Dead as a doornail - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,17

. . yes.”

“And Long Shadow?”

“Well . . . yes.”

“I would be interested in hearing what you had to say.”

“Chow died in what they’re calling the Witch War. Long Shadow was trying to kill me when Eric staked him because he’d been embezzling.”

“You’re sure that’s why Eric staked him? For embezzling?”

“I was there. I oughta know. End of subject.”

“I suppose your life has been complicated,” Charles said after a pause.

“Yes.”

“Where will I be spending the sunlight hours?”

“My boss has a place for you.”

“There is a lot of trouble at this bar?”

“Not until recently.” I hesitated.

“Your regular bouncer can’t handle shifters?”

“Our regular bouncer is the owner, Sam Merlotte. He is a shifter. Right now, he’s a shifter with a broken leg. He got shot. And he’s not the only one.”

This didn’t seem to astonish the vampire. “How many?”

“Three that I know of. A werepanther named Calvin Norris, who wasn’t mortally wounded, and then a shifter girl named Heather Kinman, who’s dead. She was shot at the Sonic. Do you know what Sonic is?” Vampires didn’t always pay attention to fast-food restaurants, because they didn’t eat. (Hey, how many blood banks can you locate off the top of your head?)

Charles nodded, his curly chestnut hair bouncing on his shoulders. “That’s the one where you eat in your car?”

“Yes, right,” I said. “Heather had been in a friend’s car, talking, and she got out to walk back to her car a few slots down. The shot came from across the street. She had a milkshake in her hand.” The melting chocolate ice cream had blended with blood on the pavement. I’d seen it in Andy Bellefleur’s mind. “It was late at night, and all the businesses on the other side of the street had been closed for hours. So the shooter got away.”

“All three shootings were at night?”

“Yes.”

“I wonder if that’s significant.”

“Could be; but maybe it’s just that there’s better concealment at night.”

Charles nodded.

“Since Sam got hurt, there’s been a lot of anxiety among the shifters because it’s hard to believe three shootings could be a coincidence. And regular humans are worried because in their view three people have been shot at random, people with nothing in common and few enemies. Since everyone’s tense, there are more fights in the bar.”

“I’ve never been a bouncer before,” Charles said conversationally. “I was the youngest son of a minor baronet, so I’ve had to make my own way, and I’ve done many things. I’ve worked as a bartender before, and many years ago I was shill for a whorehouse. Stood outside, trumpeted the wares of the strumpets—that’s a neat phrase, isn’t it?—threw out men who got too rough with the whores. I suppose that’s the same as being a bouncer.”

I was speechless at this unexpected confidence.

“Of course, that was after I lost my eye, but before I became a vampire,” the vampire said.

“Of course,” I echoed weakly.

“Which was while I was a pirate,” he continued. He was smiling. I checked with a sideways glance.

“What did you, um, pirate?” I didn’t know if that was a verb or not, but he got my meaning clearly.

“Oh, we’d try to catch almost anyone unawares,” he said blithely. “Off and on I lived on the coast of America, down close to New Orleans, where we’d take small cargo ships and the like. I sailed aboard a small hoy, so we couldn’t take on too large or well defended a ship. But when we caught up with some bark, then there was fighting!” He sighed—recalling the happiness of whacking at people with a sword, I guess.

“And what happened to you?” I asked politely, meaning how did he come to depart his wonderful warm-blooded life of rapine and slaughter for the vampire edition of the same thing.

“One evening, we boarded a galleon that had no living crew,” he said. I noticed that his hands had curled into fists. His voice chilled. “We had sailed to the Tortugas. It was dusk. I was first man to go down into the hold. What was in the hold got me first.”

After that little tale, we fell silent by mutual consent.

Sam was on the couch in the living room of his trailer. Sam had had the double-wide anchored so it was at a right angle to the back of the bar. That way, at least he opened his front door to a view of the parking lot, which was better than looking at the back of the bar, with its large garbage bin between the kitchen