Chapter 38

Cruising

Intro Song: Bad Day, Daniel Powter

This was never going to be a good day anyway, Beth told herself after she hung up with Mick. Seeing Marissa's face pop up on her phone's glossy black surface confirmed it. Almost immediately, however, she felt disloyal and ashamed of the thought. She loved Marissa like a sister, but sometimes sisters could get on a person's last nerve…She definitely didn't feel like she was prepared to deal with her today, but her sense of duty to their friendship prevented her from dodging the call. She thumbed the connection, reflexively dropping her forehead into her hand, in anticipation of a headache.

"Hi, Marissa. How are you?"

"Hey, girl! Just had a date cancel – I wanted to see if you might be at loose ends tonight! I was hoping that 'man-god' might have a stakeout to spy on some hot couple cheating on their spouses or something, so we could grab a drink."

Beth told herself that she really should do something to occupy her time until Mick got home, but just the thought of trying to keep up with an alcohol-influenced Marissa, making small talk and dodging questions about her relationship with Mick, exhausted her.

"Marissa, I'd love to, but I can't. Mick and I are tied up, something that's been in the works for a while." That much isn't a lie. "How about Thursday night?"

"Sure, girlfriend, works for me. Have I got a story to tell you!"

Beth had to laugh at that, picturing her friend, dark eyes dancing, as she told yet another of her outrageous stories. "You always have a story to tell, that's one of the things I love about you." She started to say goodbye, but Marissa stopped her.

"Hey, Beth, before you go…have you talked to Alison since our lunch on Saturday?"

No, why?! Please tell me everything is okay, Marissa!" Beth felt a pang as she thought of Alison's happiness when she shared her news with them over the weekend. She had been so caught up in her own concerns, she had neglected her newly-pregnant friend.

"No, no! Don't worry." Marissa was quick to reassure her friend. "She's fine - that is, if you define spending most of your time with your head in the toilet as 'fine'. She's just got a bad case of morning-noon-and-night sickness. I think she'd appreciate a call. She wants to moan about it." She laughed. "You know how Alison is about being sick."

Beth did, indeed.

Alison was just this side of irrational about her health, thinking that every little twinge needed medical attention. It was an odd quirk for a scientist. Marissa had given her a book for Christmas a few years back, entitled "The Complete Manual of Things That Might Kill You: A Guide to Self-Diagnosis for Hypochondriacs." Alison had been huffy about the gift, but Dara, her wife, had laughed until she cried.

Beth could only imagine how Alison would be now that she was pregnant, and voiced this thought to Marissa.

"She is exactly how you would expect her to be. Exactly. Call her and see," Marissa replied cryptically before hanging up.

Well, at least it'll be a diversion, Beth thought, punching in Alison's number.

"Hello?" gasped a weak voice.

Beth barely recognized her friend. "Alison?! Are you okay?"

The pregnant woman groaned. "Yeah, I'm okay...I guess. Just a touch of morning sickness."

"It's afternoon, Alison."

"Very funny. Bitch."

Beth couldn't stifle her laughter any longer; it took her several seconds to regain her composure. "Alison, I'm so sorry, I am."

"Why... " There was a long pause, during which her friend's swallowing was audible. "Why don't I believe that?"

"I'm sorry I laughed - and I really am sorry you're feeling so bad." Beth tried to inject as much sincerity into her voice as possible, a difficult task given the fact that she was biting the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing again.

"Okay, you're forgiven." The scientist's voice had a hollow, far-away quality.

"Where are you, Alison? Your voice sounds strange."

"Maybe that's because my phone's in the toilet." There was a groan.

"Why in the world is your phone in the toilet?"

"Hell, I don't know, Beth. Maybe I was trying to get better reception!" Alison snapped. "It's where my head is, you idiot."

Beth lost her last bit of self-control and started howling helplessly with laughter. She faintly heard her friend's voice saying "Screw you, Beth," then the distinctive sound of a toilet flushing before the call was disconnected. The sound effect sent her off again.

It took her several minutes to regain her composure, by which time her face and sides ached from laughing. I needed that... Her thought was interrupted by a familiar voice.

"Are you okay, Beth?"

Wiping her eyes, the young woman looked up into her office mate's concerned face. "Hey, Phil! I didn't hear you come up. I'm fine - thanks for asking. Just had a...hysterical…conversation with a pregnant friend. Oh, and thanks for letting me use your charger again this morning. You are a life-saver. I can't believe I forgot to charge it again!" Get it together, Beth...

"No problem. Well," he nodded toward Talbot's empty office, "I'm gonna take advantage of Dickbot not being in the office this afternoon. You know, make like a banana and split." With a wave of his hand, Phil sauntered off.

Everyone is a comedian today. Beth watched him go, mentally running through her 'to-do' list. Finding nothing on it that was pressing enough to keep her in the office any longer, she shoveled her files into a drawer and locked it for safekeeping. "I think I'll be a banana split too," she muttered under her breath. It struck her as odd, however, that she had no idea where Talbot was or when he'd be returning.

Victoria pushed the button to open the top of her custom-built, double-wide freezer, the lid retracting smoothly and silently on its stainless steel runners, triggering the silencing of the music that piped into the enclosure when the freezer was sealed.

The confrontation with Durin Scanlin in the early morning hours kept replaying in her head. She regretted allowing him to goad her into losing her temper in front of the vampire council. They all knew Durin and his propensity for drama and self-aggrandizing, of course, but it didn't help her case to have them see her fly off the handle like that, regardless of the provocation. "Well, at least he's gone now," she muttered. But for how long? Bad pennies like him had a nasty habit of showing back up.

The council had agreed to reconvene Thursday night to interrogate the surviving member of the team that had attacked Scanlin. She had asked for that extra time in order to 'prepare' the prisoner for the meeting.

Centuries of watching the cruelties that humans inflicted on one another had given her insight into the workings of men's minds - along with some first-hand knowledge of effective torture techniques. When Gabrielle had hauled the bloody, terrified young man in front of her early Monday morning, Victoria had recognized the signs of a man in utter shock.

He should be terrified - but clear-headed - when she questioned him, and nothing she could do or say would frighten him as much as his own imagination. He just needed time to steep in his fear.

She had ordered Gabby to throw him in a reinforced room in the skyscraper where they had met with the council. Like the condo hi-rise where the meeting with Scanlin had occurred, this office building was owned by the New York City community under the cover of a shell corporation Victoria had set up more than a half-century before. In addition to serving as a useful home office for human business interactions, it was often used as a base for operations and planning meetings, especially when the Eastern Council was meeting. As far as Victoria was concerned, it was the most secure place in the city.

Before the petite Asian woman hauled her captive away, Victoria had leaned in until she was almost nose to nose with him.

"Mr...Engels, is it?" she had asked, shooting a quick glance at Gabrielle, standing by the side of the chair where the man slumped. Gabby had nodded curtly back at the vampire leader. Transferring her attention back to the cowering man, Victoria had resumed. "Mr. Engels, I want you to think very long and hard about what you've been involved in. We do not choose to be the demons your organization would have you believe we are - but, I can assure you that we can be when the situation calls for it."

"For example, Gabrielle here," she had nodded at the vampire holding the cowering man by the back of his neck, "is a lovely young woman, but I believe you saw first hand how ruthless she can be when threatened. You are the only surviving member of your little party. I will allow you some time to think about that. Think about what you've seen and the situation you find yourself in. Then, I'm going to ask you some questions...and it will be in your best interests to answer them fully and truthfully."

She had smiled at the young man who shrank back in his chair, away from the blue-white eyes and gleaming fangs of the vampire who suddenly appeared in front of him in place of the elegant woman who had been standing there a moment before.

Backing away from Victoria, he had shrieked, "Don't touch me! Don't touch me, you monster!" and collapsed onto the floor, covering his head with his hands. Disgusted, Gabrielle had hauled him up by the back of his collar and propelled him out the door in front of her.

He had been cooling his heels in isolation ever since, alone in a heavily guarded room. You should be just about softened up enough by now, she thought, with a sigh for what lay ahead. Torturing humans was definitely not on her list of fun activities...

The beautiful vampire sat up and reached for the floor-length cashmere robe carelessly tossed on the antique bench by the side of the freezer and shrugged into it. Well, we have to have answers... Stepping out of the out-size appliance, she scanned the bank of security camera screens while she belted the soft, deep red material around her slender body.

Seeing nothing out of the ordinary on the monitors, she headed toward the bathroom, separated from her freezer room by a reinforced steel door. Once through the doorway, the entrance to her freezer room was concealed by a wall of shelving and art work in the elaborate bathroom.

Josef had poked fun at her security measures on more than one occasion. I wonder if he'd still make fun of me now. The thought of the elder vampire, and his apparent abandonment of her, made Victoria hurt all over again - an ache she intended to channel to her benefit.

"You wanna toss that stuff in the back?"

They were already gliding down the 10 Freeway East when Carl noticed his passenger was still hoarding his hat and thermos in the front seat.

"Oh… sure, thanks." Mick threw his cap on the rear seat, but handled his beverage container far more carefully, reaching back to set it down cautiously on the floor behind the driver's seat - within easy reach, if need be. "Been having some stomach issues. Beth has me trying some new liquid protein deal so I promised her I'd take it along."

Carl hadn't asked, but Mick knew cops. His noticing - and taking the trouble to mention - the thermos meant he would think about it unless, or until, he came up with an explanation.

"Speaking of... how's she doing?" Carl paused. "Seemed like she went through a rough patch with…you know." He caught the P.I.'s eye.

Mick shrugged. "She's - well, she's Beth. One of the strongest people I know. It took her a while to come to grips with what happened - bad enough to lose someone you love, but when you have to see them murdered right in front of you... She's tough, though." He trailed off, momentarily silent as he thought back to that awful night after Josh died. Beth had been inconsolable and attacked him for not being willing to turn Josh to save him. She'd asked him if he would have saved her if she had been the one near death. He wasn't sure what answer she was looking for, but he'd responded honestly at the time. He'd told her he would have let her die as he had Josh, rather than inflict the curse of vampirism on her. He'd meant it then, but now, after just a short time of being together, he wasn't so sure.

His answer had prompted her to ask why he went on living if he hated what he was so much. He didn't answer her that night – and he still hadn't. You. You make me want to, Beth.

"I've noticed." Carl said dryly. "She's like a dog with a bone when she's working on something. I guess she's tough on the outside and soft on the inside? That's how it usually works."

"She blamed me for a while." Mick had no idea why he divulged that to Davis and immediately wished that he could retract the statement. The words seemed to come out of his mouth without his knowledge or consent.

Carl kept his gaze straight ahead. "You can't take that personally, Mick. She had to yell at someone - and she can't punch out the whole universe. So... she did the next best thing – take it out on someone she knew she could trust." His mouth twisted wryly. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. Sounds too much like lecturing. I know you understand that... doesn't stop you from feeling like shit when it happens, though."

"Yeah, I got that." Mick didn't say anything else for a long moment, staring out the side window, picturing Beth's face when he visited her the night of Josh's murder. Then, he shrugged again. "I said she was tough - but she is still female, so..." Uncomfortable with the conversation, he fell silent, at a loss to explain why he'd volunteered such personal information.

To change the subject, he asked, "Mind if I turn on the radio?"

"Sure, go ahead." Carl caught Mick's shift in mood. The detective understood his companion's reticence, especially given that they were still practically strangers. "I just wanna say one more thing... don't think you're telling me anything I haven't heard or been through before. I got my own personal war stories where women are concerned and I'm pretty sure they'd put anything Beth has said or done at her worst, to shame."

Mick hesitated. Most men would ask to hear those war stories and commiserate, telling some of their own. You aren't most men, he reminded himself. The last thing he needed was to get into personal discussions with Carl Davis. That path was fraught with danger. Instead, he fiddled with the radio, searching among the satellite stations to find a jazz channel he liked.

"So... you're into George Benson?"

Mick was momentarily taken aback. "Huh? Oh, you mean at my place... yeah. I just needed something light to clear my head." He kept scanning the stations until he found what he wanted.

"That okay?" he asked, as the gravely voice of B.B. King filled the cabin.

Carl relaxed back into the driver's seat with a grin. "Hell, yeah!"

Mick was pleasantly surprised by their similar taste in music. This was safer ground, much less likely to shift under his feet, like a sudden California earthquake. "You like the King, huh?"

The lieutenant's brow furled in a look of true befuddlement. "You mean... someone doesn't?!" He shook his head. "No such people are allowed in my reality. I would clearly have nothing in common with them."

Mick snorted. "You haven't been around many teenagers and young adults in a while, have you? Half of them can't even spell 'B.B. King'."

Carl laughed out loud. "Damn, don't get me started on - how does my dad put it? Oh yeah - 'the vapid cultural wasteland that is modern America'."

"Well, it's not all their fault - kids just aren't being exposed to the right things. My father would never have let me grow up without knowing good jazz." Again, Mick wondered why he was saying these things, providing opportunities for Carl to ask him about his past, his family, his upbringing... all topics that were off limits when talking to untrusted humans.

If the detective noticed anything odd, he didn't comment on it. "My old man is a jazz nut too. Has every album ever made by Miles Davis - the original versions, mind you." He smiled broadly as he smoothly eased the Escalade to the passing lane. "Miles Davis, blasting out of my car stereo, the summer I graduated from high school - man, those were good times!"

"Miles is smooth as silk," Mick agreed. "I loved his music from the first time I heard it. And, think of all the great musicians who got their start in his ensembles! Gotta admire your dad for assembling that collection."

Carl's expression downshifted slightly. "Yeah... nice to know me and the old man have something in common..."

Mick studied his driver out of the corner of his eye. "But not everything, right?"

Davis shook his head, as if trying to erase something. "Sorry... you don't want to hear about that. Besides, my folks frown upon 'airing dirty laundry' - you know how people from the South are."

The vampire stared out his window. "I'd guess that your story and mine wouldn't be a whole lot different. I think a lot of men have problems with their fathers... much as we might love them."

Carl smirked. "Yeah... dads... and women... that's why God made scotch..."

Mick whipped his head back around to the detective. "God, yes! Single malt is one of the biggest reasons to love life."

"Okay, pop quiz. Complete this list: single malt scotch - 25 years old at least, a leather chair - well worn, of course... low lighting..."

"...a Cohiba and jazz." Mick grinned as he finished the sentence. This trip wasn't turning out to be nearly as painful as he had anticipated.

Davis's smile was an echo of his companion's. "Ah... but who? Miles, Coltrane, Byrd... or if you're really ready to cry in your drink... Billie Holiday."

Mick groaned. "Damn. You're putting me on the spot now. How about... all of them? You know, those Cohibas take a while to smoke... and it would be a damn shame to guzzle good scotch... so we're talking several hours of bliss here."

Carl nodded approvingly. "You're all right, St. John."

The vampire smiled sadly. In another life…in his old life…we could have been friends. "Yeah, you too, Davis."

Beth parked her Prius in front of her apartment building in one of the visitor slots to make transferring clothes to her car an easier process. Am I a visitor? The question, deceptively simple on the surface, had no easy answer. Biting her lip, she collected her purse and phone and headed to Apartment 5.

As usual, she had to fight with her lock to get into her apartment. "Maybe that electronic key isn't such a bad idea after all," she muttered as she tossed her keys onto the kitchen counter. Sniffing the air, she wrinkled her nose at the musty, unlived-in smell that the apartment had quickly acquired. That needed to be fixed right away. Striding over to the window on the wall behind her couch, she pushed it open, allowing fresh air to circulate in the sunny apartment. Beth surveyed the space as she pivoted around. Just a short time ago, it had seemed so much like home to her. Now, it felt like someone else's place.

She looked over the living room, wondering if she should bring any keepsakes back to Mick's. It would be nice to have a few personal items in the bedroom if she were going to be there for a what? What was that exercise? If there was a fire and you only had thirty seconds to get out of your house, what would you take?

Strolling into her bedroom, she opened the window there as well, the breeze stirring the gauzy curtains. The pictures on her dresser of her with her mom, caught her eye. I'll take those! Beth reached for the frames, then hesitated. Was that too presumptuous? Family pictures in frames were so... personal. And permanent.

Would Mick feel like she were overstepping her boundaries if she brought them? For that matter, what were her boundaries? Was she a house guest? In the Mick St. John version of a witness protection program? A lover who had assumed a permanent spot without an invitation? Or one that he had opened his heart and home to for good? She didn't know.

Deciding she needed a break, she headed into her tiny kitchen area. Grabbing a bottle of Arietta, her favorite merlot, she poured a glass. "To hell with giving it time to breath," she announced to the empty room. and plopped down on her couch. Raising the glass to toast her absent – and abstaining – friend, Alison, she said, "To friends and home." Do I even have a home anymore? She didn't know the answer to that question.

End song: The Perfect Game, The Cardigans