Chapter 23
The Tenderloin was originally the red light district on the Riverfront in the 1800s. But the Tenderloin, like so much of St. Louis, moved uptown. Go down Washington past the Fox Theater, where you can see Broadway traveling companies sing bright musical. Keep driving down Washington to the west edge of downtown St. Louis and you will come to the resurrected carcass of the Tenderloin.
The night streets are neon-coated, sparkling, flashing, pulsing-colors. It looks like some sort of pornographic carnival. All it needs is a Ferris wheel in one of the empty lots. They could sell cotton candy shaped like naked people. The kiddies could play while Daddy went to get his jollies. Mom would never have to know.
Jean-Claude sat beside me in the car. He had been utterly silent on the drive over. I had had to glance at him a time or two just to make sure he was still there. People make noise. I don't mean talking or belching or anything overt. But people, as a rule, can't just sit without making noise. They fidget, the sound of cloth rubbing against the seats; they breathe, the soft intake of air; they wet their lips, wet, quiet, but noise. Jean-Claude didn't do any of these things as we drove. I couldn't even swear he blinked. The living dead, yippee.
I can take silence as good as the next guy, better than most women and a lot of men. Now, I needed to fill the silence. Talk just for the noise. A waste of energy, but I needed it.
"Are you in there, Jean-Claude?"
His neck turned, bringing his head with it. His eyes glittered, reflecting the neon signs like dark glass. Shit.
"You can play human, Jean-Claude, better than almost any vampire I've ever met. What's all this supernatural crap?"
"Crap?" he said, voice soft.
"Yeah, why are you going all spooky on me?"
"Spooky?" he asked, and the sound filled the car. As if the word meant something else entirely.
"Stop that," I said.
"Stop what?"
"Answering every question with a question."
He blinked once. "So sorry, ma petite, but I can feel the street."
"Feel the street? What does that mean?"
He settled back against the upholstery, leaning his head and neck into the seat. His hand clasped over his stomach. "There is a great deal of life here."
"Life?" He had me doing it now.
"Yes," he said, "I can feel them running back and forth. Little creatures, desperately seeking love, pain, acceptance, greed. A lot of greed here, too, but mostly pain and love."
"You don't come to a prostitute for love. You come for sex."
He rolled his head so his dark eyes stared at me. "Many people confuse the two."
I stared at the road. The hairs at the back of my neck were standing at attention. "You haven't fed yet tonight, have you?"
"You are the vampire expert. Can you not tell?" His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. Hoarse and thick.
"You know I can never tell with you."
"A compliment to my powers, I'm sure."
"I did not bring you down here to hunt," I said. My voice sounded firm, a tad loud. My heart was loud inside my head.
"Would you forbid me to hunt tonight?" he asked.
I thought about that one for a minute or two. We were going to have to turn around and make another pass to find a parking space. Would I forbid him to hunt tonight? Yes. He knew the answer. This was a trick question. Trouble was I couldn't see the trick.
"I would ask that you not hunt here tonight," I said.
"Give me a reason, Anita."
He had called me Anita without me prompting him. He was definitely after something. "Because I brought you down here. You wouldn't have hunted here, if it hadn't been for me."
"You feel guilt for whomever I might feed on tonight?"
"It is illegal to take unwilling human victims," I said.
"So it is."
"The penalty for doing so is death," I said.
"By your hand."