Page 35 of Blade
“I thought you were bringing your girl,” one of them said. “Did she dump your ass already?”
Robert spun around to face Amber. “I’m so sorry. I turn into a jerk sometimes around these guys.” He hobbled over to her side. “Guys, this is my girl, Amber. Amber,” Robert motioned to them one at a time with his chin, “the werewolf is Craig, Matt’s the alien, Johnny’s the rooster, Randy’s Michael Myers—really original by the way—and the clown, in and out of costume, is Eric.”
They greeted her in tune with their costumes: a howl from the wolf; a robotic, “Take me to your leader,” from the alien; a crow from the rooster; a deadpan stare from Michael Meyers; and a squirt of water from the clown’s flower.
Amber held up her chef’s knife in greeting. She probably should have chosen a prop, but she carried the real thing, and everyone recoiled. Then the guys all laughed.
One shouted, “Dexter!”
“Great costume!” another offered.
Craig stuffed a can of Pabst Blue Ribbon in her hand without bothering to ask what she wanted to drink. She would have preferred wine, but beer was cool.
Randy tried to hand a can to Robert. When he couldn’t take it because his arms were immobile, Randy popped the tab, held it to Robert’s lips and made Robert guzzle the entire can. Beer dripped down his chin and left a trail along his plastic-covered chest.
“Whew!” Robert exclaimed, squeezing his eyes shut. “That was a fucking rush!”
“Ready for round two?” Randy held up another can. Before Robert had a chance to answer, Randy poured it in Robert’s mouth again, and he gulped it down. When he was done, foam covered his chin and dripped down his chest and onto the floor.
Amber smiled at their antics, enjoying the way this group of guys still acted as if they never left college.
“Look at the beer splatter.” Craig pointed to the mess on the floor and addressed Amber. “Can you reconstruct the crime scene?”
Amber fell into character, loving that Craig was playing along, and she put on her most serious face. She studied the mess running down Robert’s chest and the pattern on the floor. “It appears that the assailant struck from above.” She held her hand up to Robert’s chin. “About this high, forcing the substance into the victim’s mouth. It looks like there wasn’t much of a struggle by the limited amount of liquid spilled onto the victim.” She rubbed her chin, then pointed to a line of beer running down Robert’s torso. “There was definitely a second attack, evidenced by the two separate streams running south, one of which is still dripping onto the hardwood.” She looked into Robert’s eyes, which were dancing with hilarity. “By the smile on the victim’s face, I’m going to have to draw the conclusion that this was an inside job. The victim wasn’t the victim at all!”
Robert, Craig, and the rest of the guys all laughed.
“You’re a fan?” she asked Craig once the laughter died down.
“Who isn’t? Dexter was one of the best series on Showtime. It’s crazy how much we loved a psycho. Right?”
Channeling Dexter again, she mimicked his monotone voice and said, “We all have some sort of dark passenger inside of us. Some are just much darker than others.”
Craig threw his head back and laughed, recognizing the quote right away, but the others were looking at the two of them like they were out of their minds, including Robert.
Robert leaned toward Randy and said, slowly, in a hushed voice, “Take the knife out of her hand, and then get me out of this plastic!”
She stared at him and raised her brows, knife still in hand. “There are many ways to stop the heart. Electric shock, bad diet, sever the aorta—my personal favorite.”
“Help!” Robert called to his friends.
Everyone seemed to enjoy the charade, but she had to wonder why she had so many Dexter quotes memorized.
“What’s going on over here?” A familiar face broke through the group of people. It was the guy Amber recognized as Manny, Robert’s friend from the bar the first night they met, his best friend, and the one she was most excited to get to know.
Manny tackled Robert in a hug, almost knocking him off balance. “What the fuck, bro? Can you move?”
“No.”
Manny looked at Amber, contemplating the combined costumes. She raised the knife, held it in both hands, and made one fatal stabbing motion in the air. It clicked, and Manny’s eyes opened wide. “Oh, shit! Dexter! That’s genius!” He suddenly wrapped his arms around her in a hug, and the scent of whisky floated into Amber’s nostrils. “I’m Manny,” he said, “From Last Call, in case you don’t remember.”
“I remember,” she replied. “Nice to see you again. Great party.”
“It’s not great unless you’re drinking.”
“I am drinking.” She held up her beer.
He scoffed at it and led her through the crowd. She looked back to make sure Robert was following her—he was—but he could barely keep up. She really had to thank him properly later for going along with the costume.
