Death Never Sleeps
By: Montana
“Did you do it?” interrogated
Anita. I smiled to myself. Of course I did it, and I was paid handsomely for it
too. Not that that really mattered, but it helped.
“Maybe,”
I answered. She knew that was as good as a yes.
We
were sitting on the porch, me on the swing and her leaning against the railing
opposite me. Her black shoulder rig, complete with browning, stuck out
aggressively against her red shirt. Likewise, my Beretta was securely snug in
its shoulder holster. It was nearly a full moon, and the woods around us were
washed over in a pale blue.
Anita
crossed her arms, clearly pissed. I wasn’t sure why. She knew that I killed
people, and didn’t give a damn about it. I wasn’t about to start now. “This is
great. Just fucking great.”
Raising
an eyebrow, a pang of anger hit me deep in my gut. “What, Anita? What does it
matter? He was just a vampire. I can’t believe you don’t see that.” I loved
Anita, but it infuriated me that she had such a soft spot for the monsters. It
wasn’t just jealousy.
“Vick
was just a kid, Edward. A kid.” Hmm. He may have died young, but he didn’t seem
so much like a kid when he lunged for my throat. But maybe I’m just a
pessimist.
“He
was also a powerful mafia leader’s son. The competition pays well.” The
competition paid well enough for it to be worth becoming a wanted man in St.
Louis. Again. Of course, Ted Forrester wasn’t wanted. Just a nameless murderer
was.
Leaning
against the railing, Anita crossed her arms, scrutinizing me under an angry
glare. She still had a lot to learn, and when I didn’t cave she sighed, kicking
at the boards of the deck floor. “You could be the next James Bond, Edward.
What are you doing here in St. Louis killing vampires?” she asked, turning back
up to look into my eyes.
I
smiled slightly. “I’m sitting here on your porch swing arguing with you,
completely content. What would I want with the CIA or MI6? There’s not much I’d
rather do right now.” I was always content inwardly when I was with Anita. Even
if she was angry with me.
“So
you’re not a spook?”
“Not
right now,” I simply answered. No one was paying me to be a spook right
now. Changing the subject, I asked, “So
how’s zombie raising?”
Frowning at me, Anita answered
sharply, “Peachy. On Larry’s last raising the zombie broke free and thought it
would be fun to chase a live chicken around. It ended up biting me instead.”
Ah. I had wondered where the bandage on her forearm came from.
“I hope you got that cleaned.”
“Neosporin. Why are you changing
the subject?”
Shrugging, my only answer was,
“Why not?”
Looking away, Anita huffed. She
was truly angry at me. “You shouldn’t be here right now, Edward. Jean-Claude
could show up any minute, and he would smell Vick’s blood on you. He wouldn’t
be too happy.”
“Always gypping me out of my
chance to kill the vampire,” I complained under my breath. But I agreed with
her. I knew Jean-Claude was off limits for now, and a confrontation wouldn’t be
the smartest thing. The spray of Uzi fire had left some tidbits of the young
vampire on me here and there.
It was then that the wereleopard
Anita called Nathaniel stumbled out of the house, pointing a finger at me,
obviously inebriated. “You killed my friend,” he accused, leaning against the
porch post for support.
“He was already dead,” I
insisted, standing from the swing in a lazy lithe motion.
The young man’s mouth opened,
then closed, then opened again, searching for words. There was pain in his eyes
along with a glazed-overness of being drunk. I felt no remorse from Nathaniel,
but a twinge of…I don’t know…something hit me with Anita’s glare.
Leaning in close to her, I
whispered, “I’ll see you later.”
“How can you sleep at night?”
she demanded in a hushed tone, not looking at me.
I blinked a few times, and
answered coolly, “Death never sleeps,” and walked down the porch steps. The
dead vampire wouldn’t haunt me, but Anita’s eyes would.