Battle of the Network Zombies (20 page)

“Fine!” I snatched up the papers and Vance/Lars rushed over with a pen.

“Here and here and here.” He pointed out little exes and I scribbled my name next to each one, stabbing the pen at the paper with rage.

“I hope you know I’ll be bringing Honey and Mr. Kim. They go wherever I go.” I glared at Ethel.

“Well, I’ll just run on home and set up a spot for the dear girl right now.” She leaned over with vampire speed, or else I would have pushed her away, and kissed my forehead. I went to rub it off and then stopped myself. Gil already thought I was childish in my interaction with Mother—I’d be damned before I gave him more ammo. Ethel gave each of the men a quick hug and then clopped off down the hall with the kind of spring in her step that could only come with the knowledge that I’d be in her evil clutches once again.

Gil and Vance left shortly after.

I was numb.

“You know,” Wendy said. “There’s always the show. If that hits big, you might be able to buy the condo back.”

A little glimmer of hope shined into my pre-suicidal mind. The show. Absolutely. All we needed to do was solve the mystery, compile all the footage in a fresh and stylish way and I’d be rollin’ in it again. I’d probably be able to keep the business too.

“Thanks, Wendy. That actually helps.”

“You’re welcome.”

“And at least we have the camera.”

“Oh, thank God. You do have it. I’ve been lying here wondering.” Wendy whistled in relief.

I sat up and scanned the little table next to the bed, reached down and opened the drawers, nothing but gauze and little jars filled with spiders—undoubtedly considered medically necessary by the Marquises de Sade of the candystriper set.

“What? You don’t have it?”

“Hello? I was kind of falling off a cliff and being crushed by a building. Didn’t have time to worry about the Amanda Feral Show.”

My stomach flipped.

The camera was gone.

Of course it was. Even inanimate objects got the memo. Must fuck Amanda Feral. Kick her while she’s down.

What’s next karma? World destruction?

“Well, I’m not going to sit here and take this lying down.”

“Huh?” Wendy looked up as I started plucking the needles from my pores.

“Reapers! Bandage me the fuck up, I’m getting out of here.” Britney stomped down the hall toward our beds. I stabbed a thumb in Wendy’s direction. “And this one, too. I’m putting her back to work.”

“Well, aren’t you demanding?”

“You bet your ass.”

Monday
4:00–5:00
A.M.
Wolfbait

I pulled on a pair of jeans—Gil rustled up some clothes for us at a nearby Urban Outfitters—and shoved a pair of borrowed twenties into the front pocket. I’d owe Ethel back for the cash in blood, but I’d rather that than be beholden to the woman, especially with her so glib over her apparent victory.

We hailed a cab and slipped into the back.

“Where are we going,” Wendy asked, picking at the bandages on her arms.

I slapped her hands away. “Don’t pick.” I gave Wendy’s address to the cabbie—I wondered if he knew Baljeet and Raj—and we were off.

“What’s at my place?” Her face dipped into grievance. “Other than a cracked-out vamp whore?”

“Your camera, the one you’ve been spying on Abuelita with. Once we get it, you can keep filming me as I search for the real camera. This shit is going to make for some intense TV.”

She lifted her phone. “Couldn’t I just film you on here?”

“Well, yeah. But then we wouldn’t know what the hell’s going on at your place.”

Wendy’s eyes narrowed. “True.”

She lived in a turn-of-the-century walk-up on Queen Anne. The peek-a-boo view of the sound added five hundred a month and was worth every penny, though the vampires littering the living room floor brought down the property value dramatically. Abuelita, passed out on the couch and pasty as a glazed donut, grunted as we entered.

“Wake up.” Wendy kicked the woman’s foot.

“Hmm?” Her eyes opened with a snap. “Oh! Missus Wendy. I can explain.”

“I save your ass from a life of wearing poorly constructed sandals, beading handbags no one wants and pushing Chiclet sales-children out of your snatch and you repay me by throwing wild drug parties in my home? You’re damn right you’ve got some explaining to do.”

I scanned the mass of vampire flesh. Most were spooning in pairs or trios. A few curled up, fetal as babies. I nudged one of them I knew from the clubs. George, I thought, or Gio. He smiled up at me dumbly, pulling his arm out from under another passed-out vamp, this one totally fug and wearing a ratty thrift store sweater. I gave him a wink and helped him to his feet. “You better get your friends and get into the hall. Wendy’s pissed. She’s likely to chew her table into enough wooden stakes to finish all of you.”

George or Gio scrambled to his feet, kicking his buddies and rushing for the door. Threats are particularly effective with cloudheads. Even the smallest gesture gets blown out of proportion in their drug-addled brains. In a matter of seconds, the vampires cleared out, leaving the floor a mess of blood stains and dried pools of drool.

“I need to make moneys to bring my family to the States. You no pay me, so I make moneys the way I know how.” She reached for the empty paint can and held it to her chest like a Teddy.

“Moneys?” I asked, stepping up beside Wendy. “How much moneys?”

Wendy’s head jerked toward me. “What are you doing?”

“Just chill.” I petted Wendy’s hair, then to Abuelita I said, “How much money are we talking about here?”

“Five hundred for each gringovamp.” She opened the canister and pulled out a fat roll of twenties.

Now if I were an ethical zombie with designs on simple brain eating and shambling around, I couldn’t very well sustain your interest. I require a certain level of income to keep up my stylish demeanor. It ain’t free. Fabulousness costs.

Big.

And no. I had no intention of eating the little mule.

I’m not in the business of burning bridges, in case you haven’t noticed. I looped my arm through Wendy’s and led her into the kitchen for a chat. “Okay. So this is going to sound bad. I know you feel violated and betrayed and all that, but I counted at least twenty bloodsuckers up in this cuddle party. At five hundred a head, that’s ten grand.”

Wendy’s face was stolid.

“How much do you expect to make with your jewelry line? A couple extra hundred a week?”

She shrugged, clearly irritated at my direction.

“I’m just sayin’.”

Abuelita had followed us to the doorway and caught on, agreeable to the unspoken idea, probably out of fear of being eaten than anything else. “Sí, Missus Wendy, we go into business together. I have connections for the clouds and you know lots of the vampires,
sí?
”

“Well, yeah.”

“I’m gonna go downstairs and wait while y’all make a decision. Don’t forget the camera.”

Wendy glared at me.

The vampires hadn’t made it very far, taking my suggestion of going to the hall quite literally. The hallway was lined with the addicts and no fewer than three of them were snoring at top volume, forcing me out to the fire escape at the end of the hall to call Scott.

“I need your help.”

It was more than that. I’ve never needed help from a man before, I’ve always been able to manage on my own. It wasn’t help I needed. It wasn’t little tips or clues or direction on how to solve a mystery—one I wasn’t even sure I cared enough to figure out. No. It was Scott.

I needed Scott.

“I was just thinking about you.” His voice was husky and deep.

“You were?” Did the words sound desperate?

“I was,” he said.

“Well, you needed to be. I almost died last night.”

“What?” he barked. There was a sudden urgency to it that thrilled me.

I told him about the accident at the Hooch and Cooch and gave him general directions to the site of the collapse, clicked off and promptly screamed. Holy crap. Did he say he was thinking about me? Oh yeah. I climbed down the ladder and sat on the hood of someone’s car, drumming my fingers hopefully.

Wendy blasted out of the back door of her building, a pair of car keys jingling and a bit of a smirk on. She didn’t say a word until we pulled out onto the street.

“Well?” I asked.

She nodded. “I’m a drug dealer.”

“Awesome.” I slapped her thigh. “What are the keys to? I was pretty sure you were carless.”

“Let’s see.” She punched the alarm button on the ring and a sporty little red Mazda flashed and honked like a game show prize. “We have a winner.”

“Let’s go get famous.”

It took a little while to find the spot, since we’d only ever seen it for an instant and then only from the vantage point of the rear of the building, but it wasn’t too difficult once we found the spot on the ridge where the Hooch and Cooch should have been. It would have been way easier to spot from the bridge, but who wants to put up with all those ghosts on a beautiful sunny afternoon?

Wendy paralleled and pulled a pink stuffed rabbit out of her bag, shoved her hand up a tear in its ass and pulled out her video camera, then tossed the violated animal into my lap. I was reminded of the tiger Johnny had left in my room to welcome me to the set and actually felt sort of sad at the thought of him cut down in his prime. Or in my prime, to be more accurate.

“Nanny cam?”

“Hell yeah. Clandestine is the way to go. I watch
To Catch a Predator
. I know what it takes to get the footage.”

“Clearly.”

Scott arrived at the collapse before us and was knee-deep in debris by the time we rounded the corner of the Chinook Apartments, battling the mushy grass in my stilettos.

“Why the hell don’t they have a sidewalk around here like regular people?” I asked.

“Maybe if you’d told them you’d be crashing here, they could have accommodated your shoe needs.” Scott wiggled his eyebrows.

“Funny. Are you having any luck?”

Scott threw up his arms. “Been at it for a half hour now and no sign of anything that even looked like a camera. Found a pair of trailer hitch testicles, though. You want ’em?”

“Pass.”

“I really don’t see how it’s possible that it survived though. Know you don’t want to hear that, but.”

“Well, I’ll just make all the suspects reenact our interrogations. They should get a real kick out of that.”

Scott slid his arm around my shoulders congenially—and I’d know if it were anything else, I’d been examining his every move since I saw him. Looking for an opening.

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out,” he said. “You are the most creative and ambitious woman I know.”

“Ooh!” Wendy yelled, darting to a spot at the top of the rubble. “Say that again, I need a more dramatic angle for your romantic reentanglement.”

“Jesus, Wendy,” I spat.

“Reentanglement?” Scott chuckled. “Is that even a word?” His eyes met mine, blue with what I hoped was longing. Though I’d settle for obsession.

I turned to see Wendy teetering on a beam precariously. “Why don’t you head on home to your new business partner. I’ll catch a ride with Scott.”

She hopped down and backed toward the side of the building. “No prob. I’m going to throw your bag in his car and get out of here. Talk to you later.”

“Bye.” I turned to Scott and found his gaze so welcoming, I rushed into his arms tilted my face toward his and waited.

His lips were on mine in an instant. Our kiss was passionate with regret. We’d lost something. Hopefully two things. My self-absorption—at least in terms of Scott—and his unwillingness to share his concerns.

“I should have told you what I was thinking. I won’t dwell anymore, I’ll just let you have it. Lord knows you’re strong enough to hear it.”

“Yeah. And I’m not taking you for granted. If I do, I expect you to tell me right then, hell, beat me over the head with your discontent. I deserve it for what I’ve put you through. I’m shocked that you’re even around.”

His hands played with mine, fingers threading and then pulling away, tickling circles into my palms. “Oh, I’m around. I ran, is what I did. Pathetic. It’s not going to happen again. You can count on it.”

He wrapped me in his arms again and pulled me toward the opposite corner of the building. The side with the walkway, if I’d only looked for it.

“I need you.”

“You have me”

“No. I need you right now.” He shrugged, like a little boy who had to go pee. Like it was simple as that.

Actually, it probably was. Simple as it could ever be between a wolf in street clothes and a dead woman in borrowed jeans.

“Right here?” I looked at the gap between the buildings. Paint chipped away from the clapboard like checkerboard and the cement was cracked in a single centerline, from the back patio out past the front of the building.

“Can’t wait. I’m ’onna fuckin’ explode.” Scott groaned, his lips against my throat, muffling the words into quiet murmurs, a deep humming that vibrated across the surface of my skin like a memory.

His hand found mine and guided it to the full hardness in his jeans, then slipped up under the thin cotton of my shirt gently kneading my breasts, pushing my nipples up over the top of the bra’s cups. His rough fingers teased them thick as his mouth went to work on my earlobes, the curve of my jaw, the shallow cleft of my shoulders.

I rubbed at him slowly, methodically. Wrapped my leg around him to press my pussy up as close to him as I could. The seams of our jeans met, snagged and slid deliciously, sending jolts of pleasure up inside me, up my spine.

He fumbled with the buttons on my shirt, opening it from the waist up and unfastening my bra with a deft flick of his fingers. Not a second later and his tongue curled around one swollen bud, then the other, sucking them into his mouth with soft smacking sounds.

I found the top button of his jeans, then his zipper, and slid my hand inside the band of his boxers, across the soft mound of pubic hair—trimmed, I’ll have you know. I followed the length of his shaft, lingering on the silken underside, tracing circles with my fingertip.

Scott moaned into my ear, a wanton beseeching sound. His face turned skyward and he ground his teeth as I stroked his cock, pressing down the front of his jeans and underwear with the other, releasing him. I licked the palm of my hand sodden as he watched me, heavy-lidded with desire. His eyes followed my hand down to encircle him, twist his length, toy with his head.

Both of them.

“You’re making me fucking crazy,” he sighed, nearly breathless.

“Oh, yeah?” I whispered, stroking him faster.

“Yeah.” His voice hopped a bit, as though I’d brushed up against his pain threshold. I released him and let him pull my shoes and jeans off. He lingered at my toes, sucking at them, lapping at the hollow of flesh at my inner ankle, before working his way up to my thighs, his fingers kneading the curve of my ass as he crept toward my pussy in a trail of soft nibbles.

He threw one leg up onto his shoulder and then he was there, tongue lapping between my folds, sending shivers through me that for a moment made me feel alive, more than alive.

Electrified.

He kept his eyes intent on my face while he tongued me and stopped only once, to dip his index and middle fingers into his wet mouth, before rushing back to tease my clit with unyielding thumps of his tongue. I felt those wet fingers trace the line of my taunt and I clenched a bit as Scott played with the taut pucker of my anus, slipping his fingertip inside only briefly while he swirled his tongue masterfully around my engorged clit.

There’s something to be said about a lover with no boundaries. Ladies, you know what I’m talking about. Every moment with Scott feels like it could go in any number of directions, from the last time where he lost control and shifted partway through—by the way, thanks for asking about the hip, it feels fine now, you insensitive assholes—to moments like this where he’d happily take me to the edge over and over again. Teasing me with the promise of an orgasm and then making me wait until I imagine I’ll shatter. Of course, there are the other times, when he’ll ask for something he’s not going to get, but I won’t sully this, our reunion make-up sex, with tales of anal gone awry.
⁸⁵

I clawed at the clapboard behind me as his effort brought me close. Near to that place where I knew I’d explode. I reached down and clutched at my lover’s neck, pushing his mouth tighter against me.

His nose whistled against my thin patch of pubic hair as he pressed even closer, his head twisting from side to side. He broke free only once to gulp at the air before diving back in with a maniacal glee.

“Oh, fuck.” My body seized with the beginnings, that moment that threatens death before the pleasure rolls in like a tsunami. But he stopped, just before, like he had me on a timer. “You fucker!” I screamed.