Six Times Deadly: A Lawson Vampire Story Collection (The Lawson Vampire Series) Read Online Free PDF Page A

wanna-be, the widescreen TVs showed Ultimate Fighting Championship matches.   Anderson Silva came out and promptly reduced his most recent challenger to a pile of bloody rubble.  
    If only real combat was as easy.   Rings, rules, even referees.   I might never have to step foot inside a joint like this.
    But I did.   All because my Control Niles had informed me that one of the shooters in last weekend’s kidnapping attempt was rumored to hang out here.   The plot was strictly amateur hour and the Specter team guarding the Council member’s family had quickly made the other shooters look more like Swiss cheese than actual threats.   But one had gotten away.
    My target tonight.
    Knowing Niles, he was probably enjoying a good drink in a far classier place.   Probably he had his arms around some young love stud who had no idea that a vampire was cozying up to him.
    And I was here.   Lucky sonofabitch that I am.
    Looking at Ducky’s didn’t exactly instill me with confidence that the intel tip Niles had passed along was sound.   That wasn’t Niles’ fault.   A lot of times we got tips from scumbag informants who’d sell their mother’s soul for a buck, all because they’d managed to screw up their own pathetic lives despite the Council’s best efforts to make sure no vampire ever wants for much.   Some people are just born losers.  
    I know enough of them.
    From that perspective, Ducky’s looked like a perfect fit.
    Two guys at a nearby table looked almost as out of place as I felt.   One nursed a darker beer and the other had a rum & Coke.   The beer drinker was commenting on the UFC matches, telling his friend now that action always beats reaction and the guy who’d been beaten had his guard too low to be able to fend off the roundhouse kick that had knocked him out cold.   He was doing all of this while giving a blonde a searching look, trying to figure out if she’d be a worthwhile lay after a few more beers had reduced his high standards to crotch level.
    They took off and I had the place to myself.   Just me and the losers.
    The band took a break.   It was a three-piece outfit; the singer who strummed a guitar, a younger drummer who seemed fairly capable, and a bass player who looked like he and the Grim Reaper had each other on speed dial.
    Better music filtered out of the overhead speakers, but it did little to improve the place.   The bar staff circulated, asking people if they wanted another drink.   No one came over to take my order so I flagged one of them down with a twenty, which probably looked more like a fifty in a joint like this.
    A tall dude sauntered over wearing a baseball hat backwards and a T-shirt that had more grease stains than actual fabric showing.   “What can I get you?”
    “Did I see a bottle of Bombay Sapphire on the back bar as I came in?”
    He shrugged.   “Probably.   Lots of stuff back there that hasn’t been cracked yet.”
    “Well, open it up.   Pour half into a highball with half tonic over ice and squeeze a chunk of lime in.”   I handed him the twenty.   “That’ll buy me one more and leave you with a nice tip if you make it properly.”
    He eyed me, trying to decide if coming up with a lame retort was worth the effort or if it was just easier to take the money, make the drinks, and pocket the difference.   Smart guy that he was, he chose the latter.
    I scanned the crowd again.   Ducky’s looked like the kind of place you could score without even trying.   And there was something almost scary about that.
    My drink arrived three minutes later and I sipped it, surprised the guy had made it well.   I let the flavors roll over my tongue and down the back of my throat, enjoying the subtle pleasure a well-made drink brings.
    “Never seen you here before.”
    I opened my eyes, not having realized they were closed, and looked at the guy in front of me.   Sammy Hagar himself.   Well, not the real one, but probably the Sammy Hagar that wakes up