Death Warmed Over - By Kevin J. Anderson Page 0,44
of them from the troll’s hot-tub deep fryer), I intended to pay them a visit first thing in the morning. But I needed to get something from Robin ahead of time.
I may be undead, but I do try to take care of myself and keep my body in shape. Three times a week I work out at the All-Day /All-Nite Fitness Center, a gym designed for unnaturals of all circadian rhythms. I have a membership and a locker there with worn sweats that smell mustier than my normal clothes.
In the locker room I changed quickly. I’ve never been one for exhibitionism among other naked guys in a gym, the sidelong glances to see whose is bigger and taking smug reassurance that at least yours is average or better.
In the showers behind the lockers, I heard the water running, and steam wafted up like fog on an old English moor. Long strips of cloth had been draped over several of the clothes hooks on the wall, a few frayed ends trailing on the floor. Over the spray, I could hear a cackling old Mayan mummy soaping himself up and singing in the shower. Mummies enjoy the temporary rehydration they get from the water. This one’s name was Ralph, and I’d seen him before sans wrappings—not a sight I wanted to repeat. Many unnaturals are shriveled up and desiccated in plenty of unappetizing ways.
In the bathroom in front of a mirror, a fully transformed werewolf stood with a white towel wrapped around his waist; he was using a blow dryer the size of an aircraft engine to blast the fur all over his body. We nodded to each other in a brusque guy greeting, then I exited into the workout room.
One section of the gym has free weights, resistance machines, pec presses, leg presses, and racks with every possible workout attachment. Treadmills and recumbent bikes line a mirrored wall, with an equal number on the opposite side of the room facing a blank black wall for the vamps, who have no use for mirrors. Though it was still two hours before midnight, I counted fifteen patrons using the equipment, getting in a workout before the night life got into full swing.
In a gym, you become accustomed to the regulars and recognize one another. Sometimes you know names, while other times you just think of the other patrons as “the guy who always hogs the bench press,” or “the one who doesn’t wipe down the recumbent bike after he’s done with it,” or “the chick in pink Spandex,” or, worse, “the chick who should never be seen wearing pink Spandex.”
I intended to work out alone, since Sheldon had given me a week’s worth of conversation, but when I saw an acquaintance using a treadmill on the mirrorless side of the room, I decided to be sociable after all. She might actually have some information I could use.
She was big, buff, and athletic, and would have been intimidating even if she weren’t a vampire. As usual, she had the treadmill set to its maximum incline and speed. If you had to bet, you might have guessed her name was Butch, but you’d be wrong. Her honest-to-goodness birth name was Tiffany, and she was damned proud of it.
I got on the treadmill beside hers, powered it up, and began at warm-up speed to loosen the stiffness in my knees. Tiffany gave me a businesslike nod. “Chambeaux.” She wasn’t even panting. The treadmill’s maximum setting seemed a stroll in the park for her. “Healthy body, healthy mind.”
I was proud of myself for working out three days a week. Tiffany, on the other hand, was one of those exercise addicts who never missed a night; nevertheless . . . I couldn’t argue with the obvious results. I gradually increased my treadmill’s speed as I got warmed up.
Our workout routines coincided often enough that Tiffany and I were cordial, but I didn’t know very much about her. Looking at her physique and her “you want a piece of me?” demeanor, I realized she might be a very good person to have on speed dial. I might need to hire extra muscle if this business with the Straight Edgers got ugly. “Tiffany, have you ever considered doing freelance security work?”
“Me, a security guard? When you mix monsters and security guards, it never ends well. Why do you ask?”
“Just a case I’m working on. A human-supremacist group is harassing a vampire client of mine.”