The Vampire Files, Volume Two

by P. N. Elrod

  Doc eyed her up and down. “Like to pack a punch, don’t you, girl?”

  “It does the job.”

  “You didn’t smear it with garlic, did you?”

  “Don’t be an idiot.”

  Doc laughed out loud, dropping it into a metal dish. “Just checking,” he said, continuing his work. “Bullets are generally pretty clean, but they can force a lot of stuff you don’t want into even a minor wound. If the bullet doesn’t kill you right away, the infection can sneak up on you later. Hope this guy believed in washing his underwear.”

  “When can you get him moving again?”

  “In a while, give him a chance to get over the shock.”

  “I don’t have the time and you know it. I want him awake and able to talk to Kyler.”

  “Why?” I asked.

  They all looked at me as though I’d committed a major social crime by asking a reasonable question. Angela’s eyes flashed fire, throwing a signal to Newton. She pointed to a metal door set in the far wall. Newton urged me toward it. I wasn’t too worried and went along with things; I could always find a way to sneak out later and eavesdrop.

  I was shoved into a dim chamber with slick white tile covering the floor, walls, ceiling, and built-in benches. Frank Paco wasn’t one to do things by halves. Rather than cram himself into a cabinet, he’d installed a full-sized steam room to sweat away his troubles. It was turned off, fortunately, but still smelled like old socks.

  Newton slammed the door solidly behind me. The only other exit had to do with the ventilation system, such as it was, and was far too small for a human to squeeze through. I could probably give it a shot but my ingrained claustrophobia inspired me to look for something easier.

  The door was locked; I tried the knob anyway, giving it a good rattle for the benefit of my captors. It was the sort of thing they might expect and I didn’t want to disappoint them. That obligation out of the way, there wasn’t any reason why I should hang around in their improvised cell. Just at eye level, the door had a small window, letting in the only light. My view was limited to a wall full of Indian clubs and Newton’s back as he walked away. That was good news; people tend to get upset when I vanish right in front of them, and I had no intention of upsetting this crowd. Not just yet, anyway.

  I slipped out and floated free in the open space of the gym, locating the others by memory. It was easy enough to get close and listen, only no one was talking, not even Doc. Somewhat disgusted, I found the hall door and bumbled my way back to the office to make a phone call.

  “Charles?”

  “Speaking.” His voice was tight, guarded. “Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, but I got sidetracked. Are things quiet at the club?”

  “Yes …”

  “Hear any sirens in the last hour or so? Close by?”

  “Yes, we did, but—”

  “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

  “What about Kyler?”

  “I never got near him, so don’t relax just yet. I need a ride out of here before I run out of night.”

  “I’m entirely sympathetic; where are you?”

  “Remember that spot off the road to Frank Paco’s house where you had me wait last summer?”

  “Good lord, man, what are you doing out there?”

  “I said I got sidetracked.”

  “This sounds more like a derailment.”

  “There’s something in that. You remember the spot?”

  “Vividly.”

  “Great, ’cause that’s where I’ll be waiting for you.”

  “With a full explanation?”

  “Cross my heart and… hope to see you soon.”

  This resulted in a noise that might have been a snort or a laugh. With Kscott it was sometimes hard to tell. I hung up and took a second look around the empty office.

  It was unchanged, plush as ever—except for some bloodstains on the sofa where Vic had rested. High above, Frank Paco’s portrait glared at something across the room, probably his oversized fireplace. I thought briefly about Paco, the thought running in a familiar circle about where the bastard was and what he was doing. As always, I ended up with the conclusion long confirmed by Escoft that my killer was drooling the rest of his life away in some loony bin I felt distant pity for him, but no regrets.

  Out ol habit, I went through the desk drawers in search of anything interesting. Most were locked, but one of the open ones contained a large checkbook just begging to be flipped through. The last six months had been expensive ones for the household. The medical bills to various head doctors were high, but nothing compared to home repairs. Couple those with the fact that Vaughn Kyler had moved in and taken over Paco’s operation, cutting off a ready source of cash, and Angela Paco would have more than enough good reasons to want to take him on.

  Present was the temptation to swipe the checkbook and give it over to Escott, but in the end I decided not to bother. If he really wanted the thing, I could always come back later. Tonight, or rather this morning, I was more concerned with getting to a place of daylight safety.

  Staying solid so I could see and hear things, I returned to the hall, tiptoeing silently on the rough carpet. I was ready to vanish in an instant, especially as I approached the closed door of the gym, but no one jumped out to recapture me.

  I had plenty of time yet before Escott arrived; a look through the house would be more comfortable than standing out in the cold waiting for him. Once past the gym, I became cautiously nosy, opening doors and generally poking around where I knew I’d be unwelcome. This job wasn’t without its favorable points.

  Some of the rooms were empty; perhaps the furnishings had been ruined in the fire or they’d been temporarily moved out for the painters. One of them was lined with tarps and stuffy with the stink of fresh paint; another was still tainted by smoke and water damage.

  The kitchen at the other end of the house had been pretty much restored. Curiosity lured me to the basement door and down the steps to seek out the “laboratory” I’d destroyed last summer. The stairs were new, the wood sharp and clean. They led into the kind of sealed-in darkness that even my eyes couldn’t penetrate. I felt around for a light switch before going any farther. Vampires—this one at least—don’t like the dark any more than the next person.

  I found a button and the place became less oppressive. A string of bare bulbs marched away along the ceiling, bravely fighting the gloom, only there wasn’t anything for them to shine on. The basement that had once been divided up by a wine cellar, laundry area, and old furniture was now open and bare. The old walls were gone, replaced by rows and rows of pillars to support the floors above. There was no sign of the lab, only some vague scarring on the floor to indicate where the walls had stood.

  Having gotten my fill of nostalgia, I returned upstairs for more prowling. The second floor boasted more restoration, or had received less damage, and several bedrooms showed signs of occupation.

  Many of the doors hung open. I proceeded very carefully here, listening before poking my head inside to check each room. One of the larger ones held a comfortable jumble of feminine gear, apparently Angela’s. Discarded stockings and lace-trimmed step-ins littered the floor, dresses were flung across handy chairs, and enough cosmetics crowded the dresser top to indicate that she had a softer side. She kept no important papers or correspondence, probably reserving that business for the downstairs office and the locked drawers of its desk. A brief examination of a side table confirmed the occupant’s identity; there I found a gun-cleaning kit, several boxes of .45 ammunition, and a couple of spare cartridge clips. Mixed in with the hardware were several tiny bottles of nail polish and some well-thumbed women’s magazines.

  Quite a gal, I thought, and repressed a shudder.

  I paused in my poking around, picking up a vague sound nearby. It did not repeat, but was enough to distract me into investigating.

  Down the hall I found its source: Sheldon. He was rolled up on one of the beds, treating hi
s broken hand with another kind of medicine. In addition to whatever Doc had shot into him, he’d imbibed plenty of liquid painkiller of his own. He was so far gone as to not be alarmed at seeing me.

  “How you doing, Shel?” I asked.

  He squinted, grunting with annoyance. “Sonnova bitch. You busted me good.”

  “Sorry about that. Hope it gets better.”

  His eyes were rolling all over the place. “Pay you back. In spades.”

  “Did you work for Frank Paco?”

  “Still do. Not like some wise guys.” His good hand closed around the flat amber bottle on the nightstand. He pulled the cork out with his teeth, spit it to one side, and drank deeply.

  “What wise guys?”

  “Vic. Sonnova bitch wen’ over t’ the big K.”

  “No loyalty, huh?”

  “You said it.”

  “Are you telling me that Paco still runs things?”

  “Hah?”

  I repeated the question more slowly.

  “He’s sick fer now, but his kid’s doin’ okay.”

  “What’s Angela’s angle in all this?”

  “She’s number one, y’ jerk.”

  “What about Kyler?”

  “He’ll be sunk soon enough. She’s got it all figured. Gotta cute little ass, too.” His mouth twisted around in a sappy leer.

  “What’s she got figured?”

  “The whole thing,” he murmured. “And her legs…”

  “Sheldon …”

  He woke up a bit, but his mood had soured. I was too much of an intrusion on his dreams of romance. “What’re you doin’ here, anyway? Newton should be beating yer head in or somethin’.”

  “Yeah, we have an appointment first thing tomorrow.”

  “Hah?”

  “Never mind, Sheldon.”

  “Okay,” he said cheerfully, and dropped off into instant sleep.

  Damn. I hadn’t been influencing him, either. It had to have been the combined effect of the booze and the drugs. He might not even remember our conversation the next time he woke up, which would not be soon. Any chance of getting useful information from his wandering brain was long gone. I rescued the bottle from his lax grip, returning it to the stand, and decided to get going myself.

  I found the back door and quietly slipped away, hoping the occupants wouldn’t be too mystified by my disappearance. Ah, well, Houdini used to be able to walk through walls; if asked, I could always claim him for a distant cousin.

  The cold felt good in my underworked lungs and I was glad to flush the smell of the place out with sweet, clean air. My feet crunched on the white gravel as I walked along the drive toward the front. No outside lights were on, nor were there any guards with dogs patrolling the grounds as on my last visit. Excluding the two watching Kyler’s hotel, there seemed to be only four men in Angela’s army. Three, now that Sheldon was among the wounded. Maybe she had reserves hidden elsewhere. She’d need them to hold her own against his kind of money and organization.

  But that wasn’t my problem; if I had enough night left and any kind of chance to get at him, then Kyler would cease to be anyone’s problem. The survivors, Angela included, could go to hell in a handbasket for all I cared.

  Once up on the road, I increased my pace. I wasn’t worried about missing Escott; it just felt good to move, arms and legs swinging freely as though I’d never really walked before. My long strides quickly ate up the distance, getting me to the right spot in a disappointingly short time. I looked back with regret, not at Paco’s house, but the road running past it. To turn now and walk away from the mess I was in, to just keep going until I was lost to everyone but myself…

  Get behind me, Satan, I thought blasphemously. Stay, and at least one man would die; go, and he would certainly kill my friends and who knows how many others with them. I would stay, of course. I’d made my decision earlier and would stick to it, but damn it all, why me?

  The wind was working its way through the pea jacket and really starting to bite when I caught the low murmur of a motor coming my way. I was fairly sure the headlights belonged to the Nash, but kept my head low until it downshifted and coasted to an easy stop. The bullet dents decorating its thick metal hide were clearly visible in the starlight, almost homey in their familiarity, and I emerged from my thin cover in the brush.

  Escott seemed relieved to see me and waved me over. Gratefully, I opened the passenger door and climbed in, shutting out the cold. He-worked the gears, wresting a U-turn out of the big car until we were on our way back to the city.

  Once up to a decent speed, he took the time to give me a good look. In light of some of my past escapades, he was probably checking for damage.

  “I’m all right, Charles,” I assured him.

  “I was rather expecting—”

  “Yeah, I just figured that out. Believe me, they’re in worse shape than I am. One of them, anyway.”

  “Indeed? Now about that explanation…,” he prompted.

  So I started talking. Somehow, it did not shorten the trip back.

  “Well, this does throw a spanner into the works,” he said when I’d finished.

  “Don’t see how. Angela and I seem to have pretty much the same goal of getting rid of Kyler, I just have a better chance of doing it.”

  “Ah, but now you’ve two gangs to dodge and previously the one was quite enough.”

  “Yeah, but Angela doesn’t really know what she’s up against with me. Kyler’s had time to read a whole library on folklore and get prepared.” Not that it would do him much good, I silently added.

  “You may yet find her to be a formidable force.”

  Formidable. That was the word for her. I’d never be able to forget how deliberately she’d blown open the back of that man’s head. “No arguments there. She’s her father’s daughter and then some.”

  “And you think her plan is to regain control of the organization Kyler took over from him?”

  “Yeah. That’s how it looked from what little I saw. I think she wanted to use me in the bargaining, but damned if 1 know how. It’s not as if I’d be a valuable hostage. If she threatened to kill me, Kyler’d be in the front bleachers cheering her on.”

  “Unless you were meant to be some sort of bait to draw Kyler into the open,” he suggested.

  “The problem with that is Kyler wouldn’t be dumb enough to do it.”

  “Only if one chooses to underestimate Miss Paco. She’s been able to retain the loyalty of at least some of her father’s men, quite a feat for anyone, much less a young unproven woman.”

  “How do we know she’s so unproven?”

  “Point taken,” he admitted. “In certain underworld circles, this is the smallest town in the world when it comes to gossip. I am making an assumption based on the sole fact that I’ve simply heard nothing about her until now.”

  “Maybe she just got back from finishing school.”

  “I shall endeavor to find that out.”

  “But carefully, Charles.”

  He took that point as well with the bounce of an eyebrow and a single nod.

  “You’ve heard my version of the shootings,” I said. “What about yours?”

  “I’ve little to add that would be useful. We heard the sirens, of course, causing us to wonder whether they had any connection to you.”

  “You didn’t go out to check things, I hope?”

  “That was the subject of quite a lot of debate between us.”

  “You and Gordy?”

  “And a number of his men.”

  That must have been a show to see. I was sorry to have missed it.

  Escott continued, “He was most reluctant for me to investigate personally since he felt he’d accepted the responsibility for my safety. We reached a compromise when Ernie volunteered to go just to satisfy his own curiosity. He returned quickly enough with a report on the casualties. He recognized them as belonging to Kyler’s gang and concluded that you had dispatched them.”

  �
�But I—”

  “We, or at least I, know that now, but you may find your reputation has grown considerably in the last few hours with Ernie and his cronies. Be prepared for a bout of hero worship on arrival.”

  “Hero worship,” I repeated numbly. “What about the cops? Do they have any idea about what really happened?”

  “According to my own sources within the department, that matter is ’under investigation.’ Gordy made a few calls himself and the unofficial conclusion has to do with gang vendettas.”

  “Which isn’t far off the mark where Angela’s concerned.” I checked my watch. Dawn was only an hour away, but we were within a mile of the club and its sanctuary. All too soon I’d be forced to seek the safety of my lightproof trunk. Another day would flash by with God knows what happening outside and me totally oblivious to it. I had extraordinary advantages over the rest of humanity, but the frustrating price of them was that daily ration of death that could never be ignored.

  Escott drove in silence, perhaps sensing my glum mood, or more likely he was tired himself. Between his usual insomnia and the long wait for my call, he wouldn’t have gotten any sleep tonight. I was about to make some kind of comment or other to him about it when his head snapped off to the left as though he’d been given a jolt of electricity.

  ”Damn,” he said in a soft, strangled voice and slammed the gas pedal down as far as it could go.

  5

  THE Nash shot forward, but too slowly for Escott. He came out with another curse and I joined him, hardly knowing why. Past his head I glimpsed the black blur of a car rushing up on us. Yellow-white flashes from its open windows raked my eyes. There was noise: stuttering explosions coming so fast that they merged into a single horrifying roar that deafened all thought, stifled all movement.

  Escott kept saying “damn” over and over again—somehow I could still hear him—as he fought to dredge more speed from the Nash. He clawed at the wheel and cut a right so hard that I would have tumbled into him except for a timely grab at the dashboard. The explosions stopped only briefly, then resumed as the gunman came even with us once more. Huge pockmarks clattered across the windows.

  My own throat went tight and my leg muscles strained against one another, trying to run where running was not possible. I had to trust Escott to get us out and he had to trust his car. Its big engine pulled us ahead a bare two yards and the shooting abruptly ceased for a few heavenly seconds, started, then stopped again.