Vegas Blues: A Boy Named Sue2
John felt a chill but welcomed it. At least the morgue was cool. He could feel his sweat drying on his skin as he stood, eying the body on the table. It was cut open. What was left of the organs were being weighed and tested by an Asian woman. For some reason John had expected a rather whiny blond woman, but instead it was the usual lead coroner.
Doctor DeMouy moved with brisk efficiency. Saw him standing there. "I can't tell you the TOD or even how this poor soul died. The corpse is too atrophied and the elements have obscured all trace of identity. We're running dental now but the tissues are so dessicate we've only got a partial DNA. I can tell you he's been out there for at least six months, if not longer. And if I didn't know any better I'd say he was sucked dry."
John blinked. A memory surfaced, was gone before he could make any sense of it. "Sucked dry?" he repeated, dubious.
"Yes." The woman adjusted the glasses on her nose. "I'm not saying there's a vampire loose in Vegas but there's something."
"Something?"
"Yes. What puzzles me is how this body was buried so deeply and then discovered in a paleontology dig."
"They were tearing up the area for a new transformer to replace those old power lines. Then they found a prehistoric bone and called the museum. The paleontologists found the body."
"I can tell you he's been dead for six months or more. I'll have more when the test results get back to me."
John nodded. "What's that?" He pointed. There was a weird pattern on what was left of the chest skin. Despite the wrinkles and almost papery appearance wounds could be discerned. Odd round marks in a semi-circular pattern.
"I don't know." She turned to the corpse. Moved closer. Drew the overhead light down to illuminate the markings. "Some kind of indentations...possibly from scavengers or equipment. Perhaps a tattoo? It almost looks like..." She held her hand over the body. Fingers poised over the round markings. She dropped her hand to her side, shaking her head at her folly. Looked over to see John staring, a pensive expression on his face. "Have you seen this before, John?"
John opened his mouth to answer. Closed it. "No," he finally decided, voice gruff. He turned to go. Turned back. "Did you find any foreign substances?"
"Like drugs? No. There's so little fluid left in him I can't even tell you his blood type. He's been drained dry."
"Any kind of radiation?" he asked suddenly, without knowing why. A headache was slowly forming in his temples.
"No. Nothing like that. Why would ask that?"
John shrugged. Honestly couldn't answer. He stood a moment, eyes on the corpse. The skin dried, stretched taut over the screaming jaw, the wide eyesockets staring vacant. The odd marks on the chest. Nothing more than a husk now, a bag of bones to be tossed like so much garbage. Abruptly he left without another word.
"Another." John gestured. Watched the amber liquid fill the shot glass. The bar was a dark haven of blackness and obscurity against the bright lights of Vegas. It was dingy, a hole in the wall where tourists feared to tread. It was perfect.
The headaches were back. Pain in his temples as his memories fought and floated to the surface.
He downed a couple of aspirin, chased them with the shot of whiskey. He licked his lips as the warmth burned its way down him. He glanced at the bar's mirrors. At his reflection. He looked weary. Worn out. Like a dish towel used and then thrown away. He tapped his glass again. Watched the amber liquid fill the glass once more. Downed it in a long, satisfied swallow.
He turned to see women watching him. Waiting. Some familiar. Some not. All scantily clad. All inviting him with a tilt of the head. A smile. A turn of the hip. Offering a pleasant distraction from his thoughts. His phone vibrated. He ignored it. Deciding. Gestured to one and moved to his feet.
Moira cursed. Stared accusingly at her phone. "Why give me your number if you're not going to answer!" she fumed at the device. She set down the phone. Scowling as she stood in the lab. Staring at the data obtained from the skull and skeleton that were safely locked away in an air-tight drawer. She was astonished at the findings. But truth be told she was more astonished at the detective she had met. His rumpled attire. His offhand manner. His drop dead gorgeous looks and somewhat standoffish personality. Although he had been civil enough with her. Had even smiled.
She dwelt on that a moment, then shook herself out of the sensual reverie. Grabbed the phone. Hit redial. Again there was no answer, not even voice mail. Nothing. Scowling she eyed his card again. Decided to call the precinct and see if they knew where he could be found.
The phone was vibrating again. So much so it stuttered across the bedside table. Fell onto the floor.
"What was that?" asked the woman prone beneath John.
"Nothing. Nothing at all," he replied, pushing her onto her back once more.
Moira stared up at the seedy hotel, disbelief vying with disgust. She hadn't believed the man at the precinct who had directed her here. Wondered if it was a practical joke. She entered the dingy lobby. Passed a few bums and hookers on her way to the desk. "Um...I..."
"We only rent rooms by the hour, honey," the seedy proprietor informed with a smile. Revealing a few missing teeth. His bald spot gleamed under the one working light above the desk. "Whaddya want?"
"I'm looking for Detective Sheppard," she managed to state. Trying not to stare round.
The man snorted. "Another one? Well, you seem classier than most. Fourth floor. Room 405. He's got one now so you may have to wait."
"What? I'm not a, a, a hooker!" Moira spluttered, blushing. Outraged.
"Oh, that's right, we only have ladies here." He laughed, snorting again.
Moira glared. She climbed the stairs, anger guiding her. Nearly marched to the room. Hesitated. Glancing up and down the darkened hallway. The ratty carpet under her feet. The peeling paint on the walls. She banged her fist on the door. The gold numbers trembled as if in fear of her wrath. "Sheppard! Detective Sheppard!"
"Shit." John's arm was dangling over the edge of the bed in a vain attempt to grab his phone when Moira's voice penetrated. He sighed. Rolled onto his back and sat to pull on his boxer shorts. Pulled on his shirt but didn't bother to button it. He moved to the door, opened it. Smiling at her wide-eyed expression. "Yeah?" he asked, as if she had interrupted nothing extraordinary. Or embarrassing.
Moira stared, dumbfounded. John's dark brown hair was deliciously mussed. Brilliant green eyes full not of annoyance but merriment. Handsome face shadowed by stubble. Perfect full lips forming a smirk. His long, lean but muscled body filling the door frame as he lounged there, one arm half-raised, hand on the wall. As if oblivious. Silver hair glinted among the darker chest hairs. Circular scars marred his chest and torso. Her gaze followed the shirt's opening, followed the trail of dark, coarse hair down to his purple boxer shorts which were perilously poised on his narrow hips. The prominent bulge there revealing exactly what she had interrupted, as if his disarray hadn't already told her. Long legs and bare feet completed the picture.
He made a sound, clearing his throat. "Yeah?" he repeated. Enjoying both her consternation and her bold appraisal.
She met his gaze abruptly. Felt a blush and scowled at him. "Why don't you answer your phone? No," she held up a hand before he could answer, "I can see you are busy." Her gaze shot past him, over his shoulder as motion caught her eye. She met his gaze again. "I need to show you something in the lab. And no, I couldn't tell you over the phone, or send you a picture because of the nature of the data."
John smiled. She was flustered, angry, attracted all at once. His gaze flicked down to her breasts still encased in the khaki shirt she had been wearing at the excavation site. Down to her crotch as he wondered if she was reacting the way he was. His cock was hardening under her scrutiny, under her chagrin. To his disappointment the tight khaki shorts had been replaced by a pair of faded jeans. He met her gaze again, staring at her long, long hair as it billowed loose around her. Tempting his fingers with its silky softness. "Okay. Give me five."
"Five?" She glanced down to see the bulge in his shorts was larger. Longer. "You better make it ten, Sheppard, with that fucking thing! I'll be waiting in the lobby downstairs!"
He laughed. "I know where the lobby is."
"Good! Now take care of that before you trip over it!"
He laughed heartily as she glared, whirled and stomped down the hallway. Watched her leave, admiring the jeans hugging her rear, the way her hair swayed from side to side in time to her hips until she disappeared around the corner. He grinned. Shut the door as a hand slid up his back.
"Honey? Who was that?"
John turned to view the naked woman. "Work. Gotta go."
"Go? Not with this, sweetie." She smiled, catching hold. Caressing. Moving to her knees in front of him, tugging down his shorts.
"I gotta go to work to oh fuck," he sighed as she went to work on him. With a wry smile he shrugged. Surrendered. Enjoyed.
She freed him to smile up at him. "Don't worry, honey, I won't charge you for this."
