I'd probably learned as much as I was going to, and really, that was more than I expected. I'd found a connection between Jamal and Papa Danwe's outfit. Maybe Jamal was doing business with Papa Danwe. Maybe the kid had unknowingly picked up one of Terrence Cole's girlfriends and tied her to the bondage rack in his apartment. I could see Jamal getting himself squeezed for something like that.
And then there was the Vampire Fred. I couldn't probe his mind as I could a normal human's, probably because his brain was as dead as the rest of him. But I didn't like him. I didn't like him lurking around my boss's son. I didn't know exactly what Jamal had been up to in the club, but I didn't like the apparent coincidence of an unaligned supernatural creature hanging out in the place-hanging out with Papa Danwe's guys. I was itching to connect Fred to the murder in some way.
Mostly, though, I didn't want the undead piece of shit with Adan. Maybe it wasn't any of my business, but I thought his father would want me to step up. Okay, maybe I had ulterior motives. Maybe it was some maternal, protective part of me screaming to get involved. Or maybe it was the romantically challenged part. I was sure it was what the maverick in the cop shows would do, so it had that going for it.
'Do you think your friends would mind if we got out of here?' I asked. I'd planned to wait until the end of the song to make my move, but I think the same damn song had been playing since I walked into the club.
Adan's arms tightened around me and he breathed in my ear. 'I don't think I care what they think, Domino.'
We left the club without returning to the table. Fred, of course, was leaning against my car when we got outside. My vintage 1965 Lincoln Continental convertible with the original Arctic White paint. The vampire gave me the Look-the usual vamp shtick that would make a mortal woman his willing slave or whatever. To me he just looked like a really pale and very gay fashion model.
'Scratch the paint and I'll shove a stake far enough up your ass to pick the blood clots out of your teeth.' I smiled and tucked my arm inside Adan's. 'Fred,' I added.
I'd like to say Fred sensed my great power and backed down. I'd like to say he recognized the more dangerous predator and submitted to the law of the jungle. But he didn't. Fred made a move.
There aren't a lot of vampires in L.A. They don't like gathering in large numbers-too much competition for food. But when it comes to vampires, popular culture is so full of shit I don't even know where to begin. I'll mention just two things in passing.
First, humans haven't believed in monsters for a long time, but in the twenty-first century, we've taken it one step further. We've rehabilitated the bastards. These days, vampires aren't really monsters; they're just tragically hip antiheroes with unusual diets. They sip daintily from cherished and willing blood donors and pine away for their lost humanity.
Well, vampirism isn't a disease. It's not a virus, or a genetic disorder or any other ridiculous pseudoscientific rationalization. Vampirism is blood magic. It's a necromantic shortcut to immortality and a limited range of superpowers. Vampires are just ex-human sociopaths who lacked the juice to become real sorcerers.
Second, in the supernatural food chain of the underworld, vampires are pussies.
The instant Fred leaned away from my car, I triggered the repulsion spell stored in the silver gangster ring on my right pinkie. The ring was a preloaded talisman, allowing me to cast the spell with only the barest concentration and no witty quotation.
So when the Vampire Fred launched himself at me with catlike speed and preternatural fury, the repulsion spell met him halfway and used his own kinetic energy-plus a little extra-to throw him over my Lincoln, across the street and into the storefront of an overpriced flower shop.
'This'll just take a second,' I said to Adan, and then I went after Fred.
By the time I crossed the street, the vampire was standing up and brushing flower petals and broken glass from his suit. He saw me approach and dropped into a predatory crouch, fangs bared and ready for battle.
Still about twenty feet away, I casually extended my hand, palm up, toward the Vampire Fred. 'Vi Victa Vis,' I said. That's Cicero-sometimes I bust out the Latin. The force spell hit Fred in the sternum and knocked him through the back of the flower shop into the skin-care clinic on the other side of the drywall.
This time, Fred was a little slower getting up. It's another myth of popular culture that vampires are fucking bulletproof. They're tougher than humans and they heal quickly when they're fed, but their bones still break when you hit them hard enough. Fred's left shoulder was dislocated and his right leg was twisted at an unnatural angle.
'All movements go too far,' I said, picking him up with the telekinesis spell and flipping him back through the flower shop and out into the street. There was the screech of rubber against pavement and a double thump as the Vampire Fred was run over by a Mercedes before he could crawl out of the way. Oops.
I made my way back through the trashed flower shop, pausing to pick out a red rose for Adan. The Benz was stopped but the driver wasn't getting out of the car. Fred was struggling to peel himself off the asphalt. I guess five hundred years of owning mortals had made him a little stubborn.
'A great flame follows a little spark,' I said, and a grapefruit-size sphere of fusion fire appeared, spinning like a miniature sun above my upturned hand. I let Fred get a good look at it.
'You might want to stay down, Fred, so I don't have to cook your pasty ass.'
Fred's jaw clenched, whether in pain or frustration I wasn't sure. I could see the pride and survival instinct, both honed over centuries, warring in his eyes. He looked at me. He looked at the fire. Survival won.
Like I said, vampires are pussies.
'Here's the way it is, Fred. Out of respect for your friendship with Mr. Rashan,' I said, turning and smiling at Adan, 'I'm going to let you walk away. But Fred, if you fuck with me again, you're going to burn. Clear?'
The Vampire Fred gritted his pointy teeth, and then he nodded.
'Groovy,' I said. 'Now get the fuck out of here.'
Without a word, Fred pulled himself up and hobbled off down the street. Even with a busted wheel, the vampire limped faster than the human eye could follow.
I pulled in juice and dropped a confusion spell over the street, just enough hoodoo to render any witnesses or inconvenient security cameras useless to a police investigation. I looked in the direction the vampire had fled, then turned back to the crowd of stunned onlookers and shrugged.
'He wasn't on the list.' Three Adan was annoyed. We were cruising down Santa Monica Boulevard toward the beach, and he was pressed against the passenger door and glaring at me.
'You didn't have to kick his ass like that in front of everyone.'
'He started it,' I said. 'I wasn't going to touch him as long as he didn't scratch my car.'
'You sound like a ten-year-old, Domino.'
'Well, what should I have done? He's a vampire. You want me to go back and let him take a bite out of me?'
'No, of course not. And I know he's a vampire, but he's been cool to me. Besides, you provoked him.'
I shrugged. That was true. I tried a different angle.
'He's cool? You know the magic is in the killing, right? Every human is topped off with ten pints, give or take, but all that's just foreplay. It's the mouthful that stops the heart that keeps him going.'
'I know. I just said he's been cool to me.' He shook his head and snorted. 'Anyway, you're a gangster. Where do you get off judging him?'
I scowled. 'Yeah, I'm a gangster-in your father's employ, I might add-but that doesn't make me a homicidal undead monster. Come to think of it, I can't even remember the last time I killed a guy and drank his blood.'
'No, you just kill guys and have some stooge bury the bodies.'
Ouch. That was going to leave a mark. 'I don't kill anyone. Usually. And never civilians. If you choose to get in the game, you know the rules and you know the risks. It's not murder when you have to kill an enemy soldier.'
Adan laughed. 'Oh, yeah, the standard gangster code of situational ethics. That bullshit's an insult to real soldiers.'
'That…is probably true. Anyway, it's just a fucking metaphor. Excuse my language.'
'Actually,' Adan said, 'I think it's a fucking analogy.'
I glared at him and he laughed. I shook my head, chuckling, and just like that the tension was borne away by the wind whipping through the open convertible.
I wasn't sure why I was arguing with this guy, anyway. His last name was Rashan. He knew the score. The truth was, Adan had pushed one of my buttons. Growing up, I'd always thought I'd end up using my magic for the
