D. D. Barant - Dying Bites: The Bloodhound Files

Yeah? Thropes and pires tend to forget how easy humans diethey usually slash first and make up later. Figured youd rather have your head than the apology, but heyyoure the boss. He pushes back the sleeve on his right arm, revealing a leather tube strapped to his forearm. He pushes the ball bearing into the end of the tube, which is obviously spring-loaded.

You really are a gun, I say. How many shots does that thing hold?

Twelve per side.

Per side? So youre double-barreled, too.

Pardon me?

Never mind. Solid silver?

Nah, too expensive. Silver sheath over an iron core.

How much stopping power?

He pulls the sleeve back down, smooths the fabric carefully. If I want something to stop, he says, it stops.

Cant dispute that. Looked like you really shook him up, too.

Doubt that was my fault. Changing that quick takes a lot out of a thrope; Ive seen some keel right over.

Like adrenaline shakes in a human, but probably worse. All right, I say grudgingly. Good job, I guess. But next time, wait until I ask for your help, okay?

Its your funeral.

Charlie drops into a nearby seat, tilts his fedora over his eyes, and reverts to being an inanimate object. I sit down myself, thinking about what just happened and how its probably going to make my job harder.

But thats not all Im thinking about. During the confrontation, on some level I knew Tanaka wasnt going to hurt mebecause what I felt beneath his rage was something else entirely. Something just as dangerous, and just as intense.

Something just as passionate...

Please, Tanaka says. Hes changed his clothesinto a suit that looks exactly the sameand seems much more composed. Were talking on the upper deck of the trains observation car, a streamlined Plexiglas dome that would let me appreciate the beauty of the landscape were speeding through if it werent heavily smoked and night hadnt fallen. All I see is my own reflection and the impression of darkness streaming past.

Youve already apologized, I say. Forget about it.

You deserve an explanation.

Youre right, I do. Got one?

As I told you, my government finds the subject of the camps distasteful. The practice of ketsueki gouin blood drinkingis an equally sensitive topic. I do not wish to impede your investigation; I was simply trying to spare my employers further embarrassment.

Sure. Because if our guy follows his pattern, this next killing is going to be on the Internet pretty soon, andJapan isnt exactly Stone Age when it comes to technology. You know, Im starting to think this is exactly what the killer wants.

What do you mean?

Lets just say that there are political considerations in at least one of the other killings. I think this guy wants more than just attentionhe wants outrage . Not sure how the Australian vic fits in yet, but Ill bet the location turns out to be more important than the victim. Hes using the murders to focus public awareness on something he thinks is important.

The plight of his race, perhaps.

I glare at him. You think? I mean, his race is only on the verge of extinction. His race is basically used as either raw material or gourmet meals for yours.

We are not solely to blame.

No, the bloodsuckers are just as guilty. Lucky for you, our boy believes in spreading the blame around. And in case youve forgotten, Tanaka, his race is also my race.

I have offended you again. The regret and shame in his voice is real.

I sigh. No, thats okay. Look, this is difficult for both of us. I know what its like to have the brass leaning on you. But we both have the same objective in mindto catch this guy, and stop the killing. Right?

Yes. He pauses. I will do my best to provide you with uncensored information. Will you trust me on this?

I want to ask him if I have a choicebut instead I say, Yes. But withhold something from me again and Ill show you just how dangerous a human being can be.

I understand.

All things considered, he takes his reaming-out with good grace, which gives him high marks in my book; in my experience, men have a hard time apologizing, let alone admitting they were wrongor maybe thats just the ones I work with. Or sleep with.

Or both. Which is a very small group under the heading Roger and the subheading Complete and Total Bastard. There are additional sub-subheadings, but theyre not worth repeating unless Im about to shoot something.

Roger. As in affirmative, if what youre affirming is that you can give someone your heart and he can throw it in a wood-chipper while you watch. As in the Jolly Roger, the skull on the pirate flag with the big white grin, almost as big as the one on my exs face when he dumped me and stole my promotion. As in to give someone a good Rogering, as the British saywhich he did to me, in more ways than one.

The memory of his body that suddenly surges into my mind is just as sharp as that of his betrayal. His skin, his smell, his taste... I shake my head and try to focus on what Tanakas saying.

the blood bar she was employed by. I will make enquiries, and determine which shateigashira is responsible for the blood trade in her area.

Im sorry? I dont know that word.

It refers to the leader of a criminal gangor, more precisely, to a level of management in a much larger organization.

Which organization? I ask, though Im pretty sure I know the answer.

The illegal blood trade is very profitable, and counts high-ranking officials among its participants. InJapan , there is only one organization that dares to involve itself in such matters.

Im really hoping the answer has something to do with the Sailor Moon Fan Club. No such luck.

The Yakuza, Tanaka says.

TheSapporo station is as busy and crowded as the mountains were empty, Asian men and women dressed mostly in black. They hurry from one platform to the next, clutching briefcases and newspapers and manga , talking on cell phones or sipping from large paper cups with red plastic lids. I wonder whats in themthe cups, not the commuters.

I guess it doesnt matter. One will be in the other, soon enough.

Tanaka hustles Charlie and me out through the crowd and into another taxi, while Eisfanger stays with the train. If what Charlie told me is accurate, then almost all the people around me are pires, as indestructible and immortal as Cassius. I look for signs of ageless wisdom or invincibility in the faces around me, but all I see is a kind of cold, ruthless efficiency; no one seems to have a cold, or be half-asleep, or look drunk. It doesnt mean anything, of course. Its only a rushed first impression, a bunch of strangers on their way to work, seen through a foreigners eyes. I might get exactly the same feeling in the same train station on my own world.

Just not at one in the morning.

Sapporo itself is full of neon and skyscrapers, the streets crowded with tiny vehicles with smoked-glass windshields that make it impossible to see into them. From the inside looking out, the glass makes the neon a little dimmer, the shadows a little deeper; it doesnt seem to bother our driver, though. I guess supernatural beings have more acute senses. Its just one more reminder that this world isnt designed for my kind.

I wonder whats happening, back in my own universe. Is there a massive manhunt going on for a missing FBI agent? Is CNN providing hourly updates? Or has Cassius pulled something devious, leaving behind a dead doppelgnger or using magic to cover up my disappearance? That train of thought leads to other stations, including the idea that maybe he just had me completely erased from my own reality. It wouldnt take much, really; I dont have a lot in the way of family or friends. Both my parents are dead, Ive been engaged to be married once ( wish he were dead) and spent most of my time at work alienating my co-workers (who would probably cheer if they thought I was dead). Tanya, my one good friend, would definitely miss mebut shed get over it. Tanyas a social butterfly, and while shes sweet, her memories are short. Give her a year and shell have a new best friend.