Hell of a guy.
He stirs sugar into his coffee.
Well, let’s not exaggerate, man. I mean, he got me pledged and all, and I’m indebted, you know. But he’s, man, he’s…uptight.
He’s an asshole.
He shakes his head.
Not for me to say. I haven’t been around long enough to be passing judgment on guys who’ve been doing all the heavy lifting for years.
Pigtails walks over to me on her knees, carrying a cup and the coffeepot.
Coffee?
Sure.
I take the cup and she pours.
Milk and sugar?
No thanks.
She stays there in front of me, on her knees, holding the pot.
You really Joe Pitt?
Yeah.
Funny.
What’s that?
I thought you’d look younger.
Sorry about that.
She blows at a strand of hair that’s come loose from one of her pigtails and settled on her forehead.
No, that’s OK. I still think you’re hot.
I sip my coffee.
Poncho leans forward and snags the back of Pigtails’ miniskirt with her index finger.
Settle down, girl. The man doesn’t want to play with you.
Pigtails scoots backward on her knees, smiling at me.
But he can. He can play with me anytime he wants.
She sets the coffeepot on the tray and starts whispering in PJs’ ear. The two of them burst out giggling, scramble into the bathroom and close the door.
The Count waves his hand at the door.
Sorry about them.
No problem. So, Tom found you.
Found me, schooled me, sponsored me, pledged me to the Society.
But you’re not one of his boys?
He finishes his coffee and takes another cigarette offered by Poncho.
Look, bro, what is it you want to know? Tom my buddy? I already told you not. You mean, am I one of his partisans? Also not. Exercising authority is not my thing. If there’s a referendum at-large in the Society, do I vote how Tom thinks I should? Yep. Guy brought me in, he’s entitled. He needs some cash, wants me to donate to the Clan coffers, do I go the extra mile? Sure. I can afford it. Do I have him up to my place, let him sit in my favorite chair, have my ladies make him some coffee, put those ladies at his disposal? No. Never done that. But here you are. So what’s that tell you?
Tells me you want something.
He points his cigarette at me.
That, now that, bro, you ask what your rep is? That is your rep right there. Your rep is, don’t take nothing from nobody no how. Surprised you took the coffee and the smoke.
Didn’t want to be rude.
He laughs, slaps his knee.
Yeah, that’s it, that’s the shit. That Slick Willie lone-wolf style. That’s the rep. See, see, me, me? I couldn’t do that. I’m not saying I’m a mama’s boy or anything, but I am, you know, used to having some comforts. In terms of lifestyle, I’d just as soon be like you, Roguing it. But the truth is, I’m not cut out for it.
Poncho strokes his cheek.
Poor, soft baby.
He nods.
Pretty much. As it is, I got my Society membership to keep me safe down here. And I got my trust fund to keep me comfortable. ’Course, don’t know how long I can make that last. Told my moms and dads I needed to take a year off. Hard to go pre-med when you can’t take classes during the day. Pretty soon they’re gonna want to know my plans. What am I gonna tell them? Uh, I don’t know, hang out, drink blood, party. So, no, bro, I don’t want anything from you. I just heard about you, thought maybe you were cool. Philip introduced you, I played it easy and all, but, hey, I was kinda starstruck. Truth. So, my crib, my smoke, my girls. Whatever. You don’t want to hang, just want to ask your questions and take off, that’s cool. It’s all good.
I set my half full coffee cup on the floor at my feet.
What about drugs?
Love ’em. But they don’t really work anymore.
Uh-huh. What about this new thing?
He fiddles with his cigarette, licking the tip of his finger and rubbing the saliva on the side of the smoke where the cherry has started to burn unevenly.
This new thing?
A new high. Something the new fish are into.
The intercom buzzes. The bathroom door bangs open as Pigtails runs out and presses the button to buzz whoever it is into the building.
The Count stands up.
You cool if I take a sec?
Sure. Visitor?
He grins.
Delivery.
Pigtails is jumping up and down again.
Delivery! Delivery! Delivery!
The Count steps into the hall and closes the door behind him.
I stand up, look at Poncho.
Can I get another of those?
Sure.
She holds out the cigarette. I take it and she offers me a match. I shake my head and light it with my Zippo.
So what about you, how long you been on the scene?
Less than a year.
I snap my Zippo open and closed against my thigh.
Society?
Oh yeah.
She holds out her hands to the other girls and they run over and jump on the couch with her.
We’re all Society here. Not a Rogue in the house. ’Cept you.
Yeah. Except me. Who brought you in? You don’t mind me asking?
We don’t mind.
So who was it?
She puts her arms around the girls’ shoulders.
Tom.
Uh-huh.
I point at Pigtails and PJs, who have put their heads together behind Poncho’s and are once again whispering.
And them? Tom?
Oh yeah. Tom. We’re all Tom’s in here. ’Cept you.
Yeah. Except me. Guess I must just be the lucky one.
The door opens and The Count comes back in. Pigtails bounces off the couch and runs to him.
Score! Score! Score!
Figure a score for me, too. Figure I get to see firsthand what the shit is and then I can go fill Terry in and that will make this about the easiest job I ever had.
The Count returns to the couch, Pigtails riding on his back. He shrugs her off and she plops onto the cushions. He’s carrying a large, padded manila envelope. He opens it with a little flourish and produces a pint IV bag of blood.
Shit. No score. Just a late snack.
He sits. Poncho takes an IV needle and hose from beneath one of the napkins on the coffee tray and hands them to him. He carefully inserts the needle into the valve. A drop wells up and leaks out at the opening. And I smell it. Even in this loft, stinking of the three of them, I smell it.
Don’t drink that.
The Count looks up.
What?
Don’t drink it. It’ll kill you. It’s infected. Can’t you smell it?
He tilts his head to the side.
Drink it? We’re not going to drink it.
Poncho pulls a napkin from the tray, revealing four paper-wrapped syringes beneath.
The Count picks one of them up.
Don’t worry, there’s enough to go around. If you’re still curious about the new shit, I mean.
The Vyrus will kill you. It will eat you alive from the inside out. There is nothing you can do; sooner or later, it will get you. But no matter how desperate you may be, you will never latch onto another infected. I’ve had infected blood in my mouth; it was acid. And while the Vyrus can’t survive outside the human body, blood taken from a Vampyre will make you sick as hell, and then kill you. The Vyrus may be dead in there, but some remnant of it will remain, some husk that will twist your insides and make you wish you were dying.
But this is different, altogether something else.
The Vyrus can’t survive outside a living body.
The Count stays focused on what he’s doing, inserting the needle of one of the sterile syringes into the IV valve on the hose.
If you say so.
The Vyrus dies outside a human host.
Poncho and Pigtails are sitting on either side of PJs, who is reclining on the remaining beanbag. She has her sleeve rolled up and Poncho is swabbing her arm as Pigtails holds a piece of rubber surgical tubing at the ready.
The Count draws the corrupted blood from the hose into the syringe.
So?
The Vyrus is alive in that.
He pulls the syringe free, holds it upright and gently taps an air bubble to the top.
That’s kind of the point.
He presses slightly on the plunger and blood squirts out of the needle and dribbles down its length. He takes a cotton ball from the coffee tray and wipes the dribble away.
The dribble emits a thick stink of Vyrus. PJs moans in response, her eyes fixed on the needle as The Count kneels between her spread legs.
OK, baby?
She nods, breath short.
He puts the tip of his index finger to the tip of her upturned nose.
Here we go.
Pigtails ties off PJs’ arm with the tubing and slaps a vein to the surface. It’s a nice dark vein, thick and purple under her pale skin. He braces the vein with his thumb and slides the needle in.
A bead of PJs’ own blood rises to the surface of her skin. She squeals softly from the back of her throat. The Count presses the plunger, forcing the poison into her vein. Poncho holds PJs’ head between her hands. The syringe empty, the Count draws it free, places a cotton ball over the hole in PJs’ arm, and releases the tubing. Instantly, PJs jerks. Pigtails leans over her and grabs hold of both her arms. The Count places the used syringe back on the coffee tray and wraps his fingers around her legs just below the knees. PJs shivers, her mouth goes wide, the sound in her throat grows louder. She starts to tremor and the three of them hold her limbs and head firmly as she shakes. The sound rises in pitch, peaks, stops, her eyes roll back in her head and her muscles go limp. The Count and Pigtails release her and Poncho strokes her cheek and kisses her brow.