I was probably talking too much, but being recognized in a dimension I’d never heard of had thrown me off balance. Then again, the Dispatcher didn’t seem all that hostile at the discovery. More curious than anything else.
“Well, well. Skeeve himself. I never expected to meet you in person. Sometime you must tell me what you did to that poor fellow to rate the number-one slot on his hit parade of nightmares.”
“What about Aahz?” I said impatiently.
“You know he’s up for murder, don’t you?”
“Heard it. Don’t believe it. He’s a lot of things, but a murderer isn’t one of them.”
“There’s a fair amount of evidence.” Vilhelm shrugged. “But tell me. What’s with the vampire getup. You’re no more a vampire than I’m a Klahd.”
“It’s a long story. Let’s just say it seemed to be the local uniform.”
“Let’s not,” the dispatcher grinned. “Pull up a chair . . . free of charge, of course. I’ve got time and lots of questions about the other dimensions. Maybe we can trade a little information while you’re here.”
Chapter Seven:
“I don’t see anything thrilling about it!””
-M. JACKSON
“I really don’t see how you can drink that stuff,” I declared, eyeing Vilhelm’s goblet of blood.
“Funny,” he smiled in return, “I was about to say the same thing. I mean, you know what W. C. Fields said about water!”
“No. What?”
“Now let me get this straight,” Guido interrupted before I could get any answer. “You’re sayin’ you vampire guys don’t really drink blood from people?”
“Oh, a few do,” the Dispatcher said with a shrug. “But it’s an acquired taste, like steak tartare. Some say it’s a gourmet dish, but I could never stand the stuff myself. I’ll stick with the inexpensive domestic varieties any night.”