The vampire had been hunting him across the city. It knew his tricks. Every time he tried to get away, the monster's thralls cut him off. Cranes silhouetting the moonlight, they drove him into the industrial district, where no one would find him for months. Years, if the vampire owned a construction company. He stopped in a twenty-four-hour corner market, possibly the last bastion of light between him and the trap. He came out swigging bourbon. Ten stumbly minutes later, the beast confronted him in a trainyard, thralls crowded around.
"Gave up, did you?" The vampire's voice was oil slick.
He smiled. "If I gotta go, might as well go happy."
"You're ready to die, then?"
"Ready when you—ha!" He threw the bulb of garlic he'd concealed in his sleeve. It bounced off the vampire's face.
"Really?" The creature sounded disappointed. Then it was on him, teeth tearing, drinking deep. Red-faced, it grinned. "Your blood is..." The grin faltered. "It's..." The beast fell to its knees.
"That wasn't the only bulb of garlic I got, sweet cheeks. You'da smelled 'em if you bothered to breathe." The vampire retched. Before its thralls could move, he unsheathed a stake and finished it.