The Spinoza Trilogy

by Rain, J. R.

  I did get a few punches in as I maneuvered toward the corner. Punches that had little, if any, effect. Indeed, I might have just broken my hand on one of their jaws.

  I almost reached the wood, and the door. I had to choose. I didn’t care for either option. I wasn’t keen on the idea of running, but I was less inclined to die.

  Just as I lunged for the two-by-four, one of the bastards tripped me, and the other got a hold of the wood instead. The last thing I remembered was trying to cover my head as I saw the blow coming down.

  Chapter Eight

  The nightmares had changed somewhat over the past couple of years. Locations changed, scenery changed. My son’s screaming and his burning body remained the same. My helplessness to save him always remained. The horror remained.

  This time we were at the beach. I’d pulled his burning body from the car. I was carrying him, running like hell toward the ocean. (I know saltwater would really hurt, but this was a dream, right?) If only I could get him wet, he might live. Maybe. But the sand slowed my pace. Try as I might, I wasn’t getting any closer to the water. My son screamed in pain with every step I took. I was thirsty. The ocean water wouldn’t help me but it would save my son. He screeched in agony as I tripped and dropped him on the hot sand.

  Christ, I needed water for strength. I wasn’t strong enough to get him to the waves...

  I was slapped awake. My first thought was of the dream. My second was that my head felt like someone had used it as a soccer ball. As I opened my eyes, my third thought was instantly upon who’d just slapped me. The night was dark and cold. I reached for my gun but a strong hand stopped me.

  A strong, feminine hand.

  As my vision cleared, the person who seemingly manifested before me was the last person I’d expected to see. Then again, considering where I had been and what I had just seen, maybe I shouldn’t have been too surprised.

  “Veronica.”

  My client from two years ago. My client who’d first introduced me to the world of the undead. Or to my own insanity.

  “Yeah. You’re welcome,” she said.

  We were in an alley, but where, I had no clue. For a second I thought I was going to throw up. I gagged. She stepped back a little. Polite of her. I forced my half-digested medieval dinner to stay put. Next, Veronica helped me to my feet. She was clearly stronger than she looked. She steered me to a small car that was parked just inside the alley.

  Later, after she’d put a few miles behind us, she pulled onto a quiet street and stopped the car. She lit a cigarette as I ran my fingers tenderly around the back of my head. Two giant lumps. Oh, goody.

  “Smoking’s bad for your health,” I said, wincing. “Cuts years off your life.”

  She laughed. “So does getting your head bludgeoned.”

  I didn’t laugh. I didn’t say anything either. I was still processing the night. I was still processing the fact that I was now sitting next to an old client of mine. A client who, I was certain, was now very much a creature of the night.

  Yeah, I’m going crazy.

  “What the hell were you doing there?” she asked.

  Veronica still looked eighteen, although her dark eyes held more wisdom than any eighteen year old I’d ever seen. We’d touched base only a few times since I’d saved her life a couple of years ago.

  “How did you find me?” I asked.

  “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me.”

  “We’re...” she paused, started again. “We’re connected somehow, Spinoza.”

  Crazy words. They were words that made me even forget the two lumps at the back of my head. “I need a drink.”

  “No drinks, Spinoza. The man who attacked me years ago was a vampire. You know that.”

  “I really need a drink.”

  “Calm down, buckaroo. This isn’t new news. Anyway, by saving me, we somehow...bonded.”

  “Bonded?”

  She nodded. “Mentally. It happens when there’s a close bond between vampire and mortal. Apparently saving one’s life accelerates that bond. Who knew?”

  “You know you sound crazy,” I said. “Batshit crazy.”

  “Says the man I found lying in the alley in a pool of his own blood. How do you think I found you?”

  I thought about that as long and hard as my throbbing head would permit. Bonded? Lord help me.

  “Now that that’s out of the way, Spinoza, why don’t you tell me what sort of shit you’ve stumbled into?”

  Rubbing my head, hearing the craziness that was issuing forth from my mouth, I told her about my case, everything I’d explained to Roxi, plus the night’s events.

  She sat there, thinking. “Huh,” she finally said.

  “Very astute,” I commented. “Know anything about the woman in the iron mask?”

  “I will soon,” was all she said. “And, if my hunch is correct, she is far more than a woman. Far, far more.”

  Chapter Nine

  I opened the fridge, half-expecting to find an ice-cold beer. Or a twelve-pack. Of course, there wasn’t any beer. There was a half-bottle of Roxi’s chardonnay, but I firmly guided my hand to a Diet Coke, along with half a meatball sandwich that I tossed in the microwave.

  I took these to my desk. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but I had work to do. I thought of those woeful eyes behind the mask. Not blue, but violet. And they had been full of pain that may have matched my own. Maybe.

  I picked up my cell and punched in my client’s number. Voicemail. I left a message and hung up. I opened my laptop and researched Medievaland. I wanted to learn who owned that particular franchise. This information could be easily found, if one knew how. Then I did some background checks on the owner. Came up with nothing. They weren’t vampires, of that I was certain. They didn’t even live in California. That’s one annoying aspect of private detective work; much of the research is necessary but hardly ever relevant to the case.

  I washed the last of the sandwich down with a swig of Diet Coke. Her accent. Swedish? Norwegian? I could be at my laptop all day. I didn’t have enough information. I called my client again, frowning when he still failed to pick up. Now that I’d seen her, I understood his concern. So why wasn’t he answering?

  I knew it was pointless, but I searched the internet for vampires with violet eyes. That would have been too easy. And probably inaccurate. Nothing, of course. I called a couple of trusted contacts and inquired.

  Three hours later, still at my desk, I sat drumming my fingers. My mind wandered to the last drink I’d taken before killing my son. He would have been fifteen now, had I not taken that last drink. Or maybe the last four or five. He might have had a girlfriend. I’d never had a chance to give him “the talk.”

  It was early afternoon and Roxi would be calling soon. She called me every day. The thought was comforting, and I felt a pang of disappointment that I might disappoint her with my lack of progress. Meeting a vampire in silver chains was something, but I didn’t consider getting clobbered and dumped in an alley as progress. I knew two things: one, I needed to talk more with my client, and two, I had to help the imprisoned woman, whoever she was.

  * * *

  A shower and clean clothes helped.

  I’d heard somewhere that a shower could make you feel as good as 25 milligrams of Demerol. I wondered if that was true. I’d never taken it; I refused to ever take anything to ease pain. I didn’t feel I deserved to be relieved of pain of any kind. But I did ice the lump on my head to bring down the swelling. I’d had concussions before. I didn’t think I had one now, but I wouldn’t be of use to anyone if I couldn’t function.

  I had filled Roxi in when she called. With my past cases, in regard to creatures of the night, Roxi had proven to be remarkably open-minded. More so than I had been. I would have dismissed such stories as just that...stories.

  That was, if course, if I hadn’t seen these things first-hand.

  They’re real, I thought. Whatever they are.

&nbs
p; And Veronica was one of them. And perhaps even more strange, she and I were linked telepathically. As in, she somehow had access to my thoughts. My tortured thoughts. Poor thing.

  I shook my head again and winced.

  “You should see a doctor,” she said, referring to my head injuries.

  “I’m fine,” I said.

  “Well, let me at least come over. Fix you dinner?”

  I supposed all women had a tendency to fix things, but I hated it.

  “It’s okay. I have to go out. Research.”

  “About vampires?”

  “Something like that.”

  She asked me to call later. I promised I would. Roxi cared for me, but she also respected my work. Even when it came to blood-sucking fiends. If I were her, I would have run for the hills. And kept running.

  I hung up and got my coat and keys.

  Chapter Ten

  The Tam O’Shanter was a classy Scottish pub in Glendale.

  I liked it because of its unique, somewhat secretive ambiance and the intelligent, diverse regulars. You could mingle at the bar, or sit quietly alone and listen to the pianist, Frank. I liked the older big band tunes. Frank was a real entertainer. He could jump from “Getting to Know You” to “Clair de Lune” with the seamless grace of a ballerina, either leading the chorus of voices that rose around him or bending into the kind of classical piece that let his piano do the talking. It was a great place to get away, a place where no one would think of finding me; it was my little secret haven.

  I got into my car and headed over to the Tam, where I was to meet Veronica. As I entered the pub, Frank transitioned his melody to “As Time Goes By” from the old Bogie film, Casablanca. He knew I liked that particular tune and played it whenever I came in. He smiled at me, and I attempted a smile back.

  Attempted.

  Veronica was sipping a martini in a nearby booth. I slipped in across from her and ordered an Arnold Palmer. “Tell me something I don’t know, kiddo,” I said.

  “Stop calling me that.”

  “Okay, Mistress of the Night, tell me something I don’t know.”

  Veronica unsheathed an olive from the toothpick and popped it into her mouth. My mouth watered. I looked away.

  “You really have a knack for picking cases,” she observed as I faced her again.

  “I thought you were going to tell me something new.”

  “I am. I just don’t know where to begin.”

  “Why don’t you start with this: Who is the woman in the mask?”

  Instead she said, “There’s a newer group of vampires in Orange County. They formed as a coven a few years ago, but they’ve grown much larger than that.”

  “How much larger?”

  “I’m not quite sure. They’re very secretive. Probably about thirty in all. They’re becoming a gang, or like some mob or something.”

  “How so?”

  “They’re recruiting new vampires wherever they can to do their dirty work for them.”

  “Dirty work?”

  “You know, harvesting fresh blood and all that.”

  My stomach turned as I considered this. I stirred my Arnold Palmer with a straw. “Murders?”

  Veronica nodded. “Of course.”

  “Why haven’t I heard about this? If only in the newspaper?”

  “The cops are treating them like some serial case. They’re keeping it under wraps for now.”

  “Probably don’t want to scare away any tourists,” I said with a touch of bitterness. “How thoughtful of them.”

  “Yeah. Or maybe they’re just scared.”

  I thought of the good cops I knew. Their jobs were tough enough. And finding blood-drained bodies all over the place? How would that sound to the public?

  Frank was playing a beautiful rendition of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.” Ah, the irony of it all.

  “Scared. Possibly,” I said. “I take it this relates to our prisoner?”

  “I’m pretty sure. But this coven, or gang, is really on the down-low. My associates have only just begun to learn about them.”

  “I’m surprised you’re not hunting them down.”

  She gave that wicked smile and her eyes gleamed. “Give me time,” she answered. I had to give the girl credit, Veronica was tough. Always had been. And it all began a few years ago when her own parents had been attacked and killed. By vampires.

  They’d picked the wrong victim.

  She was, of course, one of them now. A vampire who hunted her own, as she would, apparently, until the end of time.

  I guided her back to the subject at hand. “And the vampire in the iron mask?”

  “I don’t know much. Her name is Natassa. She arrived on the scene not long after this coven formed, and there are a couple of different theories about her.”

  I waited.

  “Some say that she’s from some country in Europe...”

  “Like Transylvania?”

  “Ha ha.” Veronica gave me the finger; she hated vampire jokes. But I liked to tease her when I could. “Go on,” I said.

  “Some say this coven captured her because she was trying to hunt them.”

  “She was hunting a coven? By herself?”

  “I don’t know if she was alone. But rumor has it she’s pretty powerful. So they keep her as an example for anyone else trying to cross their path.”

  “Interesting,” I noted. “What’s the other story?”

  “This is the curious part. My associates who do know about her believe it’s possible that she’s the one who started all the killing, and that they’re holding her to prevent her from doing more damage. The idea is that she created some real monsters and the coven is trying to stop all the killings.”

  I envisioned those violet eyes. Her brief words implied concern not for herself, but for me and...who?

  “Maybe your client?” Veronica asked as surely as if I had voiced my question. I might never get used to the fact that she could read my thoughts. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

  “Just once. One phone call. I’ve called him back a few times today; he doesn’t pick up. And I don’t know his name.”

  “Oh?”

  “Some of my clients work that way. They just put the payments under my door, so to speak. It’s not too unusual.”

  “He might be in trouble.”

  I nodded. I touched the back of my head again, gauging the size of my bruises. “I wonder why they didn’t kill me.”

  “I’m betting it’s because you’re fairly well-known.”

  “You think I would have made headline news?” The thought gave my ego a little boost.

  “Killing a PI usually isn’t wise,” she stated. “You’re not a cop, but you have cop friends.”

  “I’ll add that to the perks of my line of business.”

  For a moment we were lost in our own thoughts. Or maybe Veronica was picking my brain again. The thought that they hadn’t killed me didn’t mean they wouldn’t. I should handle this quickly. Move in, move out. Mission accomplished.

  “So you think you’re just going to go in there and get her?” she said, reading my mind again.

  “I don’t think she’s gonna walk out of there on her own,” I said.

  “Look, Spinoza. I have certain friends who can keep this confidential. They would be willing to help.”

  I shook my head. “I’m not getting mixed up with a bunch of vampires. This is my case; I’ll handle it.”

  “But...”

  “No buts. Tell them thanks for the offer, though.” Before she could protest further, I said, “Your first view of the situation makes more sense.”

  “That they caught her trying to hunt them down.”

  “Yes.”

  “Well, I’m coming with you, anyway.”

  “Look, kiddo—Veronica—I appreciate it. I saved your life once, and I don’t want that to be in vain.”

  “You can’t do this on your own, Spinoza.”

  “You’
d be surprised.” I was no vampire, but over the years I had contrived more than a few brilliant plans to bring back missing kids, plans that most men in their right minds wouldn’t dare to attempt. But whoever said I was in my right mind?

  “Why? Why are you going to do it? If you’re not sure?”

  “One, because I was paid to do a job. Two, I saw her. She’s no demon. I have to help her.”

  “Knight in shining armor.” Veronica rolled her eyes.

  “Pun intended?”

  “Yes.”

  I remembered how weak, yet determined, those eyes were. Young eyes.

  “She’s not a kid, Spinoza. Neither are they.” Veronica locked eyes with me. “I’m serious, Spinoza.”

  “So am I.”

  “I see those timeworn wheels turning.” She made a squeaky, old sound.

  “Funny.”

  “You’re not that old. But seriously...an Arnold Palmer?” Veronica laughed. I regarded the drink I was nursing with disdain. Okay, I was old, so what? I made a mental note to start going to the gym, maybe after this case was over.

  “You can’t just go in and get her out,” she observed. “That’s why you owe me.”

  “That makes no sense whatsoever.”

  “You did something for me, now I’m going to return the favor. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

  I considered this. It would be good to have a partner. I trusted Veronica. Also, I knew how stubborn she was. She’d probably follow me whether I wanted her to or not.

  Hell, we were telepathically linked.

  I drummed my fingers on the bar and listened to the music and couldn’t help but start to plan. I’d seen enough, I believed, of the building’s layout. I thought of Al Pacino, of Bruce Willis, and then sighed as my plan worked itself out in my mind. Hell, I still had it in me.

  I think.

  Veronica knew I didn’t take bullshit from anyone. For sure I wasn’t going to let anyone get away with clobbering me. She was expertly applying lipstick to her full lips, without the aid of a mirror.