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"The victim's got nothing to do with it," I said. "I'll tell you allthat another time. It's just we're in this hotel because I followed himhere. You know my games, my hunts. I don't need blood any morethan Maharet does, but I can't stand the thought of not having it!""And so what is this new sort of game?" he said politely in British.
"I don't look so much for simple, evil people, murderers, youknow so much as a more sophisticated kind of criminal, someonewith the mentality of an Iago. This one's a drag dealer. Highlyeccentric. Brilliant. An art collector. He loves to have people shot, lovesto make billions in a week off cocaine through one gateway andheroin through another. And then he loves his daughter. And she, shehas a televangelist church.""You're really enthralled with these mortals.""Look right now, past me, over my shoulder. See the two peoplein the lobby moving towards the elevators?" I asked.
"Yes." He stared at them fixedly. Perhaps they'd paused in justthe right spot. I could feel, hear, and smell both of them, but Icouldn't know precisely where they were unless I turned around. Butthey were there, the dark smiling man with his pale-faced eager andinnocent little girl, who was a woman-child of twenty-five if I hadreckoned correctly.
"I know that man's face," said David. "He's big time. Interna-tional. They keep trying to bring him up on some charges. He pulledoff an extraordinary assassination, where was it?""The Bahamas.""My God, how did you happen on him? Did you really see him inperson somewhere, you know, like a shell you found on the beach, ordid you see him in the papers and the magazines?""Do you recognize the girl? Nobody knows they're connected.""No, I don't recognize her, but should I? She's so pretty, and sosweet. You're not going to feed on her, are you?"I laughed at his gentlemanly outrage at such a suggestion. I wonderedif David asked permission before sucking the blood of his victims,or at least insisted that both parties be properly introduced. Ihad no idea what his killing habits were, or how often he fed. I'dmade him plenty strong. That meant it didn't have to be every night.
He was blessed in that.
"The girl sings for Jesus on a television station," I said. "Herchurch will someday have its headquarters in an old, old conventbuilding in New Orleans. Right now she lives there alone, and tapesher programs out of a studio in the French Quarter. I think her showgoes through some ecumenical cable channel out of Alabama.""You're in love with her.""Not at all, just very eager to kill her father. Her television appealis peculiar. She talks theology with gripping common sense, youknow, the kind of televangelist that just might make it all work.
Don't we all fear that someone like that will come along? She danceslike a nymph or a temple virgin, I suppose I should say, sings like aseraph, invites the entire studio audience to join with her. Theologyand ecstasy, perfectly blended. And all the requisite good works arerecommended.""I see," he said. "And this makes it more exciting for you, to feaston the father? By the way, the father is hardly an unobtrusiveman. Neither seem disguised. Are you sure no one knows they'reconnected?"The elevator door had opened. My Victim and his daughter wererising floor after floor into the sky.
"He slips in and out of here when he wants. He's got bodyguardsgalore. She meets him on her own. I think they set it up by cellularphone. He's a computer cocaine giant, and she's one of his best-protected secret operations. His men are all over the lobby. If there'dbeen anyone nosing around, she would have left the restaurant alonefirst. But he's a wizard at things like that. There'll be warrants out forhim in five states and he'll show up ringside for a heavyweight matchin Atlantic City, right in front of the cameras. They'll never catchhim. I'll catch him, the vampire who's just waiting to kill him. Andisn't he beautiful?""Now, let me get this clear," David said. "You're being stalked bysomething, and it's got nothing to do with this victim, this, er, drugdealer, or whatever, or this televangelist girl. But something isfollowing you, something frightening you, but not enough to make youStop tracking this dark-skinned man who just got into the elevator?"I nodded, but then I caught myself in a little doubt. No, thereCouldn't be any connection.
Besides, this thing that had me rattled to the bone had startedbefore I saw the Victim. It had "happened" first in Rio, the stalker,not long after I'd left Louis and David and gone back to Rio to hunt.
I hadn't picked up this Victim until he'd walked across my path inown city of New Orleans. He'd come down there on a whim toDora for twenty minutes; they'd met in a little French Quarterand I had been walking past and seen him, sparkling like a fire,her white face and large compassionate eyes, and wham! It washunger.
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