The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  “Fleming.” I turned back to Sullivan. He’d gotten up from the desk and crossed to the bar. He browsed through the various bottles, but couldn’t seem to find anything to his taste. “It’s time you told me what it is you want from this deal.”

  “To get out of it with a whole skin.”

  He shook his head. “We all want that, but what else is there?”

  “I just said.”

  “Uh-uh. Everyone has an angle, especially smart operators, and that’s you.”

  I’d have to throw him something. “All right. What I want is after this is settled for you to forget I was ever here. I got mixed up in this by accident and want to get clear, completely clear of all this. You and yours pretend that you never heard of me and I promise to return the favor.”

  He put his back to the bar, leaning on it to regard me. The crease on his pants was fresh, his shoes were new and well polished. And he was still too far away for me to do anything constructive. “That’s all?”

  “I’m a smart enough operator to know when it’s time to leave the game.”

  “You leave the game when you’re ahead.”

  “I’m ahead if I leave this one alive. I’m way ahead if I’m anonymous to the other players and team captains. They can go on without me.”

  That raised another chuckle. Maxwell took his spot by the desk again and continued with the benign expression. I wondered if he’d look so harmless without the glasses and bay rum in his slicked-down hair. Easy subject for hypnosis or not, there was something about him that was starting to make my skin crawl.

  “Ready to leave your girlfriend, are you?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ll let her down easy.”

  More laughs as Sullivan returned to the desk, too, and motioned for Calloway and his group to move off. They came to stand near me, but not too near. Calloway made it obvious that he didn’t like my getting on with his boss. Maxwell leaned forward, head cocked in a listening pose. Sullivan murmured very quietly so no one else could catch any of it, but I had no trouble hearing the conversation, only with keeping my face composed while they talked.

  “Can’t trust him,” said Sullivan. “Not the whole way.”

  Maxwell was probably good at poker. His lips barely moved. “No, but if he could do the job, it would save you a lot of effort.”

  “He’s too confident. He should be scared.”

  “Indeed he should be.”

  “Hasn’t even broken a sweat. He’s worried about the girl, but that’s all. He’s got another game running. You think?”

  “Maybe.”

  “He talks to Angela, sure, but then does a double cross and turns on us. Leads her right back here for a hit.”

  “Endangering Doc?”

  “That’s what I’d do to get rid of a threat like me. Position she’s in, she can’t afford to have friends in this business.”

  “It would endanger Opal, too.”

  “I don’t think she’s that important. Not as important as getting me out of the way. So what if the books are coded, we just find someone to figure them out for us. She could do the same.”

  “Have to get them back first,” Maxwell pointed out.

  “So I should use this punk?”

  “As long as he’s on a leash. Opal can be the leash. Let him run and see what he does.”

  “You think she matters that much to him?”

  “I saw how he was downstairs with her. Since you can’t trust him, your best bet is to trust the soft spot he has for her.”

  “God knows why.”

  “Some people take in stray cats and get quite silly about them. I expect the same thing has happened here; that, or he thinks he’s some kind of knight in armor trying to save the damsel.”

  “Yeah, he looks the type,” he said, tossing a sidelong glance my way. Apparently Sullivan wasn’t too impressed by common human decency. He didn’t look the type. “Okay, watch my dust.” He turned to face me, smiled like a carnival barker, and waved an open hand at the phone on his desk. “Okay, Fleming, I’ll buy your goods. Let’s get things started. Call Angela.”

  First check and a bad one, but I had an answer ready. “I don’t have the number. It was Opal’s department.”

  That garnered a snort from Calloway. “He’s been lying his head off. He doesn’t have anything going with her or he’d know where to call.”

  I looked at Sullivan “Hey, I can’t help it if the boss lady plays her cards close. She’s cute, but careful. Do you give your private number out to every guy you hire for muscle? Do all your girlfriends know where to find you every minute of the day? What I can do is ring the hotel and leave a message with your number for her to call, but that would let her know where you are. Besides, it’s the long way around things.”

  “And the short?” asked Sullivan.

  “Have someone drive me back to the hotel. She’ll have the place under watch—”

  “It’ll still be crawling with cops investigating the shooting.”

  “I can get around them.”

  “How?”

  “I got a phony press pass.” Actually, it was real, left over from my time as a reporter in New York. One of these nights I’d have to clean out my wallet.

  Head shake. “I’m thinking you’ll want to slip away for good instead.”

  “Why should you think that?”

  “Because that’s what I’d do.”

  I hate it when guys like Sullivan measure me against themselves, against their own personal standards. It’s never complimentary. “You mean if I’d asked for money as well, that would give me a reason to hang around until things got cleared with Angela?”

  He smiled. “Exactly.”

  “But I’ve asked for anonymity with that freedom. If I took a walk now there’d be nothing to stop you from coming after me. Take it as the other half of the deal that will keep me in line.”

  “There’s a better way.”

  “Yeah?”

  “You do exactly what you’ve promised and I won’t dump Opal in a field somewhere.”

  I pretended to choke. “What? You can’t, you need her to—”

  “No one’s that important, Fleming. I’ve other accountants to take her place. Losing her would be inconvenient, but not a disaster.”

  Struggled to pull the anger in. Though I’d known what bluff to expect, it wasn’t hard to believe in it, so my reaction wasn’t all pretend. In fact, for Opal’s own good, I’d better believe his threat whether he was bluffing or not. “You lay one finger on her . . . ”

  He kept up the smile. I was feeding him exactly what he wanted to hear. “She’ll be safe, so long as you behave.”

  “You’ve got my word on it. I’ll swing this deal for you.”

  “Good, because if you don’t, if Angela turns up here and tries acting cute, Opal is crow food.”

  “I get you. I still have to see Angela to make this work.”

  “That I can believe,” muttered Calloway.

  I spared him a glance. “Have Calloway and his men take me back. You know he’d never let me out of his sight.”

  “Damn right I wouldn’t. But we cuff and blindfold him first.”

  Sullivan gave a half snort. “He’s really got you spooked, hasn’t he?”

  “I’m not shitting you on this, Mr. Sullivan. There’s something really weird about this bird. He can get people to do things, all he has to do is look at ’em.”

  “If that’s true, then maybe he can get Angela to play ball with us. Do whatever you want, then. Max, give the kid our number.”

  Okay, so my idea of putting them all to sleep and calling in the marines didn’t happen. I knew my limits. If it had just been me alone, I’d have taken the chance, but there were too many of them, and she was too vulnerable. Doc as well.

  Maxwell drew out an oversized fountain pen and wrote something on a slip of paper, blew on the ink, then walked over to hand it to me. “When you’ve got things arranged, call. You’ll have until midnight to make an initial
report. To us. After that and we won’t answer to Opal’s safety.”

  I automatically checked my watch, but found my wrist was clean. There didn’t seem much use to wearing a broken timepiece, so I’d left it on my bureau at home. “How long till then?”

  “A couple hours.”

  “It may take more than that to fix things.”

  “Nonetheless, you will call in.”

  Focused on him. Light. Casual. Didn’t want to give any clue of it to Calloway. “Take care of Opal, would you? Like she’s your own kid sister.”

  Maxwell blinked behind the glasses. Wasn’t sure if I got to him or not, but I didn’t dare do more. He stepped out of Calloway’s path; he and his cops closed on me, and I was hustled downstairs.

  Out through the kitchen again. The bloodsmell was mixed with the sting of rubbing alcohol and the sour smell of cheap booze. Opal lay small and forlorn on the table, covered to the chin with white tablecloths, her skin nearly the same color. I tried not to think about how much the sight reminded me of a corpse in a morgue. Doc sat on a steel stool next to her, drink in hand and a mournful look on his face.

  “How is she?” I demanded. If she was dead, then all bets were off, and Sullivan and his crew were just so much cold meat.

  “She’s hanging on. I’ve done as much as I can with what I’ve got. She could use a transfusion. Might help her chances.”

  “Talk to Maxwell. He’s supposed to be arranging things to get her to a better place.”

  He sipped from his glass, winced and hissed in reaction, then looked at me. “You must be some kind of a fancy talker, kid. What’s going on up there?”

  “Never you mind,” said Calloway. He found a spare tablecloth and used his pocketknife to cut a wide strip from it. While Baker pulled my arms behind and cuffed me once more, Calloway tied the strip tight around my head, cutting off my vision except for a slice of floor I could just glimpse if I lifted my chin and looked down far enough. Insofar as hypnotizing anyone went at the moment, I was out of the running.

  “Take care of her,” I called as they pushed me toward the exit. “I’ll be back.”

  Calloway laughed once.

  7

  THEY held to the blindfold routine all the way into the city. I didn’t care much for it, but if they felt safer and left me alone, then I was willing to put up with the farce. It spared me from having to look at the drab streets again, but I found myself fighting an unexpected and embarrassing bout of car sickness. The vehicle’s motion was silk-smooth, swaying only at the turns, which was enough to set me off. It had to mean I was tired, not so much physically, but certainly in the mind and soul. The night had been too busy already and wasn’t nearly over yet.

  A quiet bunch for the first few miles, Baker, who was driving, finally broke the silence. “You trust this Sullivan?”

  Calloway didn’t take much time to answer. “No. Can’t trust any of’em.”

  “Then why work for him?”

  “Because we don’t have a choice. We’re in too far.”

  “What about the boys at the hotel? What if they screwed up or tip on us?”

  “Then we say we don’t know what they’re talking about and stick to it, no more and no less. You guys got that?”

  The men on each side of me in the backseat murmured agreement. I kept my trap shut and didn’t join in the chorus. Now wasn’t the time to play wiseacre. Swallowed some of my spit and took a deep breath, hoping my guts would settle soon. I’d read someplace that dizziness had to do with your ears, so why was it that your stomach was always the focus of all the misery?

  “What about the punk, then? Sullivan doesn’t trust him, why should we? All he has to do is blab in the wrong ear.”

  “Our word against his. We’re safe. You hear that, Fleming?”

  “I heard. I’m not gonna make trouble for you. I was straight up with Sullivan. All I want is out of this mess with a whole skin.”

  Another one of his short, unpleasant laughs. I knew I sounded like a sucker to him, but didn’t give a tinker’s damn for his opinion. He’d also just given me confirmation that letting me go free and clear wasn’t going to happen if he had anything to do with it. Once the books were back with Sullivan, I’d be written up in them as a new liability vs. an old asset. Though I could hope to avert a major war between the gangs, I couldn’t kid myself into thinking either side would let me loose with what I knew on them. The one thing in my favor was that Sullivan didn’t quite buy Calloway’s suspicions about me. All I had to do was ditch the cop, corner Sullivan alone for a private talk, and the world would be mine again, with me in charge for a change.

  Of course, first I had to talk to Angela, since the same and more went for her. At some point before I saw her, Calloway would have to let me go, if only to avoid getting shot by her as a turncoat to Daddy Frank, then I could really get the show on the road. Well, something like that was easily arranged, just wait until he was off guard and jump in with both feet. He looked like he could use a long nap.

  We slowed and stopped once or twice, probably for traffic and signal lights. My dizziness eased during the pauses. I tried to guess where we were, then gave it up. So long as the trip ended at the hotel I didn’t need to trouble myself on details—except where it came to time. I had only until midnight. I wondered if there was a reason for that particular hour, or if Maxwell was just being dramatic.

  Final stop. I could tell because Baker set the hand brake just before cutting the motor. A door was opened and the rush of chill air brushed away the last of my nausea. Next time I’d ask to travel in the front seat with the window slightly cracked.

  “You might want to take this thing off me, Calloway,” I said, indicating the blindfold. “It’s a little too noticeable.”

  I heard some shifting around and one of the cops pulled the cloth up over my head, nearly taking my eyebrows along for the ride. Had to blink a few times against what seemed to be sudden brightness to me, though the inside of the car was still in normal darkness. The first thing I focused on was a gun muzzle hovering a few inches from my nose. Calloway’s. It was loaded again. I could see the rounded nubs of the bullets tucked inside the chambers.

  His face was ugly, his tone worse. “You try anything fancy and you’ll wish to God you hadn’t. You understand me?”

  Mouth dry, I nodded. I’ve survived getting shot, but would just as soon go on living without further experiences of that sort.

  “Okay. Get him out, but take the cuffs off. I don’t want anyone asking about him. Fleming . . . ”

  “I’m not gonna make trouble.”

  “Just try, and see what happens.”

  It took a minute for us to trade the shelter of the car for the cutting wind of the sidewalk. Baker had parked half a block down under a broken streetlight and now stood behind me with Calloway, who kept his revolver jammed against my back as a constant reminder to be good.

  We made a slow approach. They must have wanted to make sure it was safe for them, but there was no need to worry. By now most of the fuss from the shooting was over. The trip out to the roadhouse and back and all the talking in between had chewed up a lot of time. Whatever police investigation had taken place here was mostly gone now. Whether any of Angela’s goons were hanging about we had yet to see. I tried to check the darker nooks along the street, but that gun in my spine was a hell of a distraction.

  The front of the hotel still showed some light and life. Sawhorse barriers had been set up around it to keep people clear. A single cop car with two men inside was parked right at the curb. They were in sight of the bloodstains and the chalk outline where the body had fallen on the pavement. Someone had forgotten to sweep the street: Brass shell casings from the machine gun were all over the place. Maybe tomorrow the morbidly curious would have their chance to collect a memento.

  Calloway left guard duty to Baker and walked ahead to the car to speak with the officers. From his manner I couldn’t tell if they were in on the take with him or not. They didn�
��t bother to get out into the wind. I strained to hear, but they were too far away even for me to pick up a stray word. Calloway gestured at the mess on the walk once or twice, looking serious and sympathetic. The driver glanced back at our group and shrugged, nodding. Calloway had apparently convinced him we had business at the hotel; there was no hitch about any of us going in.

  The bullet-pocked entry doors were in the same condition as the ones in the radio room now, gaping wide and empty with the etched glass gone, only it was much draftier as the winter wind slipped through. The old manager, in an ancient coat with a tattered wool muffler wrapped around his head, had a box of thumbtacks in hand and was busy pinning flapping layers of newspaper over the openings. He also had the nervous twitches, looking up fast the instant he heard us coming. He recognized me and the boys right off, if I could judge anything from his terrified expression, and got out of the way to let us pass. No questions for us, though. Probably too scared.

  Broken glass from the doors and windows was scattered all over the marble floor, which also showed damage. Stray bullets had created brief plow lines in its surface where it hadn’t cracked apart altogether. Wherever you looked at eye level from the street, you could spot bullet holes in the walls, along the stairs. They only went up so high, like some kind of rock stratum, indicating the limits of the range of fire from the street. The killers had sprayed the place pretty good, though. It must have been some kind of big kick for them to blast the hell out of something and too tough for anybody who’d been in the way.

  I wondered if the shooting would hurt or help the business. Probably the latter, once word got out. When the feds and the East Chicago police had taken down Dillinger a couple years back, the Biograph Theater had done a boom in ticket sales. Of course, anyone making the pilgrimage had to stop after the show to stare at the alleyway where he’d fallen and look for blood. Nothing of it was left, though; previous souvenir hunters had seen to that, sopping it up with handkerchiefs, scrap paper, and bits of torn cardboard, or so Escott had told me.