Andrew Fox - Fat White Vampire Blues

He stared at the stake in his hand. “I–I just can’t do it.”

His friend looked incredulous. “What?What’s the problem? You’ve killedhundreds of people before!”

“Yeah, but… but they wasfood.” An inner voice screamed at him that he was being ridiculous-he and his friend were in danger. Any squeamishness didn’t count for a bag of beans. But voice or no voice, he couldn’t make his hand move. “This here-this isdifferent — I mean, she, y’know, she’s one ofus.”

“This is onehell of a time to develop moral qualms!”

The struggling woman kicked viciously at Jules. She barely missed knocking the stake from his loosening fist. “Iknow — I’msorry — but I just can’t do it.”

Doodlebug’s sigh sounded like steam boiling from a braking locomotive. “Ohh-kay-anyother bright ideas about what to do with our charming hostess here would begreatly appreciated!”

Jules gulped hard. He felt horrible. He was useless. Worse than useless. “We could stuff her in her coffin. It’s gotta be around here someplace.”

“Well,find it, then! And hurry!”

He ran through her kitchen, stepping quickly over the broken remains of the bar stool, and peered into what looked to be a bedroom. “D.B.! It’s here! A big mahogany coffin!”

He ran back to the dining room to help his friend half drag, half carry the shrieking, thrashing woman to the room behind the kitchen. Jules was suddenly grateful she’d chosen to live in this crappy neighborhood; none of the neighbors would pay a bout of crazed screaming any mind. He shoved the coffin’s lid open with his foot, then he and Doodlebug forcibly stuffed her inside. As soon as Jules was able to slam the lid shut, he lay on top of it and hung on for dear life.

“Guess I’m the heaviest thing in the house. Look, I’m really sorry about before-”

“We’ll talk about it later,” Doodlebug said, breathing heavily. “Right now we’ve got to find some way of keeping that coffin shut tight. You can’t lie on top of it ad infinitum.”

Jules’s stomach bounced as the coffin rocked. Elisha actually managed to lift the lid and its massive passenger an inch or two, but the coffin’s tight confinement left her no real leverage. “See if you can find some rope or wire,” Jules said. “Maybe a hammer and nails. She’s got some kinda utility shed out back.”

Doodlebug smoothed stray strands of lustrous auburn hair away from his face. “You’ll be all right?”

Jules smiled ruefully. “Sure. First time my weight’s ever done me any good.”

He watched Doodlebug unlock the rear entrance and step into the backyard. After a minute or two, the coffin stopped rocking beneath him. Jules cautiously sat up straight, still keeping his full weight centered on the lid. Then he heard his captive begin to sob. Softly at first, then louder and with greater abandon. It was one of the saddest, most pathetic sounds he’d ever heard.

“Oh Malice,Malice — I donefailed you! I donefailed you, honey dearest…”

What kind of a brother would turn his own sister into a vampire? Jules’s already abysmal opinion of his enemy plunged even lower, if that were possible. He tried not to listen to Elisha’s agonized cries and moanings. The things she was saying… things no sister should ever say or eventhink about a brother. Did Maureen have even the slightest notion of the depraved creature she’d granted vampiric powers and immortality to? The kind of creature she’d shared her bed with?

Doodlebug returned with rope, hammer, and nails. Jules continued sitting on the coffin while his companion drove a score of three-inch nails through the lid and into the coffin’s walls. Then Jules lifted the coffin, one end at a time, while Doodlebug wrapped it tightly with thick nylon rope.

“There… we shouldn’t have to worry abouther for a while,” Doodlebug said, patting his forehead and neck with a handkerchief from his purse. He glanced at Jules’s blood-soaked side, his eyes brimming with concern. “Let’s take a look at that. Is the wound deep?”

Jules gingerly pulled the shreds of his safari jacket and shirt away from his wounded left side. He winced as the fabric, glued to his wound by drying blood, tore open newly formed scabs. Jules kept his eyes tightly shut, afraid to look at his own blood.

“It’s not too awful,” he heard Doodlebug say. “She didn’t tag you that badly. It’s already healing.”

Jules opened his eyes. Now that the scraps of clothing were out of the wound, it was free to close properly. He watched, fascinated and a little nauseated, as his violated skin almost magically reknit itself.

“I saw some interesting things out back,” his relieved friend said. “You need to come take a look yourself.”

He followed Doodlebug out to the storage shed, a large corrugated metal structure that took up most of the backyard. His friend had torn off the door lock. Jules had no idea what to expect when Doodlebug yanked the light string. What was revealed was way,way down the list of what he might’ve imagined.

It was a lab of some kind. Bunsen burners and beakers and glass tubing, the sort of stuff Doc Landrieu might play with. Plus a bank of filing cabinets and three humming refrigerators.

Jules was mystified. “What kinda place is this?”

“It’s a drug lab. A heroin processing lab, to be exact.”

“Heroin?What the heck do a buncha vampires need to fuck around withheroin for?”

“Good question. Let’s try to find out, shall we?”

They spent the next twenty minutes rummaging through the contents of filing cabinets, ledgers, and hand-scrawled notes scattered around the lab. Most of the paperwork dealt with the supply trail and distribution network of a hot new commodity called Horse-X.

Jules broke open the locked bottom drawer of the last of the filing cabinets. He pulled a thick black three-ring binder from the back of the drawer. Almost immediately he knew he’d struck pay dirt. It was a manual describing the care and feeding of a long list of priority clients.

He flipped through the pages. Some of the names slapped him in the face like a bucketful of ice water. “Holy shit! Iknow these people! Knowof ‘em, anyway… Some of these guys are high up in the police department. You got lawyers here who made millions workin’ all them casino deals. Whoa-ho!You got names here that belong to hizzoner the mayor’s top politicos.”

He handed the binder to Doodlebug. The younger vampire spent a few minutes reading intently. “This is bigger than we ever imagined. It seems your friend Malice has his tentacles in nearly every corner of the city.”

“Yeah… Horse-X: It’s not just fer the ghetto anymore.”

Doodlebug closed the binder. “It’s not safe for us to stay here much longer. I’m sure this is a very active little lab. Ms. Raddeaux’s partners could show at any moment. Let’s gather up what we can and beat a prudent retreat.”

They searched for any document that might list a physical address for Malice X, but their hurried survey only turned up the names of lower-level operatives and a series of post office boxes. Jules retrieved a pair of old D. H. Holmes shopping bags from the house, and they stuffed a generous sampling of binders and folders into the bags, including the revelatory black binder.

Back in the house, Jules grabbed utility bills, photo albums, a shoe box full of canceled checks-anything that could potentially provide them with Malice’s connections or current whereabouts. A set of matching coasters next to the drying rack in the kitchen caught his eye. He’d seen them all around the house, but he hadn’t paid them any mind until now. They were all from the same Central City neighborhood bar. Club Hit ‘N’ Run.

He stuffed one of the coasters into his pocket. When Doodlebug came into the kitchen carrying a very full D. H. Holmes bag, Jules tossed him one of the drink holders. “Here’s where we need to head next, pal. Seems like this joint is a popular hangout with Sistah Souljah in the coffin there. Maybe it’s a popular hangout with Brotha Bas-turd, too.”