Night Prayers (8 page)

Allison stopped and ran a cold tongue over her colder lips.

Where would she be?

Here? Somewhere else? Hook some inter-state trucker with promises of eternal life and find new hunting grounds before giving him the of "fuck-suck-see ya, shmuck" routine.

And splitting.

Like Seth had.

Allison kicked a broken wine bottle into a pile of cardboard boxes and felt the memory of a chill race beneath her skin. If she stuck around too long somebody was
bound
to connect her with the killings… even in Hollywood that sort of thing wouldn't go unnoticed indefinitely.

All they had to do was dust Buck's car for…

"My
purse
!"

She hadn't even thought about it until now, but in her hurry to leave the scene of the crime, shed also left her purse — in which could be found her driver's license, MacDonnel-Douglas Photo-I.D. card, MasterCard and (presently useless) blood type card.

"Oh… fuck."

"He — steal your — purse, lady?" A low voice mumbled. "Guess that means you — don't have any — change. Huh?"

Allison turned slowly toward the sound as her fangs slid into position and watched the largest of the cardboard boxes tremble while something crawled out of it.

The man was rail thin and stooped… hollow eyed and hollower cheeks. Years on the streets had taken more out of him than she ever could.

For the first time that evening Allison was looking at a man who didn't inspire even the tiniest pang of hunger.

Or maybe she was finally full.

Her stomach rumbled softly.

"Who asked
your
opinion?"

When the man finally stood as upright as he was going to get and faced her, Allison pulled in her fangs and quickly measured the distance between her and the narrow exit.

There was something about the bum… something just underneath the soiled clothing and skin… something that made her dead flesh crawl.

"Y-you hungry?" he asked, staggering toward her. Another scent wafted over to her: Cheap wine and even cheaper sterno.

This time her stomach took the hint and lay still.

"N-no. Thanks. I just ate."

"Yeah," he said, jerking his head toward the headless corpse and smiling. Three of his front teeth were missing — two up, one down. "I know."

Allison's body took over even as her mind was still recoiling from the shock of having been seen. In less time than it once took her heart to beat, Allison had the man by the front of his ragged, sweat-brittle flannel shirt and three inches off the ground.

"Anth wha are you goith't'do abouth ith?" she growled around fully extended fangs. "
Thith
!"

"Hey… no, it's okay," he said calmly.
Too
calmly for a man suspended five inches off the ground by a reanimated corpse that sucks blood from the living. Maybe he'd been an agent before the street caught up with him. "You're new in town… aren't you?"

He was trying to pick her up.

Jesus!

Allison let go and heard his jaw clink together as he landed. He didn't seem to notice.

"But it's… okay," he said, stumbling toward the body. Halfway there he fell to his hands and knees
— and continued at a crawl. "I know what't'do. 'Kay? Just leave it all't' Big Mike. Big Mike'll do what needs't' be done. Just like the others."

The others?

Allison slowly began to move in on the hunched figure digging through the dead man's pants pockets.

"Oh, yeah… musta been plannin' a real hell of a party with this shit. You want any?"
Big Mike
glanced over his shoulder and held out a wad of cash that —
once upon a time
— would have made Allison reconsider denying him a date.

"Naw," he said, stuffing it into his own back pocket, "guess you don't need it anymore."

He laughed, then hacked up a glob of phlegm and shot it into the hole where the man's head should have been.

"His head…" Allison said.

"No problem," Big Mike said. "I'll find it and once it's boiled down I can get maybe fifty… sixty bucks off those Devil Worshipers over on Franklin."

"And the — rest of him?"

Big Mike looked back at her and smacked his lips. Shit, he was a fucking ghoul! What the hell was this town coming to?

"So," he said, standing up, "you want some?"

She back-handed him to the ground. Big Mike landed flat out on the corpse's middle… their two bodies making a crude cross. Doubling over, Allison turned around and vomited nearly half her intake across the litter-strewn lot.

"Damn. Someone not agree with you?" She could hear him coming after her, the busted out knees of his jeans scraping against the hard ground. "Gotta be more careful, little girl. Too many God damned diseases goin' around. C'mon… it's okay. I get tested by the Red Cross all the time 'cause I give blood."

Again his laughter was cut short by a coughing fit.

"Give
blood
… get it?"

No… she didn't.

"Really, it's okay." He began fumbling with the cuff button on his sleeve and finally managed to tear it off. "Go on… have a hit for the road."

Allison felt the ground glide beneath her feet — the bloodless puncture marks on his wrists drawing her like a moth to the flame.

"Yeah…
knew
you were one o'em even before you did the guy. I can smell'em, y'know."

Dropping heavily to her knees, Allison took the hand gently between her palms as if it were a fragile flower. The points of her fangs were digging into her bottom lip
— demanding action.

"Who. Did. Thith?" Allison asked as slowly as her need would allow. "Wath. Hish. Name. Seth?"

Big Mike's chuckle set his entire body trembling with the effort.

"I don't ask names, baby-doll. I just do what I'm told… and it ain't bad. All I gotta do is clean things up once 'n awhile and shred some juice't' keep things interesting and I got it made.

"How long you think a bum like me'd survive these streets without protection from the night. But you're the night… and I'm the day! And it all works out!"

He belched and her eyes started watering.

"So, go on, moonlight lady," Big Mike said, flexing his wrist. "I know you want to. Go on."

They both shuddered when she ran her tongue over the wounds — moaned in unison when her fangs pierced the thin scabs.

"Oh… God, yes! Just… umm… just don't take too much… oh…kay?"

Allison went on Auto-Pilot with the first mouthful. Somewhere in the back of her mind, almost buried by the memories flooding down her throat, she heard the occasional
ding
of a gas pump being emptied.

Real high octane stuff.

ding ding

"Breathing any easier now?" Gypsy asked as the tip of the toothpick danced in the corner of his mouth.

The swaying movement reminded Mica of the way Luci had moved on stage.

Closing his eyes, Mica nodded and exhaled as loudly as he could. Just to
prove
he still could.

"Yeah, my little lady really got to you tonight, didn't she, pal? Shit, that was a stupid question
— half the '
verts
in there are shaking out their Fruit-of-the-Looms right now. 'Course she got to you. Got to me, too, and I only caught the tail-end."

When Mica finally opened his eyes, Gypsy shook his shaggy head and flipped the sliver of wood to the sidewalk.

"Christ, Preacher-boy, you gotta be more careful," he said slapping Mica
lightly
across the shoulders. "The Lord can only forgive just so much."

"Yeah." It still felt like somebody'd dropped a hot iron down the front of his pants. "Thanks, Gyp."

"Not to worry, man, maybe one day you'll pull a thorn out of my paw."

Mica nodded and felt Gypsy's knuckles rake the top of his skull.

"I
mean
it, Preacher-boy. With Luci the best thing a man can do is look and drool from afar. And in
your
case I'd suggest long-distance field glasses. Now don't get me wrong," Gypsy said, finally smiling, "I would be more than willing to hump the lady until her legs fell off or I went blind… and I'm sure there's not a Furvert in the place that wouldn't do the same if the opportunity presented itself."

The smile disappeared somewhere in the depth of Gypsy's beard.

"But not you, Preacher-boy. You get too close and she'll fucking eat you alive."

Without really being sure why he was doing it, Mica balled his hands into fists and starting walking toward his best friend in the world. What the fuck did
he
know about Luci? All Gypsy saw was tits and ass and bush — he didn't see the
real
Luci. The Luci beneath the fur and grinding hips. The Luci who's soul was begging for redemption.

Just…
begging
for it.

"You don't know anything about it," Mica snarled. "Besides,
I
got all the protection I need."

"Yeah, right… Christ, sometimes you can be greener than grass in the Spring. Don't you know you can't trust condoms one-hundred percent! Some got these little pin-prick holes in 'em and —"

"Lift your mind out of the gutter and see the light shining down on you. That's not the kind of protection I mean!"

"It's not?"

"NO! I'm talking about real Protection," Mica said, feeling lightheaded and angry and shaky all at the same time, a sure sign the Spirit was moving through him, and raised his fists toward the criss-crossing power lines overhead. "I'm talking about the Protection that comes from the Lord All Mighty."

"Aw, God."

"YES! Praise His name and feel the Glory of His—"

"Mica."

Mica blinked so quickly he heard his eyelids pop. Gypsy never called him by his chosen Christian name unless things were getting out of hand.

Like now.

Mica shoved his hands back into the pockets of his jacket, where they couldn't get into any more trouble.

"The Holy 747 come in for a landing yet?"

"Yeah. Sorry, Gyp."

Gypsy folded his arms across his chest and scowled like the three-dimensional genie from Aladdin that Mica used to see through his View-Master.

"Sorry's for folks who don't think before they act," he growled. "Now get your sorry ass back to work before I kick it all the way to Santa Monica. You hear me, Preacher-boy?"

"Yes sir," Mica said, snapping to attention, "I hear you."

"Good!" The voice was still gruff, but Gypsy was smiling again. "You want to convert someone — start by converting the walking dead out there to the joys of fur."

He was just blaspheming to get back at me, Lord
, Mica offered as the big man stalked back into the smokey darkness beyond the first set of curtains.
Forgive him
.

And me.

Knowing that they both would be, Mica stepped back behind the yellow line and nodded to the haggard looking man leaving the club.

"Hope you had a
furry
good time," he said, using the standard parting line. "And be sure to tell all your forest friends that we really know how to shake our tails here at the
Fur Pit
. Please come again."

You lecherous, voyeuristic —

"Oh, I will… you
know
I will," the Furvert said. "Man, you really got some show in there. Jesus!"