you ever been to Mexico?"
Victor answered DJ's hushed question with a shake of the head.
"Neither have I," DJ admitted. "But I think I might like it."
Victor's mouth twisted dubiously at this claim as he ignored the rudely staring people and slid his gaze over the colorful decor of the restaurant. The walls were a pale cream broken by splash after splash of color, a blue and gold sombrero hanging on the wall, a huge bright green statue of an iguana and it's young on a shelf, a string of clay pots filled with sunflowers as well as several color prints, most of them by Diego Rivera. And on top of all that there were colorful streamers, balloons, and a huge Happy Birthday banner.
Even without the celebratory decor, it was too much color and excitement for Victor. He preferred soothing blues and cool whites. This was… loud and almost blinding to his senses.
"Can I help you, boys?"
Victor glanced down at the man who had approached. Five foot eleven or there about, the man was a good six inches shorter than Victor himself, and three or four inches shorter than DJ. He carried himself with the authority that his badge and uniform afforded him, obviously the local police. Possibly the only one, Victor guessed. It was a small town after all.
"Well?" The officer demanded, his voice and expression going hard in response to Victor's silent examination.
"No," he answered simply and started to move past him, pausing abruptly when he found his arm caught in a firm grip.
"This is a private party," the officer said grimly, and Victor understood why their entrance had drawn attention.
"I was invited," Victor announced. The answer seemed to echo in the room, making him realize just how quiet the restaurant had become now that the talking and music had stopped. Suddenly uncomfortable, he shifted as the officer studied him more closely.
"Victor Argeneau?" he finally asked, his voice uncertain.
Victor nodded, wondering how the man knew his name. He had a brief horrible memory of a T-shirt his computer geek nephew Etienne had favored for a while. It had been plain white with the words "I'm the teenage nympho you've been talking to on-line" or something of that ilk. For one moment he feared this was Elvi Black, but then the man smiled faintly and said, "You don't look much like that picture Mabel showed me. Your hair was shorter and you were wearing a suit and tie."
Victor had no idea who Mabel was and didn't care, but the picture in question was the one DJ had said he'd e-mailed to Elvi Black.
"And you brought a friend," the officer went on, his gaze turning to DJ with an appraising quality. If Victor looked scruffy compared to his photo, DJ just plain looked scruffy. He had developed something of an allergy to shaving about a year earlier and now resembled a young grizzly Adams. He too wore jeans and a T-shirt, but his jeans were blue and his T-shirt bore the name Alexander Keith's and a logo for the popular brand of beer. DJ wasn't much into fashion.
"He drove me," Victor said as explanation, and was immediately annoyed that he offered one.
"Don't you have a car, son?" The officer asked suspiciously.
Victor's mouth tightened. It was always seen as a bit less respectable not to have a car in Canada.
"I have several. I don't like to drive cars," Victor answered shortly and then asked, "Where is Elvi?"
"She isn't here yet. I'm supposed to keep you company for a bit."
When Victor raised an eyebrow in question, the man shook his head and held out his hand. "I'm forgetting my manners. Teddy Brunswick, police captain of Port Henry, at your service."
Victor accepted the hand and shook it, his attention on the wide grin now on Captain Teddy Brunswick's face. The expression made him look like the sheriff from an old black-and-white series he used to watch. It made him wonder if there wasn't some goofy, geeky idiot deputy running around somewhere. Victor was a big television buff and had no problem imagining a grinning idiot Don Knotts-type following this more intelligent, mellow man around. He managed to refrain from asking.
"Captain Brunswick." Victor gave a nod, then, since the man already knew his name, simply turned to gesture to his younger companion and said, "DJ."
"DJ what?" the officer asked bluntly.
The question made the younger immortal smile. "DJ Benoit. Gonna run me through the system and see if anything pops up?"
"Yes," Officer Brunswick said unapologetically.
DJ actually