The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  I’d wound up in a fancy lounge. A huge mirror over the counter reflected gold walls where brass lamps clung like glowing cicadas. As usual, it missed me, but I had no interest in knowing what I looked like. Turning from its emptiness, I was busy just trying to keep my shaky legs under me. I’d been shot before, but not so many times all at once, not to such a point of shattering, sickening weakness.

  The bloodsmell clinging to me was my own. Morbidly, I counted four holes going into the right side of my pea jacket and another four raggedly emerging from the left, the fabric soaked with warm red stains, and my guts still churning sharply from the aftershock. Chaven had made a good grouping—too bad he couldn’t have known they’d go right through me and on to kill Kyler.

  He’s dead.

  I braced more firmly against the counter, locking my knee joints to offset their tremors. The initial shock threatened to turn into a nauseous disaster, but I gulped it back and sucked stuffy air into my neglected lungs. It shuddered out as soft, nervous laughter that did not want to stop. Some distant part of my brain was aware that it didn’t sound quite right, but the restraints were broken down. It hurt too much to hold back and continued for as long as the air lasted, ugly, mirthless whispers of relief. After too many frantic nights crowded with uncomfortable thoughts, I needed the release badly. It washed over me, a wave of sweet, soothing balm for a troubled soul. It washed over and past, leaving me weary and drained, but at peace.

  I was finally free of the bastard.

  A last little surge of laughter flowed away from me, soft and secret.

  He’s dead.

  He was someone else’s problem, now. And I was just cynical enough to be glad about it.

  Next door, the clearly audible aftermath of Chaven’s mistake was just beginning.

  But he was quick to adjust to the new situation, especially since his own skin was at risk. Within a very few minutes he managed to invent a plausible story of how I’d burst in with a gun to fulfill my own contract on Kyler and escaped. The room quickly cleared as he sent his cronies out to search for me and to explain away the commotion to any road-house patrons who might have heard something odd happening upstairs.

  Then I had to disappear for a time as two of his goons charged in to check the stalls for my presence.

  “You believe that b.s. he fed us?” one of them asked as they crashed around.

  “Long as we get our cut of the profits, who cares? We do what he says and make him happy.”

  “And if we find this guy he was talking about?”

  “Then we give him a bad case of lead poisoning. C’mon, what’s the holdup?”

  “Just lookin’. I never been in one of these places before. I thought the pots’d be shaped different or something.”

  “The only difference is that some of ours are on the wall and all of theirs are on the floor.”

  That explained the pink marble; I was in a ladies’ lounge.

  “Live ’n’ learn.”

  “C’mon.”

  The door banged shut.

  When I came back I felt much more tired than before, but better able to think. If those two were a typical example of the kind of loyalty Kyler had inspired in his troops, Chaven had little to worry about in the reprisals department from underlings. But he was still one to watch out for as far as I was concerned, since more than ever he had a damn good reason to keep it a personal fight between us. On the other hand, there was every possibility that he wasn’t the same kind of crazy as his deceased boss. I might be more successful reasoning with him.

  I pressed an ear to the adjoining wall to see if he was alone yet, but no such luck, and no wonder. With an invisible God-knows-what wandering around the house he’d want to have an army around him for protection. As it was, he’d settled for one man—one too many for the moment. The kind of hypnosis that I had in mind required a certain degree of privacy. I’d have to wait.

  To better hear what was going on I went back through the wall, giving the spot where Kyler had dropped a wide berth. It wasn’t out of respect for the dead; nervous superstition was a better description for my caution. There was no telling what, if anything, I might encounter in this ethereal form and I had no desire to find out. I found a quiet cornet and listened to the hollow voices of the living that remained.

  “Now what?” asked one unfamiliar to me.

  “What d’ya mean?” Chaven returned. He seemed to be standing near Kyler, perhaps looking down at the corpse.

  “I mean about him. You ain’t callin’ the cops on this….”

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then wake up and start thinking.”

  Chaven’s voice was ragged. “Can it, Deiter, I am.”

  During the shooting, I’d had only the barest glimpse of a man standing behind Chaven. He had to have been Deiter, the specialist Kyler had ordered up to take care of the hit on Gordy, and now the only other witness to the strange circumstance of Kyler’s death. One more name to put on the roster of people to be persuaded to forget all about me.

  “We take him out to the boat,” Chaven finally said. “We get a box and weights and sink him just like any other job. We take him way out and we do it tonight.”

  “What about your gun?”

  “What about it?”

  “The bulls got ways of tracing bullets. If they should ever—”

  “Yeah, okay, it goes in the drink with him. I can always get another.” Cause. “Like maybe this one.”

  “What the hell is it?” Deiter had to be talking about Escott’s Webley. It was a unique-looking hunk of hand artillery.

  “Something that shoots. I don’t think the boss’ll mind me taking it back again.”

  “Fat lotta good it did him. What happened, Chaven? How could you shoot that guy and hit the boss? What happened to the guy? I had both eyes right on him and he just stopped being there.”

  Chaven moved away toward the desk where the book lay. “Here. You figure it out.”

  Deiter followed. “Invisible? You pulling my leg?”

  “The boss was checking into it. He said the guy in the book made himself invisible with chemicals. He had the idea that this guy Fleming knew how to do the same thing, only he could turn it on and off like— like a light bulb, clothes and all.”

  “That’s crazy.”

  “If it ain’t this, then what else?”

  “You can shoot through ghosts, can’t you?” Deiter hazarded.

  “I don’t believe in ghosts. You saw what happened. Well, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah, I already said so. I just wanna know what I saw.”

  “A guy disappearing.”

  “But it don’t make sense.”

  “It don’t have to—but that’s how it is. And the worst part is that bastard could be in here right now.”

  That ominous idea must have made Deiter a sudden believer. Things got very quiet for a while. “What are you going to do about him?”

  “One thing at a time. First we clean up this mess on the floor.”

  “You got a story ready for Kyler’s bosses?”

  “Just what I told the boys here; he put a hit out on Fleming, only Fleming got him first. We stick to that and we keep our skins.”

  “What about his family?”

  “He didn’t have any that he wanted. He told me he left them behind and wanted to keep it that way.”

  “Maybe the wife skipped to Reno,” Deiter sniggered.

  “Who knows? I think any skirt would have been crazy to get cozy with him. I was the closest thing he had to a friend and I didn’t like him all that much.”

  “Guess it’s just as well we’re gonna sink him. You’d do a lousy job talking at his funeral.”

  “Can it, Deiter. In fact, you can everything you heard and saw in here. If you want to stay out of the loony bin you don’t say a word about invisible men to nobody.”

  “This mean you’re running the show now?”

  “Until and unless the other bosses say otherwise. The boys�
��ll follow my lead long as they get their money as usual … oh, shit.”

  “What?”

  “We gotta get Opal back. She’s the only one who can make head or tail of the books. Without them, I’m crippled.”

  “But you don’t know where—”

  “I’m laying odds that Fleming’s got his partner holding her, and this town ain’t so big that they can hide forever. I’ll have Calloway look into things from his side. Wouldn’t it be something if we got the cops to do our work for us?”

  “If you can trust him.”

  “He’s in too deep and likes the money too much to turn on us now.”

  “You hope. What about the problem down the hall? We can’t keep that spook in private stir forever.”

  Chaven’s new responsibilities were starting to irritate him, “Jesus, why don’t you just make a list? I’ll get to him when I can.”

  “Right, boss.”

  The use of his new title mollified him somewhat and they left the room to set things in motion. I went solid almost as the door shut.

  Kyler had fallen on his face, but they’d rolled him over, presumably to check for signs of life, and left him that way. His eyes were still open. The rug was thick with his blood, and the cold, dizzy scent of it teased my nose. I tried to ignore it as I borrowed the phone on the desk.

  It was a relief to know that my call to Escott wouldn’t be long distance and therefore traceable. I’d been worried that Calloway had driven over the state line to Indiana or had at least left Cook County. The other end of the wire began ringing for attention.

  And kept on ringing. Where the hell was he?

  I dialed the number again, more slowly in case I’d gotten it wrong the first time. And again, to make sure. No answer. My mouth had grown very dry. Then I had to hang up and disappear when a couple of Chaven’s men came in to dispose of the body. From their lazily bickering conversation, they would be taking their time on this job. I hurled out past them to find another phone. One of them complained miserably about cold drafts and began sneezing.

  Random searches are neither fast nor efficient and that much more difficult when you can’t see where you’re going. There might have been any number of phones handy downstairs, but I wasn’t dressed for fancy socializing. I’d be spotted in short order and either thrown out on my ass by the bouncers or shot again. Both possibilities would prevent me from letting Escott know what was going on, and worse, from finding out what had happened to him.

  I took a turn up the hall, bumped through a door, and swept the room for occupants. Clear. Solid again, I checked the place in one fast look. No phone, dammit. I did the same thing once more, twice more, finding either people or not finding a phone. Jeez, when you’re making love or taking a bath the damn things are ringing off the wall for you, but when you really need one they vanish like roaches when the lights come on.

  One more try. I materialized in a vacant meeting room with a long dark table and padded chairs all around. Some unsung genius had thought to install a phone and I took immediate advantage of the fact.

  Or tried to. Just as I was dialing the last number, a door at the far end slowly swung open. There was nothing else to do but drop the earpiece back and disappear. I clearly recalled that in the movie, Claude Rains had himself endured a frustrating lack of privacy.

  The impromptu investigator seemed to be alone and only I stayed long enough to check the place and maybe puzzle over its emptiness. Unhappily for me he left the door ajar, the better to hear any more suspicious noises. I gave out an internal and quite silent sigh and materialized to do some listening for myself. He was alone. I decided that it wouldn’t hurt for him to enjoy a short nap while I completed my call.

  Taking a direct and low-key approach, I just walked in on him. Leaping out of thin air might have been more dramatic, but for this kind of work, the less ruckus, the better.

  My unsuspecting victim stood in the middle of a square of rug, staring at it. I was ready for him to hear me and turn, but he took no notice. He was a stocky man, but his cheap hickory shirt and rough pants hung loose on his frame as though he’d lost a lot of weight. His clothes didn’t fit this place any more than mine did. Head still down, he traced the outline of the rug’s pattern with the blunt toe of his shoe. This simple and childish activity in a middle-aged man brought a rush of prickles to the back of my neck. Deiter had mentioned a “spook”; maybe I’d found him. If so, then he might prove to be as immune to suggestion as Kyler.

  Deciding to not take the chance, I began to quietly back out. The man, still tracing, had gradually turned. I froze, held fast by wide, wasted eyes and a scraped-out expression. He glanced at me without concern, his pasty face and subdued manner much too calm. To him, I was just another part of the furnishings, somewhat less interesting than the rug, for he continued with his infantile game.

  Recognition reluctantly burst upon me. Last summer, while subjecting a man to hypnotic influence, I’d lost control of my emotions. The anger, frustration, pain, and roaring hatred buried deep by the shock of my own death had been released like a lightning bolt into another’s mind, with predictable effect. This soft, helpless husk before me was all that was left of Frank Paco.

  I was frozen with apprehensive shock … and fascinated.

  “Paco?” I ventured, nor really knowing why.

  “Yes?” he unexpectedly replied.

  After a minute I was able to speak again. “Do you know me?”

  His toe began to trace a different pattern in the rug, one that only he could see. He paused to give me a good look. Something flickered over his face, perhaps the corpse light of a dead memory. “You were on the boat.”

  So he recalled my last hell-filled days aboard the Elvira. “Anywhere else?”

  He shrugged. I rubbed a hand over my rough jaw. Maybe my unkempt appearance now was misleading him. He might not be able to link me with the younger-looking intruder who had dynamited his basement and subsequently blasted away his sanity. On the other hand, why was it so important to me for Paco to recall that encounter? The answer came even as I thought up the question.

  Here was Kyler’s other source of information on me.

  I fought down the sudden tremors running out from my spine and backed away from him without thinking. Stupid reaction, I thought, and made myself stop. Paco didn’t seem to notice.

  The boardroom phone was as safe as any for the moment. Paco was too far gone to be much of a danger to me now. I dialed the number once more and this time got an answer, but not the one I expected. It was Shoe Coldfield and I didn’t have to hear the tone of his voice to know that something was wrong.

  “This is Fleming. Where’s Charles?”

  “Shit if I know. When he didn’t answer the phone I came over to check on him and he’s not here. Where the hell are you?”

  “A roadhouse somewhere outta town. Was the building broken into?”

  “Looks it; I don’t think the s.o.b. got bored and took off leaving the door hanging open.”

  Damnation. “No, he wouldn’t, not unless he was on the run, and my guess is that he’d call you for help at the first chance.” My belly churned as the right idea hit me. “If he had one.”

  “What do you know, Fleming?” he growled.

  “Did Charles tell you about me finding Opal?”

  “Kyler’s accountant? Yeah, he told me all about her and the hit on Gordy. Maybe he decided to follow you—no, if he was watching that girl, nothing would have budged him outta here.”

  “They must have been watching the Travis Hotel for Kyler when I showed up. They had to have followed me while I was busy trying to keep Opal quiet—then they got in and got to Charles.”

  “Who followed you? Who got in?” he demanded.

  “It has to be Angela Paco’s people.”

  This time he said nothing and I couldn’t blame him. The situation was rapidly growing beyond words.

  “I’ve found out why Angela put herself in the middle of things last night. I
t’s her father. Kyler’s been keeping Frank Paco under wraps.”

  “Frank Paco? What the hell for?”

  “Pumping him for information about me, I guess.”

  “But Paco’s been bughouse crazy since that fire. What can he know that would be of any use?”

  “Doesn’t matter anymore—Kyler’s dead.”

  He paused a long time on that one and there was a hint of respect in his reaction.

  “Took care of him, huh?”

  “Not me, his lieutenant. Chaven did the honors. Right now I’m busy keeping my head down while he’s covering things up.”

  “How the hell did you arrange it?”

  “Believe me, it was an accident. Chaven’s still after my hide, but forget him, Angela’s our main worry now. I think the reason she kidnapped me the other night was to make a trade for her father. She might be trying to do the same again, but this time with Charles and Opal, so there’s a good chance that they’re all right.” I purposely skipped over the fact that of the two, Opal was the more valuable hostage.

  “Only now she won’t be dealing with Kyler—if this is what you think it is.”

  “You just said that Charles wouldn’t budge otherwise. Check around, see if there’s anyone else besides the Kyler and Paco factions that are after us.”

  “I know there aren’t. Yet.”

  “Right. My bet’s that Angela’s probably got them both and will be making her demands soon. Chaven’s got his hands full at the moment and l don’t know which way he’ll jump on this, but he’ll want Opal back because he needs her for his business.”

  “But Charles will be in the soup if she makes that deal. How long will it take you to get back here?”

  “I’m not, I’m going straight to her place.”

  “If she’s still there.”

  “You know any other bolt holes Paco had that Kyler didn’t take over?”