It's About Dignity Who: NPCs What: Illumination Where: Las Vegas, the Rabbit Hole When: After "Chance Encounters" Ratings/Warnings: Medium: Language, Substance Use, Etc
Doherty was in an alcove lit with lamps, some kind of cloth half-draped to conceal him from view. There was a decanter of scotch on the table. He could hear half-whispered conversations, but his focus was entirely on the person across from him, a squirrely fellow by the name of Evan. The cop waited him out in stony silence.
Finally, the other man spoke. “Okay, okay. A hundred bucks, but that’s as low as I can go, man. I’ve gotta eat. Look at me.” He gestured at himself with skinny limbs, the armholes of his t-shirt wide.
“Aren’t you a vampire?” the older man asked, an eyebrow raised dubiously as he poured himself a glass of the amber liquid. “Is blood not free?” He tipped the glass up, letting the scotch wash over his tongue. A vampire. He felt ridiculous even saying it, but apparently it was the real deal.
“Yeah, yeah, okay.” Evan shrugged his narrow shoulders. “So it’s about dignity. If people hear I talked to a…” He lowered his voice and darted his eyes about shiftily. “A cop, the least I can say is I got some cash out of it.” The vampire was jiggling his foot under the table, and his knee jerked against it, causing Doherty to automatically grab for his liquor.
He pulled out a single 100 dollar bill and set it on the table. Evan’s hand shot out, but Doherty slid it back toward him. Maybe he should have been afraid of a vampire, but he couldn’t bring himself to give much of a shit. “Talk first.”
Evan stopped fidgeting, his wide eyes fixed on the money. “I love to gamble,” he began, his nostrils flaring slightly. “It gets me into trouble. The people I got in hock with, they know I’m not your garden variety addict.” His body seemed to go limp in his chair, his frenetic energy taking a nosedive as he admitted this to Doherty.
“They sent someone after me to collect. Someone who deals in more than just busted kneecaps.”
He finished one glass full and immediately poured another. A gambling addict who would apparently live forever. That was a hell of a thing. Doherty wondered if that came before or after becoming a vampire. He thought of endless days stretching on for an eternity. “Go on.”
“You’re gonna make me spell it out. Okay.” The vampire tore his eyes away from the money and looked Doherty in the eye. “Fire is bad for my health. This guy could make fire.” His eyes darted around him once again. The guy hung out at this place; for all Evan knew, he was lurking nearby. He leaned toward the cop. “Like in his hands. I paid up with a quickness after that.”
Fire.
Doherty turned his head, letting out a long exhale. He made fire. A fresh wave of grief washed over him, as sharp and tangible as the first time he got the phone call. And then when he had gone to see what remained of the house, he had thrown up from the sight, the charred smell, the leftover smoke. He felt his fists tighten.
He handed the jittery vampire the hundred and stood up abruptly. Rob gestured to the decanter. “You can finish that if you want.” He then practically ran out of the Rabbit Hole.