The Vampire With the Dragon Tattoo

I was with my new girlfriend, Roxi.



We were sitting at a French bistro called French Quarters sharing an angel hair carbonara. My new girlfriend wasn't quite sure what to make of me. I was a mess, and she knew it. Why she was sticking it out, I wasn't sure, but I had decided not to delve too deeply into that line of inquiry. Better to let sleeping bears lie. Instead, we were talking about Veronica.



"And no one knows her age?" asked Roxi.



"Anywhere from fifteen to seventeen."



"And she just appears one day out of the blue?"



"Yes, at the old folks' home."



Roxi slurped some noodles. "And she claims to be a vampire hunter?"



"Slayer." I corrected. "Hunters don't necessarily slay."



"So she's delusional."



"There are more things in heaven and earth, Roxi, than are dreamt of in your philosophy," I quoted.



"Are you saying vampires are real?"



"Actually, I was just playing the devil's advocate. I'm with you. It's all nuts."



"But this friend believed her."



"Like attracts like," I said. "Batshit attracts batshit."



"Did her check clear?"



"It did. I deposited it immediately."



Roxi bit her lip. She was younger than me by six years. She was also Irish, and had the world's cutest accent. Unlike me, she did not have a gut and kept herself in fairly good shape. She was a struggling screenwriter, hustling her way through Hollywood. Presently, she earned her money doing freelance editing work for other writers. She hated it.



"I don't get it," she said, sitting back.



"I'm not hired to get it," I said. "I'm hired to find a missing girl, and that I do get."



"How long has she lived with the old folks?"



"Nearly three years."



"And this is the longest she's been gone?"



"Apparently."



I had only recently started dating Roxi, and already I was loving how she threw herself into my cases, and made them practically her own. She was proving to be an excellent sounding board.



She drank some more red wine. I watched her drink with a mixture of envy and horror. I hadn't touched alcohol in a few years, but that didn't mean I didn't want to.



Be strong. My daily mantra.



I said, "Her friend, of course, doesn't think she's missing. Her friend thinks she's hunting a vampire."



"This is nuts."



"I don't choose the cases," I said. "They choose me."



"So what are you going to do?"



"Find her. Get her real story. Convince her to come home."



"Even is she doesn't have a real home?"



"The old folks take care of her," I said. "That's home enough."



"Will you call the police?"



"Depends on the answers she gives me. Depends on the state I find her in. Depends on who I find her with."



"Fair enough. But that if she's even alive."



"True."



"So what's your next step, Mr. Private Dick?"



"No clue."



Outside, I kissed Roxi lightly on her cheek and helped her into her car. She asked when she would see me again, and I told her I didn't know. She hadn't known me long, but already she knew that in a missing person case, time was of the essence. She took my hand and squeezed it and told me to be careful. We were not quite to the "I love you" phase of our relationship, but I sensed her love for me. I told her to go write the hell out of her new screenplay and she smiled and drove off.



It was late.



I was sitting in my car, studying the file Gladys had given me, going over the list of acquaintances. Unfortunately, Gladys had only known the first names of Veronica's friends. So prior to leaving Industrial Burgers, I had called Nicole one last time and asked her if she had recognized any of the other names on the list. She had, one of them. Roy, the only male on the list, was a bartender at a dive in Hollywood called Coffins.



A goth bar.



Sitting in my car I sighed and Googled Coffins on my iPhone. A moment later, I was heading off into the night to my first vampire bar.



Lucky me.



Coffins was dark and gloomy. Go figure.



I surveyed the place from the front door. It was a Wednesday evening and Coffins was about half empty. Maybe all the vampires were still asleep.



The walnut paneling was empty of pictures or any references to the undead. Thank God. There were, however, three or four coffins arranged around the room. Coffee tables. Cute. And weird.



Sometimes I was amazed at where my job took me. Three weeks ago, a twisted trail of clues had led me to Jamaica, where I had helped rescue a kidnapped child.



Tonight, they led me to Dracula's lair.



I had never planned on being a private investigator. In fact, I was perfectly content working as an insurance claims investigator. As a claims investigator I had worked with a few private eyes. Admittedly, I had always been intrigued by P.I.'s. They were a small group of men and women who lived outside the norm, working for themselves, their own man, so to speak. The lone wolves of our day. Helping people, following people, finding people, catching people. The profession itself was as honorable as one wanted it to be, or as sleazy.



Just like in life.



After the death of my son, I re-evaluated my entire life. I came to two conclusions. The first was obvious: I had to give up drinking. The second wasn't so obvious. After a lot of soul searching, I realized that although I couldn't bring back my sweet baby boy, I could help bring back other children. Missing children.



In insurance claims, I always had a knack for finding witnesses, for seeing through the lies, for massaging random information into meaningful clues.



It was a gift, and I would use it to help find the missing.



I could never bring back my baby boy, but I could bring back other baby boys. Baby boys and girls. And teens. And even adults. I found them all. One way or another, I brought them home. Doggedly, relentlessly, whatever it took.



Veronica, in my mind was no different. A lot weirder, granted, but no different. She was missing, and I had been hired to find her, and goddammit, I was going to find her.



I didn't pick my cases. They picked me.



I stepped over to the bar while a few sets of eyes followed me from the dark sofas scattered around the coffins. The bar top was also shaped like a very long coffin.



When the bartender came over to me, I rested my hands on the coffin-lid bar top, and said, "I'm sorry, I seem to be lost. I'm looking for a place called Coffins?"



"Very funny, wise guy. What can I get you?"



"The smooth, sweeping neck of a fair maiden."



"No fair maidens here, and the blood is in the back."



"I hope to God you're kidding," I said.



The tall bartender studied me, and then cracked a smile. "Of course." he said. "What can I really get you?"



"Tonic water and a guy named Roy."



He nodded and reached under the counter, rummaged around, and came up with a bottle of tonic water, opened it, and put it in front of me.



"Here's your water and what can I do for you?"



"You Roy?"



"Yup."



Roy was younger than me, and a lot more handsome. He had dark brown eyes and dark brown eyebrows and dark brown hair. I sensed a pattern.



"I'm looking for a girl," I said.



"Ain't we all."



"Her name is Veronica."



Roy's dark brown eyebrows narrowed so dramatically that they came to together to form one long dark brown unibrow. He looked around. I watched him as he looked around. We were alone at this end of the coffin-shaped counter.



"What about her?" he asked.



I showed him my P.I. license. He squinted at it.



I said, "I've been hired by the old lady she lives with to find her."



"Gladys," he said.



I nodded. "That would be her."



"Gladys worries too much."



"Nothing wrong with that, when you're dealing with a kid."



"Veronica's no kid."



"Oh, yeah? How old is she?"



"No idea, but, trust me, she ain't no kid."



"Fine," I said. "Kid or not, I've been hired to find her, and that's exactly what I'm going to do."



Roy placed two extremely large hands on the bar counter. His thick eyebrows were still pressed together like a fat, hairy sausage.



"This is none of your concern," he said.



"What's none of my concern?"



Roy, who had seemed good-natured and willing to laugh at my stupid joke earlier, suddenly seemed not-so-friendly.



"Veronica's fine. She's just...busy."



"Slaying vampires?"



He squinted at me, and seemed about to shush me, but there was really no one close enough to us to hear. Besides, the thumping techno-music in the background would have drowned out our words.



"This is none of your concern," he said again.



"I heard you the first time," I said. "Except I've already deposited a check from a very concerned woman who hired me to make it my business."



He leaned forward, placing more weight on those big hands. I think the gesture was meant to be intimidating. "You have no idea what you've gotten yourself into, bro. Would be safer for you to return that check."



There was a creaking sound from behind me. Maybe one of the caskets was opening. Eager to see a reallive vampire, I turned and looked. Nope, just two goth-looking, pale-faced girls stepping into the bar. They didn't look happy. They seldom did.



I looked back at Roy, and as I did so, I grabbed both of his wrists and pulled. He fell forward in a blink, hitting the counter hard, his forehead bouncing off the scarred wood casket lid. A chair scraped behind me.



I ignored whoever was behind me, but I didn't ignore Roy, whose face was now just inches from mine. I still held him by his wrists. "You know something about a missing girl, Roy. And that makes you a person of extreme interest to me. Tell me what you fucking know or I'm going to bring some unholy hell down upon you and your fucking weird bar. Bro."



"Okay, man. Okay. Take it easy."



"What the fuck is going on around here, Roy?"



"Just let me go and I'll tell you."



I released his wrists slowly and he stood. There was a shiner already forming on his forehead. I glanced around me. Two guys were standing behind me. Thin guys. Dark hair. Pale faces. Both wearing white, untucked, long-sleeved shirts. They looked like Dracula's minions. Or his house boys.



"Beat it," I said to them.



They didn't move. From behind the counter, Roy said, "It's okay, guys, we're cool."



The two dumbasses shuffled off.



I looked at Roy. His hair was disheveled. So were his bushy eyebrows, which had somehow gotten tweaked when his forehead had done its best impression of a basketball.



I said to him, "We're very much not cool until you tell me what the fuck is going on around here."



Roy nodded and motioned to one of the whip-thin punks. "Watch the bar, man. I'll be back in a few."



Roy nodded toward me.



"Follow me," he said.