Vampire for Hire (25 page)

 
      
 
“And the others?”

 
      
 
“The others are, I imagine, giving their blood most unwillingly.”

 
      
 
“Then why call them ‘donors’?”

 
      
 
“It sounds better, don’t you think?”

 
      
 
I turned the empty goblet in my hand. What little of the red stuff remained had long since dried. I suddenly felt sick to my stomach. So whose blood had this belonged to? I may never know.

 
      
 
A sudden wave of weakness hit me. The sun was coming. “I need a place to crash,” I said.

 
      
 
“
Mi
bed
es
su
bed.”

 
      
 
“That’s some of the worst Spanish I’ve ever heard.”

 
      
 
He squeezed my knee harder. “I’m getting up now anyway. You can have the bed to yourself.”

 
      
 
My heart sank a little.

 
      
 
“Is something wrong, Sam?”

 
      
 
I still hadn’t forgiven Kingsley, but I did miss his touch. “Would you...” I paused, then tried again. “Would you lay with me until I fall asleep?”

 
      
 
He smiled brightly. “Would be my pleasure. And I’ll wake Franklin up and have him vampire-treat the windows with some blankets or something.”

 
      
 
“Oh, great,” I said, as the first wave of exhaustion hit me. “Give him even more reason to hate me.”

 
      
 
Chapter Thirty-six

 
      
 
Although I generally need to crank my alarm clock as loud as it gets to rouse me from my sleep, I found myself emerging from the blackest of depths at the sound of my cell phone ringing.

 
      
 
By the fourth ring, I was almost alive again.

 
      
 
By the fifth, I had fumbled for it on Kingsley’s nightstand. I had a brief glimpse of the time: 10:18 a.m. I also had a brief glimpse of the caller: Aaron King, the old L.A. detective with the killer smile.

 
      
 
I answered the phone. At least, I think I answered the phone. I touched a button on the cell and hoped for the best.

 
      
 
“Hello?”

 
      
 
“Did you just say ‘hello’?” said Aaron King.

 
      
 
“I think so, yes.”

 
      
 
“You sound like a dying frog.”

 
      
 
“You’re closer than you think.”

 
      
 
“I’ve got news,” he said.

 
      
 
“Don’t tell me you’ve been working all night.”

 
      
 
“There’s no rest for the wicked. Besides, I don’t sleep well these days.”

 
      
 
I sat up a little straighter. Kingsley, I saw, was long gone. The shades in the room had been drawn tight. A blanket, a bed comforter perhaps, had also been hung over a small window above the bed. And it had been hung neatly, too. Franklin might not like me very much, but he did good work.

 
      
 
I said, “What’s your news?”

 
      
 
“I just got a call from a kid in Buena Park. He recognized our guy on the flyer. Apparently, Lauren and
Maddie’s
friend is a big-time drug runner and all-around scary man.”

 
      
 
“You should see me trembling. What else does our contact know?”

 
      
 
“The guy’s name is Carl Luck. Known drug dealer and pornographer.”

 
      
 
“Mommy would be proud.”

 
      
 
“Last our contact heard, Mr. Luck lives in Simi Valley.”

 
      
 
“The porn capital of the world.”

 
      
 
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

 
      
 
“
Eww
,” I said. “Is that all?”

 
      
 
“Nope. It gets better.”

 
      
 
“I love better.”

 
      
 
“Apparently Carl Luck drinks and gambles at an Indian casino near Simi, called Moon Feathers.”

 
      
 
“A fitting name.”

 
      
 
“I thought so,” he said. “Anyway, I did a background check on Carl Luck.”

 
      
 
“And?”

 
      
 
“And nothing.”

 
      
 
I thought about that. “Maybe that’s not his real name.”

 
      
 
“Maybe it’s his gambling
nom de plume
.”

 
      
 
“Better than calling yourself Carl Loser.”

 
      
 
I could almost see King grin on his end of the line.

 
      
 
“Anyway, his name doesn’t matter,” I said. “He could call himself
Pepé
Le Pew for all I care. Just as long as he shows up at Moon Feathers.”

 
      
 
“Don’t forget the part about him being a bad man. Remember, there’s a very good chance that he killed
Maddie’s
mother. And don’t give me that shit about you being a highly trained federal agent.”

 
      
 
“I’m a highly trained federal agent, I’ll be fine.”

 
      
 
“Shit.” He paused, then added. “I want to come with you. Maybe bring the boys as
back ups
.”

 
      
 
I shook my head even though Aaron couldn’t see me shaking my head. “No. I want to go alone. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

 
      
 
He didn’t like it, and I didn’t blame him. I wouldn’t have liked it either. The truth was, the boys just might get in the way. He said, “I’ll keep my phone handy. Call me if you need anything.”

 
      
 
“I will.”

 
      
 
“Promise me.”

 
      
 
“Scout’s honor.”

 
      
 
He laughed harder. “Okay, a federal agent I believe, but I
know
you weren’t a Boy Scout.”

 
      
 
We fell into silence and I felt that there was something heavy on Aaron’s heart. I waited for him. Twenty seconds later he spoke, and I sensed it was after much deliberation. “I saw you looking at me last night.”

 
      
 
I waited, sensing where this would go.

 
      
 
“I know that look,” he said.

 
      
 
“And what look is that?”

 
      
 
“Recognition,” he said simply.

 
      
 
Just outside the bedroom, I heard the sounds of someone cleaning: items on a table being moved and then being replaced again. I knew Kingsley didn’t use a house cleaner. It was just Franklin. The idea of catching the gangly, patchwork man using a feather duster almost made me laugh.

 
      
 
“What do you mean?” I asked, although I was certain I knew perfectly well what he meant.

 
      
 
“You know who I am.”

 
      
 
“Oh?”

 
      
 
“Don’t play coy with me, kiddo. I saw the look on your eyes last night. How did you know?”

 
      
 
Now I heard Franklin humming to himself. Humming and dusting. A man composed of perhaps a dozen different men. I had Frankenstein outside my door, and Elvis on the phone.

 
      
 
My life is weird.

 
      
 
“I know things,” I said.

 
      
 
“How?”

 
      
 
“Some call it a gift. I don’t know what to call it.”

 
      
 
“Are we talking ESP or something?”

 
      
 
“Yeah, something like that.”

 
      
 
“So then there’s no secrets from you.”

 
      
 
“Often, no, although I can’t always control the psychic hits I get,” I said.