The Vampire Files, Volume Two

by P. N. Elrod

  She shook her head once, plucked the cigarette from her mouth, and gave it back to him. He took it without comment and returned it to his pack. His buddy produced a match and the air soon got cloudy as they puffed away.

  If they meant to unnerve me with their combined stares, it was working pretty well, though once I became aware of my own reaction it lost some of its power. Cautiously, I got to my feet and sat on the bench opposite them. No one objected. No one said anything at all during the whole ride. We were sealed in without windows; I had no clue to our route or destination. Only by a few moments of uncomfortable pressure, mitigated somewhat by the close presence of my earth, did I know we’d crossed water. I could make a reasonable guess that we were somewhere west of the city. Maybe. I asked them no questions, figuring that that opportunity would come when we finally stopped.

  So there were more guests at this party than me and Kyler. I could, of course, take care of these three if I chose. I was fast enough in a fight, or could just vanish. They gave me the creeps—hell, Angela was positively terrifying—but I was in no real danger unless they knew about my problem with wood. I was willing to take that chance to find out what they were after.

  Our silent ride went on. I didn’t bother looking at my watch, not wanting to drop my guard. We took a few more turns, enough for me to lose any sense of our direction and come dangerously close to one of my occasional attacks of claustrophobia.

  Another turn. Our speed dropped and the road surface changed, growing rougher. My companions were as stone-faced as ever, but I got the feeling that we’d arrived.

  The brakes whined for the last time and the motor stuttered to nothing. I’d grown so used to all the vibration that it still felt as if we were moving—that or I just didn’t want to get out and face anything new. The one nearest the door opened it and jumped down. Angela jerked her chin at me and I shifted to my feet and followed, a little unsteadily. I kept thinking about how easily she’d killed off that wounded man. There had been deliberate thought behind it, but no feeling that I could see. Reflexive, like smashing a roach.

  The third man dragged Vic out. He stumbled from the truck bed and collapsed on his face.

  The driver came around to join us. He was a big mug with a lantern jaw who looked vaguely familiar. He checked me up and down once, but registered no return recognition, then helped pull Vic to his feet.

  We stood on a white graveled drive next to the back door of a very large house. I made out two stories of expensive architecture that, again, was familiar. The driver, half carrying Vic, led us inside. Angela remained by me, on guard and looking like she wasn’t. The other two brought up the rear. We walked through a plain entry—no frills for deliveries—took a lew turns, and found a long hall lined with doors. It was dingy and our feet scraped against stiff, water-damaged carpet. We went through the last door. My stomach started to itch from the inside out as I began to realize where I was.

  The room was a vast office, cleaner than the hall, and rich with leather and velvet furniture. The walls were lined with landscapes, iraditional, solid, and giving the impression that money wasn’t all that important to the people here. I drifted to a halt, Angela and the others pausing with me as I took in the office’s showpiece: a larger-than-life portrait hanging behind the desk. The artist had painted to flatter, but I knew the stocky form and large, protruding eyes. In memory and—if I was caught away from my earth—in dark dreams his face haunted me with the recollection of shattering pain and death.

  My death. I was standing in the home of Frank Paco, the man who had murdered me.

  4

  I stared sharply at Angela’s profile, comparing it to the flat representation on the wall. The resemblance was sufficiently close to prompt my first question.

  “Your father?”

  Her eyes flicked quickly over to mine. She pointed to an overstuffed chair and one of her men gave me a nudge forward. The chair was too mushy and low for comfort, apparently designed to make a fast exit from its velvet depths difficult. I accepted it as part of their game and settled in for the time being.

  Vic was dropped onto a sofa like a bag of laundry with legs. He moaned, clutching his left shoulder with a red-stained hand.

  “Go get Doc,” Angela told the driver, he grunted once and left.

  Newton. That was his name. Six months ago he’d been guarding a phony laboratory in Paco’s basement. He didn’t recognize me, but he’d never had the opportunity for a good look. I’d gone in behind him then and knocked him cold. Not too sporting, but necessary in order to get him out before all hell broke loose. Reminding myself about good intentions and certain downhill roads, I wondered if tonight I’d end up regretting my past action.

  Angela swept over to the desk and whipped off her cloth cap. Her sooty black hair had been scraped away from her face and pinned up. Without the additional head covering she looked somewhat smaller, but not at all vulnerable. She tore out the pins and stabbed at her hair with impatient fingers. Though a long way from beauty-parlor perfect, it more or less fell into place.

  She hitched one hip on the desk, then changed her mind and paced the room, her fists shoved deep into the pockets of her man’s coat. She stopped once to look out the door for Newton, then resumed, frowning at the thick rug beneath her soft shoes. The pacing did nothing to alleviate her restless energy or increase her patience at the wait. After her second trip to the door, she returned to the desk and shrugged out of the coat, tossing it onto the sea of oak in front of her. Beneath it was her shoulder holster, the black leather blending well over a dark blouse. Her gun had a bright nickel finish. It might have been a piece of fashionable jewelry the way she wore it.

  The two men had taken up stations on either side of me. No one seemed inclined to start a conversation. Except for Angela, we all kept still and watched each other breathe for the next few minutes. As was usual in a very quiet room with strangers, I had to consciously imitate them to avoid attracting notice.

  The place—or at least this part of it—must have been thoroughly scrubbed out since the fire. The house had not been totally destroyed, after all, and what was left had proved to be salvageable. There was no trace of the smoke damage in here, only the lingering smell of new paint. Furniture polish, overlaid with stale cigarette smoke and some faint perfume, filled up the corners.

  Newton finally returned, bringing company. He held the door for an older man wearing slippers and a black-and-blue-striped bathrobe. His bloodshot eyes were puffy from disturbed sleep and he looked more than a little annoyed with Angela.

  “Couldn’t this have waited until morning?” he complained, making his unsteady way to her. There was a chair on one side of the desk and he sank into it with a long-suffering groan.

  “We had to go when Kyler’s boys made their move.” She gestured at the sofa. “Fix him up.”

  He noticed Vic for the first time. That a wounded man lay sprawled and bleeding not ten feet away from him in such a genteel setting didn’t seem to alarm or surprise him much. With a pessimistic sigh, he lurched from the chair for a closer look.

  “What happened?”

  “Kyler’s going to be three short the next time he takes roll call. Four, unless you take care of this one.”

  “What did you do?”

  She tapped the butt of her gun with her fingers. “What do you think? This wasn’t a shopping trip to the five-and-dime ribbon counter. Some of his boys got in my way. They’re dead.”

  He pursed his mouth. “I hope you’re not in over your head, girl.”

  “Just do your job, Doc.”

  “Sure, sure. Newton, go get my bag.”

  Newton trundled out. Doc went to a cabinet and made himself a fast drink. Fast, because he didn’t bother to mix it with anything. He perked up a little after his first bracing gulp and looked at me with polite curiosity. My own scrutiny took in his bleary blue eyes and red-veined nose. I knew him, sort of, having met him for a few minutes one busy night last August. He’d been pre
tty drunk at the time, and now I was hoping like crazy that he wouldn’t remember me at all.

  I relaxed with inner relief when he turned to Angela and asked, “So who’s this guy?”

  “The one Kyler’s after,” she replied, lacing her voice with obvious patience.

  His eyes flashed with awakened interest. “Fleming?”

  “You tell me. You’re the one who was there that night.”

  He stood and came closer, giving every evidence of a careful examination, but anyone could tell he wasn’t certain of himself. “It was a long time ago, this could be him…”

  Angela nodded to her men. “Search him.”

  They loomed close, ready to handle any arguments from me, but I stood up, holding my hands out in a calming gesture. They weren’t buying any tonight, though, and each grabbed for an arm. I sidestepped one, getting the chair between us, and shoved a fist into the gut of the other. He folded and fell with a low grunt, totally out of breath. By the time his partner got around the chair I was ready for him.

  He dodged my punch, tried a short fast one of his own, but I caught his hand in my palm and twisted hard. He cried out once—it was almost enough to cover the snapping bones—and then crumpled to the floor.

  I straightened to check on Doc and Angela. He was frozen, but she had her gun out and ready. Her eyes were wide, but she wasn’t the type to go into hysterics over a little scuffle.

  “You think I’d be dumb enough to carry anything for the cops to identify?” I asked, directing the question at her. “Besides, Kyler’s goons have already picked me over.”

  “Then why bother?”

  It had, indeed, been a risk, but better than having them find that telltale money belt. “I got fed up with being pushed around. So would anybody. If you’re that interested all you have to do is ask. My name is Fleming, Miss Paco—if that’s who you are.”

  “It is,” she said, her big eyes narrowing.

  “Charmed, I’m sure. Now, what do you want with me?”

  Doc smiled and put in his two cents’ worth. “Watch yourself, my dear. It looks like this one’s got balls.”

  “That would make a change,” she murmured. “He’d need ’em to go up against Kylcr. Except he wasn’t doing so well when we found him.”

  “He seems to be doing just dandy right now, and that’s what really counts. Sheldon, you okay?” he asked one of the men on the floor.

  Sheldon, who now had some bones to match his broken nose, muttered something obscene.

  “Now, now, there’s a lady present. Lester, help him up.”

  The guy with the burn scar nodded vaguely, looking more in need of help himself. He wheezed a few times and eventually made it to his knees.

  Unassisted, Sheldon staggered to his feet, clutching his arm and biting back the pain each movement cost him. Doc got him into a chair and clucked over the damage.

  “You didn’t answer my question,” I reminded her. “What do you want with me?”

  “Sit down over there and you might live long enough to find out,” she said.

  “And you’re irresistible, too.” But I was willing to wait. Lester had gotten his breath back by now, though he looked far from well. He was standing, but in no shape to do much more than glare at me. I could survive that.

  “Tell me why Kyler wants you dead,” she asked.

  “I crossed him a couple of times—for that he thinks I’m dangerous.”

  “Maybe he’s got something there,” observed Doc. “He’s got a hell of a grip. Shel’s going to need X-rays for this mess.”

  She kept the gun level and steady. “What did you do?”

  I demonstrated, forming a fist and closing over it with the other hand. “It’s all in the leverage.”

  “I mean against Kyler.”

  “You don’t have to do anything to get on his bad side. I exist and he doesn’t like it. That’s all that matters to him. Now, what’s your angle?”

  She didn’t bother to reply to that one. Newton came in just then with a black bag and paused, uncertain about the changes made in the last few minutes.

  “Trouble?” he asked, nodding at Angela’s drawn gun.

  “Yes. Watch him and watch yourself. He’s faster than you’d think.”

  He gave his burden to Doc and took up a post behind and to the left of me. Doc went to work, rooting around in the bag, finally pulling out a syringe.

  Alarmed, Sheldon shook off some of his pain.” What’re you going to do with that?”

  Doc smiled as he squinted at the printing on a small bottle. “You just look the other way and trust of’ Doc. We’ll have you playing the piano again in no time.”

  “But I don’t play the piano—owl

  “I’m only rolling up your sleeve, Sheldon.”

  “Oh.”

  Angela ground her teeth, not from Doc’s ministrations, but at the time spent over them. He gave the fretting Sheldon an armful of something to kill the pain, fixed up a temporary splint, then told him to go to bed. As he wandered out, Angela all but steered Doc over to his next patient.

  “Nasty, but not fatal,” he concluded. “Not yet, anyway. Let’s haul him to the gymnasium so I can clean him up. The light in here stinks.”

  “I want him awake and able to talk,” said Angela.

  “Do my best.” Doc got Vic to stand, and with Lester’s shaky aid, they wobbled toward the door like a trio of chummy drunks. “One thing about all this, Angela, did you get away from there clean?”

  She nodded. “Nobody saw but these two and they’re not going anyplace.”

  “Kyler’ll be mad as hell about it, though.”

  “We’ll see.”

  “You can bet on it, girl.” He guided Vic and Lester from the room.

  Angela shut the door, turning to stare at me. She had that hungry cat expression on her face again and I didn’t think it was because she thought I was attractive.

  “Alone at last,” I said, then glanced at Newton. “Well, almost. So why are you taking on Vaughn Kyler? Tired of living?”

  She laughed, unpleasantly, and put away her gun. Somehow, I still didn’t feel very safe. “You were here last summer, weren’t you?”

  “I don’t know, I get around a lot.”

  “You were here the night of the fire. You set it, didn’t you?”

  Uh-oh. “You seem to think so.”

  “A young guy calling himself Fleming broke in the house that night—”

  “And my name’s Fleming so that closes your case. What are you going to do, send me to prison?”

  “How ’bout we break his face for having so much lip?” suggested Newton.

  “Maybe later,” she said. Newton took that to be a promise and subsided with a satisfied nod. Angela walked behind the desk and dropped into the massive red leather chair below the portrait. Despite her small size, she looked like she belonged there.

  But things were still up in the air for her and she had trouble staying in one place for long. She lighted a cigarette, quickly smoking it down to nothing. When she smashed it out in an ashtray, she started tapping her nails against the top of the desk. Possibly out of self-defense, Newton tried to open a conversation with her, but she wasn’t in the mood to talk. It distracted her from the nail tapping at least, but she got up and began pacing again, checking her watch at short intervals.

  The desk phone rang, startling her.

  “Who’s calling this late?” asked Newton.

  “Probably Mac.”

  “Mac?”

  “I’ve had him and Gib watching the Travis Hotel. …” She fairly pounced on the phone and we were treated to her side of the conversation. It wasn’t too informative from my point of view, but the news was good, to judge by her pleased expression when she hung up.

  Newton was just as interested. “So what’d he say?”

  “Chaven went out in a big hurry a little while ago. Mac followed him to where we picked this bird up. Cops are all over the spot like flies on fresh meat, but they don’
t seem to be doing much.”

  “So they’re not looking for us, then.”

  “Mac also said that Chaven hung around long enough to go green at all the sights, then ran straight back to the Travis.”

  “That means Kyler knows what happened.”

  “But he won’t know who did it.”

  “Not yet.”

  “Not yet,” she agreed, looking at me. “Bring him along, I want to check on Doc.”

  Newton was cautious, but I willingly cooperated this time around and followed Angela down the hall to a different door. It opened onto a spacious and well-lighted gym that had everything but a boxing ring. Filling the room were Indian clubs, weights, punching bags, padded mats, and several odd machines that looked more suitable for torturing people than keeping them fit.

  The bloodsmell hit me square in the face. Human, of course, not animal There’s a difference—especially to me. I’d learned to discern that difference early on in my changed life. One was food and the other a complicated mix of emotion and memory guaranteed to inspire some kind of reaction within. Right now it conjured the ghost vision of a dark street, the flash of guns, and men falling around me.

  Off to one side was a high table overlooked by sunlamps. Vic lay on it, flat and unmoving. His upper clothes were off and Doc was busy working on his shoulder under the hot lights. Lester was his reluctant nurse.

  “I wanted him awake,” said Angela, striding over. She was oblivious to the gore.

  Doc didn’t bother to glance up. “This fella had other ideas. He conked out so fast we almost didn’t get him on the table. It’s just as well or he’d be making an awful noise at what I’m having to do.”

  “How much longer?”

  “Until I’m finished. Now stand back so I can work.”

  Fuming, she subsided for a whole minute before drifting over to watch his progress. With a grunt of satisfaction he straightened, holding something in one of his fancy tweezers.

  “Got the bullet,” he announced. “Pesky things, especially this size Which one of you carries a forty-five?”

  “That’s mine,” said Angela.