The Vampire Files, Volume Three

by P. N. Elrod

  “We both want the same thing, Mr. Sullivan. You hold to your part and I’ll hold to mine and then everyone’s happy. But if Calloway screws this up for me . . . ” I thought I’d give him a chance to adjust things. If I really did have a meeting with Angela, Sullivan’s orders to Calloway could get us both killed.

  “He won’t.”

  Why did I even bother to hope he’d smarten up and play square? Okay, to hell with him and all his cousins. “All right. I’ll call in the morning around ten.”

  “That late?”

  I gave a snotty chuckle, the sort he’d expect from someone who was quite a bit less than a gentleman. “Well, Angela’s a pretty hot little twist. I may have to be sleeping in from all the—”

  “Eight o’clock, Fleming,” he said in a world-weary and rather patronizing tone.

  “Hey, I can’t—”

  “Eight, no later.” He hung up. Probably thought he’d scored a point or two. Fine, far be it from me to disillusion him. By this time tomorrow, if I had any luck, he wouldn’t even remember my name.

  8

  JUST to be neat about things, I led Calloway back to the bedroom and tucked him up nice and sweet with his friend Baker, who I had to wake briefly in order to give him new instructions. It made my headache worse, but everything went smoothly. They’d come to in the morning and swear up and down that after the call to Sullivan I’d knocked them cold and escaped, which was more or less the truth. Certainly Calloway had the physical evidence of it forming on his bruised jaw. This way, no matter how the night turned out, they’d be in the clear. Maybe. If Sullivan even knew what they were talking about. No matter, I could fix him just as easy.

  I also planted the idea in them that they should start to back off playing stooge to the gangs. Not quit suddenly, which would get them dead fast, but to be less available in the future. It might not last long, but for that time they’d have something to think about, perhaps act upon.

  Yeah, I was being too soft on ’em. Call it conscience. Or rather it had to do with what Bobbi had said to me. Gordy would have killed them, or made them disappear, which was pretty much the same, and Escott would have let them swing in the wind. Because of what I’d become, I had a third choice open: Let them swing, but give them a way off the rope. There was a pretty good chance they wouldn’t take it, Calloway thought they were in too far, but what the hell, it was worth a try, even a half-assed one.

  That finished, I got the car keys from Baker’s pocket and went out the fire-escape window again.

  Didn’t bother to open it this time.

  I don’t care much for sieving through glass, but cared even less for bumbling my way through the lobby to get past the two cops on watch there. Besides, having done this before, I was familiar with the territory. The regular angles and struts of the metal stairs were an easy path to follow, so down I went to re-form on the street, pressing myself against the hotel’s shadowed outer wall.

  Now I could take my time for a good look around. The cops in the patrol car were still on watch. There was no knowing why they were just sitting there all but asking to be targets; if another Packard tore by spitting lead they wouldn’t last two seconds.

  Except for them, the rest of the street was empty and cemetery quiet. No sign of Angela’s goons, or even Gordy’s. The party had shifted elsewhere, and I was ready to move my own part of it.

  I slipped right past the patrol cops. Even if they’d known where to look and when, they’d have had a hard time trying to spot something as invisible as the wind—which was affecting my progress. Maybe I wasn’t solid in the normal sense, but a strong breeze could still push me around if I let it. I fought the stuff, trying to estimate how far I’d come. Groping blindly forward, I could only rely on my vague sense of touch to keep on course. With the hotel on my right and the sidewalk below, it wasn’t too hard, but you’d think I’d be used to the disorientation after all these months. One good thing, a few dozen yards later when I went solid again, my headache was all gone. I’d traded it for a wave of weariness, though, like a runner after a brief sprint. At this rate, tomorrow night I’d have to hit the Stockyards for an extra feeding to make up for all the work I was doing.

  The street was unchanged, only my view of it had altered; I was well behind the cops and a few steps from the Caddie. Keys jingling, I unlocked it and got in, starting her up. The motor was beautifully quiet. Keeping the lights off, I shifted her into reverse, gently backing along the curb to the next corner and around, well out of sight. One quick U-turn later, I had the lights legally on, and was on my way to the roadhouse.

  Not much traffic at this hour, though there were some patches around theaters and late-closing eateries. No car sickness for me, but then I was in the front seat, could see where I was headed, and had the driving to keep me occupied.

  Thinking it over, I suppose I could have taken care of the cops in the lobby and questioned the manager about Angela’s whereabouts. She might be laying low for the present, but was still a loose cannon ready to go off. Getting to her first would have eased my mind quite a bit. But finding her . . . the odds were high the old manager didn’t have a direct line to his boss, only to a middleman whose job was to pass on information to someone higher up. It’d be futile for me to try taking the same route. She’d just get annoyed, be more on guard, and find a hole to drop into that even Doc didn’t know about.

  But on the other hand Doc would give her to me wrapped in a bow—with a little push applied in the right part of his mind, that is. I just hoped he wouldn’t be too drunk to cooperate.

  And most importantly, I could see Opal, check on her; another reason to let the problem of Angela go look after itself for now.

  The miles flowed under the tires. The neighborhoods got drab again, thinned out, turned into semi-countryside. The scenery grew monotonous, and the corner I wanted snuck up on me; I nearly missed the turning. I hit the brakes only just in time and swung into it a little too sharp for safety, but the big car landed back on all four wheels without much complaint, bounce or swerve. If I’d tried that in my smaller, lighter Buick, I’d have ended up sideways in a ditch.

  The unpaved drive led right to the house, and the only cover was a thin line of scraggly bushes that had lost their leaves. I wanted to park close enough for a fast getaway but not to the point where my car would be spotted. Soon as I made the turn I cut the headlights to lessen that chance, but still felt exposed and vulnerable. If they were on the ball, someone would have seen me already.

  The darkness was reassuring, though. No moon showed, lots of clouds masked the stars, and we were out far enough not to have any glimmer of the city’s glow reflecting back to the ground. I had to remind myself that though it was like diffuse daylight to me, to everyone else it would be solid murk.

  I spotted some trees farther along the drive, but those were up well past the house. They would conceal the car, but if I had to make a quick exit, there was a chance of being cut off before getting to the main road.

  What the hell, why not? I thought after some hemming and hawing. It wasn’t like Sullivan’s people could prepare themselves for anyone like me. How can you fight the next best thing to a ghost?

  Lights still off, I eased along the drive, glad of the well-tuned hush of the engine and the wind. The latter would cover the sound of the tires crunching along the dirt surface. Still, I had to pass fairly close, and because I was moving, I couldn’t tell if any curtains twitched at those windows overlooking the lane. At most, I could hope that it was well traveled enough so that an occasional passing car would be ignored, but if anyone glanced out and saw this one easing by with its lights off, I couldn’t expect them not to be curious. They might think Calloway had run into trouble—which he had—and then do something about it.

  Too bad I couldn’t make the whole damned car invisible.

  The trees, once I reached them, were ideal: nice thick evergreens with low branches, bunched together between me and the house. I found a spot to pull in, d
id some fancy wrestling around with the steering wheel to turn the car so it pointed outward, then shut it down and waited, listening to the wind, eyes wide for any and all movement.

  If you could call a difference of five feet in elevation high, then I had the high ground. My perch, such as it was, overlooked the rear and part of the right side of the place. When I’d come in with Calloway, I’d noticed three cars parked in the back lot; now one was missing, and I couldn’t recall offhand which, not that I’d noticed their make or plate numbers at the time. I wondered how many men had left in it. The fewer soldiers inside the roadhouse to deal with, the happier I’d be.

  Lights showed on the second floor. People were still awake and moving, but I didn’t expect them to be up the whole of the night, especially since Sullivan thought I wouldn’t be calling again until morning. Sooner or later they’d have to slow down and sleep. When that happened, then I would see what to do about getting Opal and Doc away. For the time being I had to wait until things got settled and quiet, which might take a while, but I knew how to keep busy.

  After making sure the other doors were unlocked, I got out of the Caddie and closed the driver’s side gently, just enough for it to latch. I checked my overcoat pockets to see that the guns I’d taken from Calloway and Baker were still in place. The revolver on the right, Baker’s semi-auto on the left—with the safety off. I probably wouldn’t need them, but you never know when you might have to use a more normal kind of intimidation on someone than forced hypnosis. Another thought occurred to me, and I went around to the passenger side to check the glove compartment. It held the usual trash and a tattered road map, but I got lucky and turned up a flashlight. The batteries were less than new, but its feeble light would be like a search beacon to my sensitive eyes. So long as there was some illumination for them to pick up, they worked just fine, but I was anticipating a very dark place indeed, ahead.

  Feeling ready for nearly anything, I walked to the edge of the trees, got a firm fix in my mind of the direction and distance, and vanished. Flowing fast along the ground—and still fighting the wind—I sped toward the right side of the house where I’d seen a line of small basement windows. When my now amorphous body bumped up against something large and solid, which could only be the building, I re-formed just enough for a quick look around.

  The nearest window, like others I’d seen, was latticed over with a thick metal grate to keep out intruders. A good effort, but useless against me. I did my specialty act again and eased through the cracks.

  Now I was floating blind in completely unknown territory. All kinds of obstacles loomed close as I bumbled around getting my bearings. One advantage of this state was I couldn’t knock anything over or collect bruises from hitting them. Some of the objects were of a regular shape and height, probably crates, most likely liquor boxes. When I found a clear space in their midst, I went solid again.

  Dark, as I’d anticipated. I was well away from the windows. Just enough of their outside light came through for me to see I was in an aisle formed by boxes stacked shoulder high on either side of me, and I’d been correct about their alcoholic content, though it was beer bottles not booze. Empties on one side, full ones on the other, I cat-footed along their length, going farther into the shadows.

  It was a pretty big place, probably taking up the whole foundation of the joint, and had more than one stairway. The one I was looking for needed to lead to the kitchen.

  When it got so thick even my eyes couldn’t work, I switched on the flashlight. It was a risk, but I’d listened carefully and determined that everyone was safely upstairs, leaving me the free run of this area.

  More odds and ends sprang out of the dimness, stacks of chairs and tables, some broken, boxes of Christmas and New Year’s decorations, bags full of dirty tablecloths ready to be trucked off to the laundry, and junk like that. As I went deeper the inventory gradually changed, and I was walking between cans of lard and sacks of flour. Roaches scuttled boldly over the dusty floor. The stairs here went straight up to a closed door and a thin line of light showed along its base. I’d found the way to the kitchen.

  Cutting my flash, I vanished and floated up, slipping through the slender opening under the door. It was like squeezing through the narrow neck of an hourglass and seemed to take ages before I was completely clear, but it was better than pushing my way past the more resistant material of the wood. All was quiet on the other side as far as I could tell with my blunted sense of hearing, so I went solid.

  The kitchen was empty and clean, really clean. The table where I’d put Opal and the linoleum around it had been thoroughly scrubbed down. Lingering in the air was the astringent bite of some kind of harsh soap. The sting of it reminded me of hospitals. Every sign of what had happened earlier was quite gone.

  Maxwell had said she was all right, and I’d wanted to believe him, but she could be dead. My guts twisted hard at the thought, but it wouldn’t go away. If she hadn’t made it, they’d have taken pains to clear out all evidence that she’d ever been here.

  Heart heavy, I went to the door leading to the rest of the house, intent on finding out what was going on.

  AFTER a cautious quarter-hour of partial to fully invisible poking around, I determined that not very damned much was going on.

  I counted ten men populating the upstairs, and no one anywhere else. Five were gathered in one of the larger rooms playing poker, the others scattered around the rest of the floor, two listening to a radio, two sprawled asleep on sofas, and one on a phone away from the others negotiating for a date with someone he called “Sugarbun.” The big office was empty. Of Sullivan, Maxwell, and Opal there was no sign, but I did find Doc. By accident. I materialized in a windowless storage area for a moment to think through the situation and discovered his semiconscious body in the same small closet.

  I sensed him first by his breathing and the nearness of his heartbeat, and that made me jump, but fortunately the place was coal-mine dark. Flailing my hand about, I found the pull cord to the overhead light and gave it a tug. The dim bulb revealed lots of shelves crowded with cleaning supplies, rags, and similar junk. Most of the floor was taken up by a gigantic vacuum cleaner . . . and Doc.

  He was curled on his side on the bare wood, knees drawn up and a bleary grimace on his face as the sudden glare caught him. He shaded his eyes and squinted up at me.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” His voice was thick. Drunk, drugged, or roughed up by Sullivan’s clowns, take your pick, he wasn’t in very good shape.

  “Where’s Opal?” I whispered, dropping to one knee.

  “They took her away. Sullivan, some of his boys. Tol’ ’em not to . . . ”

  “Where’d they take her?”

  “Damned if I know, son. Little bit after you went they came and got her.” He pushed himself upright and rubbed his face.

  “How was she doing?”

  “Poorly. I got the bleeding stopped, but she needed a blood transfusion and other kindsa stuff I couldn’t do for her. If’n I’d had my bag with me—”

  “You got any idea where she is?”

  He shook his head.

  “Didn’t they say anything, give any hint?”

  “Wish I could tell you otherwise, but they wasn’t much for talking. They were bein’ careful with her, though. Wrapped her up warm and pulled the car right up to the door so she wouldn’t get bumped around too much being carried out.”

  That sounded better than I’d expected, but not all that satisfying. “How many of them? Who?”

  “Sullivan, a couple others.”

  “What about Maxwell?”

  “Don’t recall, maybe. He’s not the sort you notice much an’ they were hustling me back up to this hole at the same time. What the hell’re you doin’ here?”

  “Keep your voice down.”

  Lower tone. “What the hell’re you—”

  “I’m going to try getting you out—in one piece.”

  “Well, son, then I’m on your side.
What do you want me to do?”

  I stood and tried the doorknob. Locked, as I’d expected, which was why I’d covered the action with my body so Doc wouldn’t notice and wonder how I’d gotten in. Now I put an ear close to the jamb and had a long listen. Heard the radio down the hall and the occasional mutter from the poker players farther on, the guy on the phone had hung up. The rest were too quiet for me to know what they were doing; still snoozing, I hoped. No one seemed to be immediately outside the closet. Good.

  “Is the coast clear?” he asked. He’d been holding his breath.

  “Not just yet. Our best chance is to wait until they’re all asleep. It may take some time. Do they check on you often?”

  “Not since they threw me in here after Sullivan left with Opal. Wish they would, I gotta take a leak.”

  I pointed toward one corner. “There’s a bucket. Don’t draw their attention if you can help it, I want them to forget about you for the time being. I also don’t want them knowing I’m here, so keep shut.”

  “Can’t blame you for that. How’d you get inside anyhow?”

  “Jimmied a lock.”

  “I mean in here.”

  “Slipped in under the door.”

  “Smart-ass. Why you being so helpful to me?”

  “While I was gone with Calloway, I had a talk with Angela and we made a deal. If I get you out safe, she’ll think twice about a war with Sullivan.”

  “Musta been some talk. Nice of her to care.”

  “When we’re clear of this joint, you’re supposed to take me to her.”

  “She say where?”

  “She said you’d know, so you tell me.”

  “Not so fast. You could have struck a deal with Sullivan an’ be joshin’ me. I’m not gonna be the one to get her in front of a bullet by—”

  “Doc.” I dropped to my heels in front of him, fixed a hard look on his lined face and baby-blue eyes. “Tell me where to find Angela.”

  He blinked a few times and squinted mightily. “Fleming, no offense, but you can go to hell.”