Part 15 (1/2)
”She was insane. It didn't show, but part of me must have known. That's why I didn't want to do it.””What about to me?”
”How do you feel about it?”
She shrugged. ”I don't think I know enough yet to tell you.”
”That's a good answer.”
”It's not easy for you, is it?”
I drew a breath and sighed. ”It's just at times all I see are the disadvantages. My life is limited in a lot of ways, ways I'd never thought about until it was too late.”
”Like what?”
”For one thing, I miss socializing over food, and I'm really beginning to hate mirrors. Sunlight blinds and paralyzes me, and if I don't sleep on my earth I have the most G.o.d-awful dreams. Going to the Stockyards is a real pain. I often leave it till late so I don't have the cattle smell on me all the evening and can wash it off when I get home.”
”Did she feel the same way?” She was referring to Maureen.
”She let me know what to expect, but she never complained, except about mirrors whenever she bought new clothes.” But Maureen had had decades to adjust to things and I was still gra.s.s green. Maybe in time...
”Then why did you want to change?”
”I loved her.”
”Don't you believe I love you just as much?”
”Yes. I see what you're getting at, Bobbi, but you need to know there are no guarantees. We could do it, but it might not work.”
”And then again, it might. I don't see it as a promise or even as insurance, but it is hope. That's all I really want, Jack, just that piece of hope.”
I thought long and hard about it for maybe two seconds. She had a serious decision ahead, though I was sure she'd made up her mind already. When I'd talked things out with Maureen, I'd been the same. I'd loved her and we both wanted the hope in the background of our lives that it would continue. Now I loved Bobbi and life was repeating itself.
”Look, you need to see exactly what it's like for me. I want you to know the worst of it, and then if you still feel the same-”
”What are you talking about?”
”I want to take you to the Stockyards. I think you need to see what it is that I have to do every few nights.”
”You want to show me how you eat?”
Things twisted inside. ”I don't eat, Bobbi. I open up a vein in a live animal with my teeth and drink its blood.”
She s.h.i.+fted around a little and crossed her arms, prepared for hostilities. ”Are you trying to put me off?”
”I'm trying to give you an idea of what it's like to live this way.”
”And painting anything but a rosy picture about it. Don't you think you're being too hard on yourself?”
”Well, I-”
” And pa.s.sing that att.i.tude on to me is hardly fair to either of us.”
”Uh...”
”Exactly,” she said. ”Now, how about some straight honesty? Is what you do really so horrible? What happens to the cow after you're through with it?”
”Well, nothing. I don't drain them dry, you know.”
”I didn't know, but I'm not too surprised or you'd have to have a hollow leg. As for the cow, she hangs around in a smelly pen until driven to the slaughterhouse, then some guy smacks her between the eyes with a sledgehammer. Depending on how she's processed, sooner or later she ends up on my dinner table. Does that make me better than you just because I pay to have someone else do the dirty work?”
I'd thought the whole business out before, but had never applied such logic specifically to Bobbi. She had me cold and she knew it. She smiled as the dawning finally broke on me.
Somehow things didn't seem so hard, after all.
Chapter Eight.
WE SPENT A little more time talking and decided to postpone our Stockyards visit for some other night. Bobbi was physically and emotionally exhausted and I wanted her to sleep on things. My own trip there could not be put off, though. I was getting nerved up and had to concentrate on simple tasks-indications that I badly needed my long drink. After seeing her to bed, I drove straight over.
I'd purposefully overfed last time and it had bought me an extra hunger-free night. The tiny amounts I took from Bobbi also helped to some degree, but were really insufficient to maintain me. Earlier, when my lips were on her throat, it had taken a conscious effort on my part not to go in a little deeper. The temptation had certainly been present, and this time it had been very difficult to end things and pull away. When hungry, my body only knew that blood was blood, whether acquired by feeding off cattle or through s.e.x with Bobbi. The very real possibility existed that I might lose control and continue taking from her past the point of safety. To prevent that, I wanted to be well supplied from a less fragile, more bountiful source.
Again, I parked on a different street from my last visit, ghosted in, and did what I had to do. Bobbi's logic floated through my mind as I knelt and drank. Talking things over with her made one h.e.l.l of a difference; tonight was the first time I admitted to myself that I enjoyed the taste of the animal's blood. It is different from human blood, like the difference between milk and champagne: one nourishes and the other leaves you high as a kite. Tonight I'd had the best of both.
The feeling lasted until I was back on the street again and walking to my car. I was walking, seeing things, thinking thoughts, and Sandra Robley was dead, her inert body awaiting its turn for the autopsy table. Some b.a.s.t.a.r.d had shut her down.
G.o.d knows why; there's never a good reason to be a victim.
I got in and drove half a block on an impulse. It paid off. The lights of Escott's second-floor office were glowing. Parked near his door, just behind his own huge Nash, was one of the newer Lincolns. It was really too late for him to be interviewing clients, so his visitor was probably connected with the murder investigation in some way. I shut down my motor and softly approached the building. Beneath his window, open to catch the night breeze, I could listen in on their conversation.
”... anything, absolutely anything at all, I would be very grateful to know about it.”
”Do you wish to retain my services, then?” Escott asked.
Inasmuch as you are connected with this... this terrible business.”
A drawer slid open. ”Very well. Here is my standard contract. It's fairly straightforward. I cannot make you any promises, and in a case such as this I am under strict limitations. If I should find evidence pointing to a specific person's guilt I am legally bound to turn it immediately over to the police.” He sounded extremely formal and was uncharacteristically discouraging, an indication he was not happy with his latest employer.
” You mean you think Alex did it?”
”I have no opinion one way or another, I merely follow a line of inquiry until all questions are answered.”
I lost the reply, because by then I was walking up the covered stairs to the office.
Two raps on the frosted gla.s.s of the outer door seemed sufficient to announce me, and I was inside, matching interested looks with Leighton Brett. His big frame and expensive clothes made him look out of place in the inst.i.tutional wood chair opposite Escott's equally plain desk.
He was puzzled by my showing up, but it s.h.i.+fted into acceptance when Escott greeted me and explained I was an a.s.sociate.”I thought you were a writer,” said Brett, turning it into a friendly jibe.
”Only on my days off. This is what puts bacon on the table.”