Stalking the Vampire by Mike Resnick Page A

ladies?”
    â€œWeren't you just selling dismembered corpses or something like that an hour ago?” said Mallory disgustedly.
    The goblin wrinkled its nose dismissively. “A drug on the market. And speaking of drugs on the market, how about—” it lowered its voice conspiratorially—“a bottle of (get this!) children's aspirin.”
    â€œGo away.”
    â€œYou're right, sir,” said the goblin. “You haven't been a child in days now. Any fool can see that.”
    â€œYeah, I think that pretty much defines both the situation and the speaker,” said Mallory. “Get out of my way.”
    â€œSubscriptions!” cried the goblin. “ Look! Colliers! Argosy All-Story! Mating Habits of the Tree-Dwelling Wildebeest! ”
    â€œBats,” said Mallory, “count to five and if he's still blocking my way, bite him in the neck.”
    â€œHow about a correspondence course on seven ways to prepare goblin for Thanksgiving?” offered the goblin, backing away.
    Mallory began walking again. “Let's go.”
    â€œBanned eight-millimeter movies!” shouted the goblin after them. “Candy Barr! Joan Crawford! Linda Lovelace! Arnold Stang!”
    Mallory stopped and turned. “Arnold Stang?” he repeated.
    â€œI was just kidding,” said the goblin. “But it got your attention, didn't it?”
    â€œBats, kill him,” said Mallory, starting off again.
    â€œ Deep Ear! The Bratislavan Stallion! Behind the Mauve Door! ”
    â€œUh…I don't know if I've ever mentioned it,” said McGuire, softly enough so the goblin couldn't hear, “but I'm terrified of goblins.”
    â€œJust you, or all vampires?” asked Mallory.
    â€œJust me. How do you think I got to be forty-seven?”
    â€œFigures.”
    â€œ The Devil and Arnold Stang! ” yelled the goblin just before they passed out of earshot. “Half price! And I'll toss in a two-month supply of vitamin H!”
    â€œ Is there a vitamin H?” asked McGuire. “I've been feeling run down lately, and…” He paused and looked up at Mallory. “I know: Shut up.”
    They walked another block in silence, and then Mallory peered ahead and slowed down.
    â€œI don't like the looks of this,” he said.
    â€œIt's just a few cops and an ambulance,” said McGuire.
    â€œThat's not an ambulance,” said Mallory, and as they got closer McGuire could see a spavined, ancient horse harnessed to a wagon. “That's the death cart.”
    McGuire shrugged. “People die. No reason to take any notice of it, especially on All Hallows' Eve.”
    â€œDon't you recognize where you are?” snapped Mallory. “That's Winnifred's building.”
    â€œIt is?”
    Mallory pulled out his license, held it up, and elbowed his way through the small crowd of humans, goblins, gremlins, elves, and unidentifiables. A moment later he was looking down at the lifeless body of Rupert Newton.
    â€œYou know him?” asked a cop.
    Mallory nodded. “Yeah. What happened?”
    The cop shrugged. “We got a call that there was this stiff on the street, and this is what we found.”
    â€œVampire?” asked Mallory.
    â€œHe's got a couple of holes in his neck, but they're not fresh. We'll schlep him off to the morgue and let them worry about it. You wanna come down and make an official ID?”
    â€œCan I just do it here?”
    â€œIf you could, I wouldn't ask you to come down there. Don't give me a hard time; this is All Hallows' Eve. If the worst that happens is that we trip over a few dozen bodies between now and morning, we'll be ahead of the game.” He paused. “You know where the morgue is?”
    Mallory nodded.
    â€œWe got four more to collect. Figure we'll be there in an hour.”
    â€œGot you,” said Mallory, stepping back as the cops moved forward to lift Rupert and put him in the cart.
    â€œI'm