Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia
Many thanks to my lovely interim beta, Pepper9873 :)
Fandom: The Gates
Title: Deep in the Wilds of Suburbia
Pairings: Canon
Rating: Call it PG-13
Summery: What if the paranormals had no more clue about each other's presence in the Gates than the Monahans do? Devon gets into some bad Juju and Nick and Dylan team up to track down a rogue vampire.
Chapter 25: Always Say 'Thank You'
The bartender, a butchy woman with short, spiky hair, handed Claire her drink with a smile. The vampire returned the gesture and swiveled on her seat to face the crowd. The bar was dim and smoky, not as up-scale as the Red Door, but neither was it one where Claire, with her nice clothes and obvious breeding, would be too memorable. She swirled her cognac-on-ice around in its glass and scanned the room for any obvious prospects, the easier the better. A nicely drunk and good-looking young man, too confident of his own power to think he could ever be anyone's victim, let alone a woman's, would be perfect, but it was rather early for that. Better to wait a little longer, until her as-yet-unidentified target had had enough to drink.
The last two nights had been a bust. Pickings were always slim on weeknights, more so in a small Midwestern city like Franklin, and the recent murders had not enticed more people onto the streets. Even the bums huddled together to sleep around the same park benches. She had returned to her hotel room hungry two nights in a row, and had eaten through some of the bagged stuff she had brought with her from the house. Well, she would be damned if that would happen for a third night.
As she waited for a target to present itself, Claire tuned in to a few of the conversations around her. Most of it was flirtatious or gossipy, neither of which was of any interest to the vampire.
"Hey, Josh? Can I ask you for a favor?"
Claire turned her head to better hear the bartenders behind her over the music and murmur of the crowd. The butchy woman was cutting lemons into wedges and had moved her task nearer her coworker to ask her question. The coworker, Josh presumably, nodded as he mixed a complicated drink.
"Do you think I could crash on your couch tonight? And maybe tomorrow? I just found a place, but I can't move in 'til the weekend. It's just I haven't met a lot of people in town yet, so…" She shrugged.
Claire's ears perked at that. A working-class type, new to town, with obviously few acquaintances was an even better target. No one would report her missing for days, if ever. How fortuitous.
For the next hour or so, Claire bided her time, had another drink, and chatted with a few of the people around her who quickly left her alone when she made it apparent she was uninterested in being picked up or hit on. She kept a close eye on the bartender and spotted her chance when she announced to Josh that she would take a smoke break. As soon as the woman disappeared into a back room, Claire collected her purse and slid off her stool. She headed for the front doors, planning to circle the building to find her meal around the back.
As she rounded the first corner, the distinct odor of a strange vampire filled the air and Claire sped around the last corner. She halted for a fraction of a second to take in the scene. A short, balding vampire held the bartender tight against him, one arm around her midsection, pinning her arms to her side, the other hand bending the woman's head back and exposing her throat.
Claire dashed forward, leaving her heels and purse behind on the pavement and running barefoot, to ram herself bodily into the vampire. He released the woman as he fell. The bartender rolled a short distance, into a corner formed by a dumpster and the brick wall of the bar.
The strange vampire twisted onto his back and kicked at Claire, but she saw that coming and rolled to the side and onto her feet in one graceful move, dodging the kick completely. The other vampire tried to do the same, but before he could get his feet completely under him, Claire moved in. With one hand on his shoulder and the other under his midsection, she heaved and tossed him a dozen feet into the air. He yelled wordlessly and came crashing down onto the pavement. She smirked in satisfaction when his head bounced on the concrete. Claire approached again, taking her time, as the vampire clambered onto his feet. With hardly a look back, he ran unsteadily away into the night, favoring one leg and holding his bleeding head with one hand. She watched him go, in case there might be more hiding around a corner, ready to steal the kill back, but none appeared, and she turned to her meal with great anticipation.
"Oof!" Claire stumbled back and suddenly found herself enveloped in a bear hug. She frowned down at a head of spiky hair. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" the woman gasped. "Oh, my God, he was going to kill me! You saved my life. Thank you!"
Claire wriggled her arms free of the bartender to grip the woman's shoulders and push her back a few inches. She was shorter than her supposed rescuer, so she had to tilt her head up to meet Claire's eyes, exposing her throat.
Claire blinked, distracted. "What?"
"Thank you. Holy shit, that was insane. Are you okay?" The woman stepped back and stood on her toes, scanning the alley beyond Claire. She failed to notice the vampire's eyes or teeth and Claire supposed the alley might be too dim for the woman to see much. "We should go inside. He might come back. Let me buy you a drink or something."
"Uh…"
"Hell, all your drinks are on me from now on."
Claire sputtered. "No, actually, I think I should… um…" Hunt somewhere else, she thought. Yes. That was it. Find somebody suitably obnoxious to tear into. Properly grateful and likable young women were perhaps not the thing tonight. She backed away from the woman.
"What, are you going after him?"
"What? No, of course not."
The woman tipped her head. "There's all that stuff in the papers about the vampire killer, you know." She tipped her head the other way. "You threw that guy."
"Oh, now, don't be silly."
"No, I saw it."
"No!"
"You threw him. I mean, hey, no big deal. You're obviously a good guy, right?" The woman smiled, nervously at first, then it broadened in something joyful and tinged with wonder, as at discovering something thought lost in an unexpected place. "You're a fuckin' superhero."
Claire silently cursed herself for her sentimentality, and determined to kill the woman anyway. She had seen too much. But before the vampire could act, the back entrance to the bar banged open, making both women jump. A middle-aged man leaned out and bawled, "Hey, Jen, quit flirting and get back to the bar. They're getting mobbed in there."
Claire took a step back and turned her head, concentrating on making her fangs retract. Jen breathed out a laugh and shook her head as she turned toward the building.
"Thanks again and, hey, I'm serious about that drink," she called over her shoulder as she disappeared into the bar.
Claire stood in the empty ally for nearly a minute before retrieving her shoes and bag and trudging across the street to her car.
The restaurant on the ground floor of Claire's hotel was small but busy, and the buzz of conversation and clink of flatware provided a comfortable background of white noise. When the quiet of her hotel room had become too stark to bear, Claire came down and sat at a table at the back, hunched over a glass of bad wine - the restaurant had no cognac - feeling sorry for herself.
What was it about that woman that had made the vampire hesitate? She had killed hundreds, even thousands of people over the last fifty-odd years, and never felt an ounce of regret about it. In fact, the regret she felt at the moment had more to do with her missed meal than any sins she had committed in the past. The woman had not reminded her of anyone in particular, nor had she been someone especially deserving of a stay of execution. What then? Was it because she said 'thank you'?
She resolved never to tell anyone about the event, especially Dylan. It would only prove him right, and even if he was right in this particular case, she did not need to spell it out for him. He would assume it, anyway.
Claire scowled down at drink. It really was terrible wine. Just as she twisted in her seat to catch the waitress's attention, she caught the eye of a young man at the bar who looked back unabashedly and smiled what he probably thought was his most charming smile. Claire did not bother to respond. Apparently willing to take anything but an outright death threat as an invitation, the young man stood and sauntered over to her table. He pointed at the chair opposite.
"This seat taken?"
Claire swirled the wine around its glass and purred, "If you don't leave me alone this instant, I will pop your eyes out of their sockets and wear them as earrings." She tilted her head just enough to see if he moved away without looking directly at him.
He made a disgusted noise. "I'll take that as a 'no'," he said and walked away, muttering unkind things about her as he went.
Claire steeled herself and moved to take a sip of the alleged wine, inhaling as she always did, and froze with the glass almost touching her lip. She put it down and sniffed again. Vampire. Turning in her seat, she glanced at the young man. Him? No, too easily turned back. Movement toward the front of the restaurant caught her attention and she stiffened. An unfamiliar blond woman, her hands in her jacket pockets, threaded her way through the busy restaurant floor, her eyes on Claire.
"This is my restaurant," Claire snarled when the newcomer came within earshot. "Get out."
Without breaking the rhythm of her pace, the stranger swept the chair across from Claire out from under the table, sat, leaned back, and crossed her legs and arms.
"You're not hunting it," the blonde observed.
"As it so happens, I am," she returned, frightened now.
What did this woman want? A fight? Claire would not give her one, not without calling on reinforcements. There was no telling how many family members the blonde had waiting for a chance to rip Claire to pieces for no better reason than that they were bored. She slid her hands off the table and into her lap. The blonde noted the move but only nodded toward the bar.
"That kid was practically begging for it, but you let him go," she said. "Makes me think you're not interested."
"What I am or am not interested in is no concern of yours, whoever you are."
"Name's Russo."
"What a coincidence. I'm Descartes."
"The spelling's different."
"I don't care."
"You let that other woman go, too. The one at Rue Bar."
"I don't like poachers."
Russo frowned and tapped her foot against the table leg. "This isn't your territory."
"Who says it's not?"
"A vamp named Dorothy for one."
"This territory belongs to my family and has for years. Would you like to meet them?" She said the last with false sweetness as both vampires knew any such meeting would result in Russo's summary execution.
"Oh, I get it." Russo nodded slowly. "You're with those two guys."
Claire gave her a bland stare.
"One's a tall white guy, English accent. The other's shorter, maybe Italian, sounds like he's from Chicago."
Claire shrugged and sipped her wine, recognizing the description of Dylan and Nick. "And they're not the only ones," she said.
"Well, better late than never. You do know about Dorothy, right?"
"No, but I think I might have a line on the Wicked Witch."
Russo snorted and shook her head. "Dorothy says this is her territory. I wouldn't care, except she's turning people as fast as she can. One of them got loose, or she let him out, I don't know, and he started the same project, except not as neatly. Your family took care of him after he made headlines," Russo finished, acerbically. "Look, I've got better things to do with my time than police a territory I don't actually want so it doesn't explode all over the Midwest. I saw you behind the bar and I -"
"You weren't tracking me. I would have known."
"No, I was after the other one, Baldy. I lost him for a few blocks, but caught up in time to see the heroics."
"Heroics?"
"You saved the girl." Russo beamed.
"I told you. I don't like poachers."
"Sure. As I was saying, I saw you not kill the damsel, and I thought you might be different from the others. At least I thought you weren't with Dorothy's crowd."
Claire frowned. "How did you find me here?"
"I searched your purse when you weren't looking, found the key card to this hotel." Russo pointed at her. "Bang."
Claire gaped.
"I also found out you're from the Gates. No wonder you had no idea what was going on here. Suburbanites always have their heads in the sand." She shrugged. "This is actually really good news… Descartes." Russo rolled her eyes as she said the name. "You say this is your territory? Wonderful. Dorothy is the one you want. She's usually based downtown, but she keeps moving. She picks off the homeless, mostly, turns them. I figure about thirty to forty percent make it, but that's based on some fairly sketchy observations, so grain of salt. I think she's got six or seven now, minus Baldy."
"Minus?"
"Minus. So, this is your territory? Great. I hereby bestow upon you the honor of cleaning up this mess. Have fun." Russo stood abruptly. "Sorry to interrupt your… sublimation." She glanced at the glass of wine. "One more thing." Russo gave Claire a knowing smile. "It feels good when they say 'thanks', doesn't it?"