After parking the auto, Sly, Weatherby and I went into the waiting room and sat around. I had half a pack of cigarettes and Weatherby paced around with his hands in his pockets. Sly just sat down with his hands on his knees, his eyes closed. I didn’t know if he was praying or just focusing on breathing in and out. We didn’t say a damn thing until the doc came with his diagnosis.
It wasn’t as bad as we feared. Henry Wallace had a busted leg, a broken arm, and a bunch of cracked ribs, not to mention a ton of bad bruising. But there was nothing broken that wouldn’t heal, given time and rest. The doctors were patching him up and making him comfortable. They figured he could go home in a week or so.
Sly bowed his head. “Thank Christ,” he whispered. “Thank Christ.” He vigorously shook the hand of the doctor, and nearly broke down and cried right there in the waiting room. When the doc left us, he slumped back down in his chair. “Mort,” he said. “Can I get a cigarette?”
I handed him one. “You want to stay here with your boy, Sly?” I asked. “I can have your things moved over from the room, if you’d like.”
He considered it for a few seconds. “No,” he finally said. “I’ll move here after the job is finished. Maybe I’ll drop off some of his books and comics before we go. But right now, I want to help to hurt the monsters that put my boy here, any way I can. You’re planning an attack on the Knight Building, and Wagner and Dracula, right? You might just need my assistance. I’d be happy to offer it. And as soon as it’s done, I’ll come back here and I won’t leave until he does.”
I didn’t argue with him. I simple nodded quickly and headed out of the waiting room. Weatherby followed, staying close to me. His eyes were darting around and his hands kept on balling into fists or clenching together. Nervousness and terror were threatening to overwhelm him, pulling him under like a wave. But he gritted his teeth and stayed calm and on top of things. I had never realized just how strong the kid was.
We left the hospital and headed back to the Hotel Grande. The girl at the receptionist’s desk stared at us as we walked to the elevator. She had every right to be confused. The Hotel Grande took a lot of strange customers. I’d bet we were the strangest. “Mr. Candle?” she asked. “We heard a lot of gunshots coming from your floor. Is something wrong?”
“Just target practice, sister.” I handed her a quartet of c-notes. “This should cover some of the damage. Put all the rest of it on my tab. And thanks for not calling the police.” I gave her a smile as we passed her and went to the elevator.
When we got back to our floor, the first rays of sunlight were just starting to worm their way through the windows. Selena was waiting by the elevator to meet us. She gave us a bright smile. “Morton,” she said. “One my guests arrived. I’m not sure where Adam is, but the Reverend Elias Sharp is in your room, helping outfit your veteran associates.”
I thought of Reverend Sharp, a Melungeon preacher, drinker and lapsed criminal. “That old coot’s setting up an armory?” I asked. “I don’t believe it.”
Selena led us to my room. Tiny, Elkins and Dutch stood around the couch, preparing for war. Reverend Sharp was next to the coffee table, carefully explaining each of the devices he had set out. He looked up at me and smiled. “Ah. Mr. Candle. Good to see you, my son. You’re looking well.”
I looked down at the coffee table. “I’ve looked better. What’s this dingus?”
“Sharpened wooden stakes made from blessed ash trees and dipped in holy water. Each of your friends should carry a pair of them. I carved them myself.” He pointed to a number of clips. “I forged these bullets of solid silver, then doused them in holy water, and carved crosses in the end. They should burn through anything unholy.” Finally, he pointed to a pile of wooden crucifixes. “And these are hand-carved and inscribed with names of saints. I think I did a mighty fine job.”
I put one of the crucifixes around my neck. “Looks good, Reverend. You really pulled out all the stops.”
Sharp shrugged. “If it’s for Miss Stein, it ain’t no trouble.”
“All right. I’m gonna go get dressed and then we’ll arm up and go. We’ll take my Roadmaster and Tiny’s truck, put them in an alley across from the Knight Building, and plan our attack from there.” I looked over my soldiers. “And I suppose I should level with you – if we all go into that building, there’s a big chance we all won’t be walking out. This ain’t your fight. I know it and you know it. If you fellows want to walk away, you go right on ahead.”
Tiny, Dutch and Elkins looked at each other. Dutch reached down and grabbed one of the wooden stakes. He slid it in his belt and gave me a grim smile. “We’re with you, Sarge. We fought for you and little Weatherby back in the Black Forest and we’ll do it again here. We’re with you, until the end.”
Weatherby smiled sadly at them. “Thank you,” he said. “I owe you my life a thousand times over, and here you are helping me again. I hope with all my heart that I can earn your gratitude.”
I’d never been prouder. There was nothing I could say. I reached out and shook their hands, then turned to my room to get dressed. I put on a fresh pair of shorts and trousers, and then my shirt, vest, suit and trench coat. I put my shoulder-holsters on under my vest, making sure the .45s inside were fully loaded. I set the Ka-Bar in my boot, the tommy gun on its strap around my shoulder, and my fedora on my head.
Then I went back outside to join the squad. Dutch had his shotgun, a heavy crowbar and a bunch of explosives and tools. Tiny had the .50 Cal machine swung over his back, and the BAR looking like a kid’s popgun in his hands. Elkins had his sniper rifle and a Bowie knife. All of us put on the crucifix necklaces and grabbed the stakes, as well as clips with the silver bullets. We were ready for War. We were ready for Dracula and Wagner.
As we turned to leave, Doc Dearborn stepped into the room and blocked our path. He wore his khaki jacket and pith helmet, with a revolver in a holster at his waist. “I am going with you, gentlemen,” he said. “My daughter’s life is in danger and I will not stand idly by. I trust you’ll find me a fine hand in any conflict, despite my age.”
I didn’t waste time arguing. “No complaints here,” I said. “Now let’s go.”
We left the Hotel Grande. We had done enough snooping, enough hiding, enough nursing our wounds and getting ready. It was time to begin the killing. And I couldn’t wait to get started.
We rolled out in the Roadmaster and Tiny’s truck. We stuck to the back roads and the alleys, doing our best to stay away from traffic. An alley across the street from the Knight Building seemed like a decent place for a staging area. I drove the Roadmaster into the shadowed alley and parked it, then got out and looked up at the Knight Building. My eyes narrowed at the darkened glass on the top. Dracula sat up there, safe and secure in his penthouse. That was going to end today.
Weatherby, Selena, Sly and Chad left the car as Tiny’s truck pulled up behind us. Weatherby had his frock coat on, with all his occult ingredients and supplies, as well as his revolver.
Sly pointed across the street, to the ground floor of the Knight Building. “Bad news, Morton,” he muttered. “Cops.”
Sure enough, there was a pair of NYPD patrol cars parked in front of the building. Four bored officers were playing cards on the hoods of one of their vehicles. Tiny, Dutch, Elkins and Doc Dearborn joined us as we examined the policemen. None of us wanted to kill cops.
“Dracula must’ve called in some favors with the city, got all the protection he could manage,” I figured. “It ain’t much. I suppose Mr. Dragonson is not well liked. Nice guy like him, I can’t imagine why.”
“Screw that coullion,” Tiny said. “But I won’t kill cops.”
Sly pulled a thick roll of cash from the pockets of his rumpled tuxedo. “Leave them to me,” he said. “I’ll distract them, and you guys go in. You take the elevator up and rescue that little girl. I’ll take up their attention and scram when things get hot.”
“How are you intending to do that, Mr. Baum?” Sele
na wondered.
He grinned. “They’re amateurs, honey. And all amateurs want a shot at an easy game.” With that, he headed across the street. We stayed back and watched him work.
I didn’t hear of much what he said to the cops, due to the rumble of traffic. But he presented the money, leaned over their shoulders at the game, and soon was dealt in. He worked quickly – losing his entire stake. So he decided to up the ante, and that made the cops greedy. I could tell I was watching a master at work, as Sly must have casually suggested they head to some high-end gin mill across the street to finish their game. A sucker with a hole in his pocket was just too tempting a target for these bored cops. They all left their post, following Sly into the bar. He gave me a wink as he cleared the way.
“Right,” I said. “Selena, Chad – I want you to stay back here in the cars. You’ll be the getaway drivers. Don’t bother arguing cause I won’t change my mind. “The rest of you – let’s move out.” I looked to the rest of my squad. Weatherby, Dutch, Tiny, Elkins and Doc Darby Dearborn – we were the last hope of a teenage girl in the hands of a centuries-old psychopath. We were the last hope of the United States.
We crossed the street and headed inside. We moved quickly, hoping that we wouldn’t be spotted carrying the hardware. As soon as we got inside, I flashed the tommy gun to the girl at the desk and motioned for the door. She took the hint and got out of there. The few other innocents did the same. We crossed the lobby, our shoes clicking on the marble, and moved into the elevator.
I punched into the keys to the top floor and the elevator started up. I wondered how many mugs inside this place were loyal to Count Dracula. I guessed it’d be a pretty high number, mostly Nosferatu and half-turned he had converted into bloodsuckers himself, and human gun thugs he was paying a fortune, like Fielding. It didn’t matter too much to me. He could have had an army and a half. They wouldn’t stand a chance.
Nobody said much in the elevator, so we noticed when it stopped. It had only gone halfway, to the mezzanine. “What’s going on?” I asked. “This ain’t our stop.”
Dutch got to work, wrenching open the control panel and taking a look inside. “Bad news, Sarge,” he said. “Looks like the jig is up. Maybe someone in an upper floor spotted us coming in. They’ve jammed the signal, forcing us to get off here.” He patted his crowbar. “I can wrench the door open and let us out, but I bet they’ll have a million guns waiting for us.”
Tiny reached a hand into his pocket. “Go on and do it, Dutch. I got a big surprise for them.”
We readied our guns. The whole thing went like clockwork. Dutch pried open the doors and they rolled back just a few inches. Through the crack, I saw a whole firing line set up to ventilate us. Fielding and Joey Verona stood behind at least two score gunmen, all armed with top-of-the-line cannons. They were skeletons in purple suits, vampires in dark suits and sunglasses, and none of them looked happy to see us.
Dracula had turned the mezzanine into a storeroom and barracks for his vampire pals. Coffins rested in neat rows on the marble floor, and a spiral staircase led up to the upper chambers. The windows were tinted, and a few electric lights illuminated the sharp curves and white walls of the ultramodern business headquarters. Except for the coffins and the small private army, it could be any other corporate joint on Wall Street.
Joey Verona started hissing out an order. “Kill them, you undead geeks! Fill them with lead! No chances! No prisoners! Just gun them down and—”
That was as far as he got before Tiny made his move. He pulled a pair of grenades, popped the pins and tossed them out through the gap. Dutch pulled back his crowbar and the doors slammed shut. An explosion rocked the building, and I could feel the heat even behind the elevator doors. After it was finished, I nodded. Dutch opened the door again. This time we got out.
The vamps and skeletons were reeling from the pair of grenades. We didn’t give them time to get their bearings, but just opened fire with everything we had. Tiny hoisted his .50 cal and sprayed, holding the massive gun in one hand with the ammo belt wrapped around his arm. Dutch’s shotgun blared away with steady thunder, and Tiny’s rifle joined in. I used the Thompson, and Doc Dearborn had his revolver blazing. Weatherby had his own revolver and missed every shot he fired. It didn’t matter.
Our barrage struck the enemy like a storm. Limbs left bodies. Head and skulls were split. Bones broke. The silver bullets turned whatever bit of vampire flesh they struck to ash, and it was like a gray dust cloud had broken out right in front of us. My ears rang and my finger ached as it squeezed down hard on the trigger. We didn’t stop, not giving them a chance to fire back until our clips ran dry and then we dashed forward to finish off the survivors with stakes, knives and boots.
I spotted Joey Verona, already running for the stairwell leading to the ground floor. I fired after him with the Thompson, wasting the last rounds in the clip trying to plug him in the skull. But he slipped away, and I saw him watching me as he dashed down the stairs and vanished from view. I wasn’t too upset. I had a feeling I’d get another crack at him.
Fielding was the one I was worried about. Like me, he was a soldier. He and his mercenaries had taken cover when the grenades went off, crouching behind several stone coffins in the corner. Soon as the smoke cleared, they popped up and opened fire.
Doc Dearborn dropped without a word. I ran to his side, firing the Thompson with one hand. That made Fielding and his men duck down. “Flank them!” I shouted, grabbing Dearborn and pulling him back. I didn’t even have to watch to know what Tiny, Dutch and Elkins would do. We had suppressed, flanked, and destroyed more Krauts during the War than I could count.
Weatherby hurried to our side and we looked at Dearborn. The shot had burned through his shoulder, punching neatly through his skin. Blood seeped into his uniform. It was survivable, but Doc Dearborn was an old guy, and that made him weak.
“Dear God,” he whispered. “Evelyn. I can’t save Evelyn.”
“Don’t worry, sir. I promise we’ll get her. I promise.” Weatherby looked at me, eyes wide and panicked. He didn’t know what to do.
I helped Dearborn up and leaned him against the elevator. “Will go up, get the girl and come back,” I said. I took one of his hands and gave him the revolver, and pressed the other over his wound. “Stay here. We’ll get you on the way back.”
“Just get her back safe, Mr. Candle,” he whispered.
I turned away from the Doc. Tiny, Dutch and Elkins were waiting for me at the stairwell. A vampire with half an arm turning to dust tried to crawl away from them, and Elkins reached down and finished him off with a stake through the heart. He looked up at me and grinned as dust filled the bare floor. Weatherby and I headed over to them. We looked at the stairwell. It was a metal spiral, leading up to the top floor.
“All clear here, Sarge!” Elkins said cheerily.
“Good to know. You get Fielding?” I asked. “The blonde bastard with a grease gun, I mean.”
Dutch shook his head. “He got moving right after we wasted his crew.” He jabbed a thumb up at the top floor. “He must be up there now. With Dracula and that Wagner guy.”
“And Evelyn,” Weatherby added. He was the first to start pounding up the stairs. We followed him, dashing around the stairs and hurrying up as fast as we could. I didn’t want to give Count Dracula and Viscount Wagner a chance to prepare.
We reloaded as we ran, wondering what we were gonna find up there. Weatherby said that Wagner was a sadistic nut, who would keep Evelyn alive until he had a chance of killing her in front of her loved ones. The kid was good judge of character, but I could only hope he was right. For all I knew, Wagner had already gutted Evelyn Dearborn or slashed her throat. No matter what he did to her, I resolved that Wagner Stein wouldn’t survive the day.
I remembered the top floor from Dracula’s meeting, just about a day and a half ago. But when I kicked open the double doors and stepped inside, it was a bit different from the last time I had been there. The big table
stood there with in the far end, next to the tinted windows. But there was a coffin on it now, full of dark earth.
Occult artifacts were stacked under the windows. Wooden chests full of marked gold coins, enchanted mirrors with silver frames and obsidian glasses, swords and axes with gleaming baubles in their hilts, all waiting to be melted down and turned into Panacea and goods for Midnight Products. Wagner Stein stood next to him, his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief. She was unharmed. Fielding stood behind them, a fire axe resting on his shoulder.
“I’ve been waiting for you.” Wagner was not surprised. “Where is Verona, if I may ask?”
“He ran away,” I said.
“He’s a coward,” Wagner muttered.
“He’s smart.” I raised the Tommy gun.
“Let her go!” Weatherby cried.
“I’m afraid not, little Weatherby.” Wagner smiled. “She’s not going anywhere. Neither are you.” The dirt in the coffin shifted. Dracula emerged, his eyes closed and his mouth open, like a swimmer coming out of a lake. A curved scimitar was in his hands. He flew toward us, a dark blur with a white flash from his blade.
It was four guys and one string-bean kid against the most powerful vampire on earth. We did our best, but it was like fighting a hurricane, an earthquake and a tidal wave all at once. Dracula didn’t speak while he fought. He glaring eyes said everything, as his arms and sword struck out and tore us apart.
I raised the tommy gun and gave him a burst. He leapt into the air and I missed every shot. He landed in front of me, grabbed me by throat and then I was flying through the air and the hard marble wall was reaching out to meet me. I struck hard and rolled over. Everything went slow and blurry.
I turned around and saw Dracula bash Elkins on the side of the head with the handle of his sword, knocking him to the ground. Tiny stabbed at the Count with his Bowie knife, but Dracula sidestepped the blow almost before my gunner’s arm could move. He struck Tiny’s chin, knocking the Cajun giant back like he weighed nothing at all. Then Dracula faced Weatherby and pulled his sword back. He was going to take off the boy’s head.
The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) Page 21
