The Johnson Bros. Tailor Shop was as unassuming as Jenkins’ bookstore—just another local business on a street no-one thought twice about. Even though the shop had closed for the night, that didn’t stop Rennstadt from entering. He passed through the darkened store to the “employees only” door tucked in the back corner.
Several Umbrella Men gathered around a card table greeted him. The air was thick with cigar smoke and the smell of beer. He placed his umbrella in the stand by the door, and pulled up a chair.
“Silas, my boy, how’s it going?” said Gregor Johnson, a heavy-set man who prickled with gray whiskers.
“Just roughed up a deadbeat today,” Rennstadt said.
“Seems to be a lot more of them recently,” Doyle, the young man on Rennstadt’s right chimed in.
“Shut up, Doyle,” Johnson said.
Doyle’s face turned nearly as red as his curly hair, and he quieted.
Rennstadt waited for the game of poker to finish before opening his wallet and getting a hundred dollars’ worth of chips. Thoughts of his escape plan swirled in his head. Maybe I’ll get some more scratch for it tonight. He kept debating whether or not he actually wanted to go through with his plan. Cutting his veins could only last for so long. Johnson dealt and Rennstadt noticed a large bandage on his wrist.
“What happened?” he asked.
“What, this? My fanger got greedy. Said she wanted more than a simple cut.”
“Who’s your fanger again?” Calloway, seated across from Rennstadt asked.
“Madam Rosen. Going on forty years now.”
“Damn, man,” Doyle said. “I don’t think I’ll want to do this for much longer.”
Everyone but Doyle laughed. He looked at the others, perplexed. “What? What is it?”
“You want to become a lesser fanger, kid?” Calloway asked.
“What’s that?”
No one wanted to speak up, so Rennstadt decided he’d be the one to break the news. “It’s how the fangers reward those that go against them. They bite you and turn you into a fanger, but instead of being all collected and in-control, like they are, you become a slobbering dead maniac. You’ll sleep during the day and hunt at night. Your brain will be hard-wired to kill your friends and loved ones. Any shred of humanity you’d have left would be washed away. It’s about the most disrespectful way a person can go.”
Doyle won the hand, adding another reason for the table to despise him. Rennstadt threw his cards down. He regretted wasting his time and concentration on something Doyle should have known better. It reminded him too much of the kid in the bookstore.
Someone knocked on the front door. Everyone immediately tensed, ready to react in whatever manner necessary. Rennstadt cursed himself for having his umbrella out of reach.
“We’re closed,” Johnson called out.
More knocking, followed by muffled words.
“Will someone go out there and see what’s going on?” Johnson said.
“Doyle,” everyone said in unison.
Doyle’s face turned red once more. He grabbed his umbrella and checked out the situation, returning after only a minute. “Rennstadt, it’s for you.”
“What? Who is it?”
“I don’t know. Some nerd who wants to talk to you.”
“Bright boy,” Rennstadt muttered.
“He’s pretty insistent on seeing you.”
Maybe he had a change of heart and coughed up the money. If that was true, then he knew Master Blomquist would never forgive him for turning Jenkins away. Rennstadt sighed and excused himself from the game. He grabbed his umbrella before he left the room.
Jenkins was pacing back and forth on the sidewalk in front of the store. Rennstadt scanned the scene quickly to determine if it was a trap or not. Deciding the situation was as it seemed, he stepped out of the store.
“How did you find me?” Rennstadt asked.
“I looked up the plates on your limo. The registration had this address.”
“What do you want?”
“I have a favor to ask.”
Rennstadt shook his head. “You don’t have the money, do you?”
“No, but I do have this.” He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a pointed wooden stake.
“What you got in mind there, bright boy?”
“I want to jab this stake through that fanger’s heart. All I need is for you to arrange for your master to come to the store tonight.”
Rennstadt pushed the stake away. “You want me to set up my own master? What’s in it for me?”
“Ten thousand dollars.”
“I thought you said you were broke.”
“My grandfather loves the bookstore. He gave me his life savings to keep the store running after I told him what was happening. Ten thousand is all I have, but I’d be willing to give it to you. The death of your master will save me in the long run.”
Rennstadt checked to make sure no one was listening. Milling in front of Johnson Bros. with someone holding a stake was inadvisable. “Do you even know what you are proposing? The whole vampire community would seek you out.”
“I could pack up and move.”
He couldn’t deny Jenkins’ optimism, though he wondered if it was misplaced. The idea was tempting. Jenkins would be freed at least from Master Blomquist’s deal, and Rennstadt would be free from his master. Ten thousand would be enough to cover the hospital bills and fake documentation he’d require. He would have his wife transferred to another hospital under another name. If Master Blomquist’s death was kept secret for as long as possible, that would be even more time to hide. Maybe Jenkins would be helpful yet.
“Is that what you really want?” Rennstadt asked.
“Yes.”
“Fine. When do you want us to come?”
“Midnight.” Jenkins’ face lit with possibility.
“A bit dramatic, but fine. Now get out of here.” Rennstadt didn’t even wait for a response before turning around and entering the store. Jenkins thanked him anyway.
“You okay there?” Gregor Johnson asked.
“Yeah, it was nothing. Deal me in.”
Johnson dealt the cards and Rennstadt picked them up with shaky hands.