Chapter Eleven: Starlite All Nite

As they drove, Verne fiddled on his phone. It had been a while since he'd posted online, so there was a lot of that to do. People wanted to know how the Juvechrome was going, and he wasn't sure what to tell them. But those were the least of his problems – he'd also accrued another barrage of messages, which was never good. Especially when five of them came from his mother, starting at 7:15 am.

A: <Vernon, the police stopped by a few minutes ago and said there were gunshots at your apartment.

A: <Verne, you need to text me if you're ok. I tried to call but no answer.

A: <Verne, please call. Worried about you. All ok?

A: <A man from Juvachrome Clinic stopped by and said they need to speak with you. He said it's very important.

A: <Let me know if you're in trouble, I promise I won't be mad.

A: <Please text me. I just want know if you're safe.

It was now fast approaching noon – knowing her, Ashley had been freaking out for going on five hours now. Sure, her texts only sounded like gradually escalating parental concern, but you had to add about five levels of emotion to approximate the situation on the ground in the Vera household. He texted her:

<I'm ok. I was asleep. I'll stop by later.

She rang him up twenty seconds later. Verne picked up on the second ring, and Ashley opened with the dreaded Triple Name gambit: "Vernon Vincent Vera, do you have any idea how worried I've been? I threw up I was so worried. What in the world have you gotten yourself into? Do I need to call a lawyer? Who was shot at your apartment? Did the police..."

"I was shot," Verne said – the Grave Consequences counter to her gambit.

There was a pause on the line. "What? Oh my gosh, really? Verne... honey, are you okay?"

"Yeah. It turns out bullets don't do a whole lot to vampires. It was all just a big misunderstanding... I'll get it sorted."

"Vernon, people shooting you in your apartment  is not a misunderstanding. Are you in danger? For Pete's sake, are your father and I in danger?"

Verne bit his lip. That was a good question – were they in danger? Juvechrome had clearly linked Verne to the goings-on of late and had stopped by his parents' house. They'd done their research. Normally, Verne's biggest concern from a corporation seeking restitution might be getting sued or charged with theft. But these were the folks who'd interrogated/beat up Hector, threatened to cut off his fingers, and tried to kill Verne. They weren't playing with kid gloves, and he didn't put threats to the family above them. And, for all he knew, they were listening in right now.

"I don't think you're in danger," Verne said. "But I'm not sure. I'm going to Juvechrome as soon as I get back into town to get this sorted."

"Back into town? Vernon, where in the world..."

Vernon hung up before she could finish. Arguing with his mother wasn't going to accomplish anything. Besides, he had a host of other things to deal with. Messages from Hector... which turned out to be a big nothingburger. He was just having trouble getting to sleep, knowing that a pair of tarantulas were creeping around house. And four calls from an extension at the Juvechrome clinic, or so Verne inferred – it was one digit off from the clinic's main line.

"Shit. Juvechrome's been trying to call me," he said.

"Mmm," Maxie said, stirring from her nap. "They're the ones we think are vampires?"

"Yeah."

"Good. Sweet-talk them and arrange a meeting... somewhere safe. You can be our inside woman."

Verne was about to object to being called a woman... but that was accurate now, wasn't it? Better to be one of the girls than the odd vampire out. He'd roll with it. "I'm not sure how I feel about being a spy for vampires..."

"A spy on vampires," Eva corrected. "You're gonna be spying for us. Haven't you ever heard of community service?"

"Yeah, but 'community service' usually isn't deadly."

Verne could see Eva rolling her eyes in the rear view mirror. "Deadly?" she said. "Girl, you're already dead."

+++++

Verne spoke with an unnervingly polite man named Charles, who clacked away on a keyboard in the background to arrange for a meeting. He must have been alternating lines between Verne and one of his higher-ups at Juvechrome, because he kept putting Verne on hold, though he was always deeply apologetic about it. Charles cheerfully suggested that Verne show up at the Juvechrome clinic to discuss the matter, to which Verne replied that there was no fucking way that was going to happen.

"I'm sorry to hear that, ma'am," Charles said. "Is there, perhaps, another venue that you would prefer?"

Verne put his phone on mute. "Maxie, where should I meet up with the Juvechrome guys?"

She scrunched her face in thought and clacked her beads around. "The Starlite All-Nite," she said. "I know the owner, so it's safe... and you'll love it. They've got a great vegan menu." She squinted, putting two and two together for the first time. "You're not really vegan, are you?"

"I am not," Verne confirmed.

The Starlite All-Nite Café was a cozy little diner in the middle of Brushland Heights. It looked right at home amid the gentrified row houses and rehabilitated warehouses of the neighborhood, though Verne suspected it had been around since well before the current wave of gentrification, first enduring as the neighborhood went to crap and now enduring as it went to trendy pretention. The message board beneath the Starlite's big star-and-moon logo proclaimed: Home of the Carolina Pecan Delite! And below that: Now Serving the Improbable Burger! Verne very much doubted they served vampire-friendly vegan blood.

They'd arrived at Maxie's house in the early afternoon and took a few hours to rest and recharge before Verne's scheduled 10 pm meeting. At Maxie's encouragement, Verne had rifled through Ellen's things to add to her wardrobe. There was a lot to choose from. Looking at the slender, athletic girl in Ellen's high school field hockey pictures, Verne had a hard time imagining the two of them could wear the same clothes... but they fit just about perfectly just about everywhere. Ellen was even a bit busty for her build, and her 32D sports bra fit Verne perfectly. It was a weird feeling, but he had to admit it did a lot to constrain the excess motion. Then he went for jeans – snug but stretchy –an aquamarine baby tee, and sandals. If he was going to be stuck looking like a pretty college student, he might as well get used to dressing like one... and at nighttime, there was no reason to cover up like a nun.

"Jesus, dude," Hector muttered. "You pull that off really well."

"Good. Because I don't want to look even a little bit like a dangerous vampire." He adjusted the sports bra underneath his tee. "It's going to take some getting used to, though."

"I bet." Hector's glances weren't nearly as covert as he probably thought.

At 9:45, Verne slid into the booth at the Starlite All-Nite Café and ordered a coffee. Maxie, Hector, and Eva were waiting out in the parking lot, ready to intervene should things turn south. Though, Verne had to wonder, how much good would any of them be if no-shit vampires showed up and wanted to tussle? Hopefully, it wouldn't come to that.

Verne sipped at his coffee, wondering what (if any) effect it would have on him. Surprisingly, it tasted like normal coffee. He'd have preferred some sugar or sweetener in it, but he'd have to get used to having it black – a tiny dab each of sugar and artificial sweetener on his tongue were almost too disgusting to bear - they tasted like acrid burning. So he sipped the black coffee, savoring the taste and the warmth and wondering whether this meant he'd be pissing out black.

H: <Some bad hombres coming your way,   Hector texted him.

Sure enough, a trio of beefy biker-looking guys strolled in a minute later. They didn't look overtly threatening, though they looked like they could become so at a moment's notice. And they all had the visible wrist tattoos of vampire familiars. They walked up and down the aisle a few times, to the waiter's obvious annoyance, before Verne cleared his throat.

"I think you're looking for me," he said.

The biker-familiar guys all donned sunglasses and the head guy held up a smallish box with a shiny square at its center. With the push of a button, it flashed a brilliant purple-violet that left the Starlite's patrons grumbling about a camera flash. For Verne, the flash provoked a visceral response, sending a pulse of pain across his skin, just like if he'd walked out into full sunlight unprotected.

"Ow! What the fuck?" He stood up and balled his fists.

"She's a vamp," one of the biker guys muttered.

The head biker guy fished out his phone and called somebody. "Yes, sir. We're all clear. And the subject is a girl. Yes, sir."

Without another word, the three men turned and sat themselves at a booth two tables down. Verne looked at his skin – the flash hadn't been enough to burn, and he wondered what they'd seen in that instant when they flashed him. He'd felt a split-second of vampire instincts kicking in and suspected there'd been some change in his appearance – teeth, eyes, skin, he couldn't have told you. But he had learned one thing of note: high-intensity UV emitters could be used to screen for and possibly combat vampires. That was knowledge worth having.

A minute later, a slim man in a dark three-piece suit strode into the place. He was tall, perhaps a bit over six feet, and looked to be about thirty. His hair was light brown and neatly-styled, with a mustache that would have looked equally fitting in the hipster dives of Brushland Heights or a saloon in the Old West. And his eyes were blood red, though they might have passed for brown in dim lighting. He had the cocksure posture of a man who, if he didn't own the place, he knew he could purchase it in short order. With a toothy smile and the tip of an imaginary hat, he slid into the booth across from Verne.

"Verne Vera," he said with a chuckle. "Or is it Vera Verne? Accounts seem to vary." The man had an old-timey Southern accent, the kind you hardly heard anymore. The man might have voice acted for Colonel Sanders.

"Whichever," Verne said. He wondered whether to offer to shake hands and ultimately did, reaching his slim hand across the table. "And you are?"

"Erasmus Moody, at your service," the man said. Erasmus took Verne's hand gently and kissed it upon the knuckle. Well... it wasn't quite a kiss, as his lips didn't quite make contact, though Verne felt a few follicles of mustache graze his hand. He held Verne's hand for another minute, red eyes locked onto Verne's, his face a confident smirk. "We find ourselves in quite the conundrum, don't we Miss Verne?"

Verne pulled his hand away. Erasmus offered resistance for a moment, squeezing just enough to indicate that he might choose not to let go. But then he relented and eased himself back into the booth seat. With a flourish of his hand, he summoned the waiter, who came over and took his order: one coffee and an order of Carolina Pecan Delite.

"Look... I'm very sorry about the Juvechrome. I'd like to make up for it however I can. I was desperate..."

Erasmus shrugged. "People all over this fallen world are desperate, my dear. I feel for all the poor souls... really, I do. But it simply cannot be my policy to allow all who trespass against me tread right over me without consequence... especially not in my capacity on the board of Glossa Combined. Do you know the meaning of mercy, my sweet Miss Verne?"

"Being lenient on somebody?"

"Could be," Erasmus nodded. "That it could be. But that's not the all of it. Mercy, in its purest form, is the abnegation of justice. That is, mercy offers no punishment, no penalty, no consequence when such an action is demanded by justice. Now, perhaps my years have just made me old-fashioned, but I have a hard time choosing between merciful injustice or merciless justice…" He shifted his hands back and forth to mime a balance. "It seems you've put me into a real pickle, Miss Verne."

The waiter presently slid the plate of Carolina Pecan Delite – some sort of pecan pie tartlet with ice cream and caramel drizzle – in front of the vampire. He took a careful forkful of the stuff, wonderful-smelling steam piping up from the little pie, and sampled it, the metal fork clinking against his teeth. His eyes rolled back.

"My, that is a 'delite'," he said, and patted his slim belly. "Though I'm sure I'll pay for it come midnight. There's always a price to pay, isn't there? So... tell me, Miss Verne... what price are you willing to pay to get Glossa Combined to forget your little whoopsie?"

"I don't have much money..."

"And we have lots of it - I have no use for a stack of 'Benjamins'. Try again, madam. What price? What price to sate my yearning for righteous justice?"

"Um..." Verne thought. He had to ingratiate himself to these people... but what did he have to offer? "Anything you want," he finally said.

A predatory smile crept across Erasmus's face. "Anything. I. Want," he stated. "Correct answer, Miss Verne. Right on the nose."

He tapped the side of his nose and then slid something small and black across the table – a low-end smartphone. "I want you to take this... it's one of these newfangled smart thingamadoodles. Carry it on your person at all times and answer it whenever we call – and we will call."

Then he slid something else across the table – a fork. "In the meanwhile, I want you to try a bite of this Carolina Pecan Delite and tell me how wonderful it tastes."

Verne held the fork and looked into Erasmus's eyes. His blood-red gaze was expectant and bore no hint of mirth. Verne reached across the table and took as small a forkful as he thought he might get away with. Erasmus frowned, snatched the fork away, and loaded it with just about as much as could reasonably fit into Verne's mouth before handing it back with a self-satisfied smile. Verne lifted the heaping forkful into his mouth and chewed...

It was disgusting, of course. Warm, gooey ashes and despair, at once sharply astringent and utterly empty. Verne wanted to spit it out, felt the urge to vomit, but he forced himself to chew the stuff. He chewed and chewed, wishing Erasmus would offer him permission to just spit it out. But the vampire only looked on with the same smug expression. Purple tears welled up in Verne's eyes as he swallowed the stuff and washed it down with a gulp of gloriously-normal black coffee.

"It's so good," Verne said. His smile had to look utterly fake.

"I knew you'd like it," Erasmus said softly. "Be seeing you, Miss Verne. I'm so glad we had this little meet and greet."

Erasmus Moody slid out of the booth and strutted out of the Starlite All-Nite Café, his three biker dude familiars tossing a twenty on the table as they filed out behind him, leaving Verne alone. It was all Verne could do not to burst into tears then and there in the diner.

OvidLemma

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