The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  “You sure this is it?” I asked. “I don’t see any sign out.”

  He set the brake. “An establishment like the Satchel hardly needs or wishes to call undue attention to itself.”

  That’s when the dawn came and I sat up a little straighten “How’d it get a name like that?”

  “I believe it’s related in some way to the satchel the collection man carries on his rounds. This particular place is used as a sort of bank; the various funds are added, divided, and dispatched from here.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “My dear fellow, though this city is not very old when compared with others, it does have a quite lively and consistent history of corruption to make up for its relative youth…. Use your imagination.”

  I didn’t have to use much, since I’d seen the same thing in other places. Vice flourishes best when it makes regular contributions in the right pockets. We went up the steps together and opened the double doors. Music was playing somewhere inside.

  “Wait a sec,” I said.

  He paused and turned to look where I was looking. A new Cadillac with smoke-dark windows was parked not twenty feet from the entrance.

  “I think we’ve come to the right place, Charles.”

  “His car?”

  “Or one of his stooges. Keep your eyes open.”

  “With pleasure.”

  The foyer was conservative: simple white curtains, a plant in a big brass pot, and a square of carpet, but then this part of the house was visible from the street each time the door opened. Furniture was limited to a table holding up a lamp and a chair next to it holding up the bouncer. He had the kind of scar tissue you get from boxing, maybe a couple pounds’ worth, and all the rest of him was hard muscle. He gave us a close and practiced look, nodded, and pressed a button on the little table. A buzzer buzzed and Escott opened the next door in.

  The parlor was fancier. A big Christmas tree stood in front of the curtained window, buried under sheets of tinsel and glass ornaments. A wire was strung across the wall on that side, loaded with dozens of Christmas cards. At first it seemed odd, but then I thought, Why not? There was no reason why working girls shouldn’t celebrate the holidays like everyone else.

  In one corner was a phonograph, in the other a radio. Both were on and trying to cancel each other out with competing tunes. A short girl with thin legs was busy sorting through the records and hardly troubled to glance up. Two more were bent over the radio trying to listen, and four others were draped or sprawled over the lush furniture, flipping through magazines or talking. I took a brief—in this case, an extremely brief—inventory of what they were almost wearing and wondered why they even bothered.

  Escott removed his hat and assumed a bland smile. I tried to do the same. It didn’t impress the girls. None of them took notice when an older woman walked in through a curtained-off archway. She was in her forties, plump, and motherly except for the heavy powder and lip color. She smiled and welcomed us, asking if we’d like a drink.

  “No, thank you,” said Escott. “We’re here to see Mr. Vaughn Kyler.”

  She shook her head, a study in polite confusion. “There’s no Mr. Kyler here, or if he is, then he gave a different name.”

  One of the girls snickered.

  “A pity, since it is most important that I see him. To be more correct, it is most important that he should see us.”

  Two blonds lolling on the sofa stopped pretending with their magazines and listened in. They’d caught Escott’s accent and it was having its usual effect. The closer one put a leg on the coffee table in front of her and made a business of straightening her stocking. I watched the show with interest.

  “I’d like to help you, but it’s been a slow night,” said the madam. “No one’s been in here but a few regulars.”

  “It’s early yet. Perhaps if you made inquiries with the gentlemen after they’ve concluded their appointments …” He produced a ten-dollar bill folded to the size of a business card. If my estimate was correct, he’d just bought each of us a pretty good time, or one of us a very good time.

  She smiled, still polite, but with more sincerity now that he was speaking her language. “I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime, make yourselves to home.” She slipped through the curtains, leaving us in the company of a wide range of grinning possibilities.

  “How appropriate,” he said, quirking one eyebrow and apparently referring to the past of his own home.

  “What’s your name, honey?” The blond had finished one stocking and was busy with the other.

  “Charles,” he replied.

  “Well, Charles, how ’bout you sit next to me and make yourself to home, like the lady said? You must be gettin’ awful hot in that coat.”

  Her friend giggled.

  “How kind of you to be concerned,” he responded. “And your name is… ?

  “Trudy.”

  “How do you do, Trudy?” He shook hands with her, which charmed her and the others to no end. He acted as though he were having high tea at the Vanderbilts, not in the middle of a brothel surrounded by half-naked women. The others closed in and insisted on introducing themselves as well. I suspected that they wanted to keep him talking. An English accent must have been quite a novelty to them.

  I found myself outside the circle, though it didn’t matter to me, I was enjoying the show too much to want to be a part of it. Escott went into high gear on the polish and manners. His eyes twinkled and the smile he displayed now was positively lupine in cast. The girls couldn’t get enough of him and were visibly disappointed when the madam returned.

  Her own smile had faded and her eyes were hard and humorless. “Up there,” she said, jerking her head at the curtains. “Last door on the left.”

  Escott excused himself to the girls. The madam stepped out of the way at the last second and stayed in the parlor. Her gaze slid past me completely as I went by her into the next room.

  It was a landing empty of people and short on decor. A table held a load of drinks and ice and a tray of sandwiches. It had one comfortable chair and a table with a phone and nothing else. Escott took it in with one glance and stalked up the stairs as directed.

  The second-floor hall was lined with doors, some open, others closed. The varied activities going on behind the closed ones were quite audible, at least to me, and left nothing to my fertile imagination. It was very distracting.

  Escott stopped at the last door as directed, raised a hand to knock, then thought better of it. He gave me an inquiring look and I nodded, taking his place. He may have been wearing the vest, but overall, I was far more bulletproof. I knocked twice and a man on the other side said to come in.

  The room was bright and Spartan compared to the parlor. There was no bed, but a long table with a double row of plain chairs took up the middle of the floor. It was covered with some pencils, a ledger book, a phone, and several thousand dollars in small bills. Standing over it, with a gun out and covering us, was Kyler’s man Hodge.

  One side of his face was swollen and bruised up where I’d hit him last night. From the expression that came over him when he saw me, it was clear that he remembered the incident as well.

  “So I lot Shir’s come back for more?” All those bruises gave him an unpleasant grin. Hell, it’d been just as bad before I’d marked him up. His ga/e dropped to the slash on my overcoat. “Rimik said he’d cut you good. He’s making plans to finish the job he started.”

  “We’re here to see Kyler,” I said.

  “Yeah, that’s what I heard. You got some news on that broad?”

  “Maybe, but it’s for Kyler.”

  “He don’t have time to waste talking to punks. You give me your news and get out while you still got legs.”

  “Oh, stop it, you’re scaring me to death.”

  His grin broadened. “Now, that’s an idea.”

  “Lay off the crap, Hodge. We want to talk to your boss and he’ll want to talk to us.”

  “He’s busy.�
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  “We can wait. The company downstairs is nice enough.”

  The muzzle of the gun twitched back and forth. “You and your pal get your butts in here.”

  “First tell your friend with the asthma to come out from behind the door.”

  He did no such thing, but his friend cautiously emerged. She had a pinched face, thick glasses, and wore galoshes. Between them and her baggy woolen clothes 1 could figure that she wasn’t part of the house’s regular entertainment staff. She scuttled over to Hodge to stare at us. She didn’t look lethal, so we walked in. Escott’s gaze was all over the place, cataloging it before finally settling on Hodge.

  “You… shut the door.”

  Fscott obliged.

  “Stand over there and keep your hands out. Opal, call the boss.”

  The girl grabbed the phone and dialed. It took a long time before anyone answered and she sounded relieved when they did. In a breathy, little-kid voice she asked for Kyler and mentioned Hodge’s name. I thought he might put the gun away to talk, but he and the girl workedaround that one. He held the earpiece in his free hand while she held the mouthpiece up so he could speak into it.

  His report to the other end was a brief statement of his situation, then he listened for a time. The longer he listened the more he smiled.

  “Okay, honey, put it away.” She hung up for him.

  “Good news?” I asked.

  “You just wait here and see. Opal, finish what you started.”

  Opal plainly wanted to know what was going on, but was too timid to come out and ask. She sat at the table and with a nudge from Hodge began counting money. She quickly went through the stacks, put them in order, and stretched rubber bands around the bundles she made. Each bundle was recorded into the ledger. Escott was looking at that book in much the same way a starving man would view a steak dinner.

  Opal finished counting and loaded all the money and the ledger into her huge purse. And I’d been expecting to see a satchel.

  Hodge nodded approval. “Okay, now get downstairs and watch for him. Lemme know when he comes.”

  “By myself?” Her face hardened with indignation.

  “How else?”

  “But those women make fun of me.”

  “So sit in the kitchen. G’wan.”

  She wrinkled her lip and nose in distaste and left. Hodge covered his annoyance with a laugh.

  “I swear, she’s gotta be the only broad left in this town past the age of consent that ain’t consented yet. One of these days I’ll have to screw her just so she can start understanding all the jokes.”

  “Mr. Kyler’s accountant, is she?” asked Escott with mild curiosity.

  “No, his gardener. Who the hell are you?”

  “An interested party.”

  “Gimme a name.”

  “Escott.”

  Hodge’s eye flashed to me and back again. “So you’re the one who belongs to the Nash. How’d you know to come here?”

  “I knew where to ask the right questions.”

  “Then somebody’s been talking too much.”

  “On the contrary, not nearly enough. Mr. Kyler’s made quite an impression on the community hereabouts.”

  Hodge didn’t know whether to take that as a compliment or not. Opal saved him the trouble by coming in.

  “He just pulled up.”

  “Get the bag and stay behind me. You two go out first.”

  We paraded downstairs, but turned right instead of left and exited the building through the kitchen. It faced an alley and we waited there while Opal went ahead with the money. When she came back, her purse looked a lot lighter and thinner. Hodge told her to wait in his car, and she all but galloped away.

  A Caddy rolled across the alley entrance. It looked identical to the one I’d spotted earlier, right down to the smoked-over windows. The front door opened. Chaven got out of the driver’s side and came around to check that everything was clear. He joined Hodge and gave us each a quick slap-down search. He found Escott’s gun right away and relieved him of it. He nodded to Hodge and we were urged forward.

  The front passenger window facing us rolled down. Kyler was on the other side.

  “What is it?” His blue eyes were hard and cold. My back hairs starting climbing.

  “About Doreen Grey. Someone shot her.”

  If anything, his expression got even more remote. “I know. What about it?”

  “Did you do it?”

  Now he had no expression at all. I tried to focus down on him, to pin him fast with my own influence.

  Nothing happened.

  There was enough light for it to work, maybe I needed to concentrate more. I tried again. “Did you shoot her?”

  “No.” His gaze raked me, indifferent to the pressure I was putting on.

  My muscles contracted all over. His response was completely wrong. He should have been slack jawed or dreamy or anything but in control of himself. On the edge of sight, I noticed Escott glance quickly at me. He’d sensed that something was seriously off.

  In the alley behind us, Hodge and Chaven shifted on their feet.

  “This one’s Escott, boss,” said Hodge, pointing.

  Kyler’s eyes narrowed. “I know.”

  Escott nodded. “We appreciate your personal attention in this matter.”

  “I’m off your suspect list for the woman,” Kyler told him.

  “To be sure, she was under your protection, but we had to be certain. Were you at any point ever able to make contact with her?”

  “No. Someone got to her first.”

  “Do you know who that person is?”

  No answer.

  “Have you any idea at all?”

  He turned his head to look at something in the backseat. When he turned back, his face was a little more animated with something that was a very distant cousin to amusement.

  “You figure it out yourself, Mr. Private Agent.”

  Escott’s chin lifted.

  “Yes, I do know who you are. You crossed Frankie Paco once and managed to survive the hit he had out on you. You even bumped Fred Sanderson and shifted the blame to his partner.”

  The inaccuracy of fact was heartening to me. I felt marginally better knowing that Kyler was fallible on some level. On the other hand, it put Escott on the spot.

  “That stuff’s over now. After tonight, you stay out of my way.”

  One corner of Escott’s mouth twitched. I knew him well enough to interpret it and felt my insides shrink. “Thank you for the warning,” he said evenly.

  “It’s the only one you’ll get. I want you to understand that I’m a lot better at this than Paco ever was.”

  Escott’s eyes glittered. “Of that I have no doubt.”

  Kyler could tell he wasn’t getting the reaction he wanted and it annoyed him. “Chaven.”

  Chaven took one step forward and buried his fist into Escott in a spot not covered by his vest—in this case, his right kidney. Escott bit back a sharp grunt of pain, but couldn’t stop himself from dropping down on one knee. I moved toward Chaven, but Hodge still had his gun out.

  “You just try it, Hot Shit,” he said. “Give me an excuse.”

  It was enough to make me think twice about starting something that we’d all regret. I kept my movements easy and knelt by Escott.

  I hissed in his ear, “You’re an actor, goddammit, pretend you’re scared.”

  He gasped a few times. Fortunately his head was down so it wasn’t obvious that he was stifling laughter. “It’s a bit late for that; he’d never believe such a show now.”

  “Maybe he’ll believe it from me—I don’t have to pretend.”

  “What could you be …”

  But I lost the rest of it when Hodge loomed close and rammed a knee into my side. The breath washed out of my lungs. My back hit the cold, damp pavement and my head almost followed. I tucked my chin down just in time.

  “That’s for last night,” he said.

  I looked up, disoriented
by my sudden roll from vertical to horizontal. Hodge was grinning, enjoying his chance to pay me back. His ability to really do damage was limited; my internal changes had toughened me up inside and out, but that didn’t mean I was happy just to lie there and take it. In fact, I was pissed as hell and wanted to kill him. What held me back was Escott; I didn’t want him getting caught in the middle, but he was already struggling to stand.

  “No,” I told him urgently. “Stay there and lemme—”

  Hodge interrupted again. My teeth clacked together, barely missing my tongue. White light flashed behind my eyes. My body jerked and lay flat.

  Vulnerable.

  “That’s for tonight….”

  He’d used his foot this time, and my head had been the football. I had to fight to stay conscious. If I blacked out for even a second or two, I’d vanish into nothingness for who knows how long. Hodge watched my efforts with hot interest. He was waiting until I’d recovered enough to fully appreciate his next trick.

  “… and this is for tomorrow.”

  He raised his foot, this time to bash it straight down into my groin.

  I was tough, but not that tough. Terror and reflex took over. I didn’t think about whether the place was dark enough for me to get away with it, or about the problems that might emerge; this was pure instinct. I disappeared a bare instant before contact. His foot plowed through empty air and slammed the pavement. He made a short cry, either from surprise or sudden fear; I couldn’t tell.

  Now I fought to regain solidity and won, by a narrow margin. My anger helped. I’d vanished for one long second, but reappeared in the same spot with my hips shifted well out of harm’s way. Hodge’s foot was still down, his arms waving as he tried to get his balance back. With such an opportunity presenting itself, I didn’t have to think twice about taking it—the only rule in a gutter fight is to survive. Because of the awk ward angle, I couldn’t put much force into the punch, but it was enough to do the job. My fist swung up and smashed solidly against his groin.

  His scream tore down both ends of the street and made flat echoes up the walls of the alley. He fell and rolled away, legs pulled in, hands cupping and cradling, his face twisted.

  I got to my feet. Fast. Chaven had backed off a few steps and drawn his gun. It wavered equally between me and Escott.