Lifeblood - Introduction and Chapter One

[kalinara]

So having finished with White Dragon, I decided that I really wanted a break from high fantasy for a while. Dragons and bards are fun and all, but sometimes it's fun to go for something different. And I mean, I'm still reviewing Drizzt and Mistwraith, so I'm not giving up high fantasy entirely.

I'll come back to Pern and the Chronicles of Cheysuli, of course. But right now, I need a palate cleanser so I'm going with a book that I hope to actually like! I liked the first book anyway.

So today, we're heading back to 1930's Chicago to see what Vampire Jack Fleming, Englishman Charles Escott, and the divine Ms. Bobbi Smythe have been up to since their run-in with the mob in Bloodlist.

Truth be told, I'm not sure what happens in this book. Vampire Files is one of those series that I remember binge reading once I managed to track them down, and because of that, it's hard to recall what events take place when. That might be good though, the less I remember, the less I can spoil ahead of time.



So, like Bloodlist, the book doesn't have a prologue. Instead, it starts in media res, as our narrator, presumably Jack, is at "one of those cheaper-than-two-bit dives where you take your life in your hands just by going to the men's room" claiming to be down on his luck and trying to beg a bottle of booze.

I did rather miss your way with words, Jack.

He's faking of course, but his wad of bills is very convincing and the bartender indeed gets a bottle of the cheap stuff, which Jack takes to a booth and pretends to drink. He notes that ten cents would have been an overcharge, and that the stuff smelled like some of the old poison left over from before repeal. He coughs and spills some on his shirt.

As he's dealing with the mess, a dude in a grey suit walks in. This isn't the right neighborhood for a suit, and his apparent hurry is out of place at one-in-the-morning. The dude also seems a little paranoid as he looks around, seeing only Jack (playing at being a drunk country boy corrupted by the big city) and the bartender. He sits down, and Jack watches him through the reflection of the mirror above the bar.

Jack's playing it a bit dangerous here, because apparently the dude also sporadically looks at the mirror and is puzzled by Jack's lack of reflection. Jack is unconcerned though.

Eventually another man comes in, and he gets a pretty detailed description. You know I love descriptions, so here you go:

Another man walked in from the night and hesitantly approached the bar. He was also too well dressed, but was a bit more seedy and timid. He had a tall, thin body with a beaky nose that supported some black-rimmed pince-nez on a pastel blue velvet ribbon. He wore a cheap blue suit, the cuffs a little too short and the pants a little too tight. His ankles stuck out, revealing black silk socks peeking over the tops of black shoes with toes that had been chiseled to a lethal point. He affected a black cane with a silver handle, which would buy him eternity in this neighborhood if he waved it around too much.

Wow.

This man asks for a sherry, which...well, even I can tell this isn't the place for that. When that fails, he asks for a gin, and wipes the rim of his glass with a handkerchief before drinking. Jack describes him as "as nervous as a virgin in a frat house" which makes me wonder how old certain stereotypes actually are.

Apparently the school fraternity system dates back to 1790! Who knew?

This new guy's cologne is so powerful ("the scent of dying lilies") that Jack actually stops breathing for a while. We get even more description of the dude when he removes his hat, he's got a low widow's peak and very groomed hair.

The bartender and the first dude exchange a glance of "what can you do?" and then a woman walks in. She's got a description too:

Two minutes later a lady walked in, probably the first one to ever cross the threshold. She was small, not much over five feet, wearing emerald green with a matching hat and a heavy dark veil that covered her face down to her hard, red lips. She carried a big green bag trimmed with beads that twinkled in the light. Her green heels made quite a noise as she crossed the wood floor to the tall man at the bar. He straightened a little, because polite men do things like that when a lady comes up to them, and he did look polite.

She glanced around warily, her eyes resting on me a moment. She must have been pretty enough to be noticed even by a drunk like me; at least she had a trim figure and good legs. I gave her an encouraging, if bleary leer and raised my glass hopefully. After that she ignored me and tilted her chin expectantly at the tall man.

I like this description a lot. I've compared this series to Dresden Files in the past, and I like the Dresden Files a lot, but one thing that does pop into mind when I read it is how Harry tends to sexualize the women he speaks to, even when I don't think Butcher means to do that. You can see a good example of what I mean in the reviews of Grave Peril at Anagnorisis Awakening. I don't think Harry is really meant to be ogling a sick kid like Lydia when he meets her. But Butcher uses a lot of noir conventions in the novels, and one of those conventions is the sexy victim/femme fatale in the private investigator's office.

I think Butcher's problem is that he doesn't really know how to describe someone as being attractive or in the case of Lydia, trying to use sexual attraction, in a dispassionate way. It makes Harry seem skeevier than I think he's meant to be. (A chauvinistic white knight, yes, a skeevy pervert who ogles everyone in sight, no.)

THIS is what I think Butcher was trying to do. We can tell that this woman is attractive, enough so that Jack believes the character he's playing would react, but the only interest he has in her is professional.

Back to the story, sorry.

So the fancy man joins the lady in a booth. He's still nervous, and so is the big guy from before, who still can't see Jack, but can't move without drawing attention to himself.

The fancy man and the lady exchange cryptic words. Lots of "do you have it?" questions, and at one point the lady pulls out a cigarette case and opens it to show him. It gets a little cliche, or maybe cheerful genre homage here:

"May I?" He extended a manicured hand. She hesitated. "I have to verify that it is genuine. Miss… er… Green. Mr. Swafford was very clear on that point."

She put the case on the table, her right hand lingering inside the big purse. "Just as long as you know that this is genuine," she told him, and turned the bag to let him see inside.

He stiffened, his eyes frozen on her hidden hand. He licked his lower lip. "V-very well." Slowly he picked up the leather case, removing the pince-nez and screwing the loupe into one eye. He examined what was in the case for ten seconds and reversed the motions, replacing it back onto the scarred tabletop.

I assume of course that the lady is carrying a gun. The man verifies that the thing, whatever it is, is genuine, and hands over an envelope of money. Things appear to go quite badly, when she says that the bills are marked. She says that whatever it is goes in the fire.

Interesting, not jewelry then.

The guy is very distressed. He begs to help her, saying that he had no idea about the marked bills, and he can find her another collector who'd ask no questions. He'd buy it himself if he could...

OH. This changes things:

She took in his cheap clothes, her mouth becoming small and thin. "I'm sure you would." Her hand shot up and knocked the pince-nez from his nose, and his head snapped back a fraction too late to avoid it.

They hung from the velvet ribbon, swinging free and hitting the table edge with a soft tick.

In turn his gray eyes hardened and his cowering posture altered and straightened. "We may still come to an equitable arrangement. Miss Green." His breathy manner of speech had been replaced by a precise English accent, and the prissy mannerisms dropped from him like sour milk.

"Like hell we will, Escott. Stand up and follow Sled out the back door."

The man in gray, presumably Sled, is her henchman of course. But then Escott's not exactly alone either, and when they leave, Jack vanishes into thin air. (There's a funny bit about the bartender watching Jack and pretending not to notice the others leave to go commit a murder. Jack thinks he can pretend not to notice the vanishing either.)

The lady's the one with her gun out, so Jack goes for her:

I melted back into reality and solidified. From her point of view I just came out of nowhere, which was essentially correct. I slapped the gun from her grip, put a hand over her mouth, another around her waist, then half lifted her away into the dark. She made a nasal squeal of outrage, her heels flailing against my shins.

Meanwhile, Sled draws his gun, but Escott's too fast for him, forcing down his gun arm and using his body to ram Sled into the wall. Jack grabs the woman's purse, telling us that holding on to her "was like trying to give a bath to an alley cat" He pushes her away, hoping she'll run. Instead, she goes for Sled's gun. She gets it:

Her index finger slotted neatly over the trigger on the first try and she rolled and brought it up like an expert, firing point blank at me as I lunged. The yellow flash filled my whole world. I didn't hear the thing go off, maybe at that range it was too loud to hear. I felt the wrenching impact as the slug struck over my left eye and sent me on a slow, breathless tumble into white-hot agony.

Ow. Jack goes intangible, though he hears Escott shout his name. There's another shot. Uh oh!

Jack reappears, while Sled grabs the woman and runs off. Escott doesn't look too good though:

Escott was leaning against the wall and had made no move to stop them. He was doubled over, struggling to breathe, with his arms curled tight around his stomach. His pale face stood out from the shadows like a fun-house ghost. Even as I found my feet he lost his and sank to the ground.

I was kneeling by him in a second, heart in my throat. "Charles?" My voice was all funny, as though it were borrowed from some stranger.

But even as Jack panics, Escott recovers himself. He's winded but not hurt. Bulletproof vest. He points out that unlike Jack, he has no "supernatural defense against flying bits of metal". He provides an artificial one instead. Hah. But dude, you could tell your partner that.

He wisely doesn't laugh at whatever relief-rage expression Jack's wearing and asks after "the stamp".

Mutely, I handed over the beaded green bag. I didn't trust myself to say anything yet as it probably would have been too obscene. While he rummaged for the leather case I got up and checked the alley exit, putting some distance between us for a minute. On top of everything else, the son of a bitch didn't need a punch in the chops from a friend who was glad to see him alive.

Heh, Escott probably would be an absolutely INFURIATING partner, whether you were a vampire or not.

Escott finds the stamp in question. And it is literally a stamp. As in stamp collection. He admits that he's unimpressed, but a job is a job. He gets Jack to help him up, as the bullet hit rather near his knife wound from last book. He also asks after Jack, who brushes off the concern. The bullet was lead, not wood. He's fine.

Still seemed pretty painful.

As they get in the car, Jack asks what went wrong. Basically Escott and the lady recognized each other. And between that and the marked bills, she got spooked. Escott's pretty mad about that, as he thinks she might have still been willing to deal if not for the last part. He wants to pay a visit to their employer.

So they drive to a suburb. The butler is rather reluctant to let them in, but Escott knows how to push the issue. (Jack just notes that both of them had English accents, but Escott's is genuine so the butler knew he was outclassed.) The employer, a dude named Swafford, comes down.

Jack, to my delight, is introduced as Escott's assistant.

Swafford's description is pretty delightful too:

He was wide and stocky all the way down to his slippered feet, and even a fancy silk bathrobe had a difficult time making him look society smooth. My guess was he made his money the hard way and was using it now in an attempt to make people forget about the work. His library bore this out, and was done up like something out of a movie, with an eye to impress the audience. There was a Renoir over the fireplace, but its function was to hide the safe and not to express the owner's tastes.

Swafford wants the stamp, of course. Escott dumps the envelope of money onto the desk, and when Swafford counts it, he lights a candelabrum and brings it over. OH dear. When Swafford confirms that the money's all there, Escott tells him he can regard the case as closed.

Escott explains that he should have read the contract between them. He considers Swafford's attempt to mark the bills as "defraud[ing] [him] of [Swafford's] trust." He explains that it tipped the thief off and got him shot. If he'd trusted Escott, he'd have gotten both money and stamp back. Now he's forfeited the stamp.

Ah, and now we see what Escott and Jack are really here for. Swafford asks what Escott wants. Escott wants the charges dropped against someone named "Ruthie Mason". He does a bit of showmanship with the stamp and candelabrum until Swafford agrees and makes the call. Jack notes that the lawyer, woken up now, will likely be tied up in this work until well after breakfast, running a hefty bill. (Escott knew the art of a properly administered low blow.)

Escott also gets the guy to write recommendations for the girl (he'll have his wife do it), presumably a now-former employee, and a monetary gift. He also demands the twenty-five hundred as a reimbursement fee for the funeral he'd have had if he hadn't taken precautions. Unmarked this time.

The guy gives in, opening his safe, and eyeing Jack in particular. (Jack tries to look tough.) Escott has him sign a receipt and a promise to pay a sum to Ruthie in the morning. Then:

Swafford signed it and threw the pen down. Escott tucked away the original. He considered the folded paper between his two fingers, then suddenly put it into the candle flame. Stafford's eyes peeled back and he choked, one hand raised as if he were taking an oath. The scrap burned down to nothing and Escott dropped the ashes onto the desk. He looked thoughtful.

"Odd, I had imagined five thousand dollars going up in smoke would look much more impressive."

Oh my! I'm amused already, but I'm sure we'll have context soon that will make this more satisfying.

Escott digs the knife in by innocently suggesting his insurance can cover it. The guy didn't have it insured, because he didn't want to pay taxes. He tries to threaten to sue Escott, who is utterly disinterested. When they leave, Escott hands a folded paper identical to the burned one to the butler, saying he'd forgotten to give it to Swafford. "Please present it to him with my compliments."

Hah. Let's not offend Escott, shall we? He's got a far nastier temper than Jack.

In the car, Jack warns him that his showboating might get him killed someday, or at least doesn't attract business. But Escott doesn't need business like Swafford's. Jack also feels guilty, he'd let the lady go and nearly got Escott killed.

Jack's a journalist not a gumshoe (the word pains Escott), and he thinks his amateur status makes him too dangerous to have around.

There's some banter about disguises and then we find out more about who the lady actually was:

Her name is Selma Jenks, and she had been Swafford's wife's personal maid. She'd heard Escott's name from Swafford himself, though she might not have made the connection if not for the marked bills. She took the stamp, and they blamed Ruthie instead, because Ruthie is black. Ruthie called Shoe Coldfield's sister, and Shoe called Escott. In Escott's opinion, Ruthie's the real client.

This makes sense to Jack, who'd figured Swafford wasn't Escott's usual type of client. ("Too shady?" "Too rich.")

I'm a little disappointed that Escott recognized Selma from the case rather than as a similar freelance roguish counterpart, but oh well. It's still a pretty nice set-up. And indeed, knowing the guy is a racist dick did make the apparent stamp burning scene more satisfying.

There's a lot more description in this book than in Bloodlist, which I like. The banter was great in Bloodlist, but there were times it did kind of feel like the characters were standing in a void. Lifeblood remedies that. Check out Escott's house:

He cursed sedately as he struggled with the rusty lock on the back door. It finally gave way and we walked into his large high-ceilinged kitchen. His house was a big, roomy place; a three-storied pre-fire relic that in its better days (or worse) had been a bordello. As his time, money, and health allowed, he was gradually cleaning, painting, and restoring it into a livable home. But the kitchen was not high on his priority list and still retained an air of cobwebby disuse in the corners. Except for replacing the old icebox with a streamlined new refrigerator that crouched and hummed between sagging cabinets, he'd pretty much ignored the room.

They strip their coats, and the odor (booze from Jack, dead lilies from Escott) is enough to get to even Jack. Both seem to agree the lilies are worse, and Escott says that if he uses the disguise again, he'll substitute something "less lethal".

Oh, interesting:

"Why use anything at all?"

"Attention to detail is the key to a good disguise."

"I think you poured on too much detail this time. You must have gotten perfume mixed up with cologne."

His brows went up. "There's a difference?"

"A lot, I think."

When pressed on what it is, Jack can't really answer and suggests that he asks Bobbi. But I think that is a pretty interesting point. Jack and Escott are the same age, approximately, but Jack's experiences pre-vampirism were more conventional. He'd been a soldier in WWI, and then a journalist, and implicitly an alcoholic toward the end of that, but all pretty above board. Escott's life has been far more eclectic, and he generally gets to be the one with all the relevant and interesting knowledge.

Except possibly with women.

I don't remember Escott's canon sexuality. I do remember that one of the books digs into his backstory to some detail, but I can't remember much about it. I feel like he was straight, or at least had some female companionship in the past (though I prefer to read him as bi - OT3! I'm pretty sure I'd remember if there was anything canon about that. As a tween and teen, I was sharply on the lookout for anything LGBTQ in my books.) But I don't think Charles had a Maureen.

Escott doubtlessly knows a lot about interacting with women in the sense of being charming, flirting, getting information, but when it comes to little things, slice of life things, like the difference between cologne and perfume. That's what Jack knows.

Escott gets a drink and Jack goes to clean up. He's offered use of the bathtub, but if you recall, Jack's got a few PTSD issues when it comes to immersion in cold water. He'll settle for scrubbing face and hands and changing clothes. As he gets dressed, he starts having a bit of a delayed reaction to the shooting. Escott was fine, but Jack was quite frightened.

It slips into a "what have I become"/"what did I survive" moment when Jack thinks about his own gunshot death. But he shakes it off to go back to Escott. On the plus side, he does have the money. He presents it to Escott, who had forgotten about it. Apparently.

Half of the money goes to Jack, which he protests of course, as he'd just gotten in the way. Escott points out that whatever the outcome would or wouldn't have been, he's entitled to something for working for the Escott Agency. He'll fill out a receipt later for tax purposes.

Escott has always been impressed with how the government finally got Capone. He's very careful about declaring his income. They discuss the money that they'd gotten from Paco in Bloodlist, Escott plans to declare his half of that too. Slowly, over time.

Escott's still stiff, so they examine the wound. Jack's very concerned, but Escott admits that he intends to be more careful in the future. Apparently before Jack, the most violent encounter he'd experienced was a director who tried to kill him via the blocking of a stage fight.

...I feel like later books will show that this is a lie. But Jack's always interested in his mysterious friend's backstory, so Charles shares the story:

"It was the difference between his opinion and my facts. The man had concocted some ridiculous fencing movement and I tried to point out something safer and more natural for the circumstance. Since I was only a very junior member of the company at the time, he got his way. On dress-rehearsal night I slipped in my felt costume shoes, fell into the orchestra pit, and broke the poor violinist's collarbone and nearly my own neck when I landed on him. I was never able to convince that director I hadn't done it on purpose just for spite."

It amuses Jack, and Charles explains that he's not really changing the subject because, like the story, tonight was just an unfortunate set of circumstances. The director couldn't have known the floor was waxed, and Jack couldn't have known that Selma would be quite so inclined toward murder (or so athletic). "Believe me, if any future jobs like this should come my way, there is no one else I would rather have to back me up."

Aww.

Anyway, Jack's got a quick eye and with a little training, he could be a great unofficial partner. (Escott would be on board with full partner, it sounds like, but it's not really feasible as training takes several years and Jack can't exactly take the qualifying exam in daylight.) The offer is basically the odd job here and there, and he acknowledges that Jack sees it more as doing Escott a favor, but there's no reason Jack shouldn't get something out of it too.

Jack says that if this is an attempt at a bribe, it's working.

The faint smile appeared again in the same corner. "I had hoped you would consider it seriously. Of course one never knows what the future may bring; not all of my clients are as well off as Mr. Swafford, nor as easily bullied, but there should be enough coming in to keep gas in your car and so forth."

I put my half of the cash in my wallet. "This should buy a lot of so forth."

He smiled again at this obvious acceptance of his offer, briefly, this time in both corners.

...remember what I said about Ms. Jenks's description and how Jack acknowledges her attractiveness while being clearly uninterested.

I'm just saying Jack is paying very close attention to Escott's facial expressions. And note the reference to Bobbi earlier! My OT3 LIVES!

Though sadly, the chapter ends here.

Comments

[copperfyre]

Ohhhh it IS nice to get back to Jack and co. They're so fun!