Blood is Black in the Moonlight

the victim’s pockets?”
“Other than he visited the nightclub in Ybor, and a business card for his oil company, not much.”
“Well, then. We follow the same song and dance as the last victim. We retrace the killer’s steps.”
“I’m on it, LT. Sadir, let's go.” I motion for him.
“A second forensic team will meet you there in a bit.”
We climb into my car and head over to the club.
   “I have never been to one of those Goth clubs before.”
“I guess you’re about ready then aren’t ya. Look, this place is more than just a nightclub; it’s also a brothel. So you sit back and let me talk to the owner.”
“How do you know it’s a brothel?”
“Well, Sadir. I am human, and I have urges.”
He stares at me, bewildered. “Wow, I never figured you for the type to indulge in sleeping with prostitutes.”
I slump my shoulders and sigh. “See, this why you’re not talking to the owner. First of all, don’t call them that they’re escorts. Secondly, not all of us have the patience to go on dates and get to know the person. Some of us just want to skip all that bullshit and get laid.”
“Uh, okay. Fair enough.”
He tried to hide his judgmental tone, but I heard it loud and clear… to hell with him.
Chapter 3
The Goth bar on 16th in Ybor was the last place anybody saw the victim alive.  I pull into the parking lot and see the club is still packed with people dressed in their Goth attire. Some of the outfits border on indecent exposure. “Man, do any of these people look in the mirror before they go out?” he comments.
“Of course they do. They want to make sure you stare at them.”
After weaving through the line of people, a tall, muscular bouncer armed with a semi-automatic stops us. “You two on the list?”
I pull my coat to the side, flashing my badge. “We’re always on the list.”
A big bright smile slides across his face. “My bad, Officer Lobos, didn’t recognize you at first. Go on in.”
Black and red décor lined the walls with pentacles and inverted red neon pentagrams framed behind the bar. The ambiance in this place would make Dracula and The Devil blush. A pair of gothic belly dancers with long black and red dreadlocks dance on the stage topless wearing skin-tight black leather pants dancing with snakes slithering between their tits; their minx like bodies gracefully gyrates in sync with the heavy drum beats, bearing prosthetic fangs at the crowd, and they cheer. It has my partner mesmerized. I backhand his chest. “Easy, amigo. You’re married, remember,” I say, shouting over the music. We continue making our way to the bar.
My niece would love this; she’s hardcore into vampires. However, I tried to tell her zombies are the big thing now, but she doesn’t care.
I sit down at the bar and slip a smoke between my lips. “Give me two doubles, of Scotch,” I tell the bartender who is attired like Baron Samedi, the voodoo god of the dead.
I scoot the glass over to him. “I bought you a drink.”
He waves his hand. “Oh… I don’t drink.”
“I know you don’t drink. I ordered it for you to take the edge off. Because in the past couple of days I’ve worked with you, you’ve seemed on edge, and frankly, you’re starting to get on my fucking nerves.”
“Well, I am sorry if I’m nescience, but I don’t drink on the job, Sergeant.”
Taking a drag from my smoke, I glare at him. “Okay, first: stop with the Sergeant shit. I’m your partner, not your boss. Secondly: have a drink it’ll relax you a bit, and leave the damn wedding ring at home next time.” He reluctantly nods in agreement and takes the drink.
A busty ginger woman in a jade bikini top and skin-tight black leather pants saunters over to my partner. Her black lips smile, revealing fake vampire fangs.  I sip my scotch, watching her strut seductively to Jason, rubbing her hands on his legs. “Who’s your friend, Devi? He looks good enough to eat.” She moans.
“Draconia, meet Jason Sadir. My new partner.”
I had to force the words out. The sole reason they gave me a partner the Mayor is getting pressure from the media, and the Mayor is pressing the Chief. Shit rolls downhill. I just hope they don’t get the poor bastard killed with their little PR stunt. I wonder if he knows, he’s nothing more than a political pawn to them?
She backs her ass up against him and putting his arms around her waist, grinding against his crotch. She lets out another lustful moan. “He’s little stiff below the belt. Maybe I should take him upstairs and help him loosen up a bit.” Her fingers fidget with his belt buckle. “By the way, my real name is Gillian, but you can call me Gill.”
“I can’t let you do that. The boy’s married, and we’re here on business.”
She looks at me with a frown and smirks at him. “Bummer. But if your wifey is into sharing, come on back now.” She slides off his lap, wrapping her arm around me, leaning into my ear. “I got some stuff you may want… some ‘items.”
Gill has been my personal pharmacist since I moved to Tampa three years ago. And after my husband and I broke up, she’s been one of my best friends along with the girls, and guys who work here; and my cat Isis of course. She runs a small prostitution service out of her club. The escorts like her. She makes sure all of them are getting their monthly medical checks.  Gill and I have an excellent barter system. I make her my designated drug dealer, and she supplies me with info