by P. N. Elrod
“Charles did. Gave me the lowdown.”
“It’s infuriating! Doesn’t anyone remember the Lindbergh baby?”
“Apparently not today. Why don’t you write a letter to the paper?” I held up the worst of the stack. Its headline proved muckraking was still alive and kicking, high circulation being the owner’s golden calf.
“I should have dinner with the editor of that rag, then hit him in the face with the main course. Gordy knows him; maybe he can get him to write sense. What is this world coming to? How did this happen? I thought the gang were all going to confess.”
I gave her a short version of what Escott and I had speculated about Dugan’s hypnotic resistance throwing a really big left-handed monkey wrench into the works.
Bobbi paced up and down the office, picking her gloves off with short, jerky movements. “If that Dugan gets away with it—”
“He won’t. I promise.”
A pause in her course. “Really?”
“Scout’s honor, spit in his eye.”
That pleased her, and a lot of the tension went out of her body. “Good. I’m glad there’s someone around like you who can fix messes like this.”
“Just the few that sock me in the face. Charles came over tonight but took a walk. When he gets back, would you keep him company? He can use cheering up.”
“I’d do that anyway.” She opened the liquor cabinet by the windows, poured a small liqueur into a shot glass, and sipped delicately from it. “How is he?”
“Tired and antsy. Myrna spooked him.” I told her what happened earlier.
Bobbi thought that funny but was sympathetic. “How is it he can room with you but have problems with a ghost?”
“Ask him sometime. I’ve wondered that myself.” When she came close enough to my chair, I pulled her onto my lap. She finished her drink, putting the glass on the desk, and draped her arms around my shoulders. Very chummy we were. “You smell good.”
“I should. I pay plenty for it.”
But what I wanted was under her perfume. Intense hunger plucked at me on several levels. I forced it off to the side. “Did you talk to Adelle?”
“Not yet. No opportunity today, and I’m not going to bother her with this before her show.”
“How about after?”
“If and when the time’s right.”
Her voice told me I should back off and let her figure it out. No problem. “How did things go with Roland and Faustine?”
The after-lunch meeting with Roland Lambert had been on time and was strictly business, which impressed her. Completely professional herself, Bobbi looked for it in others and respected the ones who came through. “We’re set up for the weekend. The band has copies of their dance music, and I’ve got ads placed in tomorrow’s paper announcing them.”
“Remind me to put you on the payroll.”
“Already am.” True. She was on the clock like the rest whenever she came in to help.
“Then I should give you a raise.”
She squirmed on my lap. “Feels like you’ve given yourself one already.”
“Oh, no, that’s your fault.” I kissed the inside of her wrist, lips lingering on the pulse point, eyes closed to better listen to her heart. Its dark rhythm was inspiring in all kinds of ways.
“Hey, you’re not giving me any chance to seduce you.”
I pulled back, more than ready to cooperate. “A woman with ideas. I like it.”
She moved off me, going to the windows. The curtains were open, as were the blinds. The glass was an inch thick, layered with wire mesh. It distorted the view of the outside a little, but after an incident last summer involving a grenade being lobbed through, I didn’t mind the warping. Bobbi let the blinds down.
“I thought you were the exhibitionist type,” I said.
“Only when the audience is blocks away, not just across the street.” She shut and locked the door. “I wanted you to see my new dress.”
“Sure.” I looked forward to getting her out of it.
Coat flung off, she did a turn. “Isn’t this just the cutest thing?”
Her new favorite movie—which we’d gone to see three times now—was Snow White, and the dress was covered with colorful pictures of the film’s characters. I’d never seen anything like it: cockeyed but, on her, terrific.
“They had it in brown silk with the prints, but I thought the white background worked better. You don’t think it’s too springtime?”
“On you it’s good for any season.” She did look cute. “Now I get the hat.”
“You noticed? It’s called a Bashful hat.”
It did resemble the hood things the dwarves wore. “You, my dear, are anything but bashful. C’mere.”
“I should eat an apple first so you can wake me from the spell.”
“We only have lemons on hand, but if you want I can go find—”
“Nah, stay here with me. It’s cold outside.”
She came over and pressed me into the chair. It was the plain, straight-backed kind with no arms. Bobbi hiked her new dress up and straddled me where I sat.
God, I loved it when she got new clothes.
She had on a slip and a garter belt to hold up her stockings, but nothing else underneath; any encumbrance between us came from my side of things, but she was already helping to loosen my pants. We’d discovered that making love while still partially dressed was very arousing for us. Once in a while, I wondered why but not to the point of trying to figure it out. It worked, and that’s what really mattered.
With some shifting, we got my pants shoved down; the activity, along with quick, anxious kisses stolen in between, proved to be more than inspiring. She laughed softly, eyes bright and wicked, and eased onto me, going slow now. Her position put her throat at just the right level for more kissing. She had a thin silk scarf wrapped there to hide the marks I’d left during past encounters. I unwound it and held her steady as she rocked against me, taking her time. My corner teeth were out, but it was better when I waited. Not long, though, the way she was riding, her moves speeding up, her breath deepening for that final release.
She didn’t have to tell me when. I sensed it, felt it, pulled her close, and seized it. She covered her mouth to muffle her cry, then went still, panting a little, her whole focus on what was happening to her body as I supped on her blood. It filled me, completed me. I had a different set of sensations, no less euphoric, and gave myself up to them for an unguessable time.
Bobbi gradually slumped. Worn out from the pleasure, I lazily thought. The liqueur she’d drunk imparted a unique taste to her blood, and I relished its rarity. It went to my head, as though I was slugging it back straight from the bottle. Filtered through her body, taken from a living human vein, there was nothing else quite like it.
But she wasn’t dozing. Something was wrong. I made myself wake from my own ecstatic trance and stopped what I was doing. Her head lolled, eyes shut.
Oh, damn.
My heart swooping with near panic, I got us untangled and carried her over to the couch. She was completely limp, passed out. Blood seeped from the wounds I made. Too much? I didn’t know. I pressed my handkerchief against them and said her name.
“C’mon, honey, don’t do this. Bobbi?”
She was a long, long, awful minute coming around. In that time I got the office liquor cabinet open, grabbed a bottle, and returned to kneel next to her. My fingers trembled as I smeared brandy over her lips, touched a few drops to her tongue. She moved a little, making a face.
“That’s it, sweetheart. Come back. Wake up.”
“Mm?” She tried to move her head away.
“It’s all right, you’re all right.” Please, God, I hoped so. “Just stay put, and you’ll be fine.”
Her eyelids fluttered but didn’t open. She looked sluggish and puzzled. “What . . . ?”
I caught up her hands. They were icy. “I’m sorry.”
“Why? What’s going on?”
“I took too m
uch from you. Made you pass out.”
“Oh, don’t be silly.” But she saw I was serious and tried to sit up. “Jack, it’s nothing, don’t make a big fuss.”
She wasn’t in the mood to listen, so I stood and put my clothes into order again, needing the distraction. My hands shook so hard I could hardly tuck in my shirttail.
“I’m fine, Jack. Really I am.”
Impossible to look her in the face. “I could have killed you.”
A pause. “No, you wouldn’t.”
She didn’t understand. Once with another woman I’d come close to going over the edge by taking things too far. I’d been so lost, was so drunk with the feeling of it that I very nearly—
Bobbi didn’t know about that. She never would. “Look, it got out of hand. I should have gone to the Yards last night. It keeps my hunger in check, keeps me safe with you.”
“Safe? What the hell are you talking about? I’m perfectly fine. I just passed out from it is all. I’ve done it before.”
“Not like this.”
“Jack, it’s nothing to go crazy over. Will you settle down? Please?”
I sat on the couch next to her, staring at the floor. “I think you should have a doctor check you tomorrow.”
An exasperated sigh. She reached for my hand and held tight. “What’s going on?”
“I just had the bejesus scared out of me. Scared to death I’d hurt you.”
“Well, I’m not hurt.”
I resolved to never forgo future trips to the Stockyards to feed. Even if things were as she said, I would never allow the risk to recur. No more complacence.
She moved closer and held me.
I grabbed her back as hard as I dared. “God, if anything happened to you, I’d lose my mind.”
“I know,” she whispered. “But the bad old days are gone. Nothing’s going to happen to either of us. The bad stuff’s over now. I’m fine. What we were doing was completely wonderful and just overwhelmed me is all, and let me tell you, I love it. So stop being afraid.”
Fear was a good, healthy thing to have, so long as it didn’t paralyze me. It was my changed nature that was so terrifying; no escape from that. If I respected the rules and kept my head, she’d be safe. If not, then I had no business being with her. Animal blood fed me, but human blood held so much more: nourishment, intoxication, addiction, the potential for obsession. Give in to it, and the woman I loved would die.
“Hey.” She gently tapped my nose. “Wake up; you’re too quiet.”
“Fear and guilt,” I said. “They’ll talk to me all night if I let them. They make a hell of a team.”
“There’s no room for them in this league. Tell ’em to take a hike.”
Her hazel eyes could see more inside me than I ever could. They saw all of it, accepted, loved. She made me want to be a better man, made it feel like I’d already gotten there. “Do you know how much I love you?”
“Yeah.” A smile, a little crooked, warm as heaven. “I do.”
ABOUT half an hour later, I was in the lobby, trying to get back to business as usual by glad-handing the first customers coming in. The normality of it helped push my fear away, but not too far. I wanted to atone, apologize, grovel, whatever it took to make it up to Bobbi. Except she didn’t want any of that. All right. I’d play it how she wanted, but I would be more careful. Before I touched her again, I’d go to the Stockyards and take care of my deadly appetite.
It was still only a weeknight; I wore a dark suit, not a tuxedo, but Bobbi said I looked flashy as a new car. Mirrors being useless to me, I relied on her judgment when it came to clothes and grooming details.
Along with some new faces, a few regulars turned up, delighted to see me. Each and every one of them got the smile and handshake, and the brief instant of eye contact where I told them they would have a great time here tonight. Hypnosis stuff made my head hurt, especially when I was hungry, but it was worth the discomfort for the boost in business. I gave a nod to Wilton to confirm drinks were half price until the show started.
Bobbi had gone to the backstage area to make sure the band and the rest of the talent were ready. If she hadn’t had aspirations of her own to look after, I’d have hired her permanently as my general manager. More often than not, she had singing work at other clubs but was happy to help with bookings when she had the time. Otherwise, it was up to me, and I didn’t have nearly her experience, nor was I up and about during the day for auditions. Things would run more smoothly if not for that restriction, but my alternative to having half a life was being all the way dead, so I never complained, even to myself.
She came out front, still amazingly fresh in her Snow White dress with the cartoon character pattern. I’d never look at that movie the same way again.
“We’re set to go,” she said, slipping an arm through mine.
“Great. The drummer still sober?”
“Like a judge on election day. Roland!” She smiled past me as the doorman ushered in Roland Lambert. He was natty in a vicuna overcoat and a big smile, his hair lounge-lizard slick. You could read by the shine on his shoes. “You didn’t say you’d be by again.”
“I wanted to get the lay of the land,” he said as we shook hands. “Always helps the act to know the routine of a place.”
“Where’s Faustine?” I asked.
“At our hotel, resting. She spent the day shopping and wore herself out. I slept late, so now I’m ready for something to do. We’ll be neck and neck again for our debut, though. Will you be at our rehearsal tomorrow?”
“Tied up elsewhere, but Bobbi said you were great, and that’s enough for me.”
He cut her a little bow. “I’m honored and forever grateful, good lady.”
“Hm, you have been in England, haven’t you?” she said, pleased.
“For far too long, I’d forgotten just how charming American girls can be.” He served this up with a smile and an eye twinkle. The way he did it made it more flattery than serious flirtation. Bobbi seemed to like it just fine. I wasn’t worried about her falling for his line, but had it worked on Adelle?
“Before things get too crowded, let me find you a nice table,” she said. She slipped an arm through his and led him off. I had a feeling she’d work Gordy and Adelle into the conversation at some point. Hopefully, he’d get the right idea from it.
Escott came in, his face red from the cold, which suited him more than that sheet-white he’d shown earlier.
“Feeling better?” I asked, as he shrugged from his coat and handed it and his hat over to the check girl.
“Much improved, thank you. I just wanted a bit of air.”
“Sure.” Might as well pretend to go along with him. He’d been gone nearly two hours, which is a hell of a lot of air for anyone in Chicago in January. “Like a little something to warm up?”
“A small brandy would not be unwelcome. Thank you.”
I gave Wilton a high sign, and he poured out a generous shot of our best. Like the rest of the staff, he knew Escott’s drinks were always on the house.
“It will be a bit of a wait warming this,” he said, cupping the snifter in his hand. His fingers and nails looked blue. “Left my gloves at the Gladwell house. I’ll call and ask if they’ve been found. May I have the use of your office phone?”
“Help yourself.”
He gave a genial nod and went upstairs, almost as at home here as in his own place. Apparently he’d forgotten Myrna’s not-so-subtle presence for the time being. I wondered about the gloves business, whether it was genuine or just an excuse to talk to Vivian. Probably both. I silently wished him luck and shook hands with the next group of customers coming in from the cold.
Right behind them were two of Gordy’s top bodyguards, Lowrey and Strome. Well, I’d been warned there would be more talks tonight.
They weren’t as big as Gordy, few men were, but they made up for it with weapons, and they would have some brains. Normally, I don’t welcome guys wearing overly padded suits meant to hide
their shoulder holsters, but these were almost family. In a sideways kind of direction.
“’Lo, boys. Anything up?”
“Just checking things, Mr. Fleming,” said Strome. He’d been with Gordy for a long time and had early on learned to call me mister. He didn’t know about me being a vampire, only that I now and then helped his boss out on special jobs, and that I was extremely dangerous to cross. Gordy had passed on to me the gossip about my reputation with the gangs. I’d found it to be both amusing and daunting. I liked their respect but didn’t care for the possibility of having it tested by some wiseacre. Strome was a prudent sort with nothing to prove.
“Gordy on his way?” I asked.
“Yeah.”
“Bristow, too?”
“Yeah.” Strome was as loquacious as his boss.
“How are negotiations going?”
Lowrey shrugged. Cut from the same block of granite as Strome, his dark eyes both looked made of glass, the effect reinforced by the fact they were not quite in line. It was a subtle thing; sometimes I didn’t know which eye to look at.
They checked their heavy overcoats, the girl staggering off under the combined burden. The doorman ushered in two more men of the same type, Bristow’s boys from last night. The four bruisers looked at one another, faces dead, arms loose at their sides, with me in the middle like the referee at a free-for-all match. You couldn’t cut the air between them with a diamond drill. I almost heard growling. No love lost among this bunch.
The girl came out again and read the mood right. Her big-eyed gaze hit me with a question on what to do; I smiled and jerked my chin, silently indicating for her to scram. She scurried back to her checkroom. Wilton seemed ready to duck behind his marble bar.
Hog Bristow chose that moment to bull in, making everyone jump. He instantly noticed the tension and settled an accusing, bloodshot glare on me.
“What the hell is this?” he demanded.
The lobby lights flickered and went out.
5
I had enough street glow to see by, but not the other guys. For them the place was pitch-black. Both sides stepped away from each other and drew guns.
