Guilty Pleasures

33

I arrived at Ronnie's office a few minutes before eleven. I paused with my hand on the doorknob. I couldn't shake the image of Theresa's head on the sidewalk. She had been cruel and had probably killed hundreds of humans. Why did I feel pity for her? Stupidity, I suppose. I took a deep breath and pushed the door inward.

Ronnie's office is full of windows. Light glares in from two sides, south and west. Which means in the afternoon the room is like a solar heater. No amount of air conditioning is going to overcome that much sunshine.

You can see the District from Ronnie's sunshiny windows. If you care to look.

Ronnie waved me through the door into the almost blinding glare of her office.

A delicate-looking woman was sitting in a chair across from the desk. She was Asian with shiny, black hair styled carefully back from her face. A royal purple jacket, which matched her tailored skirt, was folded neatly on the chair arm. A shiny, lavender blouse brought attention to the up-tilted eyes and the faint lavender shading on the lids and brow. Her ankles were crossed, hands folded in her lap. She looked cool in her lavender blouse, even in the sweltering sunshine.

It caught me off guard for a minute, seeing her like that, after all these years. Finally, I closed my gaping mouth and walked forward, hand extended. “Beverly, it has been a long time.”

She stood neatly and put a cool hand in mine. “Three years.” Precise, that was Beverly all over.

“You two know each other?” Ronnie asked.

I turned back to her. “Bev didn't mention that she knew me?”

Ronnie shook her head.

I stared at the new woman. “Why didn't you mention it to Ronnie?”

“I did not think it necessary.” Bev had to raise her chin to look me in the eye. Not many people have to do that. It's rare enough that I always find it an odd sensation, as if I should stoop down so we can be at eye level.

“Is someone going to tell me where you two know each other from?” Ronnie asked.

Ronnie moved past us to sit behind her desk. She tilted the chair slightly back on its swivel, crossed hands over stomach, and waited. Her pure grey eyes, soft as kitten fur, stared at me.

“Do you mind if I tell her, Bev?”

Bev had sat down again, smooth and ladylike. She had real dignity and had always impressed me as being a lady, in the best sense of the word. “If you feel it necessary, I do not object,” she said.

Not exactly a rousing go-ahead, but it would do. I flopped down in the other chair, very aware of my jeans and jogging shoes. Beside Bev I looked like an ill-dressed child. For just a moment I felt it; then it was gone. Remember, no one can make you feel inferior without your consent. Eleanor Roosevelt said that. It is a quote I try to live by. Most of the time I succeed.

“Bev's family were the victims of a vampire pack. Only Beverly survived. I was one of the people who helped destroy the vampires.” Brief, to the point, a hell of a lot left out. Mostly the painful parts.

Bev spoke in that quiet, precise voice of hers. “What Anita has left out is that she saved my life at risk of her own.” She glanced down at her hands where they lay in her lap.

I remembered my first glimpse of Beverly Chin. One pale leg thrashing against the floor. The flash of fangs as the vampire reared to strike. A glimpse of pale, screaming face, and dark hair. The pure terror as she screamed. My hand throwing a silver-bladed knife and hitting the vampire's shoulder. Not a killing blow; there had been no time. The creature had sprang to its feet, roaring at me. I stood facing the thing with the last knife I had, gun long since emptied, alone.

And I remembered Beverly Chin beating the vampire's head in with a silver candlestick, while he crouched over me, breath warm on my neck. Her shrieks echoed through my dreams for weeks, as she beat the thing's head to pieces until blood and brain seeped out onto the floor.

All that passed between us without words. We had saved each other's lives; it is a bond that sticks with you. Friendships may fade, but there is always that obligation, that knowledge forged of terror and blood and shared violence, that never really leaves. It was there between us after three long years, straining and touchable.

Ronnie is a smart lady. She caught on to the awkward silence. “Would anybody like a drink?”

“Nonalcoholic,” Bev and I said together. We laughed at each other, and the strain faded. We would never be true friends, but perhaps we could stop being ghosts to each other.

Ronnie brought us two diet Cokes. I made a face but took it anyway. I knew that was all she had in the office's little fridge. We had had discussions about diet drinks, but she swore she liked the taste. Liked the taste, garg!

Bev took hers graciously; perhaps that was what she drank at home. Give me something fattening with a little taste to it any day.

“Ronnie mentioned on the phone that there might be a death squad attached to HAV. Is that true?” I said.

Bev stared down at the can, which she held with one hand cupped underneath so it wouldn't stain her skirt. “I do not know positively that it is true, but I believe it to be.”

“Tell me what you've heard?” I asked.

“There was talk for a while of forming a squad to hunt the vampires. To kill them as they have killed our … families. The president of course vetoed the idea. We work within the system. We are not vigilantes.” She said it almost as a question, as if trying to convince herself more than us. She was shaken by what might have happened. Her neat little world collapsing again.

“But lately I have heard talk. People in our organization bragging of slaying vampires.”

“How were they supposedly killed?” I asked.

She looked at me, hesitated. “I do not know.”

“No hint?”

She shook her head. “I believe I could find out for you. Is it important?”

“The police have hidden certain details from the general public. Things only the murderer would know.”

“I see.” She glanced down at the can in her hands, then up at me. “I do not believe it is murder even if my people have done what the papers say. Killing dangerous animals should not be a crime.”

In part I agreed with her. Once I had agreed with her wholeheartedly. “Then why tell us?” I asked.

She looked directly at me, dark, nearly black eyes staring into my face. “I owe you.”

“You saved my life as well. You owe me nothing.”

“There will always be a debt between us, always.”

I looked into her face and understood. Bev had begged me not to tell anyone that she had beaten the vampire's head in. I think it horrified her that she was capable of such violence, regardless of motive.

I had told the police that she distracted the vampire so I could kill it. She had been disproportionately grateful for that small white lie. Maybe if no one else knew, she could pretend it had never happened. Maybe.

She stood, smoothing her skirt down in back. She sat her soda can carefully on the edge of the desk. “I will leave a message with Ms. Sims when I find out more.”

I nodded. “I appreciate what you're doing.” She might be betraying her cause for me.

She laid her purple jacket over her arm, small purse clasped in her hands. “Violence is not the answer. We must work within the system. Humans Against Vampires stands for law and order, not vigilantism.” It sounded like a prerecorded speech. But I let it go. Everyone needs something to believe in.

She shook hands with both of us. Her hand was cool and dry. She left, slender shoulders very straight. The door closed firmly but quietly behind her. To look at her you would never know that she had been touched by extreme violence. Maybe that's the way she wanted it. Who was I to argue?

Ronnie said, “Okay, now you fill me in. What have you found out?”

“How do you know I've found out anything?” I asked.

“Because you looked a little green around the gills when you came through the door.”

“Great. And I thought I was hiding it.”

She patted my arm. “Don't worry. I just know you too well, that's all.”

I nodded, taking the explanation for what it was, comforting crap. But I took it anyway. I told her about Theresa's death. I told her everything, except the dreams with Jean-Claude in them. That was private.

She let out a low whistle. “Damn, you have been busy. Do you think a human death squad is doing it?”

“You mean HAV?”

She nodded.

I took a deep breath and let it out. “I don't know. If it's humans, I don't have the faintest idea how they're doing it. It would take superhuman strength to rip a head off.”

“A very strong human?” she asked.

The image of Winter's bulging arms flashed into my mind. “Maybe, but that kind of strength …”

“Under pressure, little old grannies have lifted entire cars.”

She had a point. “How would you like to visit the Church of Eternal Life?” I asked.

“Thinking about joining up?”

I frowned at her.

She laughed. “Okay, okay, stop glowering at me. Why are we going?”

“Last night they raided the party with clubs. I'm not saying they meant to kill anyone, but when you start beating on people”-I shrugged-“accidents happen.”

“You think the Church is behind it?”

“Don't know, but if they hate the freaks enough to storm their parties, maybe they hate them enough to kill them.”

“Most of the Church's members are vampires,” she said.

“Exactly. Superhuman strength and the ability to get close to the victims.”

Ronnie smiled. “Not bad, Blake, not bad.”

I bowed my head modestly. “Now all we got to do is prove it.”

Her eyes were still shiny with humor when she said, “Unless of course they didn't do it.”

“Oh, shut up. It's a place to start.”

She spread her hands wide. “Hey, I'm not complaining. My father always told me, 'Never criticize, unless you can do a better job.”

“You don't know what's going on either, huh?” I asked.

Her face sobered. “Wish I did.”

So did I.