Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

Doodlebug rubbed the bridge of his nose and sighed. “Look, Jules, I want to help you achieve whatyou want. Okay? Obviously, moving you somewhere else isnot what you want. So let’s spend tonight trying to figure out how to get you what youdo want, which is living here in New Orleans in some semblance of peace. How about we begin with your telling me everything that’s happened to you in the past four weeks.”

Jules grunted his assent. Doodlebug threw some paper towels on the spilled coffee, then poured his friend another cup and sat down to listen. Jules told him almost everything, starting with the night he’d picked up Bessie and ended up playing reluctant host to Malice X. Being particularly proud of his infiltration of the Moss Avenue police station, Jules blew that part of the story way out of proportion. He was also very liberal in describing his heroic attempts to rescue his irreplaceable collectibles from the fire. Conversely, he said exceedingly little about his five-day exile in Baton Rouge. About his encounter with the gorgeous (but possibly deadly) plus-sized model, Veronika, Jules said nothing at all.

Doodlebug rubbed his powdered chin for several long moments. “There are some things about your story that don’t make any sense to me,” he said at last.

“Such as-?”

“If Malice X really wants to kill you, he’s failed to take advantage of some ideal opportunities.”

“Maybe he’s just sloppy. Or maybe I been lucky so far.”

“Maybe. But aside from your altercation with the three would-be assassins, he’s been content at each encounter to either warn you or try to push you out of what he sees as his territory. And he’s certainly known for the last three nights that you’re back in New Orleans, but with the exception of that one attack, you’ve remained unmolested. Wouldn’t you think he’d have the entire Quarter crawling with his spies and killers by now, if he truly wanted to do you in?”

Jules fished a few stray coffee grounds out of the bottom of his cup with a sterling-silver spoon. “Well, yeah, I guess. But I been real careful these last few nights. You shoulda seen the outfit I put together last night, fer instance-I mean, I wasreally incognito-“

“I’m sure it was a good disguise, Jules, but I still get the feeling you’re being let off lightly. It’s almost as if your opponent wants to drag this out. As if he’s taking pleasure in humiliating and harassing you.“

“Huh.” Jules raised an eyebrow. “Well, I sure wouldn’t put it past the bum.”

Doodlebug sat back down and leaned across the table, staring intently into his friend’s face. “And here’s another question for you. Why do you suppose this Malice X hatesyou so much?“

Jules grunted. “Ain’t no big mystery aboutthat. Black guys have been gettin‘ the short end of the stick for a long time, since way before I was around. You and me both remember the Jim Crow days here in

New Orleans, so those days weren’t so far back. I’m a white guy. He’s a black guy. He resents me for it. That’s the Song of the South, pal-oldest story around these parts. Case closed.“

“Is it?”

“Why the hell not?”

“You aren’t theonly white vampire in New Orleans. Why hasn’t Malice X gone after the others?”

Jules rolled his eyes. “That’s easy. Besthoff and Katz and them are holed up in their compound on

Bamboo Road, where Malice X can’t get at ‘em. That place of theirs is like a damn fortress.“

“I wasn’t talking about Katz and Besthoff.”

“Who else is there?”

Doodlebug paused before answering. “Maureen.”

Jules winced involuntarily. “Huh? What’re you saying?”

“Think about it. Maureen sustains herself on victims she lures from her club. Considering that place’s clientele, surely not every one of those victims has been a white man. But she hasn’t been singled out for any warnings or attacks by this gang of black vampires. Why is that?“

Jules chewed his lower lip. “Ehh… I don’t think I like what you’re implyin‘ here. Mo can’t be tangled up in this. Nother. I mean, she gave me a place to stay after Baton Rouge, no questions asked. With all our history an’ all.”

“I don’t like to think it, either, Jules. But these questions won’t go away. I think that, very soon, you and I need to sit down with Maureen and ask them to her face.”

Early the next evening, barely forty minutes after sundown, Jules and Doodlebug zoomed onto the Lake Pontchartrain Causeway, heading north for Covington. Jules pushed his reluctant auto to sixty-eight, thirteen miles per hour over the posted speed limit. With its jellied suspension, the Lincoln hit the long bridge’s expansion joints like a palsied old woman.

Doodlebug, dressed in a scarlet cocktail dress, gripped his armrest tightly and winced as they flounced over each joint. “May I speak plainly?”

Commanding a steering rack as responsive as an asphyxiated flounder, Jules didn’t dare take his eyes off the road or even one hand off the wheel. “I wish you would. I never won no prizes for my big-time vocabulary.”

“I think this trip is a bad idea.”

“I don’t remember askin‘ for your vote.” Jules swerved to avoid a low-flying seagull, causing the Lincoln’s bald tires to wail. “Say, weren’t you the one who just last night was sayin’ stuff like, ‘Jules, you’re the responsible party here,’ and ‘Jules, I want to help you get whatever it isyou want’? Was that bullshit, or what?”

Doodlebug sighed. “I wasn’t ‘bullshitting’ you, Jules. But my definition ofhelp includes unbiased feedback regarding your decisions. If I held back, then Iwould be bullshitting you.”

Now it was Jules’s turn to sigh. “Okay. Shoot. I can see I’m gonna get an earful whether I like it or not.”

“I think our time this evening would be spent much more productively if we had a heart-to-heart with Maureen.”

Jules scowled. “Jeez,again with that! We’ll get around to it, okay? First things first. We’re on a real tight deadline with this recruitin‘ trip, remember? I’ve got a digital timer tickin’ the seconds away that’s hooked up to three gas canisters, all waitin‘ for me on the other side of this damn bridge.”

Doodlebug smoothed the wrinkles from his dress. “You know, it wouldn’t be such a tragedy if that gas goes off and you aren’t there. The authorities would pass it off as a politically motivated prank. We can still turn around.”

“Why are you so damn set against this mission? Is it just because it wasn’tyour bright idea?”

The smaller vampire frowned. “Jules, I have enough bright ideas of myown — I never feel jealous of someone else’s. Why is this a bad idea? Two reasons. One: You don’t need any followers. Two: Even if you did, these definitelyaren’t the sort of followers you want.”

Jules squinted as the high beams from an eighteen-wheeler hit him dead in the face. “So I don’t need any followers, huh? Have you bothered tellin‘ that to the dozens of goons Malice X has sicced on my tail?”

“You don’t need to beat dozens of goons, Jules. You just need to beat one man.”

Jules snorted. “Ixnayon the philosophy, okay? This mission ain’t up for no debate. My mind’s set in concrete.” He glanced at his watch, dimly illuminated by the sickly green dashboard lights. “Shit! Look what time it is already! If we don’t pick up the pace, that crowd’ll fall asleep and wake back up before we even get there.” He mashed the creaky accelerator pedal a bit closer to the rusted-out floorboards, brutalizing the already breathless Lincoln.

Doodlebug reached into his purse and applied some fresh powder to his forehead. “Oh yes, we mustn’t keep your neo-Nazis waiting.”