Midnight Bites (The Morganville Vampires)(64)

“Sir?”

“Do you like your job?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then make Mr. Collins leave before I lose my temper.”

Rad grabbed Shane by the collar of his shirt and shoved him out into the sunlight. Shane twisted, stiff-armed him, and got some distance.

Rad still had the wrench. In the dusty, hot afternoon, surrounded by the skeletons of old cars, Shane felt like he was ten years old again, getting beaten up for his lunch money by kids twice his size.

Not again. Never again.

“Let him have it,” Rad said. “Trust me. Just let him have it.”

“Screw you, man, that’s my car! I don’t just let vampires take stuff away from me!”

Rad grabbed him and hustled him off into the grimy garage. It was large, and filled with cars under construction, destruction, repair. Sparks flew. Machines whined and banged. It stank of old oil and burning metal.

“This way,” he said, and dragged Shane around two SUVs, a battered Ford pickup, to the far corner of the garage.

There sat Shane’s car. Murdered out. Tint and everything.

Shane turned and looked back outside. A duplicate of the Charger sat in the sun, sparkling. Identical. “What the hell . . . ?”

“That one out front is mine,” Rad said. “It’s got a blown valve, it drives like shit, and the block’s going to crack in the next ten thousand miles, so I’ve been keeping it in the back. I was going to overhaul it and drop in a new engine. Let him have it. Take the money, man. Don’t screw this up and you can walk away with the cash and the car, and Vance gets screwed both ways.”

Rad, Shane decided, wasn’t as dumb as he looked. He stared at him for a long moment, then nodded, walked back to the office, and looked inside. Vance was still sitting there, counting money. He looked up and said, “Come to insult me again?”

“No, sir,” Shane said. “I’ll take the deal. For five thousand.”

Vance frowned, but Shane had guessed right this time. Five thousand was well within the boundaries of that bankroll, and Vance didn’t seem like a guy who particularly cared about the money, anyway.

He counted out the bills and shoved them over, and Shane smiled. “Enjoy the car.”

“Oh, I will.” Vance smirked. “And they say nobody ever takes advantage of you, Collins. You’re not so tough.”

“Absolutely,” Shane agreed, deadpan.

Then he walked out, handed Rad a thousand bucks, and said, “Hang on to the car.”

Rad looked stunned. “What?”

“Your plan, your gain. Keep the car for now. I’ll buy it back from you one of these days. Can’t afford the insurance right now anyway.” Shane shrugged. “Just let me drive it when I want—that’s all I ask.”

“You’re sure?”

“Yeah. I’m sure.” They shook hands, and Shane grinned. “But that means you need to let me borrow it right now, okay?”

“Sure.”

Shane drove it by Bernard’s Resale on the way, and handed Miss Bernard another thousand dollars of Vance’s money because, hey, why not?

Then he went home, picked up Claire, and drove her to the movies.

A chick flick, this time.

In style.





WORTH LIVING FOR


Another free Web site story, but a late addition—one I’d been kicking around for years before I finally finished it. I wrote it a couple of ways, but this was the best version, I believe. . . . It dates back to the period shortly after Michael turns vampire, and Shane’s still deeply uncomfortable about it. He’s also still picking fights to work off his rage, which never really helps him.

Warning: There’s drinking. And confessions. And secret missions with night vision. Bonus Bishop, and scary battles. Michael and Shane, being heroes together.

Which seems about right.

Fun factoid: For most of my late-college apartment living, spaghetti was the only thing I was good at making. That, and mac and cheese with tuna. But we shall not speak of this again.





When Shane came limping home, he was bleeding all over the place, and even though he was drunk off his ass, he knew that wasn’t a good idea. Not with a vampire for a housemate.

The vampire housemate stared at him with a really blank expression, standing in the kitchen doorway, as Shane dropped down on the couch, grabbed a handful of tissues out of the box, and started mopping at his mouth and nose.

“What?” he snapped. Michael shook his head. He was holding a beer in his hand. At least, Shane hoped it was a beer. It had a Budweiser label on it, anyway. “I had a fight.”

“No kidding. Looks bad.”

“Nah.” Ow. Shane probed at a sore spot in his jaw and felt a sickening creak in one of his teeth. Dammit. The only thing worse than hitting a doctor’s office in Morganville was suffering through dental work. Not exactly the best and the brightest setting up shop around here. He was convinced that the jerks had never even heard of novocaine.

Shane spat blood into the tissue, sniffed experimentally, and didn’t feel any telltale drippage. Not so bad. Maybe the worst was over.

Michael walked over, but not close. Not close enough to worry about, anyway. “What happened?”

Shane shrugged. “You know, the usual. Couple of vampires got hold of some girl, started dragging her off. Some of us got into it. No big thing. Nobody got hurt bad.”