Biting Nixie (20 page)

“I mean the fire started
in
the paperwork. And not spontaneously.” Elena waited, watched me while I absorbed the implications.

“Someone burned the paperwork for the beauty pageant? But why? A guerilla feminist?”

Elena stared at the blackened wallpaper. Picked off a bit. “Thank goodness we have insurance.” I thought she was ignoring my question until she went on, “Have you managed to get insurance for the festival?”

“Well, no, but…” Connections whirred in my brain. “You mean you think someone is trying to sabotage the festival?”

Elena wore her cop-face, unreadable and hard. “Have you had problems lately? Anything interfering with or delaying you?”

“Aside from vampires attacking all the time and daggy über-vamps phoning me? Gee, let me think.”

“Is that a yes?”

The problem with Elena in cop mode was that she had no sense of humor. “Well, I almost didn't get bands auditioned. But that was natural causes.” Cary Grant's stinginess in the first case and my own horniness in the second. “But why are you asking if I've had trouble?”

Elena glanced out the window like she was checking for eavesdroppers. She lowered her voice. “The Coterie was using the Lestat gang to distract us. Now they've advanced to committing actual crimes.”

“But…but why?”

“To make it impossible for us to raise the money we need to keep them out of Meiers Corners.”

I had just heard from Julian how important it was to keep the Coterie out (even though he hadn't told me
why
). “But even if the festival is stopped…maybe we can talk Julian into accepting a reduced fee—or maybe waiving his fee altogether.”

Elena spun from the window. “It isn't that, Nixie! Julian's not getting a dime as it is.”

“
What
? Then who is the money for?”

“Judges. People with political clout. The Coterie has huge political influence, not just in Chicago, but across the U.S. And they're not always ethical in how they use it.”

“We're raising money for
bribes
?” I put fists on hips and frowned. “Hell, Elena. How low do we go? Selling our souls? Meiers Corners isn't that important. Not if it means paying bribes and getting people's houses burnt. Let's just let Chicago annex us and have done with it.”

“It isn't that simple.”

“Oh, for heaven's sake—of course it's that simple! What is it with you? You, and Julian, and—”

“They want the Blood Center.”

My lips kept going but no sound followed. The Blood Center? Why should a bunch of
suits
want a small-town blood center?

Then I remembered this particular bunch of suits were vampires, but it still didn't make sense. Surely there was blood and blood aplenty in Chicago. Three million mobile bags of it, to be precise. Why would they want our little operation? “But we're just part of the Hemoglobin Society's distribution network. It's not like we're Red Cross, or anything major.”

“We still pass over a thousand units through weekly. In fact, a shipment of three thousand units is going out this Saturday.”

“Three
thousand
? That's a…a lot of blood.” Several hundred gallons, if I was figuring right. “But controlling the city won't give the Coterie access to the blood.”

“No, but it will let them write laws. And if the laws don't loosen the proverbial purse strings, think of the political and economic clout they'll have. And they're vampires on top of it. No one will be able to oppose them.”

“No one? What about Bo? What about Julian?”

“You can't think they'll let Bo stay here if they take over. And Julian has to go home sometime.”

“Shit,” I said. “So what do we do?”

Elena picked up another lamp. “Everything we
can
do to see the festival goes off well. The money we raise will curb the Coterie.”

“And the Lestats?” I found a small table, hoisted it, and followed her toward the door.

“Ah, yes. The Coterie's terrorist gang. We need to keep them from terrorizing us.”

“That's a plan. Do you think Bruno can get me another bazooka?”

Elena smiled slightly. “Maybe he can lend you my old one.”

That reminded me. “I was going to ask you how to stake vampires anyway. After the attack at the Roller-Blayd factory.”

Elena surprised me by blushing. “Oh. It's um, a little more complicated than you might think.”

“I didn't think anything, yet.”

“Well, of course not! Still…I'd better have Bo explain. He's the expert.”

It was an odd reaction. Maybe Elena thought you killed vampires like on TV? As soon as this thought entered my head, I rejected it. Not Elena. Not Ms. Show-me-the-facts Cop.

Elena pushed a hand through her curls. “And I suppose you have other questions, too. After the assault.”

“Well, yeah. But considering what happened…I suppose they can wait.”

“Knowing you, not long.” Elena led me to the kitchen, where her cook was making a batch of cinnamon rolls. “Wait here. I'll go get Bo.”

I sat and watched the cook work the dough. The repetitive kneading soothed me. Moments later the back door opened and Elena returned with Bo. She pulled out a chair and leaned it against the wall in one corner.

Bo pulled out another, reversed it, and straddled it like a horse. “I understand you want to know how to stake a vampire,” he said to me.

Beyond him the cook continued her methodical kneading, undisturbed.

Apparently not a weird conversation for this household. “Yeah. Elena says there's a trick to it.”

He smiled slightly, gave Elena one of those married people looks that's impossible for outsiders to decipher. “Not so much a trick. You need to drive a stake through the heart.”

I considered it. I was pretty sure ribs and the breastbone were in the way. I was strong, but even my muscles couldn't poke a stake through bone. “With a mallet?”

He beamed at me, like I was a particularly bright pupil. “That might work, assuming the stake was big enough. And assuming the vampire held still long enough.”

“How big a stake?”

Elena held up her forearm. “About this thick.”

Bo nodded. “Thick enough to punch out the heart. You can also go up through the belly. But then you have to pierce the diaphragm.”

Elena said, “The diaphragm is the sheet of muscle under the lungs. It's what you use to breathe.”

“I'm a clarinet player, Elena,” I said a little dryly. “I think I've heard of a diaphragm.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

I asked Bo, “What did you mean about the vampire holding still long enough?”

“Vampires are much faster than humans. If one sees you coming, he'd retaliate or run long before you could stake him.”

Having seen Julian run, I could attest to that. “Then staking is virtually useless.”

“Not quite. It works if the vampire is asleep. Or if you're staking a youngling who doesn't know enough to pull the stake out.”

“Oh, great. They can pull it out?”

“Yes. And if the stake isn't thick enough, the heart heals around it and goes on pumping. Oh…and you need to remember the stake doesn't destroy the vampire. It only immobilizes it.”

“Lovely. Anything else?”

Elena said, “Older vampires can mist. The stake just drops out.”

“I thought all vamps could mist.”

“No,” Bo said. “That power doesn't develop until the vampire's about a hundred.”

“So basically, I can only stake a young, sleeping vampire.”

“And then run away very fast,” Bo agreed. “Because even an immobilized vampire will go for your throat if you get too close.”

“Okay,” I said. “I think I'll stick with the bazooka.”

 

 

 

Elena's apartment fire made me realize I couldn't put it off any longer. If the Lestats were actively undermining the festival, I needed—gasp—insurance.

Elena's agent didn't do commercial policies. She put me in touch with a company in Chicago. CIC Mutual. Stomach churning, I punched in the number.

“CIC Mutual!” a girlish voice chirped. “Safe and Secure for You and Your Family! How may I direct your call?”

I had to shake off the saccharine buzz. “Uh…I want to buy some insurance.”

“You've reached the right place, ma'am! CIC Mutual, Insurance for Every Need!”

“Yeah. That's why I called an insurance company. Look, could you connect me to an agent or something?”

“Our Professional Agents are Available to Serve You Twenty-Four Hours a Day!”

“Good, good!” I gritted my teeth. “Can I speak to one?” One who hopefully didn't chirp.

“Our Agents are in the Phone Book! Thank you for calling, and have a great day!”

And she hung up on me.

“No wait! Fuck.”

Grumbling, I redialed.

“CIC Mutual! Safe and Secure—”

“Give-me-the-name-of-an-agent!” I spoke as loud and fast as I could, hoping to knife through her spiel.

“Our Professional Agents—”

“Just a name!”

“Have a great day!”

And she hung up again.

“Double fuck.” I dialed four-one-one.

“What city ple-uz?” Not so chirpy, but still a bit sing-song.

“Chicago. CIC Mutual Insurance A—”

“Thenk-yew.”

“No, wait! I want the agency—”

A click. Then came Eve, the first woman of voicemail and automated systems everywhere. “The number is area code six. Oh. Six.” And she gave the exact same number as the one I already had.

“Fuck.” It looked like I would have to do this the old fashioned way.

I called my mother.

“You are buying insurance, Dietlinde? I am so proud of you!”

My mother's obvious delight made me wince. “It's for the festival, Mom.”

“I heard
you
are running that!” my mother enthused. “My little Dietlinde, responsible for the organization of the mayor's festival. As a child, Dietlinde, sometimes you broke my heart. But this all makes up for it! I'm proud of you. Your father is proud of you. All of Meiers Corners is proud of you!”

Ow! KOed in my guilt gland. “Yeah, Mom. About the insurance?”

“Yes, yes. You must call CIC Mutual.”

“I tried that, Mom. All I get is the receptionist from he…heck.”

“No, no. You do not dial the main number. You dial the customer service representative of the direct sales department.”

That just made my head ache. “Could you just give me the number?”

“Don't you have a phone book? Honestly, you should move back home. Would it hurt for you to keep your father and me some company in our waning years?”

Move home. Oh sure. And never get laid again. Not in this lifetime. “The number, please, Mom?”

“Oh, very well.”

“Thanks.” After taking down the number, I got off the phone as quickly as I could, which in this case was after twenty more minutes of guilting. Then I called the insurance company.

This time I got a reassuringly depressed person. I explained what I wanted to him.

“You're looking at a comprehensive business policy.” Some clacking and whirring in the background sounded like a calculator. “And an umbrella liability policy.” More numbers punched, followed by more whirring. I didn't like how long the whirring went on. “And an umbrella comprehensive policy. Did you want to insure the buildings?”

“Um…I guess so.”

“Basic fire and damage. What deductible?”

“Well…what's available?”

“We have five hundred, a thousand, twenty-five hundred, five thousand—”

“The thousand,” I cut in. I was developing a dull headache.

“Did you want to insure the contents of the buildings?”

“Wait a minute. The first thing you said was comprehensive business policy. I thought that ‘comprehensive' meant ‘all'.”

“Sure. All liability. Do you want to insure the contents—”

“Yes, of course.” This was way too complex. I just wanted insurance. What was it with all the comprehensive umbrella liability fire damage?

“Did you want to insure against acts of God?”

“No!” Enough was enough. “Look, what's the bottom line?”

More clicking and whirring. “That'll be…a hundred twenty.”

Car insurance was more. But this was only for three days. “A hundred twenty dollars? Okay. Did you want cash or a check?”

There was an unexpected snort from the other end of the line. “Not a hundred twenty dollars. A hundred twenty
thousand
dollars.”

My breath rushed in, flipped around my tonsils, and ran out my nose so fast it tied a knot in my throat. I choked. “A hundred…th…
thousand
? But it's just three days!” My whole festival budget was less than half that.

“Ten buildings and contents. An estimated five thousand attendees?”

“Well, yes, but—”

More clicking and number crunching. “That's fifty thousand for physical property and fifty thousand for liability. And twenty thousand for the umbrella.”

“Do I need an umbrella?” It was November. Snow was much more likely than rain.

“We-ell,” he said slowly, “I recommend it. Unless you want to cap coverage at fifty thousand per incident. Most lawsuits start at fifty. And if there's hospital bills…”

My head was spinning. “All right. Keep the umbrella. What about just basic fire and liability. Does that reduce things?”

“Sure.” Click-click-whirr-whirr. “Eighty.”

Eighty thousand…“Thanks. I, um, have to think about this.” I hung up.

I tried five other companies. Though I'm not sure I was comparing apples to apples, the numbers were still way too big to be dollar figures.

So I called back CIC Mutual. “Isn't there some other way?” I asked after identifying myself. “Something cheaper?”