Yay for my new laptop, but so much for shipping in two days! Took a whole week. Even then they wouldn't deliver to my university flat, so I had to go to the post office and pick it up. Epic fail. On the plus side no more parting for me because I am officially skint.
So without further ado.
I am: The VII Duchess
Disclaimer: I do not own the plot or characters to the Twilight Saga, although this plot is mine.
Chapter Thirteen: Cosa Nostra
July 14th 1926
The warm stagnant air from the days soaring temperatures still lingered well into the darkness of the night, even the cover of the night did not elevate the humid sticky feeling. Crickets still buzzed and chirped from the shrubbery as the sun slowly met the horizon. Dusk painted the indigo sky with hues of pink and orange, as the night slowly killed away the light of day. I could ask for not better hunting weather, the heat and buzz in the atmosphere sent my prey out of hiding. Not even the prohibition law could keep the humans inside.
Sat upon the shores of the great lake and named after the large expanse of water the city of Erie was a prime location for the importation of alcohol from across the Canadian border. It may have not been the centre of attention in Pennsylvania, but there was no doubt the city was wet. People liked to keep their night time escapades separate from the day; it was easy to create a persona here.
Humans were gullible to start, mix in a little moonshine and they were stupid. All a gall had to do was show her gams and flutter her lashes. The food came running. For once being top of the food chain never felt so good.
There was one particular place downtown, behind the back of an old abandoned industrial warehouse and through a graffiti ridden wooden door. The Killarney Yacht Club. A notorious hot spot of Erie's own mobster culture, those who enjoyed the sound of dark sultry jazz and were not afraid to gamble their cash away. The hooch was imported from across the lake, served in expensive glasses with a wedge of lime and sold to gullible punters at inflated prices. Yet who was I to complain, it got my prey intoxicated and made my life so much easier. Not to mention mob talk was entertaining, so wrapped up in their little business to notice the seemingly innocent dame sitting on the bar stools plotting their own gruesome deaths.
The Peckerwood gang were regulars, having placed a claim upon the club after fighting another mob for the street rights. I doubted they would last long if I kept picking off their members at the rate I was going, but they always noticed me. Sitting on my bar stool in my short dress, a smile to a caught eye got me a drink. I would drink it for appearances. Followed by a meeting outside and dinner for my ravished appetite, plus a little bonus if they hadn't gambled all the money away. Something had to feed my exquisite taste in expensive clothing
And said clothes were currently being kept in a small townhouse just outside the central city area; said house belonged to a man who was on a...leave of absence. I wouldn't be able to stay here for long, no doubt when they realized the man had not returned from his 'holiday' people would come knocking. Yet for the moment it would do as a base.
My fingered grazed across the multitude of fabrics and stopped on a beautiful emerald chiffon dress. Its beaded hem fringe and faux jewels along the décolletage screamed with garish beauty. And yet I was completely enticed. It was short just reaching the top of my knee, but apparently this was the trend of the young fashionable. Who was I to deny myself the pleasure of fitting in? All it needed was a pair of chic lined stockings a dash of rouge upon my lips and a pair of heels. It seemed I was indeed ready for a night of debauchery.
I gave the yacht club a miss, after snacking on a high raked member of the Peckerwood gang a week ago and thought it best if they had a little time to regroup. Instead I headed straight to another bar named Laura's, situated in downtown north by the docklands.
The roads were still busy with motorcars, public trams and the odd cart. All still taking people to and fro the centre of the city. Main Street was a flow with nicely dressed people heading towards expensive looking venues, social groups gathered outside the lavish theater waiting for the next show. The marble clad building and its flashy neon signs advertised the wealth the city could boast. Even the simple working class could now buy their way into a slice of the high life; people had money and could afford luxury material possessions.
Even the likes of me; who had come to this fair city with nothing, would leave with a hefty sum to my name. As devastating as the war may have been, the country could not deny it had been beneficial to the economy. The exports to Europe had seen a steep increase and growth in the stock market; those who dared to gamble could make a pretty wage. Speculation was a full time job. I borrowed, invested, waited till the right moment then sold. Sometimes more than doubling the amount I started with. I had even set up a deal with my own stock broker in New York; he was closer to Wall Street than I could ever dream. With a deal of twenty percent between us I dare say he made quite the profit, yet it was impossible for me to operate my own finances in the light of day and in such a densely populated area. It would be utter carnage.
I had met Mister Swain on several occasions on his visits to Erie, always on an over cast day and under the guise of Mrs. Isabella Ritter. The wife of a prominent city banker and supervisor of her husband's financial dealings. Mister Ritter liked an upfront payment of cash, preferring to place his money in secure offshore account. Which happened to be a large leather suitcase under my bed, ready in case I needed to depart in a hurry. Of course my husband was never able to attend these meetings, but the large ring on my finger squashed any qualms of a lie. Who knew the ring I had carried with me so faithfully since my awakening could actually be of use.
That's just what I loved about the city; there was no need for forged papers or documents, elaborate back stories were taken on face value.
I dodged a cloud of tobacco smoke and ash as a woman carelessly flicked her cigarette to the side. Normally I went for wrong doing males, but if this harlot burnt my dress I had no worries in dragging her down an ally and drinking her dry. Lucky for her the tasteless dress she wore and ridiculous cheek stain had survived this time.
Upon walking past the grandeur of Main Street and merely a quarter of a mile later, I came into the docklands. Although its buildings were not as sleek as those in the city centre, it held an air of industrious beauty. The streets were cobbled and lined with numerous glass fronted shops, colorful awning creating ideal cover for elicit deals in the dark. Everything a human required to live in relative comfort and places I avoided.
It was hard to relate or understand such areas when you did not live the life of a human. Shopping for food was a bizarre and I had often stopped to watch humans carefully selecting their items from the stalls outside. They were picky and chose fruit and vegetables based on size and color. I too was particular about my own food, usually preying upon those who chose to defy the law.
And where better to find a decent meal than a speakeasy.
It was the deep bass of the jazz music that alerted my senses to my arrived destination. Conveniently situated down a narrow side ally and under the glare of its own neon sign, Laura's was hidden in plain sight under the pretence of a jazz hall. There were a couple of worn stone steps and a black cast iron hand rail framing the large metal door. But before one could even consider walking on through that door, they had to contend with a large and rather stocky door keeper.
The drag of his cigarette lit up the prominent features of his face and plunged the others into darkness. A cheap black suit barely covered the heaving and unnatural looking muscles around his torso, while there was not a wisp of hair upon his head. He leant casually against the brick wall continuing to take long puffs and blowing the smoke high into the air.
I gave an indignant little cough to gain his attention.
He lifted his gaze to meet mine before the milky blues of his eyes roamed over the rest of my body, taking in the expensive clothing that he had become so accustom to seeing with those who came to drink. The cigarette that had sat in between his lips was stubbed against the brick wall, before he pushed his weigh forward and came from the shadows.
"Now what's a pretty little dame like you doing round here?" He smirked, sticking his roughly callused hands deep within the pockets of the black suit.
"I've come to see the good doctor." I replied, allowing my white teeth to gleam with the smile I presented. The shiver that passed through the muscles along his neck and the hair that stood up along his nape all clear indication of the danger he faced. In response he stood straighter, pulled on the lapels of his jacket and tried to look as intimidating as possible. Before giving me an accepting nod and rapping his knuckles against the metal door, the threshold to sinners and drunks were wide open.
It was dimly lit, the stench of alcohol, smoke and humans putrefied the air. The bar to the left was long and made if a heavy duty wood, it shimmered with cheap gloss and scarred with numerous indents. Behind the bar on three large shelves were hundreds of bottles filled with colorful liquids, each one labeled with a legal soft drink name yet smelt of the foul stench of alcohol. Glasses and tumblers hung from a rack directly above the bar, it rocked back and forth as the bar staff repeatedly grabbed for one.
Opposite the bar were a mish mash of different shaped tables and odd chairs. Each one with a small flickering tea candle in a painted jar, some even had the odd flower in other strange containers. The room was alive with people drinking, smoking and listening to the loud roaring band playing from the stage. My coat was taken upon entry and I couldn't help but be a little flattered by the number of eyes that turned in my direction.
Although no petty gangs ran this part of the city it was comment knowledge the district came under the territory of the Italian Cosa Nostra, an organized group based primarily on a strict hierarchy and centered on a small group of related males. As modern as these people like to view themselves, behind the glamour of the speakeasy lay the dirt and corruption of illegal activities. Get into trouble with the wrong sorts of people and you'd simply disappear. It was easy pickings for my own business.
I was doing the city a favor, ridding it of those who did not abide by the law.
And for that service to the city I deserved to have a little fun, a table in the corner away from the bustling bar was a perfect place to scout for my meal. No sooner had I established myself; donning the perfect human façade, did a waiter appear at my table and place a drink down. The drink- identified as a Bronx- was by far the easiest to swallow; the sharp taste of the citrus masked the bitterness of homemade liquor.
It had been sent by an admirer at another table.
The sweet sickliness of the chemicals invaded my mouth and throat as I slipped delicately at the alcoholic beverage. Even that strange still wedge of lime that clung to the rim of my highball glass did nothing to improve the upset churn of my stomach. As much as I loved being able to openly exist in such an establishment; appearing almost human under the dim lights and smoky atmosphere, having to empty my stomach later was a pitiful consequence.
As the band started their latest rendition my eyes finally landed on him, my apparent admirer. Sat a mere three tables away and directly next to the stage, was the human male who had signed his own death certificate. There was no doubt in my mind that this particular individual was an office working city slicker, for there was not a callous upon his hands. He sat alone, gin in one hand cigarette in the other. A well cut expensive suit, shiny leather brogues. But for all this decoration there was no hiding the fact he was an average looking guy. A baby like face with ordinary features and dirty blonde hair that had been slicked back.
I watched the human male from underneath the thick black length of my lashes, calculating mentally how long it would be before the taste of alcohol was replaced with the crimson liquid I so craved. Judging by the state of the already swaying man not long. He tipped the remaining drink into his mouth, giving a small cough as it undoubtedly burned a little. Straighten the crook in his black tie and he proceeded to swaggered across from his table and too my own. Little did he know it would be like walking to the gallows. Yet he did not stop the alcohol in his system made him fearless.
"This seat taken doll?" He replied with a lazy pretence, but the tempo of his heart told another story.
"Not at all." I replied huskily, pushing out the wooden chair with my foot. Watching as he smirked in apparent triumph and sat in the seat next to me. I turned my attention from him and towards the band as they finished their rendition of Tiger Rag, joining the masses as they applauded a classic. Listening to a live jazz band was far more for filling than that of a scratchy record on a phonograph, one could feel the vibrations of the instruments and it seemed to spur me on.
"I haven't seen you around here before." He stated, managing to catch the eye of a passing waiter and ordering another drink. I took a small sip of my own, before replying.
"I'm new in town."
"British?" Baby face asked with a hint of surprise. The nod and smile I give was as sickly sweet as the beverage I was drinking. He grabbed the glass from the waiter as it arrived and that's when I saw it. The faint and almost untraceable band of light skin around the base of his second most ulnar finger, he was most probably a married man.
Let the games begin.
And end perfectly with his corpse bone dry and floating in the great expanse of Lake Erie.
I was doing the world a favour.
And no self-righteous vampire could tell me otherwise.
….