High Stakes, Page 2

  There’s a small patch of garden in front with a neatly trimmed lawn and one of those whirly contraptions for drying clothes. A single abandoned sock hangs from it. I’m tempted to rescue it but I damp down the urge. Matt looks at me questioningly and I nod, so he steps up and rings the doorbell. For a second there’s silence, then loud, excited barking erupts from somewhere inside. So far so normal. There’s a shout and the dog subsides but I can hear it whining.

  ‘I had a pet goldfish when I was little,’ Matt informs me as the door finally opens. ‘It died when I tried to take it out of the tank to play with.’

  ‘You tried to play with a goldfish?’

  ‘I was six! It looked lonely!’

  I look up at the man standing in the doorway. He’s staring at Matt as if he’s crazy. I don’t blame him.

  ‘Mr Brinkish?’ I ask, directing his attention back to me. ‘My name is Bo Blackman. I’m from New Order. You called us about your dog?’

  He blinks rapidly. He’s not much taller than I am, which makes a change, but he’s remarkably broad. His head is shaven and his shiny forehead seems massive as a result. ‘Good,’ he mutters. ‘Come in.’

  I must have looked surprised at his willingness to invite two vampires into his home because he produces a wooden crucifix from behind his back and holds it up. ‘I’m not afraid of bloodguzzlers but you should be afraid of me.’

  Matt snickers and I jab him sharply in the ribs. ‘Sir, I should inform you that crosses don’t actually harm vampires in any way.’

  He frowns then, as if testing my words, thrusts it towards my face. When I don’t flinch, he reaches out and presses it against my skin. Nothing happens. He pulls the cross back and shakes it as if he’s hoping there’s a wire loose inside. ‘I paid good money for this,’ he says. He tosses it aside. ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ve got plenty of garlic.’

  ‘Garlic doesn’t affect us either,’ Matt interjects cheerfully.

  ‘Oh yeah?’ Brinkish says. ‘Well, my dog hates it.’

  ‘Is that why you think he’s a vampire?’

  The man bares his teeth. Distractingly, one of his molars is gold-plated; if he had an eye-patch and a parrot, he’d make a perfect pirate. ‘I don’t think he’s a vampire,’ he says. ‘I know.’

  He steps back so we can come inside. I’m about to move past him into the small hallway when he clicks his tongue. I glance at him askance and realise he’s pointing at my feet. ‘Shoes,’ he grunts.

  I see several low-lying shelves brimming with all kinds of footwear. I look at Brinkish’s feet. He’s wearing a pair of fluffy slippers that don’t quite fit with his tough-guy attitude. ‘Wife doesn’t like dirt tracked in from outside,’ he says by way of explanation.

  I nod dutifully and bend down to pull off my boots. Embarrassingly, there’s a hole in one of my socks that my big toe gapes through. Brinkish doesn’t seem to notice.

  Matt clears his throat. ‘Uh, Bo? Is it okay if I stay outside?’ He drops his voice to a loud stage whisper. ‘My feet are really smelly.’

  I pat his shoulder reassuringly. ‘No problem.’

  Brinkish’s lip curls. ‘Just don’t mess up my lawn,’ he says, slamming the door shut in poor Matt’s face. He turns back to me. ‘The mutt is this way.’

  I follow him through to a small living room. To say it’s over decorated would be an understatement: the sofa is covered in chintz, the wallpaper is a bright, repetitive floral design and everywhere I look there are china ornaments. I’d think it was all his wife’s doing but Brinkish absently places a hand on a large porcelain ballerina in mid-pirouette and strokes its head.

  In the middle of the room, almost camouflaged by the contrasting patterns and clutter, is a dog. As soon as it sees me, it charges over, tongue lolling. It leaps up, placing its front paws on my legs, and yelps.

  ‘He’s, uh, very friendly,’ I comment, patting its head and doing what I can to avoid its doggy-breath licks.

  Brinkish watches the pair of us with narrowed eyes. ‘Like seeks like,’ he says.

  I extricate myself and sit on the edge of the sofa. The dog returns to its former spot in the middle of a garish rug and drools. ‘What’s he called?’ I ask.

  ‘Kimchi.’

  ‘Isn’t that a Korean food?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Don’t Koreans eat dogs?’

  His bottom lip juts out. ‘A few. It’s hardly a staple part of their diet.’

  I get the impression this is a conversation he has had many times. ‘Kimchi,’ I call softly to see what the dog will do. His ears perk up and he bounds over to me, then jumps up and plonks himself onto my lap so my vision is almost obscured. Kimchi certainly verges on the more rotund side of canine.

  ‘So,’ I say, peering round first one floppy ear, then the other. ‘What makes you think he’s a vampire?’ I feel ridiculous even saying the words.

  ‘Check his teeth,’ Brinkish tells me.

  Somewhat warily, I place my hands on Kimchi’s hindquarters and gently encourage him to look at me. My face is immediately slathered in several wet licks.

  ‘Dogs should be afraid of vampires. Instinct should tell them to attack or run. He thinks you’re his new best friend,’ Brinkish continues, as I try to peer into Kimchi’s mouth while avoiding any further collisions with his tongue. The reek of digested Pedigree Chum is off-putting. I can’t see anything out of the ordinary about his teeth, however. Not that I’d try and pass myself off as any kind of animal expert.

  ‘Um…’ I begin. ‘What exactly am I looking for?’

  ‘His fangs!’ Brinkish says, exasperated.

  I look again. They seem perfectly normal to me. I glance at Brinkish, letting my guard down as I do. Kimchi swoops in for another lick. ‘It’s normal for a dog’s canine teeth to be long,’ I say, giving myself the air of a knowledgeable professional, while twisting away from the dog.

  ‘Yeah?’ he challenges. ‘Then explain why he won’t go outside during the day. He refuses point blank to be taken for a walk unless it’s dark.’

  Kimchi whines as if sensing he’s the focus of our discussion. I stroke his ears and he subsides but I can feel his eyes on me. ‘Perhaps if you take him to a vet…’

  ‘I cut myself a few days ago,’ Brinkish interrupts, his voice rising. ‘Some blood dropped on the floor. Before I could get a cloth, he was licking it up.’

  Tired of dodging Kimchi’s slobber, I scoot him off my lap. He pants, tail wagging, then disappears out of the room. I sigh. ‘Look, Mr Brinkish, can you see my eyes? The red in the centre of my pupil indicates I’m a vampire. Kimchi doesn’t have that.’

  ‘Oh yeah? Kimchi, come here,’ he calls.

  The dog returns, my right boot in his mouth. I gape. In the space of a few seconds he’s managed to rip off a chunk of the expensive leather. Brilliant.

  Brinkman grabs a small torch from a side table. He’s obviously prepared for this. He passes it over to me. ‘Shine it in his eyes.’

  I’m doubtful; I don’t want to damage the dog’s vision by shoving a bright light into them. Brinkish, however, seems insistent so I do as he asks. As soon as the torch is turned on, I can see it: there’s definitely some kind of red pigmentation there. It’s in Kimchi’s iris though, not his pupil.

  I put the torch down and stand up. ‘He’s just a dog. The vampire mutation only occurs in humans and bats. It’s widely accepted that other animals are immune.’

  ‘It was widely accepted once that you could either be a black witch or a white witch,’ Brinkish sneers. ‘Look where we are now.’

  I rub my forehead. The hybrid witches created as a result of O’Connell’s desire to make the world a better place went public not long after he was charged with murder. Most people seem to think they’re a good thing. Having met a few of them, I would beg to differ.<
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  ‘I really do think you should just take him to a vet.’

  ‘No. There must be a test you can do. Something to prove it.’

  I grit my teeth. ‘I suppose I could take a sample of blood…’

  ‘Take the dog.’

  I stare at him. ‘Take it where?’

  ‘You vampires have got state-of-the-art laboratories. Don’t think I don’t know that! Get him properly tested by bloodguzzlers who know what they’re doing.’

  ‘And then what? When I prove to you that your dog is just a dog?’

  His eyes shift. ‘Bring him back, of course.’

  ‘He’s your pet, Mr Brinkish. Your responsibility.’

  ‘Responsibility is not letting a potentially lethal animal out on the streets. There are children living round here!’

  I close my eyes briefly. I need to humour him; New Order is supposed to take all complaints and concerns about vampires seriously. As my grandfather suggested, it wouldn’t take much to create a panic about people’s pets turning guzzler overnight. A few well-placed internet articles and … poof! We become even more hated than ever. I’m not stupid; I know that the British are more inclined to feel sympathy for a dog than they are for a human. In fact, it’s not just Brits. There’s a reason why the dog always survives in disaster movies: people just don’t enjoy seeing animals suffer. I chew my lip.

  ‘I came here on a motorbike,’ I say finally. ‘I can’t take Kimchi now. I’ll have to send someone round later.’

  He shakes his head. ‘You’ve come round to solve my vampire problem.’ His eyes harden. ‘Solve it.’

  I look at Kimchi. His tail thumps on the rug as he registers my attention. Red irises aside, his large eyes are soulful and expressive. I can’t stop myself from smiling at him. I guess I can put his owner’s mind at rest. ‘Fine,’ I sigh, unable quite to believe I’m doing this. ‘But if there’s an accident…’

  ‘He’s a vampire dog. If there’s an accident, he’ll heal.’

  Kimchi drops my poor boot. I can see the saliva on the ripped lining. The sooner I can get an official piece of paper to appease Mr Brinkish, the better.

  *

  Our return journey is frankly ridiculous. Kimchi is entirely unafraid of the motorbike but Matt and I are forced to wedge him between us to keep him stable. That means that I have to endure repeated wet slobbers on the back of my neck. I’ve always scorned side-cars in the past but I’m starting to see their appeal. When we pull up at a set of traffic lights, the family in the car opposite us are horrified. The only good thing is that – with our helmets on – they can’t tell that we’re vampires. I dread to think what the animal rights’ lobbyists would say. In truth, they’d be right.

  It takes every ounce of concentration I have to avoid the dips and minor potholes in the road to make Kimchi’s journey as unstressful as possible. When we pull up outside the New Order offices, he jumps off and barks once. I swear he’s grinning in delight. He gives the motorbike one long sniff, then sits back as if giving it the doggy stamp of approval.

  It’s later now so the majority of the protestors have vanished, off to the safety of their own homes. There are still a few stragglers, however. When one spots us, he moves in our direction, pockmarked face twisting. I hear a low rumble and realise that it’s Kimchi growling. I lunge for his collar, just managing to grab it before he leaps towards the protestor and into what would be disastrous action.

  ‘Night beast!’ the protestor yells.

  ‘No, it’s just a dog.’

  Kimchi’s growl intensifies.

  ‘Since when do vampires have familiars?’

  ‘It’s not a familiar.’ I speak evenly but I’m starting to get pissed off. ‘It’s a dog.’

  ‘Bo,’ Matt says nervously, ‘maybe we should just go inside.’

  I’m tempted to loosen my hold on Kimchi’s collar just to see what happens. It’s a pointless desire, though. The protestors hold all the cards: we can’t intimidate them or threaten them or even politely ask them to leave. Our remit is to encourage free speech and open dialogue, even if that means letting these idiots make our lives as difficult as possible. I take Matt’s advice and gently pull Kimchi round. Then we go through the main door.

  There’s still a light on in Pearls of Wisdom on the ground floor. I ignore it and start climbing the stairs but, before I get too far, the door opens and Dr Drechlin’s voice rings out behind me. ‘No animals allowed.’

  ‘Matt, take Kimchi upstairs.’ He nods his head vigorously and does as he’s told. I turn round and face the good dentist. ‘It’s only temporary,’ I tell him. Thank goodness he’s not spotted the cat yet.

  ‘First a cat, now a dog.’ Damn. ‘It’s against the lease regulations.’

  I move down so I’m level with him. Well, I say level: my feet are next to his but I’m a good foot shorter. I admit it’s a ploy I’ve used before. Men – especially human men – are comforted when they feel physically superior, even if it is all an illusion.

  ‘They won’t get in your way,’ I soothe.

  ‘All you bloodguzzlers have done since you moved in is get in my fucking way.’

  I open my mouth to placate him when there’s the sudden sound of a scuffle from upstairs and an agonised yell from Matt, followed by a thunderous roar of paws rushing back down the stairs. Kimchi appears, ignoring me in favour of flinging himself at Drechlin. The dentist is knocked backwards against the wall. The dog bounces up, his paws scrabbling at Drechlin’s shirt.

  Drechlin is flustered. He pats Kimchi’s head but glares at me. ‘You shouldn’t keep dogs if you can’t train them properly.’

  ‘He’s not my dog,’ I begin, before faltering. Somehow I don’t think explaining that I’m investigating the possibility that the animal slobbering over him might be vampiric would endear either of us to the dentist.

  There’s a faint whine. Drechlin glowers and reaches inside the pocket of his white coat. To my surprise he pulls out a biscuit and gives it to Kimchi, who delicately snaps it from his fingers. Then the dentist whirls round and re-enters his office, slamming the door.

  I raise my eyebrows at Kimchi, who is licking off the last few remaining crumbs. ‘You’re smarter than you look.’ He wags his tail.

  Matt’s pale face peers round from the top of the stairs. ‘Sorry, Bo.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ I call up. ‘I think Kimchi might get on better with our neighbours than we do.’

  ‘That’s good,’ Matt responds, ‘because I don’t think your grandfather’s cat is very impressed.’

  I roll my eyes. Of course not.

  *

  When I finally drag Kimchi back upstairs, he eyes my grandfather’s closed door with trepidation then shuffles over to the furthest corner away from it and curls up. My grandfather, unfortunately, is on the wrong side of the door.

  ‘You were supposed to reassure the client that his canine was not a vampire, not bring it home with you. What kind of dog is that anyway?’

  I eye Kimchi. ‘Pure mutt, I think.’

  ‘It’s obese.’

  I feel insulted on the dog’s behalf. Goodness knows why. ‘It’s big boned.’ My grandfather raises his eyebrows. ‘I need to get a blood test done so Mr Brinkman has an official document to prove his dog is vampire-free. He isn’t going to accept anything else.’

  ‘Bo, you shouldn’t let people walk all over you. It’s demeaning and quite unbecoming for a Blackman.’

  I put my hands on my hips. ‘You mean walking all over me like you’re trying to do right now?’

  ‘I am your employer.’

  I bite back my reply. It wouldn’t do any good, even if calling himself my ‘employer’ is taking it a bit too far. Connor and Matt’s heads are both down, as if they don’t know where to look. Even Kimchi is avoiding e
ye contact. The last thing any of us need at this juncture is to have everyone in the office tiptoe around because of a frosty atmosphere caused by poor family relations. I like to think my silence makes me the better person; it’s got nothing to do with the fact that any argument with my grandfather always finishes with him running circles around me. Fortunately, the phone rings so it looks less like I’m capitulating and more like I’m merely busy.

  ‘New Order, Bo Blackman speaking. How may I help you?’

  ‘Hello.’ Michael’s voice is soft. In my imagination, however, it’s still laced with danger.

  I start. Damn it. I wanted to be more prepared before I spoke to him. ‘Uh, hi.’

  ‘You were supposed to call me.’

  ‘I only just got back,’ I say, wishing I didn’t have a sudden flurry of butterflies squirming around my stomach.

  My grandfather checks his fob watch. It’s almost 11pm and time for him to leave. Thank goodness. He throws Kimchi a dirty look then carefully opens the office door. There’s a single plaintive meow before he closes it behind him.

  ‘Back from where?’ Michael asks, oblivious to the tension on this side of the line. ‘It wasn’t anything dangerous, was it?’

  I ignore the flip-flop in my heart at his apparent concern. To stay grounded, I remind myself of all my unanswered questions about his murky past. ‘No. I was just seeing a man about a dog.’