by P. N. Elrod
There was a good fifty-pound difference between them, and Braxton’s light frame didn’t stand a chance. He went down like a tackling dummy, his knobby joints knocking hard against the floor. Phil was on top and his extra weight had pushed all the fight out of the little guy. A second later Phil was in possession of the gun and getting to his feet.
He dusted his knees absently, and glared all around. “Someone want to explain things to me, or do I really want to know?”
Matheus began to edge toward the door, but Bobbi spotted him. “Hold it right there, buster.”
He held it right there and looked to Braxton for help, but his mentor was too busy getting his breath back and nursing his new bruises. Phil went to the door and checked the hall, keeping the gun out of sight.
“Nuthin’ to worry about, folks, just a party trick. Sorry about the noise.” He waved an apology at someone and shut the door.
“What is this all about?” demanded Marza, her voice shaking.
“They’re just a couple of mugs from my shady past,” I said. “The geezer here is a con man that I once did a story on. It blew his game to hell and he’s looking to get back at me. The kid is just his latest trainee. The last I heard, it was an insurance scam. Looks like he’s switched to religion. What are you doing these days, Braxton, swindling old ladies for church funds?”
Braxton flushed, jerkily stood up, and shoved his cross at me. I ducked back so it missed my nose. “Away, you demon.” Somehow, he’d sounded a lot more convincing on that lonely road in the country.
“He’s crazy,” concluded Pruitt.
“For once, I’ll agree with you,” said Marza.
The cross jerked again and I stepped away from it.
“Braxton?” Phil made certain he could see the gun. “Sit down and shut up.”
“But you don’t know who or what this man is—”
“As long as he’s not waving guns at the tenants, I don’t give a damn, so clam up. What do you want I should do with ’em, Miss Smythe?”
Bobbi looked at me. I shrugged. “Call the cops?”
Pruitt suddenly found his feet. “I think I’ll go home now, it’s awfully late.” He grabbed his hat and hurried out.
Marza stared after him. “Why, that no-good—how does he expect me to get home?”
“Oh, Marza,” Bobbi groaned.
“What’s with him?” asked Phil.
“He’s crazy,” said Matheus.
“So coming from you that means something?”
“He called me a fascist—”
“Shut up, kid,” Bobbi told him. He looked hurt. “Jack, I don’t think the cops could do much for us.”
“They could take his gun away and lock him up if we pressed charges, but that’d mean court appearances, the paper—you don’t need any bad publicity before your broadcast.”
“Yeah. But what do we do with them? I could call Gordy.”
“Don’t tempt me. Phil, have you got some place you can stash these two?”
“Depends for how long.”
“An hour?”
He nodded. “If you give me a hand.”
“Sure.”
We wrestled Braxton into the hall and took the service stairs down to the basement instead of using the elevator because the operator liked to talk. It was an interesting parade: I had Braxton’s arms twisted behind his back and Phil was keeping the kid in line with the borrowed gun.
In the basement, Phil directed us to a broom closet that was made to order. Brooms must have been at a premium in the building, because the place was like a bank vault. Two of the walls were part of the cement foundation and the third was solid brick. It was about ten feet long and only four feet wide. We pushed them in with the mops and buckets and Phil locked it up.
“They gonna be able to breathe in there?” I asked.
Phil studied the blank face of the door for a while, then nudged it with one toe. “There’s a pretty good gap at the bottom. If they get desperate, they can stick their noses down there.”
We heard a thump and dull clang from within. Someone had tripped over a bucket. Matheus hit the door a few times and yelled to be let out.
We climbed upstairs. “Sure it won’t be too noisy?”
“I’ll make certain no one bothers them.”
“Thanks. I’ll go see if Bobbi’s all right and work out what to do with them.”
“I’ll be in the lobby.”
Four floors later I was back in Bobbi’s apartment. She was just giving Marza a drink, then ran over to me, her arms open. We held on to each other, not speaking for a long while. Marza finished her glass, put it on a table, and stood.
“No more rehearsal tonight. I’m calling a cab.”
Bobbi whispered, “She was really shook, can you take her home? Would you mind?”
When she looked at me like that I wouldn’t mind walking over hot coals, or even taking Marza home. “If you’ll be okay.”
“I’ll be fine. Marza . . .”
Marza got in my car and said nothing for the next ten minutes except to give directions. We stopped in front of her apartment building and I waited to see if she wanted me to walk her in or not.
“We’re here,” I said when she didn’t move.
She stopped boring a hole in the windshield and tried it with me. I was getting another once-over, and the reappraisal was even more critical. “Why were they after you?”
“I told you.”
“The truth this time.”
I shook my head.
“Are you with the gangs?”
“No. This is some old business that followed me from New York. The guy is crazy, you saw that.”
“Yes, I saw that. So what was it about? Why come after you with a couple of crosses? Why call you those names?”
“I said the guy’s nuts. Can you account for all the stuff Pruitt lets out?”
“Madison’s preoccupied with politics and being paranoid, so what is your friend preoccupied with?”
“With trying to blow my head off.”
“And what happens to Bobbi when he comes back?”
“They’re after me, not her.”
“They were holding all of us. Do you think he won’t try again?”
“He won’t get the chance. I’m going to have a little talk with him tonight and straighten things out. Bobbi will be okay. I promise.”
“I hope you mean that. I don’t want her hurt. Not by them or you, you know what I mean? She’s a beautiful girl and that’s attracted the wrong kind of men to her in the past. Did she tell you what the last one was like and what happened to him?”
“I know all about it,” I said truthfully.
“Good, because that’s what I want to see her free from. You have no right to bring it all back.”
Marza had some guts. If I’d really been like Slick Morelli, she was courting some broken teeth. “I don’t plan to. I’m on your side.”
She was anything but convinced, but there was no way I could prove my sincerity except to go back and deal with the problem. She gave me a “we’ll see” shrug and got out. I waited until she was inside and drove a beeline back to Bobbi.
She unlocked the door after hearing my voice. “I thought you’d never get back.”
“Same here.”
“Thanks for taking her, Jack.”
She was hugging me again. It was becoming a habit, a very nice one. Then it was time for my reaction and I couldn’t stop it. My arms moved on their own, wrapping around her and lifting her from the floor. I held her hard, as much for warmth as for comfort. I was cold from the inside out and shaking all over.
“Jack? What is it? What’s wrong?”
It was a long time before I had the strength of will to release her. I was damned near to crying. “That idiot . . . I was afraid he’d kill you.”
Her light fingers stroked my brows and lids. “But he didn’t. Everything’s okay. He wasn’t even aiming at me.”
“He didn’t have to, the bullets wou
ld have gone right through me. His silver is no more use against me than any other metal.”
“You mean the bullets—”
“They’re metal. The silver makes no difference. He’s gotten vampires mixed up with other folklore.”
“His cross held you back, though,” she said in a small voice.
“That was acting.” I looked around. She’d been cleaning up. The coffee service was gone and there was a throw rug covering the bullet furrow in the floor. On the table was Braxton’s cross. He’d dropped it in the tussle with Phil. I carefully closed my hand over it and held it up for her to see. “There, nothing happens and it’s made of silver.”
“But why not?”
“I guess it’s because God doesn’t work the way Braxton thinks he should.” I opened my hand and let her regard what lay in it. “I’m not evil, Bobbi. I have no fear of this, but I was afraid of losing you and can only thank God you’re safe.”
She came into my arms again and this time we did not let go.
I carried her to bed and tucked her in, which she thoroughly enjoyed. She was always a little sleepy afterward, regardless of how little I took from her. I sat next to her on top of the spread and kissed a few spots that had been missed earlier and made her giggle.
“Damn, you’re good,” she said.
“So are you.”
“Do you have to go?”
“There’s some unfinished business downstairs. Say, how did Phil know to come up here, anyway?”
“You forgot about that phone I keep in the bathroom.”
“Then your getting sick—”
“Hey, you think you’re the only one who can act if you have to?”
Her door was locked and I left it that way, slipping quietly through into the hall and taking the stairs to the lobby. Phil was behind his pillar, talking odds with the night clerk again. He saw me and nodded, then led the way down to the basement.
I planned to have him baby-sit Matheus while I had a private talk with Braxton. It wasn’t something to look forward to, but I’d decided to try hypnosis on him. The man was stubborn and would be on guard, though. I was certain I could break through, but afraid of hurting him, of hurting his mind. The last man I’d done it to . . . well, the circumstances were different now, things were controlled, and I was emotionally calm. I had no wish to hurt Braxton, only to find out his connection with Maureen and then make him go home.
Plans are just fine when they work out, but this one would have to wait. The closet door was hanging open and the two hunters were gone. Phil stooped to examine the lock, holding a match to the inside of the door. He shook his head in mild exasperation.
“The old goat musta had skeleton keys. Who’da thought it?”
“I should have.”
Braxton had underestimated me and I’d stupidly returned the favor. The man most certainly planned to kill me, and to do so he might have to break into almost any kind of building. He was sure to be outside to track me home when I left. The keys would jingle, the lock giving way to them, and then his shadow would fall across my trunk....
“Can you keep an eye on four tonight—make sure Miss Smythe stays okay without disturbing her?”
“I can do that. What about you?”
“I’m going to get lost.”
“Sounds like a good idea. I’ll show you the back door.”
8
HE let me out in a wide alley where delivery trucks trundled through during the day with their loads of food and linens. Things were comfortably deserted now, but I still felt like a shooting gallery target, and vanished as soon as Phil locked up.
I didn’t know this area particularly well and being in a non-corporeal form only added to the disorientation. My sense of solid objects, even the push of the wind was heightened and extended, but since I couldn’t see, it was hard to gauge distance. When moving, I had to rely on memory.
The alley entrance to the street was fifty feet to the left, with a row of garbage cans just before it, but the wind was throwing my direction off and to the right. Compensating, I drifted past the cans like smoke that wasn’t there, then found the corner of the building. Left, right, or straight? Right. Move away from the hotel and car, float softly down the sidewalk, gain some space, and look around.
An alcove opened in my path, which meant a doorway. I entered the building and solidified in a closed pawnshop. The street looked clear; they might have returned to their own hotel for fresh strategy, but I couldn’t count on that. They might also have my car staked out, so it would have to stay put. It was getting late for me and playing car chase with them might take too much time—was there anything in the car that would lead them to Escott’s? The papers inside were in my name, with my old hotel as an address. No one there knew Escott except by sight. The car dealer could be traced, but that would lead them to the hotel again. I could relax. If they did break into it all they’d find was a dead end, along with some mouth gargle, shoe polish, and handkerchiefs.
All the same, having to leave my car behind was a disgusting situation. Braxton would have a lot to answer for the next time I saw him.
I took some bearings, disappeared again, and didn’t reform until several city blocks were behind me. I checked the view, found it clear, and started walking.
Maybe I could have scoured the area until I found them, but there was no guarantee that Braxton didn’t have a second gun on hand. If he used it the racket would bring all sorts of trouble. I shook the thought out of my head. One thing at a time, one day, or rather night, at a time. I was tired, the sunrise was coming, and I still had to make sure they weren’t following me to Escott’s.
I eventually seeped inside his back door and listened. The place had its own little creaks and pops, each loud in my straining ears. There were also small scratchings and a rhythmic gnawing sound; mice in the basement. Overall, it was a good normal silence, but it meant I was alone in the house. Where the hell was Escott?
My answer was propped against the saltshaker on the table.
JACK,
ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, I DECIDED TO TAKE A NIGHT TRAIN TO N.Y. AND CLEAR UP THIS BUSINESS. MY OVERSEAS SHIPMENT SHOULD ARRIVE TOMORROW AT 7:45 P.M. PLEASE CALL ME WHEN IT COMES. I’LL BE STAYING AT THE ST. GEORGE HOTEL.
ESCOTT
On my own again. Great.
There wasn’t enough time to call a cab and find a hotel to hide in, I’d have to hope Braxton hadn’t had Escott followed from the restaurant. And then there was Gaylen—had Braxton bothered her? I speculated briefly and irrationally if she had put him onto me, but shook that thought off as well. She’d been far too concerned for my welfare; no one was that good an actress. My troubles were my own; no one else could be blamed for them and no one else could clear them up. But that was tomorrow’s problem.
Escott had given me the run of the house. I went up to the top floor, floating carefully over a patch of undisturbed plaster dust so as not to leave footprints. A small door at the end of the topmost hall led to yet another stairway, a short one that served the attic. There was dust everywhere and a number of interesting artifacts left by previous generations of owners. It looked suitable, but I still did not feel really safe.
I ghosted over to the one window at the far end. It faced another window in the next building just across the narrow alley. I gulped, tried not to think of the drop, and vanished, feeling a dull tug all over as I passed out of Escott’s house to the one next door.
The attic was similar to the one I’d left: full of dust and domestic junk, but I felt much more secure. The place was occupied below, but I was more willing to chance spending the day here. It would be better to be found by Escott’s neighbors than by Braxton, though from the condition of things they hadn’t been up here in years and it was likely to remain so.
I went back to Escott’s, retrieved a single bag of earth from the basement, and borrowed a blanket and pillow. The invisible nets that went out around me when I vanished, the ones that allowed me to retain my clothes and s
uch, were sufficient to take in my light burdens. I floated directly up through the many floors to the attic again and moved next door, leaving no trace of my passage for inquisitive eyes.
Somewhere outside, the sun was creeping to the horizon, but the one window was deep in the shadow of the roof overhang and opaque with grime. The light would not be too bad. I had certain powers, but very strict limitations as well, and sunlight was one of them. It blinded the eyes and stiffened the limbs, and then the numbness beginning in my feet would travel slowly to the head until it mercifully brought unconsciousness. Being subjected to the unpleasant inertia of dying only happened if I fought to stay awake after dawn, or if I was without my earth. Since my change I’d tried staying up only once voluntarily as an experiment. It was not something I ever wanted to repeat.
Spreading the blanket, not for comfort, but to protect my clothes, I stretched out behind some old boxes, the pillow resting firmly over my face to block the light. The earth was in the crook of my arm and reminded me of the stuffed toy rabbit my oldest sister Liz had given me thirty years ago. They were her specialty. She’d made them for her own children and all the nieces and nephews of our big family. She was a sweet woman.
And then I surrendered all thought and became very still.
The pillow slid from my face as I sat up and listened. A car rumbled by down below, interrupting the neighborhood kids in their game of street tag. Another day had slipped past and they were playing all the harder at its end before their mothers called them in to supper, bath, and bed. The air was dry with the smell of dust and coming up from the kitchen was the odor of boiled cabbage and fried fish. I wondered if the kids would survive to adulthood on such a diet. I had, but maybe I’d been tougher.
My own diet was of concern for me tonight. The relationship Bobbi and I shared was not about keeping me fed. The small amount of blood she provided was for the purpose of lovemaking, and could not satisfy my nutritional needs. More blood than she could spare was required for that. Later on I’d have to visit the Stockyards, but my trips there were less frequent than they were before we met—only once every three or four nights, rather than once every other night.
