"Can we see the feeding rooms? And talk to a couple of the whores?"
"Sure. But they have already been interviewed."
"And Hunter sent me here to do it all again."
He smiled. "And if one values life, one does not go against Hunter's orders."
"Precisely."
He rose and headed for the door. I followed, Azriel at my back. As we headed left across the club floor, I noted that the scent of vampire and need seemed thicker than before. I edged a little closer to Marshall and said, "What time does this place start getting busy?"
"Usually not until the sun sets. Most of our clients are lower-rung vampires and, as such, cannot handle much sunlight."
"Then why are there more vampires in here now than before?"
He glanced over his shoulder. His expression was curious. Wary. "And how can you tell that?"
"Werewolves tend to have sensitive noses."
He said "Ah" in a way that suggested he hadn't known I was part wolf. Which was unusual, because vamps usually had no trouble differentiating between a human and a were. But then, I was only half were, so maybe that was screwing with his internal radar. Especially if he didn't have a great deal to do with werewolves in the first place.
He went through another door—one that led into a small foyer containing two elevators—before he answered the actual question. "The feeding rooms are flushed out after every session. The vampires within return to the bar when this happens."
"Flushed out?"
He punched the DOWN button. "Cleaned and fumigated. If you are a wolf, you would have smelled the state of some of our customers. We may cater to the less fortunate among the vampire ranks, but that does not mean we can let our standards slip."
And I was betting that the flushing had little to do with disease and pest control, and more to do with literal flushing. As in, the feedings often got a little more messy than what he was admitting.