on here. Got it?â
Larson nodded and put the rosaries over his head. Pulling on the neck of his T-shirt, they slid under safely out of sight. He leaned over and put the holy water bottles in a pocket of his big coat. Once he was settled, I nodded and we got out of the car.
Night air blew cool around me, rustling across the back of my skull. My hands slid into the pockets and kept my jacket held closed so the wind didnât blow it open, breaking concealment. Even I couldnât walk around openly displaying this much hardware. I have all the applicable weapons permits, and I have worked with the police enough that they look the other way when I do my job. Most of the time anyway. The monsters do a good job of hiding, but cops still run into the weird stuff if they are on the job any amount of time. If things got too bad for them, they had my number.
Assuming Larson was following, I turned and headed toward the club. We should be able to walk in, question our guy, get our answers, and hit the road. Yep, it should be that simple.
Yeah, right.
Vampires always have a way of screwing up your plans.
8
Music pulsed in the night air as we walked up the concrete slope leading to the club. Thump-thump house music crap. I guess it was good to dance to, but it wasnât my cup of tea. My music has to have more than just bass to make me happy. Coming to the door, we met the bouncer who was checking the IDs of kids coming and going.
He was taller than me, which does not happen very often. I would have guessed him at 6â7â, maybe 6â8â. I was broader and heavier, but he wasnât a lightweight. There were enough muscles that you could tell he worked at it. How did I know he was the bouncer? He was dressed like a bouncer.
No matter where you go, bouncers all look like they shopped at the same stores. Black jeans, black boots, and a black hoodie. White-blond hair was held back by a black beanie. I was a bouncer before; I am familiar with the uniform. Hell, most days I still wore the uniform.
As we walked up, he stopped slouching against the door and became alert. Even behind the sunglasses covering his eyes I could tell he was eyeing me up. Iâm used to it. I look like trouble and I know that. Iâm okay with it.
We kept walking to the front door of the club with him eyeballing us, but he didnât say anything. No questions or comments, no request for an ID. Either he was not very good at this job, or the club didnât pay worth a damn. I hoped it was the latter; then everything would go smoother inside. People who work at clubs that donât pay much are usually there for the scene and are not really taking their job very seriously. It makes them not care enough to really question you or stop you from doing what needs to be done.
Inside the door the music went from a pulse on your skin to a fist that thumped you in the chest. It was so loud you couldnât even make out any sounds, just bass. The vibrations rode in the floor and up through the bones in my legs.
I hate clubs like this. The air was heavy with the chemical smell of a fog machine that burned in my nose like medicine. The undercurrent scent was of humans packed tightly together. It was the sweaty, meaty smell of exertion, dancing, and desperation mixing sourly, then cut across with the medicinal copper tang of recreational drug use.
We entered the lobby, which was a small area inside the door. To the left was a booth that had a girl taking money. Just past that was the actual entrance to the dance floor. Another bouncer stood there with his back to us, framed in the double doorway. Light pulsed in time to the music in front of where he stood watching the dance floor. The girl waved us over to the booth with a smile on her face.
She was small, probably about 5â2â and slender. I would say she looked like the girl next door, if the girl next door lived in a haunted house. The girl had gone Goth, and gone
Larson nodded and put the rosaries over his head. Pulling on the neck of his T-shirt, they slid under safely out of sight. He leaned over and put the holy water bottles in a pocket of his big coat. Once he was settled, I nodded and we got out of the car.
Night air blew cool around me, rustling across the back of my skull. My hands slid into the pockets and kept my jacket held closed so the wind didnât blow it open, breaking concealment. Even I couldnât walk around openly displaying this much hardware. I have all the applicable weapons permits, and I have worked with the police enough that they look the other way when I do my job. Most of the time anyway. The monsters do a good job of hiding, but cops still run into the weird stuff if they are on the job any amount of time. If things got too bad for them, they had my number.
Assuming Larson was following, I turned and headed toward the club. We should be able to walk in, question our guy, get our answers, and hit the road. Yep, it should be that simple.
Yeah, right.
Vampires always have a way of screwing up your plans.
8
Music pulsed in the night air as we walked up the concrete slope leading to the club. Thump-thump house music crap. I guess it was good to dance to, but it wasnât my cup of tea. My music has to have more than just bass to make me happy. Coming to the door, we met the bouncer who was checking the IDs of kids coming and going.
He was taller than me, which does not happen very often. I would have guessed him at 6â7â, maybe 6â8â. I was broader and heavier, but he wasnât a lightweight. There were enough muscles that you could tell he worked at it. How did I know he was the bouncer? He was dressed like a bouncer.
No matter where you go, bouncers all look like they shopped at the same stores. Black jeans, black boots, and a black hoodie. White-blond hair was held back by a black beanie. I was a bouncer before; I am familiar with the uniform. Hell, most days I still wore the uniform.
As we walked up, he stopped slouching against the door and became alert. Even behind the sunglasses covering his eyes I could tell he was eyeing me up. Iâm used to it. I look like trouble and I know that. Iâm okay with it.
We kept walking to the front door of the club with him eyeballing us, but he didnât say anything. No questions or comments, no request for an ID. Either he was not very good at this job, or the club didnât pay worth a damn. I hoped it was the latter; then everything would go smoother inside. People who work at clubs that donât pay much are usually there for the scene and are not really taking their job very seriously. It makes them not care enough to really question you or stop you from doing what needs to be done.
Inside the door the music went from a pulse on your skin to a fist that thumped you in the chest. It was so loud you couldnât even make out any sounds, just bass. The vibrations rode in the floor and up through the bones in my legs.
I hate clubs like this. The air was heavy with the chemical smell of a fog machine that burned in my nose like medicine. The undercurrent scent was of humans packed tightly together. It was the sweaty, meaty smell of exertion, dancing, and desperation mixing sourly, then cut across with the medicinal copper tang of recreational drug use.
We entered the lobby, which was a small area inside the door. To the left was a booth that had a girl taking money. Just past that was the actual entrance to the dance floor. Another bouncer stood there with his back to us, framed in the double doorway. Light pulsed in time to the music in front of where he stood watching the dance floor. The girl waved us over to the booth with a smile on her face.
She was small, probably about 5â2â and slender. I would say she looked like the girl next door, if the girl next door lived in a haunted house. The girl had gone Goth, and gone
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