The Vampire Files, Volume One

by P. N. Elrod

  “Alchemy,” I repeated blankly. “Paco is trying to make gold?”

  “Pah! The man hasn’t the education.”

  “He’s got a tame chemist, then.”

  “More likely a chemist cum physics.” He shook his head. “Not a genuine one, but a fraud in every sense of the word.”

  “A con man?”

  “Precisely.”

  “Somebody’s convinced Paco he can turn lead into gold?”

  “Not lead, but mercury. It’s next up from gold on the periodic table. The notes in that book indicate they plan to use radium—”

  “Radium?”

  “—in some exotic process that will knock an atomic number or two from the mercury so they end up with either gold or platinum.”

  “That’s impossible.”

  “In theory it seems quite possible, but that is just in theory.”

  “It is impossible?”

  “Given the present state of science, yes, but the idea can be so beautifully profitable if presented in the right way to greedy and receptive ears. This is a confidence trickster of rare genius and no small audacity. It would be an honor to meet the fellow.”

  “But where can he get radium?”

  “He doesn’t have to get any—that’s what I found in the safe.”

  “An unlocked safe? But radium is more expensive than gold.”

  “Astronomically more expensive and far more dangerous to have lying so casually around. Only four years ago there was a case of a Pittsburgh man who died horribly from ingesting a quack medicine containing radioactive salts. The radium they have tucked away in that unlocked safe is nothing more than a convincing substitute. No doubt it was purchased by the mark for a large sum of cash from the con artist’s partner.”

  “So the phony radium and all this lab equipment are just so much window dressing?”

  “A new twist to a very old game, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah, I also think that maybe Paco is wise to it and pulling the strings of the con man. He’s got a lot of money swilling his booze upstairs and might take some of the greedier ones on a little tour down here.”

  “A good point,” he admitted. “Again, I seem to have underestimated the opposition. All right, we discard the outside con man for the moment and put Paco in his place instead. He chooses a few gullible prospects from his guests, leads them to think he can make an unlimited quantity of gold by using radium as a modern-day Philosophers’ Stone and offers them the opportunity to invest—”

  “Or help buy the radium—”

  “Then the experiments end in failure and Paco pockets the unspent cash.”

  “You think he borrowed the cash from Morelli to start with, just to build this lab?”

  “It makes quite a convincing backdrop, does it not? I talked with Shoe again today and he was able to confirm that Paco had borrowed a quantity of cash from Morelli about a month ago, before you came to town.”

  “You don’t think this is connected with me?”

  “I really don’t know. For the moment the most I’ll say is that it seems unlikely.”

  “It’s a beautiful situation, though.”

  “In what way?”

  “Paco’s left himself wide open—I mean if anything should happen to that lab . . .”

  “Are you suggesting we do something precipitant?” He looked hopeful.

  “Any objections?”

  “After what Paco nearly had done to me, I don’t give a bloody damn what happens to him so long as it’s something terribly unpleasant.”

  “You got any ideas?”

  “Yes, but I want Shoe’s people well clear of this before we do anything. Is the car in place?”

  “Just like you marked on the map.”

  “Good. I must ask you to go there and wait for me. The catering staff leaves at midnight.”

  “Sure, but what are you planning to do?”

  We’d been too loud, or our voices had carried in some freak way, for the glass-windowed door to the lab opened and the basement lights flared on. Escott’s back was to them, and his body shielded mine with shadow. He slipped his thick glasses back on and whispered a one-word order for me to hide. The last I saw of him was his startled expression as I vanished.

  “Hey! Who are you?” Heavy aggressive footsteps approached and barked. “Hey! I’m talking to you! What are you doing here?”

  “I wash up,” Escott mumbled in the same voice he’d used to such good effect last night. I moved up behind the man; if there was going to be trouble, I wanted to be in a position to take care of it.

  “Yeah? Well, what’s to wash down here? You dunno, huh? Get back up to the kitchen. Gowan—move. It’s more than your ass is worth if you come down here again.”

  They both trooped up the stairs. He pushed Escott out, locked the door, and clomped down again. He moved around the basement, checking to see if he missed anyone, but eventually returned to the lab with a weary sigh and shut off the lights. He sounded bored, which wasn’t good. A bored man is on the lookout for distraction. Whatever Escott had in mind, we’d have to be careful.

  I floated upstairs and outside, appearing at the window as before. Escott was busy scrubbing pans, trying to catch up on lost time.

  “I’ll be at the car,” I whispered.

  He nodded as though in time to some unheard inner music, and splashed another of pile of dishes into the soapy gray water.

  The guards patrolling the estate were visible a mile off. I had no trouble avoiding them, but the dogs were another matter. They’d been on the other side of the grounds when I’d first arrived and were now making an importune circuit of my escape route. One of the men had a big mongrel on a short lead that caught my scent. Its ears went flat and he came charging, dragging his master. I like dogs, but this time my vanishing trick was never more welcome.

  I was near a pine tree and used it to orient myself, hanging close to the trunk to keep from drifting in the slight wind. The man and dog approached and he let the animal sniff around. However, it did not like blundering into the space I was occupying, and at first contact the dog gave an unhappy yip and decided to seek something else to threaten that was a little more within his experience. He broke away and ran off, his master in hot and annoyed pursuit.

  It was way past time to quietly beat it out of there. The commotion was drawing the kind of attention that was only welcome in a three-ring circus. I formed up solid again and, moving fast, got away from the clown-and-dog act and found the fence I’d climbed coming in. It was a long five minutes of tearing through brush, brambles, and long grass to reach the car and something of an anticlimax once there, since I had nothing to do until Escott came. For the next couple of hours I plucked greenery from my clothes, kicked at stones, and ducked every time a set of headlights appeared on the nearby road.

  Shortly after twelve a large truck rumbled up from Paco’s and stopped for a few seconds. A single tall figure hopped from the back, waved to someone inside, and was left in the exhaust as the truck drove off. There was a spring in Escott’s step, as though he were on vacation and hadn’t spent the evening washing dishes for a man who’d tried to have him killed.

  “Sorry about that interruption,” he said. “I’m certainly glad the fellow missed seeing you.”

  “You didn’t get into trouble?”

  “Not at all. I think the man was reluctant to inform anyone that a person of my apparent intellectual capacity managed to get down there in the first place, as it would make him look bad.”

  “Good, I didn’t want to have to do anything he’d regret. You going to get rid of that face?”

  “Yes, I’m beginning to sweat it off, anyway.” He opened the Nash’s trunk and turned on a small flashlight with a piece of red glass over the bulb instead of the usual clear covering. He noticed that I noticed. “You may have excellent night vision, but I must preserve my own as best I can.”

  He fixed the light so he could work, and hauled up a large metal box; the layered,
unfolding kind used by fishermen to hold their lures and other equipment. Instead of spare hooks and lines, it contained a wide assortment of greasepaints, powders, brushes, sponges, and a dozen other things I couldn’t identify in all the clutter. It was the only thing of his that was not starkly clean and neat.

  Working quickly in what for him was very dim light, he removed the glasses, false forehead, some protruding teeth from his lower jaw, a ragged gray wig, and odd tufts of hair. He smeared cold cream on and wiped the rest of the makeup off on a thin towel that had seen better days, then closed the kit up. He shrugged out of the white dishwasher’s coat and buttoned a dark shirt on in its place.

  “Now we can get to work.”

  “My question still stands: what have you got planned?”

  He reached into the trunk again and pulled out my answer.

  “You’re kidding. You carry that stuff around with you?”

  “I try to be prepared and I am not kidding. You can put this where it will do the most good.”

  “Where? Up Frank Paco’s—”

  “Don’t be crude. He has unwisely indebted himself to Slick Morelli to construct facilities to ‘produce’ his dream gold. You have suggested that if those facilities were destroyed—”

  “Well, not in so many words . . .”

  “This could be a setback he can’t afford.”

  “Couldn’t he just start over?”

  “I think not, since his credibility in the criminal community would be destroyed as well once the story got out, and I can make sure it does. It’s cost him a lot to set things up, and he might not be able to clear the debt with his creditor.”

  “He might get rubbed out.”

  “That is a possibility. If you have second thoughts let me know now, for this is a felony.”

  “My murder was a felony. Paco owes us both one, so let’s go collect.”

  6

  SILENTLY entering the house by way of the kitchen, I started to re-form, but became aware just in time to dodge two men making a late raid on the icebox.

  “Did you see that?” a distorted voice asked.

  “See what?”

  “I thought something moved over there.”

  “Check it out, then.”

  I held still, even when something alien intruded into my amorphous body.

  “Jesus, it’s cold as hell in here. Shut that box up.”

  “You see anything?”

  “Nah.”

  “Boss’ll think you’re drinking, you talk like that.”

  “I could use one.”

  I left them to their food and moved on to the basement. The lab was as I’d left it, complete with the “milk and cookies” guard. Try as I might, I couldn’t work up any dislike for the guy, and it took a real effort to tap him a good one behind the ear so I could do my work undisturbed. To make up for the assault, I eased him gently to the floor and thoughtfully folded his magazine into his coat pocket. Then I went through the lab like a dose of salts, opening cabinets and leaving them open, dumping drawers and looking for papers that might be useful. Escott had been thorough, though, and anything really important would be upstairs with Paco.

  Now I hauled out Escott’s present, a single stick of dynamite with a five-minute fuse attached. It would do the job, but I wanted to be certain of the lab’s utter destruction, and for that spent the next few minutes sloshing several gallons of alcohol all over the room. The walk-in storage closet was full of usable items, and anything marked flammable was added to the general mess. I made sure the air vents were wide open. There were no windows to the outside or I’d have opened them as well. After that I gave the gas taps for the Bunsen burners a good twist and listened to it hiss invisibly into the room.

  Propping the dynamite on the one clean table in the middle, I lit the fuse with some nervousness. In the five minutes it would take to burn down I planned to be in the car with Escott and tearing down the road back to Chicago.

  I hoisted the guard with the sweet tooth over my shoulders, my new strength making him seem remarkably light, then unlocked the lab door that led to the T-intersection and set it to lock again once it was closed. Trudging upstairs with my burden, I opened the second door into the hall and put the man down to one side. My back was to the hall while I was busy with the door. Too late, I heard the sharp clunk of a machine gun bolt being drawn back. My guess that the hallway would have less traffic than the kitchen was wrong.

  “Freeze right there, buddy,” a voice told me.

  I had to obey and wondered how I could stall them. If I left now they might check the basement and, depending on their luck, foil the explosion or be blown up. There were two men behind me. One of them approached, and I raised my hands slowly.

  “Stay outta my line of fire, Harry.”

  Harry grunted in acknowledgment. He searched me with quick, professional slaps. “He’s clean,” he announced, and stepped back.

  “What’s going on?” demanded another, more authoritative voice.

  “We caught ourselves a burglar, Mr. Paco.”

  “Check out the lab, Harry.”

  I made a move to stop him, but was told again to stay put. Harry slipped downstairs. “The door’s still locked, Mr. Paco,” he called up.

  “Then how’d he get Newton out, dummy? Get up here and check ’em. He’s gotta have keys or something.”

  My muscles had gone all tight. Frank Paco’s voice had touched a dormant memory in my brain. I needed time to think, to remember. . . .

  “You! Turn around.”

  I turned slowly, enjoying first the puzzlement, recognition, and then shock on Paco’s face.

  “Fleming,” he breathed softly. Only I could hear him. I felt an awful smile crawling across my features.

  The portrait in his office had been too flattering—the artist must have wanted his commission very badly. He’d caught the wide face and pop eyes, but had omitted the ingrained hardness and suspicious set to his mouth. Paco was shorter than Sanderson, but built much the same; stocky with muscle, rather than flab, and not afraid to use it, but now, because of my face, he fell back a step in fear.

  “Mr. Paco?” the man with the machine gun said uncertainly.

  The need to assert his authority overrode his confusion. Paco straightened and glared at me, rejecting his first instincts. And why not? As far as he knew, Jack Fleming died over a week ago.

  “Who are you?”

  “My name is Gerald Fleming. I believe you know my older brother, Jack.”

  Paco seized the explanation as I knew he would. Once more on firm ground, he was able to deal with the situation. “Yeah,” he agreed reasonably. “I know your brother.”

  “You met him the other week, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, we had some things to talk over. But you answer the questions here, punk. What are you doing in my house?”

  “I thought we could talk.”

  “We’ll talk and you better answer straight. What are you after?”

  I said nothing and my bloodshot stare made him uncomfortable.

  “This guy’s some kind of freak. Take him out and get rid of him.”

  Harry and the machine gunner each grabbed an arm and marched me past Paco and down the stem of the T. “Get rid of me and you’ll never find that list,” I shot back. My escort hesitated.

  “What makes you think I want it?”

  “My brother told me you were after it. He gave it to me. I know you got him. I’ll trade you the list for him.”

  Paco was chuckling. I’d given him a lot to laugh at.

  “What if I got it already?”

  “Then you wouldn’t bother talking to me now.” Maybe the bluff would stall things longer. I had no idea if there was enough truth in it to give him doubts, but I was almost certain I hadn’t talked aboard the Elvira. He might still want his list. “I came here to look for my brother. You caught me square; but I’m willing to deal.”

  “I’ll just bet you are.” Paco came closer, his gaze absorbing
my face. I hoped my reclaimed youth would pass the hard study. “I’ll deal with you the same as I did with him.” His hand came up and he tried to knock my jaw off its hinges. I faked the impact, snapping my head hard over and letting my knees buckle. The two men on either side kept me standing.

  Not that I paid them much attention, my guts had gone cold. (They were going to kill me . . . they were going to beat me to death. . . .)

  “You hear me, punk?” Paco’s voice jolted me back to the hallway. “You start talking. You tell me how you got in here. You tell—”

  “Frank?”

  “What?” His head jerked around in irritation. Another man strolled up. He was in evening clothes, holding a glass, and his face had the broken-veined, dissipated look of a confirmed alcoholic.

  “Ask him what he was doing in the lab. Is the lab safe?”

  “He musta got in somehow to get Newton out, Doc,” said Harry. “The door’s locked now and I don’t have no key to check.”

  “Oh, of course, hold my drink.” The man fumbled in his pockets. “I have mine right here . . . um . . . somewhere.”

  “I told you, I was only looking for my brother,” I insisted, needing to sidetrack them.

  “Then why were you dragging Newton around?”

  “I thought I could use him as a hostage.”

  Paco didn’t believe that one at all, not that I blamed him. He threw a hard punch to my stomach. I doubled over, remembering to force air from my lungs. I sagged between my supports, gagging a little, and hoped my performance was convincing.

  “How’d you get in here?” Paco repeated.

  “Snuck past men—open window—”

  “Frank, do you have your key, I must have left mine—”

  “Not now, Doc!”

  “You’ll think not now if he’s damaged anything down there.”

  Paco growled and slapped through his pockets. I straightened, worked saliva into my mouth, and spit right in Paco’s face.

  It was a more than sufficient distraction. Paco gaped at me, frozen in sheer disbelief. His big hand came up slowly to wipe it away. I found a perverse enjoyment in the situation and let it show.