Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,111
agitated. Bubba was formerly known as . . . Well, let me just put it this way. You wondered about all those sightings after his death? This was the explanation.
The conversion hadn’t been a complete success because his system had been so fuddled with drugs; but aside from his predilection for cat blood, Bubba managed pretty well. The vampire community took good care of him. Eric kept Bubba on staff as an errand boy. Bubba’s glossy black hair was always combed and styled, his long sideburns sharply trimmed. Tonight he was wearing a black leather jacket, new blue jeans, and a black-and-silver plaid shirt.
“Looking good, Bubba,” I said admiringly.
“You too, Miss Sookie.” He beamed at me.
“Did you want to tell me something?”
“Yessum. Mr. Eric sent me over here to tell you that he’s not what he seems.”
I blinked.
“Who, Bubba?” I asked, trying to keep my voice gentle.
“He’s a hit man.”
I stared at Bubba’s face not because I thought staring would get me anywhere, but because I was trying to figure out the message. This was a mistake; Bubba’s eyes began darting from side to side, and his face lost its smile. I should have turned to stare at the wall—it would’ve given me as much information, and Bubba wouldn’t have become as anxious.
“Thanks, Bubba,” I said, patting him on his beefy shoulder. “You did good.”
“Can I go now? Back to Shreveport?”
“Sure,” I said. I would just call Eric. Why hadn’t he used the phone for a message as urgent and important as this one seemed to be?
“I found me a back way into the animal shelter,” Bubba confided proudly.
I gulped. “Oh, well, great,” I said, trying not to feel queasy.
“See ya later, alligator,” he called from the edge of the parking lot. Just when you thought Bubba was the worst vampire in the world, he did something amazing like moving at a speed you simply could not track.
“After a while, crocodile,” I said dutifully.
“Was that who I think it was?” The voice was right behind me.
I jumped. I spun around to find that Charles had deserted his post at the bar.
“You scared me,” I said, as though he hadn’t been able to tell.
“Sorry.”
“Yes, that was him.”
“Thought so. I’ve never heard him sing in person. It must be amazing.” Charles stared out at the parking lot as though he were thinking hard about something else. I had the definite impression he wasn’t listening to his own words.
I opened my mouth to ask a question, but before my words reached my lips I really thought about what the English pirate had just said, and the words froze in my throat. After a long hesitation, I knew I had to speak, or he would know something was wrong.
“Well, I guess I’d better get back to work,” I said, smiling the bright smile that pops onto my face when I’m nervous. And, boy, was I nervous now. The one blinding revelation I’d had made everything begin to click into place in my head. Every little hair on my arms and neck stood straight up. My fight-or-flight reflex was fixed firmly on “flight.” Charles was between the outside door and me. I began to back down the hall toward the bar.
The door from the bar into the hall was usually left open, because people had to pass into the hall all the time to use the bathrooms. But now it was closed. It had been open when I’d come down the hall to talk to Bubba.
This was bad.
“Sookie,” Charles said, behind me. “I truly regret this.”
“It was you who shot Sam, wasn’t it?” I reached behind me, fumbled for the handle that would open that door. He wouldn’t kill me in front of all those people, would he? Then I remembered the night Eric and Bill had polished off a roomful of men in my house. I remembered it had taken them only three or four minutes. I remembered what the men had looked like afterward.
“Yes. It was a stroke of luck when you caught the cook, and she confessed. But she didn’t confess to shooting Sam, did she?”
“No, she didn’t,” I said numbly. “All the others, but not Sam, and the bullet didn’t match.”
My fingers found the knob. If I turned it, I might live. But I might not. How much did Charles value his own life?
“You wanted the job here,” I said.
“I thought there was a good chance I’d come in handy when Sam was out of the picture.”