Tomorrow's Dead: The Julia Poe Vampire Chronicles, page 15
***
Passionada asked Poe to remove her clothing as she slipped on plastic gloves to protect her lovely manicured hands. She lathered Brown Your Bad Self all over Poe who lay rigid on a narrow cot draped with sticky plastic lace. Her salon, aptly named Passionate, was painted peony pink and mint green. By all accounts the colors should’ve sickened, but instead they fused perfectly to create a peaceful cake-like space. Porcelain poodles, Barbie doll collection, pictures of fairy princesses, and other frou-frou decorations bedecked the salon.
“The brown is supposed to last eight to ten days, Julia dear,” said Passionada as she wiped the vestiges of tanning cream off Poe. Once finished the six-foot Amazonian with perfect hair, make-up, and glossed lips tried men’s wigs on Poe’s head, settling with dark, picked-out hair that looked mighty fine on Poe. She could’ve been one of the Jackson Five.
“I’ve always wanted an Afro,” Poe confessed excitedly. “It reminds me of my old friend, Goss, who had the baddest Jim Kelly do in the world.”
The mustache came next. Passionada placed a Tom Selleck batch of hair on Poe’s upper lip, but it didn’t quite look right. They decided on bushy facial growth that cascaded down the sides of her mouth. Poe looked like a miniature Superfly.
“I found this exercise waist cincher for your breasts.” Passionada stretched the material and wound it around Poe’s chest. She Velcroed the material closed, and Poe was instantly boobless. Poe looked at herself in the mirror with the wig, flat chest, mustache, tan, and tinted eyeglasses. She wore a brown turtleneck and black flared pants held up by a snake skin belt with a cobra belt buckle. Passionada had chosen a dark-brown leather jacket that came down to her hip.
“I look so cool!” said Poe as she stared at herself in a full-length mirror. At once she thought about Black Mama, White Mama, and other blaxploitation films she had loved growing up in the bunker.
“You look like Arnold Jackson from Diff’rent Strokes, mi amor. And who are you supposed to be anyhow?” The beauty expert had been Poe’s friend since leaving West Los Angeles, the first forced break in her retirement. The largish woman had clocked her in the head and placed her in Maclemar’s boat. Who would have thought that ever since her James died, Poe had been dining at Passionada’s house every Friday night?
“I’m a Blaxican,” said Poe proudly. “Black and Mexican. I had a cousin who was half and half.”
“Dios mio! I hope they don’t attack you for looking like a mini-pimp.”
“You can still see my scar,” said Poe, ignoring Passionada’s statement. “What can you do about that, Passionada?” The vampire killer sounded like a churlish child.
Passionada winked at her from the mirror. “Take off your glasses, pretty one. I forgot about this scar blotter I found in Santee Alley.” The woman squeezed a tiny amount of brown ooze on her finger and dabbed it on Poe’s five-inch scar. After a second application the scar was barely noticeable.
Poe came home satisfied with her new look and was especially thrilled when Percy came in the house and yelled at the strange little man in her living room. “Relax, Perce. It’s me, Poe!”
“My God! You nearly gave me a heart attack,” said the very adult ten-year-old girl.
“I would have never thought it. You’re racist!”
“I’m not racist,” cried Percy. “You’re just the ugliest man I’ve ever seen lounging around in our living room!” Percy studied the skinny man disguise and groaned. “You’re really going through with this aren’t you?”
“Yup.” She knew the conspiracy against her plan involved Percy. “Tomorrow night Rufus is going to fly me to the Mission District in San Francisco, and then I’ll make my way to the center city by the bicycle I’m bringing with me.”
“You’ll really leave us just like that.”
“Yes. For the greater good. I’ll be back for you, Percy.”
“Did you ever really love me?” she asked in a pained voice.
“You’re like my sister!”
“Why can’t you be satisfied? Why do you have to seek danger? What are you trying to prove?”
“I’m trying to stop Peter Nesbitt. He’s a fucker. I love you guys, but I gotta keep Christmas alive and Nesbitt everlastingly dead.”
Percy went to her bedroom and slammed the door shut. Poe kicked herself for being so selfish. Over the years she’d learned to listen to her heart and instincts. Leaving was the right thing to do. She hung a Do Not Disturb sign outside her bedroom door and prepared her backpack with dozens of clips and as many incendiaries she could get her hands on. In terms of weapons she was only bringing her .45s and wrist knives. She stuffed water and clothing to hide the contents of her bag.
At midnight she snuck out of the loft and biked her way to the Staples Center sports arena where Rufus should be waiting at one o’clock. She’d broadcasted to everyone that she was leaving the following evening to shirk possible sabotage of her trip. Her foresight paid off. Rufus was waiting for her in front of the Lakers home court without any naysayers around. Within minutes they were in the air.
“They’re gonna kill me for this,” said Rufus.
“Don’t I know it,” Poe said into the mike. “But think of the kids opening presents while you’re beaten black and blue and stuffed in your copter.”
“Thanks a lot, you jerk,” he said. “You better come back. I agreed to do this because you’re a superhero. I mean, holy shit, I used to think I was a superhero until you yanked my ear off.”
Poe grinned. He had later eaten her earlobe as payback. “I’m coming back. Five days. Just don’t forget to pick me up.”
“Will do.”
“And lots of people think I’m a scrawny mortal who should stay home and wait for calamity to show up. But that just won’t do. The creep has to go.”
***
Percy woke up and noticed a note under her door. It read:
Percy, I love you. You’ll always be my little sister. Think fondly of me until I get back. Less than a week.
The girl cursed stridently, a habit she’d picked up from Poe, then jumped out of bed to put on clothes. She pulled on a sweater draped on a rocking chair and dashed out the door, down to the elevator and out the building. She hurdled over obstacles like shopping carts filled with Christmas ornaments. She made it to the Biltmore Hotel in two minutes flat and with desperation took the elevator to the 12th floor. She was going to kick in door 1207 to show how dire the situation was, but Sainvire opened the door calmly when he heard her pounding feet and graciously let her inside.
“Fucking hell!” shouted Percy. “Poe’s gone. She pulled the wool over our eyes and left a day early.”
Sainvire’s brows furrowed. It seemed like he was struggling with an alligator in the silence of his mind. The vampire’s room was spartan, just towers of books on the floor. Not a complete surprise to Percy. The master vampire had always been downtone, humble, and without airs, perhaps reason enough for humans to trust him.
“When do you think she left?” asked the vampire calmly.
“After midnight. I thought I heard the front door closing. But then again I’ve been so comfortable that I sleep through anything these days. You think Rufus could’ve flown her?”
“Who else would have the balls?” said the vampire with a sudden violent look in his eyes. “I have to come after her. You realize that, Percy?”
“Yes, of course, Kaleb. You’re the only one strong enough to protect her and stupid enough to go. I came here to ask you to look for her. I would go myself, but I have the dog and pig to take care of.”
“Of course I’ll go. You needn’t ask. I love her, too, I’m sure you know.” Sainvire walked to the bathroom and removed his black shirt. His misshapen shoulder startled the girl. His body looked hard and well corded. His dark coat covered the vampire’s powerful form.
“I know. That’s why I came to you first.”
To Percy’s horror the she watched the vampire pick up an electric shaver and run it through his hair. A completely bald man with flinty gray eyes stared back at her from the mirror. His strong jaw was more pronounced and his eyes stony. The slash on his upper lip between the nose and mouth that Poe rudely referred as a harelip stood pronouncedly on his face. Sainvire had taken shrapnel to the face and shoulder during the Spanish Civil War. “I look damn vicious bald. I don’t want to scare Poe into thinking I’m a skinhead.”
“Don’t worry, she won’t be afraid. She’ll scare you first with her disguise.” She brushed away hair from the vampire’s shoulder and neck. “She’s brown with a wig and a gigolo mustache. I don’t exactly know what look she’s going for, but I know you’ll be the one offended.”
Without asking permission, Percy opened Sainvire’s wardrobe and began tossing clothes to the floor until she found what she deemed appropriate. “Black t-shirt, black hoodie, and blue Dickies pants. You’ll blend in better than that I’m-a-vampire coat of yours.” She tossed the clothes on the bed. When Sainvire didn’t move, she raised a fist and said, “Bloody hell! Put on the clothes. Time is running out!” Bloody hell was a curse she had learned from Maclemar. How she loved the words. How she missed the Welshman.
The vampire blinked. Mousy little Percy had grown a spine trying to protect Poe. He was proud of her in so many ways.
Sainvire dutifully removed his clothing in front of Percy who turned her back to him and put on the ones chosen by the angry yet fearful girl. One side of the walnut closet contained an array of guns and knives. Percy chose an Astra A-75 Firefox and a clip belt holster to carry it in. She took all five magazines in the collection and tossed them, along with the gun, on the bed.
“Take those with you. You might have your scary clip-on nails, but sometimes it’s faster to shoot when the enemy’s more than five feet away.”
“Thanks for the lesson,” said Sainvire with a grin, sheathing the 9mm into the holster.
“Sorry I’m so rude. My teachers are foul-mouthed and hard-headed,” she apologized. “Don’t forget your Plasmacore.”
“I’ve got three full flasks in the drawer,” answered Sainvire. “And don’t worry about rudeness. The past two decades have been beyond rude to all of us.”
“Keep hunching so you look like insecure and bored out of your mind. Good. When you do that, your warped shoulder doesn’t look so bad.”
“Percy, I appreciate your pointers. Now go away and let me get out of here.”
“She loves you, you know,” said the girl. “More than Maclemar even. Everyone can see that.”
The vampire paused for a second and nodded. “I love her, too. I swear I’ll never disappoint her again.”
The girl nodded. On impulse she got on her toes and hugged the master vampire and kissed his cold cheek. “Save her, Kaleb. She’s the only family I have.”
Sainvire kissed the girl’s forehead and vowed, “I promise. Now get back to Penny and Chops.”
Sainvire sought Joseph and explained the dilemma. Joseph, shocked at his friend’s baldness, cursed. “You’ll need aircraft for that distance. I’m going to airlift you to San Francisco myself, dammit!”
“No. I’ll fly myself.”
“What do you know about aeronautical maps? And most importantly, can you even fly a helicopter?”
Sainvire shrugged. “Thanks to that Judas, Rufus, I’m a capable choppers and small plane pilot. I’ll just follow the coastline north.”
“Hmm,” muttered Joseph without any faith. Despite himself, he smiled. “I’ll hold the fort, brother. Just come back with my insane part-Pinay sister.”
Sainvire and Joseph clapped each other’s back. The two had been best friends for decades. Sainvire pushed open Joseph’s window and flew toward the Santa Monica Freeway, one of the many airstrips around town.
That was when he spotted Rufus chewing gum and polishing his Cessna. Rufus’ jaw froze when he noticed the elementally angry bald Sainvire approach him.
“Whoa, hold on there! She asked me to tell you that if you bust me up for flying her, she’ll come back and stick a broom handle where lights don’t shine.” He raised his hands. “Swear she said that.”
“Fuck!” said Sainvire who reserved the F-word for extraordinary occasions. “I can’t hurt you. Her word is law.”
“Don’t I know it,” said Rufus.
“Better gas her up, Rufus, because you’re flying me to the same exact spot you dropped my Poe off to. I expect to be there in 40 minutes or I’ll eat your other earlobe.”
Scratching his head, Rufus said, “Yes, boss. I thought you’d say something like that.” At least I’m still alive, he thought.
***
Poe hid out in an abandoned tortilla factory to await morning. In her mind for the twentieth time she reviewed what Victoria had revealed.
“It’s known that Plasmacore is heavily produced in the Mission District, Chinatown, and Hunter’s Point. But really, most vampires have been making the juice in their own homes.”
“What about the rebels? Where do I find them?
“Like I said, they were easygoing vampires before who mostly grew up in the Bay Area. A lot of them attended Berkeley and San Francisco State when they were alive. I believe the underground has grown to over 500 undead around the city. The numbers are growing because of discontent with their watered-down food. Once they taste Plasmacore, energy surges through them, and it makes them feel more satisfied. If they keep up a steady intake, some vamps develop the ability to walk in the sun.”
“So that’s it? They join the fight because they like the energy boost? That’s kind of lame. You don’t join a cause for that.”
“You’re right. Most every vampire has seen a blood farm, and believe me it depresses them. These skinny, bedraggled food sources are unforgettable. Now that most humans are dying from blood diseases and bone degeneration, vampires are ready for another way. Also, they hate the SF Council and master vampires. Their superciliousness and high society Vlad the Impaler shit is a big turnoff. I’ll say it again. Almost everyone in San Francisco is laidback and unpretentious unless they’re officious.”
“About these rebels. How can I contact them?”
“I wouldn’t know exactly since I worked for blue bloods, but I guess talking to custodians would help. They’re in a tough spot, but they help the movement.
Poe had Victoria circle the San Francisco airstrip on a worn map she had found in the library. “Where’s the armory?” she asked.
“I guess it’s at City Hall, but I’m not sure.”
“Alright. Two years ago a bunch of Hummers and clearing machinery attacked a farm in Gilroy where we were hiding out. Where do they keep them?”
Victoria circled three places in the city. One of them was the Tenderloin. “You better wear thermals and thick socks, Poe. Otherwise you might freeze to death before you get there.”
As Poe hugged herself in the tortilleria, she cursed the cold. She’d worn three pairs of socks, two layers of thermals, and her miserable vintage leather coat that provided about as much heat as tepid tea. Her teeth chattered. Sleeping would be out of the question for she was far too glacial and might find herself frozen to death in the morning, so she focused her thoughts on Piper. If she came back to Los Angeles alive, she promised to bond with the child, teach Percy how to shoot, and be more helpful to Sainvire and the Los Angeles Council. And Sainvire staked a claim on her finally. She didn’t know whether to shout her happiness or to slap the vampire for being four years late.
She sighed. Poe imagined Sainvire and Maclemar cuddling her in her California Queen mattress. Her mind wandered to Sainvire brushing her hair, Maclemar massaging her feet, and all three of them taking baths together in a heart-shaped bathtub. Is that too much to ask? Then she remembered Maclemar’s dead body at the hospital and almost retched. She was a sick person.
A rat that must’ve weighed at least two pounds ran over her foot, and Poe couldn’t help but eek out a horrified scream. “Fuck you, rat,” she whispered when her heartbeat slowed, expecting vampires to come out and get her. Unless they were daywalkers, the dead walked at night and slept during the day. She heard footsteps two minutes later. Poe reached inside her coat and tapped on the butt of her gun. She couldn’t possibly use it without alerting the vampires in the Mission area. Victoria said vamps but for the disorderly sort stayed away from the Mission. For some ignorant, unforgivable reason, she had forgotten to bring her silencers. She’d have been surrounded and strung out.
She fiddled with her wrist knives and an amazingly sharp eight-inch knife she’d filched from Habib’s kitchen.
“I can smell you, girl,” said a youthful voice out of nowhere. Her mouth suddenly dry, Poe swallowed. He could tell I’m a girl. Probably from the girly scream.
“Best to come out now because we’re too hungry to play,” said another creature with a French-like accent. “Dirty custodian or not, we’re going to eat you.”
Poe blinked three times and stood up. “What’s up, my man?” she said in a horrible accent that was a mix of ’70s black inflection and Cheech Marin.
The vampires reached her and looked her up and down. They were both shaven and vicious looking. Iron cross rings and tattoos decorated their necks and arms. “A male custodian?” said the one with a youthful voice with a confused look on his face. “A runaway?”
“I’m not a runaway,” insisted Poe. She was badly allergic to skinheads after watching Romper Stomper and American History X. “I have narcolepsy. Just like that I fall asleep wherever I go. The kitchens of the big boss know this, so they give me a pass.”
“What a story,” said Frenchie in disbelief. “And what kind of accent do you have? What the fuck race are you, little man?”
“Your accent bites, too, gator man. Where you from? The bayou?” said Poe with annoyance. “I’m Blaxicano if you must know. If you eat me or harm me in any way, the big boss will cut off your head.”
“Big boss, eh? Ugly man, I wouldn’t drink your tainted blood if it was the last drop on this earth,” grumbled the younger looking of the two wearing a Metallica t-shirt. “Come, Blaxicano, follow us. We’ve got something to show you.”
