The Drinker of Blood

Chapter Eleven

I've never had such a creature in my life, but most every drinker of blood keeps at least a few humans around to do his or her bidding. It's a rather pathetic affair, all told.

I wasn't sure where the word "familiar" came from. It only recently had come to my attention, so I assumed it was one of those gawdy things that Hollywood dreamed up, like the name Renfield, the latter of which I always found quite amusing and used from time to time.

Flunkies, lackeys, retainers, familiars, pick a name. A turd by any other name. In any event, they were not all of a kind. Some of the more pathetic ones were in veritable thrall to the blood drinkers who they served.

Others were simple employees, the kind who drew a paycheck and who looked the other way when their bizarre bosses did something bizarre. Some were in the know, and some were not. Others still, knew only bits and pieces of what transpired, had only a faint notion of who and what we were.

Very few employees will kill for their bosses. Don't let Hollywood fool you. A flunky making 14 dollars an hour is not going to go on death row unless there is some other incentive. And blood drinkers had various ways to keep their stooges in line, from promises of eternal life (all lies) to threats of violence, and more.

It is remarkable what a person can learn about human nature in eight or ten centuries. A vampire is no more capable of mind control than is the average Dick or Jane. But years of learning to manipulate people makes a difference. My kind are without scruple, and a skilled person without a conscience is capable of convincing the average person of virtually anything.

Never forget that one thing about a lackey. They can be nearly as dangerous as a blood drinker.

The third-floor walkup I found in Wicker Park didn't look like a ghoul inhabited it, at least not at first blush. The first thing I encountered was a pair of twenty-somethings sitting on the stoop outside, smoking some tobacco-free stick and sharing a cocktail. I walked past as if I owned the place, let myself in through the security door, picked up the mail, and walked up the two flights, nodding at people as I passed. When, on the third floor, a young woman looked as if to challenge me, I merely smiled and jingled the keys at her.

"Oh, my God," she called back through her open apartment door, "Weaver found a girl!"

In the distance, a voice chimed in, "Holy shit! Weaver found a girl?"

A young man emerged from the open-door mere moments later, a look of shock and awe on his young face. He was a nice looking fellow with curly dark hair, the kind who seemed always trying to prove how clever he was.

"Don't worry," I said. "I'm just from the county tax office here to seize all his property. Nothing to see here." I made a sweeping gesture with my hand as I often have seen priests do, before adding, "Go and sin no more."

I left the door open after entering, hoping that the neighbors might follow. Neighbors always were a good source of information, and by leaving the door open I gave credence to the notion that I was, in fact, a girlfriend and that I had nothing to hide.

"I always thought he was gay," said the young man. Both he and the female, who was a trim and attractive brunette, stayed outside the door.

"He might well be," I said and added, "You two don't need an invitation. You're not vampires are you? Cause I hear they need an invitation."

The clever lad made as if to enter several times before forcing himself across the threshold. The young woman soon followed.

"How long have you guys known each other?" she asked.

"Who, Weaver? Just a short time. I haven't quite got my teeth into the guy yet. How about you folks?" I peeked through the fridge, which seemed well stocked. Excellent. "Have you known the redoubtable Mr. Napier long?"