Christopher Moore - Bite Me

And I have.

So we jammed.

And outside Flood is like, “You okay?”

And I’m all, “Yeah. Do you think I’m a freak because I have a tail?”

And he’s all, “No, not because of that.”

Which was awesome for him to say.

So we did the low-profile walk to Walgreens, where we bought three pairs of sunglasses and a disposable cell phone for Tommy and I got some Gummi bears, which I am dipping in blood and eating now-biting off their little bear heads. Then we go over to the financial district and we find the bar called the Sunken Ship on Jackson Street in the old section, and there’s a big picture of a sailing ship, and THE SUNKEN SHIP is carved in big letters, and we’re not two blocks from the roof where we spent the night, and I’m all, “Oops.”

And Flood is like, “Now what?”

And I’m like, “Don’t you have fake ID?” I was kind of fucking with him for pretending to be five hundred years old when we first met, when he’s only nineteen.

And he’s like, “No, do you?”

“Yeah. Like six of them. I’ll go in and look around.”

And he’s like, “Okay.”

So I start to go inside, where all these suits and citizens are, and I hear, “Hey,” a girl’s voice. Quiet, but like she knows we can hear.

And it’s the Countess, palming a door shut on this below-street apartment. And she’s in like black jeans carrying a pair of Nikes, but her hair is all glorious, and in like an instant she’s up over the rail, not even touching the stairs, and in Tommy’s arms. And it was beautiful, and sad, and I felt my heart break, but then it was like leaping for joy, because I really do love the Countess, and I love Tommy, but they love each other, and well-fucksocks.

So I’m like, “Cold-faced killers on the clock, bitches, we don’t have time for your bonery right now.”

And the Countess like lets Tommy go and gives me a big hug and she’s like, “So, girl-e-girl, the dead thing, it works for you.”

And I’m like, “Duh.”

And she looks at Flood and she’s, “I’m not sure about the tropical thing though.”

And he’s like, “Abby sprayed pigeon blood on my pants.”

And she’s like, “No, that part’s good.”

And he’s like, “She has a tail.”

And I’m like, “Traitor!”

Then she looks all sad, and she’s like, “Tommy, we need to talk.”

And he’s like, “No, we need to move.”

So, while we walk toward the water we explain about the old vamps and the clean up, and the Raven and whatnot.

’Kayso, now we’re on the roof of the Bay Club, which is a really nice gym across the street from the dock, and we are staking out the Raven, and from up here we can see into the cockpit, which is like the size of a whole apartment. And they’re there. The three of them and Kona, the blond Rasta guy. Two women and a guy. And they’re looking all fly in their black bodysuits and black trench coats and all. But the tall blond guy has something on the table, a long case, and he takes something out and starts putting it together.

I’m all, “What’s he got?”

“It’s a rifle,” goes the Countess.

WTF? WTF? WTF? I go, “A gun?”

And Tommy goes, “What’s with the gun?”

And I’m like, “Yeah, guns are for shit on vampyres. Uh, us.” I still totally don’t want to get shot.

And Jody’s like, “They’re not going after vampyres.”

And Tommy’s like, “Abby, would you stop typing. Please?”

And I’m like, “Rawr!”

And Jody’s like, “He’s leaving the ship.”

And I’m all, “WTF?”

And Jody’s all, “We have to follow.”

’Kayso, gotta jet. L8erz.

They traded in the Ford at the city motor pool for one that had a Plexiglas divider between the front and rear seats. Cavuto’s knees were pressed against the glove compartment, since the seat didn’t adjust, but it was worth the trade-off. It turned out the organic dog biscuits that Rivera had bought gave Marvin gas. He now had his own little glass partition in which to exhaust, and the inspectors drank their coffee relatively free of doggy stench.

“I don’t sleep well during the day,” Cavuto said.

“Roger that,” said Rivera. “I feel like I’ve been up for a week.” He dialed his messages, then looked at his partner. “Fifteen unplayed messages? Are we out of the service area or something?”

“You turned it off when we were zeroing in on that litter of dangerous kittens.”

Rivera tried to drink his coffee while handling the phone and ended up pulling the car over to the curb. “They’re all from the Emperor. Something about a ship down at Pier Nine being full of old vampires.”

“No,” said Cavuto. “There are no more vampires until I’ve had two full cups of coffee and a healthy piss. That’s my personal rule.”

Cavuto keyed the radio and checked into dispatch. They did most of their communications by cell phone these days, but there were still rules. If you were a rolling unit, dispatch needed to know where you were.

“Rivera and Cavuto,” said the dispatcher. “I have you guys tagged to call if there are any cases of cats attacking humans, is that right?”

“Roger, dispatch.”

“Well, live the dream, Inspector, we have report of a giant cat attacking a man at Baker and Beach. We have a unit on the scene reporting nothing.”

Cavuto looked at Rivera. “That’s the Palace of Fine Arts. The Marina is new territory.”

“There might not be anything now. The uniforms don’t know to look for clothes with dust and I don’t want them to. Tell them we’re on the way.”

“Dispatch, we are responding. Tell unit on scene that we’ll take care of it. Part of an ongoing investigation of a 5150 making false reports.” Cavuto grinned and looked at his partner.

“Nice improvisation.”

“Yeah, but I think this cat might be out of the bag, Rivera.”

“I hope not.”

They rolled up to the great faux stone classical dome, the only building left from the World Exposition of 1911, when San Francisco was trying to show the world that it had recovered from the earthquake of ’06. The uniform unit was on the far side of the reflection pool, standing by their squad car. Cavuto waved them on. “We got this, guys. Thanks.”

What there wasn’t, was a huge shaved vampire cat attacking a guy.

“You think it’s a hoax?” asked Cavuto.

“Pretty outrageous coincidence if it is.”

Cavuto got out of the car and let Marvin out, who waited for his leash to be attached, then dragged Cavuto over to a tree by the pond to have a wee. Swans who had settled under the trees for the night stirred and gave Marvin dirty looks.

“Nothing here,” said Cavuto. “Marvin’s not doing his signal thing.”

Rivera’s phone chirped and he looked at the screen. “It’s Allison Green, the creepy little Goth girl.”

“If she called this in I will put her in Juvi overnight.”

“Rivera,” Rivera said into the phone.

“Turn your sun jackets on right now,” she said. “Right fucking now, both of you.”

Rivera looked at Cavuto. “Turn on the LEDs on your coat, Nick.”

“What?”

“Do it. She’s not fucking with us.” Rivera hit the switch on the cuff of his sun jacket and the LEDs came on blindingly bright. A few blocks away they heard a man scream. Marvin barked.

“Oh, très bon, cop. Byez,” Abby said. The line went dead.

“The fuck was that about?” said Cavuto.

Rolf was actually looking forward to shooting someone. After hundreds of years, you get bored with killing, with hunting. The three of them had gone through cycles of stealthy killing of the unwanted, to outright slaughter of whole villages, to long periods where there was no killing at all. But it had been fifty years since he’d actually had to shoot someone. The change of pace was nice.