Charlie Huston - No Dominion

I think about trying to go through him. I think about going out like that, taking the head of a Clan with me. My old buddy.

I pull another smoke from my pack and light it with a match.

I think about the gutted lighter I abandoned at Vandewater’s. Have to get a new one. They take weeks to break in, to get the action on the hinge loosened up so it will pop open with a snap of your fingers. The old one was just right.

I smoke.

Terry stands there, watches me. I watch him back. He’s in no hurry. There’s a clock built into the face of the stove. I look at it. It’s getting late.

I think about last year. How close I came to dying. Dying ugly. I think about the last forty-eight hours. How close. I think about how it’s hard enough day by day without this kind of crazy shit blowing up in your face. I think about that lousy fucking job. Security. What that job was like when I had it before.

The whip in my hand.

I think about the part of me that likes the way it feels. The part my father and mother cut into me.

Terry, waiting.

Shit.

– No.

He sags, nods his head.

– I did my best.

He steps aside.

I go for the door.

– Joe.

I stop.

– You want to buy a little extra goodwill down here, you can do me a favor.

I turn my head.

– What’s that?

He goes to the fridge, comes out with the bag of anathema.

– Drop something off for me.

It’s not an errand I’m looking forward to. But I’ll be needing every last scrap of goodwill Terry’s willing to dole out. Every scrap while I figure where to run to.

Also, I have a couple questions left. Terry left some gaps around this part. The part where everything connects.

And he was right, I do like to pick a scab.

One of the girls answers my buzz. She doesn’t want to let me in, but he tells her to do it. I take the stairs. Poncho is there at the door, holding it open. She stands aside to let me in, giving me a nasty look as I go by.

He’s on the couch, Pigtails on one side, PJs on the other, taking turns bathing his face with a damp cloth. Ignoring the fact that everything that’s gonna heal has healed.

Poncho walks past me. She goes around the couch and stands behind him, hands on his shoulders.

He gives me a little finger wave.

– Hey.

I nod.

– Hey.

He tilts his head.

– So we cool?

– Yeah. We’re cool.

– Cool. Cool. Have a seat, man. Ladies, don’t be rude. Offer the man something.

Pigtails sniffs.

– I offered last time. He didn’t want it. And then he was mean to you.

She hops off the couch and flounces over to me, bends low from the waist.

– But that doesn’t mean I won’t offer again.

I hold up my hand.

– Maybe just a beer for now.

She straightens up, puts one hand on her hip and points a finger at me.

– You are no fun.

She turns her back, looks at me over her shoulder.

– But I’ll get you a beer anyway.

She skips to the fridge.

PJs has put her head in The Count’s lap. He strokes her hair.

– Sure you don’t want something stronger, man?

He points to the fridge. Pigtails is standing in the kitchen, fanning her hand in front of the open fridge, displaying the contents like a model on a game show. Blood. Lots of it.

– Just the beer for now.

He shrugs.

– Whatever you want, man.

Pigtails skips back over with the beer and an opener. She pops the top, takes a sip, and hands me the bottle.

– Yum.

She points at my lap.

– Mind if I sit?

The Count snaps his fingers.

– Come here, love. That man isn’t playful.

She giggles and goes to him.

– I knoooow. I’m just teasing. I like to tease.

She takes her place next to him and puts her head next to PJs’.

– And be teased.

He pats her cheek.

– Naughty.

I point at his nose.

– You might want to straighten that out before the cartilage knits. It’ll stay crooked if you don’t.

He touches it with his index finger.

– I thought I’d leave it as is. The girls like it.

– Sorry about the teeth. Those won’t grow back.

He smiles, shows me the gaps.

– Well, it wasn’t fun getting this way, but I’m gonna make the most of it. Thought I’d get some gold caps. Do the gangsta thing. Work on my street cred.

He flexes his shoulders, arms akimbo, hands flashing in front of his chest hip hop style. He laughs.

– Anyway, it’s no big. I had a role to play. I played it. Gotta admit, I played it all the way.

I nod.

– Yep.

– Terry fill you in on the whole thing?

– Most of it. He said there were some details I could get from you.

– Cool. That’s cool. So, where do you want to?

– Vandewater?

– OK. So, this is pretty fucked-up shit, funny fucked up. You’re gonna love some of this. OK.

Poncho has been rolling him a smoke, she puts it between her lips, lights it, moves it to his. He takes a drag and she removes it, his hands occupied with petting the girls’ heads in his lap.

– So, do you know what she does up there?

– Besides make anathema and spin fucked-up plots to stir up shit that will get us all killed? No.

– She makes enforcers. Really, man. That’s what she’s there for. Predo sends them to her. Sends her the raw recruits, and she sends back little order-following assassin robots. She’s the chief programmer. She’s been doing it forever.

– You mean that literally?

He shakes his head.

– Well, no, man. But a long damn time.

– Uh-huh. And you?

He grins.

– Me. Well, that was me. Funny as it sounds, man, I’m an enforcer. Anyway, I was supposed to be. She, like, handpicked me. I mean, I was really up there, pre-med and all, and she has these scouts, kids on campus, recruiters like? Mostly they’re looking for kids they can snatch, for the, you know, for the stuff?

– The anathema.

– Yeah, man. Like, raw material for the anathema. But sometimes, if they spot someone promising, they may try to recruit them. Nothing too obvious, right? No, Hey, man, what do you think of vampires? But she’s got a profile she looks for, something she’s put together. Traits she thinks you need to have. If you have them, and if you’re vulnerable to a snatch, she has you snatched. Has you infected. Or, tries to anyway. Sometimes it just don’t take. You know.

– But it took with you.

– Oh, man, did it ever. All of it. I don’t know what it is she looks for, but I have it. I took to this shit. The life. I know that bugs you, like the way you went all Raging Bull on my head, I know you don’t want to hear that kind of thing, but it’s the truth. I just plain took to it. And, I got to admit, I like it. I like the way it makes me feel. And, sure, I got it easier than most. The money, that makes a difference. And that shit I told you about mom and dad cutting me off? That was bull. Mom and dad divorced years ago. From each other and from me. All they want is not to know I exist. It might remind them of how old they really are. My trust fund ain’t going anywhere anytime, not unless people stop buying gas. I’m set. So, yeah, I’m spoiled fucking rotten. And I love it, by the way.

Poncho feeds him another drag.

– So I had whatever kind of crazy she was looking for. Not for, like, the standard enforcer thing, but for this special gig she had cooked up. This infiltration.

He moves his hands like cat’s paws.

– A lone agento secreto in the heart of the Society, carrying out a plot to subvert the youth of the Clan. Cool, huh? I mean, who wouldn’t love a gig like that?

I light a cigarette of my own.