The Vampire Files, Volume Four

by P. N. Elrod

  Nevis suddenly charged in, knocking me out of the way. Too angry to wonder how I’d gotten there ahead of him, he breathlessly cursed, hitting hard and connecting each time he said “shit,” which was a lot. Our mutual quarry was on the pavement in short order. I dragged Nevis away before he could start kicking. He was red-faced pissed, and I felt the same but was still sensible to practicalities. We couldn’t question Tony Upshaw if Nevis beat him to death.

  Nevis was a handful for a few minutes until the momentum of his rage slowed, combining with his weariness to leave him wheezing and sweating and hardly able to stand. Only then did I let him go so I could see about Upshaw.

  His gun had fallen clear; I scooped up the little .22 and tucked it into a pocket. As much as he wanted to be thought tough, I wondered why he carried such a small caliber, then concluded he didn’t care to ruin the lines of his suit. No need to worry about that now—Nevis had done a thorough job of demolishment. Upshaw was curled into a protective posture, his arms blocking my view of his face, though I could smell the blood. I got a good grip and dragged him toward the club, not bothering to look back for Nevis.

  I didn’t stop until reaching the lobby stairs, when Upshaw’s usually nimble feet went clumsy. He stumbled and collapsed on the steps.

  “It wasn’t me, it wasn’t me,” he said with the panicked conviction of a kid caught playing with matches rather than a mob killer who’d missed his target. The whine in his voice was almost funny. Almost.

  “You little shit—” began Nevis. He’d recovered enough for a second round, and I got between them again.

  “You can have him later.” I had to shout to make Nevis hear. Maybe his ears were buzzing, too, but more likely it was sheer emotion making him deaf. “Go bolt the doors so we don’t get more booms.” I repeated variations of this twice over before he got it, then he moved quick enough, his good eye blazing with fury for Upshaw.

  I held still, glaring at Upshaw myself while silently counting to twenty, needing the calm. I counted slowly. Nevis scowled but kept his distance; Upshaw peered out from between his arms, clearly concluding that I was building up to something. When I moved—merely to lean forward—he covered up again, bracing for another beating.

  “Not the face,” he pleaded.

  Nevis snarled, fists ready. “I’ll give you face, you little son of a bitch.”

  I waved him away. “Upshaw, you answer me straight or I let him go to work on you. Once he’s done, the only movie part you’ll get is playing stand-in for Boris Karloff.”

  Upshaw moaned in agony and tried to all-four it up the stairs. My guess about his greatest fear had been a bull’s-eye. I grabbed his feet and hauled him back, the steps bumping the breath out of him. “I didn’t do it,” he insisted, the whine more pronounced. His nose streamed red, the stain all over his mug and his once perfect clothing. The slicked-down hair was now sticking up comically in all directions. The supreme self-command he showed on the dance floor was quite shattered. Real life, real death can do that to a person.

  Now that his arms were down, I fixed him with a look. It was hard getting through all that fear, but soon his mouth sagged, and his struggles ceased. “Who sent you?”

  “Sh-Shivvey.”

  What a surprise. “Okay. You tell us the whole thing, top to bottom.” I had to prompt him, and Nevis’s frequent belligerent interruptions didn’t help, but the story finally came out.

  Shivvey Coker had phoned Upshaw this afternoon to have a private meeting just outside the dance studio. Upshaw was used to such casual calls; it usually meant he was to run a minor errand. Not this time. Coker was quite the artist at persuasion and knew how to play his fish. A bald instruction to kill Nevis would have been refused, but sitting together in his car and sharing a friendly bottle for a couple of hours took the horror out of the task for Upshaw. Coker had worked gradually up to it, making it seem part game, part initiation, part duty. If Upshaw really wanted to play with the big boys, he had to prove his loyalty and willingness to follow orders.

  The offer was a cliché straight out of a dime magazine and shouldn’t have swayed anyone with real sense, but Upshaw’s ambitions made him vulnerable. He wanted the prestige and respect of the tough guys and obviously hadn’t put too much thought into questioning Coker’s motive for suddenly making use of him for so important a job. The deal had also been sweetened with the promise of enough cash for Upshaw to make a splashy entrance in Hollywood.

  By the time they’d finished the bottle, Upshaw wanted to prove himself so badly he’d not even asked for half the money in advance, as was usual in such deals. He hadn’t been reeled in so much as thrown himself bodily into the boat, ready for gutting.

  All Upshaw had to do was find Nevis, wait for the right moment, and pull a couple of pins on the grenades Coker happened to have along to give him. Upshaw had put Rita in a cab and followed Nevis from the services. He had no astonishment for my still being alive; Coker must not have informed him.

  Upshaw had parked, strolled right up to the club, and waited under the open, well-lighted windows until the street was clear for him to make his lethal pitches. He’d heard nothing of our talk.

  “I guess we both know who killed Welsh Lennet way back when,” I said to Nevis. “Not many people keep grenades on hand.”

  “Who cares?” Nevis rumbled. Through it all he paced up and down, slowly, too worked up to notice anything amiss about Upshaw’s extraordinary cooperation. He kept looking at Upshaw, murderous revenge pouring off him like smoke from a fire.

  This I understood perfectly. Upshaw had been willing to smear me, a bystander, all over the room right along with Nevis. I was hard-pressed to keep Nevis from going to work on him. It could not be me. In my own anger I’d have killed Upshaw. Too quickly.

  I counted again until I could look at him and not twist his head off. There were still questions needing answers.

  “Upshaw . . . did you kill Lena Ashley?”

  “What?” This from a startled Nevis. He transferred his focus to me. “What makes you think he—”

  “I don’t, but I’m asking all the same. Why the hell not?”

  He had no reply and subsided, watching Upshaw with new interest.

  I repeated my query.

  “No, I didn’t kill her,” Upshaw murmured, his blank eyes looking at nothing. “Not nobody. This was my first . . .”

  “He could be lying,” said Nevis, but without much conviction.

  I shook my head. “He’s too wet-eared to lie. I didn’t much figure him for it, anyway.”

  “Then why ask?”

  “Just covering all the bases. You never know.” And that negative answer took away my last suspect. Unless someone else turned up, Lena’s murderer would go unpunished.

  But at least we had Shivvey Coker, or would before the night was out.

  “Where’s Shivvey?” I asked Upshaw.

  “Waiting at the Ace.”

  An exclamation of disgust from Nevis.

  I shot him a look. “Can you think of a better place to lie low than one the cops have shut down?” I was ready to kick myself, since I’d not thought of it.

  “He’ll give me the money there,” said Upshaw.

  Or more likely give the coroner another corpse. Coker could put one of those. 22 bullets into Upshaw’s head, a suicide in a fit of remorse over his murders. Maybe there would be another grenade planted on his body to clench things. The cops would have Nevis’s killer and, on a good day, considering Lady Crymsyn’s history, might even blame Upshaw for Welsh Lennet’s explosive demise. It would have been a puzzling bonus for Coker: how I’d managed to survive only to be blown up with his boss, but he’d not have worried about it for long. The new responsibilities of running the Ace would have kept him profitably busy.

  We’d see about that.

  I drove. Nevis was too nerved, and Upshaw was huddled down in the backseat of his green Ford being agreeably unconscious. It cost me a twinge or three behind the eyes to deal with the bot
h of them, but I’d talked Nevis out of doing murder for the time being and put Upshaw out for the count. Neither of them would remember much about tonight except what I’d told them. Upshaw would only know that he’d been asked by Coker to do a minor tailing job—not murder—on Nevis and had fallen asleep while sitting in his car.

  Nevis would recall the grenade attack, but Shivvey had been the one with the pitching arm. It seemed the best for all concerned. Sparing Upshaw’s life didn’t mean that I’d forgiven him. The truth was I’d done it for Rita’s sake. She seemed to like him and didn’t need to attend another memorial service so soon after Lena’s.

  Once Shivvey was dealt with, things could settle down to business as usual. Upshaw could go back to dancing, and Nevis could run his club. Shivvey, some still-virtuous part of me hoped, would soon turn himself in to the cops with a full confession about the barbershop murders. This would happen with a nudge from me and only after I’d gotten the records book from him. No need to complicate things. My landlord in jail on tax fraud charges was something I could do without.

  “Back door?” I asked Nevis as I began a circle around the Flying Ace’s block.

  “Yeah, he’d leave it open. We usually did for special work.”

  I didn’t bother asking him what that work might be, just filed it away for a future conversation. Since the darkened club—with police department signs posted on the doors and windows—was very visibly closed, parking wasn’t the usual problem tonight. I found a spot close to the back and cut the motor.

  “Lemme go in first,” I said on the walk toward the alley.

  “This is my fight,” Nevis protested.

  I paused him. “The shape you’re in you couldn’t go two rounds with a drunk hamster.”

  “It’s me he tried to kill; I want to break him in two.”

  “You won’t miss a thing, I promise, but I’ve got a better chance of getting the drop on him than you. You watch my back, and I’ll see to it he’s awake when you walk in. Make a good entrance.”

  That provided him an acceptable out as well as appealed to his vanity, so he gave me the nod and stepped to one side.

  I reflected, as I approached the club’s door, that I was falling into the role of mob muscle just a little too easily. Maybe I’d been hanging around with guys like Nevis a whole lot too much. Their casual, if practical acceptance of violence to solve most problems was not only rubbing off, I was enjoying it far too much.

  My furtive pleasure ground to a quick stop as I rounded the corner and came face-to-face with Rita Robillard standing in the alley. She was still darkly fetching in her mourning clothes, and in the deep shadows between the buildings was invisible to everyone but me. She held a good-size revolver clutched in one gloved hand.

  “You!” we said in unison.

  I gaped down at the gun. She didn’t shift its aim from my midsection. “Rita, honey, why the hell are you here?”

  “I’m asking you the same.”

  “I told you—”

  She scowled. “Yeah, yeah, a lotta mugs tell me a lotta things. It don’t mean I gotta believe ’em.”

  “You’re trying to find Nevis? Is that it?”

  “Uh-huh. Sooner or later he’s gotta come back here. After what you fed me at the services I wanted to see for myself what he had to do with Lena . . . and I’ll know that when I see his face.”

  “Know what?” asked Nevis, coming up. The immediate effect his presence made was to shift the muzzle from my midsection to his. “Hey, Rita, what is this?”

  “A misunderstanding,” I said, but didn’t get any further. The lady with the gun was running things for the moment, particularly when she swung it up to point it right between his eyes.

  Despite this he didn’t look very alarmed. “Is this a joke? Rita—”

  “You—” She got that much out. She was visibly trying to put the words into the right order. “Booth, did you kill Lena?”

  “What?”

  “Did you?” Her voice rose and her hand trembled.

  “No, I did not. Who put that crazy idea into your head?”

  Her gaze touched on me for an instant.

  “Covering the bases?” he asked, looking at me with no little disgust.

  I shrugged, having no need to defend myself. “Rita, I’ve talked with him since seeing you. He had nothing to do with it. I was wrong. I promise you he’s clean.” Of Lena’s death, anyway.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Scout’s honor.”

  “Really sure?”

  Insufficient light to work with to compel her to believe, but whether or not she recalled it I’d forged a very strong bond of trust between us last night. That she so readily turned to me for reassurance was proof of its actuality. My word would be enough for her. “He did not kill Lena.”

  “Damn!”

  “Huh?” Nevis, just a fraction behind things, but then he was tired.

  “She was all worked up to shoot you,” I informed him after Rita lowered the revolver. “Be glad she’s not and let her have her disappointment.”

  “Well, if he didn’t do it, who did?” she demanded. “Shivvey? Jack, was it Shivvey? Is that why you told me to keep clear of him?”

  Again, I regretted having been unable to adjust her memory about our last interview. “This is something we can talk about later.”

  “Why? Why not now?”

  Any second she could blurt out something about that damned records book. Nevis didn’t need to know about it just now. If ever.

  Before I could come up with a reasonable placation, he stepped in. “We’re here on business, Rita. And you know what that means.”

  Another scowl. Thankfully it was one of grudging acceptance. “Yeah, I get it. I just don’t want it.” She opened her big purse and put the gun inside. If she’d been packing that thing at the service, then it was no wonder she’d walloped the photographer flat. “One of you mugs call me and tell me what’s going on.” She began to turn away, then paused. “Booth, I’m sorry I did that. Ya believe me?”

  “Yeah, I believe you, now beat it.”

  “Couldn’t we have a drink before you start all your business? I could really use a beer.”

  “I would, doll, but the cops didn’t leave anything after the raid. I’ll buy you one later.”

  “Me, too,” I said, taking her arm and leading her toward the other end of the alley. “You got a ride home?”

  “I took the El in. There’s a stop just up the—”

  “Great. You take it right back again.”

  “This is a bum’s rush, and don’t think I don’t know it,” she said crossly.

  “You got that right, honey, but me and your boss have got business. We’ll get together afterward and have a drink to Lena.”

  That promise sat well with her, and she became more cooperative. I walked her to within sight of the El and waved her on, then hurried back to the alley.

  Nevis was no longer alone. The door to the club was wide open, spilling out a fan of faint light from some distant source within. Shivvey Coker stood on the threshold. He had a gun pointed at Nevis. This time Nevis looked worried. He held his hands clear of his body and kept himself very still.

  Focused on each other, neither of them noticed me in the dark, and it seemed prudent to leave things as they were. I got fairly close on foot, then vanished and floated the rest of the way, moving quick. Coker could pull the trigger any instant he chose.

  I bumped and blundered along until I was exactly behind him, but he was moving now, backing up.

  “That’s it,” he said. “Come on and easy does it.”

  I wasn’t prepared for the surge of rage that flooded me at the sound of Coker’s voice. All I wanted to do was go solid and smash his face in. Roaring instinct said kill him, kill the man who’d tried to kill me. Reason, thin and small, said wait, learn more. For the crucial moment I hesitated. It was long enough to hold me in check until curiosity kicked in. I wanted to know what they’d have to say to each
other. Things would be more candid between them without my presence.

  “Come on. Shut the door. Don’t slam it.”

  Had to remember that Coker was speaking to Nevis, not me. The door closed softly, the latch snicking firmly into place.

  “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Nevis asked. He sounded more irked than afraid.

  “The office,” Coker told him.

  They walked to the office; another latch snicked.

  “Have a seat,” he said expansively. “On the couch. Take a night off from the desk work.”

  “It’s not too late to cut a deal, Shivvey. I can be generous.”

  Coker laughed. “I’m gonna miss your jokes.”

  “Yeah, well, what have I got to lose?”

  “Nothing at all, but you won’t win. Not this game.”

  “You’re holding off. What are you waiting for?”

  “I got a friend coming in.”

  “Little Tony the dancer? ’Fraid not. He’s been sidetracked.” Nevis was taking a chance with that one. I hoped he wasn’t speeding up his imminent demise.

  Silence for a moment as Coker digested the bad news. I positioned myself next to him. He stood before the desk, the better to face down the couch-seated Nevis. I thought about blanketing Coker. When I touched people while in this form the effect was a profound icy-to-the-bone chill. Coker might have a hair trigger on his gun; it could go off if he shivered too hard. Stranger things had happened.

  “What’d you do to Tony?” he asked, sounding casual.

  “Nothing. Yet. Sure you don’t want to deal?”

  “I might change my mind. Where is he?”

  “Don’t kid a kidder, Shivvey. You don’t give a tinker’s damn about the little bastard. What you want to know is if he’ll rat on you because your game with the grenades didn’t work.”

  Coker gave a snort. “He won’t talk.”

  “He already did. You should have offered to pay him more.” Nevis was buying himself time, then, probably hoping I’d come charging in to the rescue, or at least provide a diversion so he could make his own move. Seated on that low couch had him at a disadvantage, which is why Coker put him there.