“Whoa,” Cruz said under his breath as I led him toward the door. A neon Bar and Grill sign flickered unsteadily in the window, and it was hard to avoid the carpet of cigarette butts in the entryway. “This is it? This is...wow.”

I shrugged, pulling open the door. “It can’t all be glamour and roses, cupcake, even with the fanged set.”

We walked into the dim entryway, and I told the bored-looking waitress we’d be in the bar area. It was big and dingy, with those extra-tall tables and stools surrounding a beaten-up pool table and a filmy big-screen TV. There were six or seven people scattered about, and when we walked in, seven pairs of eyes glanced up, hoping for a vampire, before returning to their drinks. Apparently, something about Cruz and me screamed, Still alive! When I got a little farther into the room, I understood the desperation. There wasn’t a single vampire in the bar.

It was after midnight now, and they were all looking a little defensive and drunk, like the homely girl who’s sat on the bleachers for the entire school dance.

“Díos,” Cruz said under his breath. “You’re right. This is depressing.”

We sat at one of the too-tall tables, and Cruz gave the barmaid a big grin, which had her hustling right over. I tried very hard not to roll my eyes, but to her credit, when she got a good look at my face, she did a classic double take, then glared over at Cruz. I opened my mouth to correct her assumption, but what was I going to say? Car accident? Doorknob? Anything I came up with—short of “a vampire hit me in the face”—would sound like a lame cover-up. We ordered beer and Diet Coke, and I was pretty sure the barmaid spit in his bottle of Heineken. I chose not to comment.

While she was getting Cruz’s change, I scanned the people at the bar.

“There,” I said, nudging him and nodding discreetly toward a completely bald, bearded man wearing a ribbed tank top under a khaki button-down shirt. The guy had left the shirt open to display a not-so-small paunch. He was with three others, telling an animated story while they laughed. The ringleader.

“I got this one,” Cruz told me under his breath.

I shrugged.

Cruz walked right up to Rucker and pulled out his badge. “Mr. Rucker? Could I have a word with you?”

Rucker’s mouth dropped open in the middle of a sentence. When he recovered, his face smoothed back into alpha-geek mode. “I guess,” he said casually, as if he consulted on police cases every day. He nodded to his friends, who retreated to a far corner of the barroom to gossip.

After they’d left, I went up and dropped onto a stool beside Rucker. Cruz took the other side again.

“What do the police want with me?” Rucker asked, a little pompously. “Am I behind on my gas and electric or something?”

“Actually,” Cruz replied, putting away his badge, “we’re looking into some murders that happened in La Brea Park the other night. Did you hear about that?”

Rucker sobered instantly. “Yes,” he said. “We heard. It’s terrible.”

“We’re looking for the three human servants of the vampires that died,” I added. I recited their names again. “Do you know any of them?”

But Rucker was peering at my face. “I know who you are,” he said, “but who is this guy? How much does he know?” His voice was sharp, suddenly edgy. Human servants are conditioned very hard not to talk about their extracurricular activities. It’s the first rule of Vampire Club.

“He’s with me, and Dashiell okayed it,” I told him, trying to look stern.

I don’t think stern is my best look, but his eyes widened when I said the name Dashiell, as if I’d said we were on a mission from God. Which probably wasn’t far off, from Rucker’s point of view. He took a quick gulp of his cranberry-vodka and nodded.

“I know all of them.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “But I don’t think they can help. Grottum and Myles split town, from what I heard.”

“Why?” Cruz asked. “Did they think they were in danger?”

Rucker shrugged. “They didn’t know. None of us in the community”—he twirled a finger to include the other vampire freaks in the bar—“know why those guys were killed, so why risk it? Probably, they just wanted to play it safe.”

“Do you know where they went?”

“No.”

“What about the other one?” I asked. “Freedner.”

“He’s still around, I think. But I doubt he can tell you anything I can’t.” There was a note of broken pride in his voice, which Cruz picked up on.

“What makes you say that?” he asked.

Rucker’s face blanched, and he huddled into himself a little. “Nothing. Never mind.”

Cruz glanced at me. I took the hint.

“James,” I said carefully, “were you Abraham’s human servant, too?”

And just that quickly, the last traces of bravado vanished and the bald man’s eyes began to shine a little. Deflated, he looked down into his drink and made a snuffling noise, mumbling, “Don’t tell nobody. I got a wife.”

I worked to keep my expression even. I didn’t know what a normal human would see in this guy, much less a vampire who could have his pick of the groupies.

“We won’t,” Cruz promised.

“Me and Freedner talked the day after, you know, the bodies. He was the one who called Dashiell when Abe didn’t show up for their plans. But neither of us know a damn thing about why they got killed. Abe wasn’t doing anything out of the ordinary—that we knew about—and nobody had threatened him.”