This led me back to websites devoted to Project Redlight, supposedly a secret air force program either studying UFOs and their EBE occupants or debunking the whole extraterrestrial story. I wasn’t sure which, but as every paranoid conspiracy nut would confirm, all interplanetary flights to Earth lead to Area 51. In this mishmash of crackpot theories I didn’t find anything that mentioned nymphomania or Rocky Flats. All this work and so far I had nothing to show for my investigation but wasted time stumbling through a labyrinth of hoaxes concerning flying saucers.
Bob called and asked that I join him for dinner. I needed a break from the frustration of my case and agreed to go. I drove us that evening to a taco stand on South Federal Boulevard where we met Andre. We sat around a wooden picnic table, in the warm envelope of air radiating from the space heater slung under the metal awning. Loud motorcycles, tall pickups, and garish low-riders cruised by. Not even the most reckless of vânätori would dare attack us here, out in the open.
I reached for the plastic basket containing my tacos.
Bob lifted a pouch of human blood from a paper bag on the bench. He snipped the pouch open and squeezed blood over his chile relleno combination plate. “Smothered. The only way to eat Mexican food. Of course, come tomorrow, this chile and beans are going to turn my ass into a weapon of mass destruction.”
Andre, sipping on his beer, choked and shot suds out his nose.
Bob offered a plastic bottle to me.
I took the bottle and uncapped it. The aroma smelled of pig’s blood. “Thanks.” I poured the blood into my tacos.
Andre wiped his face with a paper towel. His gaze shifted from the plastic bottle to the pouch resting beside Bob’s plate. “What’s this, Felix? You’re choosing animal blood over human?”
Bob was about to shovel chile relleno into his mouth. “Felix doesn’t drink human blood.”
Andre’s face took on the astonished, injured expression of a priest hearing that a friend is an atheist. “This is…obscene.” He turned to Bob. “Why?”
Bob pointed his fork at me. “Ask him.”
I had been looking forward to a relaxed meal. “It’s because of the war.”
“Which war?” Andre raised his hands in supplication. “Humans have caused so many.”
“The recent Gulf War. With Iraq.”
“It’s not healthy,” Andre blurted. “We need human blood. It’s the most nourishing.”
“That’s what I’ve been telling the jackass,” Bob mumbled over a mouthful.
Andre’s hands curled into claws. He held them before me as if they were weapons. “Human blood replenishes our vampire powers. It makes us strong. It makes us monsters.”
“I don’t want to be a monster,” I replied. At this moment I hated being a vampire. I wanted to quit hiding behind these contact lenses and layers of Dermablend and be a normal human.
“But you are undead. You are vampire. You have no choice.” Andre pushed the pouch toward me. “Drink and revel in this pleasure God has given us.”
“What pleasure? God has damned us with this existence.”
“Quit wasting your time, Andre,” Bob said. He tapped his fork against Andre’s plate of burritos and rice. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Andre emptied the pouch of human blood over his food. “Felix, we are your friends, your brothers in fangs.”
“Is this why you invited me to dinner?” I replied. “To pester me like this?”
“No,” Bob answered. “I asked you here to discuss what you’re going to tell the council. And to see how we could help in your investigation.”
“My investigation?” I glared at Bob. “What did you do? Post it on your Internet newsletter?”
Bob quit chewing and wiped his mouth. “Before you wet your panties, listen. You’re tangling with DOE, and vampire hunters have got us on their hit list. Considering that you’ve got to be looking over both shoulders at the same time, I’m surprised that you’re not grateful for our help.”
“You’re right. I’m not. I don’t need you two stumbling behind me.”
“As if you’ve been so surefooted. Didn’t you get conked on the head? And do I have to go over the how and why of my rescuing you from the animal shelter?”
I didn’t want to answer. This was my business. My appetite waned and, regretfully, I watched the pig’s blood congeal on my tacos.
Andre whispered in an accusing tone. “And now we have this revelation that you won’t drink human blood. Deny your nature and you stand naked before the danger with your eyes closed.”
I gulped my beer and let it settle in my stomach. Okay, I was a vampire. Maybe I was blinding myself to the risks. And I shouldn’t be so headstrong, especially if it put me in the position of being lectured by this geezer. “All right. I am grateful for your help. Where would we start?…” My fingers tingled.
I looked around. “Somebody’s watching us.”
“I feel it, too.” Bob hunched his shoulders and looked about.
All three of us removed our contacts and examined the area.
We were alone under the awning. Cars whooshed by on the boulevard. The red auras of humans shimmered in the black dome of night that surrounded us beyond the glow of the parking lot lamps. None of the auras bristled with threatening emotion.
The tingling stopped.
“Whatever it was, it’s gone now,” Bob said.
“Not it,” I corrected, “but who.”
“Vânätori de vampir?” Andre asked.
“Who else could spook us like this?” Bob answered.
“In my centuries as a vampire I’ve never seen the vânätori de vampir,” Andre said.
“Never?” I asked.
“Not one. I spent most of my time fanging humans in the Orient. The eastern provinces. Siam. Java. Moved to South America for the fifteen through seventeen hundreds.” Andre sat, his expression tense. “How many vânätori are there?”
“Four,” I replied. “At least, that’s how many I’ve seen.”
Andre wrung his hands. In this light, withdrawn and circumspect, he appeared frail and weary. He was, after all, close to a thousand years old.
“Up until these attacks,” Andre said, “I regarded the vânätori as Ziggy had, more exaggeration than truth. No human could be capable of stalking and killing us so easily.”
Bob collected the plastic ware and napkins on his tray. “And look what happened to Ziggy. Standing out here like this, I feel like I’m the center target in a shooting gallery. Let’s go.”
We tossed the remnants of our food into the trash. I jingled my keys and hurried to my car.
Bob and I climbed into my Dodge. Andre got into his Pontiac.
The comforting rumble of the Dodge’s engine alleviated my fears. The needle on the tachometer quivered as if daring the vânätori to come after us. I squealed the tires and fishtailed out of the parking lot.
Slowing down, I waited for Andre to follow. In the rearview mirror I saw that Andre’s headlights were on but he hadn’t left his parking spot. A set of high beams from another car crowded behind him. My fingers tingled, then vibrated in alarm.
Bob turned around and looked out the rear window. His aura burned with rage. He shouted, “Andre’s in trouble.”
“Yeah, I know.” I whipped the Dodge into a U-turn. We looped in front of oncoming traffic and smacked the opposite curb. Cars swerved around us, horns blaring.
Bob snarled at them, his fangs extended.
I gunned the V-8 and shot into the southbound lane. My kundalini noir reared up and readied my body to strike. Talons grew from my fingers. Fangs extended to my lower lip.