"I'll see if Harold Gaynor's in the computer," Irving said at last.
I smiled at him. "Remembered the name after me mentioning it just once, pretty good."
"I am, after all, a trained reporter," he said. He swiveled his chair back to his computer keyboard with exaggerated movements. He pulled imaginary gloves on and adjusted the long tails of a tux.
"Oh, get on with it." I smiled a little wider.
"Do not rush the maestro." He typed a few words and the screen came to life. "He's on file," Irving said. "A big file. It'd take forever to print it all up." He swiveled the chair back to look at me. It was a bad sign.
"I'll tell you what," he said. "I'll get the file together, complete with pictures if we have any. I'll deliver it to your sweet hands."
"What's the catch?"
He put his fingers to his chest. "Moi, no catch. The goodness of my heart."
"All right, bring it by my apartment."
"Why don't we meet at Dead Dave's, instead?" he said.
"Dead Dave's is down in the vampire district. What are you doing hanging around out there?"
His sweet cherubic face was watching me very steadily. "Rumor has it that there's a new Master Vampire of the City. I want the story."
I just shook my head. "So you're hanging around Dead Dave's to get information?"
"Exactly."
"The vamps won't talk to you. You look human."
"Thanks for the compliment," he said. "The vamps do talk to you, Anita. Do you know who the new Master is? Can I meet him, or her? Can I do an interview?"
"Jesus, Irving, don't you have enough troubles without messing with the king vampire?"
"It's a him then," he said.
"It's a figure of speech," I said.
"You know something. I know you do."
"What I know is that you don't want to come to the attention of a master vampire. They're mean, Irving."
"The vampires are trying to mainstream themselves. They want positive attention. An interview about what he wants to do with the vampire community. His vision of the future. It would be very up-and-coming. No corpse jokes. No sensationalism. Straight journalism."
"Yeah, right. On page one a tasteful little headline: THE MASTER VAMPIRE OF ST. LOUIS SPEAKS OUT."
"Yeah, it'll be great."
"You've been sniffing newsprint again, Irving."
"I'll give you everything we have on Gaynor. Pictures."
"How do you know you have pictures?" I said.
He stared up at me, his round, pleasant face cheerfully blank.
"You recognized the name, you little son of. . ."
"Tsk, tsk, Anita. Help me get an interview with the Master of the City. I'll give you anything you want."
"I'll give you a series of articles about zombies. Full-color pictures of rotting corpses, Irving. It'll sell papers."
"No interview with the Master?" he said.
"If you're lucky, no," I said.
"Shoot."
"Can I have the file on Gaynor?"
He nodded. "I'll get it together." He looked up at me. "I still want you to meet me at Dead Dave's. Maybe a vamp will talk to me with you around."
"Irving, being seen with a legal executioner of vampires is not going to endear you to the vamps."
"They still call you the Executioner?"
"Among other things."
"Okay, the Gaynor file for going along on your next vampire execution?"
"No," I said.
"Ah, Anita. . ."
"No."
He spread his hands wide. "Okay, just an idea. It'd be a great article."
"I don't need the publicity, Irving, not that kind anyway."
He nodded. "Yeah, yeah. I'll meet you at Dead Dave's in about two hours."
"Make it an hour. I'd like to be out of the District before full dark."
"Is anybody gunning for you down there? I mean I don't want to endanger you, Blake." He grinned. "You've given me too many lead stories. I wouldn't want to lose you."
"Thanks for the concern. No, no one's after me. Far as I know."
"You don't sound real certain."
I stared at him. I thought about telling him that the new Master of the City had sent me a dozen white roses and an invitation to go dancing. I had turned him down. There had been a message on my machine and an invitation to a black tie affair. I ignored it all. So far the Master was behaving like the courtly gentleman he had been a few centuries back. It couldn't last. Jean-Claude was not a person who took defeat easily.
I didn't tell Irving. He didn't need to know. "I'll see you at Dead Dave's in an hour. I'm gonna run home and change."
"Now that you mention it, I've never seen you in a dress before."
"I had a funeral today."
"Business or personal?"
"Personal," I said.
"Then I'm sorry."
I shrugged. "I've got to go if I'm going to have time to change and then meet you. Thanks, Irving."
"It's not a favor, Blake. I'll make you pay for those zombie articles."
I sighed. I had images of him making me embrace the poor corpse. But the new legislation needed attention. The more people who understood the horror of it, the better chance it had to pass. In truth, Irving was still doing me a favor. No need to let him know that, though.
I walked away into the dimness of the darkened office. I waved over my shoulder without looking back. I wanted to get out of this dress and into something I could hide a gun on. If I was going into Blood Square, I might need it.
Chapter 12
Dead Dave's is in the part of St. Louis that has two names. Polite: the Riverfront. Rude: the Blood Quarter. It is our town's hottest vampire commercial district. Big tourist attraction. Vampires have really put St. Louis on the vacation maps. You'd think that the Ozark Mountains, some of the best fishing in the country, the symphony, Broadway level musicals, or maybe the Botanical Gardens would be enough, but no. I guess it's hard to compete with the undead. I know I find it difficult.
Dead Dave's is all dark glass and beer signs in the windows. The afternoon sunlight was fading into twilight. Vamps wouldn't be out until full dark. I had a little under two hours. Get in, look over the file, get out. Easy. Ri-ight.
I had changed into black shorts, royal-blue polo shirt, black Nikes with a matching blue swish, black and white jogging socks, and a black leather belt. The belt was there so the shoulder holster had something to hang on. My Browning Hi-Power was secure under my left arm. I had thrown on a short-sleeved dress shirt to hide the gun. The dress shirt was in a modest black and royal-blue print. The outfit looked great. Sweat trickled down my spine. Too hot for the shirt, but the Browning gave me thirteen bullets. Fourteen if you're animal enough to shove the magazine full and carry one in the chamber.
I didn't think things were that bad, yet. I did have an extra magazine shoved into the pocket of my shorts. I know it picks up pocket lint, but where else was I going to carry it? One of these days I promise to get a deluxe holster with spaces for extra magazines. But all the models I'd seen had to be cut down to my size and made me feel like the Frito Bandito.
I almost never carry an extra clip when I've got the Browning. Let's face it, if you need more than thirteen bullets, it's over. The really sad part was the extra ammo wasn't for Tommy, or Gaynor. It was for Jean-Claude. The Master Vampire of the City. Not that silver-plated bullets would kill him. But they would hurt him, make him heal almost human slow.
I wanted out of the District before dark. I did not want to run into Jean-Claude. He wouldn't attack me. In fact, his intentions were good, if not exactly honorable. He had offered me immortality without the messy part of becoming a vampire. There was some implication that I got him along with eternity. He was tall, pale, and handsome. Sexier than a silk teddy.
He wanted me to be his human servant. I wasn't anyone's servant. Not even for eternal life, eternal youth, and a little compromise of the soul. The price was too steep. Jean-Claude didn't believe that. The Browning was in case I had to make him believe it.
I stepped into the bar and was momentarily blind, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the dimness. Like one of those old westerns where the good guy hesitates at the front of the bar and views the crowd. I suspected he wasn't looking for the bad guy at all. He had just come out of the sun and couldn't see shit. No one ever shoots you while you're waiting for your eyes to adjust. I wonder why?