Bloodsucking fiends: a love story

gruff, "Flood, don't think you can use a wiggle and a wink to get yourself out of this. That might work down on Castro, but I'm immune to it here, you got me? I'm going to leave now, but when I come back, if you haven't told my partner your story, I'm going to cause pain. Lots of it, and I won't leave a mark on you." He stood up, smiled, then turned and left the room.
    Tommy looked at Rivera. "A wiggle and a wink?"
    "Nick thinks you're cute," Rivera said.
    "He's gay?"
    "Completely."
    Tommy shook his head. "I would have never guessed."
    "He's a Shriner, too." Rivera tapped a cigarette out of his pack and lit it. "Looks can be deceiving."
    "Hey, I didn't think you were allowed to smoke in here."
    Rivera blew smoke in Tommy's face. "You had two people in your freezer, and you're giving me shit about smoking."
    "Good point."
    Rivera sat down and leaned back in the chair. "Tommy, I'm going to give you one more chance to tell me how you killed those people, then I'm going to let Nick back in here and I'm going to leave. He really likes you. This room is soundproof, you know."
    Tommy swallowed hard. "You're not going to believe me. It's a pretty fantastic story. There's supernatural stuff involved."
    Rivera rubbed his temples. "Satan told you to do it?" he said wearily.
    "No."
    "Elvis?"
    "I told you, it's supernatural."
    "Tommy, I'm going to tell you something I've never told anyone before. If you repeat it, I'll deny I said it. Five years ago I saw a white owl with a seventy-foot wingspan swoop out of the sky and pluck a demon off a hillside and take off into the sky."
    "I heard that cops get the best drugs," Tommy said.
    Rivera got up. "I'm going to bring Nick in."
    "No, wait. I'll tell you. It was a vampire. You can thaw Jody out and ask her."
    Rivera reached over and turned on the tape recorder. "Now slow down. Start at the beginning and go until we walked you into this room."
    An hour later Rivera met Cavuto behind the one-way mirror. Cavuto was not happy. "You know, I'd rather you just threaten that I would beat him up."
    "It worked, didn't it?"
    "There's nothing there we can use. Not a thing. If he sticks with that story he'll get off on insanity. It's too wild. I want to know how he got the blood out of the bodies."
    "The kid thinks he's a writer. He's showing off his imagination. Let's let him sit awhile and get something to eat. I want to find the Emperor."
    "That wacko?"
    "He's been reporting seeing a vampire for weeks. Maybe he saw the kid doing one of the murders."

Chapter 29 – Paying Respects
    Gilbert Bendetti liked his job, really liked his job. It was a government job, of sorts, so the benefits were good and the work easy. He liked working nights, too, it was quiet and he was usually in the morgue by himself, so he didn't have to feel self-conscious about his weight or his bad skin. He liked playing with computers and the lab equipment, and he liked answering the phone and acting official. Being the night man at the coroner's office would have been a great job even if he didn't get to fuck the dead, but with that, it was heaven.
    Tonight Gilbert was bubbling with anticipation. They had wheeled Miss Right in that afternoon and left him explicit instructions not to put her away, but to let her sit out to thaw for the autopsy. Some psycho had put her in a freezer. Sick bastard had put TV dinners under her arms. Now she was curled up on a gurney, teasing him. That cocktail dress, that red hair – he could hardly wait.
    He checked the log and locked his skin books in the desk drawer, then loosened his lab coat and went down the hall to test her for flexibility. The last time he checked she'd started to get a little flexibility, but he knew that inside she was – well – frigid, despite the Salisbury-steak gravy dripping from under her arms.
    He pushed through the glass door into the holding room and there she was, just as he had left her, her pouty lips beckoning to him, her lovely legs curled up behind her.
    "My angel," Gilbert said, "shall I help you with those pesky panty hose?"
    He straightened her legs on the gurney and pushed her skirt up. She was still a little chilly, but she was movable. Good, once rigor mortis set in, passion could put you into positions that would challenge a yoga master. Gilbert had thrown his back out more than once.
    Her panty hose were sheer black, but except for her right big toe, her feet were dusty. She must have been walking in her stocking feet. Indulging himself in