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i_read_what2025-04-20 02:32 pm
kalinara) wrote in i_read_what2025-04-20 02:32 pm
Art in the Blood - Chapter Eight
So last time, Sandra, the girlfriend of widowed artist, Alex Adrian, had just been found murdered. Given that Alex is suspected of killing his wife...that could be a bad sign.
So we start off the chapter with the reminder that Bobbi and Jack had plans to go to the Stockyards, so Bobbi can see Jack eat. They decide to postpone it though, since Bobbi is physically and emotionally exhausted, and Jack wants her to sleep on things.
I have the suspicion that JACK might be the one whose mental state is really at issue. After all, he knew Sandra better. And he's been repressing/hiding his feelings about his vampirism for a long time. (We know, of course, because it's a first person narrative, but this is new to Bobbi.)
Especially with this.
Earlier, when my lips were on her throat, it had taken a conscious effort on my part not to go in a little deeper. The temptation had certainly been present, and this time it had been very difficult to end things and pull away. When hungry, my body only knew that blood was blood, whether acquired by feeding off cattle or through sex with Bobbi. The very real possibility existed that I might lose control and continue taking from her past the point of safety. To prevent that, I wanted to be well supplied from a less fragile, more bountiful source.
Maybe Jack's issues aren't just guilt trips and neuroses.
Jack goes to the Stockyards (parking on a different street, having learned his lesson from Gaylen and Braxton), and "does what he had to do". He thinks about Bobbi's logic, and for the first time, he's able to admit to himself that he enjoys the taste of animal blood. Apparently it's different from human blood, like milk to champagne. One is nourishing, one is intoxicating.
That's actually rather fascinating. I'm always intrigued when vampire stories talk about that kind of thing. A lot of vampire media, of course, make a point of saying that animal blood isn't nourishing at all. (To increase the monstrousness/tragedy, I suspect.) Some, like the vampires in Barbara Hambly's "Those Who Hunt the Night" absolutely HAVE to kill their victims, as the psychic imprint of the death is the real nourishment.
In that respect, Jack does have it lucky. I don't think the poor guy would have made it in a universe that required him to kill, or even drink human blood to eat.
After the euphoria of a good meal dies down, he thinks about Sandra. This, naturally, leads to a visit to Escott. The lights are on, and his car is there, next to "one of the newer Lincolns." Escott's car, by the way, is a Nash. I googled what they look like and yeah, that's exactly the kind of car I'd expect Escott to have.
Jack figures it's too late for Escott to be interviewing clients, so the visitor was probably connected to the murder. And in fact, from the voices he overhears, it's someone intending to hire Escott to investigate. Nice.
I like this bit as a glimpse into the business side of Escott's work:
“Do you wish to retain my services, then?” Escott asked.
“Inasmuch as you are connected with this… this terrible business.”
A drawer slid open. “Very well. Here is my standard contract. It’s fairly straightforward. I cannot make you any promises, and in a case such as this I am under strict limitations. If I should find evidence pointing to a specific person’s guilt I am legally bound to turn it immediately over to the police.” He sounded extremely formal and was uncharacteristically discouraging, an indication he was not happy with his latest employer.
“You mean you think Alex did it?”
“I have no opinion one way or another, I merely follow a line of inquiry until all questions are answered.”
Well, it's definitely not Alex. (Jack would have recognized his car, after all.) In fact, it's Leighton Brett, the artist whose exhibition started this whole thing. Jack thinks that his big frame and expensive clothes make him look out of place in the office. Which is an interesting observation since both Jack and Escott have a fair bit of money themselves, but they don't show it.
Brett is puzzled, since Jack had said he was a writer. Jack clarifies that he is, on his days off, and "this" is what puts bacon on the table. Escott notes that Jack had called him in, and Brett is happy, saying Escott had been the only one talking sense.
Jack's mental note that it was more likely that Escott had been the only one to listen to him. Interesting, Jack usually isn't so snarky with people. But then again, as much as he instantly got along with Evan, Sandra and Alex, he didn't seem to care for Brett.
This also makes me chuckle:
“How did things wind up?” I asked. There was no other place to sit so I hitched a leg over one corner of the desk.
So you're going with the flirty secretary stereotype? Interesting choice. Escott just moves an ashtray aside to give him more room.
We're informed that Evan's in the hospital, Reva Stokes is with him, and Alex is missing. In fact, the police are waiting at his residence, MAYBE to arrest him.
Jack asks Brett where Alex is likely to go, but per Brett, they hadn't had much contact since Celia (Alex's wife) had died. He offers to call Reva though, who was friends with Sandra.
While he does, Jack and Escott share info. Some tenants had been out, others heard a man and woman arguing. No one really took note though.
INTERESTINGLY though, one of the reporters had asked for Jack by name. I enjoy this description:
“Extremely female, tall, with dark hair and light brown eyes; very well dressed and quite striking.”
You know, if Jack hadn't met Bobbi first, I do think he could have had something interesting with Barb. But he's already got a girlfriend and boyfriend, so his dance card's pretty full.
An interesting note: Jack remembers a photographer popping a flash in his face, while Escott wonders if Jack would leave an image on the negative. That...might be a good thing to find out, boys. After all. Modern technology is getting more modern all the time.
Brett's phone call isn't helpful. But Jack has an idea.
“You’ve an idea?” He made it more statement than question.
“Just a small one. This assumes that Alex didn’t kill her and that before he disappeared he was able to get some kind of sense out of Evan.”
“Concerning Dimmy Wallace?”
“Jeez, Charles, why do I bother to think with you around?”
He took it as a compliment. “Our problem is to locate Wallace.”
They are great partners. Jack should bite the bullet and sign on for good.
Anyway, Jack has a way to find out where Dimmy Wallace is. Gordy. Gordy is cooperative, though warns Jack that he'd never called him for this. Jack agrees.
So they head out to the all-night gas station that Gordy had given them. They take Escott's armored car, and Escott wears vest and gun. We're told that Escott "handled his big tank of a car, along with its extra weight in steel, the way Astaire danced with Rogers."
Um, Jack? Get a room.
So they head out. Pretty soon, Escott notes they're being followed. They decide to get the drop on their pursuers. Jack is more nervous than Escott, despite Escott being the more vulnerable one. (I don't know, Jack, ESCOTT isn't the one who gets injured near to dying almost every book...)
They plot to use Jack's powers to ambush and all goes well, to find Barbara Steler and her photographer in the car.
Thing get pretty tense.
“Damn it! Where in hell did you come from?”
I’d meant to give them a good scare and couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “Ask my mother, she knows all about it.”
“You never had one, you bastard.”
“Temper, temper. Maybe you’d like to tell me why you’re following us around.”
“You used to be in the business. Work it out.” She put a palm to her forehead and tried to slow her breathing. The adrenaline surge caused by my entrance had them both shaking.
“Barb…” this from the photographer, in a slightly strangled tone. My arm had slid up to his neck. I eased the pressure but kept the same position.
She saw what had happened and suddenly threw her head back and laughed. The kid joined in, but not too enthusiastically. When she recovered, her body was less tense and she had an air of being in charge of things. She opened her door and got out, walking around to wait in front of the car. I told the kid to stay put. He was still wobbly and content to do as he was told without any special influence on my part.
I do think they could have made a good couple. Not to disparage Bobbi, though, as Bobbi is awesome.
So Barb actually wants Jack to arrange an interview with Alex Adrian. It seems to be different from her old obsession. She knows the police are after him for walking out of the scene and it genuinely sounds like she wants to help.
“You still love him?”
She wasn’t happy that I knew that and her eyes flared, then shifted away. “Think what you like, but please take me along.”
“Women who love Alex always seem to come to a bad end. Are you sure—”
She moved as fast as a striking snake, her palm cracking sharp and loud. Outrage rolled from her like a wave, more tangible to me than the slap. She looked ready to add a verbal insult to the injury but was too mad to think of one acid enough to suit the occasion.
Well, dear, you DID paint him as a murderer in the press.
Jack apologizes and stops her from storming off. Escott's a little reluctant but with both humor and frustration decides to acquiesce to Jack's wishes and bring her along. He vetoes the photographer though. They're such a good partnership.
Barbara sends her photographer away with a fair bit of flirtatious manipulation, and is happy to come along. And it's noted that Escott is apparently not immune to Barb and her "extremely female" wiles.
He does lay down the ground rules, and Jack notes to himself that he can enforce them. Also Escott's serious enough with his "lock the doors and duck if we tell you to" that Barb does listen.
So they go to the gas station. Jack does some investigation into the attached garage. And well:
The center of the floor was broken up by the grease pit, its wide rectangular opening covered by a metal grid. Standing against the opposite wall were a half dozen rusting fifty-gallon drums with various faded labels on them. One of them had been pulled out from the rest and its cover removed. It was positioned exactly under a heavy-duty block-and-tackle arrangement used to lift motors out of cars. A thick, taut chain ran from the supporting framework above down to a steel hook. Attached to the hook was a knotting of rope and hanging from the rope by his wrists was Alex Adrian.
His slack figure was motionless and his head drooped down on his chest. I couldn’t see his face. The toes of his shoes dangled just over the open mouth of the metal drum. Enlightenment came with a fast and sickening twist of the gut. I suddenly knew what they were going to do with all the cement.
Apparently artists probably shouldn't go up against even minor mob bosses alone. Oops.
The chapter ends here.
So we start off the chapter with the reminder that Bobbi and Jack had plans to go to the Stockyards, so Bobbi can see Jack eat. They decide to postpone it though, since Bobbi is physically and emotionally exhausted, and Jack wants her to sleep on things.
I have the suspicion that JACK might be the one whose mental state is really at issue. After all, he knew Sandra better. And he's been repressing/hiding his feelings about his vampirism for a long time. (We know, of course, because it's a first person narrative, but this is new to Bobbi.)
Especially with this.
Earlier, when my lips were on her throat, it had taken a conscious effort on my part not to go in a little deeper. The temptation had certainly been present, and this time it had been very difficult to end things and pull away. When hungry, my body only knew that blood was blood, whether acquired by feeding off cattle or through sex with Bobbi. The very real possibility existed that I might lose control and continue taking from her past the point of safety. To prevent that, I wanted to be well supplied from a less fragile, more bountiful source.
Maybe Jack's issues aren't just guilt trips and neuroses.
Jack goes to the Stockyards (parking on a different street, having learned his lesson from Gaylen and Braxton), and "does what he had to do". He thinks about Bobbi's logic, and for the first time, he's able to admit to himself that he enjoys the taste of animal blood. Apparently it's different from human blood, like milk to champagne. One is nourishing, one is intoxicating.
That's actually rather fascinating. I'm always intrigued when vampire stories talk about that kind of thing. A lot of vampire media, of course, make a point of saying that animal blood isn't nourishing at all. (To increase the monstrousness/tragedy, I suspect.) Some, like the vampires in Barbara Hambly's "Those Who Hunt the Night" absolutely HAVE to kill their victims, as the psychic imprint of the death is the real nourishment.
In that respect, Jack does have it lucky. I don't think the poor guy would have made it in a universe that required him to kill, or even drink human blood to eat.
After the euphoria of a good meal dies down, he thinks about Sandra. This, naturally, leads to a visit to Escott. The lights are on, and his car is there, next to "one of the newer Lincolns." Escott's car, by the way, is a Nash. I googled what they look like and yeah, that's exactly the kind of car I'd expect Escott to have.
Jack figures it's too late for Escott to be interviewing clients, so the visitor was probably connected to the murder. And in fact, from the voices he overhears, it's someone intending to hire Escott to investigate. Nice.
I like this bit as a glimpse into the business side of Escott's work:
“Do you wish to retain my services, then?” Escott asked.
“Inasmuch as you are connected with this… this terrible business.”
A drawer slid open. “Very well. Here is my standard contract. It’s fairly straightforward. I cannot make you any promises, and in a case such as this I am under strict limitations. If I should find evidence pointing to a specific person’s guilt I am legally bound to turn it immediately over to the police.” He sounded extremely formal and was uncharacteristically discouraging, an indication he was not happy with his latest employer.
“You mean you think Alex did it?”
“I have no opinion one way or another, I merely follow a line of inquiry until all questions are answered.”
Well, it's definitely not Alex. (Jack would have recognized his car, after all.) In fact, it's Leighton Brett, the artist whose exhibition started this whole thing. Jack thinks that his big frame and expensive clothes make him look out of place in the office. Which is an interesting observation since both Jack and Escott have a fair bit of money themselves, but they don't show it.
Brett is puzzled, since Jack had said he was a writer. Jack clarifies that he is, on his days off, and "this" is what puts bacon on the table. Escott notes that Jack had called him in, and Brett is happy, saying Escott had been the only one talking sense.
Jack's mental note that it was more likely that Escott had been the only one to listen to him. Interesting, Jack usually isn't so snarky with people. But then again, as much as he instantly got along with Evan, Sandra and Alex, he didn't seem to care for Brett.
This also makes me chuckle:
“How did things wind up?” I asked. There was no other place to sit so I hitched a leg over one corner of the desk.
So you're going with the flirty secretary stereotype? Interesting choice. Escott just moves an ashtray aside to give him more room.
We're informed that Evan's in the hospital, Reva Stokes is with him, and Alex is missing. In fact, the police are waiting at his residence, MAYBE to arrest him.
Jack asks Brett where Alex is likely to go, but per Brett, they hadn't had much contact since Celia (Alex's wife) had died. He offers to call Reva though, who was friends with Sandra.
While he does, Jack and Escott share info. Some tenants had been out, others heard a man and woman arguing. No one really took note though.
INTERESTINGLY though, one of the reporters had asked for Jack by name. I enjoy this description:
“Extremely female, tall, with dark hair and light brown eyes; very well dressed and quite striking.”
You know, if Jack hadn't met Bobbi first, I do think he could have had something interesting with Barb. But he's already got a girlfriend and boyfriend, so his dance card's pretty full.
An interesting note: Jack remembers a photographer popping a flash in his face, while Escott wonders if Jack would leave an image on the negative. That...might be a good thing to find out, boys. After all. Modern technology is getting more modern all the time.
Brett's phone call isn't helpful. But Jack has an idea.
“You’ve an idea?” He made it more statement than question.
“Just a small one. This assumes that Alex didn’t kill her and that before he disappeared he was able to get some kind of sense out of Evan.”
“Concerning Dimmy Wallace?”
“Jeez, Charles, why do I bother to think with you around?”
He took it as a compliment. “Our problem is to locate Wallace.”
They are great partners. Jack should bite the bullet and sign on for good.
Anyway, Jack has a way to find out where Dimmy Wallace is. Gordy. Gordy is cooperative, though warns Jack that he'd never called him for this. Jack agrees.
So they head out to the all-night gas station that Gordy had given them. They take Escott's armored car, and Escott wears vest and gun. We're told that Escott "handled his big tank of a car, along with its extra weight in steel, the way Astaire danced with Rogers."
Um, Jack? Get a room.
So they head out. Pretty soon, Escott notes they're being followed. They decide to get the drop on their pursuers. Jack is more nervous than Escott, despite Escott being the more vulnerable one. (I don't know, Jack, ESCOTT isn't the one who gets injured near to dying almost every book...)
They plot to use Jack's powers to ambush and all goes well, to find Barbara Steler and her photographer in the car.
Thing get pretty tense.
“Damn it! Where in hell did you come from?”
I’d meant to give them a good scare and couldn’t keep the grin off my face. “Ask my mother, she knows all about it.”
“You never had one, you bastard.”
“Temper, temper. Maybe you’d like to tell me why you’re following us around.”
“You used to be in the business. Work it out.” She put a palm to her forehead and tried to slow her breathing. The adrenaline surge caused by my entrance had them both shaking.
“Barb…” this from the photographer, in a slightly strangled tone. My arm had slid up to his neck. I eased the pressure but kept the same position.
She saw what had happened and suddenly threw her head back and laughed. The kid joined in, but not too enthusiastically. When she recovered, her body was less tense and she had an air of being in charge of things. She opened her door and got out, walking around to wait in front of the car. I told the kid to stay put. He was still wobbly and content to do as he was told without any special influence on my part.
I do think they could have made a good couple. Not to disparage Bobbi, though, as Bobbi is awesome.
So Barb actually wants Jack to arrange an interview with Alex Adrian. It seems to be different from her old obsession. She knows the police are after him for walking out of the scene and it genuinely sounds like she wants to help.
“You still love him?”
She wasn’t happy that I knew that and her eyes flared, then shifted away. “Think what you like, but please take me along.”
“Women who love Alex always seem to come to a bad end. Are you sure—”
She moved as fast as a striking snake, her palm cracking sharp and loud. Outrage rolled from her like a wave, more tangible to me than the slap. She looked ready to add a verbal insult to the injury but was too mad to think of one acid enough to suit the occasion.
Well, dear, you DID paint him as a murderer in the press.
Jack apologizes and stops her from storming off. Escott's a little reluctant but with both humor and frustration decides to acquiesce to Jack's wishes and bring her along. He vetoes the photographer though. They're such a good partnership.
Barbara sends her photographer away with a fair bit of flirtatious manipulation, and is happy to come along. And it's noted that Escott is apparently not immune to Barb and her "extremely female" wiles.
He does lay down the ground rules, and Jack notes to himself that he can enforce them. Also Escott's serious enough with his "lock the doors and duck if we tell you to" that Barb does listen.
So they go to the gas station. Jack does some investigation into the attached garage. And well:
The center of the floor was broken up by the grease pit, its wide rectangular opening covered by a metal grid. Standing against the opposite wall were a half dozen rusting fifty-gallon drums with various faded labels on them. One of them had been pulled out from the rest and its cover removed. It was positioned exactly under a heavy-duty block-and-tackle arrangement used to lift motors out of cars. A thick, taut chain ran from the supporting framework above down to a steel hook. Attached to the hook was a knotting of rope and hanging from the rope by his wrists was Alex Adrian.
His slack figure was motionless and his head drooped down on his chest. I couldn’t see his face. The toes of his shoes dangled just over the open mouth of the metal drum. Enlightenment came with a fast and sickening twist of the gut. I suddenly knew what they were going to do with all the cement.
Apparently artists probably shouldn't go up against even minor mob bosses alone. Oops.
The chapter ends here.