He cocked an eyebrow. "Dirty job, but somebody's got to do it."
Sarah went to the pantry to get an IV bag full of blood. The pantry stood hidden behind a closet near the bar. Walking into it, one would think they had entered a hospital supply room. There were two refrigerators for holding blood, needles for drawing, IV tubing for transfusions and a multitude of surgical instruments for removing bullets and knife tips. Sarah could never understand why; she guessed it was some macho alpha male thing, but Jackson would occasionally go out looking for trouble. He would find a bar where gangs hung out and purposely pick a fight with the biggest, most obnoxious member. The whole gang would end up jumping him and he would beat up each and every one, always careful to hold back enough so as not to kill anyone. He attested, "They're a bunch of bullies. They deserve it." The upside for him was they never involved the police. The downside was someone always managed to hit Jackson with a bullet or two or drive a knife into him, and break the tip off in a bone. Vampires heal very quickly, but any foreign object had to be removed or it would be a constant irritant. Jackson excised the vast majority himself. At times he couldn't reach, and it would be up to Sarah. She hated it and bitched at him the whole time she dug into his body. He would groan, "I don't know what pains me more, the scalpel or your mouth."
Sarah returned from the pantry and squeezed some blood into a glass. "Want some?"
"Why not?" He figured it would be quite some time before he could get out to hunt. "Any port in a storm." He sat back with the glass, smelled the contents, frowned and took a sip. "Christ, it's like drinking cheap merlot from a Dixie cup. Really Sarah, can you honestly say you don't taste the plastic bag?"
She shrugged. "You get used to it."
"I think I'd rather starve." Jackson had developed quite a discerning palate over the years. He was to blood what an oenophile is to wine. With just a taste, he could tell the blood type, the person's sex, what color hair they had, and even whether or not they were virgins. He mused that a red headed, female, virgin with O negative blood tasted like fine aged Port. Good luck finding a legitimate virgin in this day though. Jackson had rules about his victims. He would never feed on a woman under 21 years old. He called vampires who did 'pedovamps'. Men were off limits as well. Feeding was so wrapped up in sexuality for him that men held no appeal.