The Pardoner's Tale

  The Pardoner's Tale Copyright © 2008 by Morgan Ferdinand

  All rights reserved. No part of this eBook may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews. For information address Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

  ISBN: 978-1-60370-419-9, 1-60370-419-1

  Printed in the United States of America.

  Torquere Press electronic edition / June 2008

  Torquere Press eBooks are published by Torquere Press, Inc., PO Box 2545, Round Rock, TX 78650.

  www.torquerepress.com

  Chapter One

  The sign on the heavy oak door said Nicholas Pardoner, Private Investigator. The nameplate on the desk also read Nicholas Pardoner. The man seated in the battered leather chair, feet propped up on the desk, baseball cap over his eyes to block out the fluorescent lights, arms folded across his chest, and shirtsleeves rolled up, was the so-named Nicholas Pardoner, private investigator.

  In other words, that was me. It was a Tuesday at ten in the morning and I'd already grown tired of repeated games of solitaire. I had a sticky-note on my monitor reminding me to download new games after my nap. Also on the desk (beside my computer and my feet) there was a cup of coffee gone cold, a very silent telephone, and a mobile phone that also served as a mobile computer (also in need of new games).

  I'd really like to say something along the lines of the dame appeared before me, looking scared. Her blue eyes were wide with fear and her hands trembled as she shook my hand. "Mister Pardoner," she said, "I need you to find my father, Professor Smith. He's been kidnapped and I think they're coming for me next." I'd love to say that. That would be completely awesome. That would be the sort of thing that led me to become a detective in the first place.

  But I'd be lying if I said that, because what actually happened was that two young men with very white smiles and neatly pressed suits knocked on my door and asked me if I'd found God. I told them I hadn't, but I could for two hundred a day plus expenses. They weren't amused and left just as quickly as they'd arrived.

  I settled back in my chair to resume my nap.

  Later that night I went to my favorite bar. There's nothing better, after a long day spent doing nothing except paying bills and watching the bank account dwindle, than a trip to the bar and a whole lot of alcohol.

  There was nothing special about the place. It was just a standard "dive" bar. Popular with the locals, and not much of a draw for the tourists. That was why a stranger walking in caught my attention. That was what caught everyone's attention initially, but the man was given the once-over by the regulars, who then turned back to their drinks or their conversations or their games.

  Most of the regulars. I didn't look away. I watched him carefully, keeping my head down just enough not to draw his attention, but my eyes raised so that I could track his progress through the bar. He sat down on a bar stool, not too near the window, but near enough that he could watch people on the street as they hurried past in the fading daylight. He ordered a draft beer. It wasn't anything fancy or expensive, but something told me his usual tastes were more exotic than Coors Light.

  Dark hair, cut short in a very common, tidy style. Strong nose, sharp chin highlighted by five o'clock shadow. He was dressed conservatively in jeans and a black T-shirt and looked like any other blue-collar worker stopping off for a beer on his way home. If anyone else but me looked at him, that's exactly what they would have believed him to be.

  However, this man had the unfortunate luck of stepping into the bar I call home on a night I was there. Another day or even a few hours later and I wouldn't have been there. He could have come and gone without my knowing a thing about it.

  Maybe it was just his bad luck. Maybe it was just my good luck. I didn't really care. I touched the handgun in my jacket pocket and smiled behind the edge of my glass. I tossed thirty dollars next to my collection of glasses and signaled the waitress. Thirty would cover my tab and leave a very generous tip.

  Once I started walking I realized I might have had a few too many. I ducked into an alley to wait for my victim and leaned against the wall for support.

  It was an hour before he left the bar. I noticed he had a slight limp. A little hitch in his left leg. It didn't seem to hurt him or slow him down, but the potential weakness was valuable information.

  There was a split second of time when I could have grabbed him and dragged him into the alley. I know you're thinking, "You had a gun. Why not just pop him right there and get the hell out?" The gun was my last resort. The gun was only there to make sure that he was well and truly dead, after I had done what I needed to do.

  It should have been easy. Grab him, drag him back, slit his throat, and then remove his heart. Shoot him in the head. Watch the body turn to dust. Basic vampire extermination one-oh-one.

  What they don't tell you is that when hiding in alleys you've got to remember to adjust for garbage. I stepped on a wet, waxy, fast food wrapper that was lying in a slick of oil. Instead of dragging my target back into the alley I fell on top of him, pinning him to the sidewalk. We were out in the open on a busy Tuesday night, with tourists and college students walking past and staring.

  The target grabbed my throat and threw me off him and into the alley. I hit the wall and bounced into the trash bags stacked up next to the back door of a restaurant. Raw fish parts and rotting vegetables oozed out.

  He was barely breathing hard when he grabbed me by the shoulders and hauled me to my feet. It was no effort for him to lift me and pin me against the wall. His eyes flashed black and he snarled, revealing distended canines. "Fuck you," he growled and thrust me hard against the wall. The back of my head connected with the bricks and for a moment everything went dark grey and fuzzy. I shook my head and things slipped back into focus.

  That seemed to surprise him. His nostrils flared as he studied me and his lips parted slightly. He was tasting as well as smelling the air between us. I wondered how he felt about rotting fish guts.

  "You're not like the others," he said finally. He seemed uncertain of what he was looking at. I stretched, desperately trying to get my feet on the ground. Being held up like that was starting to make breathing difficult. I made a soft gagging sound when I tried to speak.

  He lowered me so my toes could touch the ground, but he kept a solid grip on my shoulders. I couldn't go left, right, and ó he planted one foot between mine so his knee and hip were pressed against my groin ó I couldn't go down. "What are you?"

  "Shifter. Can't you smell it?"

  He leaned in close, his nose almost touching mine. "Right now the only thing I can smell is garbage and beer. Prove it."

  "I'm not going to prove it to you!"

  "Why not?"

  "In the middle of an alley?"

  "You were going to kill me in the middle of an alley!"

  "That's different!"

  "How do you figure?"

  "You'd turn to dust and there'd be no body or evidence that it had happened."

  "Witnesses?"

  "Drunks and whores."

  "Ah-hah! You just cut your own throat with that." He glanced at the knife on the ground. "Metaphorically speaking."

  He had me there. Literally speaking.

  "It's not the full moon."

  "I'll be damned," the vampire replied. Then everything went black.

  I woke up three hours later. I was still in the alley, but I was alone. I had no idea where the vampire had gone, and why he had stolen my wallet and my knife, or why he'd left me the gun. I had a headache, a mouth that tasted of old socks, and a sick feeling in my stomach. As far as I could tell I hadn't been bitten or harmed in any way. Why hadn't he
just killed me? I was clearly going to kill him.

  The sun was up by the time I got home. I knew it'd be pointless to go hunting for the vampire, since I had no idea where he might be hiding. There'd been no reports of activity. I hadn't even known there was one in the area. I just knew that I had a standing contract to eliminate all vampires, no questions asked.

  It took me three showers to get the garbage smell off my skin. I checked myself several times, looking to see if there was any indication that I'd been bitten. My clothes were dirty, but there was no blood anywhere and no marks on me. Then I settled myself in front of the computer, checked my email, checked my sources, and found nothing. No mention of a vampire. Either he was very new in town or very good at his job. I was opting for new in town, although I had enough bruises and scrapes telling me he might just be that good.

  I knew this would be a tough job. I was looking forward to the challenge. I slept until the sun went down, then I packed my things and went hunting. Unfortunately, my efforts were completely unproductive. There wasn't a trace of him anywhere. Not a sign of feeding, not a sighting, not a whisper of activity the whole night. It was possible that he'd been transient. That his happening into my bar was just a one-off for him, and he was out of the city and out of my territory as quickly as he'd arrived.

  Until I got home. The vampire was sitting on my front steps. So much for my challenge.

  He flicked ashes from the end of his cigarette and squinted at me. "What the fuck was all that about?"

  "I was just doing my job."

  "Your job is dusting me, or all of us?"

  "All of you. Nothing personal, so-- no offense."

  "Oh, none taken!" His upper lip curled in a snarl and I braced myself for an attack that didn't come. I opened one eye and looked at him. He ground his cigarette out against the step and shrugged. "Just doing your job, right? Dust the vampires and rid the world of the scourge. What do you get out of it? The curse lifted?"

  I sat down next to him and stole a cigarette from his pack. He handed me a lighter. "Nah. Like I said. It's just a job. I was born this way so it's not something that can be removed like that." I snapped my fingers.

  "No kidding? I was turned when I was in college. Drunk at a party, took the wrong person home."

  "I didn't ask for your life story." I handed him back the lighter and exhaled smoke into his face. "How come I'm not killing you right now?"

  "You're intrigued by my story, my charm, and my youthful good looks."

  "And shocked by your modesty." I pinched the bridge of my nose between my thumb and index finger and rubbed the base of my skull with the other hand. It had been a long night. Fortunately, being self-employed meant there wasn't anyone to yell at me for taking two days off without warning. I was going to need a very long nap after this encounter.

  "So why do you do this? As a career, I mean."

  "Well, I don't. Not really. I'm a private investigator. The vampire-killing is sort of a sideline. A sub-contract job, you could say." I leaned back against the door, chatting calmly while at the same time a tiny voice in the back of my mind was demanding to know what I was doing. Kill him, you fucker! It screamed at me. You get paid to terminate vampires and you're sitting there having a little chat with one! I shut the voice into an imaginary box and glanced sideways at the vampire as he stubbed out a second cigarette against my steps. "Stop doing that."

  "Haven't got an ashtray." He flicked the butt into the gutter.

  I sighed and stood, fishing my keys from my pocket. "Come on, then. The sun'll be up soon, anyhow. You're invited blah blah blah."

  The vampire stood up, brushed off the seat of his pants, and followed me in. He stood in the middle of the living room, looking around as if slightly amazed by all the bookshelves lining the walls. Most of them were packed with books. Several of them held cardboard boxes of various sizes. Some of the shelves were covered in stone carvings of various gods and wolves, other sorts of tribal decoration, and a few random toys from local fast food chains.

  "Eclectic. I like it. How old are you?"

  I locked up my weapons (keeping a stake handy, just in case) and looked up at his question. "Thirty-four. Why?"

  He trailed his fingers along the curve of a goddess figure. "I think I was just wondering if you were, you know, there when these things were made."

  "We don't work like you lot. We age just like everyone else. Well, maybe a little faster actually. Shifting takes a lot out of a body."

  "You lied to me."

  "I did?"

  "Last night when you said you couldn't shift because it wasn't a full moon."

  "It wasn't a full moon."

  "Either you lied about not being able to shift or you lied about being born a were. Born were aren't bound by the phases of the moon."

  "I lied about not being able to shift. How'd you know that, anyhow?"

  The vampire shrugged one shoulder. "I read. Mind if I have a seat?"

  "What's your name?"

  "Vlad." He grinned and winked.

  I raised my clenched hands, prepared to fight. "Funny. Now what's your real name?"

  "Alex. What's yours?" He made it a challenge.

  "Van Helsing."

  "Liar!" He jabbed a finger at me. "What sort of friendship will this be if I can't trust you?"

  "Friendship?" I shouted, squeaking a little with surprise. "I'm supposed to kill you! You drugged me! And you lied about your name!"

  He sniffed and studied his nails. "I was evening the score. Now you're a lie ahead of me."

  I stammered. I huffed. The vampire folded his arms across his chest and fixed me with a gaze that made me feel like I'd been caught doing something wrong. "How old are you?"

  "Thirty-two," he said.

  "Liar. Even all."

  "Fact! I was born at eleven fifty-nine on the twenty-fourth of December, nineteen seventy-three. My name is Alexander Dwight Finch, and I'm a Capricorn. I like long walks in the moonlight and the taste of blood. Look, can I have a seat or not?" He stared at me. "Your little 'blah blah blah' was okay to let me come in, but I'm sort of... uninvited for everything else."

  "Welcome to my home, Alex Finch. Please feel free to sit or use the bathroom or the kitchen. Don't touch anything on the shelves and stay out of my bedroom." The pain in my neck was slowly creeping up to the top of my skull.

  "That's not fair! You could come out here and kill me in my sleep, but I don't get the same opportunity?"

  "House rules." I turned to the stairs, ready to head for a shower and then to bed. "Name's Nicholas, by the way. Good night."

  "Good morning!" he called with mocking cheerfulness.

  ***

  Several hours later, I found him sitting on the foot of my bed. "Now we're even. I lied about the invitation thing. Here's your wallet. I kept the cash. Good night."

  I caught the wallet when he flipped it to me and I watched him leave the room. I didn't go back to sleep the rest of the day. At sunset, I found him in the kitchen, frying a large quantity of bacon. He looked fit. Content. Well rested. I caught a glimpse of myself reflected in the shiny black surface of the refrigerator. I was none of these things.

  "You look like hell, Nicky." He assembled a bacon sandwich (with mayo on toasted rye) and took a healthy bite.

  "Nicholas," I growled, torn between irritation and something like relief that he'd also made coffee.

  The vampire leaned over the stove and lit a cigarette at one of the burners. I had a brief flash of grabbing the back of his head and slamming it into the flames. He offered the cigarette to me. "Sandwich?" He said as I took a drag.

  I thought about it for a few seconds while I exhaled. "Yeah, all right. You know I kill vampires, right?"

  "I'm aware."

  "No, I'm a were. You're a vampire."

  "You're not so good with comedy, Nicky."

  "Nicholas. One day I'm going to stake you."

  "No you won't," he said as he handed me a mug of coffee.

  "Why not?
" I rubbed the back of my neck, trying to massage out the kinks of not sleeping.

  "I make amazing coffee."

  I took a sip. He was right. His sandwich wasn't bad, either.

  ***

  Over the next few days, Alex moved into my home, made use of my kitchen, and picked up this annoying habit of moving my things around, but he stayed out of my bedroom, which was a small comfort. Each day I asked him why I hadn't killed him yet. Each day he offered me a crooked grin and a coffee instead of a reason. Maybe that was reason enough.

  Chapter Two

  Two weeks later, we were at the bar ñ that bar, the bar where it all began. We sat at a table near the back, where I could see the door and the window. It might have been the same table I was sitting at the first time I saw Alex. We sat in silence. I listened to the conversations around me. Alex watched the television mounted over the bar. It was a quiet evening and I was just starting to enjoy myself.