I sat in the bar and watched him. It was an ordinary bar, straight out of the pulp magazines, a large, quiet bartender wiping at the glasses, dim lighting, a flickering neon sign over the door, and people drinking with that calm focus that speaks of long practice and a definite aim in mind. All it needed was cigarette smoke, but this was California, so nobody was lighting up. That was one difference I didn't mind; cigarettes make me sneeze.
The fellow I was watching was one of the few people in the place drinking in order to be sociable. He was slinging an easy smile around like a kid in a candy store, and running casually hungry eyes over every woman who walked in the door.
He didn't look like a killer, sitting there in his bluejeans and button-down shirt, but I knew he was. I'd been tracking him for weeks, sent out here after a sudden rash of bodies started turning up. I'd seen the dead women, talked to the witnesses, and finally wound up here, watching him. I shook my head and gazed thoughtfully into my Coke - no drinking on the job. The last thing I needed was to have my reactions slowed. I couldn't help wondering what made guys like him go stupid. If he had made some sort of attempt to hide the fact that the corpses were drained of blood, his name would never have come across my desk. Idiot.
Now he was chatting up yet another beautiful redhead. This was the clincher - if he went true to form, if he took her outside and went for her throat, I'd take him. But I had to be sure. Even with all the evidence I'd accumulated since coming out here, there was still the possibility that I was wrong, and it wasn't a chance I was willing to take.
I studied him out of the corner of my eyes, comparing him to the others I'd killed, stakes through their inhuman hearts. He was attractive enough, which made finding victims easier. He laughed at something the redhead whispered in his ear, and I caught a flash of white teeth. He wasn't showing yet, or he'd have been more careful. Once the bloodteeth come out, they're pretty hard to miss.
His pale skin was almost pasty under the cheap lighting, but it was smoothed over a pair of gorgeous cheekbones and a high forehead, and didn't mar his attractiveness. It also complimented his dark hair admirably; I had wondered early on whether he dyed his hair or not, and learned this morning that he did - with Clairol, no less. From this distance I couldn't see his eyes well, but I knew from the various people I'd talked to that they were a deep blue - almost black. It seemed a shame to destroy something with eyes like that, but he couldn't be allowed to run around killing innocents.
He spotted me watching him, and our eyes met briefly. He gave me a quiet nod, one hunter to another, and I felt my flesh crawl. I nodded back, for form's sake, and watched as his shoulders shifted slightly, his arm coming a little closer to the girl, claiming her. I gave him a half-smile and a shrug, then turned back to my soda. I was annoyed with myself; I'm usually better at hiding from the people I follow. I was lucky he'd assumed I had the same end in mind as he did.
After another Coke for me, and a half pint each for the redhead and my quarry, they headed outside. I tipped the bartender, and vanished out into the night behind them, pulling my gloves on and tugging the collar of my overcoat up to keep out the cold. If he went true to form, he'd take her around behind the building… yes. There they were, arms around each other, his mouth already on her throat. I paused, looking more closely, and saw him swallow. A slim rivulet of blood made its way out from under his lips and traced its way down to her chest.
Bingo.
I shot out of the shadows, one hand reaching for an ash stake, the other out and ready to grab him. He thrust the redhead away, and she collapsed against a trash can. He was motionless for a moment, his eyes blazing with fury. "She's mine," he growled, but when he saw the flash of pale wood and realized what I was, he turned to run. I tackled him, giving thanks for years spent playing football with family friends, and wrestled him onto his back. I straddled his chest to hold him down, and he tried to hit me. I caught his wrist with my free hand, and smacked the side of his face once with the stake, hard. He cried out, and I could see his skin begin to swell with the reaction to the wood.
"Look," I hissed, "I'd like to just kill you, but I'm required to give the ultimatum first."
"Fuck you," he said, or tried to - I'd damaged his jaw a bit when I hit him.
"Will you agree to stop killing humans?"
He looked at me as if I'd suggested he stop feeding entirely. "Tried that once. Didn't like it." He fell silent, as if speaking that much, that coherently had been too much work.
"Well, that takes care of that." I shifted backwards, raised the stake, and plunged it in. He didn't bleed much, just gasped and went blank.
I stood up shakily, brushing off my knees as the adrenaline slowly left my body. As I carefully stripped off my leather gloves and tucked them into one pocket, I heard a whimper behind me. The redhead. I walked over to where she was curled behind a trash can, and crouched down in front of her. "You okay, miss?"
She stared at me with wide eyes. "He - you - you killed him!"
I smiled wryly. "Yeah. ...Family troubles. You okay?"
She nodded shakily, and I stood up. "I'd advise you not to spread word of this around, okay? Now, get the hell out of here." She stood and sprinted off, and I turned back to the body. He was still spreadeagled on the pavement. I pulled a can of lighter fluid out of my pocket as I kicked the more flammable debris out of the way, then emptied it over him, careful not to get any on my clothes. A single match, and he was blazing away. Fortunately, the alley was sheltered enough not to be visible from the street, and I stayed until the body had burned away. A few ashes, and an oily smudge were all that was left. What a waste.
But he broke the Pact. He was making things dangerous for the rest of us, killing humans like that. Idiot.
I shook my head sadly, and walked back to my car. When I took my keys out of my pocket, I winced, and saw that my hand was swelling up a bit. A splinter from the stake must've gone through my gloves. I shrugged the annoyance off. A decent feeding, and the reaction would go down.
Time to go home.
copyright 2000 Ealasaid A. Haas