Manny was still watching, and looked as though he might be sick. I walked over and put a hand on his shoulder. "Look big guy. I know this is going to be hard, but I need a favor." He looked at me with eyes that nearly brimmed. "I need you to take the boy to Jekyll, with this." I handed him the glove.
He took it, and looked down at the boy.
"Can you do that? You're stronger than I am, and it's a ways to carry a load. I'd owe you a solid."
Still looking at the boy, Manny nodded. "Yeah. Yeah. I can do that, Peck." He picked the boy up and slung the body over his shoulder. A deep sigh escaped the small figure, and for a moment, I thought Manny might spook, but he just took a deep breath, and began to walk, down the road, and toward the Victorian part of town.
I watched him go, and when he was a fair distance away, I turned to the beach, and began to walk it, hoping to turn up some hint of what had happened. After my second trip around the lake, beating the bush for a few yards on each side, the sun had sunk low enough I knew I wasn't going to accomplish much more.
I left the beach, and decided I would come back in better light. In the meantime, I had a phone call to make, and a dinner to attend. I began to walk down the road, my stomach knotting. Someone had killed that kid, and on the Lot. What had been a mildly annoying day had quickly become one giant pain in my ass.
Chapter Four
I walked back to my house, the nice ranch in semi-suburbia. As I walked, I thought about what I might tell the boy's father, and how I was going to work this out. Bums died in the Lot all the time - it was a regular occurrence. When it happened, we usually just wrapped the body up, and buried it in the fields. It wasn't really a problem, since no one was going to come looking for them anyways. The boy, on the other hand - he had a real family, real parents to worry about him and love him, and that made for a very real problem for the Lot.
We weren't used to company on the Lot, other than the strays, who are more like us than they know. In case you hadn't noticed, despite our lives, we're not exactly the picture of normalcy, and that tends to breed misunderstanding, mistrust, and fear. I can count on my fingers the number of times we've had real outsiders among us, and less than that the number of times we've spoken to them.
Now, the police had to get involved somehow, and the boy's family. My stomach twisted up, and I ran a hand through my hair. Ahead, my house poked its roof over the small hill, and I quickened my pace. Better to get this over with. I went inside, and headed for the phone on a small table beside my overstuffed recliner.
I picked up the receiver, and pulled out Reznick's card. The headset blared out a flat tone. No service. I frowned at it, and replaced it on the cradle. Two options here, then. One, I could go into town and call the man from my office, or I could wait until morning and do the same. I decided to wait, knowing his body was on ice at Jekyll's. Besides, I wanted to get as much info as I could before turning the whole thing over to the cops.
The clock on the wall read 7:30. I had enough time to change clothes, and walk up to the castle again. I headed to the bedroom, and my sparse closet. When I passed the sliding glass door that led to a cement apron in the back yard, a shadow slipped by. I stopped, backed up, and walked by again. No shadow. Something tickled my instincts.
I opened the patio door, and stepped out. I could smell body odor and cigarette. Someone had been out here recently, but judging from the empty yard, they were either in the trees, or long gone. I stood outside for another minute, then went in and locked the door. I'd seen enough horror movies to know that chasing shadows into forests was a bad idea.
I went to the bedroom and changed, then ran a razor over the stubble on my neck and cheeks. I considered leaving the gun at home, but the thought of walking to the castle unarmed on a day like this or leaving it in the nightstand with a possible thief just outside didn't sit well with me. I strapped it back on, and threw a jacket on over it.
I stepped out and flipped off the lights, and locked the door behind me. I wasn't worried about the money in the safe. It'd take a blowtorch, several hours, and a lot of ambition to get in there. I could've left the gun in there, too, but the way I see it, better safe than sorry, and all that shit.
Chapter Five
The door to the castle opened, and I was greeted by a smiling Vlad.
"Peck! Glad you could make it." He swept his arm back and stepped to the side, indicating I should enter. I stepped past him, and the big door boomed shut behind me.
The interior of the castle had been redone, mostly by Adam and me, stone layered over with wood that had been stained in deep, rich tones. On the floor, carpet runners took the chill out of the flagstones, in warm reds and browns. Here and there, tasteful paintings hung on the walls, and a small table by the entry held a vase of wildflowers. They smelled nice.
You might wonder where they got the money for something like that. Fair enough question, I suppose. Back in the eighties, Vlad was an...adult film star. Made enough money to retire for a few years, disappear from view. The studios he'd worked with liked it that way, and so did Vlad. He wasn't ashamed of the work, just cautious about his agelessness. Anyway, he had plenty socked away, and occasionally, a residual check was sent to his bank account. In all, they were doing fine.
Vlad led me to the dining room, where Adam was bustling back and forth between the swinging doors that led to the kitchen, bringing out steaming plates of food. He stopped for a moment when he saw me and gave a little wave.
"Wulfy! Hope you're hungry!" He disappeared back into the kitchen. Vlad watched him go, and rolled his eyes with a faint smile.
"You'd think it was dinner for the Queen." He stopped, and put a hand on my chest. "Not that you're not important." I just grinned at him, and he made his way into the kitchen as well, leaving me to tool around the dining room.
I sat at one of the open spots at the long table, and picked up a glass goblet. It was filled with a red wine that was sweet and a bit dry. The table was laden with plates and bowls - sliced duck and baby red potatoes and asparagus and some sort of pasta and dinner rolls. I waited, my mouth starting to water, and wondered if I could sneak a bit of duck without getting my hand slapped.
I was eyeing the dinner rolls when the kitchen door opened, and Vlad and Adam came out. They sat at their seats at the table, and Vlad poured himself a glass of something thick and deep red from a carafe. His setting didn't have a plate. He took a deep draw from his glass, and Adam picked up his plate.
"Dig in, Wulfy."
I set to, grabbing a good helping of everything. As we ate, we talked, mostly about what was happening in Hollywood - who was boffing who, who was getting surgery, who had worn what at the last award show, and who was a Scientologist now, and who was a worshipper at the altar of the almighty dollar - cash over substance.
There were other matters sitting in the back of my mind, and though I tried to forget, and to be just a good friend for a while, I found myself still worrying about that phone call and the fallout. Before long, we were leaning back in our chairs, and Vlad began to clear the table as Adam and I sipped our wine.
I reflected on the fact that I would find no better friends in this world. We'd known each other since I'd come to the Lot some time ago, and had been fast friends as soon as they'd learned I was willing to bring news from the outside world, and was accepting of their relationship. For their part, they were patient, friendly, and all-around good people. There was also that thing in Austria that involved me, Adam, and villagers with pitchforks. We'd bonded.
When the table was cleared, Vlad led us to the parlor, where rich wood and a fireplace large enough to roast a pig dominated the room. Comfortable chairs were arranged around the fireplace, and to their left, tall plate glass windows looked out on the rolling countryside.
We sat in the chairs, and Vlad spoke up first. "What's on your mind, Peck?"
I cringed internally a bit. I thought I had kept my feelings fairly well in check. I sighed, and told them about what had happen
ed so far that day. When I got to the dead boy, Adam gasped, but let me finish. When I was done, silence filled the room for a long minute.
"So, who do you think did it? Not one of us?" Vlad said.
"That poor boy." Adam said, quieter. "His poor parents."
Vlad reached over and patted his hand.
I shrugged. "Honestly? There's something hinky with the whole thing, but I can't imagine one of us would do this, considering the heat it'd bring."
Vlad pointed at my jacket. He'd noticed the gun, too. "That bad, Peck?"
I shrugged again. "I just know I'm not taking any cha-"
I was cut off by the sound of shattering glass, a million chimes banging into each other in the night air. It drove us all to our feet, though Vlad was quicker by far. I searched for the source of the intrusion, and saw a large man in a tattered overcoat and knit cap swinging a large branch to clear the last of the shards away.
I grabbed for my pistol, but was too slow. Vlad was on the man in a moment, even as he stepped over the new threshold. I watched as the pale wiry man sunk his teeth into the intruder's neck, and then he recoiled with a hiss, thin tendrils of smoke rising from the corners of his lips. Vlad staggered back, clutching his mouth, and the bum went for his heart with the branch, the jagged end threatening.
There was a roar to my right, and a patchwork blur moved past me. Adam was enraged, his usually gentle demeanor tucked away as he grabbed first the branch, and then the man's neck. With two twists of his wrists, he broke each in quick succession, and the bum crumpled to the ground in a heap.
He stood there for a moment longer, looking out into the night past the window with wild eyes, the veins that passed the bolts on his neck bulging, his eyes wild and bloodshot. It wasn't until Vlad put a hand on his shoulder that he relaxed visibly, his shoulders slumping, the mad light fleeing his eyes. They spoke quietly, and Adam kissed Vlad's forehead. After a moment, they turned to me.
"I don't know what that was, but it's awfully convenient." Vlad said.
I knelt to examine the bum's body. His neck was an ugly purple bruise, and his tongue stuck out from between swollen lips. Two puncture wounds in his neck bled the same reddish foam I had found on the boy's body earlier that day. I dipped my fingers into it, and they came away faintly numb. I stood, and brushed my hand off on my jeans.
"What is it, Wulfy?" Adam asked.
"Not a coincidence. I need to see someone tonight yet." I gestured at the mess in the parlor, and the body. "You need a hand?"
Vlad shook his head and rubbed his mouth. The burns at the corners of his mouth were already healing. "No, we can do this. You need to figure this out. Just be careful"
"Thanks, guys. Sorry about the mess."
They waved the last away. I showed myself out. I began the long walk toward the Victorian end of town, and Jekyll's. I checked the sliver of moon overhead, and sincerely hoped it wasn't getting too late.
Chapter Six
There are some things about the Lot you take for granted after living here for a while. One is the fact that very few things actually hurt Vlad. Stakes through the heart, holy water, garlic oil. Not much else. It made me wonder what had burned him. Had someone blessed the bum? Injected him with holy water? I couldn't see a local priest handing out holy inoculations.
The more I thought about it, the more it nagged at me. I needed to see Jekyll, but I thought it could wait, for two reasons. I needed to, for my own peace of mind, clear up the holy water issue, and two, it was getting late. The later it got, the more likely Mr. Hyde was to be in residence in the old Victorian that served as Jekyll's home and lab. I didn't relish the idea of that meeting. There was bad blood there.
I took the fork that split off toward the museum, and made my way to Henry's residence. Henry was our personal priest, confessor, and witch doctor. If anyone would know about what might've happened with Vlad, it was him.
*
The museum sat on a street with a single side, and buildings, or rather their facades, marched off to the left and right of it. Massive columns supported a triangular roof, and wide stone steps led up to the double doors of the entrance. It, like most of the Lot, was in a certain state of disrepair, with shingles hanging loose, and graffiti sprayed on one of the columns, but the glass in the windows and doors was intact, and the walk and steps were swept clean.
I opened the big double doors and stepped inside. The interior was dim, most of the original lighting having been provided by studio lights and cameras. I could make out shadows that ringed the room, displays and wax figures that had been abandoned - here a Neanderthal, there a Native American, a snake that had died in probably 1930, and in the center, a mastodon skeleton that had been on display for nearly eight decades.
In the distance, I could hear what sounded like a scratchy record playing Patsy Cline, and under that, a reedy voice singing along with 'You Belong to Me'. I wondered if Henry got irony.
At the back of the room, two doorways led off to wings of the museum. The left opened into an anthropology exhibit, or what had once been, though most of the displays were gone now, either repurposed for other Hollywood endeavors, or victims of the passage of time. The right led to the antiquities wing, and Henry's makeshift home. I took that one, trying to blow the scents of dust and long dead animals from my nostrils.
I stepped through the doorway, and down the hall. As I went, I passed relics of a forgotten age - 1930's Hollywood, that is. Stone tablets with cuneiform and hieroglyphics lined the walls, along with gold staffs and crooks. Most of the items were wood and plaster props with no real historical value. As the room opened out, I could make out a sarcophagus and a short plinth marked with other writings.
In one corner, by an open alcove hung with curtains, were two folding card tables. I had bought them for Henry some time ago. He sat at one with a deck of playing cards, snapping them down as he played Solitaire. On the other, an old battery-powered turntable scratched out his Patsy Cline record. Books dotted the room in stacks here and there, and he hummed along to the music as he played. When he heard me enter, he looked up.
Henry can be a bit unsettling if you've never met him before. At 5'10, he was just this side of skinny, the cloth wrapping him describing his size and dimensions nearly perfectly. Here and there, it hung off in tattered strips, but he either didn't notice, or care. His head was wrapped in a similar fashion, leaving only his mouth and eyes exposed.
He smiled, exposing nearly toothless gums, and his jaundiced eyes lit up with kindness. He stood, and shuffled over to me. He took one hand in a grip that always surprised me with its strength, and used the other to squeeze my shoulder.
"Peck. Good to see you, son."
At this range, I was glad for Henry being dried out. He would've smelled like six day's worth of hot garbage if he hadn't. Instead, I got a nose fill of dust and lavender. I tried not to sneeze.
"Good to see you, too Henry."
He released his grip, and shuffled back to the folding chair he'd been sitting in, and picked up the cards. "What brings you by?"
I took the chair opposite him, and watched him resume snapping down cards for a minute.
"I've got a question."
He looked up. "Oh? If it's about your condition, I still don't have anything for you. I'm sorry."
I waved it away. "Not this time. Something happened, and I need to know how."
"Okay, shoot then."
"Vlad and Adam and I were attacked."
"Hmm." He hesitated to answer, and I could sense the underlying current of conversation there. It was a fight we'd had before, his disapproval of their lifestyle. He was surprisingly conservative for an undead guy.
"Not the time for that, Henry."
"Okay, okay. Is everyone okay?"
"For the most part. Vlad and the bum fought, though. Vlad bit him, and got burned."
Henry's eyes narrowed. "How?"
"No idea. I was hoping you might know. I thought only holy items and that garlic allergy
could get him. What if you blessed someone? Or shot them full of holy water, or had them drink it?"
Henry shook his head. "Not likely. It has to be pure to work. Otherwise, it's just bloody water."
"What about the blessing?"
"It's a long shot, but I suppose. Though I would say the nature of man and sin makes it somewhat of a moot point...Hmm. Let me think about this some?"
I nodded. "Sure. I'll swing back maybe tomorrow. I've got a few other things to deal with, as well." I stood, and Henry lifted his head to follow me. He smiled.
"Heavy load?"
"Is there any other kind?"
Henry shrugged. I patted him on the shoulder, and left. Behind me, he resumed humming to a new song as the needle switched grooves on the vinyl.
*
I stood on the street for a bit, breathing the cool night air. It was tinged with salt from the sea, and wildflowers from the fields. For a moment, I felt the urge to run, to hunt, to be wild, to be free. I shoved it down, and put my hands into my pockets. I looked at the moon, and saw it was high overhead.
Too late for a phone call, too late to visit Jekyll. At least I could get some sleep. I began to walk the long mile back home.
Chapter Seven
Sometimes, the world throws a big damn rock at you. Sometimes, you catch it, and throw it back, and if you're lucky, it hits the world square in the face. Life is a lot like dodge ball, like that. Most of the time though, you're lucky to just duck in time. I figured I had spent most of my day getting smacked in the noggin. When that happens, your best bet is to go home, get some sleep, and hope you're faster the next day.
I slipped out of my clothes, hung the holster on the chair next to my bed, and crawled in. In a few minutes, I was out.
*
Somewhere on the moors. Around me, fog drifts in waves and whorls of white smoke. In the distance, I can hear them coming, the men with their torches and their pitchforks and scythes. I run, through the trees, away from the noise, away from the scents of hatred and men. Clothes too tight, skin itching, I run.
The Lot Page 2
