Three Things - Round 1

Dan Brown’s Davinci Code - Anemic Vampire Detective (Levon Kasabian) - 4 Kilos of Cocaine

                Leon slid into his office and flipped a switch. The light bloomed from the ceiling and the room came alive with color then back to blacks and grays when Leon slammed the switch back down. He cursed beneath his breath and held his head. Vertigo left his head swimming in a daze.

                Once he had adjusted, he moved around the room and pulled a step ladder from against the wall behind his desk. He carefully aligned it under the offending light panel in the ceiling and ascended. The plastic panel wobbled and made silly noises as he lifted and then removed it, gently placing it so that it leaned on the step ladder and was accessible. The fluorescent tube was still warm. Amy must have just left. He grabbed and twisted it so that the contacts were no longer touching.

                Someone cleared their throat below him. He’d forgotten to close the door. “A minute please.” He tried not to sound irritated but this was clearly not going to be a pleasant evening. He reached down for the plastic panel and caught a glimpse of his guest. A dark haired woman with a thick wool coat was standing before the threshold of his door. He wondered if she was like him. He always wondered if clients were like him.

                The plastic panel wobbled again as he lifted it over his head. It slipped back into place and he stepped down. “Come in and turn on the light.” He placed the step ladder behind his desk as the light buzzed on. The room was still quite bright but he could bear it. He dropped into his leather chair and dropped his fedora onto the desk.

                “Jesus you’re pale.” The woman observed. She was small but not thin. Her face had gentle curves to it, similar curves were hidden beneath layers of clothing but he could see she was beautiful. The dark hair was a glossy black falling in curls around her shoulders. He could smell her from across the room, a sort of fruity shampoo with a single spray of something vanilla, possibly a perfume. “Is that because of your,” She couldn’t say the words.

                “No, I was anemic before I turned, but I will say that I was less pale in life.”

                She slowly stepped forward, brave girl. “So then you’re really.”

                He hated this game. The clients who accepted it immediately or disregarded it were so much easier to work with. “Averse to sunlight, yes. Please, sit down.”

                She continued to watch him as she took a seat. He could see hesitation in the tiny movements invisible to the eyes of the living. She wanted to pull her collar closed to cover her neck but resisted.

                “Leon Kasabian. What is that?”

He hated small talk too. “Armenian.”

She nodded and looked away for a moment turning her head to the side. Realizing what she’d done, her head snapped forward and she clutched her collar.

He sighed heavily and grabbed his empty mug. “I’m a vampire. I’m also a leader in my community, a member of the PTA and a Buddhist.”

She chuckled, “Really?”

“No, I’m not in the PTA.” He smiled and she returned it.

“You’re really a Buddhist? Doesn’t immortality mean you cannot be reborn?” This amused her more than his joke.

“No, I do not age. Nowhere does it say that I cannot die.”

 “So it’s true then. You can be killed by things like stakes and sunlight.”

He rolled his eyes, “You need to read less Ann Rice. There’s a copy of the DaVinci Code on my shelf. You can borrow it sometime, broaden your literary spectrum.”

Her eyes narrowed and she leaned forward, “Listen jerk, this is new territory for me.”

The insult in her eyes was amusing. He leaned forward closing the distance between them. The scent of vanilla was stronger, the fruity shampoo overcome. Her lips were also a marvelous rustic red, the color of dried blood. “Tell me what you want.” He whispered it to her, lacing it with a hint of seductive suggestion.  

Her eyes closed for a moment, a brief second of something flashed in her mind, then they fluttered open and her breathing was heavier. The collar of her shirt hung open. He could smell the perfume now in full bloom. He closed his eyes and took it in and in the stillness, could hear her heart beating.

“I’m performing an investigation.” He opened his eyes, the serene moment was gone.

“You’re a badge.” He sat back.

“I’m a detective.” Her voice was more full now, the confidence of her position lending it stability.

“My door says detective too.” He motioned with a weak wave. Dealing with law enforcement always involved paperwork. The night was getting worse.

“You’re a private investigator.”

“Detective sounds classier and as you can see,” he covered his face with a hand then revealed his mouth, the two elongated canines smiled at her, “I’m very old fashioned.”

There was a tremor in her body, a physical shake to her confidence. “I’m investigating a series of homicides that center on some drug trafficking.”

Leon spun side to side in his chair and looked up at the ceiling. “Sounds very vanilla, why are you here?”

“The people trafficking it are involved in seedy dealings.” Her voice was raised, she was growing impatient.

“Aren’t they all?” He knew there was more but she was keeping him out. The bureaucracy of it was wearying.

“Occult dealings.”

He lowered his gaze and tilted his head, not amused.

“The last thing I can say is that the drugs they sell are not street grade. I have four pounds of cocaine that contains ground bone marrow sitting in evidence that has our techs getting nervous.”

That would make for an interesting high, for one of Leon’s kind.

“You want my experience.”

“I want your insight.”

He snorted, “Correcting me will be one of the things you’ll refrain from doing. You’ll more than likely just be repeating me.”

“You’ll have to fill out some paperwork.” Always with the paperwork.

“If I’m to work with you, I’ll need your name.”

She stood up and put out her hand, “Sandra Doors.”

He grabbed and shook, enjoying the bewilderment on her face as she felt the cold lifelessness of his skin. “A pleasure Sandra Doors.”