Just steps behind his niece, Clayton too entered the living room. “Not to worry, Zoey. Ian over there, he’s why I invited you over this evening. Well, he’s not the only reason.” Clayton chuckled. Zoey crossed the living room over to the couch. She immediately sat herself on the opposite end from Ian.
Clayton made his way back to his chair and plopped down into it as he spoke. “Well, now, introductions are in order.”
Ian twisted slightly to his left so he could better see who he was about to be introduced to.
“Ian, this is my niece, Zoey. Zoey, dear, this is Ian. Ian McBride. I met him yesterday at the book signing. Ian’s a private investigator whose services have been contracted by a family of one of the victims regarding that ugly business that’s been going on in Astoria.”
Zoey, who was already looking directly at Ian, smiled a bright smile as she stood up and approached him to within an arm’s length. Ian then also stood up. Zoey was the first to extend her right hand and speak. “Very nice to meet you, Ian.”
Ian reciprocated in kind as he extended his right hand. “As it is to meet you, Zoey.” The two shared a very cordial handshake.
Zoey then turned and reseated herself back onto the opposite end of the couch. She then spoke up. “Okay, Ian. It’s easy enough to figure out why you’d want to speak to my uncle about that club and its owner. What I can’t figure out is what do I … Why am I here?”
Clayton stood up and walked over to the dining room table. It was sparsely set with just the three plates that he’d previously set out to the now-adjacent pizza boxes. “How about we save the questions until we’ve enjoyed some pizza before it gets any colder? I’ll get the wine. Nothing goes better with pizza than a glass of red wine.”
Ian wasn’t certain about this declaration. He always felt beer was the companion libation of choice with pizza, but as a guest, he kept that to himself.
Zoey and Ian both slowly stood up and walked over to the dining room table. Clayton went into the kitchen and returned with a newly-opened bottle of wine and two glasses. He then left them once again for just a moment, then returned with a glass of his own ... already filled.
The three seated themselves at the table, and Clayton raised his glass. “Here’s to the best things the Italians ever gave to the world: pizza and Chianti. Well, if you don’t count art and the Renaissance, that is.” They all laughed.
“Zoey, I told Ian that you have a hair salon downtown. He’s going to attempt his hand at undercover work to somewhat infiltrate the world of that nightclub The Morgue. But as I’m sure you’d agree, he’s going to need to significantly change his appearance in order to have any chance of success.”
Zoey nearly choked on her pizza as she looked at Ian, clearly trying to imagine him in a place like that. “Yes, well, Unc … I’m not a magician.” she blurted out. She then followed her previous statement with the standard disclaimer. “No offense intended.”
Ian smiled as he looked at Zoey over his glass of wine as he replied, “None taken.”
Zoey began looking Ian over, “Well, he’s already pasty-white like the rest of us this time of year. So he’s got that going for him. I suppose if we got him the right clothes. And definitely dyed his hair jet-black. Chopped it a bit to give it sort of an edgy look. And maybe … I don’t know … pierced one of his ears, and gave him a dangly earring. Something like an upside down cross. That and add some dark eyeliner. Who knows? Maybe. Understand, I’ve only been there once. But most of the people that go there, they’re pretty over-the-top even by my standards.” Zoey laughed.
Ian looked directly into Zoey’s eyes. “Could you … Would you be willing to help me with all that? I’d certainly pay you for your time and effort.”
Clayton remained silent. He had a smile on his face that indicated he was to some degree enjoying this.
Zoey kept looking Ian up and down as if she was sizing him up in more ways than one. “Yeah … Yeah, I could pull this off. That is, if, like you said, you’re willing to pay me for my time. And you’re willing to buy all the clothes needed. You know, like biker square-toe boots, black pants, maybe leather. And a black shirt of some kind and …”
Ian smiled as he interrupted her and answered, “Absolutely!” But what he was really thinking was, Good God. I’m gonna look like Billy Idol meets Johnny Cash.
Zoey, still looking directly at Ian, took a deep breath. “Just one more thing.”
“What’s that?” Ian asked without hesitation.
Zoey continued, “To not draw too much attention to yourself, I mean to have any chance at pulling this off, you’re gonna need someone with you. You know, arm candy. A person to play the role of a willing donor. I know, sick, right? But that place doesn’t just attract Goth types. There’s usually a bunch of vampire role players lurking around. Some of them get pretty into it. You know, they take it pretty far with the cutting and sucking on each other and all that shit.”
Ian tried hard to conceal behind a grin his obvious virginity regarding the subject as he replied, “Donor? Oh yeah, of course. Donor. That’s not a bad idea for appearance’s sake. But who would I …? I mean … I’m not from around here and don’t know any …”
Zoey blurted out, “Well me of course. This all sounds so mysterious and kind of fun!”
Clayton suddenly frowned at the thought of his niece willfully putting herself in harm’s way. He interjected, “Fun or not, it’s potentially very dangerous. Zoey, do you understand me?”
Zoey glaringly flashed her eyes at her uncle. “I can handle myself.”
Ian looked from Zoey over at Clayton. Clayton gave Ian a reluctant but slow, approving nod.
Ian looked back at Zoey and replied, “Okay, that sounds really good. When do we get started?”
Zoey fired back instantly, “How about right away? How about tonight? You can follow me back to my shop. I can color your hair. We can discuss where to go shopping tomorrow. To get you the clothes you’re gonna need. And maybe some for me too, right?”
Ian smiled and nodded.
Zoey continued, “I’ll take the day off tomorrow. You can add a day’s pay to what you’re gonna owe me. Besides, now I have a date for Halloween, assuming that’s at least one of the nights you plan on checking the place out. Seems like it would be a natural. That place’s gonna be crawling with creatures of the night on that night, I promise you.” All three laughed slightly at that. Though Ian was getting more than a tiny bit concerned regarding what this was all going to cost him in terms of money and anything else.
Ian interjected, “Yeah. I’ll … I mean we’ll definitely want to be there on that night for sure.”
They all finished their dinner, and then Zoey told Ian they should get to her shop before it got much later. He agreed. Zoey and Ian said their goodbyes to Clayton and began heading to the front door.
Clayton spoke up. “Ian, hold on for just a … Zoey, go ahead to your car. Ian will be right out. I just want to speak with him for a moment. I won’t keep him but a few minutes.” Zoey did as Clayton asked.
Clayton took hold of Ian’s shoulders. “You take care of that little girl. She means a lot to me.”
Ian smiled as he answered, “I will, Clayton. You have my word.”
Clayton cleared his throat, “Yes. In answer to the question you asked of me earlier, to which I lied. The one you suspect you already know the answer to.” Clayton pulled down the collar of the black turtle-neck shirt, which revealed two small puncture wounds on the side of his neck. The area surrounding the punctures appeared to be very red with dozens of white and blue wavy, streaked veins emanating from the wounds in all directions. It wouldn’t have taken a medical professional to see that what Ian was looking at was most likely a progressively spreading infection.
Clayton spoke, “As you can see, I have a lot at stake in this. As do you. I’ve been bitten only the once but by an ancient: Salizzar. I know he’s an ancient because of the rapid progression of the effects that I am fighting even as w
e speak.”
Clayton then rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt, revealing to Ian razor-blade self-inflicted wounds. Ian quickly deduced that Clayton had been bleeding himself and adding his own blood to his wine. The very thought sickened Ian, though he did a fair job of concealing it.
“You take every caution, Ian. I’ve armed you with knowledge that may only be the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Remember this above all else. Blood to vampires is more intense of an addiction than heroin is to a junkie. Blood is more than merely food to them. Do you understand? As for me, if Salizzar is destroyed, I should recover.”
Ian fired one last question. “Clayton, you said that most real vampires are captains of industry and the like. As such, they would be under much public scrutiny. Someone like that would never risk going out roaming the streets to hunt their prey, would they?”
Clayton smiled, clearly pleased that Ian was such a quick study. “That’s right, Ian. It’s commonly understood that many business tycoons and high-profile famous people have their connections to receive their drugs of choice. In the case of ultra-wealthy vampires, both their food and their drug of addiction is human blood, which I suspect is distributed perhaps world-wide via a very sophisticated underground coalition, a network whose customers, mega-wealthy vampires, can and will pay any price to receive shipments of blood on a regular basis. Salizzar’s nightclub may very well be a human blood-bank and body-parts processing and distribution center. He and his followers may harvest and sell organs to both vampires and humans alike. Anyone who seeks human organs for either cannibalistic food or for organ transplants that can be attained without having to go on any waiting list. I suspect if I’m correct in my vast assumptions that he would sell to anyone who can pay his price and remain totally discreet. Besides Salizzar’s nightclub, there may be many such body parts factories and underground blood banks located all around the globe.”
Upon hearing that, Ian thought about what Officer Ned Parker had said, that the club might be a front for drug trafficking and perhaps even a black market distribution center for human organs. Ian pondered for a second. Ned was spot on with his theories. Well ... likely mostly right anyway.
Clayton and Ian said their goodbyes. The rain had momentarily subsided. Ian walked out to meet Zoey at her car, which was a late model, silver Honda Accord. Ian walked up to the driver-side door and Zoey lowered her power window.
“Ian, just follow me back to town. But if you lose me, my shop’s about a half block down from Marsh’s Free Museum but on the left-hand side of the street. You’ll see our sign. New Wave Hair Salon.”
Ian smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll follow ya. No worries. I’m pretty sure I know almost exactly where your shop is.”
CHAPTER 10
Change
Ian immediately spotted Zoey’s car, which was parked directly in front of her shop. He parked on the opposite side of the street, switched off his Jeep’s ignition and headlights, then slowly exited the vehicle. The rain that had been not much more than a heavy drizzle during his drive had suddenly begun to come down in ever increasing intensity. Strong winds driving an incoming cold front seemed to have come from nowhere. The wind was blowing hard inland from the sea, dropping the temperature nearly instantly from what had been strangely, almost eerily mild to nearly frigid conditions. Ian quickened his pace as he began crossing the street, all the while attempting as best he could to wick away from his face the wind-propelled waterworks that stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Although the weather had all at once become bad enough to have passed itself off most anywhere else as the beginning of a storm of consequential magnitude, Ian knew as he crossed the street and walked briskly up to the front door of Zoey’s hair salon that this was typical for the Washington coast, especially in the latter part of October.
Even though Ian was being relentlessly pounded by the torrents of harshly cold wind and rain, and was becoming increasingly soaked and chilled to the bone, he paused for reflection there at the front door before knocking. The pain and stiffness in his neck that he’d first suffered a couple days ago had begun creeping back on him once again. Ian surmised it was mainly due to tension. He couldn’t help but question himself regarding the wisdom of further involving a young woman in what could prove to be a very dangerous endeavor. But despite his trepidation and confliction pertaining to the chain of events which were about to unfold due to involving Zoey, Ian felt he had reached a Rubicon Crossing, the point of no return, as he knocked on the door.
On some level beyond Ian’s intellectual grasp, he’d been instantaneously intrigued, almost captivated by Zoey beyond mere sexual attraction from the first time he’d laid his eyes on her.
Standing at the front door waiting, and now completely drenched and shivering, Ian thought, Come on, Ian. Just keep it professional. Like I have to worry about that. What would a hot young gal like Zoey want with an old fart like me? Christ, it’s cold!
Just then, the door to Zoey’s shop opened. “Oh, God, Ian, I hope you haven’t been standing here in the rain long! I had to run to the bathroom.”
Ian smiled as he replied, “No, no. Just been here a moment. Boy, it sure is coming down!”
With a quick smile, Zoey motioned for Ian to come in. “Well, Ian, I invite you to enter of your own free will. That’s something I got from my uncle. He always says that when inviting anyone into his house. Guess it sorta rubbed off on me.” Zoey chuckled.
Ian went inside and immediately removed his jacket, which was completely soaked through. Seeing just how wet he really was, Zoey spoke up. “Ian, now don’t be shy, I insist that you slip out of your shirt and jeans. I have an industrial clothes dryer in the back room. We do a lot of laundry around here. Well, mostly just towels. But anyway, it gets really hot and dries real fast. It’s hell on delicates.”
All of the blinds were pulled shut, but Ian, normally more than a bit timid regarding getting undressed to any level in front of a new, especially female, acquaintance, was to say the least reluctant. “Uh, do you have, like, a changing room or something?”
Zoey laughed. “Changing room? Ian, this isn’t a clothing store. Now take off your wet clothes and hand them to me.” As Ian began to comply, he noticed that Zoey was hardly even wet. She was still wearing the same clothes; all but the waist-length black leather jacket that she’d kept on while at Clayton’s house. She was wearing the same oxford grey button-front knit, black belted dress, slightly more than mini-length. Beneath that she wore black fishnet leggings topped-off with black Doc Martens-style short-top, brass-buckle boots. Having had a daughter, Ian knew of Doc Martens. He mused, regarding his intense observation of her, No bra. No panties. Not even a thong could hide itself under that dress. She must have got here just moments before the downpour.
“I was lucky. The hard stuff didn’t start coming down till I got inside.” Zoey said while retrieving Ian’s pants and shirt from him. She then headed for the back room. Ian, with what he guessed must be a pretty silly expression on his face, just stood there in the middle of the salon for a few befuddled, uncomfortable minutes. But that was instantly eclipsed by his now significant embarrassment at the sight of himself in a mirror sporting his somewhat less than bright white, v-neck t-shirt and equally less than originally white tube socks and blue and white striped boxer shorts. All of course not to be outdone by his current wet-dog disheveled hair. But worst of all, his t-shirt was damp enough to highlight where once not so many years ago dwelled washboard abs. They appeared to Ian to have somehow graduated from a six pack to a love-handle enhanced pony-keg.
Zoey came through the backroom doorway. Upon seeing her coming his way, Ian immediately did the best he could to suck in his gut.
Ian rather nervously spoke up, “It’s certainly warm enough in here, thankfully, since I’m … Well …” Ian looked down at himself to try and make light of his situation, and it worked. Zoey laughed at the sight of him standing there in the middle of her shop in his present state of attire, or rather lack ther
eof.
“Yes, well, I have to keep it nearly uncomfortably warm in here for the blue-hairs.” Zoey said while still somewhat giggling.
“Blue-hairs?” Ian asked, momentarily confused.
“Little old ladies. Blue-hairs.” Zoey blurted out.
Ian smiled. He couldn’t believe that one got by him. He’d heard that expression before dozens of times. “Oh yeah. Of course. Blue-hairs.” he said, trying not to sound too naïve or ignorant. “For a second, I thought you were referring to some birds that flew into your shop to get warm. You know, Blue-Haired Biddies I think is their ornithological name.” They both laughed, Ian a bit more than Zoey. “I … I used to be a zoologist. But I was never that into birds,” he said, attempting to clarify his attempted humor.
Zoey flashed Ian a quirky look as she rolled her eyes just slightly and grinned, “Okay. How about we get down to business?” Ian nodded.
“Take a seat,” Zoey said as she pointed to the chair at her workstation.
Ian sat down. Zoey immediately grabbed a comb and scissors. She gave Ian’s head a look over. “No need to waste time with a shampoo or wet your hair any more than it already is.” They both laughed.
Ian replied, “No, I should think not.”
“You know, Ian, when you talk, you sound a lot like my uncle. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Again, they both laughed.
Ian interjected, “Oh, I seriously doubt that’s true. I guess I’ve never really considered what I sound like when I speak. But as for your uncle, he’s without question a brilliant man.”
Zoey smiled, “Brilliant. Oh yeah. That’s for sure. He, like, knows everything.” She tied a hair-cutting cape around Ian’s neck and covered him appropriately. She then began cutting and chopping at his hair. Zoey kept at it, taking momentary pauses to examine her progress, until she was satisfied with what she’d achieved, all the while intentionally keeping Ian’s chair turned away from the station’s mirror.
Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) Page 12
