William Bernhardt - Capitol Murder

“Nah. We’re just… you know. Here for a good time. Into it.” Whatever it was.

“I’m sorry. I can’t let you in without an appointment or a referral. We have to enforce our rules to ensure-”

“The Sire sent us,” Loving said. And waited.

The air went dead for several seconds. Then: “Stand back, I’ll release the door.” He heard a sound something like the turning of an idled engine, then a few seconds later the dead bolt in the door retracted. “Come up to the top floor. The penthouse.”

“Will do.” He grabbed Shalimar’s arm and whispered: “We’re in!”

She did not move. “I don’t know about this.”

“Don’t be afraid,” Loving said, patting her arm reassuringly. “We’ll be together. Besides, whatever it is, it couldn’t possibly be worse than that vampire club.”

As it turned out, Loving was dead wrong.

“G lad to know they still care,” Glancy said as he gazed out the limo window at the crowd outside. The courthouse steps were filled to capacity, and the security forces were working overtime to hold the throngs behind the ropes.

“Like you thought they’d forget about this case?” Ben asked.

“You never know,” Glancy replied, smoothing the line of his trousers. “If a governor had been caught in the back of a cab with a transvestite last night, no one would remember this case existed.”

Ben knew the press could be fickle-he’d seen for himself how press coverage of a case would surge with a dramatic inciting incident, then predictably wane as time passed, spurting briefly when the trial began, then continuing its downward spiral. By the time it was over, sometimes the verdict didn’t even make the papers. But this case was something else again. Just looking into the eyes of the people on the courthouse steps informed him that this case was important to them, that it had become a part of their lives.

“This is the big day, at least to many spectators,” Ben said. “After all, they already pretty much knew what Padolino was going to say. They’ve got no clue what you’re going to say. They’re anxious to hear your story.”

“I thought you told me I wasn’t taking the stand today.”

“They don’t know that. Press conference this morning?”

“I don’t think so.”

“The press is dying to know what your defense will be.”

“Yes, but I’m not sure I’m quite ready to say the ‘v-word’ on national television. I need to practice in the mirror. Make sure I can keep a straight face.”

As before, the advance men had worked their magic-all the people most supportive of Senator Glancy were closest to the roped-off trail up the steps. Ben tried to hurry his client, but it was like dragging an elephant. He was an addict, powerless to prevent himself from shaking every outstretched hand, signing every autograph book.

“We know what they’re tryin’ to do to you,” a plus-sized Latino woman said, as she flung her arm around Glancy, hugging him so tightly it made the federal marshals tense. “You hang in there.”

“That’s my fervent intent, ma’am,” Glancy said, flashing that award-winning smile.

He flew up the steps, brushing his hands against theirs like Leno coming onstage for The Tonight Show, till he had almost reached the top of the steps. A middle-aged man in a flak jacket ducked under the rope and stood in front of him.

“You killed my daughter, you bloodsucker!” Darrin Cooper flew at Glancy and Ben with a wild walleyed look, but he never had a chance. One of the security cops and both federal marshals tackled him, knocking him to the hard stone steps. His jaw made an ugly brittle sound as it smashed onto the granite. Ben suspected Cooper was going to lose a few teeth over this attack.

“Ben, I think you need to reconsider.” Christina was behind him, whispering in his ear. “I understand why you didn’t want to prefer charges before. But neither you nor Glancy will be safe if this clown isn’t locked up. I mean, I know he seems pathetic, but even a pathetic loser could get lucky. Especially if he starts employing weapons.”

Ben nodded, but he knew he couldn’t do it. Neither Glancy nor his lawyer could be responsible for incarcerating the victim’s father, regardless of the situation. The PR fallout would be brutal.

The officials hauled Cooper to his feet and dragged him up the steps to a holding room. Glancy was unflappable; he went right on smiling and waving as if nothing had happened.

“Interesting choice of words, don’t you think?” Ben said.

Christina was puzzled. “I don’t follow you.”

“Cooper. Just now. Cooper always calls me a money-grubbing bastard, or some variation on the theme.” He paused. “But Glancy he called a ‘bloodsucker.’”

As soon as the woman opened the door to the penthouse apartment, Loving knew he was in the right place. And wished he weren’t.

The first thing he noticed was that she was wearing a dog collar cinched around her neck. She was also wearing a tight leather corset that left most of her buttocks exposed. It was only upon closer-and extremely unpleasant-inspection that Loving realized that she was a he. A somewhat pudgy, heavily made up, he.

Vampire drag. Jeez Louise, what next?

“Would you like me to show you around?” he/she said, and of course Loving didn’t, but he said that he did. “If you’re with the Sire, I, and my humble establishment, are at your complete disposal. You can call me Mina.” And so the tour began. Giggling, mincing, and occasionally attempting to be scary-which was even funnier than the mincing-their leather-clad tour guide strolled them through a maze of darkened rooms, some vacant, most not, all of them equipped with a different top-quality device for the infliction of pain.

“We do have some open rooms,” Mina explained. “And remember if you have the desire-and the cash-you can rent this place for the night. Have an exclusive. Just you and your friends.”

Loving was pretty sure he didn’t have any friends who would want to come here. And if they did, they were off his friends list.

The people they encountered, in the halls and the darkened rooms, were clad much like what he had seen in the vamp club and the Goth bar, when they were clad at all. Too often he had to avert his eyes-and resist the temptation to cover Shalimar’s-to avoid seeing something he didn’t ever want to see people doing to one another. In one room equipped with a vaulting horse, which they were able to view through a voyeuristic one-way mirror, Loving heard smacking sounds followed by cries of ecstatic pleasure.

“Spanking,” Loving whispered to Shalimar knowingly. “Some of these vamps are really into it.”

But when their tour guide turned up the lights slightly, they were able to view a spectacle for which neither of them was prepared. A woman, obese and naked, was strapped across the horse. An equally heavy and equally naked man stood behind her teasing her with a cat-o’-nine-tails, whipping her lightly, tickling her legs and breasts and stomach. She moaned in pleasure with each new slap of the leather against her exposed jiggling skin. And, to make it even more interesting, there were at least half a dozen other people in the room, just watching.

In the next room, they found a young woman, this one slender, and as far as Loving could tell quite attractive. She was wearing only black lacy panties and was handcuffed, her hands hoisted above her head and fastened to what looked like a large meat hook suspended from the ceiling. The man standing in the rear was caning her, striking her again and again, all up and down the back of her legs, while she let loose high-pitched whimpers of erotic delight. She writhed back and forth, which did amazing things to her suspended body, titillating not only her and her master-but the audience of spectators as well.