Read Online Fat Vampire 6: Survival of the Fattest by Johnny B. Truant - Free Book Online
Authors: Johnny B. Truant
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swallowing. “I can’t just let you in.”
Brian reached forward. The guard flinched, but Brian was just pulling a black sharpie out of the guard’s pocket. He uncapped it.
“Got a riddle for you,” said Brian. He walked over to the other trash can, then drew two wide and stupid eyes on the thing above the trap door in its front. The trash can, with a door for a mouth, looked shocked. Brian pointed at it. “What is this?”
The guard looked at Nikki and Reginald, then at Brian. “Trash can?”
Brian dropped the Sharpie into his pocket, then crushed what used to be the first trash can into a tighter ball. When he’d made it more dense than should have been possible, he tossed it through the trap door of the remaining can.
“A cannibal,” he said.
The guard swallowed.
“Please let us in ,” Nikki purred, batting her eyelashes.
Brian reached forward, and again the guard flinched. He placed the Sharpie back in the guard’s pocket, then tapped him on the head with his huge hand the way he’d tap a kid to give him an atta-boy.
“Please,” he echoed in his less-sexy voice.
“S-stay right here,” said the guard. He blurred through a set of doors further down the hallway, then returned a moment later and waved them forward. He wrote down Brian and Nikki’s full names, then told them to enjoy their stay at the Ramada, which wasn’t where they were.
Once inside what turned out to be yet another hallway, Reginald, Nikki, and Brian were greeted by Charles Barkley, who tried to shake all of their hands. Nobody reciprocated, so he asked if they wanted coffee. Then he asked if they wanted one blood creamer or two in their coffees despite the fact that all three of them had declined.
Reginald gave Charles an appraising look. “Timken told you to be nice to us, didn’t he?” he said.
“Hel-lo, Charles ,” Brian cooed in a sing-song voice before Charles could answer. He was wearing a smile as wide as a dinner plate. Brian had been the one member of Logan’s Council that Charles had been unable to intimidate. Instead of cowering, Brian had flipped the tables on his opponent, dedicating most of his time on Council to making Charles look stupid.
“I’m just glad you agreed to help us,” said Charles, the sycophantic smile falling from his lips.
“Well, threatening us will do that.”
“Hel-lo Charles ,” Brian repeated.
“Did Timken threaten you if you didn’t kiss our asses?” Reginald asked, still wondering at Charles’s servility. Then he thought of something. “Wait… do you even report to Timken these days? Maybe I’ve got it wrong. Do you work for the esteemed Mr. Walker now?”
The idea to poke Charles with Walker had just occurred to him, but the shot clearly hit its mark. When Timken had run for the vampire presidency, Charles had been his opponent and Walker had been Charles’s running mate. But in the intervening years, because Walker was better at greasing palms and licking balls than Charles, Walker had moved above Charles. Walker was now the logical choice to replace Timken whenever Timken decided to step down, and Charles would have to pedal hard just to secure himself a job as the Secretary of Something Stupid. It had to be humiliating.
“Right this way,” said Charles, avoiding Reginald’s gaze. And they began walking.
“Hel-loooo Charles ,” Brian purred. He clapped a brotherly hand on Charles’s back, and the impact of the gesture slammed Charles into the edge of an approaching doorway. He burst through it in an explosion of metal and plaster dust, fell to the floor covered in gypsum, and then kept walking a few paces ahead of Brian as if nothing had happened.
As they walked further, they passed a sign. It read: American Vampire Council meeting room . And there was an arrow pointing straight ahead.
But instead of walking into a dirt-floored arena or a chamber of monster horrors, they entered a conference room
Brian reached forward. The guard flinched, but Brian was just pulling a black sharpie out of the guard’s pocket. He uncapped it.
“Got a riddle for you,” said Brian. He walked over to the other trash can, then drew two wide and stupid eyes on the thing above the trap door in its front. The trash can, with a door for a mouth, looked shocked. Brian pointed at it. “What is this?”
The guard looked at Nikki and Reginald, then at Brian. “Trash can?”
Brian dropped the Sharpie into his pocket, then crushed what used to be the first trash can into a tighter ball. When he’d made it more dense than should have been possible, he tossed it through the trap door of the remaining can.
“A cannibal,” he said.
The guard swallowed.
“Please let us in ,” Nikki purred, batting her eyelashes.
Brian reached forward, and again the guard flinched. He placed the Sharpie back in the guard’s pocket, then tapped him on the head with his huge hand the way he’d tap a kid to give him an atta-boy.
“Please,” he echoed in his less-sexy voice.
“S-stay right here,” said the guard. He blurred through a set of doors further down the hallway, then returned a moment later and waved them forward. He wrote down Brian and Nikki’s full names, then told them to enjoy their stay at the Ramada, which wasn’t where they were.
Once inside what turned out to be yet another hallway, Reginald, Nikki, and Brian were greeted by Charles Barkley, who tried to shake all of their hands. Nobody reciprocated, so he asked if they wanted coffee. Then he asked if they wanted one blood creamer or two in their coffees despite the fact that all three of them had declined.
Reginald gave Charles an appraising look. “Timken told you to be nice to us, didn’t he?” he said.
“Hel-lo, Charles ,” Brian cooed in a sing-song voice before Charles could answer. He was wearing a smile as wide as a dinner plate. Brian had been the one member of Logan’s Council that Charles had been unable to intimidate. Instead of cowering, Brian had flipped the tables on his opponent, dedicating most of his time on Council to making Charles look stupid.
“I’m just glad you agreed to help us,” said Charles, the sycophantic smile falling from his lips.
“Well, threatening us will do that.”
“Hel-lo Charles ,” Brian repeated.
“Did Timken threaten you if you didn’t kiss our asses?” Reginald asked, still wondering at Charles’s servility. Then he thought of something. “Wait… do you even report to Timken these days? Maybe I’ve got it wrong. Do you work for the esteemed Mr. Walker now?”
The idea to poke Charles with Walker had just occurred to him, but the shot clearly hit its mark. When Timken had run for the vampire presidency, Charles had been his opponent and Walker had been Charles’s running mate. But in the intervening years, because Walker was better at greasing palms and licking balls than Charles, Walker had moved above Charles. Walker was now the logical choice to replace Timken whenever Timken decided to step down, and Charles would have to pedal hard just to secure himself a job as the Secretary of Something Stupid. It had to be humiliating.
“Right this way,” said Charles, avoiding Reginald’s gaze. And they began walking.
“Hel-loooo Charles ,” Brian purred. He clapped a brotherly hand on Charles’s back, and the impact of the gesture slammed Charles into the edge of an approaching doorway. He burst through it in an explosion of metal and plaster dust, fell to the floor covered in gypsum, and then kept walking a few paces ahead of Brian as if nothing had happened.
As they walked further, they passed a sign. It read: American Vampire Council meeting room . And there was an arrow pointing straight ahead.
But instead of walking into a dirt-floored arena or a chamber of monster horrors, they entered a conference room
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