Abracadaver (Esther Diamond Novel)

by Laura Resnick

  “Where is Quinn now?” I asked.

  “Don’t worry. I got him tied up next door.”

  “Tied up?” I repeated as Lucky led the way out of the room. “Literally?”

  “Yeah. He’s gagged, too. Sounds don’t really carry from here to the visitation rooms, but better safe than so—”

  “You bound and gagged him?”

  “Would you relax? I didn’t hurt him.” Lucky added, “Well, not much.”

  “You’ve tied up a cop?” I said. “Are you crazy?”

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” Lucky said defensively. “When John told me he was here, I didn’t think we should just let him roam around loose. Not after what happened the last time he was here.”

  Max said to me, “Lucky has a point.”

  “Max, we can’t tie up a police officer,” I said firmly.

  How was I going to talk Quinn out of charging Lucky with kidnapping him?

  More importantly, how would I talk him out of telling Lopez about this?

  We entered a storage room. There was a narrow cot there, and I realized this must be where Lucky slept when he’d been hiding from the police in recent weeks.

  Now the cot was occupied by Detective Quinn, who had been bound and gagged with—even I could see—professional efficiency. Both wrists and both ankles were tied to the metal bedframe. He was conscious and, as might be expected, looked absolutely furious.

  Nelli started growling. A low, deep sound that rumbled in her throat.

  I looked anxiously at her, realizing I didn’t have the strength to hold her back if she attacked the helpless man tied to the cot. But Nelli wasn’t even looking at Quinn. Her eyes scanned the room a few times, then she half-closed them as she continued growling softly. Whatever she found threatening, apparently she couldn’t locate it; she just knew it was somewhere in our vicinity.

  Quinn’s angry gaze shifted from Lucky to the growling dog, and his eyes widened with alarm. He started struggling against his bonds.

  “Oh, my God,” I said in a hollow voice, my heart pounding. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.”

  We were in deep shit this time.

  This was a cop we were holding prisoner.

  At the sound of my voice, Quinn’s gaze moved from Nelli, who was still growling softly, to me. A little disoriented, it took him a moment to recognize me. And then his expression transformed into appalled shock. He tried to speak through the gag, addressing me. His comments just came out as muffled grunts, of course, but I had the impression he was asking what the fuck I thought I was doing and declaring that I was every bit as crazy as Lopez feared.

  “Lucky,” I said desperately. “We can’t do this.”

  “Too late now. It’s done.” The old mobster shrugged. “Spilt milk.”

  “Oh, my God.” I couldn’t think of what else to say.

  While Quinn writhed in protest against his bonds and continued grunting angrily through the gag, Max leaned over his body and took a few sniffs. Checking for odors of excrement, rotting flesh, or putrescence, I supposed.

  Then he looked in each of his ears and peered into each of the detective’s eyes. Quinn found the examination peculiar enough that he stopped struggling for a few moments and just stared at Max in bemusement.

  “Lucky, how did this happen?” I demanded.

  “Well, John told me he was back here, lying down,” said Lucky. “He’d arrived with another cop—not your boyfriend, someone else.”

  “The other guy isn’t a cop,” I said. “He’s an actor.”

  “After what happened last time . . .” Lucky looked down at Quinn and added, “You jerk.”

  “Hm?” Quinn grunted.

  “Well, John was really worried about him being here in the middle of a big wake.”

  “Of course,” said Max. “As soon as we learned this was his destination, the alarming implications of his presence were immediately apparent.”

  “Hm?” Quinn said again, frowning at Max.

  “So John sees him arrive and walks up to speak to him, hoping he can get rid of him. Maybe say it’s insensitive for cops to be here on such a sad occasion,” Lucky continued. “Something like that. But before he can make his point, the other cop tells him—”

  “Nolan’s not a cop, he’s an actor.”

  “—that Quinn is feeling really sick all of a sudden and asks if there’s somewhere he can lie down until their ride comes for them.”

  I supposed Quinn had gotten a squad car to drop them off here and told it to come back later for them.

  “And instead of refusing, which he’s got a constitutional right to do, John gives him my cot.” Lucky made a disgusted sound. “And him such an educated boy, too.”

  While Max continued examining Quinn and Nelli continued growling softly, which was starting to get on my nerves, I said to Lucky, “So you . . . what? Came straight back here, conked him on the head, and tied him to the bed before he regained consciousness?”

  “Yeah.” Lucky seemed pleased that I was catching up to the plot. “Then I started trying to get in touch with you two. Which wasn’t working, so I’m really glad someone else told you this bozo was coming back here to reiterate another corpse.”

  “Hm?” said Quinn.

  “I think you mean reanimate.”

  “Hm?” the cop grunted.

  “Are you still feeling sick?” Max asked him.

  Quinn shook his head. Then he glared at Lucky and said something.

  “I think he’s saying his head hurts,” I said.

  “I didn’t hit him that hard,” Lucky said dismissively.

  “Even if he’s better, he could have another bout of nausea,” I said to Max. “We should remove the gag.”

  “Bad idea,” said Lucky. “What if he goes into some mumbo jumbo chanting to raise another body from the dead?”

  “Hm?” said Quinn.

  “We should remove him immediately from this place,” said Max.

  “It’s too risky,” I argued. “We can’t get a bound and gagged cop out of here without being noticed. Not with so many people around.”

  “We could haul him out through Antonelli’s,” said Lucky. “No one’s using those rooms tonight. The exit is clear.”

  “But there are people on the street,” I said. “Even if we use the hearse—”

  “Hm?” said Quinn, looking alarmed.

  “—and pull it right up to the door, the risk of being seen abducting a cop is too great.”

  “We’ll put him in a coffin,” Lucky said. “Problem solved.”

  Quinn protested emphatically.

  “That may be the best solution,” Max said apologetically to the detective. “A speedy departure is advisable, and I fear that you are not in a cooperative frame of mind. We may only have moments before Uncle Six becomes reanimated.”

  “Hm?”

  Lucky said, “And Nathan won’t like that.”

  Quinn protested some more, then choked a little on his gag.

  “This is too dangerous, Lucky.” I gestured to Quinn. “What were you thinking? A gagged person can drown in his own vomit. What would you have done if he died while you were trying to phone us?”

  “I’d make sure no one ever found the body.”

  “Actually . . .” Max glanced at Nelli, who continued her low-level growling, then he frowned darkly at Quinn. “I rather suspect . . .”

  “What?” said Lucky.

  Max pulled something out of one of his pockets, and I saw that it was a crucifix. He laid it on Quinn’s forehead and stared at him for a long moment.

  Quinn stared back, then finally shrugged and made an inquisitive sound.

  “Hmmm.” The next object Max pulled out of his pocket was a small bottle of clear fluid.

  “Holy water?” I asked as he opened it.r />
  “Yes.”

  He flicked his wrist lightly to sprinkle some water over Quinn’s face. It flew out of the mouth of the bottle faster than he’d anticipated, drenching the helpless officer and getting in his eyes. Quinn snorted a little and shook his head, blinking rapidly.

  “Oops! My apologies,” said Max.

  Quinn rolled his eyes.

  “So where’s the demon?” Lucky asked. “Ain’t it supposed to appear now?”

  Quinn gave Lucky a peculiar look as Max said, “It may not be responsive to Christian symbolism. Fortunately, anticipating this possibility, I have brought a variety of supplies.”

  The redheaded detective groaned in protest.

  I realized Max had made advance preparations, anticipating an emergency. He’d certainly had no time to gather supplies before we dashed out of the bookstore this evening.

  Max said, “However, I have a feeling . . .”

  Nelli’s growling got louder. I turned to look at her, and I saw her eyes were getting glassy now, her expression growing fierce and feral. Her lips drew back in a snarl, exposing her long, sharp canine teeth.

  “Max.” My grip tightened on the familiar’s pink leash.

  Quinn started protesting in alarm and struggling so hard that he rocked the cot. But Nelli wasn’t threatening him. She whirled around and started growling menacingly at the open doorway . . . or perhaps at something beyond it.

  “Or maybe the demon ain’t reacting,” Lucky said slowly, “because it ain’t with this guy anymore?”

  Across the hall was the room where they prepared the bodies for funeral services. The door was closed. Behind it, I heard a dull thud, followed by a noisy crash.

  Nelli started barking furiously, her powerful body crouched for attack, her fur standing on end.

  “Lucky!” I shouted to be heard above the dog. “Is there a new arrival in there?”

  “Oh, no,” he said. “It sounds like it.”

  Something thudded so heavily against the door across the hall that it visibly shook. Nelli kept barking, braced for combat.

  Behind me, I could hear the cot shaking violently as Quinn struggled. His inquisitive grunts were audible despite the racket that Nelli and . . . and something else were making. The thing in the other room thudded hard against the door again.

  Max raised his voice behind me. “We should untie Detective Quinn!”

  “I got it!”

  As I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Lucky flip open a pocket knife and, with one stroke, cut the slender cord that bound Quinn’s wrists to the metal frame of the cot. Then he handed Quinn the knife. The cop struggled clumsily to sit up and reach for his bound ankles, his eyes fixed on the dog and the door she was snarling at.

  The door across the hallway creaked open. I whirled around to look at it—and then gagged as a fetid odor emerged from that room and poured into this one.

  The other room was dark, but the light from the hallway illuminated the delicate form of a very petite, very old Chinese woman. Her eyes glowed with green fire and her lips were curled back in a snarl. Thick, yellow drool flowed down her chin.

  Behind me, I could hear Quinn making guttural sounds as he struggled to free his feet from their bonds. Max started chanting in a language I didn’t recognize. I stood frozen on the spot, clutching Nelli’s leash.

  The thing in the room across the hall took a step toward us.

  I gasped and dropped Nelli’s leash as the fearless familiar leaped and hurled herself at the infernal being coming toward us. Nelli probably weighed twice what the corpse did, and she was all bone and muscle and teeth, attacking with bold fury to battle Evil as she had entered this dimension to do.

  The two forms collided, wrestled for a moment—and then the petite little corpse threw Nelli aside as if she were a twig. Nelli hit the wall like a speeding train, bounced off, landed on the floor, and lay there without moving.

  “Nelli!” I cried.

  The thing grinned, and then its glowing eyes rested on me and it came forward, its bony arms outstretched and a dry cackle emerging from its throat.

  11

  BOOM!

  I flung myself sideways in reaction to an ear-shattering explosion right next to me. After falling to the floor and rolling, I looked up to see Lucky, gun in hand, shoot the cadaver again.

  The reanimated corpse paused for a moment, swayed a little, and then kept on coming. As it entered the room, Quinn jumped off the cot and tore the gag from his mouth. He was bleeding where he had cut himself with the knife while sawing at his bonds.

  “What the FUCK?” he shouted.

  Max hurled his bottle of holy water at the moving corpse. It flung the bottle aside, said something guttural in words I didn’t understand . . . then paused and swayed.

  Nelli rose clumsily to her feet, lurching and slipping in her disorientation as she reentered the storage room. She snarled as she prepared to launch another attack. I was still on the floor, and I skittered backward, trying to get away from the thing that was in this tiny room with us.

  And then, in the blink of an eye . . . the corpse collapsed. Between one moment and the next, it simply fell to the floor like a puppet whose strings had been cut. It lay there motionless, its eyes closed, all signs of demonic presence vanished.

  I became aware of the sound of fists pounding on the door from the reception hall. Beyond it, I could hear people shouting. A moment later, that door burst open and people stampeded through it. Footsteps thundered down the hall toward us.

  John appeared in the doorway and his gaze swept the storage room. He took one look at the collapsed corpse, the disheveled cop, the crouching dog who was sniffing the cadaver, and the rest of us—and he apparently understood the situation. He immediately closed the door on all of us and said loudly to people crowding into the hallway behind him, “It’s all right! My uncle was playing with his dog and . . . and had an accident with some fireworks.”

  Through the door, I heard the rumble of anxious voices, some of them speaking in English, some in Chinese. John raised his voice and said, “No, he doesn’t need help. He’d like us all to just return to the other room and leave him alone. He’s, um . . . naked.”

  “Naked?” Lucky repeated darkly.

  “He’s doing a . . . good job of . . . thinking on his feet,” I whispered, breathing so hard that it was a struggle to speak.

  Nelli was still sniffing the corpse, but she had stopped growling.

  “What the fuck is going on around here?” Quinn demanded. “What is this shit?”

  “Shit . . .” I repeated vaguely, realizing that the fetid odor was gone. In the hallway, I could hear John’s voice, soothing people and urging them to return to the wake.

  “Doc, what made that thing collapse?” Lucky asked. “Was it the second bullet? Or something else? If we knew what made it stop, we could plan for the next time.”

  “Next time?” Quinn repeated.

  Breathing hard, Max said, “I postulate that it ran out of energy. It’s not strong enough yet.”

  “Not strong enough?” Lucky repeated. “Did you see what it did to Nelli?”

  “Reanimation of a dead being must be a tremendous drain on its power,” Max panted. “It could only sustain the effort for so long.”

  “I think it said something.” My voice felt weak. “Did you understand it?”

  “Sounded like gibberish to me,” said Lucky.

  “I believe it said ‘life,’” said Max. “Or perhaps ‘to live.’ I think it spoke an archaic form of Aramaic.”

  Which would explain why it sounded like gibberish to me and Lucky.

  “What the hell are you people into?” Quinn demanded.

  “Are you kiddin’ me?” Lucky said to him in disgust. “This ain’t our thing, you jerk. It’s yours.”

  “What?” Quinn looked angry, d
isoriented, and shocked. “What are you . . . Jesus, what was that?”

  John had opened the door and was slipping into the room as Quinn spoke. Closing the door behind him, he looked down at the petite corpse. “I’d say it’s Grace Chu.”

  “Who?” Sweat was gleaming on Quinn’s face.

  “Grace Chu?” I repeated. “Well . . . RIP, Grace.”

  Reanimated, infernal, and pretty damn dangerous. Imagine if the kids and grandkids had seen this.

  Looking at the little old lady’s corpse, which now had two fresh bullet holes in the torso, I started laughing.

  When I saw the way the others all looked at me, I laughed even harder.

  “Jesus,” Quinn said in disgust.

  “She’s overwrought,” Max said kindly.

  “Is it any wonder?” said John.

  “Everyone reacts different to these things,” said Lucky.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake,” said Quinn, as I continued laughing.

  I took a deep breath and pulled myself together. “Okay, I’m done.”

  I hiccupped, which sent me into another peal of laughter. Then I looked at the body again—and suddenly I was ashamed and embarrassed and had no idea why I’d been laughing a second ago.

  “Sorry,” I said.

  They all brushed aside my apology, except for Quinn.

  Nelli groaned a little and lay down next to me, apparently feeling the sting of her injuries. She’d hit the wall and the floor very hard. I started petting her big head, trying to calm both of us with that soothing, repetitive motion.

  “Who the hell is Grace Chu?” Quinn demanded in a strained voice. “And what . . . what . . .”

  John looked down at the body again. “She died last night. Natural causes. Ninety-two years old.” After a moment, he added, “I hope Sam will be able to hide the bullet holes. We don’t want to have to explain those to the family . . .”

  “So here I’m worrying about Joe Ning’s body,” Lucky said crankily, “and you don’t mention there’s a body back here?”

  John looked up. “I didn’t know. I mean, I knew we were expecting her, but no one told me she’d arrived.” He shook his head. “Sam must have brought her over this morning before he went home to take care of the kids. And with all the preparations for Uncle Six, I guess it didn’t occur to Dad to mention it.”