Vampire a Go-Go

EIGHT

Allen overpaid a cab driver to take him to Charles University.

The housing administrator spoke good English and sent Allen to a crusty brick building, down a narrow dim hall, to a ten-by-ten-foot room with a barren desk and a set of cold war bunk beds. It resembled a prison cell more than a dorm room, the walls an industrial sort of faded green, the tile floor gray and cold. The view from the window was the brick wall of another building five feet away.

The university had been founded in the 1300s. The dorms didn’t seem much more modern. Naked pipes ran up the walls and across the ceiling. They clanked periodically.

Allen unpacked a length of thin line and stretched it across the room, draped his wet clothes over it. He changed again, this time into khaki shorts, white ankle socks and Sketchers, and a dark green Gothic State T-shirt. He’d been told there were laundry machines in the basement of the dorm. If he kept getting soaked, he would probably have to visit it sooner than planned. He put the rest of his things into the tiny closet.

Jet lag pulled at him, but the haunting nightmare of Evergreen’s wife still fogged his brain. He would not be able to sleep. Not yet. Maybe a jolt of caffeine would help. Allen consulted The Rogue’s Guide for a nearby coffee shop.

• The Globe Café & Bookstore: Convenient to the National Theater and a number of tram and metro stops, the Globe is a favorite of expatriates tired of struggling with their Czech language books. Patrons enjoy a cold pilsner or a strong cup of coffee all while luxuriating in the English language. Tired of chicks rebuffing you in some foreign tongue? Come get shot down in English. It’s all so comfortably familiar. Hey, you might even get lucky with some coed from Long Island, away on her first trip, putting the whole thing on Daddy’s American Express card, and man, there you are buying her all the absinthe she can handle until BAM she wakes up in Wenceslas Park without her panties. What’s really cool is that most of the American chicks won’t know where you’re from, so quick thinking and a passable fake British accent will smooth the way. I mean, what’s with these chicks and British accents? Maybe they like to pretend you’re James Bond. Who knows? What happens in Prague stays in Prague. A selection of English language books and email terminals available.

A chalkboard sign outside the Globe advertised a poetry reading that night, reminding Allen that soon the summer-program fiction and poetry students would descend upon the city. Penny would arrive in a few days, and Allen brightened at the thought. It would be nice to have somebody with whom he could pal around the city. He absentmindedly touched the crucifix under his T-shirt. Somewhere back in America, Penny wore hers. He’d kept his promise; he put the thing on every day when getting dressed. He was even starting to like it.

Inside, Allen purchased a strong cup of black coffee and rented one of the computers for twenty minutes to check email. The first message from Dr. Evergreen reminded Allen (for the fiftieth time) how important it was for him to make sure his crate was delivered safely. Allen replied, assuring the professor all was well.

The next message, from Penny, asked if he’d arrived safely. He wrote back that he had but was exhausted. He sipped the coffee, which burned down his throat like acid. It would either wake him up or kill him.

Another email from Evergreen-a perplexing list of research tasks that seemed to have nothing whatsoever to do with Kafka. Allen put them off for later.

He deleted a dozen spam emails before arriving at the final message:

You don’t know what you’re getting into. Be alert. Be cautious. We shall be in contact soon. Trust no one!

The Three

The email address was concerned4u@hotmail.com.

Allen raised an eyebrow, hesitated, then replied,

Who are you and what the hell are you talking about?

Allen glanced over his shoulder. Nobody was taking any particular notice of him. Indeed, the idea that there was anyone within a thousand miles who even knew his name was utterly ridiculous.

Allen finished his coffee, walked out the front door, and ran smack into a priest.

“Allen!” Father Paul greeted him enthusiastically. “Imagine running into you here.”