The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  “No, I wasn’t.”

  “You was! Lying li’l shit! Sat right there jus’ like now, an’ y’ had ’nother bastard like him out inna hall an’ you had her over where that bastard’s standin’. Nice li’l twist, but you can afford ’em to be nice, can’t ya? Brought her in, then went off and never come back. You were gonna come back and you din’. ’Stead you show up two mont’s late in a fancy coat and nothin’ to say but a lotta g’damn lies!”

  Kroun held himself still as a statue as Sonny’s voice beat against the painted brick walls. “Guess I lost track of things at that.”

  “Puh!” Sonny drew on his cigar, threw me a murderous glare, then seemed to relax. “So…how’d it go wit’ her?”

  “How do you think?”

  The ugly snigger was back. “I bet. Picked a good ’un. She was a real humdinger.” He drew out the word.

  Kroun went dead white.

  Sonny leaned forward. “Well? How’d it go? Tell me, g’dammit!”

  Kroun swallowed and continued to hold very still. His tone was conversational but tighter than before. “Remind me how to get there, and I’ll show you. I’ll spring you from this dump, and we can both go fishing again.”

  Sonny laughed out loud, then stopped, his gears abruptly shifting. “You liar. No sharin’ wit’ you. Y’ too good to have me along. Too good! Now y’ won’ even tell me nuthin’.”

  “Wouldn’t you rather I show you?”

  “Puh! Teach yer granny to suck eggs, g’damn li’l bastard. There’s still things I can show you.”

  “Sounds good. I want that, Sonny. We can do it again. Wouldn’t you like one more trip?”

  The old man’s eyes blazed. One of his big hands dropped to his crotch. He chuckled and rubbed himself. “I still got juice in me. What d’you think?”

  Kroun nodded. “Yeah, sounds real good. You tell my driver how to get there. We’ll sit in the backseat and smoke cigars like a couple of big shots while he does the work.”

  Sonny abruptly rattled off directions fast as a machine gun. Belatedly I found a pencil and scribbled on my shirt cuff. He thought that was funny and took pains to repeat everything. His cigar died. Kroun got the lighter working and held it out again.

  His hand shook.

  Sonny noticed. He relit the cigar, puffed blue smoke in the air, and smirked. “Got you excited, huh? Jus’ thinkin’ about it?”

  “Yeah, Sonny. Just thinking about it.” Kroun snapped the lighter shut and pocketed it. He rested his trembling hand on one knee. His other hand gripped the chair arm hard, his knuckles white.

  Then Sonny shifted gears again and glared. “You ain’t springin’ me! I see that. You ’n’ your fancy ways. Think you’re too good, huh?”

  Quick as a striking snake, Sonny threw an open-handed slap at Kroun’s face. The impact of palm on flesh cracked loud. Another crack—Sonny connected again, backhanded.

  Kroun didn’t try to duck or block, just sat there and took it.

  Sonny’s mouth worked, and he spat. It hit Kroun’s chin, then dripped to his coat.

  Kroun still didn’t move. He stared at Sonny. Stared long enough that Sonny’s gears shifted once more. He pressed back in the chair and showed teeth. “You stay away from me. The jacket out there ain’t gonna let you touch me, tha’s his job, so you get out.”

  When Kroun stood and turned my way, I understood the old man’s reaction. Kroun’s eyes had gone blank, all pupil and no iris. Hell pits. When they leveled in my direction, I again felt like running, but he blinked and was himself. I was no more superstitious than the next guy, but this…it made my skin crawl.

  The normal-seeming man that I now saw jerked his head toward the hall. Time to leave.

  I got out. Sonny’s curses and threats poisoned the air until the orderly closed and locked the door. It did a lot to mitigate the noise.

  “You okay?” he asked Kroun. “He nick you?”

  Kroun felt his cheek, checking for blood. “I’m fine.” He got his handkerchief and wiped spittle from his chin and coat, then collected his hat, putting it on. He wasn’t shaking as badly as before but was still ghost white. “The nurse wanted to see me.” His voice was calm, soft.

  We followed the orderly downstairs. Kroun had to deal with some paperwork, sign a couple of things. I stood by the exit next to the orderly, ready to leave as soon as possible.

  “Crazy old guy,” I muttered.

  “Yeah,” the big man agreed. “Those cigars helped. Got him in a good mood. He’s usually a lot worse with visitors. Not that he gets any.”

  “No one else comes?”

  He shrugged. “Just two guys that I know of. Haven’t seen the other for a long time, but I’m night shift.”

  “What’s he look like?”

  “Like a doctor. The bills get paid.”

  “Know anything about this fishing cabin?”

  “If I listened to their baloney, I’d be locked in one of those rooms myself, so no I don’t. That bird’s right out of his head most of the time. Nothing he says is gonna be up-front. You point at a horse, he’ll call it a dog.”

  Kroun put the charm on again with the nurse, but from my vantage it seemed brittle. He glanced my way once, indicating he’d heard my questions and the orderly’s replies. The somber and sympathetic nurse pointed at something on a clipboard, and Kroun signed it.

  When the time came, the orderly let us out of the booby hatch. The clean, cold winter air was sweet. Kroun and I breathed deeply, then headed for the electric gate. Someone must have been on the lookout; it opened as we approached.

  Kroun paused on the sidewalk, watching the gate roll shut as though to make sure it locked properly. Only then did some of the tension leach from the set of his shoulders.

  “You got those directions clear?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “I remember most of it, but put ’em on paper for me, would ya?”

  “No problem.” What did he want with that fishing cabin? I had an idea and it wasn’t pleasant.

  “Leave it with Derner. I’ll be by the Nightcrawler tonight.”

  “Where you going?”

  “Gotta take a walk, clear my head. I’ll cab over later.”

  “Gabe, I’m supposed to stick with you. If that guy was the old bastard that Michael—”

  “Yes. Yes, he was. You heard some stuff.”

  “And I’m wondering why I heard it. You didn’t have me in there just to take down directions.”

  “Actually, I did. But I figured if I had you wait in the car, you’d go invisible and sneak in anyway to listen.”

  “You figured right. What was he talking about?”

  Kroun closed his eyes briefly and shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets. “Nothing I want to discuss. He’s nuts. Didn’t know me, my name. Lot of stuff comes from him that doesn’t make sense.”

  “Made sense to you.”

  He turned away. “I’m going to get some air and think.”

  “Gabe—”

  He snapped around. “And forget the goddamned watchdogging for a couple hours! If Michael calls you on it, say I gave you the slip. He’ll believe it.”

  “Okay, but—”

  “What?”

  “Who’s the crazy guy?”

  That got me a scorching glare. “Mike will tell you.”

  “Uh-uh. You.”

  More glaring, then his anger suddenly faded. His shoulders didn’t ease down so much as shrink. He seemed older. He took the handkerchief from his pocket where he’d absently stuffed it after wiping off the spit. Kroun studied the crumpled fabric a moment, then threw it away. The wind caught the white square, swept it a few yards, then it nose-dived into a snow-clogged gutter, merging with the trash already there.

  “Gabe?”

  “Yeah, sure. Why not?” He lifted his fedora, rubbed a palm along his streak of white hair, then resettled the hat again. “The son of a bitch is my father. Now ain’t that a kick in the head?”

  He walked away, moving
fast.

  KROUN had his thinking to do, and so did I, but mulling things on my own wouldn’t do the job this time; I needed to see Gordy. Working hard to avoid going over what I’d seen and learned, I drove straight to the Bronze Belt, not quite crossing into the territory, and parked a couple blocks away. It didn’t take long to leg the remaining distance to the residence hotel where Shoe Coldfield had obligingly given safe shelter to Gordy and just about everyone else I knew.

  I took it for granted that one of the countless lookouts in the area had spotted me, but with my collar up and hat low, they might not know me from any other lost white guy. Soon as I had the building in view, I vanished and floated the last hundred yards—not easy with the wind—and sieved through an upstairs window.

  Damned if I didn’t get it right the first time. I partially materialized on the third floor, or so the door numbers declared once I was solid enough to see. The place was pretty active; I went invisible again and bumbled down the hall, careful not to brush close to anyone. Coldfield knew that an inexplicable chill might mean I was hanging around.

  I passed rooms where people talked and radios played. Gordy was somewhere halfway down on the left, so I drifted from door to door, hoping to hear his voice. No such luck, but I did catch one that surprised me. I slipped under the threshold crack and hovered out of the way in a ceiling corner.

  Michael, and presumably his tough friend Broder, were there.

  “I don’t like this guy you picked,” Michael said. “He doesn’t have what it takes.”

  It was Gordy’s room, and his response sounded confident. “He does when it’s needed. The boys are used to him. The trouble’s over. I’ll be back soon enough.”

  If I’d had ears, they’d have been burning.

  “There shouldn’t have been trouble in the first place. Your kid put his foot right into it with Bristow.”

  “That was me. I’m the one who took Bristow to the kid’s club. It wasn’t his fault Hog didn’t like his face and decided to go buckwheats on him. That was out of my hands. Besides, Hog jumped the gun. He put me here. And that’s your fault. You’re the one who sent him.”

  I could almost hear the steam coming out of Michael’s ears.

  Gordy continued, “But the trouble’s over. The kid’s got things running smooth. That’s all that matters.”

  Michael gave him the point. “All right. I get you. If he screws up again, it’s on you both. You got that?”

  “Yeah. No problem.”

  “We’ll see. Next is Whitey. I want him on a train back to New York.”

  “He’s your man. You make him leave.”

  This resulted in a long silence. It was Michael’s night to paint himself into a corner. “You know he could be more trouble.”

  “It’s part of the business. You said you got Fleming watching him. Nothing’s going to happen.”

  “You sound very certain about that, why?”

  “The kid has a way with people.”

  “Like he did with Bristow?”

  “Bristow was nuts. If you’re saying that Whitey would—”

  “No, not the same thing. But he’s dangerous.”

  Gordy sighed. “Still your problem. You ordered him home, and he wouldn’t listen. Right?”

  Michael made no reply.

  “If he won’t listen to you, what chance have I got? I’m thinking he’ll leave when he’s good and ready. You want him out faster, offer to help him do what he wants done.”

  Another long silence. Then, “C’mon, Broder.”

  Footsteps passed close below me, then the door shut. I waited. If anyone else was in the room with Gordy, they would say something, but it continued quiet. Drifting down, I slowly took on form.

  Gordy was propped up in bed, and his eyes went wide. He was wise to my peculiar talents, but it didn’t make them any less alarming to witness. “That’s some cute gag you got, Fleming.”

  “It’s handy. How are you?”

  “Better. A lot better.”

  He looked it. His color had improved since my last visit. The sickroom smell was gone. One of the windows was open an inch. He’d apparently convinced someone of the benefits of fresh air.

  “Was Michael here for long? I just caught the tail end of things.”

  “Couple minutes. He ain’t one to socialize with the help. You heard he don’t like you much?”

  “I’m used to it. He’s right. I don’t have what it takes, but I’ll keep swinging at the ball until you say different.”

  “Good enough. Have a seat.”

  I pulled up a chair and took off my hat. “Where’s Bobbi and Adelle?”

  “Down having supper. They’ll be a while. Dames. Always talking. Coldfield’s been looking after ’em good. Lookin’ after us all. I owe him.”

  “Is he here?”

  “Went off with Escott. Donno where. Heard your pal had a close one.”

  “Yeah. He did.”

  “Bobbi told me. What had you and him fighting?”

  “Nothing important. But Coldfield’s blaming me for nearly killing Charles.”

  “Bobbi told me that, too. She told me everything.” He let that hang.

  My mouth dried out.

  “Think Michael knows about Kroun being like you?” he asked.

  Oh, crap. “Gordy, you’re not supposed to know that.”

  He waved a large hand. “I’m not supposed to know a lot of things, but I do anyway. If Kroun’s got a problem with that, he can make me forget, can’t he?”

  “He’ll have a problem with it all right. Bobbi shouldn’t have told you.”

  “It wasn’t only her. Coldfield put in a few words.”

  “Jeez, at this rate the whole city’ll have the headlines in the morning, and Kroun’s gonna blame me.”

  “Nah. It stops here.”

  “What about Adelle?”

  “I won’t tell her if you won’t.”

  “Deal.” I sat back in the chair but didn’t relax. Some part of me was alert for trouble. I heard the doorknob being worked. It was enough warning; I instantly vanished.

  Hinges creaked. “You okay, Gordy?” It was one of the guards belonging to Coldfield’s hotel fortress.

  After a pause Gordy said he was fine. My disappearance must have startled him.

  A scraping sound as the man moved the chair. “Those two guys are gone. Didn’t say where.”

  “No big deal. I’m gonna take a nap now.”

  “Sure. Lights out?”

  “Leave that one in the corner on.”

  “Sure.”

  A click, steps, then the door was closed.

  I went solid. The room was much dimmer than before.

  Gordy’s eyes remained wide. “Real good trick, kid,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t want no one knowin’ you’re here?”

  “Coldfield’s that sore with me. It’s better I keep my head down for a while. You serious about that nap?”

  “Nah. Siddown.”

  I gently returned the chair to the bedside. “I won’t be long, just a couple questions. On Kroun.”

  He nodded as though he’d expected as much. “You didn’t answer—does Michael know about him being like you?”

  “Kroun said no, and he wants to keep it that way. Take that how you like. Whether he’s wise or not, Michael’s got a hell of a worry going about him.”

  “Must have a reason.”

  “Yeah. I may have the why behind that.”

  I told about the visit to the nuthouse and Kroun’s talk with Sonny. I told about the newspapers and how Sonny tore out pictures of women from them. I told about the hospital bed and its heavy cuff restraints. I told about the things Sonny said and Kroun’s reaction to them.

  Gordy didn’t reply, just looked at me a long while. I’d given him something he hadn’t known before. Something pretty big.

  “Is that crazy old man really his father?” I asked, to break the silence.

  “I can check into it and find out.”


  “Without anyone else catching wind?”

  “No. If I was on my feet, maybe. Not now.”

  “Hold off then. I don’t want Kroun to know I’ve talked to you.”

  “He’ll figure you will.”

  “Yeah, and he won’t like it. Why did he let me in on it, though?”

  “Donno.” Gordy’s face was always hard to read, but I could tell this had thrown him.

  “What do you know about this cabin? The other night Michael pitched a fit when Kroun said he might do some fishing. Putting that with what the old man said…”

  “Don’t sound so good, no. Sounds like he takes girls up there, gives ’em a rough time.”

  “Maybe worse?”

  He shrugged.

  “You never heard anything?”

  “If there was anything to hear, I’d have gotten it. Whitey comes over from New York now and then, does whatever business needs doing, has himself some fun, but I never got nothing on him visiting any old man, nothing on that cabin.”

  “What do you know about Kroun’s past? Where’s he from?”

  “He came out of nowhere, worked his way up in New York. Only got to be a big noise in the last few years. Lotta boys are like that. Nothing on them their whole life, then suddenly they’re running things. Happened to me.”

  That happened because Gordy’s boss had been killed. Promotion in the mob was often the result of inheritance. “He knock off his boss to move up?”

  “The guy before him was skimming off the top, then—for a guy who didn’t hunt—he went on a hunting trip and never came back. That’s the story I got. Whitey was in the right place at the right time and slipped into the empty spot. No one argued with him.”

  They probably didn’t dare. “What about Michael?”

  “He’s the one who figured out the skim. He’s got schooling, but keeps out of sight. He looks after the books, squares the deals, does the thinking. He runs stuff, keeps the money moving, but Whitey sometimes has the last word. For some it is the last word.”

  I asked more questions and got everything Gordy had stored in his file cabinet of a brain. Such history was not easy to hear.

  Kroun had ordered at least a dozen executions over the last few years; those did not count however many he’d personally carried out himself on the side. Gordy had been present at three, twice as a witness, once as a participant.