At the far end of the central pathway, a velvet rope blocked further passage. A placard on a lobby card-stand read: NO UNAUTHORIZED PERSONNEL BEYOND THIS POINT.
I authorized myself, unhooked one end of the rope from a floor post, and stepped through. Immediately, one of the resort guards appeared from around the corner.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for a restroom.”
The guard pointed to the large sign behind me. Restrooms were in the main lobby.
Once in the lobby, I tried going around the concierge’s desk. Again, another guard appeared as if by magic and shooed me back into the crowd.
The black plastic orbs hanging from the ceiling or jutting from the wall corners stared like unblinking eyes.
I’d better back off trying this. I was sure I had the attention of the guys watching the security monitors.
Maybe I could find something in Goodman’s office. I went to the lobby entrance, passed through security, and instead of going to the garage, I went toward the golf pro shop. The golf course was closed but I could catch a hotel guest out for exercise returning through the side door.
I kept note of the security arrangements. At the corner, a black orb watched the front of the hotel. A plain video camera hung from the wall above me and pointed to the side door. I looked up the wall. There were no other cameras. I could climb between the camera and the corner of the hotel to the roof and remain unseen.
Tennis players grunted and swatted under the lights of the tennis courts. An older man, lost in thought, approached. He twirled a tennis racket and groped into the pocket of his windbreaker. I removed my contacts and slipped behind him. He fished out his hotel room card and reached to swipe it through the reader by the door.
I checked to see that we were alone. “Excuse me.”
He turned around, his middle-aged face red and sweaty. His irises popped open and his aura brightened.
I took the card and opened the door. I put the card back in his hand and left him standing outside. He would think he’d just had a senior moment. I moved fast and smoothly. The security guards had dozens of monitors to watch. Unless they had been paying attention only to me, they wouldn’t have noticed anything suspicious.
I walked down the hall, past the locker rooms, and toward the golf course administration. I had a hunch I’d find Goodman in his office. We’d have a long, informative talk.
I turned the corner. The glass double doors to the office were closed. The secretary’s vestibule was dark. I tried the doorknobs. Locked. I didn’t see any light coming from around the office doors inside. I put my ear close to the glass doors and heard only silence.
So much for hunches.
Where was Goodman?
I traced my steps back outside. Before I put my contacts back in, I scoped the grounds and looked for any suspicious auras. Nothing.
I returned to the reception and found Carmen at the bar. She leaned against the bar counter and held a fizzy drink against her temple. Sweat from the glass wet her fingertips. “I have never in my life been in such a group of pious, self-important assholes. God, they act like they’re doing the world a favor dispensing this academic horse shit. Too bad they can’t use it for fertilizer.”
“The important question is, anything on Goodman?”
“No. You?”
I shook my head. “If he’s here, the man’s a ghost.” I asked the bartender for a manhattan. “What about your dance card?”
Carmen took a long pull from her glass and smacked her lips. “Almost full. You know the undersecretary of state? She and her husband want to play avec moi.” Carmen lay one hand across her breast. “Problem is, she keeps blabbing about how misunderstood the administration’s policy was about Nigerian oil. The people there have to be patient, she kept saying. The wealth will come. Oh yeah? They’ve been waiting for thirty years and still nothing but promises.”
“Politics aside, got room for two more?” I took Krandall’s card from my pocket and gave it to Carmen.
I explained, “They’re a younger couple. She’s a Luvitmor babe and he got into the early program for Tigernene.”
“Really?” Carmen’s eyes widened with interest. “I’m eager to sample those results.” She slid the card into her purse.
I finished my manhattan and ordered another. We wandered toward the fireplace along the northern wall and sat on the raised brickwork.
Carmen retrieved a cell phone from her purse. The phone cover had a leopard skin print. She checked the incoming number and smiled. “It’s the undersecretary. Booty duty calls. I’ll give a report later.” Carmen opened the phone and purred into it as she left.
I sat and drank alone. Well into my third manhattan, the cello player sat beside me. Her moist, dark hair lay in matted tangles. Perspiration darkened her collar.
The cellist was a rosy-faced woman in her late twenties. She stretched her legs, displaying a nice pair of calves that tapered to trim ankles and a pair of patent-leather Mary Janes.
“Want to do me a favor?”
“Pardon?” I didn’t get the impression she was talking to me.
She put a hand on my arm. “I need a drink. A cosmopolitan would be perfect.”
I did need to keep busy until Goodman showed his face, if he ever did. Why not with the cellist? We’d talk politics.
I hailed a server and ordered the drink. The cellist-her name was Sarah-told me the other musicians had been invited to a private party. She had opted out.
“I just broke up with the viola player.” Sarah tasted the cosmopolitan. “If he can’t hook up with someone else at the party, he’ll be hitting on me again just to get laid. Asshole.”
We finished our drinks, ordered another round, and talked about music. She needed to store her cello, so we walked together to the parking garage and got into an older white Dodge Carryall. We sat inside on plywood storage boxes. I needed to scout for Goodman, so I didn’t plan on staying long. Sarah turned on the stereo and, being a musician, lit up a bong. I recognized the ritual. Get high then have sex. I would delay my search for Goodman.
With my new tan, I didn’t have to worry about giving away my undead persona. Then I remembered how well that had worked with Belinda, the shrew who’d thrown me out. This time I would use hypnosis, mainly to keep Sarah from going psycho on me.
She splayed her knees and cradled the bong in the hammock formed by her skirt. “You know what I like about you, Felix?”
That I’m outrageously handsome? That I make you want to fling off your panties and dive for my zipper?
“My ex only wanted one thing from me. I don’t get that vibe from you at all.”
You don’t? I’m a vampire, my sexual vibe should be as loud as a Chinese gong. I glanced at my hands. Was this dimming of my vampire allure a symptom of the spider bite? Why wasn’t Carmen affected? She had a great tan and still left a trail of erections and moist panties in her wake.
Sarah kept toking on the bong and complaining about her ex, how he was obsessed with doggie style, road head, and finger-banging her in the checkout line. “I mean,” she whined as she exhaled a jet of reefer smoke, “it was so physical.”
What had I done to be cast in this role of sexual confessor? Unlike a priest, I had never taken a vow of chastity.
Sarah put the bong on the floor and reached for me. Had she changed her mind? Maybe all this sex talk had made her horny?
She spilled into my lap, her arms drunkenly propping themselves on my shoulders. She smelled like the crowd at a reggae concert. I steadied her by the waist and turned her hips so that she settled on my left thigh.
She buried her warm face into the crook of my neck. “Felix, I’m glad you’re here with me. I feel so comfortable. It’s good that we’re just friends.”
Just friends? Were there two more emasculating words in the English language? I was El Macho Supernatural and she wanted to cuddle like I was an oversize puppy.
She began to snore. Apparently, I wasn’t even worth a cuddle.
I leaned forward to pull her away from me. Her head lolled back and I cradled it in my hand. Her neck, deliciously firm and succulent, stretched before me.
I wouldn’t take sexual advantage of a woman, but a fanging? I was a vampire, and sinking my fangs into her neck to suck her blood violated none of the rules I’d grown up with.
The undead hunger sharpened. My upper lip twitched and my incisors grew.
Carefully, hesitantly, as if I were biting a balloon and afraid to make it pop, I put my lips to her neck. I closed my eyes and felt for her pulse to guide my fangs to their mark.
I flexed my jaw, and the keen points of my teeth pierced her tender skin.
The human nectar bubbled into my mouth. Type A-negative, very nice. I forced my enzymes through the wound to deaden the pain and induce amnesia. She relaxed as if her bones had softened.
I savored her blood like it was exotic wine. I didn’t drink much, only enough to make my stay here in the van worth my while.
I lapped the healing enzymes across the punctures. Sarah remained slack-jawed, her eyelids closed in lazy slumber. I wiped a kerchief across the drips of blood on her neck and laid her limp body on the carpeted floor of the van.
I sat still for a moment to enjoy the almost-orgasmic pleasure of this fresh blood meal. We hadn’t had sex, but the fanging was a nice consolation prize. My kundalini noir made a sinuous dance that slowed as the afterglow ebbed.
The approach of a man broke the last of the spell. He wore the red vest of a parking valet and got into a Mercedes sedan a couple of spaces over. I removed my contacts and read his aura. Nothing special.
What about Goodman?
I got out of the van and checked the back of the hotel around the annex. The guards were doubled up and walked the fence. Unless I knew what I wanted in the annex, better that I wait before risking trouble.
The light of an approaching dawn brightened the sky. Time to go.
I returned to the van and used Sarah’s cell phone to call Carmen. She was in her car and on the way out of the garage. I kissed Sarah’s neck and quietly stepped free of the van.
Carmen drove by in her Audi sports car, saw me, and stopped. I smoothed my jacket, adjusted my belt, and put on my sunglasses. I got into the passenger seat and told her what I’d done since we split up.
“We’re at the Grand Atlantic and you spent the night in a van?” Carmen shook her head. Her hair was gathered into a twist held in place with a jeweled letter opener. She wore a red leather hoodie over her dress.
I asked, “Where’d you get that?”
“I like presents.” Carmen wrinkled her nose. “You smell like a frat house.” She cruised through the garage. “I hope you at least got lucky.”
“Lucky enough.” The taste of Sarah’s blood lingered on my palate.
Carmen zoomed through the exit and into the sunlight. She squinted and put on her sunglasses. “Anything on Goodman?”
“No. You?”
“Nada.” She tuned the stereo and adjusted the volume. “What’s the next move?”
“Infiltrate the hotel and find Goodman. I’ll tell you when.”
We arrived at my motel. Carmen stopped in the parking lot before the entrance.
I asked, “Where are you staying?”
“A married chalice couple owns a cozy little mortuary in Bluffton. They have the plushest caskets to nap in. You should visit.”
“Later.” I got out of the Audi and held the door open. “My place is comfortable enough.”
Carmen slipped her sunglasses down her nose. Her eyes glowed red as lasers. “When are we going back to the Grand Atlantic?”
“Tonight. First, let me see what my hacker has found. Then we’ll make a plan.” I shut the door.
Carmen drove off. I passed through the entrance of the motel. When the entrance door returned with a hiss, I heard something alarming and sinister.
A faint pop…like the striker in an M60 fuse igniter.