Authors: Karen E. Taylor
Hunger (12 page)
“I am afraid I can make no guarantee of that, Max. You see, I did not kill Bill or anyone else. I don't even know who the second victim is.”
“Oh, but you do. The girl was Linda, surely you remember herâthe petite blonde, worked here as a waitress. I fired her several months ago for providing, shall we say, extra services to the customers.”
“Oh my God,” I exclaimed. I did indeed remember Linda, pretty little Linda who always had such a lost way about her. We had often sat together and talked on nights when the club was slow and I was not on the hunt. We had a common bond; I had for many years worked her profession.
“So you
do
remember her. It's not really important, you know. What difference does one less tramp make to this city?”
do
remember her. It's not really important, you know. What difference does one less tramp make to this city?”
“How can you say that?” I was horrified at his attitude. “Linda was a nice girl, just a little misled. I liked her.”
“Of course you did, my dear, just as you like all humansâfood for the superior species. I told you before, it all makes no difference to me, just leave my club out of it.”
“But, Max, I didn't kill them.”
“If not you, then who?”
“That is what I'd like to find out. Don't you see what this whole thing means to me? Finally, I have proof that someone else like me exists. If I could find them . . .”
“You could swap stories about the old country, trade recipes, compare family trees?”
“Max, I am serious. This is important to me. I have searched so long for someone like me.”
“And when you find the mystery vampire, what do you do then?”
I thought for a long time. Although for most of my life, I had been waiting for just this situation, I was psychologically unprepared to face it. I shrugged, “I don't really know. Maybe they could answer some questions for me; how I became what I am, what the scope of my powers are, and is the process reversible?”
“The chance of finding the person who changed you is probably not very good, Deirdre. And who else would be able to answer those questions?”
“Why would the chances be so bad? I have travelled around for over a century now; this is the first indication I have had that I'm not alone in my fate. I don't exactly think the city is teeming with us; there would be more signs.”
Max gave me an intense look. “And when you finally confront your creator?”
“First I will ask him why. Then I will kill him.”
“I'm surprised at you. That intent makes no sense, coming from the woman, who only a few seconds ago was bewailing the death of a cheap little hooker. Don't you see how unrealistic you are being?”
“Maybe I am. But that is the way I feel. And if given the chance, I will do it.” I smiled at him, cynically. “I
do
promise to be careful, though, so you need not worry about me.”
do
promise to be careful, though, so you need not worry about me.”
“Oh, I won't. Now, let's change the subject. Did you come only to see me or are you hungry?” He gave me a twisted smile and waited for my answer.
I glanced at him for a moment and then looked away. I wondered for the first time in our relationship, did he feel that I was using him? I hoped he knew me better than that. “Max, I came to make up for what went on last week. You must know that I . . .” With my realization of the love I felt for Mitch, the words I would have said blithely last week would not come. “. . . care for you deeply.” I hoped that the hesitation was not noticeable. “Now that apologies have been made and accepted and we're back on familiar ground . . .” My voice trailed off and I looked at him for reassurance.
He gave me none, but walked to his desk and began to occupy himself with his silverâplated desk set, turning the letter opener over and over in his strong hands.
“Max,” I asked plaintively, “what's wrong?”
“Nothing,” he said. “I was just thinkingâsilver for werewolves, wood for vampires.”
“What on earth?”
“Forgive me, my dear. You aren't the only one who entertains morbid thoughts on occasion.” His voice grew thick with emotion, but when he looked into my eyes, I was surprised at his lack of expression. “Actually, what I was really thinking was that not too long ago you would have said you loved me.” Not hearing my small murmur of denial, he continued. “You have changed, you know. You are stronger, more self-sufficient than you were.” He set the letter opener down and walked around the desk to hold me. “I am happy it happened. I have been hoping for this day. It's what I want most for you, for us. But I'll miss the lonely little thing you were.”
Tears began to stream down my face, soaking into his coat. “Max, I do love you,” I began.
“Don't waste it on me,” he interrupted. “I'm a heartless bastard as you are so fond of reminding me.” I looked up at his chuckle. “Besides, you're ruining my jacket. Now tend to your makeup; I have someone I want you to meet.
From David Leigh's walk it was apparent that he had spent a long time at the bar. He and Max seemed friendly; this in itself was unusual. But, when after the introductions, Max sat down at the table to have a drink with us it became obvious that this was not David's first visit here. They discussed sports, football mostly, while I occupied myself with watching the dance floor. Finally, just as the conversation was turning to basketball, I looked up from the dancers and gave a long audible sigh.
“Deirdre, I'm so sorry,” Max apologized. “Dave is a long-time customer, he's been coming here for years. We were just catching up a little.” He rose from the table and turned to go.
“See you soon, eh, Max.” Dave stood up and extended his hand.
“Count on it,” Max said, shaking his hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “Oh, and watch out for Deirdre, she's a killer.”
“Very funny, Max,” I said dryly. “In that case, guard your neck. Now go and run your business.”
With a bow and a little mock flourish of his arm he left us alone.
“That old Max is one hell of a guy,” Dave said, watching him walk out of sight.
I grinned at him. “Hell is often one of the words that come to my mind.”
“I get the feeling I shouldn't ask what any of the other words are.”
I nodded my head. “It's best that way.”
“What was all that about killing and Max's neck?”
I shrugged. “His idea of a joke in very poor taste, I'm afraid. I would really rather not discuss it.”
He smiled his agreement. “Well then, what do you want to talk about? I get the impression that sports is not your forte.”
“Tell me about yourself,” I prompted him with a smile.
He was an auditor from out of town, making frequent business trips and staying over here for about two weeks at a time, before moving on. He had struck up an acquaintance with Max five years ago and visited the Ballroom as often as possible. They had just hit it off, he explained, and became good friends over the years.
“I think he must know every important detail of my life. I always felt I could tell him anything, you know. And after a few drinks, I usually do.” He looked over at me and laughed. “But I guess you could tell that, huh?” He took another drink of his beer. “I know a lot about you, too.”
“Me?” I jumped, jostling my wine glass and spilling a few drops on the white linen cocktail napkin.
“Well,” he amended, “maybe not a lot. But Max has mentioned you a number of times. Your talent, your career, your looks.” At this last statement, he looked rather embarrassed. “I think I must have made a big deal out of being introduced to you. But now that it's finally happened, well, I don't know.”
“Don't know what, Dave?” I asked, blotting up the drops of wine with my fingertip.
“Don't get me wrong. You are everything he said, and more. It's just that, well, I'm a big talker, in a lot of ways. I think Max must have misunderstood my intentions. I miss my wife and family while I'm on the road, and I do get lonely. But I wasn't really looking for female companionship, if you get my meaning.”
“I do, indeed, Dave and there is no need for you to be embarrassed.” His confession made the whole situation easier for me. I had decided early on in our conversation not to feed on him. It didn't seem right, since he was actually a good friend of Max's. And I discovered that I actually liked Dave, not as a potential lover, but as a friend or a brother. “And, I'll be honest with you; I was not looking for any involvement either. Although I am enjoying our conversation, you're easy to talk to. Would you like to go somewhere quieter?” The band had returned from their break and the noise was deafening.
“Fine with me, Deirdre. It does get a bit loud, doesn't it? Let me get another beer before we go.”
I grabbed his hand, stopping the gesture toward our waiter. “I'll take care of that,” I said, rising from the table. “We can drink from old Max's private stock. Come with me.”
It must have appeared to be the same old scenario to the staff. As we made our way past the bar I noticed quite a few knowing smiles; Max gave me a half salute as we passed by. I led the way down the hallway to the lounge area.
Once inside, Dave gave a whistle of approval. “Nice digs,” he said as he made his way to inspect the stock in the refrigerator. He selected an imported beer and settled on the couch. I sat in a chair a safe distance away; I wanted to stay as far from him as possible so that I would not be tempted to feed. It had been a week since I had taken blood and I needed it tonight. But it would not be his. We had been talking for some time when a knock on the door interrupted us. Because I had not planned to feed, I had not locked it. “Come in,” I called. “It's open.”
Larry stood hesitantly in the doorway. “Deirdre,” he said, his face flushed, “there's a, uh, a phone call for you.”
Dave gave a small shrug and picked up his jacket. “I've got to get going anyway. I have an important meeting first thing tomorrow morning.” He came over to me and made a move to shake my hand. “I enjoyed meeting you and hope to see you again.”
I avoided his hand and stretched up to kiss his cheek. Larry stiffened and then relaxed as Dave walked to the door.
“Wait,” I said to Dave and walked over to him, laying my hand on his arm. I rummaged around in my purse and came up with a small, crumpled card. “Next time you are in town, stop by my office. Bring your wife, she can pick out anything in the shop she would like.”
“Thanks. I think she'd like that. Good night.”
“Good night, Dave.” I smiled. “You take care.”
He made his exit and I looked at Larry who had stood silent during our conversation. “Well,” I said sternly, “what's this about a phone call?”
He hung his head and would not meet my eyes. “There's no phone call,” he admitted.
“Then why on earth did you interrupt us? That was a close friend of Max's. We were just getting acquainted. What's the problem, Larry?”
“Deirdre,” he said quietly and made a step toward me. His arms hung limply at his sides; his hands clenched and unclenched in nervousness. “I just wanted him to leave.”
“Why?”
“You lied to me,” he began, “when you said that all of this was over. You made me believe that you and I could be together. Then I see you and Max come in tonight like old friends. And when I took my break, all the guys were joking about it; about how, only a week after that guy was killed, you were at it again.” His voice broke in anger.
“At what, Larry?” I asked softly and urgently as I stared into his eyes. “What do they say about me?”
He fidgeted under my gaze but the contact held. “They say you're Max's whore.” He spat the last word at me in a defiant gesture and sat down on the couch.
I moved next to him and stroked his hair. “Larry, that is not true. I don't work for Max, nor do I belong to him. What I do, I do for myself. Can you understand that?”
“I understand, better than you think, Deirdre,” he said, shaking his head. “I know you're not what you seem to the others. But I don't like them to say those things about you; it demeans you. They shouldn't be allowed to say those things; if they only knew you like I do, they wouldn't.”
Max was right about Larry, I knewâhe
was
obsessed with me, but I saw no harm in him. I just couldn't believe he would do anything to hurt me. “Poor kid,” I whispered to myself and held him in my arms.
was
obsessed with me, but I saw no harm in him. I just couldn't believe he would do anything to hurt me. “Poor kid,” I whispered to myself and held him in my arms.
Eventually he pulled himself out of his despondency and raised his head. His eyes seemed to glow with strong emotion. “Don't hate me,” he begged. “I love you.”
“Why would I hate you?”
“Because I'm weak and inferior and I have no control . . . because I can't stop myself from . . . hating all the others.”
“Jealousy is a normal reaction,” I assured him. “And love and hate are strong at twentyâfive. How could I hate you for being what you are?” I got up from beside him and moved to the chair I sat in previously. “Larry, I want to be honest with you; I also want to be kind. In this situation I cannot be both. What do you want from me?”
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