Vampires by John Steakley Page A

the others did the same.
    Felix appeared without warning in the doorway behind them.
    “Knock, knock,” he said quietly.
    They jumped like they'd been zapped by a laser beam. They spun around, cocking their pistols, or trying to get them out with jerking slippery hands- And I thought they were going to shoot him. Or at least
    shoot at him. But they didn't. They recognized him at the last split second, and didn't shoot. The air was filled with the sound of their roaring breath.
    Felix, feigning concern, took a step back and raised his hands. He smiled. “Don't shoot, Yankee!”
    There was about a three-beat pause while everyone's heart was restarted. Felix, still smiling, lowered his hands and strolled casually into the room. He stopped in front of my table and lit a cigarette. He regarded the blond.
    “Cliff, you look like shit,” He looked around at the rest of them. “The rest of you look worse.” He paused when be came to the Hispanic. His smile remained but his eyes looked hard. “I see the company rep is here.”
    Then he did a scary thing. He took one of the chairs abandoned by the others, the one next to me, and plopped down in it. He looked at me, said, “Hi, Jack,” and tapped his cigarette in the ashtray.
    Cliff's eyes went wide. He stared, took a step toward us without thinking. “You know this guy?”
    Felix remained calm. “Sure. Got drunk with him a month ago.”
    One of the others, a dark-haired scruffy one with tattoos, all but lunged forward.
    “Did you know he was a narc?” be demanded.
    “Not at the time.” Felix took a puff. “I found out later.”
    “Then why didn't you tell us?” the guy wanted to know.
    “What for, Randy?” Felix replied calmly, looking him dead in the eye. “You told me you were getting out of the business.”
    Randy looked like be was about to explode-embarrassed, ashamed, and worse, angered by it.
    “You knew we were lying!” he spat.
    Felix continued to eye him coldly. “Did I?” he replied with a faint touch of hurt in his voice.
    It got quiet for a second, then Felix said, “Sit down, Cliff. Or shoot me.”
    Cliff looked down at the gun still in his hands-a big monster .357-glanced at the others, then stuck it into his holster and sat down. Randy sat down, too. But he put his Colt automatic on the table in front of him. The third and fourth Americans-one was fat and one bad a beard-put guns away and drew up chairs on the edge of the circle.
    They all kept glancing over at the Hispanic, who hadn't moved but clearly didn't like what was going on.
    “What the hell are you doing here, Felix?” asked Cliff abruptly.
    “I came,” he replied with a jerk of his head at me, “to rescue Jack, here.”
    Then he smiled again.
    There was a pause.., and then everyone, save the His~ panic and me, started to laugh.
    But it didn't last very long. It couldn't. The scene was just too hot.
    “C'mon, Felix,” continued Cliff. “Be serious. What are you doing here?”
    Felix smiled. “I am serious.”
    And it all got very tense again. Cliff lit a cigarette with shaky fingers, leaned toward Felix, and spoke the way he probably thought real men do.
    “Felix, look. I know you want to get out and I know you never liked this part of it, the smack. And we all understood that, didn't we?”
    And the other three nodded soberly.
    “But,” he continued, “we're moving up. We understand how you feel-really-but we're going ahead. There's just too much at stake here.”
    Felix leaned back. “Let's see if I can get this straight, here. You're about to murder an American policeman for the privilege of going on the Cuban payroll to smuggle raw heroin onto the streets of the United States?” He dropped his cigarette on the floor and stomped on it. “And you call it moving up?”
    Randy exploded. More rage and shame and hatred for Felix for making him see it. “Goddamn you, Felix! You always put things like that! You love putting things in the worst possible way!”
    And Felix