THERE ARE SOME THINGS ABOUT BEING A VAMPIRE that come in handy in my line of work.
Tonight is a perfect example.
I'm a bounty hunter. The human I'm after is sitting at a bar ten feet away from me getting shit -faced on cheap beer and bad whiskey.
She's leaning on the shoulder of her loser boyfriend, whose name is Hank. I know this because I smell the booze, see the drunken haze clouding her eyes, hear every word they're saying. Where they plan to go when they leave, who they're planning to meet, how much money they expect to have after they rob the neighborhood 7-Eleven.
She has no idea that anyone is listening. How could she? The noise in this dive is at jet engine decibels. But I hear. Everything.
She pushes herself off the bar stool and staggers to her feet. Her name is Hilda. She's wanted for three counts of aggravated assault. The boyfriend she's drinking with is one of the complainants. Seems they 've made up. She's about five feet four inches, two hundred fifty pounds. She's dressed in low-cut jeans and a tight T-shirt.
Not a pretty picture.
Hilda gathers up what's left of a twenty-a fiver and some coin. The barkeep laid the change down five minutes ago with a smile after she'd called for the tab.
The barkeep's expression now reflects disappointment; he thought she might forget.
Hilda's expression says fat chance.
Hilda pushes the coins toward him but drops the bill down the front of her shirt and grins. "Want a bigger tip? Come get it."
Hank grabs her arm. "What are you talking about, bitch?"
The bartender takes a step back and moves away. The boyfriend is bigger than Hilda and mean-looking. I can see by the frown on his face that the barkeep thinks no five-dollar tip is worth the aggravation. He moves to the other side of the bar.
Hilda and her boyfriend argue all the way to the door. I slip out right after them. I already know where they 've parked their car and while they lurch toward it, I take off ahead of them. By the time they get to me, I'm leaning against the driver's side door, twirling a pair of handcuffs.
"What the fuck?" Hank says.
"Yeah, what the fuck?" Hilda echoes.
"Hilda, Hilda. I got a call from your daughter this afternoon. She's upset. Do you know why?"
Hilda's eyes scrunch. "No. Why?"
"You must have forgotten that you had a court date this week. You didn't show up. Now if I don't get you to jail tonight, your daughter is going to lose her house. You really wouldn't want that to happen, would you?"
The boyfriend snarls and takes what I'm sure he imagines to be a menacing step toward me.
The fact that his eyes are crossed and drool spindles from the corner of his mouth takes the sting out of the threat. I hold my ground and snarl right back. Literally.
His eyes widen, but he places his hands on swaying hips and says, "Those are bullshit charges. You'd better get away from my car, little lady, or I'm going to have to take you over my knee."
He grins at Hilda. "That's pretty good, huh? We'll give this bitch a spanking she'll never forget."
Hilda grins back. For a minute, I think they've forgotten I'm here. Then they both turn around.
And start to run.
In opposite directions.
Hank picks the better route-toward the street. With surprising dexterity, he leapfrogs into the back of a moving pickup and peeks up over the gate. The driver doesn't realize he's picked up a passenger and continues on his way down the road.
Hank has no bounty on his ass, so I don't care. I take off after Hilda. She has a head start. Still, it's no contest. She's two hundred and fifty pounds of couch potato. I don't need to tap into vampire strength or speed. I'm on her before she makes it to the end of the parking lot.
I push her to the ground and jump on her broad back. She bucks under me like a bull. I yank both of her hands behind her and snap on the cuffs. It happens so fast, she doesn't realize she's trussed until she tries to push herself up.
She starts to yell. For Hank.
"Save your breath, sweetie," I whisper in her ear. "The last glimpse I had of Hank, he was hopping in the back of a pickup. He's long gone."
I reach down and haul her to her feet. I use one hand, as if she weighs twenty-five pounds instead of two-fifty. "Looks like it's just you and me."
Hilda is looking at me bleary-eyed with confusion and alcohol. "How did you-? What did you-? Where did you-?"
I pat her head and push her toward my own car. "Don't try to figure it out, Hilda. You'll hurt yourself."
She stumbles forward. I've got one hand on the cuffs and one on the small of her back. We're just about at the car when my cell phone rings.
I dig it out of my pocket and flip it open.
It's my partner, David, on vacation in the Bahamas.
"Hey, Anna," he says. "How's it going?"
"Just peachy." I open the rear car door and shove Hilda down onto the seat. "Are you having fun?"
He laughs. "I'm laying on a beach drinking mojitos out of coconut shells. How about you?"
Hilda looks up at me and spits. Only trouble is, she's got the coordination of a drunk and the spittle dribbles down her own chin and settles somewhere in the vicinity of that five-dollar bill she'd shoved down her blouse.
I slam the door and take my place behind the wheel. "Actually, yes," I tell David. "I am having fun."
