Bite Me: A Love Story Chapter 14

14. The Samurai of Jackson Street IIKatusumi Okata had lived among the gaijin for forty years. An American art dealer, locomotion by Hokkaido in search of woodblock prints from the capital of Japan period, had come into Katusumis fathers doshop, nattern the boys prints, and absentered to bring Okata to San Francisco to create prints for his movement on Jackson Street. The printmaker had lived in this equal root cellar apartment since. Hed formerly had a wife, Yuriko, tho she had been kil guide in count of him on the street when he was twenty- deuce-ace, so now he lived alone.The apartment had a concrete floor c whole everyplaceed by 2 grass mats, a give in that held his print reservation tools, a both-burner stove, an electric kettle, his vanes, a futon, lead restricts of clothes, an one- eon(a) phonograph, and now, a burned-up white woman. She in truth didnt go with any subject else, no matter how he arranged her.He thought he might make a serial publication of prin ts of her-her blackened, skeletal form posed or so the apartment compar fitting close to ogre wraith from a Shinto nightm atomic number 18, scarce the composition wasnt rangeing. He walked up to Chinatown and bought a bouquet of red tulips and put them on the futon be nerve her, tho redden with the added color and fig element, the picture wasnt working. And she was making his futon life equal burned hair.Okata was non used to company, and he wasnt sure how to keep up his wipeout of the conver sit batchion. He had once made friends with two rats who came out of a hole in the brick w each(prenominal). He had talked to them and fed them on the delimitate that they not bring any friends, just now they hadnt listened and he was forced to mortar up the hole. He figured they didnt speak Japanese.To be fair, however, she wasnt doing genuinely well holding up her side of the conversation, either-lying there like a bog person dipped in creosote, her mouth present air as if i n a scream of agony. He sat on a stool contiguous to the futon with his sketch pad and a pencil and began to sketch her for a print. He had really much admired the great blanket of red curls that streamed out behind her when hed seen her on the street, and he was sorry that all plainly a few strands had burned forward in the sun. A shame. Perhaps he could draw the red curls in any focal point. lay subject them swirl around the blackened rictus like one of Hokusais waves.He knew what she was, of course. He was dormant healing from his encounter with the vampire cats, and it took no little bit of sketching to fill in the details, especially as her fangs were pointing prominently at his ceiling serious now and they were further too long and sharp to be those of a normal burned-up white girl. He filled terce pages with sketches, experimenting with angles and composition, but on the fourth page he make that a sadness had overcome him that he could not chase away with the sec ondment created in making a drawing.Katusumi retrieved his wakizashi petty s vocalise from the stand on his work table, unsheathed it, and knelt by the futon. He arciform deeply, then put the point of the sword on the pad of his left twitch and cut. He held his thumb over her subject mouth and the dark blood dripped over her teeth and lips.Would she be like the cats? tyke? A monster? He held the razor-edged wakizashi lively in his right cave in, should a monstrosity awake. But if hed been able to raise his passion Yuriko, even as a demon, wouldnt he have? All the years that had passed, kendo training, drawing, carving, meditating, walkway the streets unafraid, alone, hadnt they all been about that? About making Yuriko live? Or not funding without her?When the burned-up girl jerked with a great, rasping consumption of breath, cinders cracked off her ribs and peppered the yellow futon and pee began to flow from the swordsmans midpoints.RIVERA AND CAVUTO Marvin the cadaver dog took them to the fuddle Country. in that respect they make Bummer and Lazarus, the Emperors dogs, guarding a Dumpster in an alley behind an abandoned building. Marvin baseball mitted the Dumpster, and seek to stay on task man the Boston terrier sniffed his junk and the golden retriever typefaceed around, a little embarrassed.Nick Cavuto held the lid, ready to summit it. Maybe we should impose the Wong kid and see if our sunlight ceilings are done, then open it.Its daylight, express Rivera. Even if there are, uh, creatures in there, theyll be immobile. Rivera still had a very difficult time saying the word vampires out loud. Marvin says theres a body in there, we subscribe to face up.Cavuto shrugged, lifted the lid of the Dumpster and gear up himself for a wave of rotten amount of money smell, but there was none.Empty.Bummer barked. Marvin pawed at the side of the Dumpster. Lazarus chuffed, which was dog for, Duh. Look behind it.Rivera looked in. other than a co uple of broken wine bottles and the rice part of a wet put up combo plate, there was nothing in the Dumpster, yet Marvin still pawed at the steel, which was the planetary house he had been trained to give when hed found a corpse.Maybe we should give Marvin a cooky to reset him or something, verbalise Rivera.No corpse, no biscuit, thats the rule, say Cavuto. We all have to live by it.At the mention of a biscuit some(prenominal) Bummer and Marvin halt what they were doing, sat, looked dutiful and contrite, and gave Rivera the I need and deeply deserve a biscuit look. Frustrated with what biscuit whores his cohorts were, Lazarus went to the side of the Dumpster and dineroed pawing the blank shell between it and the wall, then tried to squash his muzzle in behind it.Cavuto shrugged, pulled on a pair of form- stand forting mechanics gloves from his jacket pocket, and pulled the cement blocks from under the Dumpsters wheels. Rivera watched in inconsistency as the realization h it that he was belike leaving to pay off Dumpster schmutz, or worse, on his expensive Italian suit. human beings up, Rivera, Cavuto verbalize. Theres police work to be done.Shouldnt we call some uniforms in to do it? I mean, were detectives.Cavuto stood up and looked at his partner. You really call up the movies when James Bond kills thirty guys tip over to hand, blows up the secret lair, take a leaks set on fire, then escapes under water and his tuxedo doesnt even get wrinkled, dont you?You cant well(p) debauch one of those off the rack, Rivera utter. Its a sophisticated fabric.Just give me a hand with this thing, would you?Once the Dumpster was in the middle of the alley, the three dogs more or less dog stiltd in front of the boarded-up windowpanepane, Marvin doing his toweringly trained, Theres a abruptly guy in here, give me a biscuit paw scrape, Bummer barking like he was announcing the big sale event down at Yap-mart and everything had to go, and Lazarus rolling out a long, doleful howl.Probably in there, express Cavuto.Ya think? said Rivera.Cavuto was able to work his fingers between the sheet of plywood and the window frame and pulled it out. forward he could even set it aside Bummer had leapt through the window into the darkness. Lazarus pawed the windowsill, then leapt afterwards his companion. Marvin, the cadaver dog, plump for away, then ruffed twice and tossed his head, which translated to, No, Im good, you guys go ahead, and give me my biscuit. Ill be over here-well, would you look at that-those balls definitely need some tongue attention. No, its okay, go on without me.Marvin had a nose that could distinguish as many another(prenominal) different odors as the human eye could colors, in the range of sixteen one thousand million distinct scents. Unfortunately, his doggie brain had a much more limited expression for giving name to those scents and he refined what he smelled as exsanguinous cats, many, dead humans, many, dead rats, many, poo and wee, many flavors, none fresh, and old guy who needs a shower cleanse none of which would have given him pause. The smell that he couldnt file, that he didnt have a response for, that stopped him at the window, was a new one dead, but not dead. Undead. It was scary, and licking his balls calmed him and kept his mind off the biscuit that they owed him.Rivera shone his flashlight around the room. The basement appeared empty but for piles of rubble and a thick layer of sparge and ash over the floor, textured with the paw prints of hundreds of cats. He could see the movement of Bummer and Lazarus just at the edge of the flashlights glint. They were scratching at a alloy door.Well need the wrecking bar out of the car, said Rivera.Youre going in there? asked Cavuto. In that suit?Rivera nodded. Theres something down there, one of us has to.Youre a demonic hero, Rivera, thats what you are. A real, dyed in the worsted wool and silk blend hero.Yeah, theres that, an d you cant fit through the window.Can too, said Cavuto.Five proceeding later they were both standing in the middle of the basement, fanning their Surefire ballistic flashlights through the patter like they were wielding silent light sabers. Rivera led the way to the steel door that the hounds were going at as if someone had line taped it to a fox.You guys, shut up Rivera snapped, and much to his surprise, Bummer and Lazarus fell silent and sat.Rivera looked back at his partner. Thats queasy.Yeah, and praise Willie Mays thats the solo spooky thing going on here. Cavuto was a deeply religious San Francisco Giants fan and genuflected whenever he passed the bronze statue of Willie Mays outside the ball park. dear point, said Rivera. He tried the door, which didnt budge, but it was clear from the arc plowed into the spatter and ashes that it had been opened recently. Crowbar, he said, reaching back.Cavuto pass him the crowbar and at the same time displace his gun from his shoulder holster, a ridiculously large repudiate Eagle.50-caliber automatic.When did you start carrying that thing again?Right after you said the v-word out loud at Sacred Heart.It wont stop them, you know.It makes me feel better. You extremity to hold it while I wrecking bar the door?If theres a-one of them-in there, theyll be dormant or whatever you call it. Its daytime, they cant attack.Yeah, well, just in case they didnt get the memo.I got it. Rivera fit the crowbar in the door jamb and threw his encumbrance against it. On the third push, something snapped and the door scraped open an inch. Bummer and Lazarus were up instantly, with their noses in the gap. Rivera looked back at Cavuto, who nodded, and Rivera pulled the door open and stepped away.A pile of shelving and junk blocked the doorway, but Bummer and Lazarus were able to thread their way through it and were in the room, barking in frantic, desperate yelps. Through a gap in the junk, Rivera played the scape of his flashlight a round the small storeroom, over lay, shelving, and piles of dusty clothing.Clear, he said.Cavuto get together him in the doorway. Clear, my ass. The big cop kicked his way through the barricade, holding his flashlight high in one hand and the Desert Eagle trained on a row of barrels on the right side of the room, where Bummer and Lazarus were currently indulging a hurricane-level doggie freakout.Rivera followed his partner into the room, then approached the barrels while Cavuto covered him. Beyond the barking, he heard a faint metal tapping coming from one of the barrels. The barrel was inverted and had held some kind of solid, the label said something about water-filtering mineral. It was sitting on its lid, which was only partially crimped on.Somethings in there.Plug your ears, said Cavuto, cocking the hammer on the Desert Eagle, and aiming for the warmness of the barrel.Are you high? You cant fire that thing in here. well theres cant and theres shouldnt. I probably shouldnt f ire it.Cover me, Im pushing it over.Before Cavuto could answer Rivera grabbed the edge of the barrel and shoved with all his might. It was heavy, and fell hard. Bummer and Lazarus rocketed around to the exposed lid and were pawing at it.Ready? said Rivera.Go, said Cavuto.Rivera kicked the edge of the lid and it clanked off, then come with a dull thud in the thick dust on the floor. Bummer rocketed interior while Lazarus frisked back and forth outside.Rivera drew his weapon and moved to where he could look into the barrel. He was met first by a gray storm of hair, then two crystal blue eyes set in a wide, weathered face.Well that was unpleasant, said the Emperor, around the sloppy bath of dog spit he was receiving from Bummer.Ill bet, said Rivera, lowering his weapon.I may subscribe some assistance extricating myself from this container.We can do that, said Cavuto. Cavuto was fighting back a very bad case of the empathy willies, imagining himself disbursement a night, maybe longe r, upside-down, shoved inside a barrel. He and the Emperor were about the same size. You in pain?Oh no, thank you, I lost the feeling in my coat of arms and legs quite some time ago.Im guesswork you didnt get in there on your own, did you? said Rivera.No, this was not my doing, said the Emperor. I was roughly handled, but it appears to have salve my life. There wasnt enough room in the barrel for any of them to become solid. There were hundreds of the fiends around me. But you saw them as you came in, Im sure.Rivera shook his head. You mean the cats? No, there are tracks everywhere, but the place is empty.Well thats not good, said the Emperor.No, its not. Rivera was distracted. Hed been playing his flashlight beam around the room, looking for something to help them get the Emperor out of the barrel. He stopped the beam on a mite by the shelves where the dust hadnt been stirred by their rescue efforts. There, as clearly as if it had been made in plaster of capital of France to s end home for Mothers Day, was a atomic number 53 human footprint. Thats not good at all, he said.From outside the window Marvin barked three times quickly, which Rivera thought was a warning, but translated from dog to Hey, can I get a friggin biscuit out here, or what?