by Dan Willis
He patted his pockets again, regretting his decision not to bring his knuckle duster. At least he had his flash ring if he needed to make a hasty exit.
His glance darted to the end of the hall where the door to the stairs stood on the left wall. Zelda’s door was a good fifty feet away so if he had to use his flash ring, he needed to run. A man running down a hallway would be a sitting duck for anyone not affected by the flash.
Of course if it were me, I’d have someone in the stairwell in case my target ran.
Alex shook his head to clear it, then took a deep breath and rapped on Zelda’s door. A moment late it was opened by Zelda herself.
Alex had been ready for a confrontation with her watchdog, Hector, and he had to quickly readjust his thinking. Clad in a low-cut dress made of some shimmering gold fabric, Zelda was a vision. She’d done her makeup conservatively, accenting her youthful features rather than trying to hide them, and her unique perfume was subtle but present. Her butter-blonde hair was in an updo, on top of her head with a small beaded strand hanging down behind her right ear. A pair of intricate gold and emerald earrings dangled from her ears, with a matching pendant that had an emerald the size of Alex’s thumb. The design was art deco, all straight lines and angles, and it remained Alex of the Aztec treasure from the Almiranta.
“What do you think?” she said, turning around so he could see.
The dress had long trailing pieces from the sleeves, and they whirled around her like the rings of Saturn. They were the only loose piece of the dress, though. As Zelda spun, every facet of her excellent figure was on full display.
Alex might have accepted this date as a way to publicly separate himself from Sorsha, but Zelda didn’t know that, and the girl was playing for keeps.
“You look beautiful,” he said, not having to lie even a bit.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” she said, donning a white fur coat before taking his arm. “I hope you’re wearing comfortable shoes,” she said as she steered him down the hall toward the elevator. “The new exhibit is quite extensive.”
Alex wasn’t really a gallery kind of guy, but the company promised to be pleasant and if Zelda was involved with the museum thefts, he’d have plenty of time to ferret it out.
He escorted Zelda down to the lobby, then secured a taxi for their relatively short trip to the Freer Gallery, which was right next door to the Smithsonian’s main building.
A man in a silk tuxedo met Zelda at the Gallery door and began showing her and Alex around the exhibit. Most of what was on display were American impressionists, which Zelda found fascinating. Alex thought most of the paintings looked like the artists has washed out of art school and had to find work.
After an hour and a half, Alex and Zelda ended up in a large exhibit room filled with the rumble of conversation. A dozen or so well-dressed men and women were milling about, drinking Champagne that was being passed around by waitresses in surprisingly short skirts. Zelda quickly excused herself and headed over to speak with a group that she seemed to know well. Left to his own devices, Alex grabbed a flute of Champagne from a passing waitress, then headed for a chair that stood along one wall.
As soon as he sat down, however, Alex wondered if he’d made a mistake. The chair was hard and cold, like stone. A quick check revealed it to be made of concrete. He started to rise, but the man in the silk tux who had been his tour guide waved him back down.
“Don’t worry,” he said with a chuckle. “It’s not a piece of art, it’s just a chair.”
Clearly others had reacted to the strange chair before Alex.
“Who makes a chair out of concrete?” Alex asked, sitting back down.
“Edison,” the man replied. “He’s convinced that concrete is a viable furniture material. He sent us a dozen of those, so we have them scattered around.”
As unconventional as the chair was, it was surprisingly comfortable, so Alex leaned against the back and enjoyed not being on his feet. So far, all Zelda had talked about was the exhibit and which painters she liked, and which she considered frauds. He’d thought she wouldn’t be able to resist talking about the museum theft, whether she was actually involved or not.
She’ll ask, he told himself, sipping his drink. As he sat, his eyes roamed over the artwork on the walls, wondering what the various artists had been thinking when they created the work.
“Don’t tell me you’re tired already?” Zelda’s voice jarred him back to reality.
His mind was clearly drifting, since he hadn’t noticed her approach.
“No,” he said, standing quickly. “Just staying out of the way until you need me.”
She flashed him a wide smile and took his arm.
“Sorry,” she said. “I do have to conduct a bit of business at these affairs. That said, there are some perks to my job.”
She led him out of the room and along a short hallway to another space. Unlike the tour, which had only taken them to rooms with paintings, this room held sculpture and what appeared to be Chinese vases.
“This is my favorite piece,” Zelda said, stopping in front of a tall, slender vase. The figure of a Chinese dragon circled around the vase, with its head up near the top and its tail at the bottom. The undulating, snake-like body had been painted in a vibrant blue, and the detail was exquisite.
“What do you know?” he said, pointing at the vase. “It actually looks like a dragon.”
Zelda laughed and bumped him with her shoulder.
“Not a fan of impressionism, I take it?”
“Not really.”
“Well then, what shall we talk about?” she pondered. “How’s the case coming?”
Alex felt a rush of excitement as Zelda pulled the conversation around. He sighed and shrugged, keeping his expression neutral.
“Not much to go on, I’m afraid,” he said.
She looked a bit disappointed, then she snickered.
“I had a visit from your friend, Lieutenant MacReady today,” she said. She gave Alex a sideways glance, as if she was gauging his reaction.
“What did he want?”
“He seems to think I had something to do with the museum theft,” she said, tugging on his arm. “I have to admit, I’ve never been suspected of a crime before; it was an exhilarating experience.”
“He probably just wanted to rule you out,” Alex replied. “I doubt he thinks you went crawling over the roof of the Smithsonian.”
“I should hope not,” she said. “So what have you been doing while the lieutenant is ruling out suspects?”
“I went over the cards with Mr. Gundersen. Unfortunately, he called just about everyone in the museum looking for them, so the thief could have learned about them from anybody.”
Zelda tugged on his arm and looked up earnestly at him.
“Does that mean you’re giving up?”
She sounded genuinely disappointed.
“I don’t know what else I can really do,” Alex said. “Unless the thief has already figured out that he’s missing a dozen or so cards, he’s probably long gone.”
“What do you mean, missing cards?” Zelda asked, her eyes sparkling with interest.
It took considerable restraint for Alex not to grin. He’d played along and she’d done exactly what he expected.
Now to bait the hook.
“Gundersen discovered that some of the cards were damaged when the Smithsonian acquired the loom,” he said. “They were sent out to be repaired, but they must have been returned to the wrong storage facility. Gundersen is looking for them, but last I heard, he hasn’t found them.”
A look of confusion crossed Zelda’s exquisite features.
“But if the thief doesn’t know about them, how does that help?”
“As soon as Gundersen finds them, he’ll lock them in the safe in his office,” Alex explained. “Then Lieutenant MacReady will have a story appear in the paper saying that the exhibit is reopening with the remaining original cards.”
“So you’re
setting a trap for the thief,” Zelda said, her voice breathy with excitement. “He’ll see the story and come for the cards, but you’ll be waiting for him.”
Alex gave her a smile, and nodded.
“That’s the plan. The thief might also find out from whoever tipped him off before, but once the cards are located, they’ll be well guarded. His only chance will be when they’re back on the museum floor.”
Zelda leaned close to him, pressing herself against his chest.
“That’s brilliant,” she said, giving him a smoldering look. “I knew you wouldn’t let the me down — or the museum,” she added as an afterthought.
She wanted Alex to kiss her. It was written all over her face. He’d expected her to be persuasive, but clearly she had more than one motive in bringing him to this remote gallery. Her body pressed against him, and her more than willing smile made it hard for his brain to come up with an excuse to refuse.
At that moment, the lights went out.
Alex’s first thought was that Zelda had arranged it, but her gasp of surprise and sudden death grip on his arm told him otherwise.
“What’s going on?” she said, an edge of fear creeping into her voice.
“Just the power,” Alex said, fishing his lighter out of his pocket. Thanks to the windowless room, it was pitch black. “I’m sure they’ll have it restored in a few minutes.”
He squeezed the lighter to life and led the way to the door by the faint glow of the little flame. The hallway beyond was a hole of midnight with a tiny patch of brightness at the far end where it emptied out into a room with windows and the faint glow of moonlight.
“Just take it slow so you don’t stumble,” he told Zelda and she smiled up at him in relief.
Before they’d gone more than a couple of steps, however, there was the sound of breaking glass from the main gallery, followed by a woman’s scream. Gunshots rang out next and the scream was suddenly cut short.
“What was that?” Zelda gasped, clutching Alex’s arm in a death grip.
Alex extinguished his lighter and shushed Zelda. It sounded like two people were fighting somewhere in the darkness ahead. Next another shot boomed out of the darkness, followed by a shriek of pain, then silence.
“Alex,” Zelda whispered. “What’s going on?”
He was about to answer, when he heard the sound of running feet in the hallway. The feet sounded heavy, but there was a clicking noise along with them, as if the runner had studs on his shoes.
Or he’s barefoot with long nails.
Alex remembered the attack dog from the museum robbery and his blood went cold.
“Cover your eyes,” he hissed, then threw out his left hand and activated his flash ring.
Agonizing light bloomed in the narrow hallway as if someone had just turned on the sun. Even with his head turned, the light hurt Alex’s eyes. From the other side of the light, Alex heard a yelp, though it was pitched wrong for a dog.
Too low.
As the light began to die, Alex shook off Zelda’s death grip and turned. Every beat cop eventually had to deal with an aggressive dog, and Alex had heard their stories. The best tactic was to shoot, but failing that, a punch to the nose would usually send them running.
Before he could deliver the blow, however, a clawed hand lashed out blindly and Alex felt sharp nails gouge out tracks across his chest. Forcing his eyes open in the fading light of the flash ring, Alex came face to face with a nightmare. The creature was no dog, it was a man — or at least most of man. His face was twisted out of shape with a long snout filled with yellow teeth and his naked upper body was covered with coarse reddish hair.
With only the briefest moment of hesitation, Alex slammed his fist into the man’s jaw and his attacker stumbled back, lashing out blindly. One of the clawed hands caught his jacket, tearing a large gash out of the fabric, but missing flesh. The sudden loss of resistance caused the attacker to lose his balance and fall backward onto the tile floor.
Alex grabbed Zelda and pulled her along the hall, back toward the gallery room, igniting his lighter as he went. He didn’t know if the attacker was wearing some kind of prosthetic, or if he was some freak of nature, but he needed to put enough distance between them to get inside his vault.
“What happened?” Zelda hissed as her vision started to return. “What was that light?”
“Quiet,” Alex hissed, holding his lighter up again. “Get behind that,” he said, pointing to one of Edison’s concrete chairs in the corner. If worst came to worst, the chair would at least offer some protection.
“Stay here,” he whispered as Zelda knelt. He dipped his hand into his pocket for his chalk…but there was nothing there. No chalk and no pocket. The man-dog had torn the pocket right off his tux.
Alex started to swear, but the door to the room was suddenly thrown open with a bang. The attacker’s vision wouldn’t have returned completely yet, but Alex extinguished his lighter just in case.
Zelda found his arm again and held it in a death grip, pulling Alex down to kneel beside her. He could feel her body convulsing in terror, but she made no sound.
From the door came a snuffling noise, like someone sniffing the air.
“I can smell you,” a guttural voice broke through the dark. It was halting and inarticulate, as if the speaker’s tongue didn’t work quite right. “Tell me where the cards are, and I’ll kill you quick.”
Alex pulled his hand free from Zelda’s grip and took out his rune book. In the dark he couldn’t see the pages, but he opened it to the back, then held it flat on the floor with his right hand. Wishing for a slug of whiskey, or better yet his shotgun, Alex took a breath and flicked his lighter to life.
In the faint glow he quickly turned pages until he found the rune he wanted.
“There you are,” the halting voice said.
Alex reached up over the top of the cement chair and triggered his flash ring again. The other man growled in pain as the light flared, but Alex paid him no mind. He guessed he had about ten seconds as he tore the rune out of his book with one hand. Licking it, he stuck it to the underside of the cement chair, then held his still burning lighter to the paper.
“Your light won’t work this time,” the man said. “I’m gonna bite off the woman’s fingers until you tell me what I want to know.”
The rune on the paper flared to life, a gold and red construct that shimmered and moved as it activated.
“Down,” Alex hissed, wrapping his arm over Zelda’s head and pressing her to the ground.
“Got you,” the voice said from only a few feet away.
Then the world vanished in a flash of light and an ear-shattering wave of sound.
24
Arlo Harper’s Legacy
Chunks of the concrete chair rained down on Alex as he tried to shield Zelda with his body. He could feel her convulsing as she screamed in terror, but the only thing that existed in Alex’s world was a sound in his ears, like the tone radios made when their stations went off the air.
Opening his eyes, Alex couldn’t see anything, but he still had his lighter, so he squeezed the mechanism and it bloomed to life. All that remained of the cement chair were two of the legs, lying a few feet away from where it had been. Alex held the lighter up as he pushed himself to his knees, waving it in an arc, but there was no sign of their attacker.
Getting to his feet, he took a couple of cautious steps toward the door. The only trace of the man-dog was a bit of fur and a smear of blood on the ground. The shrapnel from the chair seemed to have done its job, but Alex was reluctant to take chances. Leaning down, he picked up a piece of the broken concrete about the size of a marble, then he made his way back to the corner where Zelda sat looking around in astonishment.
Her lips moved, and he knew she was speaking, but nothing came through the ringing in his ears. Ignoring her, Alex pressed the bit of crumbling cement to the wall and proceeded to draw a doorway with it. It wasn’t as straight or as complete as he could have done wi
th his chalk, but it would do.
Reaching for his rune book, Alex had a moment of panic as he found his pocket empty. Since he was sure Zelda’s hearing was just as bad as his, he didn’t bother to stifle a curse as he turned back to the remains of the chair. He’d left his book lying on the floor, and now it was under a thick layer of dust and debris. Still, it was only paper and pasteboard, so he picked it up and shook it off.
No harm done.
A moment later, he inserted his antique key into the door and pulled it open, revealing his vault. After Connie had seen it and worse yet, guessed what it was capable of, Alex didn’t want anyone else inside ever again, but he grabbed Zelda by the arm and physically hauled her to her feet. The man-thing was gone, but that didn’t mean he’d stay gone.
Pulling Zelda after him, Alex entered his vault. He immediately turned and grabbed the heavy cage door that he’d installed on the inside. In the old days it was there to keep people out while making it impossible for anyone to close the vault door and trap him inside. Now that his vault was connected to multiple locations, the second part wasn’t really necessary, but Alex hadn’t removed the security door. It had too many potential uses.
Shutting the door, Alex slid the heavy steel bolt closed and locked it in place, securing the vault from the outside world. The cage was just an old jail cell door he’d bought at a police auction when one of the local precinct buildings had been renovated. It was made of heavy bands of steel that had been riveted together and Alex knew it would keep out any number of rabid freaks. Notwithstanding that fact, he moved to the other side of the door and opened the cabinet that served as his weapons locker.
Inside was his arsenal: his Colt 1911 pistol with three loaded magazines, a police issue .38 revolver, a Thompson submachine gun with three loaded stick magazines and two loaded drums, and his semi-automatic Browning A5 shotgun. With a sigh of relief, Alex took down the shotgun and pulled back the lever to load a shell into the chamber. Toggling the safety off with his thumb, he stepped back around the door and peered out through the cage. Light from his vault was spilling out, illuminating the room beyond, but there was no sign of life.
