Participant Observation

Originally written Sunday, December 18, 2005

I had no time to turn around. I heard a shallow crack and felt/saw myself tumble to the cold cement just before the pain seared across the back of my skull and my vision seemed to fill with blood like a wineglass. My hearing was distorted, and I felt my mind fighting to maintain consciousness, but I could almost make out the sounds of a scuffle above and around me. The fracas only lasted seconds, and my state of semi-awareness only minutes, but it seemed like far longer before enough of my bearings returned to me that I could realize I was sprawled out on the sidewalk with my head in Patrick’s lap. It took a moment for me to figure out how to put together a coherent thought or two, but when I did, I lifted my hand to the back of my head to feel for damage. There was a soft spot in the place from which the cracking sound had probably emanated, but on the inside I could feel the necessary repairs being made. The blow had been a crushing one, and it would have killed a mortal within seconds.

Next, my hand moved to search for my bag beside me. Patrick saw and said, “I have it.”

“The bag?”

“The charm.”

I was becoming more lucid now, and I pulled myself up wearily to look at him. “Kiddo, you can’t. If this had been you….”

“But look at you. You’re in no shape to play security guard.”

I nearly laughed. “And how long do you think this is going to last? Consider this a lesson for the day. Participant observation. Action research. I don’t know what cuts, scrapes, or bruises I might have gotten when I fell, but this” (I touched my head injury) “is the only thing left to heal. I’ll let you know when it’s good as new, oh, a few days from now.” Bone, for understandable reasons, I’m sure, takes much longer to mend than skin and other types of soft tissue. “Get an idea of just what you’re learning to do, huh?”

I noticed Dennis standing above us then, and although Patrick remained stoic in response to my reassurances, his boyfriend’s demeanor reflected the sense of awe I was accustomed to eliciting when people realize for the first time that I’m actually not full of shit.

I continued: “And don’t go trying to get injuries you can experiment with. You’re not nearly there yet. So why don’t you give the charm back now?”

“Honestly? Because you want it too badly. After the way you’ve acted when you have it, twice now, and now this….”

He couldn’t be serious! I thought we resolved this earlier. “When you saw me with it on earlier tonight, it was because Jeanine saw it. She thought it was jewelry. I’d have had to come up with some explanation for carrying it around in my bag and not putting it on. It was just easier to do it this way. And hello—I didn’t go all control freak again. And what about you? You’ve seemed awfully eager to be Mr. Responsible ever since you heard about it. Sure you’re not projecting?”

“You don’t trust me with it?”

“Mostly I’m just playing annoying psychologist woman. I think you want it because you’re curious and because you’re excited by the idea of getting more involved, but I do trust you not to abuse it. It’s whoever wants it that I don’t trust. What just happened now anyway? Did they go for the bag? What’d they hit me with?”

“She did. I don’t know, some big metal thing. She dropped it right… there.” It looked like a big, heavy pipe of some nondescript kind. “And with Moshe.”

“So… not some random purse-snatcher, then?”

“Not unless there’s a market out there for stolen vampires, too.”

“Don’t think he was stolen. I think he knew her. He called her Kay. Or something. It was just one person?”

“Yeah, just one. I was over there, where I could see both you and the police stuff.” He pointed back to the entrance to the alley. “Trudy and I started running as soon as I noticed her coming over here. She was about to grab the bag when we got here, but we wouldn’t let her. There was some pushing, and I think Trudy got one really good sock in, and then she just, like, grabbed Moe’s arm and ran with him. Trudy went after them. So he’s in on it?”

I noticed the casual abbreviation of the name that I had used before. I guess he just looks like a Moe tonight. “No idea. I don’t know what to think of him anymore. What’d she look like?”

At this point, Patrick looked up at Dennis, who’d been silent throughout our debriefing. I couldn’t blame him for not wanting to get involved in our disagreement. As if to defer to the young man standing above us, Patrick said, “I didn’t get a really good look. I was focusing on you and the charm. Army coat. That’s what I remember.”

“Pink hair,” Dennis added helpfully—very helpfully. “But I didn’t get over here until they started running, so I didn’t see anything else.”

Pink hair. Applewood. Although pink-haired women are not terribly unusual at (and around) the Crypt, it was at least a clue. I made a mental note but returned to the more immediate subject of concern. “Yeah, about that charm. We need to think of a safe place for it. Not with you guys. And maybe not even with me, either.”

We shared a look of contemplation, but only for a moment. It was then that Trudy returned. By her face, she was either flustered, flummoxed, feeling betrayed, or some combination of the three. “Lost them. Not sure how. You OK?”

“Getting there.” I glanced back at Patrick and said, “Problem solved.” He nodded and understood.