01. sorry, we're dead: a supernatural noir.
SORRY, WE’RE DEAD: a supernatural noir
featuring:
•Virgil Meriweather, a werepanther (Idris Elba). A sharp dresser with a broad sense of humor.
• Warrenwick Gam, a vampire (Byung Hun Lee). A bit of a curmudgeon and a dead shot with a Derringer.
• Abigail LaVeau, a zombie slayer (Berenice Marlohe). Definition of a femme fatale.
• Stevie, a cabbie (Sung Kang). One of the best getaway drivers in the city, with dreams of opening a restaurant.
• Marian, a cigarette girl at a gambling hall (Kelly Reilly). Carries a torch for Warrenwick, and gladly passes on information to the pair of private eyes.
I wish I could say it’s not every day that a woman walks into our office covered in blood. But in this town, and with the hours we keep…
The smell of it-for all that blood’s rich with iron, it has a sweet coppery scent, like wet pennies-preceded her knock. Utterly against my conscious will, my hackles started to rise and I had to gulp quickly before I went so far as to drool. Primal instincts can be terrible things. Hand sliding to the gun strapped beneath the desk, I cleared my throat purposefully. “We’re open.”
“Before I step inside, I feel I should warn you-”
“It’s not yours,” I said. “Smells… masculine. So long as there ain’t a body in the hallway, you’re not gonna shock me.”
The door swung open with a shrill shriek of cheap hinges and I had my first look at her, framed in the fluorescent light of the hall. Tall, thin, but not too skeletal. There was ample padding in the chest and rear. Fabulous legs and long dark curls that spilled over bared olive shoulders. A face that was sharp with angles and intelligence, and smoky eyes that could pin a man to his chair the way a needle skewered a butterfly to a board. Her dress was skintight and shimmered with black sequins. And the blood that coated her hands and arms, was liberally splashed across her chest and stomach, that was stiffening in her dark curls, was thick and clotted and rust-hued.
“Looks like you’ve had some zombie trouble,” I said as nonchalantly as I could, crossing one leg over my knee.
“Occupational hazard, usually,” she said, closing the door behind her. “Are you the fang or the fur?”
“I’m Virgil Meriweather,” I said evenly, pulling my gold cigarette case out of my jacket pocket. “My partner, Mr. Gam, is out at the moment.” I held out the case, and she hesitated for only a fraction of a second before her bloody fingers plucked out a single cigarette. “Anything I can help you with, Miss…”
“Abigail. Abigail LaVeau. And yes, I was hoping you could.”
“Washroom’s the door on the left, if you want to freshen up,” I said, offering her a light.
Ignoring the suggestion but accepting the match, she sat in the secondhand chair in front of the desk, crossing those fabulous legs with a flash of sequins and slipping the cigarette between dark painted lips. She regarded me over the glowing ember for a long beat before expelling a large cloud of gray smoke, tendrils curling around her mouth in a draconic fashion. “I’d still like an answer to my previous question-are you the fang or the fur?”
“If you’re looking for a bloodsucker, Mr. Gam is out on other business, as I’ve already stated.”
“The fur then.”
“Is that a problem?”
“Is it usually?”
“Some people think it is.”
“I’m hardly ‘some people’.”
“I can see that.”
“I heard about you through a business associate. You piqued my curiosity.”
“Is that why you’re here? To satisfy your curiosity?”
“I’m here because I have a problem.”
“But not a racial one.”
“Not yet. I didn’t think vamps and weres got along all that well-like cats and dogs, I’ve heard.”
“Guess it’s a good thing I’m not a dog.”
She arched an eyebrow. “My problem, Mr. Meriweather, is that someone is trying to kill me.”
“And you haven’t already dealt with this problem?” I gestured at the bloody dress.
“No, this is from the weapon they attempted to use. Which could be seen as foolish of them, given my business expertise.”
“You’re a slayer?”
“And good enough at it that my fees can be intimidating. No, I don’t think my would-be murderer is a fool. Whoever wants me dead has to know me well enough to expect that I’d handle the three lurchers they sent out after me. This was a message.”
“Isn’t there some rule about not killing the messenger?”
“You should have an act in a club. Does your partner find you amusing?” she asked, sending a smoke ring towards my face.
“He thinks I’m an idiot, most of the time.”
“And yet the door still says Gam & Meriweather.”
“Business is business.”
“Precisely.” She stood suddenly. Crossed an arm over her stomach and braced her elbow in the empty palm. Stared down as me until I had to fight the urge to squirm. The woman knew how to use those eyes; if she was this weaponized already, I shivered to think of what she’d be with a blade or gun in her hands. “I’d like to buy your services. For however long it takes. I’ll pay whatever you ask-and please stifle the urge to be an ass and demand a million plus expenses. I need you to find out who wants me underground so badly. And I need you to do this as quickly as you can.”
“Think he’s working to a deadline? Afraid he’ll attack again quickly?”
“No.” She pulled a silver bangle bracelet from her wrist and slammed it down on the desk, inches from my hand. Reason told me there were inches of space between metal and flesh-that I was in no danger of touching it. But those damn animal instincts made me flinch back sharply, the muscles in my face visibly twitching in reflexive disgust. “One of the zombies I dispatched tonight had this shoved down his gullet. It was dislodged after I decapitated it. This bracelet belongs to my sister, Helene. She disappeared yesterday afternoon. Never made it to a dinner date with her latest flame. The person who sent those zombies after me has her, and will use her to hurt me. So I need you to find them as quickly as possible.”
“So you can hurt him instead?”
“Absolutely. I am not a woman to be trifled with, Mr. Meriweather.”
“I see that, Miss. LaVeau. I most certainly see that.”