Free You Suck by Christopher Moore

first place people checked for jobs, apartments, or nearly everything.)
    “We’re not putting an ad on Craig’s List. Look, Tommy, we have more things to do than we have time. You can clean the loft and go get the laundry done and I’ll get us an onion.”
    “Minion,” he corrected.
    “What ever. I love you,” she said.
    Bitch! He was vanquished. Unfair . “I love you, too.”
    “I’ll take one of the disposable cell phones you bought. You can call me anytime.”
    “They’re not even activated yet.”
    “Well, get on that, buddy. The sooner I get out there and find someone, the sooner I can get back here for some hot monkey love.”
    She has absolutely no sense of ethics, he thought. She’s a monster. And yet, there she is, only a few dress straps from being naked.
    “Okay,” he said. “Don’t step on the huge cat on the way out.”
     
    J ody had only been gone twenty minutes before Tommy decided that cleaning and laundry sucked and that he could find a minion as well as she could, even if he didn’t look as hot in a little black dress. He was careful not to wake Chet and William on his way out.

She Walks in Beauty
    J ody moved down Columbus Avenue with long, runway-model strides, feeling the windblown fog brush by her like the chill ghosts of rejected suitors. What she could never teach Tommy, what she could never really share with him, was what it felt like to move from being a victim—afraid of attack, the shadow around the corner, the footsteps behind—to being the hunter. It wasn’t the stalking or the rush of taking down prey—Tommy would understand that. It was walking down a dark street, late at night, knowing that you were the most powerful creature there, that there was absolutely nothing, no one, that could fuck with you. Until she had been changed and had stalked the city as a vampire, she never realized that virtually every moment she had been there as a woman, she had been a little bit afraid. A man would never understand. That was the reason for the dress and the shoes—not to attract a minion, but to throw her sexuality out there on display, dare some underevolved male to make the mistake of seeing her as a victim. Truth be told, although it had come down to confrontation only once, and then she’d been wearing a baggy sweatshirt and jeans, Jody enjoyed kicking ass. She also enjoyed—every bit as much—just knowing that she could. It was her secret.
    Without fear, the City was a great sensual carnival. There was no danger in anything she experienced, no anxiety. Red was red, yellow didn’t mean caution, smoke didn’t mean fire, and the mumbling of the four Chinese guys standing by their car just around the corner was just the click and twang of empty swinging dick talk. She could hear their hearts speed up when they saw her, could smell sweat and garlic and gun oil coming off them. She’d learned the smell of fear and imminent violence, too, of sexual arousal and surrender, although she’d have been hard-pressed to describe any of that. It was just there. Like color.
    You know…
    Try to describe blue.
    Without mentioning blue.
    See?
    There weren’t a lot of people out on the street at this time of night, but there were a few, spread up the length of Columbus: barhoppers, late diners just wrapping it up, college boys heading down to the strip clubs on Broadway, the exodus from Cobb’s Comedy Club up the street, people giddy and so into the rhythm of laughing that they foundone another and everything they saw hilarious—all of them vibrant, wearing auras of healthy pink life, trailing heat and perfume and cigarette smoke and gas held through long dinners. Witnesses.
    The Chinese guys weren’t harmless, by any means, but she didn’t think they’d attack her, and she felt a twinge of regret. One of them, the one with the gun, yelled something at her in Cantonese—something sleazy and insulting, she could tell by the tone. She spun as she walked, smiled her biggest red