The Holy Death

Chapter 21

As requested, Jeremiah met Scott in Chinatown after he got off work. Scott actually didn't know where Jesse the Vermin, that font of illicit knowledge, would be hanging out downtown, but he knew Old Town/Chinatown would be a fair place to start, for surely they would come across someone to whom the slimy vampire was financially indebted. They were traipsing the backstreets around Chinatown, their heightened senses on full alert, listening for any sound that might indicate a Vermin sighting. And, what do you know, it wasn't long before they heard a commotion originating in a service corridor behind a Chinese restaurant.

"You owe me!" The shrill, accented female voice screeched. "You don't pay, you don't stay! That's the agreement!"

"Mistress Tang," The Vermin said, "Look. I'm a little behind, I know. Things are kinda tough these days!"

"Tough? It's tough for everyone. I don't care. Where's my money, you cheap bastard?"

"Look, I'll get you the money, I swear! Just don't kick me out, okay?"

"And that's another thing. We give you pig blood, and you don't pay me for that either!" Mistress Tang followed that demand with a long line of what Scott assumed were insults in Cantonese. "You pay me! And I'm not afraid of you!"

"Where will I go? Do you want me to hang out under the Burnside Bridge or something? Do you really want that on your conscience, Mistress Tang?"

"I don't give a shit! You hang where you want, you just don't hang here! Now get out!"

"You know what? Fine! But you won't see a single dime, you money-grubbing old witch!"

"Me? Witch? You get out, Jesse Vermin! And if you come back, I stake you! Through your heart! You hear me?"

"Yeah, yeah, promises, promises," Jesse spat then slinked down the alley away from the browbeating he'd just received. "Who needs you, you old Chinese hag," he said as he took a single cigarette from one of the pockets of his filthy black leather jacket, put it between his thin lips and lit up. Apparently the Vermin was unable to walk, light a cigarette, and pay attention to where he was going at the same time, for as soon as he rounded the corner, he ran right into Jeremiah and Scott.

"Wha... ah, shit. If it ain't the golden boy, Scott Campbell, and Captain Beefcake himself, Jeremiah. What, you miss me already? As if my night hadn't already gone to hell."

"Yeah, nice to see you too, Jesse," Scott said, "Wow, so we really took you by surprise this time, huh? You know, if we were vampires... hey, wait. We are vampires! How you doing, Jesse?"

"'Bout as well as a bug that just got real intimate with the grill of a Mac truck, you feel me? And I would ask you how you were doing, but I don't give a fuck. Look, gentlemen, it's been real, but I got a date with a tall bottle of Wild Irish Rose, okay?"

Jesse tried to walk past them, but unfortunately for him he chose the side of sidewalk occupied by Jeremiah. You can't walk past Jeremiah. You just can't. He reached down, tagged Jesse on the shoulder, and prevented the scuzzy vampire from going anywhere.

"We wish to speak with you, Jesse," Said Jeremiah, "I hope that this is not a problem."

"Hey, hey! Take it easy, okay? Not all of us are as well-endowed as you, big man. And I mean that in both the muscular sense, as well as the fact that your johnson is probably monstrous. That ain't a racial kind of thing, is it, 'cause God knows the last thing that I, as a vampire, wish to be accused of, it's racial insensitivity. Right? Am I right?"