A Body’s Feast
The lecture had been a feast for the senses. One wonders if the presenters really understood all the information they were providing the public.
I was gazing at the great central elevator shaft of the Seattle Public Library building sipping on dark chocolate and raspberry cocoa. I had just come from one of their free lectures and was enjoying all the images and sensations it had brought. A little curly-headed blonde tyke has her nose pressed to the coffee bar’s fridge and was demanding to know what a pile of plastic wrapped cheese logs were. She was just too scrumptious for words. A whole meal in herself.
Seattle was sure different from the South where I grew up. I hadn’t once been asked if I’d been saved and there seemed to be different churches here, not just different Baptist denominations. It had got a little un-comfortable down there, people had started to ask questions, so I decided to try new fields and Seattle had such an excellent reputation in certain circles for the quality of its serial killers.
The lecture on forensics had given me goose bumps. I was interested in anything like that. It was great the popularity of the CSI programs kept generating so much information.
Feasts. Things to feast on. Dahlmer liked liver, but until today I’d never thought of the succulent delights of your basic big toes.
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Saving the Day
The moon came up on the melodious wing of a mockingbird. We were on our way to catch a murderer and I was worried. This was a last minute plan and I had no time to prepare. I felt really underdressed. I was wearing old clothes that were way too tight. As we got out of the car in the back parking lot of Randibelle’s bar I started to wiggle my skirt over my hips to smooth it out and looked back over my shoulder.
“Luc, honey,” I said, “does this skirt make me look fat?”
Luc came up behind me, drew his hands up my thighs to my waist, raising my skirt as he did so. Lowering my panties, he put his cheek with it’s five o’clock shadow on my buttocks, kissed both and stood up, restoring the disarray and stepped close, very very close so I had no doubt as to his opinion when he whispered in my ear,
“Yes, it does,” and gnawed a short one on my neck, just for fun and then gave my butt a love pat to get me moving toward the bar before my better sense could take over.
The bar was full. The human clients were divided evenly among vampire groupies and tourists. We were a bit of both. I was with a vampire. Did that make me a groupie, I wondered? Luc checked in with the owner and I checked out the crowd. Our quarry wasn’t hard to spot. He created a black hole wherever he went, you could almost see the crazy that surrounded him. It amazed me that other people couldn’t see it too, or maybe they just ignored it. Probably wise.
He had killed six people, a whole family out near Sheridan. He left tracks a blind man could follow. No wait, I amended, he killed seven; for some reason I always forgot his mother. He started the day by killing his mother and then killed the family in another neighborhood, no idea why. They lived next door to his girlfriend, which is why the cops got on to him so fast.
Luc and I were there to get him out of the bar without further problems. We had a plan. I was supposed to vamp him for the distraction while Luc incapacitated him, gently and unobtrusively. It seemed better than a full-scale assault like the police wanted. If we could get him out the back door, they could take over from there.
My breasts were nesting in white cashmere unbuttoned to near indecency and I gave them a encouraging lift to alert them to get ready to earn their keep; pulled the sweater down tight and started to move in. When I got close to Hiram, a buxom woman with big huge platinum blonde hair body shoved me out of the way, walked right up to him, pushed him back against the bar and screeched:
“Ram, you bastard, what did you do to my car?” and then hauled off and smacked him across the face.
Hiram held up his hands to protect his face so she started beating on him with closed fists. Girly stuff. Kept yelling about her car, he had no right to take her car and no right to dent her fender and had no right to have such a crappy momma, and she had enough to deal with, with her crappy neighbors making noise all night long and did he know how much she loved that car, the bastard.
Luc had come up between the two, offering protection to Hiram and told him, “Let’s take this out back, shall we?” He led Hiram toward the back entrance with the blonde screaming behind them.
I followed along, ready to protect Luc if he needed it. No big-haired blonde was going to get my man.
There were police outside the door, and they had Hiram cuffed and shackled in no time flat. The blonde stood gaping, but turned automatically to Luc, and held out a hand to touch his arm. I body shoved my way between the two and threw my arms around him, and stole her lines.
“My hero,” I sighed. I even batted my lashes.
He laughed and kissed me.
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Carla Blaschka’s genius is the ability to take a perfectly ordinary day, and make it worse. She enjoys taking the ordinary and making it…different. Carla has always seen the world through her hands, discovering the story to be told only after it’s scribbled on paper. She lives in Seattle with cats past, present and future.
DM du Jour 
I really appreciate this post. I’ve been looking all over for this!