by Mike Resnick
“Sorry to have bothered you,” said Mallory.
“That's all right,” replied Raoul. “I'm used to it.” He winked at Mallory. “Lose the three weirdos and we'll talk.”
He wandered off, humming to himself.
“Care for a dozen long-stemmed roses?” asked one of the goblins. He held them up and studied them. “Well, three long-stemmed and nine short-stemmed ones. They'll pave the way to the little fruit bat's heart.”
“At least the little fruit bat was honest with me,” said Mallory.
“And are you any closer to finding your vampire?” shot back the goblin. “So much for honesty, which, along with sexual abstinence and betting on claimers who are moving up in class, is a greatly overrated virtue.”
“If you're so smart, what are you doing selling lemonade at 1:30 AM on a chilly November morning?” said Nathan irritably.
“Well, we're smarter than a dragon who's walking around that same park at 1:30 AM with nothing to eat or drink.”
Mallory suddenly realized that Felina was no longer standing next to him. He looked around and finally spotted her on the limb of a nearby tree, a dozen feet above the ground.
“Felina, what the hell are you doing up there?”
“He was up here,” she replied.
“You're sure?”
She nodded. “He jumped.”
“He's got the body of a ninety-year-old man,” said Mallory. “He must have turned into a bat and flown.”
She shook her head. “If he had, his shoes would still be on the grass.”
Mallory frowned. “Are you trying to tell me this ancient guy actually jumped up there?”
Felina nodded and smiled. “It's not very hard at all.”
“Jumping?”
“No, telling you.”
“What did he do when he left the branch?”
“I don't know yet. I'll find out if you like.”
“Yes, I would,” said Mallory.
“For a goldfish.”
“Okay.”
“And a snail.”
“Don't push it.”
“And three zebras and a great white shark.”
“Enjoy your tree,” said Mallory. “We're out of here.”
“Half a goldfish!” yelled Felina.
“Good-bye.”
Suddenly Felina hurled herself through the air and landed on Mallory's back, sending him sprawling. “I'll protect you, John Justin!” she cried.
Mallory turned his head just in time to see Felina's jaws clamp down on the last mosquito of the season, which was simply flying by, minding its own business.
“Where would you be without me, John Justin?” she asked proudly.
“On my feet,” muttered the detective.
“That was a killer mosquito,” she continued, “doubtless infected with hepititamus. I saved your life, John Justin.” She began purring. “Skritch my back.”
“Do you two do this very often?” asked Nathan.
“Only when she's awake,” said Mallory.
“I wasn't making fun of you,” the dragon assured him. “But I think Wings O'Bannon needs a sidekick, and the cat thing not only provides you with an expert tracker who can see in the dark, but she's great comic relief.”
“Hilarious,” said Mallory grimly, pulling himself painfully to his feet.
“Hey,” said McGuire, “I see an old friend!” The little vampire began waving his hands above his head. “Hey, Bubba! Over here! It's Bats!”
A large man with broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and the grace of an athlete began approaching them, a big smile on his face.
“Bats, you little bastard!” he called out. “How the hell are you?”
“Never better!” said McGuire. “Well, actually I've been better lots of times, but I'm kind of okay. Come on over. I have some friends I want you to meet. This is Scaly Jim Chandler, a mystery writer. This is Felina, a cat creature. And this is my pal John Justin Mallory, the world-famous detective.”
“Provided that the world doesn't extend more than ten feet in any direction from my office,” said Mallory, extending his hand.
“Pleased to meet you,” said Bubba. “And I'm Bubba Preston.”
“Didn't you used to be a fullback for the Mashers?” asked Nathan.
“Yeah,” confirmed Bubba. “I was on my way to a thousand-yard season. I still remember the day everything changed. I was carrying the ball on what we called a forty-seven-spread-pound-right. I picked up about five yards, and then the Green Devils nailed me, and eight of ‘em must have piled on me. Then I felt one of ‘em sinking his teeth into my calf. Wasn't anything unusual; things like that happen on the bottoms of piles all the time. But as it turns out, I was bit by Jason Grim, and we all know what happened to him.”
“Not quite all of us,” said Mallory.
“They suspended him for a year for biting some guy in a night club. He decided he couldn't live without football, so he figured he'd end it all, and he jumped off the top of the Vampire State Building—but he didn't land. By the time he passed the fortieth floor, he'd shrunk out of his clothes and sprouted wings, and finally the press knew why he was always biting everyone. He must have cost eight or nine of us our jobs, because the league passed a new rule that each team could only have three vampires on its roster, and I was making more than three of the other guys he bit, so I was the one who had to go. They say it was a salary-cap move, and I said it was anti-vampire bigotry. The commissioner has turned down my application for reinstatement three times now.”
“Gonna try again?” asked McGuire.
“Sure. Football's my life. But this time I have a new strategy. I'm tired of telling him how sorry I am and how much I want to play. This time I'm just going to tell him that I think he's got a really tasty-looking daughter.” Bubba grinned. “If that doesn't do the trick, maybe I will find out just how good she tastes.”
“Do you mind if we have lunch one day this week?” asked Nathan eagerly. “And can I bring a tape recorder along? I find your story fascinating. I think it'd make a great chapter in my next Wings O'Bannon book.”
“Fine with me,” said Bubba. “As long as you don't mind having lunch at three in the morning. I don't go out much in the daytime. These days I burn kind of easy.”
“It's a deal,” said Nathan.
“So what are you doing out here, Bats?” asked Bubba. “Are they…ah…converts?”
“No,” said McGuire. “We're looking for someone, and we have reason to believe he's been here recently.”
“Maybe I can help. What's his name?”
“Vlad Drachma,” answered Mallory.
“Watch out for him,” said Bubba, his expression suddenly apprehensive. “You don't want to mess with him.”
“It's hard to imagine you being afraid of anything,” said McGuire.
“He's just…strange,” said Bubba.”
“Even other vampires don't want to cross him.”
“Do you have any idea where he is now?” asked Mallory.
Bubba shook his head. “He never stays anywhere more than an hour or so. I think it's how he got to be so old. Never presents a stationary target.”
“But he's got to come to rest at sunrise, doesn't he?” persisted the detective.
“What's the population of this island?” asked Bubba. “Seven million? Eight? And an equal number of offices and other rooms? The guy's got maybe sixteen million hiding places. How are you going to find him?”
“With brilliant detective work and deductive reasoning,” Nathan chimed in. “That's why he's got the creator of Wings O'Bannon along for counsel and advice.”
“He killed my partner's nephew,” said Mallory. “I've got to find him, dangerous or not. Have you got any suggestions at all?”
“You absolutely insist on finding him?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” said Bubba. “The best advice I've got for you is: Get help.”
“I've got a dragon, a cat-girl—”
; “You need real help, Mallory,” said the vampire, “not some hodgepodge made-up crew.”
“Okay, who do I need?”
“The Wall Street Five, obviously.”
“Do they work for the cops?”
Bubba chuckled. “They own the cops. Trust me, shamus—if you want a little protection when you finally go up against Vlad, you want the Wall Street Five.”
“Where can I find them?”
“The Stock Exchange.”
“They have offices there?”
“They own it.”
“You got some names and numbers? This probably can't wait until daylight.”
“They live there around the clock.”
“In the Stock Exchange?” said Mallory dubiously.
“When you meet them it'll make sense to you,” Bubba assured him. He looked off to his left. “Ah! Here come my dates.”
A pair of very sexy girls in their twenties approached. It was only when the moonlight glinted off their teeth that Mallory could see that they, too, had highly developed canines.
“Mabel and Maxine, say hello to Mr. Mallory and my old friend Bats McGuire.” The girls gave each a smile that started out charming and, once their teeth were exposed, ended up chilling. “And this here is Jack Chandelier, the mystery writer.”
“Scaly Jim Chandler,” the dragon corrected him.
“And I don't know what that thing up in the tree is, but she came with them.”
“I'm looking for owls,” said Felina from her perch ten feet above the ground.
“So you definitely don't know where Drachma is,” persisted Mallory.
“I don't know, and I don't want to know,” said Bubba. “And neither should you.”
“Which way to Wall Street?” asked Mallory. “I'm all turned around.”
“See that little kid with the saxophone?” said Bubba, pointing to a small boy who suddenly appeared about two hundred feet away. “Comes here every night, because his parents and neighbors won't let him practice at home. I hope he turns out to be good; I hate to see that much love and dedication go to waste.”
“I'm surprised you haven't taken a bite out of him,” said Mallory.
“Listen, shamus, there are enough bad eggs in the world; I don't need to crack any pasteurized ones.”
“Well said,” replied the detective. “We'd better be going. Thanks for the info.”
“Smartest thing you could do is forget it,” said Bubba. “Come on, girls. Let's go out for a snack.”
They giggled and joined him as he walked off toward the buildings on the west side of the park.
“I thought vampires were afraid of cat people,” said Mallory.
“Most of us are,” answered McGuire. “But Bubba's a pro football player. All he's afraid of are fumbles and penalties.”
“Felina, take a sniff and tell me which way he went,” said Mallory.
She sniffed the air, jumped lightly to the ground, and walked in a broad circle, sniffing. “He flew away.”
“He seems to change back and forth a lot,” noted Mallory. “Bats, is that normal?”
“He's three thousand years old,” answered McGuire. “Who knows what's normal for someone who's been a vampire that long?”
“I hope Winnifred is having better luck,” said Mallory. “Let's go.”
“Where?” asked Nathan.
“The Stock Exchange. Unless you think Bubba was lying to us?”
“No, he never lies.”
“Then that's where we're going.”
He started off, paused to stick a dollar bill in the boy's saxophone, then made a semicircle around a thick stand of bushes and came to a young woman who was leaning against a tree, weeping softly.
“Are you all right?” asked Mallory solicitously.
“I'm fine,” she said, tears streaming down her face.
“What's the problem?”
“Ewen.”
“Me?”
“No. I'm in love with Ewen.” She exposed her neck, which had a series of bite marks on it. “I let him convert me to prove my love. We were going to be together for all eternity. I was meeting him here tonight—and he hasn't shown up! Now I'm all alone, and undead!”
She began crying again. Mallory felt totally helpless, and after making a few soothing noises, he began walking again.
They'd gone a quarter mile when they came to a small, gnarly man standing out in the open.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “And kind-of lady. Lovely night, isn't it?”
“Beautiful,” said Mallory warily.
“Still, it may not always be that way. Could rain, you know.”
“What are you selling?” asked Mallory. “Umbrellas?”
“Protection,” answered the man. “Anyone can insure your house or your car. But who can insure you against a rain of toads, or a spaceship from Sirius VII plunging into your house?”
“Let me guess,” said Mallory.
“No need to guess,” said the man. “Dimitrios the Disaster Agent at your service. No risk too small, no premium too large—or did I mean that the other way around? No matter. Here I am, your friend and savior.”
“We're on the trail of a vampire,” said Nathan.
“My specialty!” exclaimed Dimitrios.
“What'll you charge to insure us if we catch up with Vlad Drachma?”
“Did you say Vlad Drachma?” repeated Dimitrios.
“That's right.”
“Nice knowing you gents,” he said, shambling away. “Be sure to give him my regards. Just don't tell him my name.”
Then he was out of sight.
“Guy's got a bit of a reputation,” noted Mallory.
“Dimitrios?” replied McGuire. “I never heard of him before.”
“Vlad,” said the detective.
“I wonder if we could buy protection?”
“Not unless you're as rich as the men we're on our way to see,” said Mallory.
They circled another bush and bumped into a distraught young man in a tie and tails.
“I'm sorry,” he said. “I'm so upset I'm just not paying attention. I hope I didn't harm anyone.”
“No.”
“It's just not fair!” he said. “Nobody should be this miserable!”
“What's the matter?” said Mallory.
“I shouldn't burden you with my problems.”
“My job is solving problems. Maybe I can help.”
“No one can help. She's gone, and I'll never find her again.”
“Who's gone?”
“The woman I was going to spend the rest of my life with.” He exposed his fangs. “And that figures to be a long time. Now I'll have to spend it alone.” He shook his head miserably. “She swore she'd wait for me right by the purple chrysanthemums in the park. What did I do to drive her away?”
“Would your name happen to be Ewen?” asked Mallory.
“How did you know?” asked the young man sharply.
“Oh, I know a lot of things,” said Mallory. “For example, I know that you're standing next to a bed of purple asters.”
“Purple asters?” repeated Ewen.
“Yeah. And I know there's a very worried young lady standing next to some purple chrysanthemums about a quarter of a mile in that direction,” he added, pointing.
“I don't know how to thank you!” said Ewen, impulsively kissing Mallory on each cheek and resisting the impulse to take a little bite out of his neck. “You've saved my life. If I can ever return the favor, you've only to ask.”
As he began running toward the girl and the chrysanthemums, Mallory said under his breath, “That might be sooner than you think.”
Within five more minutes he and his team had reached the edge of the park and headed toward Wall Street.
“The Stock Exchange,” announced Nathan as they came within sight of it. “Now the plot begins to thicken.”
“It wasn't thick enough for you already?” asked Mallory. “We've spent half of All Hallows' Eve looki
ng for a vampire none of us has ever seen, and if we're lucky enough to find him, he's probably twenty times stronger than all of us put together.”
“You don't understand how these cases work,” explained the dragon patiently. “They have an ebb and flow to them.”
“As long as it's not my blood that's flowing…” replied the detective.
“I'm trying to think of what Wings O'Bannon would do in this situation.”
“From what you've told me, he'd probably seduce half the contestants in the Miss Nude Manhattan Contest while thinking of his next move.”
“I take umbrage at that remark!” said Nathan.
“Do you deny it?”
“No, but I take umbrage.”
“Don't take it too far,” said Mallory. “We're almost there.”
“I've been here before,” said Felina, twitching her nostrils.
“I know,” said Mallory. “If we're lucky, they won't remember.”
“What did she do?” asked McGuire.
“It's a long story.”
(Publisher's note: but a good one. Read about it in Stalking the Unicorn, available from Pyr Books.)
They stopped in front of the main entrance to the Exchange.
“Oh, boy—the intrigue that goes on here could fill half a dozen books!” said Nathan enthusiastically.
“And at least two thousand jail cells,” added Mallory.
“So what's our next move?” asked the dragon. “Case the joint? Talk to one of our snitches?”
“We don't have any snitches,” said Mallory, “and we don't have to case the American Stock Exchange. We'll just enter it.”
“Just like that?” said Nathan dubiously.
“They've been watching us since we got here,” said Mallory. “Third floor, sixth window on the left. If they don't want us to come in, the door will be locked.” He turned to the cat-girl. “Felina, climb those stairs there and see if the door opens.”
She soon reached the door, and before she could touch it, it swung inward.
“I guess that means they don't mind visitors,” said Mallory. “Felina, do you smell the vampire here?”
The cat-girl sniffed the air and shook her head.
