The fire followed us, and we hurried outside to the sidewalk, just ahead of the crowd. The dealers, showgirls and guests followed us, calling out in panic as the fire spread throughout the Duat Grand. We didn’t stop running until we reached the sidewalk, and then looked back and saw the great stone building, going up like a candle in that neon city. Sirens started whining, a fire truck and cop cars threaded their way through the choked street. We sat back and watched the casino burn.
“You guys saved me,” Henry Wallace said. He smiled at Weatherby. “Thank you.”
“It was no trouble, my friend,” Weatherby said proudly. “None at all.” He pointed down the sidewalk. “Oh, it appears your erstwhile father has returned.”
Sly Baum hurried down the sidewalk, running awkwardly around firemen and onlookers. He swept his son in a fierce hug. “Oh, my boy, you’re okay, you’re okay!” He kissed Henry Wallace and then looked up at me and Weatherby. “You kept him safe?”
“That we did,” I agreed.
“Swell. You’re up far past your bedtime, sport. Let’s head back to the hotel.” Sly and Henry Wallace started heading away. The boy waved to Weatherby and Evelyn, and they waved back.
As Sly and Henry Wallace left, a long limousine pulled over next to me. The tinted window rolled down slowly. A bandaged face looked back at me. Don Vizzini held out an envelope that was fat with dough.
I took the cash and stuffed it into my trench coat. “Looks like I did your job for you,” I told the Don. “Nestor Caduceus – and his casino – are finished.”
“Excellent. And you will soon see that I have doubled the fee we previously agreed upon. You have saved my organization a great deal of time and effort. You have my gratitude.” Don Vizzini’s bandaged face was inscrutable. He was already nodding to his driver. “Perhaps we will have need of your services in the future, Mr. Candle.”
“Sounds swell,” I muttered, but the limousine was already speeding away.
I opened the envelope and started counting the money. “Say, kiddo,” I told Weatherby. “The Don didn’t lie. This is double our fee – a regular fortune. What do you say we head to the classiest hotel in town and pick up a pair of thick steaks for dinner?” But Weatherby wasn’t listening. He was standing next to Evelyn, folding his hands and tapping a foot nervously on the sidewalk.
Evelyn turned around and looked at him. She smiled. “Hello, Weatherby,” she said.
“Hello,” Weatherby repeated. “Say, um, Miss Dearborn?”
“Evelyn, please.”
“Evelyn.” Weatherby said her name and smiled. “Would you like a milkshake? I’d pay for it, I mean. And have one, as well. Or we could share one. But getting the milkshake together would be the important thing.” He was flustered and nervous, but when I saw Evelyn’s grin, I knew he had made his case just fine.
“That would be lovely,” Evelyn said. “My father can drive us there, and pick us up when we finish.”
Weatherby turned back to me. The kid was beaming. I gave him a quick nod, and saw him and Evelyn head to her father’s Rambler sedan. Weatherby was a cynic and a know-it-all – in everything that didn’t have to do with people. He was honest, nervous and sweet, and Evelyn saw all of that in him.
As they headed away, I looked back up the sidewalk and saw Miss Rosa Dominguez hurrying away, a suitcase in each hand. I thought about calling to her, to apologize – and this time for real – for every name I had called her and everything I had made her do. Caduceus was a child-murdering bastard, but he had kept her safe and paid for her, and now that was finished.
But as she passed me, Miss Rosa shot me a glance that could wither grass. Any chance of an apology died with that glance. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and I couldn’t blame her. I treated her like a heel, and I deserved her hatred and plenty of it.
Out of me and Weatherby, maybe I was the better detective. But he was the better person.
The Hollow
I staggered into the bar, needing a drink like a fish needs water. I was reeling, shaking from head to toe with a feeling of terror and doom that I couldn’t shift, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to try. I slumped onto the bar, and put my hands on the worn wood. The bartender had white hair on his chin but none on his head, and he passed me a bottle without a word. That was fine by me. I wasn’t in the mood for talking.
The joint was some hillbilly saloon, nestled in a green and hilly corner of the Appalachians. Like everything in those wild green mountains, it was old, rickety, poor and rough. The moonshine tasted like liquid fire, burning my throat as it settled into the center of my chest. That was good. I needed the fire. I’d need a damn good blaze if I wanted to burn up what I was feeling.
My partner, Weatherby Stein, and I went to the Appalachians for a case. It was a strange one, and the client was right to call Mort Candle and Weatherby Stein – detectives dealing in bizarre business that gave normal guys nightmares. We came into a small Virginia town, a mining camp, and got our orders, and then went into the hills to the place called Witch’s Hollow. That’s where things had gone bad. I had gotten out. Weatherby hadn’t. And now I was drinking, leaning on the wooden bar and trying to figure out my next move.
A thin handed rested on my shoulder. I perked up, turning around and looking into the familiar, pretty face of a young woman. Of all the dames in world, she was the one I didn’t want to bump into at that moment. Her name was Selena Stein, and my partner was her kid brother.
“Mr. Candle?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”
“Getting plastered.” Selena was a nice girl, a college student in New York studying anthropology. She cared deeply for her brother, and if she knew what was going on, she’d insist on trying to help. That would put her in danger, and neither Weatherby nor I wanted that. “What are you doing out here in hillbilly country?”
Selena was smart as a whip. She knew something was rotten. “I’m studying the local folklore,” she explained. “The professor was very impressed by my paper on Hawaiian customs, and he’s anxious for me to do something similar with the local traditions and beliefs here in Appalachia.” She leaned forward. “Where exactly is Weatherby?”
I looked at her. She was a slim girl, with Weatherby’s dark hair going just past her ears. She had a pleasant round face and wore a rugged collared shirt under a worn leather jacket and jeans. She wasn’t the kind of person I’d want with me, not when I had the Heart of Darkness as my destination and horror and death as my traveling companions.
“He’s doing a little legwork for the case,” I said. “It doesn’t concern you, sister. Why don’t you do both of us a favor and dangle.”
But Selena didn’t leave. Weatherby was all the family she had left. “Mr. Candle,” he said. “Is my brother in trouble? If so, I demand that you take me to him. I know this territory. There must be something I can do to help Weatherby.” She stared at me, her eyes going narrow and her mouth becoming a thin line.
I cracked like cheap plastic. I put my hands in my trench coat and looked into the whiskey. “We were hired by Clayton Crabbpatch,” I said. “You know the Crabbpatches, I bet.” They were one of the big clans out here in the country, with more branches than Western Union. That many men gave them a power unmatched in the backwoods, and they ran moonshine and rackets that would put Capone to shame. “He wanted us to find his daughter. Her name’s Charity. She’s around your age.”
“And what happened to her?” Selena wondered.
I shifted uneasily in my seat. “She was taken to the Hollow. Witch’s Hollow. I bet you’ve heard of that too.”
“I have,” Selena said, her voice dropping so the other barflies couldn’t hear. “It’s cursed, Mr. Candle, a forbidden section of the woods. The haints, as they are called in local terminology, gather there, along with witches and other devils. A coal mine opened there in the twenties, and cave-ins and many deaths led to its speedy abandonment. No one ventures there, not without very good reason.”
“
We had good reason, sister – a fat stack of dough. We drove in, expecting a milk run. What we got was anything but.” I shivered as I thought about it. “There were dozens of them, flying around like buzzing insects. They were women and men – but they were red, blood-red, and glistening in the sunlight. They laughed, like they had just heard the best joke in the world, and then they swept down and pulled Weatherby right out of the Buick.”
“Great God,” Selena whispered. “Witches. They shed their skin, you know, when they take to the air. And they have Weatherby.” She looked at the rickety wood of the bar and closed her eyes. It was getting dark outside, and a shadow passed across her face. When she opened her eyes, she fixed me with a glare that could break stone. “Right,” she said, coming to her feet. “We’re going after him.”
“Nix on that,” I said. “You’re staying here, sister. Weatherby wouldn’t want the only family he’s got left riding into Hell because of him, and I don’t want that either. Stay here and take in the local color for your homework assignment, and leave the bloodshed to someone who can handle it.”
She slapped my face. It stung. “Mr. Candle, I will rescue my baby brother.” Selena folded her arms and stared straight at me. “I am no stranger to occult horror, and my knowledge of local customs will no doubt help me succeed where you have failed. I am indebted to you for saving Weatherby and keeping him safe at Castle Stein, but I can’t stand by while his life is in danger. I am going with you, and if you don’t like it…” She tried to think of an appropriate insult. “Well, if you don’t like it, you can go jump in a lake!”
I didn’t like it, but there was no away around it. Either I brought the twist along or she’d raise a stink. I leaned back in my barstool. “The boiler’s outside,” I said. “Let’s go. I’ve got enough guns and ammo in the back to take on an army – which I think we’ll have to do.”
“We’ll do nothing of the sort,” Selena explained. “Going in guns blazing didn’t work the first time, and it won’t work a second time. We’ll need the proper sort of weapons to defeat the witches – ones that have been blessed by a local priest. And I know just the guy to do the blessing.”
“So you’re in charge now?”
“My brother is in trouble, you seem to know next to nothing about our foes, and I do,” Selena replied. “So, yes, I am in charge. Are you upset about that?”
I shrugged. “I’m upset enough about having you along at all. Lead on, sister. I’ll just sit back and watch.”
She shook her head and came to her feet. She left the bar and I followed. Selena and I didn’t say what we were both thinking about – the fear that grew inside of us and gnawed away like a mad animal. Those witches might have already torn Weatherby to shreds, and there’d be nothing left for us to save but bloody scraps. If that was the case, I planned on taking out every witch and leaving the Hollow strewn with their guts.
Selena directed me to a rundown little church. It was a ways down the road, a chapel surrounded by the woods and half-overgrown. The steeple was bent, the white paint was peeling and the yard was covered with weeds and shrubs. There were tombstones in that yard dating back to before the Civil War, the names and dates long since eroded into nothingness. It wouldn’t surprise me if the place was abandoned. But Selena had me stop the Roadmaster and we stepped outside.
“You know this church?” I asked, as we walked to the double doors.
“I’ve done quite a bit of research here.” Selena pulled open the doors and entered.
There were holes in the roof. Once the fading sunlight managed to get through the cover of dark green trees, shafts of it reached down into the church and that was all the illumination there was. Worn pews stood before a small pulpit. The church was empty, except for one guy, and he stood at the pulpit looking down at a bible with sad, dark eyes.
He had dark skin, but he wasn’t a Negro. His features belonged on a white man, with a strong nose, hollow cheeks, straight snowy white hair and eyes like pits. He wore a dark suit with a stiff white collar. Selena noticed my confusion. “Reverend Sharp is a Melungeon,” she explained. “He has African, Cherokee and white ancestry.” She smiled up at him, and he looked up from his reading. “Reverend Sharp!” Selena called. “Are you busy?”
“No, Miss Stein. Not for you.” He closed the book like he was happy to stop reading it. Reverend Sharp walked over to Selena and clasped her hands. He gave her a look that would have gotten him thrown out of any seminary. “But it’s a little late for an interview, I think.”
“I’m not here for an interview, sir,” Selena said. She nodded to me. “Revered Sharp, this is Morton Candle. He’s a detective. He works with my brother, Weatherby. I’ve told you about him—and Weatherby – before.”
“You even showed me pictures,” the priest said. He gave me a hand and I took it. He had a weak grip. “I’m the Reverend Elias Sharp. I’m the shepherd of this little flock, such as it is.” He looked back to Selena. “My child, you look a little scared. What’s wrong?”
“Weatherby’s been taken,” Selena explained. “To Witch’s Hollow.”
“Oh no. Oh Lord Jesus, no.” Reverend Sharp walked back to his pulpit. He sat down, a sudden weight slamming into his shoulders. “They are children of the devil, Miss Stein, they truly are. If he’s with them, then he is lost.”
Selena and I followed him. I looked at the front pews and saw empty bottles leaning against the crumbling wood. Something told me they had contained liquid stronger than communion wine. I frowned. Reverend Sharp might be good for bumping gums about local yokel superstitions, but I didn’t think he could help us.
“I refuse to give up,” Selena replied. “I told you about what happened to my family. Weatherby faced Hell in Castle Stein, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. Well, it won’t happen again. Mr. Candle and I will go into the Hollow and save his life. But we need your help, sir. You’ve spoken to me about what faith means to you. How you’ve heard the Word of God as a child, calling you to the priesthood. I’m certain you can—”
“I was pulling your leg, Miss Stein,” Sharp said suddenly. He sighed deeply and looked away. “A pretty girl comes in, asking me about matters of religion. I told you what I thought you wanted to hear. I told what’d make you happy. I ain’t never heard of the Word of God. I got into this job because I figured I could make fast cash on it, and I was mistaken.”
“W-what?” Selena stared in utter surprise at the reverend.
“No surprises there,” I muttered. “You got any other bright ideas, sister? Maybe we ought to belt out some gospel tunes, or go to Bible Study?”
Selena acted like she hadn’t heard me. “But you spoke with such conviction, such commitment. You can’t tell me you were lying!”
“Before I started ministering, I did swindles and con games on the streets of Pigeon Forge, Tennessee,” Reverend Sharp explained. “I started selling Bibles, and made good money down in New Orleans. I got a notion into my head that I could make more money if I put on a preacher’s collar, so I stole one from a drunk in Atlanta, and I’ve been spreading the Good Word ever since. I am a tired and old man, and came up here to spend the end of my life, where I figured I could say what I wanted, sip corn liquor, and no one would mind, on account of them loving Jesus so damn much.”
“How’s that working out for you?” I asked, picking up one of the half-full bottles of liquor and having a sip.
Reverend Sharp shrugged. “They are poor people, Mr. Candle. They say a prayer, they get some hope, and they keep on living, one day to the next. I’m good enough for that.” He couldn’t meet Selena’s gaze. “But when it comes to battling a couple of honest-to-God servants of Satan, I would be useless, Miss Stein. I’m sorry, but that’s the way it is. Holy weapons ain’t got nothing if there’s no faith behind them. And I got no faith. I’m just an old coward who likes his drink a little too much.”
I looked back to Selena Stein. She came to her feet. For a while, I thought she was gonna slug the old preacher i
n the jaw. But instead, she reached out and touched his shoulder. “I refuse to believe that, Reverend,” she said. “Perhaps you think that you were lying to me, that you have no faith. But I know otherwise. You’re a good man, and you can help my brother.”
“Ah, Miss Stein, I don’t know if—”
“Faith is not a matter of knowledge,” Selena explained. “You’ve got to test yourself, Reverend. And I think, when the time comes, you’ll pass.” She lowered her eyes. For a second, I thought she was gonna start crying. But she was stronger than that. Stronger than most dames I know. “Please,” she said. “I have to do this. I have to save my brother.”
The Reverend looked down at his bible. He picked it up. “You’re gonna go down to the Hollow,” he said. “Whether I come along or not?”
“That’s right.”
“Well, I guess I’ll come, then. But you’re a good girl, Miss Stein. You deserve a holy crusader by your side — someone far better than me.” He tucked the worn Bible under his arm. “I’ll make some preparations,” he said. He walked down from the pulpit and knelt over the bottles of whiskey. He blessed the half-empty jars of booze, one after the other.
Selena and I watched him. “You really think this old man is gonna help us?” I asked. “I know the type, sister – he’s a rat, a worm bathing in his own slime. He uses people, talking about God while he reaches for their wallets. He’s played dozens of people. He’s been playing you.”
“He’s our only hope,” Selena replied. “He’s Weatherby’s only hope. You’re a cynic, Mr. Candle. I am an optimist, and so is Weatherby.”
“You sure about that?” I asked. “What he went through would turn anyone against their fellow man.”
“I’m sure,” she replied. “He may try and hide it, but he’s still got the hopes and goodness and innocence of any child.” She broke away from me, and walked over to Reverend Sharp.
“This might help,” Sharp explained as he handed her some of his bottles, and she carried them in her arm. Holy whiskey. I’d laugh, if the situation wasn’t so bad. “And I have my Bible. I’ve tried my hardest. But I don’t know if it’ll work.”
The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) Page 13
