Accounts of Sam. Rosie's Bar, October 2017.
I'm sure the locals believe I'm suicidal, no vampire willingly goes looking for Thorn the way I am. I've wasted needless hours squeezing information out of anyone who can be persuaded or intimidated into talking. I may have made a few enemies and all my leads are coming up fruitless. I'm out of time, been out of time from the start of this wild goose chase.
I'm off my bike and through Rosie's doors between seconds. This next attempt is a sign of how desperate I've become. I'm not optimistic.
Cooper's here just like he said he'd be during our short phone call, socializing with Janet in his usual spot. He's always been touchy about the Thorn, asking in person is my best shot. Though, I may have more luck boiling the ocean than breaching the subject.
"This one's on me," Janet's more consoling than usual as she pops the top off a Dos Equis and slides it to Cooper. He's looking pretty flat. Shit, he must have heard from around the grapevine of my troubles.
He flashes her a tiny smile that doesn't reach his eyes, "Naw, i's alright love."
He pushes a ten across the table and she takes it reluctantly, frowning.
"I know tough guys like you aren't prone to venting without a dangerous amount of liquor… but I can slip away in the next hour if you want the company."
He holds the half smiles again but the tightness around his eyes remains, "I appreciate tha', Jan."
She slides her hand over his resting on the bar and gives it a squeeze. Their interesting relationship is closer than I ever credited it for.
Janet catches my glance and discreetly slips her hand back. Cooper peers at me from the corner of his eye for her benefit, he was aware of me before I opened the door.
I sit down at the table nearest to the bar and wait.
"Give me a momen', would'ja darlin'?"
Janet doesn't give Cooper a hard time about the pet names like she might have under normal circumstances. She nods solemnly and gives me a complex look, not accusing but speculative. She politely busies herself.
Cooper silently sits himself across from me, folding his arms as he leans back into the chair. The serious demeanor makes him unrecognizable, another person. Someone who could actually be suspected of history as an ex con.
He closes his eyes and sighs, before returning stern eye contact, "Right then, wha's this s'all abou'."
I hold his blank stare, pursing my lips for a moment, "Ash was taken."
His expression is concrete, not surprised at all. Not a promising sign.
"I'm going after her. I need to know… " I hesitate trying to weasel my way around the words, "I think that the Thorn has-"
"I can't do tha, Sam," he interrupts, covering his face with a large palm and tiredly rubbing his eyes, "Ya kno betta than to ask somffin like this o' mi."
"All I need to know is where they congregate, that's *all* I'm asking for."
"Naw, No Thorn. I wan' nuffin' ta do wiff um," he sends out an open hand in a canceling motion, "Besides, there's no comin' back from tha wey they nabbed 'er. You can't hel-"
I'm on edge, too impatient for his excuses and it gets the better of me. I'm out of my seat, hands slamming on the table, "Just give me the damn location, Cooper!"
The bar seems startled into quiet by my outburst. I pay my surroundings no heed as activity returns to normalcy. I leer down the table at Coop as his head vibrates. My thinning patience appears non-exclusive.
"I said no an' I mean it," he nearly growls back, "You want ta go at it arseways an' run off on some pointless heroes quest, fine. But I'll not be havin' a paper trail leadin' back ta yers trulay an' I'll say no more."
"You're acting like she's already dead."
"Wake up, Sam. She's not comin' back."
"Stop saying that, I'm getting her out of there!"
His eyes flash brilliant red, a rare sight. It may have been daunting if I weren't so worked up myself.
"Can't ya see how self destructive yer bein'! You attach yerself ta loose cannons an' I fink yer purposelay tryin' to get dragged unda'," his accent grows harsher with his upset, "Doomed people tha' are walkin' tha fine line, Boyo, an' yer tailin' their backside. Derek was too reckless ta last. Tha girl was nose divin' inta it, too. Face it, some don't have wha' it takes ta survive."
I grit my teeth, "How can you talk about them like that? Derek was your blood! I never took you for a fatalistic sort."
"He *was* my blood! Which is 'xactly why I kno' 'im betta than yerself. He was a kamikaze pilot 'n life before ya asked mi ta turn 'im. Riskin' it all, always busay wiff somffin' and he snowballed outta control. I'd be a liar if I says I didn' see it comin'."
"Sure, and your roaring twenties gangster phase wasn't reckless at all."
He seems to have a moment of self reflection from the impromptu segue, aware he's getting pretty fired up. He turns down the intensity five notches with a short breath, "We had opposin' mindsets. Besides, gangs now are veray differen' than they was a centuray ago. But that's neither here nor ther'," he waves his hand as if to brush past the topic, "Tha' point *is*, ya need to let go. I care abou' ya. Stop lookin' fer weys ta punish yerself. Tha past is ova', time ta start livin' in tha here an' now."
"Damn it, Cooper, I'm not asking for a psych evaluation. Ashlen *is* my very current concern," I slump back into my chair, feeling tired and hopeless as I knead at my own face.
"Please help me," I beseech in a breath, I'm not the type to beg, "I can't abandon her."
I glance up to see his faintly crimsoned eyes boring into mine for some time. He seems painfully peeved, and dare I say, conflicted. The corners of his mouth pinch tighter and tighter as he runs through my request.
We may be close but there are limits. I'm pushing one of his lines, and there's a few he won't cross for anyone.
His head sways slowly and the anger is snuffed as his eyes fall shut, "I'm sorry, Sam. I shan't get involved with um. I don't think yer graspin' at wha' it means ta be on tha Thorn's shite list."
"I don't care," I say with finality.
I promised I'd protect her.
"Ya should. I neva told ya abou' wha' happened ta mi Maker, did I?" he says rather quietly. He has always avoided the subject and I never pressed him on it.
His expression is far away as he stares past me, still shaking his head. A smile cracks on his lips before fading. It's actually not a smile, more of a twitch of disturbed disbelief.
He wets his lips, and stares hard into the center of his bottle has he rotates the labeled glass, "He pissed off 'em Thorn n' they decided… ta baptise tha poor sod 'n holay wata."
I stare at him, unable to respond.
"Aye," he nods, agreeing with my stunned silence, "That's a wee unpleasant wey ta go fer any Devil's line, like drownin' in acid," he looks me straight in the eye, adding, "an' mi presence fer tha execution was mandatoray."
He rolls his shoulder and cracks his neck to shake his discomfort from the topic, "Look, I'm finkin' 'bout leavin' fer a bit n' you should come wiff. At leas' 'til things settle down."
He leans into the table, and says in a severe hush, "If ya go meddlin' they'll come after you nex' an' get jus' as creativelay sadistic I'm shor. Squash ya inta an uninvited house like a bug or somffin'."
"All the more reason to find her."
We give each other another solemn stare down. I can hear the tick of a wall clock above the ambient murmur of sleepy heartbeats and tired conversations. A fluorescent display light flickers without rhythm, buzzing with threats of dying out forever.
I exhale, leaning my back into the chair.
"You know," I comment off-handedly, the corner of my mouth jerks up slightly, "you don't ever seem to approve of the company I keep."
"I's not tha'," his features soften, "I have noffin' agains' tha fireball. I like 'er but yer forgettin' 'bout 'er kin."
"Her kin?"
"Tha reapa', Sam. I kno' you. I kno' what yer plottin' with tha' reapa', as dumb as it is."
"That thing…" I curl my lip, "is not her family."
"Did the reapa' turn 'er?"
"Yes, but-"
"That's 'er surrogate familay now, Sammy," he cuts me off, putting his weight on the backbone of the chair, "I kno' ya don't have a connection with yer maker and ya don't like sharin' so this might be hard fer ya to wrap yer wee head around. But that's 'er *sire*. The progeny rarelay betray their maka'."
He lets that sink in before adding, "There's a reason tha Thorn nabbed tha kid… She has a bond wiff tha' lady as twisted as she is. You fink she'd just sit back an' let you take out tha onlay kin she can hav' safe contac' wiff?"
I mull that over for a moment, safe is debatable. I move the conversation back to our current situation. I don't like what he's implying and don't have time to argue about it, "Now, you're talking about her like she's still alive."
He pauses and his tone is uncharacteristically grim, "A swift death would be a mercay… They are not kind ta tha ones they keep alive."
I glare into the ripples of the wood table, chewing the inside of my cheek raw. How the hell am I going to find her?
"Yer chasin' smoke n' mirrors, Sam. You can question everay las' bloodsucka' in tha state, but onlay Thorn know how Thorn operate. An' they'll soona bop ya than talk ta ya."
'Only a Thorn would know.'
I get up, hit with an epiphany and an urgency. The thought of her suffering has me dangerously close to full-blown panic. It's no time to lose my head.
Cooper was unintentionally helpful, but I won't get anymore from him and he's not going to change my mind.
"Don't do this, Sam. Don't *do* this," his words are breathy as if he's muttering it to himself. He's looking past me but that face is indirectly pleading. I know he means well and I hate to leave like this, but I can't stay.
I embrace his shoulder before strolling past him with a bitter smile, if you'd even call it that.
Like he always says, 'I'm not a good listener.'
"Well," I sigh, "I'll see you around."
"I hope so," he replies weakly.
His gloomy gaze follows me out the door. Sadness isn't an emotion meant for Cooper but apparently he can wear it and it's effectively awful to see.
I'll do anything to get to Ash… And I will. Even if it means asking a Thorn.
…*or* a former Thorn.