The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3)

by Michael Panush

  He cocked his head. “I’m certain you do.” He kept on walking. I started shooting. My bullets tore through the air around him, and even managed to rip past his shoulder. But then our eyes met and I realized I couldn’t hold the gun any more. The sub-gun clattered to the ground. I looked into those red eyes, pitiless as the pit of Hell, and felt every impulse and instinct I had washing away.

  Weatherby grabbed my arm. “Mort!” he shouted. “Morton! He’s trying to hypnotize you! He’s clouding your mind! We must run!” He tugged and pulled at me, as Dracula got closer and closer. I heard Weatherby, but I couldn’t piece together what he was saying. Then he grabbed my arm and yanked me back, out of the vampire’s gaze, and it all came back to me.

  We turned to run. Dracula followed, never breaking into even a jog. His long stride covered ground quickly. Weatherby and I were busted up and broken from a car accident, and he gained on us quickly. I kept running, breathing heavily as I reached for my pistols. Weatherby had it even worse. The poor kid matched my stride, but he was hurt worse than I was, and after a few minutes he tripped over an exposed root and hit the dirt.

  He rolled over, crying out loud as he clutched his leg. “Sprained, Mort!” he cried. “I don’t think… I don’t think I can go much further!”

  I didn’t leave him. I turned around and went for my knife, facing Dracula. He came toward us slowly, as tireless as death. Dracula’s eyes flashed down to my knife. I didn’t meet his gaze. “You’ve still got all the weaknesses of your kind, Drac,” I told him. “Come a little closer and I’ll show you what I mean.”

  His lips curled back. It could be mistaken for a smile at a distance. “Come now,” he replied. “The ant cannot stand against the boot that crushes it. Press yourself against my foot, little ant. Let me show you how weak you are.”

  I ran toward him, stabbing out with the Ka-Bar. I wanted to ram it into his chest and puncture his rotten heart in a single motion. But it was like trying to fight a bolt of lightning. He grabbed my arm and hauled me in the air. I didn’t realize how tall he was. He squeezed my wrist and I dropped the knife. Then his mouth opened and I saw his fangs. I didn’t have time to yell.

  He was going to suck my life out. The fangs got closer and closer. I looked up at the black starless sky of Transylvania, and waited for the end. It didn’t come. Dracula was frozen, his iron grip holding me while his mind was elsewhere. Then he dropped me.

  I fell heavily to the ground and recovered my knife. I rolled over and saw what had got Dracula worried. It was the monks of the Order of Reprobus. A dozen of them stood on the road, all armed with large wooden crucifixes.

  Dracula released an animal hiss and turned away. I would have moved after him, but I felt like standing up would be impossible. I watched as the monks advanced, their crosses held high. Dracula snarled and slashed his sword through the air, a cornered wild beast standing before the hunters. Suddenly, he turned on his heel and leapt into the forest. His dark cape fluttered around him, and he lost himself under the branches. He broke into a run, moving at an inhuman speed. He was gone in seconds.

  The monks looked over me and Weatherby. I saw the guns and knives on their belts, ready to be used. I sat up. “Please,” I said. “I’m Mort Candle and the kid’s name is Weatherby Stein. We’re not vampires. We’re humans, and Weatherby’s just a kid. You gotta help us.”

  The monk closest to me pulled back his hood. He was an old man, completely bald with a gray goatee. His face had more scars than I could count, joining his wrinkles to make a strange map of his life. “I am Father Nikolai,” he told me. “Tell me why I should help you and your friend. You rode with the vampires. You fired on our brothers.”

  “No hard feelings, buddy,” I said. “We were hired to do a job and we did it. We didn’t know Dracula—”

  “No!” Weatherby cried out loud. He came to his feet, his face red with pain and his eyes full of tears. He wiped them on his sleeve. “We knew,” he told the monks. “Maybe we told ourselves otherwise, but we knew. We needed the money, and so we agreed to the vampires’ plans. And now the entire world is jeopardized because of our greed. I am Weatherby Stein and I should have known better. My parents taught me to be better than this.” He held out his hand to the old monk. “But that’s why you have to help us. Please, sir. We unleashed this monster on the world. We have to help destroy him.”

  He lost his strength and stumbled. The monks caught him. The elder monk held out his hand and took mine, while other strong hands hauled me to my feet. Weatherby’s words must have gotten through to them. They took us out of the forest, carrying us to a couple of rickety automobiles hidden in the woods.

  Soon after they tossed me and Weatherby in the back seat, my body decided it had taken enough damage for one night. My eyes closed and they didn’t open for a while.

  When I did wake up, I felt soft sheets on my chest and a warm bed on my back. I blinked my eyes open and sat up. I was in my shirtsleeves, sitting on a bed in a small cottage, somewhere in the Transylvanian woods. My throat burned and my eyes were blurry.

  Father Nikolai stepped inside, holding a wooden cup of cold clear water and bowl of soup. I took both with a grateful nod and started eating while I looked over my wounds. The monks had done a decent job of patching me up. There were bandages on my chest and legs, and another on my forehead. I closed my eyes for a while, and focused on getting breath in and out of my body.

  “Your injuries are not so severe,” the Father Nikolai said. “You are lucky.”

  “Yeah,” I muttered. “That’s me. Real lucky. Where’s Weatherby?”

  The kid poked his head into the room and stepped inside. He had been slammed around worse than me, and more white bandages marked his pale skin. He sat down heavily in a chair in the corner and smiled at me. He reached out and gripped my hand. I gave his a squeeze. “I’m all right, Mort,” Weatherby said. “You saved my life. Again.”

  “After placing it in danger, because of my greed and stupidity.” I sat up and rubbed my forehead. “Christ. It wasn’t exactly our fault, but we went along with it, and let it happen.” I stepped out of the bed, placing my feet on the floor and trying to stand. I steadied myself and managed it. “So now we’ll stop him. Any idea where he’s going, Father?”

  Nikolai shook his head. “He has vanished, Mr. Candle. Like a shadow into the night sky, Count Dracula has vanished.” He walked over to the window his cabin, looking out into the forest. It was midday and the sun was bright above us. “And I think America will be his destination.”

  “It makes sense,” Weatherby agreed. “In the Victorian Age, Dracula attempted to conquer England, the most powerful nation at the time. Now that the sun has set on the British Empire, Dracula will turn his attentions to America. We’ll have to go back there, to be ready for him.”

  “One thing you’re forgetting.” I reached for my coat and started working on my tie. The collar burned against my neck, but I didn’t mind. “The KGB is still looking to close the book on this operation. By now, they’ve probably heard how badly they’ve fouled up. Karlov will want it to go away quickly. That means removing us.” I turned to Weatherby as I reached for my twin shoulder-holsters and slid them on. “They’ll be watching the ports.”

  “What do you propose?” Father Nikolai asked.

  I considered my options, sliding my automatics into their holsters. “Let’s not keep them waiting.” I turned back to Nikolai. “What’s the nearest port?”

  He thought for a few minutes. “Zadar, in Dalmatia. The Yugoslavians do not care much for the Soviets, but the KGB has its fingers there too. It will be difficult. I am certain it will be violent.”

  I patted my pistols. After getting beaten by Dracula, I wanted to get some killing done. “Fine by me. Let’s leave as soon as we can. These pistols and my knife should be enough to get me through. Dracula will hear about it. Let it make him afraid.” I turned to Weatherby. “You feeling up to it, kiddo?”

  He nodded. “I believe so, Mort. And
I’m anxious to put an end to Dracula.” He sighed, lowering his head and looking at the floor. “Damn it, Mort,” he whispered. “I should be smarter. I should be stronger and better. My parents would not—”

  “Hey.” I walked over to him as I slid my arms into the sleeves of my suit jacket. “Your parents would be proud of you. Sometimes a fellow gets suckered into making a boneheaded play. Sometimes that play leads to evil getting the upper hand. But you know what separates a stand-up guy from a chump? The stand-up guy has the courage to put evil back into the Hell where it belongs.” I held out my hand to Weatherby. “How about it?”

  He took my hand and I pulled him up. Father Nikolai watched us and pointed to the door. “The Order of Reprobus will take you to Zadar. The road is long, and the KGB will be looking for you. But the peasants here care for us, and they will help us.” He looked over me and Weatherby. “I will pray for you, Mort Candle and Weatherby Stein. The Order grows old. New evils arrive that traditional vampire hunters like us cannot defeat. So God must find new weapons in men like you.”

  “Thanks, Father,” I agreed. “We’ll do our best not to let God down.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Weatherby shook Father Nikolai’s hand. “Your kindness is perhaps undeserved. But it is greatly appreciated.”

  The two of us headed out of the little cabin. More of the monks were there, standing watch before the tall trees of the forest. A small automobile was parked near the house, some pre-war piece of junk a couple miles away from the scrapheap. But it was the best they had. Weatherby and I got in the back, and the monks covered the windows up with tattered cloth. It was the best car they had and the best disguise they had. I sure hoped God was with them, because it didn’t seem like anything else was.

  Weatherby and I slid into the back. A monk pulled back his hood, set a porkpie on his head, and got behind the wheel. He started the engine and the car rumbled away from the cabin and hit the road. Dracula – and the KGB – were waiting for us. I wasn’t planning to disappoint them.

  The journey to Zadar was long and boring, but I’d had enough excitement and didn’t mind. I leaned back and let my eyes rest. My body’s aches and bruises started blazing to life like a symphony warming up for an overture. I let the pain come and laughed at it. It would go away in time and I’d still be there. Weatherby was beaten up worse than me, and the kid leaned over and got some well-deserved sleep. I let him rest, even as we rolled past borders and the occasional guard post. Nobody bothered the monk.

  Finally, we reached Zadar. It was a beautiful, bustling little town, overlooking the bright blue Adriatic. The buildings all gleamed with white paint under red shingles. It was a tourist town, a resort burg on the wrong side of the Iron Curtain. There wasn’t much time to look at the scenery.

  I woke Weatherby up when the monk arrived at the harbor. He stopped the car before the long line of piers, with the fishing boats, cargo and passenger ships floating in the bright blue waters. He turned around and gave me a silent nod. The fellow had risked his life for me and Weatherby, and hadn’t said a single word to us the whole time.

  “Thanks, pal,” I said, shaking his hand as I got outside. I gave him a few of Greeley’s dollars, the bigger bills. He looked up at me in surprise. “For the Order,” I explained. “At least to take care of the hospital bills.”

  With a quick nod, he pocketed the money and backed up his auto. Weatherby and I waved as he sped away. Then we looked at the docks. There was one passenger ship, leaving for Italy. A guy was selling tickets in a small booth overlooking the water, so I went and bought two. I got first class. Greeley’s money was burning a hole through my pocket. I wouldn’t be sorry to see it go, considering that it had helped release Dracula.

  After that, Weatherby and I got some pastries and munched on them, waiting for the ship to leave. I kept my eyes peeled for any KGB agents, but didn’t spot any. That didn’t make me feel any better. Finally, the boat’s bell started ringing. It was time to board.

  We headed up the empty dock, walking toward the narrow gangplank to the ship. That’s when Weatherby’s thin hand touched my shoulder. “Mort,” he whispered. “Behind us.”

  I turned around. Four men in dark gray trench coats were heading our way. Their coats were the big bulky kind, capable of hiding anything smaller than an artillery piece. Kazmo Karlov was leading them. A pair of Soviet army trucks rolled to the street overlooking the dock behind them. They screeched to a halt before the church with its tall spire, and the Soviet troops in their olive green fatigues began to unload.

  Karlov smiled. “I am very sorry, Mr. Candle,” he said. “But I’m afraid I cannot let you board that boat.”

  I reached into my coat. The soldiers were moving quickly. I could only hope they wouldn’t reach the docks in time. “That’s a lot of firepower for just two guys,” I replied.

  “Well, Mr. Candle, I have read your file.” Karlov waved a gloved hand to the soldiers. “Let us say that I have come adequately prepared.”

  He wasn’t prepared enough. A burst of fire appeared from the top of the steeple. A rocket streamed down, crashing into the nearest army truck. The truck crumpled under the spreading cloud of fire, which knocked soldiers hard onto the street. I would recognize that sound anywhere – someone was on the church steeple with a bazooka.

  I looked up and saw a flash of tropical red against the white stone of the church. It was Bobby Belasco. He drew a sniper rifle and started shooting, picking off the soldiers with solid, accurate cracks. Belasco had risked his life to help us. I decided not to let him down.

  I slammed a fist into Karlov’s chin, spinning him back. He reached into his coat, trying to draw a pistol on me. I rammed my fists into his chest a couple of times and called to Weatherby. “Get to the boat!” I shouted. “Hurry!” We started running. Karlov gurgled and spat out one of his steel teeth. I hit him again and he spat up more.

  Then I tossed him down and followed Weatherby, pounding to the gangplank. I took out my pistols and started shooting, tossing lead at the other KGB agents. I put a round through the hat brim of one agent, his fedora falling off in a spray of brains. Weatherby and I reached the deck of the ship, just as it started to pull away.

  A sailor stood up to look at us. I handed him a couple bills. “Just keep sailing, Popeye,” I suggested. “We’ll worry about the rest.” He nodded and dashed off without a word. The engine of the boat rumbled to life and the smokestack heaved up gray clouds. We were soon on our way.

  Weatherby gasped for air and wiped his forehead. He clung to the railing and looked back at the docks – and the church. “Mr. Belasco saved us,” he said, like he couldn’t believe it. “Good Lord, Mort. Do you think he’ll be captured?”

  “Bobby Belasco? I don’t think so. He’s probably got a route back to West Berlin all mapped out and ready to go.” The soldiers were swarming into the church, but I had a feeling they were too late. Belasco was already on the road. “But what I don’t know is, why the hell did he do it? What would make him pull our behinds out of the fire?”

  After a second of thought, Weatherby answered. “He’s alone. You’ve said that the other CIA agents dislike him intensely. And being a spy does not leave room for many friends. But when he sees us, he always tries to act pleasant, no matter what awful business he’s up to. And he doesn’t want us to die. Because we’re the closest thing to friends that he has.”

  I thought about his words. They sounded right. “I’m a lot like him. I helped let Dracula loose, which sounds like something right up Belasco’s alley.” I looked down at Weatherby. “But you still stick with me. You’re still my friend.”

  “You’re nothing like him, Mort,” Weatherby replied. He patted my shoulder. “Come on. Let’s go see our rooms.”

  We left the deck and headed to our quarters, leaving the bright blue of the Adriatic behind. The boat rumbled onwards, leaving the Balkans and Central Europe. Maybe I was like Belasco. Maybe if things had been different, it would be me out there, navigating
a world of shadows and secrets, with no one I trusted and no one I cared about. But I had Weatherby and he had me. That made all the difference in the world, and I was glad of it.

  Dracula, the KGB – it didn’t matter. As long as we had each other, they didn’t stand a chance.

  Stein Family Reunion

  Families are something I read about in the Saturday Evening Post and watch on television. My mother croaked giving birth to me, right after she got off the boat from Calabria. My old man bought it the next week, after he failed to pay off some local Black Hand extortionist. They took off his face with a sawed-off shotgun and stuffed his body in a barrel. After that, the only family I knew was the kids in the Brooklyn’s Catholic orphanage, the sadistic priests and nuns that got their jollies off of beating us, and the mobsters that recruited me.

  But my partner, Weatherby Stein, has got himself a family that he loves. He watched his parents die after going through pure hell, but he’s still got a few people who care about him. There’s his sister, Selena Stein. She’s an anthropology student at NYU, smart as a tack and cute as a button. I like her. There’s her boyfriend, Chad Albright. He’s a rich kid turned beatnik, with an annoying habit of trying to be cool, but he’s still got a good heart. I don’t like him so much.

  Then there’s Viscount Wagner Stein. He’s a decadent nobleman from the time of the Renaissance, who studied up on black magic and sadism. His guards had the good sense of putting him to death, but they didn’t finish him off right. His occult skills preserved his body – until Weatherby and I made the mistake of waking him up. I figured we could handle him. He broke Weatherby’s arm, nearly killed me, and escaped. Since then, he’s established himself in Greenwich Village as counterculture drug guru, named Dr. Twist.

  So when Selena sent us a message from San Francisco, telling us that Wagner Stein and his associates had arrived and were making some lucrative deals with the local Mafia, Weatherby and I drove right over. We met Chad and Selena at their hotel, and Chad filled me in on the situation.