X-Rated Bloodsuckers fg-2

by Mario Acevedo

  "No. Why? Haven't you?"

  "Not for a few days."

  Polly's chuckle turned into a stinging laugh. "What kind of a bonehead investigator loses his client?"

  "I haven't lost her…"

  "Lost, misplaced, whatever. Hope you find her." Polly lowered the sunglasses over her eyes and started from the tree back toward the grave. She waved for me to tag along. "All right, Mr. Bad Ass PI. You came to ask about Fred Daniels. Let's talk to an expert."

  We walked toward the paunchy man with the ball cap.

  "You know how Fred died?" I asked Polly.

  "An overdose, according to the coroner. Cocaine and that shit Rush Limbaugh was hooked on, OxyContin."

  "How do you know?"

  "A nurse on our staff has friends working the morgue."

  "When did Fred die?"

  "Wednesday night. Kaput in the men's room of a dive in El Monte."

  That meant Fred died only hours after Coyote and I had seen him. "Who found him?"

  "Don't know. Read last Saturday's Times. That's where I got the news."

  "That's it?" I asked. "He died of a drug overdose. No foul play?"

  "Not according to the coroner," Polly answered. "Didn't surprise me. See, Fred's house caught fire…"

  How could I forget? Coyote started the blaze by pissing flames.

  "Fred wasn't much for handling stress," Polly continued. "The least bit of anxiety would have him reaching for booze, pills, or nose blow. He'd been to my clinic several times."

  "For what? STDs?"

  Polly shook her head. "Drug addiction. It wasn't a problem until he was broke and couldn't afford them. Then he'd get some money and ditch therapy."

  "What did Roxy see in him?"

  "Blame it on timing, I suppose. You know Roxy went through a bad spell. The medical board thing. Fred was there for her. Together they'd start over as the first couple of porn. She thrived in the business while Fred…" Polly's voice trailed away. "Offstage he was as randy as a billy goat, but aim a camera at his pecker and it wilted like a noodle. His nickname on the set was Lack-of-Wood Daniels."

  The man with the paunch looked glum, uneasy with his role as the recipient of all the forced condolences and feigned sorrow. His face was as weather-beaten as a tree stump. His cap said DANIELS LANDSCAPING and he wore a navy petty officer insignia for a tie tack.

  Polly and I halted before him, at the edge of a bubble of stinking whiskey breath. He looked at her face, then her breasts, me, her breasts again, and back to her face.

  Polly waited for his eyes to make the round-trip before introducing him as Henry, Fred Daniels' older brother from Sacramento. She told him my name and business here.

  Henry pulled his gaze from Polly's bosom and stared at me. His eyes were glossy with 150 proof. He sneered. "You wanna know about Fred?"

  Chapter Thirty

  Henry said, "I've been wiping Fred's ass since his birth. He's a goddamn pain even dead. Left me with his burned-out house, debts, this funeral."

  "Sorry to hear that," I said.

  "Why? It isn't your problem." Henry looked through me. He even ignored Polly and her mountains. Fred's brother seemed content to let his drunken buzz hold the world at a distance.

  "I do have a problem," I replied. "Your brother might have had information about Roxy."

  Henry brought his gaze to my eyes. "About her murder?"

  "Maybe," I replied.

  "Meaning you think he killed her?"

  "I never said that."

  Henry chuffed. "Fred was too big a pussy."

  He hadn't had a problem shooting at me. I asked, "Did Fred tell you something?"

  The drunkenness ebbed from Henry's demeanor and he frowned as if the return of sobriety annoyed him. "Fred told me a lot of shit."

  "He ever mention Cragnow Vissoom?"

  Henry adjusted his cap and set it lower on his brow, like a gate locking into place.

  I wanted to snatch his beard and zap him into answering. But I couldn't, not here at the funeral, not in front of so many people.

  "I'd like to hear what Fred told you," Polly said. "As a favor to me."

  Henry looked at her. His frown turned up at the corners as he fell under the spell of her breasts.

  "Fred was always bumming money," Henry said, losing himself in her cleavage, "and when he got around to paying me back, he bragged that he scored big from Cragnow."

  "Scored?" I asked. "You mean drugs?" I was certain Cragnow didn't nurse his high with anything but booze, and pedaling drugs wasn't on his resume.

  Henry pulled his eyes from Polly and toward me. "Not drugs, money. Like he had something on Cragnow."

  "Something what?"

  Henry waved calloused hands to signal ignorance. "I never asked because I didn't want to know."

  Maybe Fred's «something» was knowledge of Roxy's murder and other crimes.

  Katz Meow had hired me and now she was missing. Coyote and I went to see Rebecca Dwelling and found her ass-end-up in a Dumpster. We talked to Fred and hours later, he was takeout for the morgue. Someone was making sure that a visit with me was a death sentence.

  "Maybe Fred didn't die of an accidental overdose," I said, hoping to spur Henry into revealing more.

  His eyes narrowed, and I got the impression of a clam closing tight. "I quit worrying about Fred a long time ago."

  "Then you won't mind if I look through his house?"

  "I do mind."

  "Might be a help to me," Polly said.

  Henry glanced at her face, started to look away, then fixed on her bosom.

  Henry closed his eyes. "I can't. Going through Fred's things is family business." Henry faced me. He brought a hand up to shield his face, not from the sun but from her breasts. "If I find anything suspicious, I'll give it to the cops." His sneer returned. "Get it from them."

  The minister interrupted. "I need my speaking honorarium. You got cash?"

  Henry gave me the shoulder. Even if he had nothing more to say, I resented the brush-off. I'd decide when the conversation was over.

  Polly tugged at my sleeve. "There'll be another time, Felix."

  She was right. I'd drop by Fred's house later and poke around. If Henry objected, I'd make him squirm under hypnosis.

  Polly led me to the pavement and we turned toward the parking area. Her heels ticked a rapid beat across the asphalt.

  "Think Fred's death and Roxy's have something in common?" asked Polly.

  "I don't know. Anyway, thanks for getting Fred to talk."

  "Don't thank me, thank the girls." Polly laid a hand across her breasts.

  "Let's talk about Cragnow Vissoom," I said. "What are your dealings with him?"

  "None. He came on the porn scene after I left, thank goodness."

  "What's your impression of him?"

  "A complete dick-head. From what I've heard. We may have been at the same parties or banquets, but I've never said as much as boo to him."

  "Let me toss out another name. Lucius Rosario."

  "You mean Lucky?" she asked. "There's a bottom-feeder for you. He bankrolls Cragnow's productions and as dividends, snacks on the stray pussy."

  "What about Mordecai Niphe?"

  "The doctor? He was the one who got Roxy's medical license pulled after she snitched on him. Grapevine says he's helped Lucky Rosario over the years."

  "In what way?" I asked.

  "Mostly real estate."

  "Councilwoman Petale Venin?"

  "Ever wonder," Polly replied, "What would happen if you mated a shark with a bulldozer?"

  "She's that subtle? What's her relationship with Cragnow?"

  "As far as I know, none other than the usual influence peddling," Polly said. "This is L. A. The land is paved with crooked politics and shady deals."

  I let the next name slip out casually. "The Reverend Dale Journey."

  Polly halted. Her lips bunched into a snarl. "That son of a bitch. Journey's done his best to shut off what tiny drops of funding Open Han
d gets from the government. Meanwhile that pious bastard swims in tubs of money provided for his 'faith-based initiatives.' Seems he can't tutor school kids or feed the elderly without a new Mercedes every year."

  "Would Journey have anything to do with Cragnow?"

  "You're kidding? Of course not. That'd be like Larry Flynt and Billy Graham meeting for coffee and donuts. Why do you ask?"

  "Because Cragnow and Journey both had the same real estate broker, Rosario."

  Polly repeated the name. "Interesting. For Journey to have contact with Cragnow, even through a go-between like Rosario, would be political suicide."

  I studied Polly. "You know Roxy had a sister?"

  "Where?"

  "Here in L.A."

  Polly kept silent for a moment. "Wow. She never mentioned a sister." Polly started walking again. "And I don't remember meeting any of Roxy's relatives at the memorial service."

  Polly stopped beside a white Infiniti sedan and pulled a remote and keys from her purse. "I've got to get back to the office." She clicked the remote, and the sedan's lights flashed. She reached back into her purse and produced a business card. "In case any more questions come up, call or email."

  I took the card and put it in my shirt pocket. "Thanks." I needed to verify what Polly told me, and for that I had to be alone with her. "I'm parked down the way. Could you give a lift?"

  "Sure."

  We sat in the sweltering interior of the Infiniti, I in the front passenger's side and Polly behind the wheel. While she fit the keys into the ignition, I removed my sunglasses and contacts.

  "Polly?"

  She turned the air conditioner up full blast and looked at me.

  I plucked the sunglasses off her nose. Her hands jerked up and her gaze locked on mine.

  Those blue-gray eyes dilated into black circles. Her aura shone like a red lamp. It'd be a treat to fang her and play around-easy enough, considering the tinted windows and the sunshade on the dash gave some privacy-but not now. Business first.

  I kneaded her hands and asked my questions. Polly was an easy read. She didn't kill Roxy. She didn't know who did. Everything she told me was the truth. And she knew nothing of vampires.

  I put on my contacts and sunglasses. I returned Polly's sunglasses to the bridge of her nose and commanded her to awaken. She rolled her head in a confused, where am I motion.

  "Anything the matter?" I asked.

  She touched her temple. "Must be the heat. And the strain."

  "Of what?"

  "I feel like a lout for saying it. Managing Open Hand. Fred was the second of my former clients that I buried this month."

  "Really?"

  "There's no connection," Polly said. "The other client died of HIV-related pneumonia. Open Hand's like a conveyor belt, the same faces and problems coming at you over and over. It's worn me out. I could use a change. Any ideas?"

  "Change of what?" I asked.

  She sighed. "Everything."

  "What are you looking for?"

  "A different kind of man, for starters." Polly folded the sunshade and tossed it onto the backseat. She put the Infiniti into drive. "Felix, when I find him, I'll let you know."

  Chapter Thirty-one

  The conversation with Polly made me want to go quiz Rosario, Cragnow, and Journey. Plus corner Niphe and question him until I got tired of listening. And there was someone I hadn't yet introduced myself to: Councilwoman Petale Venin. I moved her to the top of my list so I could learn what levers she pulled in this conspiracy.

  I drove into downtown Los Angeles, parked, and made my way to city hall. In L.A., everything, even the government buildings, led double lives for the camera, and this art deco structure had once served as the home of the Daily Planet in the Superman TV show. For the longest time, it was the tallest building in the city by ordinance, but it has since been dwarfed by the surrounding banks and corporate offices, the real seats of power.

  I climbed the steps into the lobby. Velvet ropes funneled traffic to a security checkpoint with an X-ray machine and a metal detector. How could I get past with my pistol? A notice on an easel pointed left toward a counter and said that everyone had to show a badge or sign in.

  A man in a business suit stepped around me, barking, "Excuse me," and glaring, as if I was slowing him down from getting his asshole-of-the-year award. He halted at the counter and signed in with the attending cop, an LAPD officer. The cop selected a badge from the board behind him. The man clipped the badge to his lapel and continued inside, bypassing the security checkpoint.

  The cop went back to glancing at a book. When I approached, the cop closed the book, Selling Your Screenplay, and flipped it upside down to hide the title.

  Deep wrinkles mapped years on his tanned face. No doubt he was tired of being a career police officer.

  He pointed to a clipboard. "Show me an ID and sign in." Next he pushed a sheet of paper name tags toward me. "Write your name on one of these, then go through security."

  I had to show my ID? I didn't want to leave a trail, and I couldn't go through the metal detector. I would hypnotize the cop and get one of those special badges. But he stood on the opposite side of the counter, and with so many people around, zapping him might be a challenge.

  I pointed to the cop's book. "That's a tough racket."

  "You a screenwriter?"

  "I've been optioned. Nothing's made it to film yet, but it pays my bills."

  The cop's eyes glistened with envy. He shook his head. "Man, I've been at it for years and getting nowhere. How do you do it?"

  I leaned close. "There are tricks."

  "Tricks?" He put his weight on the counter and gave an eager grin.

  Perfect. I tapped his book to distract him and removed my contacts. "These kind of tricks."

  He looked up. His aura flashed. His posture relaxed and his mouth dropped open.

  "Give me a badge." I couldn't risk reaching over and grabbing one myself.

  The cop fumbled with the board. He gave me one with numbers written in big red print.

  I fastened the badge to my collar and told the cop. "Stare at your book for ten seconds, then wake up."

  I put my contacts in and walked away. The cop on the other side of the checkpoint acknowledged me with a nod. I gave a smart wave of thanks. Keep up the good work. The bad guys will never sneak past you.

  At the end of the hall, a placard listed the council members by room number. Venin was in 497. I took the elevator to the fourth floor.

  Men and women in power suits filed into the elevator when I got off. The doors closed behind me and I was alone on the floor.

  Venin's office was at the end of the hall, behind a wide wooden door with a frosted glass window bearing her name and title. This investigation was moving at turtle speed. Time to sprint. I removed my contacts again and decided to bust into Venin's office, my vampire eyes blazing. I was going to hypnotize everybody if I had to. If other vampires were inside, well that's why I had my talons and pistol.

  Voices mumbled from inside the room. I put my ear close to the glass pane. The voices quieted. They sensed my presence. Did they expect me, or someone else?

  I tensed my legs and grasped the doorknob.

  Get ready. Vampire attack.

  I pushed the door open and sprang inside.

  A dozen voices yelled, "Surprise."

  Twelve humans stared at me. They crowded inside Venin's office and held garlands and a banner that read: HAPPY BIRTHDAY.

  Their eyes popped open in terror. Waves of panic lashed through their auras. When they twitched to move, I zapped each one in turn, like I was plinking tin cans off a fence.

  I nudged the door shut with my foot. I had to work fast, as this hypnosis wouldn't hold them long. I went down the line and ordered, "Close your eyes and go to sleep." Their arms dropped and they teetered in place.

  Colored balloons floated in the room. A cake sat on a round conference table. The cake frosting said Happy Birthday Cecil.

  I stoppe
d in front of the oldest-looking human, a woman in her thirties. I stared into her eyes to strengthen the hypnosis.

  "Who's Cecil?" I asked.

  "An intern."

  "Where's Venin?"

  "In Sacramento."

  "When will she return?"

  "Late this evening," the woman answered.

  A balloon bounced against my face and I slapped it away. I could rifle through the office but I needed to interrogate Venin. Other than learn she wasn't here, this visit gave me bupkus.

  I told the woman to sleep. After the group woke up, they'd be confused for sure. Maybe word of that confusion would reach Venin, and if she knew anything about vampires, then I would've made her suspect something. So actually, I did worse than bupkus.

  I returned to my car and found a parking ticket stuck under the wiper. The meter had run out.

  I stared back at the city hall building. Venin had given me the slip without even trying. And here I thought of myself as a professional.

  I balled up the parking ticket and flung it into the trash. My superpowers sure did wonders today.

  Hoping to salvage the afternoon, I swung by Katz Meow's town house. It looked more deserted than the first time I visited. With every passing day I was certain I'd never see her alive again.

  At 5 P.M. Veronica called. "We still on?"

  Her voice lightened my gray mood and made all the good parts of me tingle. "It's the only reason I got out of bed."

  "Where are you?" she asked.

  "On the Golden State Freeway. About a half hour from your place."

  "Great. I'll wait out front. See you then." She hung up, and the screen on my cell phone blinked. My date with Veronica would make up for the frustration of what turned out to be a wasted afternoon.

  I finished a coffee frappe mixed with the rest of the blood I'd brought and gobbled Skittles to hide any trace of vampire breath.

  I rounded the corner onto Veronica's street. She stepped from the breezeway of her apartment building. After my time with the uber-voluptuous JJ Jizmee, Veronica looked down-right anorexic. But only for a second. She had plenty of natural padding in all the right places.

  Veronica wore sunglasses and her usual capris, in white, that brought out the caramel tan of her shapely legs. She wore a light blue sleeveless blouse. Veronica exercised, and she liked to show off the results.