John Steakley - Vampire$

The young girl glanced briefly away then back to him. “Well, you have to admit it’s pretty hard to believe.” By God, I think she does believe! Jack thought suddenly.

Or at least she’s trying.

“What put you onto us, anyway?” he asked.

She smiled. “An old friend of my family owns the weekly newspaper that covered your last… uh, mission. I got into that little town, what’s it called?”

“Bradshaw, Indiana.”

“Yes, Bradshaw. Anyway, I got there two days after you’d left.” She frowned. “Nobody would talk about it by then. But I got your address.”

“Lucky you weren’t on time.”

“I heard you’d had some trouble.” He took a sip.

“Some.”

“Anyone hurt?”

“Seven.”

“Was it serious?”

“Dead. Seven dead.”

She went pale. “You’re joking! You can’t be serious!”

He just looked at her. “Okay,” he said.

They were quiet for several seconds. She could tell he meant it. And he could tell it had gotten to her.

Finally, he said, “Let me give you a little advice.”

“What’s that?”

“This is real.”

And they were quiet again for a while.

At last she said, “I don’t know what to say. Or do.”

He stepped away from the wall, shrugging off the somber mood.

“I’ll tell you what you can do. If you ever get this story printed anywhere — which I frankly doubt — you can put this in it.” He drained his glass and set it down on the carpet. “Got your pad with you?”

“Tape recorder,” she answered. She dug quickly in her purse, produced it, and held it up.

“Okey doke.” He stuck a cigarette in his grinning teeth, lit it. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”

She smiled back, gestured about her. “It’s certainly a big house. How many bedrooms?”

“Seven too many.”

“Oh,” she said quietly, gazing down the row of empty rooms. Four on one side. Three on the other.

“Don’t despair,” he said. “It’s just eulogy time.”

And then he did something she knew she would never, for all the rest of her life, forget. Grinning all the while, chain-smoking like mad, he strode from room to room and in each one told one outrageous, impossible, hopelessly funny and (invariably) obscene story about each of its martyred occupants. Smiling, but unable to really laugh along with him, she padded along behind gazing, transfixed, by his every word and gesture.

Jack Crow cried easily, readily, as he spoke. But without choking or moaning or even allowing it to interfere with his own laughter. His tone went up and down, was pretend-serious or pretend-drunk or pretend — little boy.

She was utterly hypnotized throughout by his blazing pride in his lost team. No. She would never ever forget this. Jack seemed to enjoy it as well. And he seemed to understand her reaction for the compliment it was. He spent an hour and a half being animated and dramatic and hilarious and when he had finished they were both exhausted.

Cat appeared in the hallway and reminded him their plane was ready to fly and then was gone.

He turned to her and told her where they were going.

She said she knew. She said she was from there. From Dallas.

He said he missed Texas.

So did she, she said.

There was a long pause. Downstairs, rock and roll began thumping from somewhere.

Then why don’t you come along? was his next question.

She looked up at him, her head tilted to hear the muffled sounds.

“I will,” she replied.

And she did.

They were having a drink or three in the bar at LAX waiting for their connecting flight to Dallas when two young coed types waltzed in wearing aquamarine shorts and deep equatorial tans followed by two boys just as dark wearing sombreros on which was stitched “Acapulco.”

Jack Crow, about to climb aboard his fifth jet in less than twenty-four hours, zonked by in-flight sleep and in-flight food and three or four drinks ahead of the Planet Earth, found this an inspiration.

“That’s what we oughta do,” he announced. “Go to Acapulco! Or better, Cancun or Isla de Mujeres! It’ll take a coupla weeks to get settled into the new shack anyway.”

“We’ve already checked our bags on through to Dallas,” Cat pointed out.

Jack frowned at Cat’s lack of enthusiasm. “So we leave from Dallas.”

“Naw,” said Carl, burping softly. “I gotta get all our bullet stuff ready.”

Jack looked at him. “Yeah. Well… But the rest of us can go. Annabelle?”

Annabelle barely smiled. “Who’s going to do all that ‘settling in’?”

“But the rest of you can go ahead,” offered Annabelle in her very best martyred tone.

Jack stared at his drink. “Naw.”

Annabelle smiled. “You may as well, Jack. You never do any unpacking anyway.”

Jack grinned back at her. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be near you while you do it.”

“How near?”

“I thought I’d stay at the Adolphus Hotel downtown.” He looked at the others. “I thought we all would the first couple of days.”

Annabelle sipped and smiled. “If you like.”

Carl had his hands clasped across his great belly and was mumbling to himself. Adam, seated beside him, leaned closer.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, concerned.

Carl looked at him. “I don’t unnerstand it, padre!”

“What, Mr. Joplin?”

“Call me Carl.”

“Okay, Carl. What is it?”

“My drink.” He pointed to the glass before him.

“It’s empty,” Adam noticed.

“That’s what I don’t unnerstand! It was full only minutes ago.”

Adam stared, comprehended, grinned.

“Oh my God!” Cat all but shrieked, shoving his empty glass away from him across the table in mock tenor. “It’s happened to mine, too!”

And then Carl and Cat looked at one another and began humming the theme from The Twilight Zone.

While the others laughed, Jack held his face in his hands and shook it mournfully. “My Team,” he muttered. “Nurse!” he called to the young waitress scurrying by. “An Emergency Round.”

On the plane they gathered together in the first-class lounge to hide from the food. One more airline meal, Jack felt certain, would make him left-handed. So they sat and drank and played cards and chatted. Jack brought up the subject of Mexico again but in an odd way and with an odd look on his face.

“I used to work in Mexico,” he dropped briefly and then blatantly waited for someone else to urge him to continue. Davette complied and Team Crow wondered if she could possibly have known him well enough this soon to feel the oddness his eyes could shed.

Cat curled up in his seat like his namesake and prepared not to miss a single word.

What’s going on? he wondered, but said nothing out loud.

He didn’t have to, for all who knew Jack Crow were thinking the same.

And as for Jack himself.

They are going to have to know this. They won’t understand him otherwise. They might not understand him even then. Or me, for bringing him along.

But they’re going to have to know.

And maybe if I tell them the good part first.

He smiled and turned to the others. “It was during the initial phase of my government career.”

Cat frowned, said nothing. Annabelle spoke up. “You mean before you joined the army.”

“Nope. Afterward.”

“But you said the first part of..

“No,” he corrected with a smile. “I said during the initial part of my government career.”

“Which means?” asked Carl sounding as bored as he knew how.

“Which means I was under deep cover for the NSA on assignment to the CIA working as an agent for the DEA.”