The Night Reporter ✔

The Necklace - Part 2



Though, Zeke couldn't shake what August said.

August had gotten meaner these last few years. In truth, he reminded Zeke of himself.

Campbell may not have been a full-blown bitch, but suspicion colored her dismissal. Or, everything was fine, and Zeke was merely pissed at himself for wasting a medicinal vacation night. Still, she usually hung around to offer more tips than that, especially if his money was good. He'd gone in a bit cheap tonight, so there was that. Lest he be painted a prejudicial bastard (like he'd never heard that one before), he decided to drop the vamp angle until further evidence surfaced.

For the next twenty minutes, he stifled yawns and collected witness statements at the scene of the 10-53. Given the time of night and place, only two vagrants had been loafing around. They claimed to have seen jack, and shit, and then one of them excused themselves to do just that in a nearby corner.

While puffing the inevitable cigarette, August asked, "Ya notice the area?"

As if Zeke hadn't. An industrial parking lot, with the closest bar two miles away.

"Awfully far for a couple of drunks to walk," Zeke noted.

His stomach rumbled, a reminder to sort out the details later. August expressed similar hunger pangs, and suggested the 24-hour corner store nearby.

The Rainbow Mart was a small, family-owned gas station and convenience store. Zeke knew the owners. It was usually the same people behind the counter, two brown-skinned dudes with soft, Middle-Eastern accents. However, a redhead White man waited behind the counter, nodding to Zeke when he walked in.

A small detail, but worth remembering. Zeke headed straight for the candy bars, plucking three, sugar-filled chocolate bars from the well-stocked shelves. He waved at his image on the television, compliments of the closed-circuit camera recording their every move. As usual, he looked pretty good: dark, close-cropped hair, olive skin, well-defined cheek bones, and a lanky frame.

At the cashier station, various bobbles and snacks beckoned. A particularly garish display of crucifix necklaces had August chuckling. Overhearing, the redhead greeted him with a wide smile. As they locked eyes, Zeke assessed, then internally groaned.

"Vamp," August murmured from behind him.

It was their second vamp encounter tonight. Having known Campbell for years, she was worth tolerating. New vamps disgusted Zeke.

The cashier's baby blues reflected a preternatural light. Not everyone could tell, but August was always able to pick it up right off. Zeke was thankful to have such a conscientious friend. His smile evaporated, and he paid for his purchases as though at gunpoint.

Before learning the total, Zeke grabbed a necklace, tossing it at the man. It skittered across the counter, catching flashes of the fluorescent lighting. The man stared at the necklace for a moment, lips drawn into a thin line. Then he looked back at Zeke with a humorless grin.

"Ya know these don't hurt us, right?" He hefted the necklace from one hand to the other.

"Yeah," August said, reading the display, "but the sign says it can be filled with holy water."

Zeke repeated as much.

The man snorted with laughter. "That won't do much either."

Before August could respond, Zeke held up a hand to silence him. The cashier glanced behind Zeke, then at the TV monitor, appearing confused.

Zeke pretended to consider his options as the man slowly bagged his purchase. "Holy water might not affect you, but hydrofluoric acid will."

They were nearly touching, as the cashier had begun to hand the bag over, with Zeke mid-grab. At Zeke's words, the cashier ceased all pretense. He flashed a huge, predatory smile, boasting sharpened cuspids.

Fear momentarily bit him, the way he knew the vamp could bite him. Then, August whispered a suggestion in his ear, and Zeke recovered.

"Eh, I've seen bigger. G'nite, bloodbag," he said cheerily, snatching the bag away.

The cashier mumbled something about intolerance and crazy bastards, and Zeke shook his head on the way to the door.

"Bloodbags," August was saying. "All the same. Self-righteous cowards."

Before he could wholeheartedly agree, a buzz alerted him to a text from Carter.

Thanks again for the ride. You're a lifesaver!

What was she doing awake at this hour? Thinking about him? Her shift had ended long ago, thanks to that damn promotion that should've been his.

"You promised yourself never to give her a ride again," August reminded him as they opened the car doors and slid into their respective seats.

It didn't matter that Zeke hadn't told him what the text had said. August knew everything. And he was right.

Carter could take her entitled, privileged self home. He didn't care if her car wasn't drivable, or if she had one of the finest asses he'd ever seen.

Sure enough, the next time she asked him for a ride, he flatly refused. Or swore that he had, then couldn't remember when it counted.

And that's when his real troubles began.

~*~