"Did you keep him?"
"Within the bounds of what's legal. Told him I was processing paperwork. Didn't exactly mention to him that he was free to go - fortunately, he's so drunk he's not worried about his civil rights. "
"Let me go talk to him. "
"He's where you like them. "
She headed out and hung a left. The interrogation room was at the far end of the hall, and it didn't have a lock on the door - last thing they needed was trouble with the CPD. Make that more trouble: Given what went down under this roof every night, the police were known to nose around from time to time.
Opening the door, she cursed under her breath. The guy sitting at the table was slumped over onto himself, his chin down on his chest, his arms hanging loose, his knees out to the sides. He was dressed like an old-fashioned dandy in steam-punk style, sporting a black slim-fit suit and a white shirt with a high lace collar - and naturally, something was off about the threads. The fabric, for one thing. The fact that none of it was handmade, for another. The buttons. . . But that was what happened when humans who liked to pretend dipped their toes in historical waters. They got shit wrong every time.
Shutting the door quietly, she walked over to him in silence, curled up a fist. . . and slammed it on the table to wake him up.
Oh, look, he had a little cane to complete his outfit. And a cape.
As the guy flipped backward and teetered on two chair legs, she caught the ebony walking stick on the fly and let gravity decide what to do with the human -
How. Cute. In his open mouth, two porcelain fang-like projections had been glued onto his canines. Guess that made him feel even more Frank Langella.
She sat down just as he landed flat on his back, and she studied the silver skull at the top of the cane while he dragged himself off the floor, righted his dumb-ass costume as well as the chair, and parked it once again. As he smoothed his jet-black hair, the roots showed mouse brown.
"Yes, we're letting you go," she said before he asked. "And as long as you tell me what I want to know, I won't get our friends down at the CPD involved. "
"Okay. Yeah. Thanks. "
At least he didn't pretend to have an English accent. "Where'd you get the coke?" She put a hand up as he opened his yap. "Before you tell me it was your friend's and you're just keeping it for him, or that you borrowed the coat and it was in the pockets, the police aren't going to believe that bullshit any more than I do - but I guarantee they'll get to hear the lie. "
There was a long silence during which she stared at him. He'd even put in red contacts to make his irises appear to be glowing.
She wondered if he'd ever tried to dematerialize through a wall.
She was ready to help him give it a go.
"I made the buy on the corner of Trade and Eighth. About three hours ago. I don't know the guy's name, but he's usually there every night between eleven and twelve. "
"Does he only sell the shit marked with that symbol?"
"Nah. " The guy seemed to relax, his Jersey accent growing stronger. "He'll move just about anything. Back in the spring, I sometimes couldn't get the coke. But, I don't know, last month or so he's had it every time. It's what I like. "
Was the Dracula routine his rebellion against GTL? she wondered.
"What name does it go by?" she said.
"Dagger. It fits who I am. " As he motioned down his getup, his red-stoned pinkie ring caught the light. "I'm a vampire. "
"Reallllly. I thought they didn't exist. "
"Oh, we're very real. " He gave her the once-over, his eyes going Lothario. "I could introduce you to some people. Bring you into the coven. "
"Isn't that for witches?"
"I have three wives, you know. "
"Sounds crowded at your house. "
"I'm looking for a fourth. "
"Nice offer, but I'm married. " As she said the words, her chest ached. "Happily, I might add. "