by P. N. Elrod
“Some venting.” I could still hear laughter coming up through the floorboards. “If he doesn’t slow down he’ll need an oxygen tent.”
One of Escott’s eyebrows bounced and he cleared his throat. “Look, get yourself cleaned up, you’ll feel much better for it.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“Then Shoe and I would very much like to hear what went on last night. Perhaps you can explain about all that money we found in your overcoat pockets.”
“Money? Oh, yeah, that stuff.”
“It is not an inconsiderable sum. Sixty-eight thousand, three hundred dollars in various denominations and nonsequential serial numbers, and so far as I’m able to determine, it is not marked or counterfeit. I’ve put it in the basement safe for the time being.”
“Thanks, but if you think that’s a lot then wait till . . . wait . . . the car—the stuff in the Caddie . . . ” The memory popped back of Doc driving away. Off he’d gone, probably straight to Angela, looking after himself once he figured my part in things was finished for good. Off he’d gone, along with the balance of that seven hundred grand, and not even knowing he had it.
“The car?”
“Oh, God,” I groaned as it overwhelmed me. My loss was horrible and heartfelt, right down to my toes; it hurt so much I was within a hair of actually breaking down and crying.
“What?” Escott demanded, all anxious.
I pulled myself together and waved him off. “Gimme a few minutes. I can’t talk about it now.”
He took his leave only very reluctantly. From his view of things, it must have seemed crazy: He reminds me of a fortune in my coat and I go into a fit of instant misery. It couldn’t be helped, I had some serious mourning to do. I sat in the tub, head bowed and moaning and feeling very sorry for myself. I’d found and lost an ungodly amount of money in a laughably short time, and whining excuses about none of it being my fault weren’t cutting any ice with my sense of greed.
I mentally kicked myself until the chilliness of my physical condition finally got through to me and demanded some attention. By then I was ready for a distraction and cautiously stood to get a good look at the mess I’d literally been sitting in. There was no knowing how Escott had been able to stand it, since he’d mentioned his squeamishness to me more than once in the past. I wasn’t too happy myself; the sight of all that blood practically painting me was pretty damn revolting. The smell wasn’t so great to my sensitive nose either, being something like almonds mixed with old rust and raw meat starting to go bad. Ugh.
The poison must have sweated its way out of every pore in my body. I was glad now that Escott had had the wisdom to replace the lost blood, or God knows what kind of shape I’d be in. As it was, I felt fairly fit, but dry in the throat, from thirst or irritation from the tube, I didn’t know. I reached over to the sink and got the bottle, removing the stopper and tube from the opening, and gave the contents a sniff. Cow’s blood. Gone cold, and not the same as taking it fresh, but still very drinkable. I gulped freely and let the stuff work through me. It took its own sweet time, but gradually the chill started to recede from my bones, and I didn’t feel so weighted down as before. With the last swallow sweeping away the last of the cobwebs, I turned on the tub water, letting it run until it got hot.
I usually prefer a bath, but wasn’t about to sit down again until the tub was clean, so I pulled the lever to get the showerhead going and yanked the splash curtain around. Running water was no friend of mine, but this kind I could handle without problems. Took off my shorts and undershirt after the water soaked the fabric from my skin, then soaped and scrubbed away until all the red was gone. Finishing off with a shave and dressed in fresh clothes, I felt like I could face the world again and maybe even Escott and Coldfield, so I went downstairs.
They were holed up in the kitchen, sitting at the table. Escott had a big cup of tea, Coldfield some coffee, and between them was a bottle of whiskey, which they must have used to give their respective drinks more of a kick. On the counter by the sink were several rinsed-out bottles similar to the one I’d emptied, plates, and the remains of some Chinese-food cartons. Escott hated to cook, even to make a sandwich. I’d seen him eat the bread and meat separately right out of their wrappers just to avoid the bother of putting the two together.
“Better?” Escott inquired when I came in.
“Yeah. Sorry I went a little nuts there.”
“I’m sure you had an excellent reason.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Then please tell us.” He shoved a third chair out with his foot as an invitation to sit.
Coldfield glanced at me once, looked away, and stifled another grin.
I glared at him. “What?”
He snickered and tried to turn it into a cough, then gave up and started laughing again.
“Why don’t I come back in a few hours when he’s got it out of his system?”
Escott looked pained. “Really, Shoe, it’s not all that amusing.”
“It sure as hell is. I mean, him being a vampire? He’s the last person I’d pick.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said sourly, dropping into the chair.
“I don’t mean it bad, but it’s taking some getting used to.”
“No kidding.”
“I can see why you want to keep this kind of news to yourself, so I don’t blame you for not saying anything to me. I thought Charles had lost his mind when he brought in that sack of dirt and all those bottles of blood and put the tube up your nose and—”
“I think Jack would prefer to skip that part. I know I would.”
“I don’t usually drink it out of a tube,” I added. “Where’d you get the stuff, anyway?”
Escott shrugged. “I struck a deal with a night watchman at a slaughterhouse.”
“No questions from him on why you wanted the stuff?”
“I said it had to do with a practical joke against some antiunionists. He was all for it.”
“I’ll bet. What about the bottles and all the rest? Where’d you get those?”
“After your last escapade I thought it a good idea to acquire some for an emergency rather than borrow from Dr. Clarson again.”
“What escapade?” asked Coldfield.
I didn’t want to go into the business of how I’d been staked in the heart and promised to tell him later. A lot later, I hoped.
“Least now I know why you always had a bad stomach when it came to eating. So that’s it for you? Drinking nothing but blood?”
“Yeah.”
“Huh. That must get downright dull.”
“Well, it saves me from a lot of dishwashing.”
Coldfield chuckled, but managed not to succumb to another fit of hilarity. “You want to tell us just what happened to put you out like that? I thought vampires were supposed to be damn near indestructible.”
I resisted enlightening him further on the subject and told them about last night in all its grim detail, from the raid at the dance studio to Doc leaving me for dead on the sidewalk.
“He’s gonna be in for one hell of a shock when I turn up again,” I concluded.
“No doubt,” Escott agreed. “Then you plan to try recovering that money?”
“Damn right I do.” They’d been properly impressed by the amount when I’d gotten to that part of the story.
“How?”
Shook my head. “I’ll figure something out, but I gotta know what’s happened today. You hear anything? You guys must have had your ears open.”
“Nothing new from my bunch,” said Coldfield.
“I called Merrill Adkins,” said Escott.
I snorted, not much liking his government friend.
“He was unable to talk freely since I am not a fellow agent, but I gathered that all the law officers in town are up in arms about the shooting of the policeman at that hotel.”
“Yeah, he was one of Calloway’s men and working for Sullivan,” I said. “What lies did the papers print?”
>
“Oh, he’s a hero destined for sainthood. The later editions mention plans for a public memorial service. Oh, and there’s to be a major crackdown on crime in the city.”
“Well, that’s nice and general. I’ll bet the citizens are feeling safer already. Any suspects?”
He grunted. “Now you know why it’s so general. But still, it would be wise if you avoided the area for a time, say a decade or two.”
“No problem.” It was one of Gordy’s favorite phrases, and reminded me that I wanted to call him. Maybe he had some news. “Where’s Maxwell?”
“Safe in the basement. Shoe put him near the furnace, so he should be warm enough.”
“What? He’s been tied up there all day?”
“With a few comfort breaks and some food. He’s full of questions, but not too very forthcoming with answers. Seems rather mystified on how he got here and who we are in the play of the game. He’s promised us a vast reward for his safe return to Sullivan’s camp. Several times.”
“Must be fresh out of poison for his pen.”
“Yes, remarkable little toy, that. I’ve since rendered it harmless. No more ill effects from it?”
“I think it’s all sweated out. Little weasel got me right in the wrist.” I pulled back my sleeve, but any sign of the needle jab was long healed over. “Doc said it was cyanide.”
“Indeed, a very nasty batch of it, too—I had a sample analyzed today by a chemist friend. Had you been a normal man, it would have dropped you within seconds of the injection.”
“Jeez.”
“Indestructible,” Coldfield muttered, taking a swig of coffee.
“Only barely,” I added. “It didn’t feel so hot. Thanks for helping me, both of you.”
They shrugged.
“I mean that. Look, when this is finished, how about I take you out to Hallman’s?” It was one of the swankiest restaurants in Chicago. “I know it’s not much, but—”
“I’d say it was a fair trade, a meal for a meal—even if you weren’t awake for it,” said Coldfield. “That is, if they let me in again. Charles got away with it once. . . .”
I grinned. “Gimme five minutes with the management and I can make sure you have a regular table at the joint anytime you want.”
“Using that hypnosis gag? Sure, why not? Sign me up.”
“It’s a deal.” Maybe he didn’t completely believe I could do it. I’d prove it later. I was glad he didn’t remember my giving him the same business the other night. Getting caught’s embarrassing.
The phone rang.
“I think I know who that might be,” said Escott. “Shoe, let’s give our friend a bit of privacy and adjourn to the front parlor to finish our drinks.”
With that for a hint, I knew who it might be, too, and hurried to grab the receiver as they left. Bobbi’s voice hit me like summer rain on a dry field.
“You all right?” she asked. “Charles said you’d got back late and would call when you could, but I just couldn’t wait any longer.”
I was glad he’d not told her about the poison. She had enough worries. “I’m sorry, I should have done that first thing, but there’s been so damn much going on. I’m fine, really.”
“Are you finished, then?”
“Not yet.”
“Not even close?”
“Baby, if I could tell you that, you’d be the second to know after me.”
“Rough night?”
“Yeah, that’s what I’d call it, I’ll give you the whole story some other time. Tell me how things are with you. Still at that lawyer’s house?”
“Uh-huh, the Blooms have been wonderful. We haven’t a thing in common, but they’re good at not letting it show, and Cathy has been so sweet—that’s his wife. . . .”
I prompted her with more questions, just to keep her talking. It didn’t matter what she said, I needed to hear her saying it, to know there were still normal people with normal lives around. Well, fairly normal. This lawyer’s best client was a gangster, after all.
Then Bobbi must have figured out what I was doing and stopped the flow. “Are you sure you’re fine?”
“I’m a little rocky, but this is what helps it, hearing from you.”
“It’s even better to see me.”
“I know, and I will as soon as I can. I promise you I want this finished. I miss you.”
“Not half as much as I miss you,” she whispered. “It’s been so long since we’ve been together that my neck’s all healed up.”
“Uh . . . ” I felt my ears going red at this news and the thoughts it inspired and checked to see that Escott and Coldfield were well out of earshot. It’s not easy trying to hold an intimate conversation with a beautiful woman while standing at a wall phone, but I did my best.
AN indecently long time later, after some hot flirting we finally said reluctant good-byes and I went into the parlor. Coldfield was alone listening to the radio and flipping through a paper. The headlines screamed outrage at the cop-killing.
“Must be quite a woman you got to put a look like that on your face,” he commented.
“Yeah, she’s really something. Where’s Charles?”
“Went down to the basement to check on his guest. He said you’d have to give the guy a special talking-to.”
“Yeah. Might as well get it over with.”
“What, you don’t enjoy ‘clouding men’s minds’?”
Great, Escott had told him how much I liked The Shadow. “Not especially. It can be dangerous.”
“Okay if I watch?”
I gave him the nod and led the way. The lights were on down there, all of them, and Escott was over by the furnace talking to Maxwell. His whole head was covered by a thick black sack and he was securely tied to a very sturdy chair—which had fallen over, so he lay sideways on the cement floor. It couldn’t have been comfortable for him.
Thinking about the jab he’d given me with that damned needle, I found myself grinning.
“I think you’re acquainted with this gentleman,” said Escott, turning toward us.
“Looks like he’s been trying to escape again,” Shoe said wearily. He effortlessly righted the chair, Maxwell and all. “Now we’ve already had a long talk about this, Maxie, I don’t want to have to warn you again.”
“It was an accident,” Maxwell said.
“You surely do have a lot of them. ’Course, if you like crashing onto the floor all the time, I’m thinking we can—”
“Very well, but you must understand that this is quite trying for me. Perhaps I’ve not yet made it clear to you gentlemen how very grateful my employer would be to have me returned—unharmed—to his organization.”
“How much is he up to this time?” Coldfield asked.
“Five thousand dollars,” answered Escott.
“Same as last.”
“For each of us.”
“Well, now, that is just starting to impress me. I think it means he’s getting a little more scared than he was. Maybe a lot more scared.”
“Indeed. And he has every right to be fearful.”
Maxwell was probably wanting to ask for some clarification on that point, but kept his trap shut. Couldn’t tell if it was out of caution or if he really was afraid, he was good at keeping control of his voice.
I motioned for Escott and Coldfield to come away out of his immediate hearing range. The furnace was running and the sound would mask our talk. “Has he seen either of you?”
Escott gave a decisive shake of his head. “No, but he’s certainly heard us. We have been careful not to use our names.”
“That’s good. This stuff works, but it don’t last forever. The less he needs to forget, the better. I’ll need to fix the lights before I start.”
He made a gesture to invite me to fix away.
“Watch this,” I told Coldfield, and walked to a blank and very solid brick wall, the false one that covered my hidden sanctuary. While he stared, I vanished, and went right through it. When I came back I ha
d my desk lamp in hand, and he had a look of flat-faced shock all but tattooed on his mug. I could have been nice and tried to prepare him, but I wanted a little payback for all that laughing.
“You—” He pointed at me. He gaped at Escott, still pointing at me. “He—”
“I know,” said Escott. “I did warn you.”
“He—”
“Yes, it always unnerves me a bit when I’m not expecting it. Enough showing off, Jack, let’s get on with things.”
I started to walk past Coldfield, but he stopped me. “Do that again.”
Shrugging, I partially vanished.
He put his hand right through me. “Jesus, hallelujah.”
“Only one free show a night,” I said, re-forming after his hand was out of my midsection. “After that I sell tickets.”
“Shit.” He flexed his hand, working to warm it up.
Maxwell’s head came up in a listening pose as we closed on him. He must have sensed some kind of change in the air and that it might not be especially good news for him. “What is it? What are you planning to do?”
“Nothing fatal, Maxie,” I answered. I found a couple of cans of paint left over from Escott’s efforts at fixing up the house and stacked them, placing the lamp on top.
He went very still. “Who are you?” A tremor infected his usually smooth voice. If he’d recognized mine, then he had a right to be worried, since I should have been dead.
“Guess.”
There was a wall outlet close by and the cord just reached it. I clicked the lamp on and angled its flexible neck so the light would strike Maxwell right in the eyes. A high sign to Escott and he and Coldfield shut off all the other lights; the only one left was the glowing cone focused on our seated and trussed-up friend. He wouldn’t be able to see past it.
I took the black sack off his head and let him wince, blink, and get used to things. He looked even more deceptively harmless without his glasses, which were tucked in his breast pocket. I removed them and put them on him.
His eyes went wide with recognition combined with fear.
Good. For talks like this, fear is a very good thing. It makes a person vulnerable.
