Death’s Excellent Vacation (Sookie Stackhouse #9.5)(5)
Author: Charlaine Harris

Rudy laughed again. My insides were burning with a huge brushfire of hate. My friend’s face was mottled, her movements sluggish, and her eyes were frightened. I had never seen Pam scared of anything. She was a revered fighter, even among the vampires, who were known for savagery and ruthlessness. "Let’s try walking it off. " "That won’t help you, " Rudy said with a sneer. He was lounging against the wall. "She won’t be feeling herself again for a couple of hours. In the meantime, we’ll have fun with you first, Michael and me. Then we’ll have her. " "Pam, look at me, " I said sharply, trying not to picture their idea of fun. She did look. "You have to help me, " I said intently, trying to get a message into her addled brain. "These men are going to hurt us. " Her eyes finally focused on mine, and she nodded slowly. I moved my head slightly to the right, pointed a thumb at my own chest. Then I inclined my head oh-so-slightly toward Michael, pointing the same thumb at her. "I understand, " Pam said clearly, but only with great effort. Michael was still seated, but Rudy had pulled away from the wall at the moment I drew the gun. They smelled it as I was drawing (and they might have sooner if Michael hadn’t been smoking) and reacted with the quickness of their races. I fired into Rudy’s face as he grabbed for me, and Pam threw herself across the desk to grip Michael’s ears. He clawed at her arms and slammed her down onto the desk. Ordinarily she would have tossed him over her shoulder or something equally spectacular. But in her drugged state, she could only hold on to what she had. He was hitting her repeatedly, too angry to pry her hands away when he could be doing damage to her body. She’d have to loosen her grip, eventually. While Rudy gurgled and grabbed at the hole in his face under his left cheekbone, I said, "Pull, Pam!" and she obeyed. She pulled Michael’s ears off. When he flinched back, his mouth open with the pain, she lunged again and stuck her thumbs in his eyes. Instead of throwing up, I shot Rudy again, this time in the chest. Michael wasn’t dead, of course, but he was rocking in silent agony. While he was distracted, Pam pulled out his tongue. I averted my eyes as quickly as I could and swallowed down the bile that rose in my throat. This was Pam on a bad night. I checked on my target. Rudy was down, though he wouldn’t stay that way. If elves were as tough as fairies, he’d be up within a half hour. I grabbed the towel from the top of the microwave and wiped off the gun, then tossed it on the desk. I don’t really know why–I just had to get rid of it. "We have to get out of here, " I said to Pam, and she dropped the bloody ears. Slowly and deliberately, she wiped her hands on the chair cushion. The ears lying on the desk looked like discarded Play- Doh shells with red paint sprinkled on them.

I wondered briefly if Michael could stick the ears back on, if the eyes and tongue would regenerate. Whoops! Rudy was already up on his elbows, trying to drag himself toward us. I kicked him under the chin as hard as I possibly could, and he collapsed. Pam had started to waver, but I put my arm around her again and she steadied. "I took care of him, " Pam said, enunciating with care. She smiled at me. Speckles of blood had landed on her pink silk blouse, so I told her to button her coat up again. I tied it shut. "That was fun, " she said guilelessly. "I’m glad you had a good time, " I muttered, "since I planned all this for your benefit. " We stepped out of the office in the corridor and let the door shut behind us. If we could just make it to the car . . . Mohawk was staring at us from his place on the stool by the back door. Then that door opened, and two cops walked in. And we’d been doing so well. The pulsing noise of the stripper music and the office soundproofing had drowned out the shots. I knew this, because no employees had come to check on the gunfire. So no one had summoned these guys; therefore, they must be friends of the management, since they’d entered through the rear. I was trying to think, and think fast, and my brain was a little too crowded (what with shooting an elf, seeing a guy lose his facial features, and whatnot). One thing I was clear about was wanting to stay out of jail. These cops might not even be within their own jurisdiction, but we had to avoid coming to their attention. After giving Mohawk a casual wave, they’d stopped to talk to a short, curvy stripper in a platinum wig, which meant they were blocking the rear exit. If we reversed direction and tried to walk out through the front, we’d attract even more attention, I figured. "Whoops, " said Pam cheerfully. "What now, my perky friend?" "You girls ready to try out?" Mohawk called, and the cops glanced at us before resuming their conversation. Mohawk pointed to the DANCERS IN HERE sign. I said, "We sure are, sugar! We go in there to put on our costumes?" He nodded, and his Mohawk swayed. Pam giggled. I’d never heard Pam giggle like that. "Course, most girls don’t even bother with a costume, " Mohawk said, grinning. "I think you’ll find we’re not most girls, " I said, arch as all hell. He was interested. "How’re you two different?" "We’re always together, " I said. "Get what I mean?" "Uh, yeah, " he said. His eyes darted from the clearly sloshed Pam to me. "So, go change. It’s audience night. They vote after you take your turn. You could end up on permanent staff. " Oh . . . Yay. I knew there were speckles of blood on Pam. Vampires could always smell blood. As we passed him in the narrow hall, I didn’t dare to meet Mohawk’s eyes. I steered my drunken vampire friend into the designated room. It was a huge nothing. There were about twenty folding chairs set around at random, and about six of those were occupied by women waiting their turn.

Chapter Four

The others had already had their stage time and left, I assumed. No screen to change behind, no makeup table, no hangers–no clothes hooks, even. There was a full- length mirror propped against the wall, and that was it. The glamour just overwhelmed me. The aspiring strippers were all blondes: At least, they’d achieved blonde-dom by some means. They glanced at us and looked away. One face looked vaguely familiar. I helped Pam to a chair. She sat heavily. Her complexion was still hectic, but at least the red patches were fading and she looked more like a regular vampire and less like cherry vanilla ice cream. Speaking of red dots, I hastily spat on a tissue and dabbed at the specks of blood on Pam’s blouse. I’d been very fortunate; a quick glance into the full-length mirror confirmed that I was unbloodied. "All right, genius, what do we do now?" I asked myself, aloud. Pam said, "I’ll, I’ll . . . Appeal to her. She has two extra costumes. " She nodded toward the woman I sort of recognized. Pam was oddly sure about what the wannabe dancer–who I realized was a vamp–had in her huge tote bag. "Pam, you did great in there, " I whispered. "So did you. You’re so cute, " she said. "No wonder Eric likes you. " I glanced out into the hall. The cops were still there, still having a lively conversation with the curvaceous stripper. Crap. Pam rose cautiously and went over to the vamp, who was sitting by herself, looking bored. She had the requisite blond hair (so did the only African American applicant, by the way) and enormous boobs, and she was a few decades old, I figured.