Sucker Punch (Anita Blake, Vampire Hunter #27) - Laurell K. Hamilton Page 0,189

like he’d tasted something bitter. “Preternatural marshals. You must be at the wrong place. We don’t let monsters dance here.” He said monsters like it was a dirty word.

I felt myself stiffen and knew that my face wasn’t friendly anymore.

The bartender noticed, because he said, “We have a right to hire who we want.”

“Of course you do,” Newman said, his voice lilting and cheerful. He’d turned and seen the look on my face, so he was playing good cop to my grumpy cop.

I’d try not to go from grumpy to bad, but I couldn’t promise. It would depend on how much the bartender pissed me off and how cooperative he was. I’d worn a badge long enough. I’d handle the prejudice in exchange for enough information.

“She doesn’t think so. Do you, girlie?” the bartender said.

“First, don’t call me girlie. Second, we just need to talk to one of your dancers, that’s all.”

“I could call you a ball-busting bitch if you’d prefer.”

I looked at Newman. “I’m being nice here, right?”

“For you, very nice,” he said, and smiled.

I frowned at him but turned to aim it at the bartender. “Let’s try this again. First, I have not even begun to bust your balls yet. When I do, you’ll know it. Second, we’re just here to ask a few questions of one of your dancers about an ongoing hunt. You haven’t even asked which dancer we want. Makes me think you already know. Are you just pretending to be prejudiced against the monsters because you’re really on their side? Are you a closet groupie of the supernaturals there . . . What’s your name again? I mean, I could call you racist douchebag, but that seems rude.”

“Fuck you. I’m not coffin bait.” It was a very rude term for people who dated vampires. I’d been called that and worse over the years.

“Oh, you’re a fur banger. Do you have a preferred type of wereanimal, or do you like them all?”

He flushed, big hands gripping the bar so tight that his skin mottled. I couldn’t be sure over the music, but I thought the polished wood gave a little whine of protest as if he was going to break off a piece of it. God, he was strong for a human.

“You fucking bitch.” The bartender’s voice was low with the dump of testosterone from his anger.

It was almost too easy to piss him off. He was livid, and I could feel his anger around him like an aura. Maybe the rage filled his aura like it was a balloon, and all I had to do was prick it and let out all that anger, and then I could feed on it. The moment I thought that, I knew I needed real food. How long had it been since breakfast? Shit.

“Now she’s busting your balls,” Newman said.

“What?” The bartender looked at Newman as if he couldn’t follow the conversation.

“Marshal Blake told you you’d know when she was really busting your balls. Well, she is. See the difference?”

“Get the fuck out of here, both of you.”

“Or what, you’ll call the cops?” I asked. I actually leaned in toward the bar, but I was too short to lean over it. He was out of my physical reach, which was good, because his anger felt warm and good.

“If you really hate supernaturals, help us hunt this one down,” Newman said.

“Are you saying there’s a monster on the loose in our town?” His anger started seeping away to be replaced with fear. He was such a big, tough guy, I hadn’t expected him to scare so easily.

As the anger faded and the fear grew, I fought not to pout. I couldn’t eat fear. Fuck, this was a potential witness, not prey. I looked at him, so big and tough and scared, and wondered if that was why he hated preternatural citizens, because they were all stronger than he could ever be. No amount of weight lifting or gym work would give him what lycanthropy or vampirism could.

“No, nothing like that,” Newman said. “We just need some information to confirm a few things so we can go back and execute this one.”

“Help us out, and there’ll be one less monster in the world,” I said.

“Promise?” the bartender almost whispered, and for a moment, I wondered if he had a real reason to hate the monsters. I’d liked it better when I could just hate the bartender. I didn’t want to think about what bad thing had happened to put such