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"Should have done the research. I did. Found out she was unhappy with the
present tenants. Guess she doesn't approve of the
Three's Company living arrangements. Very traditional, Madame LeClaire is."
"A nineteenth-century ghost told you all this?"
He shrugged. "I hired a medium."
Crap! An eloquent biker-vampire-assassin who did research. In-depth research.
When the predators are stronger and faster than you are, you hope to gain a
little edge by being smarter. This one, however, could not only outrun and
outfight me but probably would kick my ass at the undead science fair, as
well.
"You've gone to a great deal of trouble."
"The contract on you is worth a great deal of money," he said. Like he had to
justify the extra trouble and expense of tracking me down to kill me. "Not to
mention the street cred."
Yeah, he looked like the type who valued street cred over practical
considerations. I wondered if he appreciated where an overinflated reputation
had gotten me.
"You realize, of course," I said slowly, "that what we have here is a Mexican
standoff."
"Really?" He grinned. "I don't see it that way at all."
"I know that I'm no match for you," I continued, "but, as you so colorfully
phrased it, I
can scream like a little girl before you kill me. And you are definitely no
match for the people upstairs or the security team on the property. If you
don't stand down, we both die."
Of course I would have to scream real loud now that I had soundproofed the
cellar.
"Stand down," he mused. "I like that. So military. Probably something to do
with your service records. I did a lot of research before I came here and
that's the one part of my file on you that's incomplete. Why are some of your
military records under a Pentagon seal?"
"Come back next week and I'll tell you."
He shook his head. "The money or the mystery decisions, decisions." He pulled
a wireless detonator out of his pocket. "I think I'll take the money." He
flipped a switch and a flash lit up the basement windows followed by a loud
"bang!"
He tossed the detonator aside. "That got their attention. The next one will
get them moving. In three.
Two. One." A second "bang," farther away this time and the accompanying flash
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was dimmer.
"Now," he announced, "while your security team is running about outside,
seeking the source of the mysterious explosions . . ." Another, more distant
"bang" sounded. " . . . we can conclude our business without untimely
interruptions." He reached down and pulled a combat knife out of his left
boot. I patted the empty shoulder holster under my shirt as he held it up.
Yeah, I wouldn't need to carry a gun inside my own house: I didn't need to go
to bed or to the john or to the dinner table armed. Apparently trips to the
cellar were a different matter.
The vampire brandished the weapon, turning it back and forth so we could both
admire how the silvered blade gleamed under the General Electric Soft White.
"Oh, thank God," I said, "a knife. And here I was afraid you were going to
taunt me to death."
He nodded. "A smartass. I heard that about you."
I nodded back: "Jack . . ."
"That's not my name."
"How would I know? Because that's what I've heard about you."
He grinned now. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe you won't squeal like a little girl
after all."
"Bet I can get you to do a pretty fair impression of Mariah Carey, though."
Maybe I could keep him talking until the others came looking for me.
He stopped grinning. A look of slow surprise filtered across his scary visage.
"You're trying to piss me off?"
"Jeepers, Jack, now why would I want to do that?"
"Probe for any weaknesses, goad me into making a mistake. And my name is not
Jack."
"I figured that's what you've been doing with me. And what am I supposed to
call you? Mister
Cuddles?"
"Call me Razor." He was back to sneering.
"You're kidding."
"Do I look like I'm kidding?"
"You look confused." I tried to look like I was relaxing while preparing to
dodge at the first sign of forward momentum on his part.
"Confused?"
"If you were standing there, brandishing an actual razor, by God, I would be
more inclined to take you seriously. At least in terms of attempted packaging.
But you're waving a knife, not a razor. Therefore your moniker, your alias,
nom de plume should match your weapon of choice. You should be 'Shiv' or
'Shank' or 'Blade' no, Marvel Comics would probably sue your ass. So, what
sort of nickname is going to suit? I know! For the few remaining minutes that
you remain corporeal, I shall call you 'Pigsticker!'"
He growled. "That would make you the 'pig.'"
"Or we could use your manhood as a metaphor and christen you 'Penknife.'"
He took a menacing step forward. "The money is great. The rep I'm gonna get
out of this is priceless.
But killing you slow is going to be the sweetest part of the deal."
"I win," I said. "I made you madder, first."
He leapt.
He missed.
If I'd been human I would have been skewered. As it was, he grazed me as I
spun out of his way.
His momentum carried him smack up against Deidre's tanning bed, jostling the
Bakelite clamshell frame.
I followed through on my spin and kicked toward him. My right foot missed him [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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