a real murder case, happened here a few years ago. Real losers. They were bikers, but didn't have motorcycles. And in court, they kept referring to the victim as 'the puppy.' Fuckin' creepy."
"This isn't the way to the Club DeWash!" Ken shrieked. Paul and Jane joined in. I had just turned ontoWest Washington , which led straight to their destination. "Where are you taking us? What are you going to do us?"
"Please don't hurt us," Paul pleaded. "Please have mercy on our wretched souls."
The trio again broke into hysterics. Jane patted me gently on the shoulder. "Sorry," she said. "We're just being assholes."
"Being an asshole ain't against the law," Ken said.
"But neither is being a vampire," I replied.
"It sure is when you break our laws." Paul's voice rang falsely earnest.
"The laws of you pathetic mortals apply not to one such as myself." It was my turn to laugh. And quite loudly as I felt my lips form quite the vulpine smile. "This being the case, you would be wise to show the proper respect and pay the proper tribute."
None of the four of us stopped laughing until we arrived at the Club DeWash. They paid the fare and included quite the generous tip.
****
My thoughts should have been exclusively centered upon survival, yet images of Nicole would not stop flashing across my consciousness - no longer Nicole superimposing herself upon Anya. I did see her at the cab company occasionally, gaining the furtive glimpse, which raised my spirits slightly, even if we avoided each other. On those instances, she always bore a queer expression, not so much of fear, but confusion. I simply felt sad, but certainly understood that what she had experienced would overwhelm anyone.
Oddly, even though we had not had much opportunity to get to know one another, she had indeed awakened something that lay dormant inside me, a very special hunger far more profound than mere blood.
What was to be done?
I shuddered while second-guessing myself over the entire Frank Nelson affair, especially the encounter with the prostitute. At the time, I thought I had been discreet. It seemed my actions had been relatively prudent, but in retrospect, my perceptions had been clouded by my own personal vanity.
Hunger is danger. Existence is risk.
All I wanted was to taste the prostitute's orgasm, to taste that which is the sweet metaphor of life, even more sublime than the hot, steaming river of life which courses through the veins of all those mortals.
She gave me nothing, she herself being the form of life, but the essence of sheer nothingness, not even death.
My hunger remained.
At least there was work and much money to be made, even if those infernal U-Rides had come to dominate our business. Yes, all calls are good calls, but most U-Rides were short, and the students very seldom tipped. Generally, those calls took longer to load, and each one generated additional paperwork.
Thus, when a U-Ride took me east of the Capitol, I did not hesitate to bid when Dexter called an east-side intersection that was a little farther from my destination than most drivers preferred to travel. The intersection was east of U-Ride's zone of operation. Hopefully, it would be a cash call and not some other account where there is no tip.
"Excellent," I replied, happy to get a call with at least a chance of a tip as well as the opportunity to see some different scenery. The streets were finally clear of snow, but the trees were still completely bare, thus allowing the concrete, steel and plastic of civilization to dominate the landscape.
My mood was not even altered by the fact that it took a phone call from Dexter to get her out of her house. Sometimes, the passengers watch, sometimes, they do not. Itis preferable when they do watch, time, after all, being money.
A young woman emerged, dressed in a loose-fitting sweatshirt and sweatpants, a large bag slung over her shoulder. Long flaxen hair cascaded down her shoulders. Even in the dimness of night, she looked rather plain.
"Where may I take you?" I asked once she was securely inside.
"The Rising Sun," she replied. Instantly, I felt regret for making her say that she was going to that message parlor of ill repute just off theCapitol Square . She, in fact, was a regular customer, and even if she had never been in my cab, I was fairly certain the Rising Sun was to be her destination. Still, I had to