by Flynn, Mac
Vince waited for me a few yards ahead, and I waved the card at him. "So what do we do now?" I asked him.
"We will confirm the location ourselves and call upon Romero tonight with our findings," Vince explained.
My shoulders sagged and I sighed. "No rest for the wicked, huh?"
He smiled. "Not tonight."
I leaned toward him and frowned at his pale face. "You sure you don't need a break? You look awful."
"I will be fine until the night is through," he promised me.
I pursed my lips and sighed. "You'd better keep that promise," I mumbled as we strode onward.
We returned to our car sans Mitch and I opened the card for the address. "'Advocate Ministries, 666 Sexton Drive," I read aloud. I lifted my head and wrinkled my nose. "Why does that address sound bad?"
"The number is that of the beast, or the devil," Vince informed me. He started the car and away we drove down the street.
I cringed. "As in the devil?" I asked him.
"The same."
"We're not going up against Satan, are we?"
"Unlikely. Even in the supernatural world there are those who believe he may not even exist," Vince replied.
"But we've been fighting devils," I reminded him.
"Merely creatures of the same persuasion, but not Mephistopheles himself," he argued.
I blinked at him. "Mephistopheles? That sounds like bad arthritis or something."
"It is an alternate name for the devil," he informed me.
"Oh, well, that would make it a bad something."
We puttered on our way down the streets and the address led us across the tracks to the poorer side of the city. The neighborhoods were slummy areas of crowded, single-story shacks with trash on the lawns, those that had lawns. Old trees with widow-makers shaded the run-down shanties, and wrecks of cars sat on the the broken curbs. A few people peeked out from behind their ragged, hole-filled curtains, but other than that I spied no inhabitants, living or supernatural.
I watched the poor houses pass by my window and sighed. "A cemetery would be less depressing," I muttered.
"The blight Ruthven causes has no end," Vince commented.
I turned to him and gestured out the front window at the depressing sight. "Is this why you want to stop Ruthven?"
"One of many reasons," he replied.
We traveled onward through the ruin of humanity and arrived at our destination. Vince parked a half block down and I squinted at the structure that stood on the corner. "A church? The book factory is in an old church?" I asked Vince.
That was certainly what it looked like from that distance. It was a run-down church with a great, pointed wooden steeple that cut the sky and lorded over the desolate neighborhoods. Its stone walls were crumbling, and the stain-glass windows were wrecked by stones and hammers. A small graveyard of toppled gravestones sat at the side nearest where we stood, and in front of the church and graveyard was the remains of a flower garden, now filled with brown and dead weeds.
Vince pursed his lips. "Ruthven would be pleased with the irony of creating abominations in a formerly holy area," he pointed out.
"Does this guy get his kicks out of kicking puppies, too?" I quipped.
"Possibly, but we must get a closer look to confirm Lamia's information," Vince advised.
We slipped out of the car and past the nearest house on our left. Behind the houses sat a vacant alley filled with piles of garbage and leaning old garages. Vince led the way down the block to the corner church, and we reached the iron-barred fence that surrounded the graveyard and ran around the entire rear of the church. Piles of trash leaned against the walls of the church and in the alley. The rear door of the church was boarded up, and I could see the small windows that led into the basement were also shut up. The small burial plots with their toppled headstones and piles of dirt looked lonely and forgotten amid that gloomy atmosphere.
Vince stopped us at the corner of the graveyard and I saw his eyes strain to see through the darkened, empty windows. "Think we have the right place?" I whispered to him.
"Undoubtedly," a voice spoke up behind us.
We whirled around to find ourselves staring at Officer Romero in full uniform. At his side stood Brutus, and the brute lifted his lips but didn't make a sound.
"How the hell did you get here?" I questioned him.
"I overheard you read the address in the car outside the Immortal Serpent and raced here so my men and I could be at the ready to storm the facility. We've already looked the place over and have detected a lot of magic use in the basement. It has to be the facility," he explained.
"How did you manage to convince your superiors you knew the location?" Vince wondered.
Romero shrugged. "I didn't, but my men were convinced enough to follow me."
My mind hearkened back to our visit to the illicit fighting coliseum. "So, um, exactly how long have you been following us?"
"I've been tailing you since you left me," he explained.
I nervously smiled at him. "So the whole time?"
"The whole time," he replied.
I whipped my head to Vince who's stoic face told me he knew more than he'd let on in this long adventure this night. "You knew he was there, didn't you?"
"I could smell his undeath, yes," Vince told me.
I rolled my eyes and returned my attention to Romero. "We-um, we weren't at any illegal cage-match arena just to fight. We were just-um-just-"
Romero held up one of his stitched hands and actually cracked a smile. "Your secret is safe. I didn't call for backup until after you left the coliseum," he assured me.
I blinked my eyes at him. "Backup? You mean Vince and I don't have to be the ones to risk our necks trying to bring down Ruthven?" I asked him.
He nodded. "Yes. Tonight we will show you what the Parasquad is capable of."
Romero put two fingers to his lips and blew loud and clear. His whistle echoed through the quiet night, and brought alive the garbage in the alley and the piles of dirt in the graveyard. Dozens of rotting hands pushed up from the ground like some horrifying zombie movie, and zombie officers stumbled from the trash. The dozens of Parasquad officers stumbled toward the unholy church. They climbed through the windows and broke open the rear door and basement windows. Bright ceiling lights flickered on inside the basement and the ground floor, and the sound of gunshots reached our ears.
Vince jumped forward to assist, but Romero held his arm out and blocked his path. "Not this time, vampire. Let the zombies do their work."
The zombie officers marched into the face of danger without hesitation and overwhelmed the place through sheer numbers. It also helped that they were armed with familiar-looking bottles of red liquid. Some officers remained around the perimeter of the church with their weapons at the ready, and the rest fought a fierce battle inside. I heard screams and yells, and shadows and bodies flew by the lights on both floors.
Romero knelt beside Brutus, who strained at the leash eager to join the fray. "Easy there, boy. Not yet."
Several devils crawled out the ground-floor windows with zombies close behind them. Most of them didn't make it very far before the contents in a half-dozen spray bottles hit their legs and they stumbled to the ground writhing in agony as their flesh was burned by the blood. The exterior zombies grabbed the devils and dragged them to the front where Parasquad cars sped up and parked on the weed-choked lawn.
One devil managed to leap over the spraying and land ten feet from us. Romero unleashed his undead dog. Brutus leaped at the devil and grabbed the thin red creature by its neck. The dog shook the devil like it was a rag doll, and Romero rushed up and clamped a pair of special handcuffs on the wrists of the devil.
"Brutus, heel," Romero commanded. Brutus reluctantly released the devil, and Romero hefted his ragged captive to its feet. "No more running tonight," the officer commented as he handed the devil to one of his subordinates. He clasped the leash around Brutus' neck and stood by for any further esc
apees.
The battle lasted for ten minutes and in the end the Parasquad officers emerged victorious with a long line of captives ready to be interrogated. They also carried with them lab equipment such as beakers and vials filled with strange-colored liquids.
Of the couple dozen zombies, I noticed a few didn't make it out in one piece, and more than one was slashed to ribbons by the claws of the devils. Their partners hauled them to the squad cars and pieced them back together with thick thread and needles.
I pointed at the plastic spray bottles. "Did you-"
"Get the idea from Mitch? It was about time that seller of secrets was useful to the squad," Romero quipped.
"If we have fulfilled our promise then I ask that you fulfill yours," Vince spoke up.
"You have, and I'm a zombie of my word." Romero held the leash out to us, but Brutus snarled in Vince's direction.
I knelt down and smiled at the menacing mutt. "Hello, there," I cooed. "You look like such a nice doggy. You're a nice doggy, aren't you? Do you want to go find some bones for us?" At mention of bones the zombie dog stopped growling and its remaining ear perked up.
Romero sighed. "You've found his only weakness. No matter how much training he goes through he will obey anyone who even mentions bones." He handed the leash to me, and Brutus rubbed his side against my leg and looked up at me with those cute, clouded eyes. "Take care of him. He's the best dog a zombie could dig up."
"We'll have him back in no time," I promised.
"And I would like a bottle of the blood," Vince requested.
Romero raised an eyebrow, but pulled a small spray bottle from inside his jacket and handed it to Vince. "More trouble with devils?" he guessed.
"We shall see," Vince replied as he pocketed the liquid.
I looked to Vince and smiled. "Time to finish this?"
"Time to finish this," he agreed.
Chapter 12
By the time we returned to Harriet's former property the night was waning. The sun would rise in an hour and we would have to put our original case on hold. The property was as quiet as the grave as we parked the car in the darkness of the wild trees. We three, Brutus included, walked up the slight incline to the house, but Harriet was nowhere to be found.
"Think she's taking a dirt nap?" I quipped as we reached the basement door. Vince's serious face killed my joke and my smile. "What is it?"
"Harriet is not here," he revealed.
I frowned. "How can you tell?"
"A haunted place has a chill that settles on the bones. I no longer feel that chill here," he explained.
I recalled the first time we came to the house, and the chill that swept over me as I stared at the house. "You're right, it is gone," I agreed. Vince walked toward the front of the house. "Hey, wait!" I called out as Brutus and I rushed after him. I caught up to him at the corner of the home. "Does this mean she's at rest?" I wondered. Vince paused and his eyes narrowed. I followed his gaze and saw the lights in the cottage were on. "You think he knows something we don't?" I guessed. Brutus flattened his ears and growled at the cottage. "What's wrong with you two?"
"The scent of death comes from the cottage, as does the scent of a devil," Vince explained.
"Then that means-?" I wasn't sure what that meant, but Vince strode forward and I followed. We came to the door and I sniffed the air. "You know what I don't smell? All that nasty stuff," I commented.
"It has been taken away," Vince agreed. The door to the cottage was slightly ajar, and he pushed it open.
The door swung open on its creaky hinges and revealed a large front room. There was the kitchen and dining space on the left, and the living room and hanging body on the right. At the rear was the bath and bedrooms.
Wait a second. Something wasn't right here. I pointed a shaking finger at the body that hung from the ceiling. "Um, Vince?"
Vince sprinted into the room and jumped into the air. He sliced the sturdy rope with his hand and dropped to the ground in time to catch the body. The limp form fell into his arms and he lowered the person to the floor. I hurried up and cringed when the bloated face of Bobby Morley stared back at me with wide, unblinking eyes.
"He's-"
"Dead, yes, and has been for a few hours," Vince confirmed. He set the corpse on the floor and examined the room. There was a nearby chair for him to step on, and the rope had been connected to one of the open rafter beams.
"Suicide?" I guessed.
"So it's made to appear," he agreed.
Brutus sniffed the air and growled. "Heel, Brutus. What do you mean made to appear?" I asked Vince.
Vince nodded at the dog. "Brutus can smell that a devil has been here, and all the anti-supernatural equipment he purchased has disappeared."
"So the devil he bought it from collected their stuff and his life?" I surmised.
"So it appears," Vince confirmed. He stood and wandered around the room.
My eyes invariably wandered to the dead man. He lay with his shoes closest to me, and their clean soles reminded me of something somebody said to us earlier that night. I furrowed my brow and glanced over my shoulder at Vince. "Who told us about Bobby's dirty shoes?" I asked him.
Vince paused and turned to me with a raised eyebrow. "The attorney, Bartlett. Why?"
"Did he say that the dirt was from the basement, but that Bobby didn't tell him what he'd been up to?" I wondered.
"Yes, he-" Vince paused and his eyes widened.
"And didn't Harriet say the attorney never went into the house, as far as she knew?" I added.
Vince's eyes narrowed and his hands balled into fists at his sides. "It appears we must pay another visit to the attorney."
"But what about him?" I asked as I gestured to the corpse.
"We can do nothing more for him, and our presence would only bring awkward questions," Vince pointed out.
We abandoned the body and drove to the attorney's office. At that early hour the streets were still deserted, but the lights were still on inside the office. "How late does this guy work?" I wondered aloud as we stepped out. I held Brutus' leash, and the zombie dog sniffed the air and curled its lips back in a ghastly snarl. "I know this isn't where the bones are, but we'll find them," I tried to soothe him.
"He smells something far more dangerous than bones," Vince countered. He strode to the door, but tripped on a crack in the broken sidewalk. His shoulder stumbled into the side of the building.
I hurried to his side and noticed his face was still ghastly pale. "You sure you're up for this?" I asked him.
"We have no choice," he pointed out.
Vince righted himself and led the way into the office. When I stepped one foot into the sitting room Brutus went berserk. He jumped forward and snapped at the door that led to the rear of the building. I grabbed the leash with both hands and tried to tug him backward, but he dragged me toward the door.
"Bad Brutus! No!" I shouted. The door swung open, but there was nobody on the other side. Brutus didn't mind the ghostly lack of a person and pulled me through the entrance. "Do something!" I shouted at my partner. Vince jumped forward and snatched my hands. He yanked me off the leash and Brutus sprinted into the depths of the building. "Why'd you do that?" I growled.
"We need him to lead us to the scent," Vince argued as he took off after the zombie dog.
I sighed and rushed after the pair. Brutus led us to an open hatch at the rear of the building that led into a dimly-lit basement. The dog flew down the stairs and us at his heels. Brutus skipped the final few steps and landed on the cement floor. His hackles, or what remained on his rotting flesh, were raised and his lips were curled back in a snarl so fierce he would have scared Harriet.
We joined him at the bottom and beheld a different basement than what I expected. There were numerous tables set up around the walls, and each one held scientific equipment. There were vials of strange-colored liquids on the shelves above the tables. I gasped when I recognized the same ingredients as though confiscated from the bo
ok factory.
Vince walked over to the nearest table and picked up one of the vials. He swished the contents, and the liquid splashed against the glass. Rather than fading away, the liquid left a smear that resembled a hideous, skeletal face. Vince frowned and swept his eyes over the remaining tables.
"Advocate Ministries," he growled.
There came a clap from behind us, and we spun around in time to see Attorney Bartlett walk down the stairs. He had a wide grin on his face and his eyes were a bright yellow color. "Bravo! You figured it all out, detective. A little late and slow, but a solid deduction."
Brutus backed up to stand in front of us, and I sidled up close to Vince. "What's going on?" I whispered.
"Haven't you guessed?" Bartlett mused as he stepped onto the basement floor. He strode past us and over to a table to the left of the stairs. The man raised his arms to the room. "This is my little experiment lab, but after your interference it appears it's my only lab."
"You're-" My eyes widened when I recalled something actually useful from my school days. "Advocate is another name for an attorney!"
Bartlett chuckled. "You're even slower than the vampire here. It's amazing Vincent here hasn't done the world a favor and killed you both."
Vince's eyes narrowed. "You pretended to be hypnotized by me to throw us off the trail."
"Yes, and wasn't it a good show?" Bartlett mused. He picked up a vial and swished around the contents. "Imagine my surprise to find you on my scent, especially when it was that idiot Morley and his senile mother who brought you here. I had to have my men follow you, but I believe they became a little hasty in dealing with you. They paid with their lives, but the mistake was made. You have no idea how hard it is to find good help these days."
"Wait, you're the leader of those devils?" I guessed.
Bartlett placed the vial back and turned to me with a grand bow. "Guilty as charged, as they say in the human courts."
"You are the leader of the Supernatural Syndicate," Vince proclaimed.
"Again, I plead guilty," Bartlett replied. He lifted his face and the smile slid from his face. His eyes narrowed as he straightened. "Unfortunately, you interfered with a very lucrative business arrangement, and my important client is very upset with me. That has forced me to temporarily move my operations to my office until I can find a more permanent space."