Bloodlist (Vampire Files #1) - Page 9
THE NEXT NIGHT Escott came by a little after sunset. He'd found a year-old dark blue Buick and said the dealer guaranteed it for at least a week. The interior was clean, the engine sounded good, and the outside only had a few dimples on the metal to show that it was no virgin.
"I had a devil of a time with the paperwork," he told me. "The dealer wanted you there to sign things before I could have the car."
"How did you get it, then?"
"I didn't. It was your cash up front that persuaded him. That, and the veiled threat of finding another dealer who was less particular. Just sign here."
I signed here. He gave me the keys and I gave him my thanks.
"It was nothing at all. Have you a driving license?"
"A New York one. I had to sell my old wreck to get me out here. Why?"
"I was curious if you planned to acquire one for Illinois."
"Good question. I would if I could."
"I could do something about that as well. We resemble each other a bit in build and features, I could work at forging your signature and just go in for you."
He seemed wistfully eager to break the law on my behalf and I said as much to him.
"Well, this is a unique opportunity for a new experience–is there something amusing in this? I am serious, the law does not look lightly upon forgery."
"I know, but you don't have to do this."
"I don't mind a bit. To me, this is rather like going to a speak during Prohibition–have fun, but don't get caught. Now, depending on the expiration date of your old one, sooner or later you will need a new driving license, or would you prefer to have the police ticketing you for want of one?"
"I doubt if I'd let things go that far, but I see your point."
"Good. Of course, you know your best cover is to remain anonymous. The less people notice you, the safer you are."
"You talk like I'm some kind of Bolshevik spy or something."
"They're called Communists now, or is it Socialists? But you have the right idea. Prior to your–shall we say–conversion those years ago, what was your attitude toward vampires?"
"I generally thought about Theda Bara if I thought about it at all, but other than that I didn't believe in them except as a myth."
"What better shield could one ask for?"
He had something there. We returned to my room and while I told him about last night's show, he made my face up again.
"Suck your cheeks in All right raise your brows"
"Wish I could see this stuff."
"Yes, I can do a very effective job, if I do say so. You're looking a bit more gruesome tonight, I'm allowing for decomposition."
"How thoughtful."
"I knew you'd appreciate it. I could bring a camera next time. It would be interesting to see if your image can be recorded on film."
"I have wondered about that."
"There." He made one last touch-up and I relaxed my stiff neck. "Now, as we say, 'break a leg.' "
"Hopefully Morelli's."
"Have you taken into consideration he's probably checked up on you by now? He might be wondering why the papers carried no account of a body being found on that street the morning you were 'killed.' ' "Well, this is Chicago and that kind of thing does happen."
"Not that often, but all too true at times. He's bound to have friends in the police and other departments who are in a position to find things out for him."
"I'll be careful, but as far as he's concerned, I'm a ghost and he's not about to tell anyone he's being haunted."
He chuckled. "Then have your fun–"
"But don't get caught."
I parked my car in a new location, locked it, and walked a quick two blocks to the club. The place was busier, if that was possible, and there were more men out front. They loitered around, the lines of their monkey suits spoiled by the bulge from various pieces of lethal hardware, and checked the face of each new arrival. Morelli must have really been impressed last night, but I couldn't figure how he thought posting extra guards could protect him from supernatural forces. I gave them all a miss and vanished while still across the street in the cover of a doorway. There was always some disorientation, but I was improving, especially when it came to moving in straight lines. The street was a nice wide-open space, that could easily be crossed, and when I came to the outside wall of the club, I went up like an elevator. Feeling around for the window, I seeped in and materialized in Morelli's bathroom.
Its door was open. I edged an eye around the jamb and saw Morelli fixing his tie in front of a big mirror, getting ready for the evening ahead.
It would be a memorable one for him.
I started things off by turning the taps on in the tub and flushing the toilet. He came quickly to investigate, probably without thinking, and stopped short when he saw the empty room. With slow cautious movements he shut off the water and looked around. It didn't take long, but by then I was in the bedroom, easing open all the drawers of his bureau.
From under the bed I followed his progress by watching his feet tour the room. He angrily slammed one of the drawers shut, charged the hall door, gave it a jerk, and glared outside. No one was there to receive it, so he closed the door and began checking the closet, Bobbi's room, her closet, and under the beds, drawing a blank each time. He then made a circuit of the walls, tapping on them with something hard. This was puzzling until I realized he was looking for secret panels. While he was busy inside the closet, I floated back to the bath and flushed the toilet again.
He was there in a shot, standing on the threshold, trying to keep one eye on the bath and the other on the bedroom. He rattled the flush lever uncertainly, took the top off and peered at the mysteries within. Out in the bedroom I flicked the lights off.
He noticed immediately. The switch was by the hall door. He'd have to cross a large dark space to get to it. If he waited long enough, his eyes would get used to the dark and he could cross with ease. He didn't.
With more steadiness than I would have had, he left the comfort of the bright bathroom and crossed over. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to walk at a normal pace. After all, there was nothing there in the dark that wasn't there in the light. Personally, I'd always found small comfort in that bit of logic. His sedate pace gave me plenty of time to materialize at his feet and trip him.
He went down hard, stifling a cry and throwing appearances to the wind.
Scrambling to his feet, he was clawing frantically for the light switch while still a good ten feet away from it.
I wanted to use Escott's makeup job while it was still fresh, so when the lights came on I was practically nose to nose with Morelli.
At that point I think anyone coming into the room would have scared the hell out of him, but the fact that I was only inches away and not looking too healthy to boot could explain his reaction. He couldn't bolt out the door, I was in the way, but by now he was beyond coherent thought. He fell back from me with a scream and fainted away like some fragile heroine from a silent movie.
I couldn't pause to laugh, that kind of yell would bring his bully boys.
I moved fast, pulling drawers onto the floor, ripping the bedclothes out of place, and then ducking into the closet. I used the last few seconds to relieve the hanging rod of a fine collection of suits and coats before disappearing.
Gordy yanked open the closet door; I knew it was him from his size and the quick way he moved. He surveyed the wreckage, made sure no one was hiding under the mess, then backed out. In the room there was quite a commotion as attempts were made to revive Morelli. His body was searched for any extraneous bullet or knife holes, and the other rooms were combed for intruders. None were found, and when Morelli did wake up he had no good explanation for his blackout or the tumbled condition of the room.
His patience ran out quickly, as well as his temper, and having been found in such an embarrassing state didn't improve things. He kicked all of them out except Gordy, who didn't talk much.
"Find out if anyone new came in tonight," Morelli told him. "Use this phone."
It took only a minute. "Six of them, boss," he reported. "They came in with a bunch of regulars and have been in the bar all evening."
Morelli growled and kicked one of the drawers. "Some jerk is playing jokes on us." I noticed the plural. He wanted to include everyone in his haunting to keep from being too isolated by the ghost. Otherwise it might mean the ghost had a legitimate grievance against him; which I did.
"I'll check up on all the boys." Gordy was keeping his tone carefully neutral. Perhaps the thought that Morelli was going nuts had crossed his mind.
"I want you to check up on Fleming."
"Sure, boss, which one?"
"Both, but especially the kid brother. Find out what you can, when he got into town, who claimed the body and where they are. Wake up people if you have to, I want to know tonight."
"Sure, boss."
They left the room together, stopping off at the kitchen to send someone upstairs to clean the mess I'd made. There was no point in troubling the hired help and I stuck with Morelli, literally. He was feeling cold again. Gordy went off to get his information, leaving Morelli to restlessly pace the club and casino while I hung around him like a pilot fish. He stood this for half an hour, then headed for the back exit. His car was ordered up and he left a message that he'd return at closing time. I enjoyed a short ride, albeit a blind one, and had no idea where he was going. He parked and got out, and I remained behind and materialized for a look around. We were at the waterfront, the car resting on a concrete pier that jutted out like a breakwater. It must have been a solid piece of construction going down to the bottom from the land, or I'd have felt the pressure I always experienced being over water.
Morelli was just disappearing over the edge of the pier, where steps went down to the water. I left the car and quietly followed. He was easing into a small boat. I pulled back before he could see me. Out on the lake, serenely anchored in deeper water was the Elvira. All by itself, my left hand twitched and clenched.
Morelli rowed clear of the pier. I was standing under a light, so he couldn't help but spot me. He broke off rowing and gaped, the current slowly taking his boat off course. I kept still, a scarecrow figure in stained and tattered clothes, watching him. Gradually I faded to nothing. Limited though my acting experience was, I knew how to make a good exit.
I moved back beyond the light and reformed. Morelli was rowing quickly toward the Elvira where three crew members were standing by to help him aboard. Chances were they'd been watching him and hadn't noticed me, which was fine, I planned to be his exclusive ghost for the time being.
It took ten minutes to walk back to the Nightcrawler. I strolled slowly to give things time to settle, and went in by way of the bath again. The cleaning crew was efficient; the place was back to normal after my rampage. Next door, someone was talking in Morelli's office, Gordy from the sound of it. I lounged against the wall and eavesdropped; it was better than radio because I was the star.
Gordy was on the phone, vainly trying to get information on my nonexistent kid brother. He seemed an expert at delegating tasks, for he was calling people up, giving them the name of Gerald Fleming, and telling them to get a line on him. Almost as an afterthought, he threw in my real name. Some of the calls were to New York, and I wondered if I should start sweating. No mutually familiar names were mentioned and his tone indicated he was long used to dealing with the people on the other end. Somewhere out there was a very large network of eyes, ears, and busy Little pencils. He hung up and we both waited.
In ten minutes the first incoming calls started. Locally, the police department never got a report of a body fitting Gerald Fleming's description, dead or otherwise. No area hospital had me with a gun wound lurking in any of their beds. When the hotels began reporting in I was glad for registering under another name. He received a single call from New York that stated I was an out-of-work journalist who'd left to look for greener pastures in Chicago. It was depressing to hear it put that way, but for once it was good to have a thoroughly undistinguished career.
The office door opened and someone else puffed into the room. The voice was naggingly familiar, but I just couldn't place it.
"Anything?"
"No, Mr. Lebredo." Gordy sounded respectful rather than neutral this time Mr. Lebredo lowered himself into a chair with a sigh. "What did Miss Smythe have to say about him?"
"She said he couldn't sleep and that he kept the lights on all night."
"And you?"
"He's been acting pretty strange."
"So we've all noticed," he said dryly.
The phone rang. "Yeah? Go on all right." He hung up. I'm beginning to think that the kid just dropped outta the sky. No one's heard of him."
"If his name really was Gerald Fleming."
"Slick said he was a younger version of the other guy. There's no doubt it was the brother and he was a green as a stick, he even had his name in his wallet. He was just a stupid kid."
"As you say." There was silence for a while. "Fifty-eight, hundred was missing from the safe; fifty-eight hundred was what Morelli took from him. No one else has access to the safe that we know of, therefore Morelli might be trying to pull something. If it was for no other purpose than to buy a bauble to keep Miss Smythe happy, I shall let it go, but you keep your eyes on him as usual."
"Yes, sir."
"And don't forget the errand I want done. You've still got the address?"
"Yes, sir."
The man got up and left. I was curious about his looks and waited until he was down the hall, cracking the bedroom door a little. I was stumped for a moment because he was away from the original surroundings I'd first seen him in, but I did finally remember the fat poker player who'd invited me to join the game. He looked about my height, but had Gordy's weight, none of it muscular and most of it in his ass. Lucky Lebredo, half Owner of the club, was apparently playing a game other than poker behind Morelli's back.
He waddled downstairs and I quietly shut the door. Hours stretched before me, unbroken and uneventful. I could go back to the hotel and wait there until Morelli returned, but decided to hang around. I wanted to see Bobbi again and was hoping she might come upstairs sometime during the evening. It was a slim hope and a foolish one, but something to think about.
Hardly being in a fit state to greet her, I went to the bath, stripped off my coat and shirt, and scrubbed at the makeup. It was stubborn junk, but I left a lot on the towel as I rubbed my skin raw. Escott had used cold cream to clean his face, maybe Bobbi had some lying around. I decided to look and at the same time borrow one of Morelli's shirts.
I shut off the taps and went alert. Someone was moving around in the next room. I peered past the door; Morelli's mirror reflected most of the room, including Bobbi, who was just about to leave.
"Wait!" The word was out before I could think.
She whirled in surprise. "Who's there?" She backed against the door, ready to escape.
"It's me, Ja–Fleming. I'm in the bathroom," I added unnecessarily.
She visibly relaxed, then tensed again. "What are you doing here?" she hissed. "Slick'll kill you."
"You told me that once before, but he didn't." It was a relief to know Morelli hadn't told her of my apparent demise the other night.
"You've got to get out of here."
"It's all right, believe me."
"Why don't you come out?"
"I'm getting dressed and I'm bashful." It was true. I was very shy of that big mirror out there.
She made a noise, it might have been a laugh.
"Why don't you come over here?" I suggested.
"Where's Slick?"
"I left him aboard the Elvira. He said he'd be back around closing."
"I didn't know he was gone, I thought you were him in there. Why are you here? The way he looked the other night–"
"We came to an understanding."
"And what about your brother?"
"We're working things out." I wanted to change the subject. 'Would you turn the light off?"
Her hand moved to the switch and paused. She looked like she wanted to question why, then thought better of it. We were both grown-ups. The light went out. I threw the towel in the hamper, picked up my shirt and coat, and shut off the light.
She was halfway across the room and had to stop, uncertain in the dark.
Her arms were crossed, hands gripping the elbows hard as she looked in my general direction. If she was afraid, I could easily change her mind, but that would have been a cheat, and I hate cheats, so I held back and let her decide what to do. I already knew what I wanted to do. Dressed in something white with simple clinging lines and silver combs in her hair, she was unsettling and inspiring.
"You're very beautiful tonight." Not the most brilliant or original thing to say; she must have heard it often enough, but it was the stunning truth.
"Why are you here?"
A reasonable question. I didn't answer.
"Did Slick send you?"
"No. I thought you didn't like being too curious."
"I think I have a right to be this time."
"If you're worried about him, he won't be back for hours, so relax. I'd rather talk about other things." I cautiously moved closer, but didn't quite touch her.
"Like how you survived the other night? I saw how he was. How'd you get out of it? He'll kill us both if he finds us."
"I said we were working things out."
"Is a night with me part of the deal?" She had no illusions of her effect on men. She took it for granted in the same way other people breathe. Her question also left me fairly shocked.
"Good God, does he make you–"
Her jaw lifted and set, taking the wind out of me.
"I'm sorry–I–Slick knows nothing about me being here. I think maybe I should go now."
"You really would leave, wouldn't you?"
"Very reluctantly. I'm here because I wanted to see you again. I was going to wait in the downstairs hall after I–"
"And get spotted by half the staff? That makes a lot of sense."
"So who ever said I had brains?"
"But how did you get here? He must know."
I shook my head, forgetting she couldn't see me.
"You're doing this just to see me?"
"Do you want me to stay?"
She considered the question carefully. That was something else I liked about her, the way she listened and weighed facts, an ability no doubt sharpened by living close to people like Morelli. "Only if we lock the door."
"Consider it done," I said, and moved to do it.
"Fat lot of good it'll do. Slick isn't the only one with a key."
"I'll bet he's the only one who has any business using it, though, but he's not here, so let's forget him. What else would you like?"
"Does it matter to you what I like?"
For the men in her past and very likely the present, that might not have been a very important consideration. "Yes it matters to me very much."
"You confuse me."
"I do? How?"
"I shouldn't feel this way, I–it's just bodies, after all."
"Not for me, it isn't."
"You're different?"
I thought of a loaded answer and dismissed it. "Yes."
Her arms reached tentatively forward, her hands brushing lightly down my bare chest. Standing so close and scented with roses, fear, and now desire, she was like a white candle and I was just beginning to feel its gentle heat. Her heartbeat drummed so loud in my brain I could hear nothing else. If she'd told me to leave then I doubt I'd have had the ability or understanding. Something primitive and as old as time overwhelmed all conscious thought and all caution, she was in my arms and nature was taking its course.
A hot minute later she pulled away. "Not here, not in his room–this way." We went to her room, and she locked the door and turned her back, lifting her hair out of the way. I undid a few strategic buttons and the white silk fell in a heap around her ankles. It was a happy surprise to learn that like Jean Harlow, she disdained the wearing of underclothes.
In another second we fell into the bed.
My basic method of lovemaking was the same as when I'd been alive, and I'd never received any complaints, but knew this time from the signals my body was sending out that its ultimate expression had changed considerably. I was in the delightful situation of being able to lose my virginity twice in one lifetime.
There had once been the incredible sensual joy of being on the receiving end of Maureen's special kisses. Now I understood why she'd been unable to describe what it had been like for her.
My lungs were pumping regularly, not to breathe, but to smell. The dark scent of red blood rushing swiftly beneath her skin was maddening. I was going too fast and had to pause, my lips were already seeking out her warm, taut throat. Shifting slightly, I took in the other pleasures her body offered, exploring her soft mouth and testing the firm muscle underlying her smooth skin. She was no stranger to the act and did all she could to please me, but as I learned long ago, my greatest satisfaction came from pleasuring my partner. I did my best, with the steady roar of her heartbeat stimulating rather than distracting me. She let me know she was ready, but I held off as long as I could, held off The kiss was painless to her, but not without its own unique intensity, and her body shook from it for as long as I held her and drew into my own starved body the hot, salty essence of her life.
After many long, long moments I gradually pulled away. Her hands slid around my head to keep me in place, wanting me to continue, but I was afraid of going too far and taking too much. I was aware of my inexperience and didn't want her to suffer from it. She sighed acceptance finally and arched her back, pushing her head deep into the pillows. Through half-closed eyes she smiled, her lids drooped shut, and she dozed lightly, her heartbeat returning to normal. With an ear pressed against one soft breast I listened to the rhythm as declining waves of warmth surged and ebbed through me.
Earlier in the evening I'd ignored the first faint tickle of hunger, planning to visit the Yards later, but that would have been mere feeding. This taking of blood was lovemaking, and for a vampire, there was a chasm of difference between the two.
I eased my weight from her and lay on my side, stroking her hair with my free hand. It had been too long since I'd really touched anyone. So long that I'd almost forgotten how good it was to hold and be held. Distantly through the walls I heard the band playing something slow and sentimental, then the phone in her room began ringing.
"Damn," she said. "I have to answer that." I didn't ask why, but moved so she could get out. A minute later she returned and snuggled in again.
"That was the stage manager. I had a number to do and missed it."
"And you told him you were sick. Are you?"
' 'I think you know better. I never felt anything like that before that lasted so long."
"But you're not hurt or dizzy, are you?"
"I'm fine, I'm terrific."
I tilted her chin to one side with a finger, looking closely at her neck. The marks were surprisingly small and there was no apparent bruising. Her hand slid onto mine, which she drew up and kissed.
"I guess you are different. What did you do to me?"
"If it felt good, does it really matter?"
"I just don't want it to have been a fluke of my imagination."
"It was real. I take it you didn't mind that we didn't follow a more traditional method?' "No, this was so much like it, but more" She shrugged. "I can't describe it, I only know I want to feel it again."
"That might not be good for you now. I'll come tomorrow night."
Her face clouded. "What about Slick?"
"I can get rid of him."
"What do you mean? Kill him?"
"Why do you think that?"
"It's something you get to expect after a while. I have no illusions about what he is or what I am to him. We've used each other to get what we want. It's an old story."
"It sounds very empty."
She didn't want sympathy, and a hard edge crept into her voice. "I know it is."
"Do you have to use him? What is it you want?"
"I have it now. I'm the top singer in a top nightclub and I'm on a local radio broadcast once a week. Slick makes sure I meet the right people and I keep him happy. When he gets tired of me I'll use those contacts to move up in the business."
"But are you happy?"
"Yes, I think so."
"Is that why you were working that slot machine so grimly the other night?"
"That was just boredom. Even this place gets boring. I don't like all the people here and I get tired of being stared at, but Slick likes me to mingle. He likes to show me off."
"But he doesn't like you to get too friendly."
"At least with the wrong people. But sometimes it's good, it's really good, when I'm on stage and the spotlight hits me and the music comes up–that's what I really want. That makes me feel so alive and I don't care what I have to do as long as I can stay there and sing."
"He's in a dangerous business. What would you do if something did happen to Slick?"
"There are always others like him, and he's not so bad. My first boyfriend used to hit. Slick likes to roughhouse, but at least he doesn't hit me. Then there's the other owner of the club"-she went very still–"but I'd never go to him for anything."
"Who's he?"
"Slick didn't tell you? He's the fat poker player, Lucky Lebredo."
"Colorful."
"Just don't get in his way. Slick can be mean, but Lucky is worse, and he's a lot smarter. He's like some big spider, always watching things."
"He watches you?"
"What do you think? He hasn't laid a hand on me yet, and I don't plan on ever giving him the chance. I think he and Slick have some sort of understanding about me."
"Nice guys."
"You said it."
"Do they have an understanding about Gordy as well–about who he really works for?"
"Slick doesn't know about that and neither should I, but sometimes you overhear things."
"Like what?"
"I just caught the end of it, but Gordy and Lebredo were having an argument, or something pretty close to it. Lebredo asked him if he were planning to be awkward in the same way Mr. Huberman had been awkward, and then Gordy backed down, and I've never known him to do that with anyone before. Even Slick knows where to draw the line with Gordy."
I remembered the Huberman scandal; it had been the nine-day wonder tabloid editors dream about. Someone had thoughtfully provided them with some especially lurid evidence of Huberman's romance with a knockout of a blond who was not his wife. Tame enough stuff, it happened often enough, but not always to senior state senators. The real lid came off when the general public was made aware of the true sex of the blond.
Huberman was found on the floor of his office with the muzzle of the gun still in his mouth and the back of his skull blown off.
"Does Gordy like girls?"
"Sure, he does. I see what you're getting at, but that's not it.
Lebredo's got something else on him."
"Maybe it's time you left this place."
"Not now, but soon. I'll leave when I'm ready."
"But-"
Her eyes snapped. "Don't go all protective on me, I can take care of myself."
"Okay, I can see that." She was right, it was none of my business.
"Mrs. Smythe didn't raise no dummy."
"I'm not arguing."
She took me at my word and calmed down. "You going to tell me your life story now?"
"Not tonight."
Her hand went to her throat. "But I want to know about what you did. Is it because you're really different, or that you know something new that I never heard of till now?"
"Yes," I chuckled.
"To both? Don't be a kidder."
"I'm not."
"Then what's this about?"
"You ever hear the one about the one-legged jockey?"
"Yeah"
"Well, I kinda have the same thing. It's a sort of condition–"
The sharp cough of the gun was the only warning we got.
Preoccupied with each other, we hadn't heard his approach in the other room or noticed the light under the door. Perhaps he'd come to check on Bobbi after she'd missed her cue, and then heard us talking. The second after the bullet blew off the lock, he kicked the door open and lurched into the room like a boulder coming down the hill, or maybe I should say mountain. It was Gordy, playing the watchdog for his boss.
He didn't know me in the dim light spilling from Morelli's room, but I was a man in a place where I shouldn't be and that was enough of an excuse for him to break things up. His gun was already up and aimed. I had barely gotten to my feet. I half expected the impact of a bullet, but he thankfully restrained himself and didn't fire again. Bobbi's breath caught in her throat, but she held back the scream. The room was dead quiet except for the squeaking hinges as the door swung a little in the aftershock of its sudden opening.
I raised my hands slowly, uncurling the fingers, tore my eyes from the silencer-encased gun barrel, and stared hard at his face. All his attention was on me. Good, I wanted