by Hal Bodner
Becky picked something up from Clive’s tone. “Something’s happened.”
Clive removed a few specks of imaginary lint from his right sleeve and carefully adjusted his shirt cuffs before he replied, “Pamela’s missing.”
“What?” The candy cane fell from Becky’s mouth. She deftly caught it before it hit the ground and grimaced at the stickiness. Clive, with a resigned sigh, passed her his handkerchief. Becky took it absently and wiped her hands.
“She was supposed to meet Daniel and the City Council at seven-thirty to cut the ribbon starting the parade. She never showed.”
“That’s not like her at all.”
“That’s what I thought. I sent a car over to her place since she wasn’t answering. The doorman saw her come in around five-thirty, but he didn’t see her leave.”
“Did you check inside the apartment?”
“I didn’t get a search warrant, if that’s what you mean,” said Clive huffily. “The building manager let the guys in and they sort of checked it out. You know, to make sure she wasn’t lying in the tub with a broken hip or something.”
“Maybe she went jogging.”
“At night?”
“No, you’re right,” Becky mused. “She usually only goes mornings. Are you sure they looked everywhere?”
“They didn’t check under the bed or in the closets,” Clive told her irritably. “She’d been home,” he continued, with a frown. “Her purse was on the table. But she wasn’t in. Frankly, I’m a little worried.” He shrugged. “Maybe she’s out visiting one of her neighbors.”
Becky looked up at Clive. “Pamela can’t stand any of her neighbors. Maybe you should have checked the closets. And the balcony. And, maybe-”
Clive’s frown cut her off. “Becky...” he began patiently. “I’m sure there’s a logical-”
“This is Pamela Burman we’re talking about,” she said, ignoring him, “Miss Polly Punctual. Did you at least put out a missing person alert?”
“You know I need thirty-six hours for that.”
“This is not a normal situation, Clive. Or did you forget about Granny?”
Clive spread his arms helplessly. “I’ve got someone posted in the lobby of her building. What else can I do?”
“Hello, Becky. Captain.” Unnoticed by the other two, Chris had climbed up onto the platform. “Anything on Troy?” he asked, his face a picture of mingled anguish and hope.
Becky shook her head negatively.
“Have you heard anything?” she asked him.
“You mean from Scotty?” Chris shook his head, “They’ve been looking all day.”
“Scotty who?” Clive wanted to know.
Becky reached out and touched his sleeve, leaving a smear of partially melted peppermint. “Never mind, Clive.” As he started to protest she added, “I told you you’d have to trust me on some things, right?”
Clive looked at her angrily for a second. “Fine then. You two keep your little secrets. But don’t think...” He ended his sentence with a snort that could have been interpreted as one of either disgust or discomfort. He turned and looked at Chris. His eyes narrowed as Chris shifted uncomfortably under his gaze.
“The expert, huh?” he murmured, more to himself than to the others. “You gave him a sedative. Right. Who’d have thought it?”
“What do you mean, Clive?”
He answered her musingly. “It seems my granny might have been right after all.”
“Look,” said Becky, “I don’t know what you’re thinking...”
“Oh, I’ll bet you do...”
“We don’t have time for this!” She turned to Chris. “Pamela Burman’s missing.”
“The City Manager?” He thought for a minute. “You think they’re connected?”
“Young man,” said Clive, “Two people have vanished in twenty-four hours. I think it’s fair to assume the same, ah, person is responsible. Don’t you?”
“Do you have any ideas?” Becky asked Chris.
“No, I don’t. He hasn’t gotten in touch with me yet but I’m hoping-” Chris stopped abruptly, staring off into the crowd behind Becky and Clive. They turned to follow his gaze.
There, about forty feet away, stood Rex Castillian, wearing a green and purple woman’s jogging suit. Somehow the lopsided grey wig perched atop his head made him look more ominous than ridiculous. His grotesque resemblance to Pamela Burman was threateningly shocking.
“That’s him,” breathed Clive and began to motion toward one of the deputies stationed around the stage as crowd control.
“Wait,” said Chris, softly but with a note of command.
The three watched as Rex, a vicious grin on his face, pointed first at himself and then held his right hand up to his ear like a telephone receiver and mimed dialing with the other. He stood for a minute and then, with a quick bow, vanished into the crowd.
“Does that mean what I think it does?” asked Clive quietly.
“Quick,” said Becky. “Call Pamela.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
It took the three of them almost fifteen minutes to get down from the stage and work their way across the street to the Sheriff’s Station, due to the necessity of pushing past assorted drag queens and costumed partiers.
“I can’t believe you let your battery run down!” Becky chastised Clive for the third time.
“I don’t see a cell phone in your chocolate-covered paws either, missy!” Clive shot back as he narrowly missed a collision with a boozy-smelling Marilyn Monroe.
“I told you already. No pockets, Clive! No pockets!”
“Don’t look at me,” Chris said, before the other two could turn accusing eyes upon him. “I barely know how to work the things.”
“You’re kidding,” Becky said, disbelieving.
“I was born in 1750,” Chris snapped at her, too upset to be mindful of Clive’s presence. “I thought telephones in general were just a phase. Who knew people would want to stop writing letters?”
The only indication that Clive had heard the exchange was a slight tension when he narrowed his eyes to examine Chris anew.
Finally, they cleared the crowd.
“Hurry up!” the captain urged, as they bolted through the front doors of the sheriff’s station and ran down the hall to his office. Once there, Becky pushed past him and seized the telephone, dialing rapidly.
“Come on! Come on!” said Clive urgently.
Becky forced the receiver tighter against her ear as the telephone rang for the third time. Finally, on the fourth ring, someone picked it up at the other end.
“Hello,” drawled an unctuous voice.
Becky nodded and Clive leaned over the desk to put the phone on speaker.
“Where’s Pam Burman?” he demanded.
“Oh, I’m sorry. She can’t come to the phone right now. She’s tied up, you might say.” There was a chilling giggle.
“What the hell have you done with Troy?” Chris demanded.
“Your little renfield is similarly occupied at the moment, cousin.”
Clive’s eyebrows made their way upward at the word “cousin” and he grunted softly, as if confirming a suspicion.
“I do hope the three of you will be kind enough to join us shortly. Perhaps we could all have a drink together, hmm?” Rex cackled again. “Yes, a lovely, lovely drink.”
“Listen you son of a bitch,” said Chris angrily. “You hurt one hair on his head and I’ll...”
“You’ll what?” snapped Rex. “Kill me?” He began to laugh heartily. “Oh, I really, really can’t wait until we all meet in person. Your little group is so amusing. I’ve had more laughs in the past few days than I’ve had in many years. Oh, and by the way...I must insist that only the three of you visit Ms. Burman’s apartment. Do you understand me, Captain? You may bring as many more of your little police people as you like, but they stay in the lobby. Or they die. It’s that simple.”
“You smug bastard,” said Clive.
“Yes
, I am, aren’t I? And cousin?”
“What?” asked Chris.
“You may tell the ghoul and his friends that I’ll deal with them later. I wouldn’t want them to feel left out.”
Clive turned to Becky at the mention of the word “ghoul”; she shook her head warningly.
“As a matter of fact,” Rex continued, “I may soon be able to invite them for dinner. I’ll be serving fillet of renfield. I’m sure they’ll enjoy it.”
“I’ll kill you!” Chris shouted. “I’ll rip your head off, you prick!”
“At least,” said Rex with an evil chuckle, “you’ll try.”
There was a soft click as Rex replaced the receiver.
The ropes binding Troy’s feet had finally parted from the sawing action of the elevator cable. Stretching his cramped muscles for a moment, he hiked up his fanny, passing his bound hands under his rear and finally managing to get both his legs through the circle made by his arms.
His hands now in front, he shifted his weight, swinging himself from side to side until he was able to close his knees around the moving elevator cable. With a sigh of regret for his shorts, which would soon be in ribbons, he placed the ropes binding his hands against the steel cable. He gritted his teeth against the pain it caused by chafing along the inside of his thighs and began to rapidly move his hands in a sawing motion. He prayed the cable would saw through the bindings before it would be able to cut too deeply into his legs.
Within a moment or two, both his thighs and his hands were dripping blood. But the ropes, due to the added motion, were quickly parting.
Clive took the corner turn into the Shoreham Towers driveway on two wheels and stomped on the brakes in anger. Chris and Becky were thrown forward by the abrupt stop. He leapt from the driver’s seat, slammed the door of the squad car and marched into the lobby hopping mad, without looking to see if the other two were following.
“Temper, temper,” Becky said mildly to herself as she opened the rear door of the car for Chris, who was pounding on the window, frantic to get out and find Troy. He raced into the building behind Clive.
A second sheriff’s car pulled up, and two armed deputies emerged. Seeing Becky, they both grinned; she was an interesting sight. The damned witch’s hat continually slipped down over her forehead, and she kept tripping over the broom handle.
Becky and the deputies reached the reception desk in time to hear Clive’s final orders to the officer he’d stationed in the lobby earlier.
“And no one, that means no one, is to come up to the penthouse. Is that clear?”
“But Captain, sir,” interrupted the frightened young receptionist, “People live up there.”
“You can get on the house phone and get ’em all down to the lobby as soon as we’ve gone up.” Clive turned to his officers. “And you! Make ’em stay down here until we’re through.”
The three deputies nodded, their heads bopping up and down like yo-yos. They’d never before seen their captain display anything other than an air of ordered calm and were uncertain of how to react.
Clive turned back to the girl behind the counter. “And screw the warrant!” he roared. “Gimme the damn passkeys. Do I look like a friggin’ burglar?” She meekly handed them over.
He stormed into the waiting elevator car and pressed the button for Burman’s floor. A minute later, he stepped out again and stood with his hands on his hips. “Are we coming?” he asked sarcastically. Without a word, Becky and Chris joined him in the car.
As the doors shut and the elevator moved upwards, Becky commented, “Could we please try to control our mood?”
“You sound like a damn nurse!” Clive was angry with good reason. At first he’d been prepared to summon all available deputies to the condo building. Chris and Becky had begged him to forgo that option; they felt the fewer people who knew what was going on, the better. Clive had finally seen the wisdom of their words, but he was far from happy about it. A compromise had been reached; one car of deputies would accompany them to keep residents from getting off on the top floor of the building and to maintain order in the lobby. The three would go up to face Rex Castillian alone.
Clive pulled his gun from its holster and checked to make sure it was fully loaded.
“Fat lot of help that’ll be,” commented Chris. Clive simply glared at him.
“I suppose we should’ve stopped by Irvine Ranch for some garlic first?” Clive’s sarcasm was impossible to miss.
“We were gonna try that in the morgue.” Becky said. “Chris said it wouldn’t work.”
“Well, just what the hell are we supposed to do then?” Clive demanded.
“I’ll think of something,” the vampire replied.
“Oh, great! Now I feel better! I’m about to be bat-bait and I’ve got Casper and Wendy for sidekicks!”
“Just remember, if we can get Troy and Pamela into one of the other apartments, he can’t enter without an invitation.”
“And how the hell are you supposed to get in?” Clive demanded. Chris looked at him, startled.
“Christ, give me some credit,” Becky said, “I’ll invite him.”
The doors opened and they got out.
They walked down the hall on tiptoe. Becky stumbled over the broomstick again, but Chris steadied her before she could fall. When they reached Burman’s door, Clive pushed them flat against the wall on either side of the doorway and prepared to knock.
Before he could lift his knuckles to rap, however, Becky pounded the broomstick on the door. At Clive’s look of shock she said, “What? You think maybe he’s got a gun?” She tried the handle and, finding the door unlocked, opened it. The three of them, froze for a moment as screams echoed from somewhere inside the apartment. Without a word, Becky dashed inside.
Clive looked at Chris. “He’s killing her,” the Captain gasped in disbelief.
“No...” said Chris, thoughtfully. “I don’t think so.”
For the first time, a look of doubt showed on Clive’s face. “Maybe we should have...” He stopped and looked at Chris again. “Would silver bullets-” he began.
“Werewolves,” said Chris, abruptly dismissing the question. He turned to follow Becky and stopped in the entryway unable to go any further. He turned to Clive sheepishly. “Uh, there seems to be a problem.”
Clive shook his head in amazement and entered the apartment. He motioned for Chris to follow.
Becky stood in the center of the living room, frozen. At first Chris thought she was rooted to the spot in terror, but as he came closer he saw she was trying very hard not to laugh.
“What’s so funny?” he whispered angrily.
“Can’t you hear that?” she gasped. “In the bedroom.”
And they suddenly could. What they had at first taken for Pamela Burman’s howls of agony resolved themselves into words. Intent on deciphering the screams and shouts, neither of them noticed Chris when he suddenly stiffened and bolted back out the front door into the hallway.
“No, you listen to me you blood-sucking bastard!”
“Madam, please...”
“Don’t you ‘madam’ me, you… you… flaming dick! How dare you come into my town...”
“I’m warning you, Ms. Burman. Either you’ll be quiet immediately or I’ll replace the gag.”
“I’m warning you!” Pamela screamed. “You put that fucking thing in my mouth again and I swear to God, I’ll rip your goddamned balls off with my bare hands!”
The two in the living room heard a crash.
“You bastard!” yelled Burman in the other room, “Look what you made me do! That was my mother’s!”
There was another crash.
Becky and Clive poked their heads around the doorjamb to witness an amazing sight. Pamela Burman was partially tied to her vanity chair. Somehow she had managed to work her legs free and was hobbling around the room, bent halfway over, the chair attached to her back and arms as if she were giving it a piggyback ride. Rex Castillian was attempting to catch
her and sit her back down.
As they watched, Rex caught up with her. He grabbed her arm, but Burman lashed out with one leg, catching Castillian in the shin with one of her wooden platform heels. With a small yelp of pain, he leaped away, circling around once again to try and attack her from behind.
“So! You don’t like wood, huh?” Burman snarled. “Just let me get loose for two seconds and I’ll give you a wooden enema you’ll never forget!” Her right leg lashed out and she smiled as Rex yelped again and leapt out of the way. “By the time I’m done with you, you son of a bitch, you’ll have my fucking dining room table shoved up your ass!”
Clive stepped out into the center of the doorway, gun raised and held out pointed at Rex. “Stop right there!” he ordered.
“Oh,” commented Rex, rubbing his bruised shin, “Such drama.”
“It’s about time you two bozos got here,” snapped Burman.
“It is indeed,” said Rex, and slowly began to advance on Clive.
“I’m warning you, I’ll shoot!” said Clive.
“Oh?” asked Rex. “Here, let me help.” He reached up and ripped his shirt open, baring his chest. With one fingernail, he slashed a small circle in the skin around his left nipple. “Let’s see if you can hit the bull’s-eye.” He came forward, menacingly.
Without hesitation, Clive fired. The gunshot, tremendously loud, startled Becky and Burman into small shrieks of surprise.
Clive was a remarkably good shot and he was firing from close range to boot. The bullet caught Castillian in the dead center of the circle he’d drawn, flinging him backwards as it passed through his body and hit the huge sliding glass doors to the balcony behind him. The glass shattered with a tremendous crash and Rex toppled to the floor.
“Goddamn it!” yelled Burman. “They’ll assess me for that!”
Clive lost his temper. “What the hell did you expect me to do, Pam? I’m saving your life, for chrissake!”
“Next time could you try to save it without costing me a fortune in plate glass?” she growled back.
Clive bent to untie her. “Sit down and let me get these ropes, will ya?” Burman sat.
