The Last Vampire by Whitley Strieber Read Free Book Online

those opium plantations and chew seed and take one picker after another, like an ape gobbling fruit. And then you could engage in the social life of the planters with their whites and their billiard rooms and their gin and tonics. Sometimes, you could even take one of them, for there were still tigers in Burma then and the corpse could be left suitably mauled.
    Sweet nostalgia.
    They arrived at the Royal Orchid, the cab at sea in an ocean of limousines. She went forward into the broad, echoing lobby. Women stared in open amazement as the fabulous clothes strode toward the check-in desk.
    “I’d like a suite please.” She presented her — or rather, Marie Tallman’s — Visa card. The clerk ran it and gave her a keycard, his polite glance moving toward the next customer in line.
    She had made no effort as yet to seduce her victim away from his uneasiness. He needed more subtle handling, and she had to accept that this might not be a successful hunt. She’d be damn mad if it failed, though, and the long journey to Paris would be hell.
    She held out her hand to her victim. As sweetly, as innocently as she could, she smiled at him. He looked down at her hand. In it was a keycard. “Twenty-five-oh-seven,” she said.
    When they were alone in the lift, he finally smiled up at her. His odor had not really changed, though. He was not happy to be here. He was acting.
    She kissed him on the forehead. Now that she was committed to what was probably a very foolish kill, she decided that she might as well enjoy herself thoroughly. She would take him slowly and drain him to the very last drop. She gave him a stern look. “How much am I worth to you?”
    “How much do you want?”
    “A thousand dollars.”
    His eyes widened, he reared back as if astonished. The lift came to a stop on the twenty-fifth floor. “Two hundred, miss. H.K. dollar.”
    They got out. She would not bargain all that hard, but also she must not raise his suspicions. “Three hundred, U.S.” she said as they walked down the wide hallway.
    “Five hundred, H.K.”
    “It isn’t enough to cover my expenses, handsome.”
    “You’ll do twenty men before the night’s out.”
    She slid her keycard into the lock. Here she was, as magnificent a beauty as the earth might know, and this greedy little roach actually believed that she was going to give herself to him for the equivalent of about sixty U.S. dollars. He’d been afraid of her price, that was all. Wretched thing.
    Sunlight poured in from the wall of windows that faced the door. There was a couch upholstered in yellow chintz and a huge vase of exotic flowers on the coffee table.
    Far below, the wide Chao Phraya River shimmered in sunlight that shafted down between great banks of clouds. Tiny river taxis and long-tails wove the river with their wakes. Up the bank, she could see the spires of distant temples, Wat Phrathukhongka and, just visible along the Klong Phadung, Wat Trimitr, the temple of the Golden Buddha. Farther away, awash in glowing air pollution, were the graceful tile roofs of the Grand Palace and the pencil-narrow spire of Wat Po.
    The two of them gazed in silence, both awed for different reasons. He no doubt thought it glorious; she was horrified and fascinated, as always, when she saw how vast were the works of man.
    She sat down on the bed, drew her prey down beside her. Too bad she had to eat and run. Normally, she would have gone into the sleep that followed feeding, but this time she’d have to load herself up with amphetamines and do her sleeping on the plane. She’d book a first-class seat for this twelve-hour journey, no matter that the seats were in the most dangerous part of the plane. Still, the idea of entering helpless sleep amid a mass of humans was not pleasant.
    She caressed her victim. He stirred, his clothes rustling. A moment passed, another. He had become still in the way human beings did when they were subconsciously aware of danger.
    They were sitting on the foot of