Zeke, a reporter with schizo-affective paranoia, gets caught up in a vamp-motivated murder.
Zeke's best work is drafted during "medicinal vacations," where he uses his condition to aid his writing process, short term memory be damned. However, the l...
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It was a cold night. Which wasn't that odd for an April night in Florida. Tepid mornings, hot as balls afternoons, and sweaty if not chilly nights.
Zeke zipped up his windbreaker, nodding to August. "You didn't bring yours?"
"Nah. I run hot."
They crossed the street. It was only a two-minute walk from the parking garage to the club entrance. Not that many people knew where to find it.
A speak-easy. Or a hard-to-find, as August liked to call it.
Instead of the whisper-like atmosphere, this club thrived on noise. As Zeke and August approached the brick-faced building, the thumping of music within thudded through the sidewalk, reaching the soles of their shoes.
Zeke felt his head pounding already. He wished he had remembered to pop a Tylenol.
Following up on leads caused enough headaches. Leads that led to rave sites invited headaches. Though Zeke loathed the thought, he had decided to examine possible ties to the recent murder and the vamp rave site nearby. As August had noted, the victim wouldn't have had to walk far.
The spray-painted door was guarded by a scrawny youth with dark hair and olive skin. If he liked you, his smile lit up his face. If he didn't like you, he spat unflattering epithets in Italian.
"Hey there, Armanno."
Armanno stood straight, a grin cracking across his cheeks. "Hey, Zeke."
From behind him, August swore.
"What's the matter?" Zeke asked.
"If you invited her, I'm outta here."
Without explanation, August walked into the shadowed alleyway, disappearing from sight.
"What?"
Zeke checked the side street entrance, surprised to see Carter striding toward him.
Her heels smacked the pavement, dark hair bouncing around her glowing face. Her eyes shone against her smooth, dark-skinned complexion. When Armanno saw her, his demeanor shifted.
"Stronza," Zeke heard him mutter. It didn't sound like a compliment.
"Hi guys," Carter greeted them warmly.
Even though he despised her, the way her black slinky dress hugged her curves was mighty nice. She probably knew it, too. That's what made her all the more infuriating.
"This isn't your shift," Zeke informed her.
She laughed. "Martinez thought I'd like this club."
The laugh was callous, but didn't phase Zeke.
Martinez, as in their Editor. The lie was stupid. Though, it could've been true. He'd have no way of knowing. Inside, he stewed. Outwardly, he ignored her and turned his wrist to the doorman. Armanno passed a slim pen-like device over Zeke's exposed skin. The end of the pen lit up with an emerald light, and Zeke turned to go inside. Armanno stepped aside for him, even opening the door.
