P.D. Martin - Kiss of Death

Sloan stops scribbling and looks up. “Either of them ever violent?”

“Not that I know of.”

“You know who’s in Winters’ group?”

“There are twin brothers from Texas. Real thick Texan accents, and they are rough.” She finishes the limes and moves onto the strawberries, cutting little slits in them. Presumably they’ll be decoration for cocktails tonight. “Security always keeps a close eye on them. And there are a few girls who hang around Winters, too. Don’t know their names, but I assume they’re girlfriends or donors.”

“Donors?”

“The ones who like having their blood drunk by vamps.”

Sloan grimaces. “The vamps that come in here, are they more about the look, or do they really believe they’re vampires?”

“There’s some that have this romanticized idea of the Goth culture and think vampires are sexy…cool. But there are lots of true believers, too, including After Dark. And you don’t want to question their beliefs. I learned a long time ago to keep my mouth shut on the subject.”

“They get angry?”

“Not angry, defensive.” She looks up. “You walk down the street like this and you get looks, you can get picked on. Vamps often feel persecuted. Most of them believe they were born vampires, with some sort of need for blood, and that nobody understands that. Nobody but other vamps.”

I nod. “What about the other houses in L.A.?”

“Like I said, even two vamps who are friends can call themselves a house.”

“You must have some names? Some records?”

“Credit card receipts, I guess. And we’ve got a mailing list and a few of our members have bar tabs. But you’ll have to talk to the manager about that.”

Fair enough. Realistically we’d need a warrant for that information anyway.

“There’s also our MySpace and Facebook pages. Most of the friends on there are regulars.”

“I was on the club’s pages this afternoon, but I’ll take a closer look. Thanks.” I take a final sip of water. “Any of your other customers ever violent or dangerous?”

“Mmm…there’s one guy that gives me the creeps. Don’t know his name, but he’s big and always seems real aggressive—even just in the way he demands a drink. He’s always here with his girlfriend and two other guys. I don’t know if they’re a clan or just hang together.” She finishes the strawberries and stretches up to take a small blackboard on the bar’s corner off its hinges. “I’ve heard they’re really into the whole mythology. And that they’re convinced they must feed off people and turn them to increase their vamp numbers. But it could all be talk.”

“And you don’t know any of their names?” Sloan asks.

“Sorry, no.” Cheryl writes: Cocktail special: Deadly surprise, $12 on the blackboard and rehangs it before moving down to the other end of the bar and taking another small blackboard off its hinges, then returns to the center of the bar. “They usually come in on Sundays, though. I could point them out to you…” Midsentence she looks up and gives us a big smile. “You ladies got any black?” She looks back down at the board and writes in the drink special.

“Can you describe them to us?” I won’t be mentioning that I’m considering coming back tonight. I’m not sure if I want Cheryl, or anyone, knowing that I’m FBI here in disguise. And with the makeup, the clothes and a wig, I don’t think Cheryl would recognize me anyway. I grimace at the thought of me in Goth gear. All in the line of duty.

“The main guy is around five-ten, stocky and bald with a big skull tattoo on his right arm. He usually wears leather pants and a fishnet-T. The girlfriend is big, buxom. Long black hair with bright red streaks and she’s always showing a lot of flesh…and she’s got a lot to show. Then the two guys…one of them is real tall and skinny, hair down to his shoulders and he normally wears full face makeup and a suit. Think Clockwork Orange. And the other guy is kinda short, maybe five-six, but good-looking in a rough kinda way. Short black hair, not much makeup, and he goes more for the leather pants and usually nothing on top. Two nipple rings and a nose stud, too.”

I nod. “Thanks, Cheryl.”

Sloan closes her notebook. “It’s been enlightening, ma’am.”

Cheryl gives a little laugh. “Thanks.” She pauses. “We’re done?”

Sloan and I both say yes.

Cheryl wipes her hands on a tea towel. “I’ll let you out then.”

We follow her back through the club to the main entrance.

“Have you got cameras in here?” Sloan’s scanning the ceiling.

“Uh-huh.” Cheryl stops and points backward. “One in the corner there, one on the rooftop patio and one at the entrance.”

“Do you know if the manager keeps the footage?” Maybe we can find the four people Cheryl’s talking about on video footage.

“Yeah, I think so. But I don’t know for how long. I can write down the manager’s contact details for you. There’s a pen at the door.” She starts walking to the entrance again.

“Great,” Sloan says.

We get to the top of the stairs and follow Cheryl down. “I like your top.”

“Yeah, it’s cool isn’t it?” She looks back at me and gives me a once-over. “You could wear something like this with black pants and it’d look dressy, not Goth, right?”

“True. Where’d you get it?”

She goes behind the desk at the door and pulls out a pen and paper. “Place called VampIt in WestHo.” She starts writing. “So the manager’s name is Brad and he organizes all the security.”

I take the piece of paper. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” She unlocks the heavy metal door and heaves it open.

“Thanks again for your time.” Sloan holds out her hand.

Cheryl smiles and takes Sloan’s outstretched hand, then mine. “Have a good night.”

It didn’t take me long to track down VampIt and recruit Mercedes for the night’s activities. I’m bringing her along as a friend, not as an FBI employee. Not many women go to a club by themselves and I don’t want to stand out. Mercedes and I met at the store in WestHo, leaving Sloan to catch a cab back to her house. I got the distinct impression she didn’t see the point of actually going to one of the clubs in Goth attire at this early stage of the investigation, but if I’m going to profile Sherry’s killer I need to look at all angles.

It had actually been kinda fun shopping for corsets, leather and black. Mercedes and I spent a good forty minutes in the shop, much to the annoyance of the salesgirl who agreed to keep the store open for us when we guaranteed her sales and a big tip…but after twenty-five minutes I think she was regretting her decision. Even creatures of the night want to knock off work. We were lucky the store was even open.

Eventually I chose black leather pants with laces that run all the way up the sides of my legs and a red velvet bodice top—one of the few in the store that had straps. Rather than wasting money on shoes, I decided to wear some ankle boots I had at home, but I did buy an ankh choker, which is supposed to represent eternal life. Mercedes’ outfit is very different from mine. She chose a short black leather dress with an A-line flare to it and a halter neck. She also managed to pick a pair of knee-high boots that she figured would work well in her normal wardrobe, some fishnet stockings, plus a long chain and chunky pendant. The last things on our shopping list were makeup and wigs. The shop assistant suggested going a few shades paler than our own skin tones in the foundation, and then purchasing a translucent powder. Despite my stereotyped notion that I’d be going for white, apparently that’s considered a bad makeup job among Goths. Who knew?