Jules parked his Caddy in front of the motley collection of Spanish Colonial buildings that made up Arnaud’s Restaurant. Usually it was impossible to find a space there, but at this late hour most of the diners had finished their meals, and only a few patrons lingered in the bar.

He walked around to the back of the famous Creole institution, to where the kitchen’s rear door opened onto a narrow alleyway that held the restaurant’s Dumpster. Even Arnaud’sgarbage smelled sumptuous. Jules’s food-sensitive nose detected the odors of soft-shell crab saturated in butter sauce, crawfish Monica, chicken and andouille gumbo, and bread pudding in whiskey sauce. A traditional jazz combo of banjo, trumpet, clarinet, trombone, drums, and piano played a final chorus of “Tin Roof Blues” in a nearby Bourbon Street jazz club, granting the garbage alley the ambience of an outdoor supper club.

A busboy exited the kitchen with a huge plastic sack in his arms. With a well-practiced windup, he tossed the sack high into the air, landing it perfectly in the Dumpster’s waiting maw.

Jules caught his attention before he could disappear back into the kitchen. “Hey, kid? How much food would you say this place throws out every night?”

The busboy rubbed his shoulders, strained from tossing the heavy sack. “I dunno… enough to feed an army, it feels like. Why d’you ask? You want some?”

Something about his insolent tone was familiar. “Say,” Jules asked, “don’t I know you from someplace?”

The busboy took a step back and looked Jules over. His eyes widened with recognition. “Yeah… Ido know you! You’re that creep who almost ran me and my girlfriend over on Decatur a month back!”

The vampire wanna-be. So this is where he made his money. He looked different without his white body makeup, mascara, and skintight black jeans. A busboy.Not so high and haughty now, Jules thought.

“You remember my car?” Jules asked.

“Yeah,” the busboy replied suspiciously. “Lessee… it was a Cadillac, right? A big old white Cadillac?”

“That’s right. You like it?”

“What? Your car?”

“Yeah, my car.”

“I guess. I mean, it was kind of a phat ride, with those fins on the back.”

Jules took his car keys from his pocket and jiggled them in front of the young man. “Well, I’m givin‘ it to ya.“

The busboy was surprised for half a second. Then his face turned dismissive, and he waved Jules off. “You’re wacko, man. Get outta here. I’ve got work to do.”

Jules didn’t budge. “I’m serious. The car is yours. The title’s in the glove compartment. I’ll sign it over to ya. All you gotta do is one thing in return.”

The busboy crossed his arms, still looking dubious. “Yeah? And what would that be? If you’re lookin‘ for a suck-off, I don’t swing that way.”

Jules cocked his thumb at the Dumpster. “All you gotta do is, every night before you leave work, make sure the lid to that Dumpster stays open.”

“Huh?”

“You heard me.”

“That’s nuts.”

“Do we have a deal?”

“Why do you want the Dumpster to stay open?”

“My business. Don’t worry-you’ll never have a mess in the alleyway to clean up in the morning.”

The busboy eyed the keys warily. “Well… how do I know this deal is on the up-and-up? Maybe the car’s stolen, or maybe there’s a body in the trunk-“ Jules tossed him the keys. ”Here. It’s parked around front. Check it out. Read the title, the registration papers, my driver’s license. They’re all there.“

The busboy returned three minutes later. He had a cautious smile on his face.

“So?” Jules asked.

“Like I said, it’s a phat ride.”

“We got us a deal then?”

“Your driver’s license didn’t have no photo on it.”

“My business. Deal or no deal?”

The busboy looked at the Dumpster. Then he looked at the keys in his hand. “Deal,” he said.

He turned back to the kitchen, but Jules grabbed his elbow before he could escape. “One more thing. You wax the Caddy every month and change her oil every three thousand miles. I’ll be watching. You let her get run-down, I’llhaunt your skinny ass.”

Jules knocked on the door. Even up here, on the third floor of the Chateau Le Moyne Hotel, he could still hear that jazz combo playing on Bourbon Street.

“It’sopen,” Veronika’s singsong voice answered from inside. “But only if you’re a big strong hunk of all-American male vampire.”

Jules pushed the door open. As he’d expected, Veronika had arrayed herself on the big bed like a double-page spread from the Victoria’s Secret catalog.

“You’re nine minutes early, darling,” she said. But her smile quickly collapsed as he entered. “You didn’t change your clothes.”

Jules self-consciously dusted some more soot off his jacket. “Yeah, well, y’see, I got halfway there, to Maureen’s house, and then I was so, y’know,overcome withlust for you that I just hadda come right over here.”

Veronika’s eyes sparkled, and she held out her plush arms for Jules to dive into. “Oh,goodie. I like that. A lot.”

But instead of joining her on the bed, Jules walked quickly to the sliding door facing the balcony, unlatched it, and opened it a couple of feet. A front of warm, humid air immediately entered the room.

“Jules? Why did you open the window? It’s summertime, sweetie-we’ve got theair on. You’re going to make my hair go all frizzy with that outside air-”

“It’s too cold in here,” Jules said. “I’m doin‘ this for your benefit-you’ll see. When you wake up as a vampire, you’ll crave warmth the way a politician craves kickbacks. Why d’you think all them vampires in stories are always climbin’ into women’s beds? It’s notalways for the blood.”

“Oh, allright, I supposeyou’re the expert on all this vampire stuff. But how about you make like one of those fictional vampires and climb intothis woman’s bed?”

Jules kicked off his shoes. The fly on his trousers got stuck, so he ripped the stubborn zipper open. Heck, he wouldn’t be wearing the damn things again, anyway. Likewise, he didn’t bother unbuttoning the buttons on his shirt-he ripped it off. Veronika giggled and beamed with approval at his apparent enthusiasm. Unencumbered by his battle-soiled clothing, Jules clambered on top of her. His lips quickly found her plump neck.

“Ooohh!”she squealed. “Darling, didn’t you want to start with, y’know, theother? Some foreplay, at least?”

“Naww,” Jules mumbled, his fangs already probing her neck. “Let’s get down to business. Time enough for the lovey-dovey stuff later.”

Jules was in no mood to be coy. No tender nibbles or little love bites tonight. As soon as he found her jugular, he bit down with the passionless force and precision of a punch-press machine.

“OOOOHHH!”

The salty liquid sprayed into his mouth like a gusher. Blood. The stuff of life. The stern words of the priest at St. Joseph’s echoed through his head:

There is no penance unless the sinner sins no more. Will you foreswear the drinking of human blood?

Yeah, yeah, yeah, Father, Jules thought as he gulped it down.This is the last time. After this last little blood snack, I’ll be harmless and peaceful as a little lamb. Even Jesus would approve.

Could hereally make this the last time, though? As much as Veronika repelled him, he had to admit her blood tastedfantastic. After weeks of Maureen’s diet mixture and Doodlebug’s thin-as-water California blood, Jules had forgotten what the real thing tasted like. He hadn’t experienced anything this orgasmic since the night he’d drained Bessie out by Manchac swamp. Whatever Veronika’s other sins might be, self-denial wasn’t among them-her blood was chock-full of the fatty lipids that sent him to the moon.

She raked his back with her nails and moaned passionately as he sucked harder and harder. “Yes, darling, ohyes yes yes…”

Boy oh boy, did she have a lot of blood in her! He tried desperately to focus on his original intent. What he was planning to do-there might be no way back. Even Doodlebug had never tried splitting into more than five bodies at one time. He might subdivide himself so far that his personality, his will, his essence would disappear. Could he live with that?