Club Dead - By Charlaine Harris Page 0,6

of his car,” Bubba said. “That’s where his coat is. I brought it to put under his head.” He bent to arrange the heavily padded camouflage jacket around the dead man’s face and neck. Wrapping the head was a real good idea, since the man was leaking a little bit. When he had finished his task, Bubba licked his fingers.

Sam put an arm around me because I had started shaking.

“This is strange, though,” I was saying, when the door to the hall from the bar began to open. I glimpsed Kevin Pryor’s face. Kevin is a sweet guy, but he’s a cop, and that’s the last thing we needed.

“Sorry, toilet’s back-flowing,” I said, and pushed the door shut on his narrow, astonished, face. “Listen, fellas, why don’t I hold this door shut while you two take this guy and put him in his car? Then we can figure out what to do with him.” The floor of the hall would need swabbing. I discovered the hall door actually locked. I’d never realized that.

Sam was doubtful. “Sookie, don’t you think that we should call the police?” he asked.

A year ago I would have been on the phone dialing 911 before the corpse even hit the floor. But that year had been one long learning curve. I caught Sam’s eye and inclined my head toward Bubba. “How do you think he’d handle jail?” I murmured. Bubba was humming the opening line to “Blue Christmas.” “Our hands are hardly strong enough to have done this,” I pointed out.

After a moment of indecision, Sam nodded, resigned to the inevitable. “Okay, Bubba, let’s you and me tote this guy out to his car.”

I ran to get a mop while the men—well, the vampire and the shape-shifter—carried Biker Boy out the back door. By the time Sam and Bubba returned, bringing a gust of cold air in their wake, I had mopped the hall and the men’s bathroom (as I would if there really had been an overflow). I sprayed some air freshener in the hall to improve the environment.

It was a good thing we’d acted quickly, because Kevin was pushing open the door as soon as I’d unlocked it.

“Everything okay back here?” he asked. Kevin is a runner, so he has almost no body fat, and he’s not a big guy. He looks kind of like a sheep, and he still lives with his mom. But for all that, he’s nobody’s fool. In the past, whenever I’d listened to his thoughts, they were either on police work, or his black amazon of a partner, Kenya Jones. Right now, his thoughts ran more to the suspicious.

“I think we got it fixed,” Sam said. “Watch your feet, we just mopped. Don’t slip and sue me!” He smiled at Kevin.

“Someone in your office?” Kevin asked, nodding his head toward the closed door.

“One of Sookie’s friends,” Sam said.

“I better get out there and hustle some drinks,” I said cheerfully, beaming at them both. I reached up to check that my ponytail was smooth, and then I made my Reeboks move. The bar was almost empty, and the woman I was replacing (Charlsie Tooten) looked relieved. “This is one slow night,” she muttered to me. “The guys at table six have been nursing that pitcher for an hour, and Jane Bodehouse has tried to pick up every man who’s come in. Kevin’s been writing something in a notebook all night.”

I glanced at the only female customer in the bar, trying to keep the distaste off my face. Every drinking establishment has its share of alcoholic customers, people who open and close the place. Jane Bodehouse was one of ours. Normally, Jane drank by herself at home, but every two weeks or so she’d take it into her head to come in and pick up a man. The pickup process was getting more and more iffy, since not only was Jane in her fifties, but lack of regular sleep and proper nutrition had been taking a toll for the past ten years.

This particular night, I noticed that when Jane had applied her makeup, she had missed the actual perimeters of her eyebrows and lips. The result was pretty unsettling. We’d have to call her son to come get her. I could tell at a glance she couldn’t drive.

I nodded to Charlsie, and waved at Arlene, the other waitress, who was sitting at a table with her latest flame, Buck Foley. Things were really dead if Arlene was off her feet. Arlene