A Half-Pitcher of House Red
by Roy Dorman
“So, what can I get you folks?”
“I’ll have a pint of an IPA, if you have it,” said Ronnie Watson.
“We have a local IPA that’s pretty good,” said the bartender, Lisa Evans. “And if you’re gonna be staying a while, I can get you a cute little half-pitcher of it.”
“Is that little pitcher as cute as you?”
“Oh, hell, no,” said Lisa, bending over into Ronnie’s space and flashing her eyes at him. “Cute, but nowhere near as cute as me.”
Ronnie laughed and turned to his partner, Jasmine Smith. Jasmine wasn’t laughing. She wasn’t even smiling.
“And what can I get for you?” Lisa asked Jasmine.
“I’ll have a glass of the house red. I don’t suppose I could get a cute little half-pitcher of that, could I?”
“Why, sure you can, hon.”
“And could you toss in a couple ice cubes?”
“I can do that.”
The bartender turned back to Ronnie and said, “I’m Lisa. Just let me know if you need anything else. Anything at all.”
“Well, I’m Ronnie and this is Jasmine,” said Ronnie. “If we need anything, anything at all, we’ll give you a shout.”
After getting their drinks, Lisa gave Ronnie a wink, Jasmine a nod, and strolled down to the other end of the bar.
Ronnie was Detective Ronald Watson and Jasmine was Detective Jasmine Smith, both Chicago police. Working plain clothes undercover and acting on a tip from one of their snitches, they were in Fast Eddie’s, a little dive bar a few blocks off Rush Street, going away from the lake. It was still early on a Thursday night and the crowd was thin.
“Ya know, sometimes this undercover work is kinda fun,” said Ronnie after they had settled in with their drinks in a corner booth.
“If you call a quick flash of cleavage fun, you need to get out more, Ronnie,” said Jasmine. “And my playing the jealous harpy to your amorous player is getting a little tiresome.”
“But you’re so good at it, Jasmine. You play the shrew so effortlessly. It’s like you were born to play the part.”
Jasmine fished an ice cube out of her wine and bounced it off Ronnie’s chest.
“Hey!”
“Just playing my part,” said Jasmine. “Now, me, I’d like to stake out that restaurant, Marco’s, again. That Eastern European waiter was cute.”
“He was Russian Mafia,” said Ronnie. “We busted him, remember?”
“What makes you think Cute Lisa is just an overly friendly bartender?”
“Aw, give her a break,” said Ronnie. “She probably barely survives with the tips she gets in this place. Besides, I started it with that cute—”
“Hey, don’t look now, but there’s our guy,” said Jasmine.
Ronnie turned in his seat to look toward the door.
“Geez Louise,” said Jasmine. “Just what part of ‘Hey, don’t look now’ don’t you understand, Ronnie?”
“Aw, lighten up,” said Ronnie. “Ya know, from here, he doesn’t look that drained. Either he’s still fresh or he’s pretty good with make-up.”
Jasmine and Ronnie watched as their guy walked up to the bar. Whatever he said made Lisa laugh and then reach for something under the bar.
Before Jasmine or Ronnie could get up from their booth, Lisa used both hands to drive a sharpened wooden stake into the guy’s chest. He staggered back a few steps and then exploded into a cloud of violet dust that slowly settled to the floor.
There was silence in the bar for a couple of seconds and then the few customers went back to their conversations.
“Lisa!” yelled Jasmine. “Put both hands on the bar and don’t move!”
Lisa did as she was told and Jasmine and Ronnie approached her with their .38s drawn.
“What’s up with that, Lisa?” said Ronnie, flashing his badge and pointing at the dust on the floor.
“We had a stake-out going on here, waiting for this guy and you kinda messed it up,” said Jasmine.
“Eddie has a deal with The Prince of Darkness,” said Lisa. “No vamps are allowed to solicit in Fast Eddie’s bar. This guy came in and asked if I’d like to go out in the alley for a quick bite. That’s soliciting, right?”
“So, what does The Prince get for keepin’ his peeps out of Fast Eddie’s?” asked Ronnie. “Doesn’t sound like much of a deal to me. He must get somethin’ in return.”
Lisa looked at Ronnie and then at Jasmine. “I’ve probably already said more than I should have; I’m not saying any more. So, go ahead and bust me for staking a vampire. Good luck with getting the DA to jump all over that.”
Jasmine and Ronnie holstered their pistols and walked back over to their booth.
“Well, our cover is blown,” said Ronnie. “Wanna go back to the precinct and write up a report?”
“I’m not ready yet; I wanna finish my wine,” said Jasmine. “Besides, there’s something going on here. If we hang around a bit, we might get a feeling for what it is.”
“Why does The Prince of Darkness give a rat’s patootie about what goes down in a little hole in the wall off Rush?” asked Ronnie. “There’s probably a hundred bars in the Loop area; why would his converts even come here in the first place? There must be more of a draw here than just Cute Lisa.”
“How about this?” said Jasmine. “At bar time there must be drunks who are passed out, or nearly so. Eddie and Lisa direct them to the alley behind the bar, and they provide nourishment for the vamps waiting out there. It would be high-octane nourishment for the vamps, and the drunks wouldn’t miss it. If a vamp overdoes it, the drunk goes missing. Who’s to care?”
“Yeah,” said Ronnie. “I think we should maybe ask Statistics to run numbers to see how many drunks turn up in the morgue from this area.
“Ya know, what I was sayin’ before about this not bein’ a bad gig, I meant that. Arnie Benson transferred up to northern Wisconsin in July. He’s out in the woods most of the time keepin’ track of what the werewolf population is up to. He hates it. At least we’re in a cozy bar kicking back with drinks.”
“I heard from Carol Newton,” said Jasmine. “She sent me an e-mail saying how they were losing the battle with the undead out in LA. Said there were frickin’ zombies everywhere ya look.”
“And the thing is, ya can’t reason with werewolves or zombies,” said Ronnie. “They’re totally whacko. But here in the Windy City, we have bar owners makin’ business deals with vampires. The mayor and our own chief probably have lunch with The Prince. Vamps are so much easier to be around, aren’t they?”
Later, on the way back to their unmarked squad car, Jasmine stopped and looked at a dumpster sitting about halfway down an alley. “What’s that back there?” she asked Ronnie, pointing into the darkness.
“I don’t see nothin’,” said Ronnie.
“Come on,” said Jasmine. “I thought I saw some movement behind that dumpster.”
Jasmine and Ronnie walked back toward the dumpster. When they got close enough to look behind it, they saw... nothing.
“There’s nothin’ back...” started Ronnie. When he turned to Jasmine, he saw she had her .38 pointed at his chest. Her eyes had changed from a hazel brown to a bright crimson.
“What you were saying earlier is true, about vampires here in Chicago being easy to get along with,” she said, licking her lips. “Like me. I’m easy to get along with, right? Now I want you to be easy to get along with, too. Loosen your tie and unbutton the top button of your shirt, my Cute Little Pitcher. You might even like this.”
Copyright © 2018 by Roy Dorman
