the horror of the scene,
Jesse found himself fixated on the way the women’s breasts hung down toward
their faces with nipples engorged. Equally bizarre to him was the sight of
three penises dangling upside down, something he’d never seen and desperately
hoped he’d never see again. 

As he openly stared, the Japanese
man began an intricate shuffling of the bodies, arranging them in a series of
moves as formal as a dance and just as graceful.  At the conclusion they
had a different arrangement in the simple room, but the scene had somehow dramatically
changed before his eyes.  He found himself admiring the way the maestro
had positioned each of the somnolent Humans so that each looked attractive and
the whole was harmonious.  The crowd gave an appreciative ululation, and
the man acknowledged the crowd with a restrained bow communicating his pleasure
in presenting his art to such a cultured group as was present that
evening.  Around him aficionados commented on the relative advantages and
deficiencies of potential selections.

The sommelier was chatting up Bird
Girl with the merits of the vintages, discussing bodies, dining habits and
lifestyles.  Finally, they focused on the lithe Caucasian with the long
muscled body of an elite athlete.  Her long blond hair hung down in an
inverted triangle with well-muscled arms framing her face and hair.  Her
breasts were small and firm and Jesse thought they’d probably look the same if
she were standing right side up.

The sommelier nodded to the
Japanese man who gently maneuvered her so that she was a few feet away from
them, available for close inspection.  From around him the crowd commented
on her flawless skin, her physique, her beauty, rather like bettors perusing
thoroughbreds in the paddock at Del Mar before a race.

“Has madam made a decision?” asked
the Sommelier, all polite and suave business now.

“I will go with your
recommendation,” she said.  “She looks magnificent,” Bird Girl replied
with a hint of longing in her voice.  “Yes, I would love to taste her.”

The sommelier received the hanging
girl from the caretaker and gently pushed her forward onto a connecting series
of stainless rods extending over the bar.  Earlier Jesse had noticed the
metalwork and assumed it was modern art possessed of obscure meaning apparent
to Vampire cognoscenti who valued such things. 

Maneuvering the girl till she hung
directly over Bird Girl, her arms within reach, the Japanese man stood,
maintaining dignity in his loincloth.  This close, Jesse saw the deep
breaths she took and watched as her breasts moved in rhythm.   The
Vampires had moved back so that he and Bird Girl were in a small semicircle,
alone for an intimate moment, with the quiet crowd riveted on the scene. 
Everyone was aware of the play except for Jesse, and he was spellbound, frozen
by the spectacle.

For an insane moment he thought to
pull his gun and arrest everyone; although he couldn’t think which laws were
being broken, he knew something was wrong.  He just couldn’t remember what
the code section was for drinking blood.  Bird Girl turned towards him
murmuring, “your agitation is showing, relax, don’t do anything foolish,
remember what Arabella told you.”  She placed a gentle hand on his thigh
reassuring him all was well.

“What about them?” he said, trying
to go big with his command voice but wavering slightly at her gentle touch, “
Are they drugged?”

“No, not drugged, a light trance
maintained by the Master. They are fine.  You should have their life,
pampered and coddled; they are the most prized possessions Underground.”

“Well, that’s the problem,” Jesse
growled, “possessions.”

“Volunteers,” she said, “the finest
vintages are from volunteers.”

Jesse sat back trying to absorb
what was happening in front of him.  Arabella had warned him that he would
see and experience another world with its own laws and customs, a world that
they must navigate to do their duty.  A world he must accept if he was to
help. When he had protested that he could abide by her rules she had made him
take an oath.  Patronizing her, he’d gone along with her silly exercise,
expedient appeasement; now, the terms of his commitment ricocheted about his
skull like a bullet bouncing around the inside of a bell.

“Please behave,” Bird Girl
said.  “It’s not often that I’m able to savor nourishment this fine and I
want to enjoy the moment and her taste.”  This last came with a lascivious
grin, and Jesse found himself sitting back as the Sommelier took a small knife
from his waistband and began to strop it on a leather strap attached to the
bar.  When he finished, he held the blade up for Bird Girl to
inspect.  It looked impossibly sharp and thin to Jesse and he wondered if
the steel was German made.  She took her time, examining the edge from
both angles until, “Perfect,” she approved to the sommelier.

The sommelier’s assistant
positioned the hanging girl so that she was over Bird Girl, her long muscled
arms about even with her face when she stood.  The sommelier, with
professional ease, felt the arms of the girl, searching with his thumb on the
anterior of her offered forearm.  Locating the desired spot he made a
quick slash that startled Jesse.  He knew it was coming but expected a
leisurely incision in keeping with the stately pace of the proceedings.