IT'S ALL IN THE NAME

Jonathon and Sarah walked down the street. They appeared to be just another young couple. Maybe he was a few years younger than she was, but today who paid attention to such things. They held hands and looked in the windows of all the fine shops lining Rittenhouse Row, admiring all the new spring clothing. True, the late March evening still felt like winter. Yet that was all right. Vampires like the cold. Besides, the slim, dark denim pants and black, leather jackets suited them. One passerby even asked if they had a light for his cigarette. That's how close you can get. You'd never suspect a thing. Sometimes dogs gave them a second look. And cats almost always darted across the street when they came near. But mortal people never caught on. They were hunting. He had a vision, a dream, of an abusive landlord. You can color in the rest. High rents. Poor clientele. Strong arm tactics. Friends with all the right cops annd judges. Hey, well, OK, so I colored it in for you. They eye-balled the guy (Zebulon so likes to use police jargon) as he was leaving some brass and wood panelled chop house. He was workin' a toothpick tryin' to swallow the last shreads of his stuffed pork chops when they caught up with him. It didn't take much. Sarah said - Excuse me, sir, do you know if there's a cab stand around here?.......He looked up. He mumbled something. Probably a lie. Probably made up. He didn't want to help them. But that break in his stride was enough. Jonathon came up behind and put his hand up on the back of the guy's neck in a friendly manner, as if they knew each other. Yet the 'pinch' was a little bit too tight. Mister Landlord got the message. He knew he'd better cooperate. So they did what Philadelphia vampires usually do. They strong-armed him down a narrow service alley. Punched him square in the nose, just to tenderize him, twisted his neck (not to kill him, but to better expose the vessel) and sent him off to face eternal judgement. Well, it was mostly Jonathon who did all that. Sarah stood off to the side with her hands in her pockets. Then, after the lethal bite, she smiled and gave him a little wave. The not quite dead guy was stunned, so he reflexively gave her a weak, little smile and waved back too. After he died, they snapped off his expensive watch, lifted his wallet and quickly floated away. Some rats hiding under a dumpster squeezed out to watch the blue flames. And when the fire burned down, they tip toed into the greasy residue and ate it up. Night in the city. Sarah wanted to talk about his time with the Bureau. She wanted to tell him about her ordeal too, about the endless, gun-metal plain and the grey, close electric sky. But she didn't. Let it pass. Maybe that was better. He spoke first. He said - So what do you think Papa  will call himself now?.......She said - What do you mean?......Her companion with the loose, curly hair said - His name. What he calls himself. Look, after twenty eight thousand years do you think it really makes any difference? I mean what name hasn't he used? It's all just for convenience. But remember, he was locked up till not too long ago. A thousand years it was. Right after he made me. So this is gonna be his first modern name.........He looked into the window of a latenight book store, kind of like the place Sarah once owned. And he pulled her in. It was there. They had what he wanted, a paperback book of baby names. He bought it and chuckled as they walked out. Then they settled down in a nearby cozy cafe (two coffees, naturally) and began to leaf through the selections..............A rather elegant, European looking gentleman observed them from across the street. That group hidden deep within the Vatican had not given up. Papa's former captors were closing in...........