Never Cross a Vampire Read Free

the fangs out,” he answered reasonably.
    â€œRight,” I said, without adding that at best he looked like Elmer Fudd doing a vampire act.
    â€œThe fangs do throw my bite off,” he confessed confidentially, leaning toward me.
    â€œI know a dentist who might be able to help you,” I said. “Name’s Shelly Minck. We share an office downtown in the Farraday Building over on Hoover near Ninth.”
    Elmer Fudd said he thought he might look Shelly up and proved his good intentions by groping under his cape for a pencil to get the address. Shelly would like this. How many dentists could say they treated a vampire for fang overbite?
    â€œMy name is Count Sforzni,” Elmer Fudd said, shifting his left hand to his mouth so he could extend his little balloon hand to shake mine. “We didn’t meet when you came in because I was upstairs preparing the refreshments.”
    He nodded at the refreshments at the end of his coffin. They included a dish of straight Saltines, a pitcher of water, a few bottles of tepid soda pop, and a quart of cheap wine.
    â€œWe don’t usually prepare much,” he confided. “Most of the Knights won’t eat or drink at meetings. Vampire purists.”
    â€œMy name’s Peters. Your name is really Count Sforzni?”
    â€œWell,” he said, between rattling his fangs above the hubbub of conversation nearby. “I’m Count Sforzni here. You know, honorary title. My name upstairs is Sam Billings. This is my theater.” He let his eyes float upward to indicate the space over us.
    Although the lights had been out in the theater when we came in, I had been able to make out the lobby posters for the current triple feature, Host to a Ghost, Revolt of the Zombies , and Murder in the Red Barn .
    â€œNice theater,” I said, shifting my weight on the hard coffin. I reached back to see whether I had picked up a splinter and tried to catch a bit more of the Lugosi conversation.
    â€œThey’re real,” Billings-Sforzni whispered with what I took for pride.
    â€œThe fangs?” I whispered back.
    â€œNo,” he said, pointing to my rear. “Coffins. I bought them at a funeral supply place. Read about them in Casket and Sunnyside , the undertakers’ trade journal. Real bargains. Add to the atmosphere.”
    The atmosphere of the basement could be described as storefront funeral parlor with pieces of old theater lobby thrown in. Besides three coffins there was a small table with a black cloth over it and six candles burning on it. Three walls were gray and bare with a few movie posters, Dracula, White Zombie , and The Black Cat , covering holes or looking like they were pasted up by a drunk. The fourth wall, the one against which Lugosi had been trapped, was covered by heavy, blood-red, and very worn velvetlike drapes.
    â€œNice place,” I told Billings, whose bald pate was doubly red from shyness or heat in the weird light and the air rapidly turning to atmospheric fog from Lugosi’s cigar.
    Lugosi caught my eye, a massive false smile on his face, and nodded toward the door in a way that would make it clear even to the Frankenstein monster that he wanted out.
    â€œHow many members are there in the Dark Knights?” I asked as innocently as I could, which was not very innocently, considering that I look like the pug who stands behind Edward G. Robinson in Warners gangster movies. You know the guy I mean, the one who never talks, looks like an ex-welterweight, and sticks his chin out every once in a while to show he’s earning his living.
    â€œWe’re a secret, very exclusive organization,” Billings said, defensively reaching for a handful of crackers.
    â€œYou mean there’s just the five of you?” I said with a friendly smile.
    He fanged some crackers and gave a small nod to show I had calculated correctly.
    One of the four vampires around Lugosi looked over at me. He was tall and dark, the