The Vampire Files, Volume Three

by P. N. Elrod

  Remembering Waters sparked something else in my brain, though, and I trotted back to Escott just before he drove off. “I saw Shoe last night,” I said.

  “Really? How is he?”

  “Doing fine. He wants us to come over to his club this week for dinner, maybe listen to the act he’s got playing.”

  “A most generous invitation, but I—”

  “He told me to say he’s got a French-trained chef up from New Orleans.”

  That stopped him cold. “Well, I could hardly turn away from such a gastronomic opportunity. I’ll phone tonight and see what can be arranged.”

  “Just not on Tuesday, okay? That’s the night of Bobbi’s broadcast and I’m gonna be busy with her.”

  “Right, I’ll remember. It’s a very exacting art, you know. French cooking. A matter of bringing out the taste and presenting it well.”

  “Even frogs and snails? What about that Cajun guy who eats things Shoe wouldn’t step on?”

  “The idea,” Escott continued, nonplussed, “is to eat slowly and enjoy your meal in the company of friends. What a pity you can’t join us for that. You miss so much good food because of your condition.”

  “Don’t start that talk; I’m happy with what I’ve got.” I’d tried frog legs once on a Paris furlough during the war and decided there was more meat to be had on a chicken. The taste was about the same, anyway.

  Escott favored me with one of those piercing looks. “But the same thing, night after night after night?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve tried to explain it, but it won’t explain. To me the stuff always tastes just—”

  He held up a quick hand. “No. Please. I’d rather you spared me the details.” Escott was on the squeamish side.

  “You two eat; I’ll watch the show,” I said.

  “Another good reason to clear this case as quickly as possible.”

  “You said it, brother.”

  GOING into the Nightcrawler lobby, I briefly wondered what I’d have done with my evening hours if there were no clubs. What did cavemen vampires do for entertainment while everyone else went to bed with the dinosaurs? Explore the caves? Had there even been such things as cavemen vampires? I sure as hell didn’t know. Maybe one of these nights some guy with a low brow and knuckles dragging on the floor would materialize in front of me and explain the whole business. In fact, such a specimen did walk past, but he was one of the club bouncers.

  The show was going strong, playing to a slightly smaller audience than the previous few nights. The bottom two tiers were crowded, but the population was more sparse in the third. Still, it was a good crowd for a Sunday. Tomorrow the place would be closed and dark, with only the cleaning crew making noise while everyone else took some time off.

  The intermission was about ten minutes away. I strolled into the gambling room and looked around for Gordy, but he was elsewhere. Just to keep in practice, I played a couple of hands of blackjack with my favorite dealer. He thought I had one amazing gift for luck, as I won more often than not. The luck had to do with my excellent hearing and his inability to control the beating of his heart when he had a good hand. It was a small edge for me, though a lot of it did depend on the fall of the cards and my own judgment. I won two hands and lost two, tipped him, and continued on to the backstage area just as the teacup number came to an end. Not long now. Soon I’d be seeing my best girl again.

  Pushing open the door to Bobbi’s dressing room, I discovered Archy Grant sitting on her couch flipping through a magazine with a drink in hand, looking like he owned the place.

  7

  HIS gaze hit mine and there was a definite air of mutual disconcertment and annoyance hanging in the space between us. His quickly vanished behind his signature grin, and he put aside the magazine to stand and walk over, hand out.

  “Well, if it ain’t young Mr. Fleming!” He really sounded sincere in his delight. “How y’doing?”

  “Fine, thank you.” I wondered if Gordy had had that word with Ike LaCelle and if it had filtered down to Grant yet.

  He pumped my hand, apparently pleased to see me. The room seemed to get smaller with his presence suddenly filling the space. It was the same kind of thing Bobbi did when she tapped into her personal voltage in front of a crowd, and maybe Grant was doing it for the same reason; he wanted to be liked, and it didn’t matter by whom. For him it must have been as automatic as breathing. Bobbi knew when it was appropriate, though, and when to switch it off and just be herself.

  “I’d heard that you were working tonight,” he said. “Glad you got finished in time to come by. I was going to take Bobbi to a late dinner, but now I can bow out—reluctantly, I will add—and turn things over to you.”

  “It’s good of you to be looking after her interests,” I said, determined to be gracious even if it choked me.

  “My own interests, you mean. That girl is one talented ball of fire and it’ll be a feather in my cap to have her on my show. I only want to keep her happy.”

  “That’s good.” Over by her closet stood a fresh bouquet of a couple dozen long-stemmed roses, and on the table in front of the couch was a huge open box of chocolates. He wasn’t missing any of the traditional courtship gifts. In spite of my resolution not to give in to jealousy I couldn’t help feeling a sharp warning stab. There was no reason for it; Grant’s behavior wasn’t Bobbi’s fault. I knew that in my head, but it was harder to convince my gut.

  He bounced cheerfully on his heels. “I’ll stay long enough to tell her good night and be on my way. Have a seat.”

  “Thanks, I will in a minute. I want the leg stretch.” And to avoid the dressing-room mirror.

  He went back to sit on the couch and picked up his drink again. “What you been up to? If you don’t mind my asking.”

  “A little interviewing.”

  “Bobbi told me you’re a writer.” The almost-but-not-quite-patronizing tone and the look in his eyes said that he remembered my errand-boy story from last night.

  “You doing an article on someone?”

  “Different kind of interview. I write, but I also work for a private agent.” That’s the name my partner preferred over “gumshoe” to describe the job.

  Grant let his forehead furrow, a comic exaggeration. “What’s that? Insurance?”

  “More like investigations.”

  “Detective work?”

  “Something like that. The Escott Agency.”

  “Really?” He paused a moment, lips pursed. Maybe I didn’t fit his idea of a detective. “The Escott Agency. Sounds . . . interesting.”

  “Yeah, sometimes it’s a real riot.”

  He finished his drink, putting it on the table, and helped himself to a chocolate, chewing it slowly. Before he could continue his questioning, Bobbi came in, a noisy crowd at her heels.

  “Jack!” Nothing false in her reaction of pleasure at seeing me. She gave me a light kiss, careful of her makeup.

  “I got away from Charles sooner than I thought.”

  “Good! Look, Archy invited me to dinner, so why don’t we all go out together? That is, if you don’t mind, Archy.”

  He’d risen from the couch as soon as she’d come in and seemed nonplussed. “Well . . . ah . . . ”

  “Is there a problem?” she asked. “It’s been a long day, maybe you’re too tired?” Having quickly figured there was something wrong, she was trying to give him a graceful exit.

  “Ix-nay on the inner-day,” said Grant, abruptly switching on a rueful face and holding his palms out. “For now at least. After all, I was just pinch-hitting for the real thing. Your boyfriend’s here to take charge, so I will diplomatically toddle off.”

  “But, Archy—”

  “Three’s one too many. Just be on time for tomorrow’s rehearsal, little teacup.” As before, he bowed to kiss her hand, then swung past, wishing me good night with a quick nod and a forced smile. Even its pretense didn’t quite reach his eyes.

  The crowd of chorus girls hanging outside, attracted by
Archy’s brighter light and his loud, broad greeting to them all, went with him, and I shut the door.

  “What happened?” Bobbi asked in the silence.

  “Absolutely nothing. I came in to wait for you and found I had to get in line.”

  Her mouth sagged. “I hope you didn’t mean that as some kind of crack.” Her voice was oddly thin.

  I realized just too late what I’d sounded like. “For God’s sake, no. It’s nothing against you, it’s just him. He gets under my skin. I didn’t expect him to be here.”

  “No need to worry, I’d have left the door open,” she said, going to her dressing table and taking off the black wig. Her movements were alarmingly fast and jerky.

  “Jeez, Bobbi, you can’t think I’d think anything like that of you! And certainly not after last night.”

  She didn’t make any reply. There looked to be too many of them hovering on her lips. She gulped, taking a few breaths. “Did you hypnotize him into leaving?”

  “No! Of course not!” What the hell was going on here? “I promised you I wouldn’t interfere, but you’re making me worried. Did you really want to go out to dinner with him?”

  “If I did, it would be for business reasons. But what am I to think when I come in here and see you looking like a volcano about to erupt?”

  “That maybe your boyfriend is ticked off at another man who’s trying to move in on you and pretty much rubbing my face in it. I thought I was cute when I got jealous.”

  “Not that way you aren’t. For a minute you looked just like Slick used to.”

  The dawn finally came. A tightness I’d not been aware of eased from my shoulders, as everything made sense again. I walked toward her. “Come here.” I opened my arms and pulled her close.

  She stiffened.

  “Come on, angel.”

  She resisted, trying to push away. “I’ll get greasepaint on your suit.”

  “Another suit I can get. Another you would be impossible. Come here.”

  She allowed me to gingerly hold her and hiccuped a few times, but still resisted.

  I whispered, “I’m not going to turn into Slick and never will. That’s my cast-iron guarantee to you. If I should ever be so stupid, you kick me right in the pants, front or back, as high as you want to go.”

  Another kind of sound from her. Something halfway between a moan and a whimper. She hated to cry, but the tension had to go somewhere, so having it leak out of her eyes was the method this time. I could hold her closer now that she’d relaxed. “How come.” She gulped. “How come. You’re. So damned nice?”

  I moved us toward the dressing table, scooped up a box of tissues, and eased my hug enough so she could get to them. She plucked several and blew her nose a lot.

  “Because of this,” I said. “The last line.” From my pocket I drew out a slightly crumpled paper and unfolded it. It was the note she’d written me. “I believe what’s here, especially the last line.”

  Maybe that was a mistake. She read it and then really started to cry. But she was laughing at the same time, and it gave her more hiccups.

  AFTER we traded sufficient hugs, kisses, and reassurances, I left so she could change and clean up in peace. I’d buy her that late supper at a place she liked, then take her home. In the meantime I asked around and heard that Gordy was at one of the back tables way up on the third tier. The view of the stage was so-so, but the location was dark and discreet. He and Adelle Taylor were working on what looked to be their second bottle of champagne, and whatever he was saying seemed to be pleasing her. She was elegant again tonight in black satin and diamonds.

  I was going to ask him if he’d had his talk with Ike, but changed my mind. Far be it from me to interrupt a budding romance.

  The crowd had thinned to diehards with the conclusion of the show, lingering over their last drinks and conversations. Someone in the sound booth had put a record on in place of the long-gone Melodians, and piped its music over everyone’s head. Soft dance stuff, but no one was dancing. It was Sunday night and most would have to leave soon to totter off Monday morning to deal with short sleep, hangovers, and work.

  To be strictly accurate, it was Monday already, but I’d never bought into that one-day-changes-to-the-next-at-midnight thing. It was Sunday until I woke up tomorrow and not before.

  On the other side of the room I noticed that Grant was still hanging around. He was at Ike LaCelle’s table with Dalhauser and the Carole Lombard blonde. She looked sleepy and bored. The three men had their heads together; Grant did most of the talking, and did his talking to Ike. Ike had on a serious face and kept nodding to show he understood. Maybe I was flattering myself, but I thought my ears should be burning again.

  The impulse came over me to vanish and float up there for some eavesdropping, but by the time I was ready to act on it, Grant and the others stood to go. LaCelle helped the blonde to her feet, but she was more interested in trying to get a grip on Archy Grant’s arm. She woke up enough to keep flashing him an inviting, if bleary-eyed smile. LaCelle laughed and took the unsteady lead. None of them saw me as they went out, but then I was standing very still in a patch of shadow. They’d either forgotten about Adelle having been in their group or knew she was being looked after.

  I kept an eye on them from a distance, but they only collected their coats and hats. LaCelle made a phone call, probably for a taxi, then they all went outside, sheltering under the awning from a sudden rain. Their pending departure didn’t exactly make me sigh in relief, but I did feel better. The real relief would be when the radio show was concluded and things could get back to normal.

  On the other hand, if Bobbi went over really big—and there was no reason to think she wouldn’t—then she might have regular return spots on the show. Grant could become a chronic problem.

  If I let him.

  I’d promised Bobbi not to influence him concerning her career. I never said anything about curbing his romantic impulses. All I needed was a couple minutes with him to make him back off on the flowers-and-candy routine. If I was subtle about it, made it a gradual thing, even Bobbi wouldn’t notice the change, and he sure as hell wouldn’t be aware of it.

  He’d underestimated me, Bobbi, and our connection to each other, which annoyed me more than anything else. Poking sticks at tigers was fine, but this particular tiger wasn’t restrained by any cage.

  After giving them enough time for their cab to come and go, I went out and brought my car around so Bobbi wouldn’t have to walk far in the downpour. She had an understandable fear of catching cold. I put the heap in a no-parking zone right out the front, but one of the guys promised to watch it for me in case a bored cop cruised by. Fat chance of that happening here, most of the cops knew to give the place a wide berth so long as Gordy kept up with payoff money.

  Bobbi emerged, scrubbed and ravenous. It had begun to rain, so I hustled her into the Buick, and off we went to an all-night diner that, according to her, was both cheap and good. I bought her a meal, ordered yet another cup of coffee I would never drink, and worked hard not to breathe in the food fumes while she ate. We talked about this and that, and I was glad things were easy and fine between us again. I did not mention to her my decision about Grant, nor did it seem important to call her attention to the car that followed us from the Nightcrawler.

  It waited across the street. From our rain-spattered window I could see it from the corner of my eye. Bobbi and I were in a well lighted booth, very visible from the street, but I wasn’t worried about someone taking a shot at us. If that happened, the shot would be for me not her, and I was fairly certain there would be no shooting until and unless she was well out of the picture.

  She filled my ear with what had gone on at the rehearsals that day, for she’d done two, one at the radio station and one back at the club, helping Adelle.

  “Poor thing,” she said. “It’s exhausting. She has to memorize the songs and get the dance steps down in such a short time. The songs are no problem, she can do that at home
, but the dance routines she needs to practice with the others to get the timing. Then she has to put it all together with the singing and make it look smooth.”

  “I thought it took weeks to do that kind of thing.” I remembered all the work Bobbi had put into just this one show.

  “It takes weeks to develop, but once a routine is set, then it’s a matter of memorization and practice. Adelle got all that by the end of the day, she’s a hell of a hard worker. Now she has to polish it.”

  “So it doesn’t look like work?”

  “Exactly. I’ve got it much easier with the radio job because I can have the music in front of me to read from, and I don’t have to memorize the script so much as learn it enough to make sure the lines are funny when I say them.”

  “Adelle must be pretty good to pick it up so fast.”

  “Oh, she’s wonderful. She was having a ball clowning around with that dragon’s head. It’s a different kind of comedy than she’s used to doing, but she’s great at it. Maybe I should worry about her turning out to be better in the show than me.”

  I told her not to worry. “How did she let herself get talked into doing this on such short notice? I mean, it looks like she’s giving up her star spot to you.”

  Bobbi made a face. “It’s complicated.”

  “I’m reasonably smart.”

  “And it brings up a sore subject.”

  “I expected Grant to be involved. Go on.”

  “The story I heard was that he got to talking with Gordy about my radio spot, then had a brainstorm about Adelle taking my place for the night of the broadcast so I could be free to do the whole thing.”

  “And you got this story from . . . ?”

  “Gordy. Of course, Archy didn’t really get the brainstorm right there and then. He’d obviously thought it all through. Gordy knew better, but let him play it out and agreed to be the one to talk Adelle into it. Apparently he didn’t have to talk much. He made her a generous offer for the loan of her talent to the club show, and she’s going to get her pay for the broadcast as well.”