The House at the Top of Briggs Road

Goddamn, I thought to myself, you sure can pick 'em, Tricky Ricky! as she slithered and swung with my cock firmly clasped within her, little lightning bolts shooting along my shaft. The girl was amazing, super-sexy. Almost as good as my main girl Danae, who could really work a cock. She had that good sense of timing, too, grinding on my body until I was just about ready to urge her to ride me harder... but she figured it out for herself, at just the right moment, flexing her hips to rise up off me and then driving herself back down, her face serious as she focused on our bodies.

I felt myself respond, letting her rise and fall a couple times before I caught the rhythm and joined in, bucking up high as she came down to meet me, surprising a little gaspy laugh out of her when she bottomed out on me. "Fuck," she blurted.

"More," I ordered, thrusting upward, watching her nipples as they bobbed in those little circles that firm titties make when you thrust into the vag they belong to. I saw sweat sheening her body in the light from my bedroom window, the breaths starting to come faster and deeper. "Go on. Fuck me harder," I moaned, doing my part, the two of us churning together in time to the slapping of our skin and the squelching sound I was making in her cunt. At some point, I realized hazily, I'd moved both hands around to grip her glorious ass, holding her tight so I could jam myself into her; I was already starting to lose myself, which was a good sign.

Her face swam above me, mouth open, eyes closed, and then she did that thing some women do where they run their hands through their hair and then stretch them high, arching backward toward my feet, and there was something there in the cascade of her hair and the smooth flow of muscles in her body that made me lose it completely.

I didn't take the time to warn her. I just pulled her hips down onto me and came, hard and deep, letting out a long cracked groan as I did it. She didn't seem to realize right away (which I noticed; she'd need a little bit of remedial training), still churning on me, but all at once her eyes flew open and her lips curved up in an ecstatic, open-lipped grin. "Oh yeah, baby!" she crowed.

Like I needed the urging; my cock was jerking like a machine gun inside her, launching spurt after spurt up into her tight, needy little pussy. She moaned loudly, her hand going to her clit and frigging herself dramatically against my cock; it all looked pretty fake, but afterward she swore to me that she actually had cum, albeit a little late.

But I couldn't tell, and that's all that mattered.

She curled against me afterward, sighing a breezy little giggle, and it felt, for just that split second, that we were in love instead of in business. I often got that feeling, but only for an instant. She sensed it too, drawing back away from my armpit with crafty eyes. "So. Is that it?" When she leaned in and gave me a kiss now, it did feel like a transaction. "Want me to be one of your girls?"

I scanned down her body, nodding, appreciating her shape. She'd be good for several years, definitely, and she looked incredibly sexy lying there with my cum starting to seep down her leg. "You'll do," I sighed. "Come back over here tomorrow. I'll take you shopping."

"Yay!" she grinned, and it amazed me once again how desperately pathetic were the lives of street whores, that they would glom onto me so happily. When she kissed me this time, it felt more spontaneous. "You won't be sorry."

"I get my cut of your earnings by midnight on Tuesdays. Not an instant later."

"Or?" She smiled. "You won't hit me."

I waited silently until the smile faded, thinking of the weird trio at the top of Briggs Rd. "Not an instant later." She swallowed once, nodding. "I get seventy percent of everything you make. I know that sounds like a shit deal for you, but once I start trusting you it goes down a little. Maybe to sixty. And if you ever need money for anything, I'll be here to give you some." I rolled out of her arms, reaching for the drawer in my bedside table, where I pulled out a wad of cash as thick as a slice of wedding cake. Her eyes widened, and I casually shook a few twenties and fifties out of the stack. "Like, for instance, here you go. That's yours. Go buy dinner or something, groceries. Whatever. I don't keep books and I don't worry about what I give my bitches, but in return you don't abuse me. Right?"

"I won't, Ricky." Her eyes were solemn, staring at the little pile of money I'd left her on the mattress just above the wet spot. "Fuck. There's like almost two hundred there."

"Take it. And I'll buy your clothes tomorrow. But?" I prodded her tit with my finger to punctuate every word. "Midnight. Tuesdays. Not an instant later."

"Okay."

"Some friends I have, we meet every now and then. Pimps. They run their own strings. We sit and we talk and we divide up territory to make sure our girls stay out of each other's way, right? I'll give you my number. Always keep your phone nearby. Any other bitch gives you trouble? Let me know. Any customer tries to stiff you? Take his picture and send it to me. Another pimp rolls up? Tell me." I reached absently down and scratched, my balls all matted with her juices. "And clean me off, Kaylee. I'm all gummy."

Her smile this time was wicked. "Okay, baby. Just lie back." She uncurled her sublime body and went to work.

* * *

It was in late September on a drizzly night, as I sat outside the Mezzo Bar with a ginger ale, that my life changed.

I was in this part of town because my sexy Rita was having problems with some of the girls on Third Avenue. I'd had an arrangement with another pimp, Jackson Clymer, that his girls and mine alternated sides of the street during the summer months; Rita and Lisa had both come to me, bitching about other sluts horning in on their turf, but Clymer swore up and down that it wasn't his string. "I'm telling you, Tricky," he'd burbled over the phone in his high-pitched cocaine-y whine, "my girls, they steer clear of yours. If you're saying Lisa and that other chick are complaining, it's not my product they're complaining about."

"Whose is it?" I'd pressed. "Aren't your girls bitching, too?"

"Nah. My girls know better than to bitch to me," he'd snickered, and that was surely true: Jacky Clymer had a reputation with his fists. So here I sat at the corner of Third and Armistead, scanning around as the sun went down, pretending I was just some kind of dude in town looking for a good time that night. And I felt like I was, until my phone warbled with an incoming text.

Come up to the House, said the text, and it came from the contact I'd named Briggs. I felt a chill rattle my hands, the ginger ale shaking as I set it on Mezzo's little metal table. At once, I felt a queasiness in my gut, a sense that nothing was going to go right tonight, that I'd stumbled into a hole I couldn't get out of without leaving my bitches in there behind me.

That I'd made a grave mistake in ever going up Briggs Road.

Instinctively I glanced across Armistead, searching for Rita. She'd been on time with my cut now for most of the month, but just last week she'd been late again and had quickly tried to make it up to me by taking my load in her mouth. Again. I wasn't getting tired of that (does a man ever get tired of a blowjob?), but I wanted her to get her shit straight and start paying me. Or else?

"Vampires." That's what else.

And now... what? Did they want her tonight? I'd never gotten a message quite like that from Zondervan. Normally he gave me a few days' warning, and ever since that first time with Monica I'd made a point of taking the sacrificial lamb out for a nice dinner. But if the weirdos up Briggs wanted to see me now? Right now?

Rita, across the street, was leaning into a passing Toyota's passenger window, and even from over here her ass looked tempting. She'd already picked up a trick this evening, before sunset, and now she was looking for Number Two. I swallowed, thinking about how I'd need to shoot across Armistead and grab her, stuffing her into my '72 Charger and whisking her off to... what? To her death, that's what.

My phone chirped again. Now, it urged me, and my trembling hands tapped out a shaky reply.

Do you require a young lady?

My guts twisted, awaiting the reply. I was sure they'd demand my Rita, and just as sure I'd stick them for an extra fee for the rush. They'd pay, too; they hadn't even blinked when I'd asked, timidly, for the extra six figures for The First Andrea last Halloween. But it would be such a blow, giving her up. My heart beat faster, willing the guy in the Toyota to pick her up, meaning I could go across and sacrifice Lisa instead, though she'd never done anything wrong to me...

My phone went. Not necessary. Only yourself, Mr Turco. You will be compensated.

I sagged into the little patio chair, relieved, feeling like a death-row inmate in whom the Supreme Court has taken a midnight interest. Of course, I wasn't: it wasn't me who was on death row. It was Rita. But she didn't know that and I did, and that was bad enough.

The night deepened. I had to go.

* * *

I'd not been up to the house at the top of Briggs Road alone since that first time, when Dr Zondervan had talked to me in the hall and we'd struck that bargain of ours, the unholy one that would get me out from under that damned wrongful-death judgment and, hopefully, into legitimacy with my own repair shop. Ever since then, for more than a year, my visits had included an unwilling pawn, supplied by me for whatever wild rituals the three weirdos had in mind.

And my pawns were never seen again, at least not by me. That was getting harder and harder to square with my conscience each time, and by now I wasn't sure I wanted to know what I'd become a part of.

This time, I got a surprise when I parked my Dodge at the base of the driveway and started up between the stone gateposts. For the first time, looming out of the night, one of my three odd clients was outside waiting for me. I blinked at him through my car window, seeing a shadowy face in what looked like a heavy black duster, an umbrella spread against the early-autumn drizzle. My dome light seemed to make the fellow squint, but when I slammed my door he waited patiently enough with a thin-lipped smile.

It was the quiet one, Mr Felix. He nodded gravely as I stepped up, my hands in my pocket. I kept my little snub-nosed Smith & Wesson in there, though I'd long since suspected it wouldn't be all that useful against any of these three. "Good evening, Mr Turco." The voice was as gravelly as usual, but not without warmth. "I thank you for coming."

"It's my pleasure." I fidgeted. "The text mentioned compensation? I happen to be pretty busy this evening, Mr Felix."

He laughed unpleasantly. "Yes. This will be worth your while, Mr Turco. Well worth it, I hope." He paused, glancing around. "I thought we could enjoy a walk in the garden this evening."

"Uh, okay." It seemed to be more of an order than a request, so I fell in curiously beside him as he stepped off the driveway and onto the well-kept lawn that covered the whole hilltop. The rain had been hit-or-miss tonight, but the grass was soaked where it wasn't covered by brittle early-autumn leaves, and I knew I'd need to be careful not to slip in my Frye boots. Felix, like his two buddies, seemed to move with that same fluid grace whether he was on a slippery lawn or a tiled dining room. "So how've you been?" I ventured, wondering what you were supposed to say to a vampire when you turned up emptyhanded.

He laughed, that same unhappy snort as before. "How much compensation do you expect tonight, Mr Turco? I'm curious."

A shadow fell over my heart at his tone, and I wondered suddenly whether I was about to see those departed members of my string again, one way or another. My grip tightened on the revolver. Maybe I could at least fire in the air, summon a neighbor or something. Not that there seemed to be any houses, not for miles..."It's just that I'm losing money, potentially, by coming here. I've been having some problems with, like, a competitor, and I was hoping to sort them out tonight."

He smiled again. "I know you need the money, Mr Turco." He sighed, looking away from me into the trees that fringed the property. "You had a court judgement entered against you three years ago. Wrongful death." I felt my legs go a little numb, and had to force myself to keep stepping. "You were acquitted of manslaughter, but many thought it should have been a conviction. For murder." He was right. "In any case, here you are. Needing money." The leaves barely stirred under his feet. "Not to worry. Your retainer for speaking with me will make you feel as though coming here was well worth your time. Do you believe me, Mr Turco?"

I swallowed. "I do." Like I had a choice.

Felix nodded, the two of us angling around the contour of the hill toward a rain-draggled kitchen garden. Up the hill loomed the house, which I'd never seen from this side, looking oddly sinister. Almost, in a way, decayed. As though there was nothing holding it up. The moon struggled to show itself through a thin, drifting mat of clouds above, which glowed with a weird bluish cast. "I've known men like you, Mr Turco." He flicked a glance sideways. "People call you Tricky Ricky, is that right?"

"It is, Mr Felix." I swallowed. "You're paying the freight, so you can call me whatever you want."

"Tricky Ricky," Felix grated with some relish. "I've heard. Well, as I was saying, we've known a great many fellows like you, you know? Pimps. Panders. Procurers. Slavers, sometimes, in some places. You've all been quite useful to us. But you remind me of a man I once knew."

I felt that shadow stab my heart again. We walked alongside a low iron trellis, crawling with sickly vines. "'In some places?' Like where, Mr Felix?"

"It's not the places, really, so much as the times." When he looked at me, I saw in the dim grey light that his eyes were oddly pale. I wondered why I'd never noticed that. "The times are what is important, the fact that some things change and others do not. Men like you, Mr Turco, you're usually the same." He laid a cold hand on my arm. "I mean no offense, you understand."

"None taken." I jumped at his touch.

"No," he sighed, seeming to take no notice of my discomfort, "this was a long time ago, this man I knew. The man you remind me of. A very long time ago. His name was Halbrecht. Halbrecht of Prague, though he actually came from Teplice. They called it Teplitz then." He sighed, as if with some happy memory. "I don't believe that was very long before we met Zondervan."

"Yeah?" I had no clue what he was saying. I was torn with worry now, desperate for Felix to remove those cold, sharp fingers from my arm.

"Halbrecht was smart. He was clever. He was like you, very handsome." The fingers squeezed, and I had a sudden urge to vomit. "Very popular. He had no difficulty in luring women to fuck for him." I became aware he was watching me closely, curious about my reactions. "That's what you do, yes? You lure girls?"

I didn't want to think about that. "I know women," I tried to explain, on the verge of twisting my arm out of that deceptively light-handed grasp. "Some of them choose to sell themselves, and sometimes I benefit."

"Yes," Felix chuckled, "Halbrecht talked like a lawyer, too." We left the trellis behind, trading it for a moldering brick wall. I no longer tried to look up at the house. It was busy looking at me, I felt. "Halbrecht thought he was very clever, but his need for money... well." At last, with that same feeling I'd had when they'd found me not guilty of manslaughter, Felix removed his hand. "He came to a bad end. A deserved end, though, for a man so disreputable. I did not like him, Mr Turco, nor did I respect him."

"I'm respectable, Mr Felix."

"Yes. Sometimes." He paused, looking again into the trees. "Halbrecht of Prague died, Mr Turco, in 1426. The Hussites took the town and he went back to fetch his gold. Failed to escape." Again, I knew he was watching me closely. "They flayed him, then jammed a pike up his ass as he died. You don't believe I was there," he went on softly, nodding. "It's far, far outside your experience that a man could live that long. Especially a man who looks as young as I."

"I don't want to know," I blurted, and I meant it. Because if the nagging sense in my mind was right, if it was true that this weirdo was... well, for lack of a better term, a vampire...

I was in deep shit, I realized abruptly.

"It's important that you understand me, Mr Turco," he went on, his stony voice quiet as my footsteps crushed the wet leaves. "I'll be asking you to do something very, very important to me, and I need to impress upon you just how important it is."

"I'm listening." I wondered whether I sounded as rattled as I felt.

"I shall put the end before the beginning," Felix smiled. "You need a certain amount of money, yes? To make your legal judgment disappear?"

"I need a million and a half," I rapped out.

"No, my friend, you need $1.46 million," Felix went on placidly, "but you also want to open a machine shop? For the... for auto repairs and such?" He nodded, the rain beginning to patter on his umbrella. "Two million is quite a lot of money, even for men who have been saving for a great many years."

"How many years, Mr Felix?" I demanded, the question torn from me. I didn't want to know what was going on with the three weirdos, but here I was. And here he was. And I had to know.

The odd man stopped, waiting for me to turn and face him. He looked at me coolly, and in a sudden drift of the moon into clear velvet sky I saw those pale eyes were much, much older than the rest of his face. I was trembling slightly, thinking of my revolver, when he told me, "I was born during the reign of Emperor Severus Alexander. The latter part of his reign; I do not know the year. Nobody where I came from ever knew what year it was."

I swallowed hard. "Greek?"

"Roman, actually." He smiled gently. "Your education does you no credit. But I have walked the earth for a millennium and three quarters, Mr Turco. And I have seen much and learned much and forgotten much."

I fidgeted in my pocket. I was certain Felix knew I had a gun, and just as certain he did not care. The strange house brooded above me, my feet lost amid trailing vines and old, wet flowers. I had a hard time making words come out. "And... the others? Your, ah, roommates?"

He cocked his head. "They are not involved in this thing we speak of, Mr Turco."

I shuddered. "Humor me." I had to know.

Felix blinked those odd pale eyes, then shrugged as if it didn't matter. "Doctor Nicklaas Zondervan. Born, perhaps, in 1540. Thereabouts. He found his way to England later in the century and met us around 1660." He went on, his voice quite dry. Almost brittle. "I was keeping company, as I had for many years, with Godmer of Millow. We were disciples of John Locke. Tell me, Mr Turco, did your cacata carta educatione, your shitty schooling... did it include mention of something called the Doomsday Book?"

"If it did, I was probably too busy chasing pussy to remember it." That was it. That was all the bravado I could muster.

He smiled at that, looking more genuine now. "Can I blame you? I cannot. Well. My companion Godmer is mentioned there, a minor thegn. And then there is a fourth of us, Tanaka-san, born almost a thousand years ago. I like him, but he often roams." He considered, seeming to study the sky. "I believe he is in Alaska now. Or Tasmania; it can be difficult to tell. He'll return soon, as we reckon these things; almost certainly within the next hundred years. Perhaps a hundred-fifty?"