Getting Black Eyes in Houston

Chapter 3 - Randy the Vampire

My heart pounds angrily in my chest, first at the cop and then at myself. 

Why'd he have to pull me over? I'm not driving dangerously and the damn streets are empty? Who am I going to hit, a trash can? I am almost screaming as I see the school bus stop. Sure, it's Saturday, so there's no kids at it, but still. Did I even see it before he pulled me over?

I am filled with self-loathing. What if I had hit a kid? This isn't like my normal fuck-ups where I only hurt myself. I've been drinking for, what, a month? How long since I've talked to Charlie, Daria, Hicks? How long since I did anything besides just drink and make booty-calls? And all because Auggie is...

I take a short swig from a nearly empty beer in my passenger seat. This is a mistake in more ways than one. One, a cop is literally walking toward the car right now. Two, this beer is not the one I had with breakfast. It is sour, and tastes of spit and hops. God knows how long the Texas sun has been maturing it? I bite back vomit, as I'm certain that will not help my case with the police officer. 

He shines his large flashlight into the window, because of course he does. I mutely offer my license and registration, praying that I got the one cop who can't smell. 

The cop leans toward me and quickly pulls back. "Damn, Becky, you smell awful," says a familiar voice. He lowers the flashlight and smiles at me. "You're lucky it's me." And god damn it if he isn't right, because for the first time in my life, I'm glad to see Randy the fucking vampire. 

***

Randy the vampire is one of those people who just can't catch a break. He was a decent enough sort, for a cop, before he got dragged into some shit caused by local terror Erik Spade, general ne'er-do-well and probably the one person I'd call my nemesis who I don't see in the mirror. 

Randi had got mixed up in Erik's own magic detective shenanigans, and now he's a vampire. Unfortunately, vampires have even more stagnant power structures than humans do, and Randy was at the absolute bottom. He couldn't work the day shift as a cop anymore, his wife had already left him and moved to Bay City, and they didn't have kids. He was stuck working the night shift as a cop and basically covering up all the weird shit that happens in a city this size. 

No one can really tell he's a vampire. It's barely obvious to me, and the whole veil thing just ignores me. But usually the only people who can tell are powerful magic, and it's safer for people to think that than know just how powerless I really am. Bad enough that I'm missing whatever part of a person that let's them experience magic, but worse if everyone knew it.

Supposedly, becoming a vampire makes you more of what you already are, and Randy was apparently forgettable. Everything about him just mumbles, "ignore me," and you really want to. Sadly, that also means that his bosses ignore his work and haven't moved him to undercover, where that would be an asset. It also has allowed him to keep working as a cop, even though he's a vampire, so I guess there's that. 

He sidles back from my car with that mix of forgettable dark/haired man and unearned mediocre white man confidence. I don't hate Randy, but I kinda hate everything about him. He's never done anything wrong to me, but he's been witness to a lot of shitty stuff, and just stood there. Again, the epitome of American white man and normal cop. "I'm glad I found you," he says, "Bambi's mad at you." He's talking about his boss, a formerly good cop named Bambi Amber. She's a textbook example of why normal people shouldn't get involved with magic stuff, and one of my many indirect failures. 

"Pretty sure her name is Sargeant Amber," I say, speaking slowly so as not to slur. It's not that I'm drunk after one beer. It's that I've been up all night, then had a sugary breakfast, then had a beer. Add that to basically not being sober for a month, and yeah, okay, I was drunk after one beer, and one sip of whatever the fuck beer becomes after sitting in a hot car. 

"Damn, girl. You really are lucky it was me. Anyone else, you'd be getting a DUI." I hate the condescending tone of voice he gets as he says this. Hate it with all my heart. I hate that Randy thinks he's doing me a favor. Hate even more that he actually is. I've never had a DUI in my life. 

Never driven under the influence at all before a month ago, before Augustine, Auggie, was put to death. And just like that, I start crying. I haven't let myself even think the words for a month. Auggie was my best friend, my only port in the storm for most of my childhood, and now she was dead. Worse than that, it was my fault. I hadn't saved her, hadn't stopped her, had failed her. I'd been drinking ever since. 

Randy is clearly uncomfortable with me sobbing in the car in front of him. "Look, Becky, it's fine. I haven't even called dispatch..." I glare at him, but it's interrupted by me sobbing again, uncontrollably. 

He backs away from the window, giving me something resembling privacy, as my shoulders shake and I ugly cry. I'm lost in my own world for a few minutes as I assume he stands there awkwardly. Afterward, I'll be glad I was in a car so he didn't try to hug me or pat my shoulder or something. 

Before he full on flees back to his car and drives off, he says something about Bambi being on a tear or something, something about her being angry at me or after me, or something. Then he's gone. 

It takes me a couple of minutes to collect myself. Cleaning up after a breakdown, at least, is familiar territory. I wipe my eyes with the drastically depleted tissues in the car's console, then pull from my stash of fast food napkins in the glove box. They always give you too much, and I hate waste, and they're tougher than tissues. I blow my nose and snort, while my mother's voice in my head accuses me of being unladylike. I almost lose it again as I realize it's not my mother's voice, it's Auggie's. She's the one who cared about stuff like that. But I don't. I don't lose it again. But it's a near thing. 

Blessedly, I'm only a few blocks from home, and significantly more sober than I've been in probably a month. The fear, shame, and eventually crying have drained all my energy, but left me clearer headed than I've been since, well, since. I drive the last couple blocks in silence. Sitting in the parking lot, watching the sun come up over the cracked concrete, I feel almost at peace.