Free Vampire for Hire by J.R. Rain Page A

your boy is sick and you’re looking for a kidnapped girl, well, your humor is the first to go.
     
               “What, no ‘Werewolves of London’? No ‘ Arooo ’? You’re losing your touch, Sam.”
     
               “It’s not a good time, Kingsley.”
     
               “So serious. Okay, have it your way. Where will you be in about an hour?”
     
               “My best guess? In the face of some crackhead punk.”
     
               “A shakedown. Sounds exciting. Tell me about it.”
     
               I did. I also told him about my son.
     
               “Yeah, you’ve had a rough few days. How’s your son now?”
     
               “Sleeping last I heard.”
     
               “But you’re still worried.”
     
               “More than you know.” I paused, gathered my wits, and plunged on. “I see death around him, Kingsley.”
     
               “Death?”
     
               “A blackness. A coldness. A sort of dark halo that surrounds his body. I’m totally freaked out.”
     
               Kingsley was silent for a heartbeat or two. “He’ll be fine, Sam.”
     
               But I heard it in his voice. I heard the doubt.
     
               “You don’t believe that,” I said. Tears suddenly blurred my eyes. I was having a hard time keeping the van in the center of the lane. “And don’t deny it.”
     
               “Sam, I don’t know anything, okay? I’m not psychic. My kind are not traditionally psychic.”
     
               “But my kind is?”
     
               “Often. And you seem to be growing more psychic by the day.”
     
               “What do you know of the black halo? Tell me. Please.”
     
               “I know very little, Sam.”
     
               A nearly overwhelming sense of panic gripped me. “But you know it’s not good.”
     
               “I know nothing, Sam. Look, now is not a good time to talk about this. You’re driving. You’re helping this little girl. Let’s meet for drinks later this week, okay?”
     
               “Okay,” I said.
     
               “Good. And Sam?”
     
               “Yes?”
     
               “I care about you deeply. Your family, too. Everything will be okay. I promise.”
     
               I broke down, crying hard, and clicked off.
     
              
     
              
     
              
     
               Chapter Eighteen
     

     
              
     
              
     
               I pulled up to a squalid house in Buena Park, about a mile north of Knott’s Berry Farm. I sat in my minivan for a few minutes and took in the scene. Apartments across the street. A gang of Hispanic males a block away to the west. They were smoking and drinking and listening to music. The music pumped from a four-door sedan whose front end was hydraulically propped up off the ground two or three feet. The car looked ridiculous and cool at the same time. I wasn’t sure which. The gang ignored my van, which was probably a good idea. The last time I had a run-in with a Latino gang someone had died.
     
               And gotten himself drained of blood, too.
     
               The moon was obscured by a gauzy veil of clouds. The street had a mean feel to it. The area itself seemed malevolent, and I suspected this awareness was a result of my increased psychic abilities. I sensed death on this street. I sensed stabbings and robberies and harassment and fear. I sensed drug deals and drugs deals gone bad. I sensed a ramshackle attempt at organized crime. I sensed killers and victims. It was all here, infusing the air and the earth, the trees and the buildings. A calling card of hate for anyone sensitive enough to feel it. And I was sensitive enough. Perhaps too sensitive. The feeling was overwhelming. Energy crackled