Dark Legion by Rob Cornell Page B

dears.”
    Lockman shoved LaRue out of the parlor and kicked closed the double doors. “You want to do this here in the hall with a gun to your neck, or should we start over and have a seat somewhere?”
    “No need to get violent.”
    “Of course not. Easier just to feed me to your nymphs.”
    “Why don’t we retire to the study?”
    “Sounds dandy.”

    “You’re a eunuch.”
    LaRue poured himself a cognac, hands trembling. “Hosting nymphs requires sacrifices.”
    The study had built-in bookshelves covering every wall with leather bound books from floor to ceiling. None of the books looked read. Lockman wondered if some of them were even fake, simply decoration.
    Lockman sat in one of a trio of armchairs arranged around a bronze ashtray that smelled of stale cigars.
    “So you castrated yourself to make some money.”
    After pouring himself his drink from the small table outside the circle of chairs, LaRue came around and sat across from Lockman. “Not some money. Great, heaping gobs of it.”
    “Nice racket, turning clients into sex-addicts. Let the girls feed a little off of each one. You take all the cash. The clients keep coming back for more. Everybody’s happy.”
    LaRue shrugged. “It’s a living.”
    “Where’d you get the nymphs?”
    “Does it matter? That’s not why you’re here.”
    Lockman looked down at the gun he held in his lap. “It’s not. But I might come back later. Shut this place down.”
    “Why would you want to do that?”
    “It’s what I was trained to do.”
    “Oh.” LaRue’s eyes widened, getting it now. “Oh.”
    Lockman leaned back. “Let’s talk about vamps.”
    “You work with that woman.”
    “What woman?”
    “The one who came to see me asking similar questions.”
    Teresa.
    “What did you tell her?”
    LaRue sipped his cognac, then rested the glass on his chair arm. “I’m small time. I keep locals sexually satisfied and they allow me to live well in turn. There’s no reason to bring me into this.”
    “Into what?”
    “Your war with the vampires.”
    War? Teresa never mentioned anything about a war. Unless he simply meant the Agency’s stance on the supernatural. But that applied to all supernaturals, not just vamps. Besides, the Agency was long gone. If LaRue knew about the Agency, he had to know it no longer operated.
    “What did the woman who came to see you ask about?”
    “My ‘friends with the pointy teeth’ as you put it. She never got specific. Somehow she got it in her head that I had dealings with vampires.”
    “Knowing her, I’m guessing she was right.”
    “That’s ridiculous. Nobody deals with vampires unless they’re food.”
    “That’s why just mentioning them spooked you into trying to kill me.”
    LaRue lifted his glass of cognac to his nose and sniffed. He closed his eyes. “Divine.” He emptied the glass in one gulp like a shot. His eyes watered. He blinked, then focused on Lockman. “I share my secrets with you, you promise never to come back here.”
    “I don’t know. It’s hard to resist those women.”
    “I’m serious. I don’t need any trouble from ex-government agents who can’t let go of the glory days. There are far worse things out there than me.”
    “It all depends on what you have to tell me.”
    LaRue raised his glass. “Mind if I pour another?”
    “Yes.”
    “Very well.” He balanced the glass on the arm of the empty chair next to his, then rummaged in his coat pocket and withdrew a cigar. He took his time lighting it with a match, rolling it and puffing until he had the end evenly ablaze. He shook the match out and tossed it into the ashtray.
    A cloud of sweet-smelling smoke wafted over to Lockman. It smelled expensive.
    “I’m an amateur practitioner,” LaRue said around the cigar in his mouth. He puffed and pulled it out. “I require certain…materials to practice my hobby. Vampires are uniquely qualified to supply me with said materials.”
    He meant blood. Lockman curled his lip.