Saturday, October 23, 2010

The Book of Sarah

Sarah took her first victim last night. I was so proud. It was some heir to a racketeer dynasty who thought he was a local celebrity. Bob used to see him all the time in Atlantic City, groping cocktail waitresses and shooting his mouth off if they didn't seat him down in front  for the jumped up wedding singers and 'nostalgia' (read has-been) acts they booked in that joint. Apparently he was responsible for a few bad beatings. His people worked over an innocent graduate student who was in just a little bit too much. They tied the young man to a chair upstairs in one of the hotel rooms and took turns punching him in the face. Now there was a cleaning woman making her rounds on the floor while this was going on. She heard the screams. She heard the solid punches. When she got on her little radio device to notify the management, they could not have cared any less. Nobody came. The beating continued. The kid went blind. They dumped him on the front steps of his parents house a few hours later. His eyesight never came back. And his family was advised not to call the police. Now do you know why the universe needs creatures like us? Sarah culled him in the parking garage of his million dollar plus condominium. The half asleep fellow watching the security monitor never noticed a thing. It just looked like the not-so-young, sticky Lothario was locked in a clinch with yet another over-impressed, tarted-up, working class slut. Bravo to my protege for her incongruous costume. Was he scared? He was terrified. He fought. He begged. But he had no way to defeat her superior strength and abilities. The lousy bastard even soiled his linen. That is no way to treat a lady. When she was finished, she dropped him between two parked cars and quietly walked out. He ignited into a cold, blue flame (as expected) and vanished. The father of this putrid specimen killed the equally distasteful spawn of a rival in retaliation. Two birds with one stone. Quite a good first night's work, if you ask me. I saw it all unfold from a slight distance away. She had to solo after all. She had to earn her wings. Now I am going to make it my business to run into that blind young man sometime. He still takes classes at the university. I'll engage him in conversation. It is harder to mesmerize the blind. But I am sure of my talents. He will imbibe a small taste of a strange drink and his body will heal. Who knows, perhaps you'll see him on Oprah? Annie has managed to kill two of my best familiars. She got the two lawyers who handled most of my wealth and investments. It was the dogs. She used the dogs. The Pow Wow Woman and I did eventually pick something up. But by the time we got there it was too late. The little girl was already picking up the bones. I could not confront her. The pack was still nearby. It would be difficult for me to have any effect on them.. They're animals and they do not react to spiritual pressure. They need training. They need signals. They need hand signals. They need people. And they have Annie. I'm sure she, or someone else, has brought them along in th e ancient way. Perhaps they already have a taste for our blood from their encounter with the foreign vampire. What do I mean 'perhaps'? Of course they do. I think the Pow Wow Woman is growing too stout. Something must be done. She is still seriously involved with certain, local delivery boys. They run the greasy cargo up to Baylah's place above the piano bar. That's where she spends most of her time. I have been watching recorded episodes of Dr. Phil (our sub-basement cell is now rather well equipped) so I know what to do. We will have to stage an 'intervention'. That idea is not so strange to me. It is remarkably similar to the exorcisms I grew up with. Yes, Jews have them too. You see, Sarah was smart. She starved off her extra few pounds before her transformation. She also went to a spa and had a more or less complete body wax too. So now she looks like an angel, a full angel, not the demi-angelic things we believe we are. You know, good looks for vampires are not a given. Oh, maybe such is the case for Nobels (yes n-o-b-e-l-s , I don't know why they spell it that way. I'm told it's a remnant of some ancient Latin influence) like us. We always look great. Even Bob has a certain waifish allure. But the Noxious variety is different. Did you ever see Wilem Defoe as the vampire Max Shrek in that movie? Well, then you know. I must find a way to protect my surviving familiars. We could board them with the Pow Wow Woman's cronies in the Jersey pines. I've even brought it up at meetings. But the wives are rather down on the idea. They'd prefer suites at The Borgota in Atlantic City. Well, we'll see. Perhaps Bob can arrange to have the rooms 'comped'? I will definitely inform you of our decission.

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