The Evening Man

Chapter 2

I pulled into the parking lot of the Sūraja motel about forty minutes later.  I'd gotten lost twice along the way, because I hated driving on the West side, and I don't know where anything is.  The roadside sign for the Sūraja didn't even say Sūraja.  Instead, it was a picture of a smiling sun over the word 'motel'.  It was like those old raisin brand advertisements, only instead of eating some awful cereal, you were expected to sleep in the box. 

 It was a brisk fall breeze that greeted me as I exited my car, the kind of late October weather that called for a warm coat, I guess.  I hate it when the seasons change, because I'm not susceptible to hot or cold weather, and I never dress right for it.  Jackets in winter, shorts in summer, what a hassle!  Today, I was wearing a tight black t-shirt with a red smiley face design, tucked into a pair of khaki shorts with flip-flops for footwear.  With my slicked back brown hair and carefully cultivated perma-stubble, (alongside my trusty aviator shades), I was rocking a look my roommate Megan had once jokingly(?) dubbed, douchebag casual.      

“Sir, I'm afraid you'll have to move your vehicle.”  The uniformed officer speaking to me had a frown creasing his blunt looking face.  I gave him a charming grin designed to help him unwind and let go of the tension and anger that surely dominated his sad, crusty little life, which had undoubtedly driven him from a promising career as a traveling minstrel into the clingy arms of Law enforcement.  When that didn't work, I seized his will.

Mind control.  It's a handy trick if you've got the time to learn it.  The secret, is to imagine lots of people doing something you want, and then forcing them to do it with your horrifying monster brain. 

 “I think my car is just fine where it is, Officer,” I said.

 “I think your car is just fine where it is, Sir,” he agreed.

 “Well, thank you so much!”  I looked around the parking lot for a moment, trying to think of something condescending to say, before settling on commanding him to bring me a can of cherry coke.  After he did so, I gave him a merry pinch on his cheek and continued on my way.

 I don't get speeding tickets.  I get free cokes.

 I strutted over to the rest of the flashing lights, willing the busy little police bees not to notice my presence as I sipped my drink and thought.

 Y'know, I've never really understood the appeal of being a police officer.  Like that old Pandora song once asked us, What makes a person want to be a cop?  It's mostly tedious work mixed in with people occasionally trying to kick your ass or kill you, and despite all the training you have to put into it, and keep putting into it, every chump who's ever seen a cops and lawyers show in syndication thinks they know how to do your job better than you do.    

 Well, I guess there were a few genuinely altruistic saps who were out there to make the world a safer place for all the regular jagoffs who would never appreciate their hard work. People like that were rare in my experience, and to be avoided at all costs.  Fascist bullies with nightsticks I could understand, and occasionally party with.  But heroes?  No thanks!

 Heroes had a way of killing the mood.

 I looked for my contact as I walked among the cops, stopping here and there to knock a badge askew, or unstrap a sidearm.  By blanking out their ability to perceive my presence, I could merrily play poltergeist with their stuff at will.  It's not that I enjoyed being a dick to Police officers specifically, it's that I enjoyed being a dick whenever I could get away with it.  And a vampire can get away with an awful lot.

 I had a good feeling that this caper would be nothing special.  Someone had gotten a little antsy, and jumped the gun.  It would turn out to be some mundane junkie shooting thing, or something.  I'd waggle a finger at whoever, yell J'accuse! and then I'd go see Anne.