Easier said than done. He descended the stairwell. No sign of the blonde in the purple minidress. Good. With any luck, he’d scared some sense into her.
Barton leaned in the door frame. “You sure have a way with women,” he said. Strobe lights shone off his shiny black bald head. The man stood out like a drag queen at a Republican convention in his flashy red suit and yellow dress shirt. African Americans didn’t mix well with the undead crowd, as they were the preferred dish due to their high concentration of melanin, which tasted sweet. Already two male zombies at the bar eyed him. Why Barton wanted to rendezvous there was beyond Vaihan, but he’d better get the asshole out of there soon.
Vaihan slid into a crescent-sgaped leather booth to his right. Barton took the seat across from him then set his briefcase on the table.
“How can I be of service to Homeland Security?” The sooner he got to the point, the faster Vaihan could exit.
“We’d like you to prove Peter Waltz is helping Rowley McKie get funding and political clout to support his terrorist activities.” Barton popped open the front of the briefcase. “If we can prove that, we might be able to pressure Peter to flip and take McKie down once and for all.”
Peter Waltz did affiliate with those who didn’t support the Bill of Undead Rights. However, any exchange he’d had with Waltz had always been cordial. “I’m not sure how I’m to do that if the man is less than warmed up to Ancients being around.” The man didn’t support the Bill, so did that mean he was the one helping McKie? Hardly a smoking gun. McKie was convincing all on his own. But so were a great many madmen.
“This isn’t a direct contact scenario. His sister, Leera Waltz, will be your point of entry. Recently widowed, vulnerable and attractive.”
And human. This assignment would aggravate his OCD. One more take-it-up-the-ass mission from the feds. Just what he didn’t need.
“Tell me about Peter’s connection to McKie.” If the feds were sniffing around, the widow’s misfortunes were about to worsen. Across the room beneath the table, an older woman stroked the male next to her. Her teased hairdo reminded him of the disco era. Until the 80s, Vaihan had lived in hiding or as an albino. Then the government had approached him and a few others of his kind with a dilemma. If the Ancients helped keep certain facts under wraps, they would be integrated into society and given identities–serial numbers. But not rights. Up until then, humans had depicted zombies as mindless creatures that decayed. How wrong they were.
“McKie grew up next door. Same age, school and class as Peter. Things got strained when McKie dated Leera. She was still in high school. But they broke up. She went away to study in Paris. She fell in love with a French man, and soon after, married the frog. While she was away, Peter and McKie buried the hatchet.” Barton handed him a photo.
On the glossy page, big almond eyes gazed right into him. The maple tone of her skin warmed her somber expression. She had an hourglass silhouette draped in a fitted beige gown that accentuated her curves. Vaihan could be sure McKie’s interest would renew if it hadn’t already. This woman had no idea the danger she was in. And if Vaihan turned Barton down, he could be sure he’d find someone else to get the job done who wouldn’t look out for her.
“From the wire we have on her phone, she’s going to be at Tuesday’s performance of Jean-Baptiste Lully’s Le Bourgeois Gentilhomme with Peter and his wife Meg. A perfect setup for you two to meet and hook up if you know what I mean.”
At least she had good taste in music. However, if he got this straight, the man wanted him to make advances on an acquaintance’s sister to use her to take down her brother. “You do get that I’m undead and this can be a hang up for simple conversation with human females?”
“Leera’s psychological profile indicates she has a high esteem for government officials. Her father was the late Senator Waltz, the first senator of the District of Columbia in eighty-two. I’m confident you can win her over with your charm, even without the good looks.” A broad smile spread his lips, revealing his gold-capped tooth. “You were People’s Sexiest Undead for the last three years. And weren’t you approached by the Bachelor?”
“Tres drole.” Using the whole Special Advisor to the President and founder of the International Network for Undead Rights–INUR–angle to pick up women didn’t get him much play. Besides, one night for a taste of poison wasn’t how most women built relationships. Not that he had time for women.
“I could send someone else in, but I don’t want this woman to be screwed over any more than need be. That’s why we need you to work her. Poster boy for decency and morality.” He slammed the briefcase shut.
The stench of bullshit outweighed the tantalizing aroma of the patrons. Barton knew he didn’t deal with human cases, unless it involved helping women. However, he had a lot on his plate, without the temptation of live flesh or an attractive female. The president and he were close to securing the support to draft the final version of the first Bill of Undead Rights in history to become legislation.
Already his moonlighting activities of shutting down sex dens and unruly Ancients could pose a danger to his position at the White House.
“We aren’t asking. We are calling in our favor. We aren’t prepared to let the Bill die amid increased terrorist activities, political bullying by right wing fanatics and threats to the president’s life.”
Nor would he.
“Look, we bury certain facts about the less savory sex dens to ensure all zombies seem reformed. We do for you and you have to do for us too.”
The point didn’t need stating. The government benefited from keeping the less desirable facts outside of the public eye too. They were the ones cloning entire humans for limbs and organs for the rich then claiming they only dealt in parts. Ancients provided them a way of discarding the leftovers.
“I rather like Jean-Baptiste Lully. His music is optimistic.” Best he saw this as an opportunity to help his fellow American. As Mandela would say, a good head and a good heart are always a formidable combination.
“I’m happy to hear you see things our way, Mr. Louchian.” Barton rose and held out his hand.
Vaihan glared at the offer. “I suggest you leave to ensure you can get back and report that we did have this conversation. Some of the other patrons are considering how long they could go without another meal after eating you.”
“Word is that the Conference Committee’s report will be approved by the senate this fall and ready for the commander-in-chief’s approval early next year.” Barton stood and buttoned his jacket.
“With any luck, it will.” As the president had assured him, the Bill was moving along as projected.
“I’ll be in contact. Enjoy your evening.” Barton picked up his briefcase and darted to the exit with hurried steps.
An undead sandwiched a brunette to the wall in the corner, her thighs wrapped around his waist. With quick motions, he pumped into her. The woman’s dark, hungry eyes met Vaihan’s. He read her lips; she said, “Harder, make me come.” The male’s sharp thrusts were followed by harsh moans from the brunette.
Sweat and sex wove into Vaihan’s nostrils as he reached the entrance, picture in hand. He grabbed matches from the bar, then struck one and lifted the flame to the bottom corner of the glossy sheet. The woman in the picture already knew loss. Pain was evident in her face, as well as strength. He couldn’t burn the image, and blew out the flame.
The bouncer, Don opened the door. “Have a good evening, Mr. Louchian.”
It couldn’t hurt for him to make sure the young blonde left. “Don, did you see an attractive Goldilocks in a purple minidress head out earlier?”
Lust glimmered in Don’s eyes. “She sure did. And in a hurry. Too bad, as I wouldn’t