"What message boards are these, pray tell?" I was beginning to get a sneaking suspicion I knew the answer, but I wanted Greg to admit it.
"Law enforcement message boards. The kinds where people talk about hot spots for crime, places the city can't or won't take care of, that kind of thing. You can find anything on the web if you look hard enough." He looked smug as we pulled into the Spirit Square parking lot and got out of the car.
"Anything except a life, apparently." I muttered as I followed him into the alley. The crime scene unit had finished up, so we had the run of the place, which was just fine with me. It gave us a chance to use some of our more off-the-record abilities to look over everything. I'd walked the alley a couple of times looking and listening for anything out of the ordinary when I heard Greg give a low whistle. I looked back to see him standing at the top of a concrete staircase leading down to a stage door. He waved me over excitedly and I headed his way.
"Give this a sniff, dude." He said when I reached him. He pointed at the door, and I leaned over and took a big whiff. My sense of smell is nowhere near as keen as Greg's, but this almost knocked me over. It smelled like rot, and blood and serious armpit funk, with a tinge of something else underneath that I didn't recognize.
"Ewww. Damn, dude, how about a little warning next time? That is seriously nasty!" I smacked him on the shoulder, and he smacked me back.
"Shut up you pansy. Have you ever smelled anything like that before?"
"No. You?"
"Nothing, but now that I've locked in on it, I can tell it's all over the alley. It's hard to smell because of the blood and garbage, but it's there. I think whatever beat up Stephen smelled like this."
"Well then it oughta be easy to find. Just look for wherever there are a lot of people with sinus trouble, because nobody else could stomach that stench." I saw something fluttering out of the corner of my eye and went back up the stair.
Greg called after me as I knelt down beside a dumpster and reached under it for what had caught my attention. "If you get any of that on your clothes you're totally walking home." He yelled.
"I'll sit on the roof." I yelled back as I pulled a brightly colored flyer out from under the dumpster. It advertised a drag show at Aquarius, the city's oldest and most famous gay bar. There was a smear of blood across the front of it that told me it had been a lot closer to the fight than it was now, maybe even on Stephen somewhere. I stood up, wiping as much of the alley muck off of me as I could.
I held the flyer out to Greg and said, "Let's get back home and plan our wardrobes."
"For what?" He asked, trying hard to read the flyer and stay downwind of me.
"This show is tomorrow night. We're going clubbing. Now let's get out of here before the sun comes up."
Chapter 9
The next night found me rolling on the floor as Greg trotted out his finest club garb for our investigative trip to the gay bar. I was sporting a patterned t-shirt under a silk blazer with a pair of designer jeans and the only pair of decent shoes I owned, black loafers with silver buckles. Greg, on the other hand, came out in a pair of black leather pants and a gold mesh shirt that showed far more of my rotund partner than I wanted to know existed.
"Dude," I gasped between howls of laughter, "how many cows had to sacrifice themselves to build those pants? And please don't tell me I'm seeing the sparkle of a belly ring?!?" I fell off the couch and sat there laughing as Greg stood in the doorway of his room glowering at me.
"Shut up, toothpick. I'm trying to look inconspicuous." He muttered.
"Dude, we're going to a gay bar, not Mardi Gras! You don't have to dress like Captain Jack Sparrow slept with a disco ball!" I said. He turned on his heel and went back into his room while I sat there wondering what he would come out with next.
"And since when are you the expert on how to dress for success at a gay bar?" Sabrina asked from the stairs. I clambered up from the floor and headed over to her.
"A guy's gotta eat. How did you get in here? And what are you wearing?" I'd never seen Sabrina in a dress before, and this one didn't leave a whole lot to the imagination. The skirt was short, the top was clingy and red, and she had on a pair of heels that I bet were borrowed from a pal in the Vice department.
"One – you're disgusting. Two – Mike gave me a key. And Three – this is called a skirt, and I'm wearing it to the club to keep you two social misfits out of trouble." She went to the fridge and grabbed a beer. "Want one?" I nodded in the affirmative, and she brought two beers over and set them on the coffee table.
"Judging from Greg's ensemble, it looks like my services will most definitely be needed." She continued as she sat down and twisted open a Miller Lite.
"Yeah, we weren't much for the club scene when we were alive, and loud music really plays havoc with our hyper-hearing nowadays, so we don't spend a whole lot of time shaking our groove things." I sat next to her on the couch and propped my feet up.
"Huh. I hadn't thought about that. How are you going to deal with the noise tonight?" She asked.
"Wax earplugs." I answered. "Greg came up with the idea. They look a little bit like hearing aids but they'll cut enough noise out for us to be able to function. And it's not like I'm looking for a date."
"I thought all of you guys were bi." Sabrina said, looking at me out of the corner of her eye to gauge my reaction. I didn't give her the satisfaction, just muttered "racist" under my breath and took another sip of my beer. A few minutes later Greg came back out of his bedroom, this time wearing a flannel shirt and work boots.
"You're a lumberjack and you're okay. Let's go." I said, then stood up and we headed to the car.
We took my car to the club, just in case there was anyone paying attention to the parking lot. Nothing says, "ignore me" like an imported economy car, and we didn't exactly want trumpets blaring announcing our arrival. The bouncer was wearing a shirt that looked a lot like the one I'd mocked Greg for wearing originally, and he shot me an "I told you so" look. I didn't bother making any remarks about their respective physiques, just paid the cover and went inside.
It was a good thing Greg had come up with his earplug idea, because I can't stand Lady Gaga at low volume, much less the ridiculous level it was blaring at through the club. The lights were dim everywhere except the dance floor, where the strobes and colored light flashed in time with the music. Everywhere you looked there were ridiculously fit men dancing together, and in the corners of the bar you could see men talking with their heads close together, sometimes holding hands, sometimes just talking. All in all it looked just like a straight dance club only with no women, and I felt just as out of place. Come to think of it, there were never any women in my experience at straight dance clubs either. At least not until they became dinner.
I headed over to the bar and waved the bartender over. He gave me a quick once-over and said "Domestic beer in the bottle?"
"How did you know?"
"It's what all the straight boys drink. It's like a flag." He smiled and grabbed me three Miller Lites, twisting the tops off into the trashcan with a practiced flip of the wrist.
"Who says I'm straight?" I asked, a little offended that my cover could be blown so quickly.
"Everything about you, sweetie. Don't worry, we don't mind your kind coming in here, just don't start any trouble." He flashed me a smile that I bet got him a lot of second dates, and turned to go down the bar. I waved him over with a couple of twenties and suddenly his attention was mine and undivided.
"Since you know I'm not here looking for a date, I might as well just ask you some questions." I started, but he waved me off right away.
"Sorry, sweetie, not a chance. You've got 'PI' written all over you, and the last thing I need is to end up in some frustrated closet case's divorce hearing." He started to turn again and I went ahead and brought out the big guns.
"I'm investigating the assaults." He stopped cold and turned back to me.
"Really?"
"Yeah, really. The chi
ck's a cop, and my partner and I are private investigators. We're trying to find out more about the victims, and we're starting here."
"Why here? I don't even know a couple of the guys that were beat up, and I know everybody that comes in here more than twice." He looked around and waved the other bartender over. "Come with me. I can't talk to you out here. No. They stay here. Just you." I waved off Sabrina and Greg, who had started over when he came out from behind the bar. I followed him back to the office behind the bar and sat with my back to the door. Not my favorite seating arrangement, but I hadn’t seen anything out there that felt like a threat, so I let it slide.
"Alright, what do you want to know?" He asked as he sat behind the desk. I might not be the sharpest fang in a mouth, but I was starting to get the idea that this guy was more than just a bartender.
"Let's start with some introductions. I'm Jimmy. And you are?" I passed him one of my cards, and he tucked it under the corner of a blotter on his desk.
"I'm George. I've been the manager here for the past five years. And I know for a fact that my customers have nothing to do with these attacks."
"And exactly how do you know that?" I asked, turning my chair to at least give myself a little peripheral view of the door.
"Because, like I said out there, some of those guys have never been in here. Or at least have only been in once or twice. They're not regulars, and our regulars are good people. Sure you've got the occasional tweaker and stoner, but most of my boys are just out looking for a good time."
"What if the person doing the attacking was finding his victims here?" I asked. "We don't really think that your establishment has anything to do with the attacks, but a flyer for tonight's drag show was found in the alley at the last attack."
"Well, yeah, it would have been. We papered the hell out of the Spirit Square lot last night. It was kinda our target demographic, you know?"
"No, I don't know. In fact, I have no idea what you're talking about. So help me out a little." I had this sinking feeling in my gut that our best lead so far was going to turn out to be a complete dead end. Sabrina was not going to be happy.
"The play going on at Spirit Square last night?" George went on. "They were doing Jeffrey, a total gay comedy. Probably every car in the parking lot belonged to a queen, so I sent one of my bar backs out to put a flyer under all their windshield wipers, so when they came out of the play, they got invited to keep their weekend going here. It's guerilla marketing, baby, the only kind we can afford nowadays. Somebody probably took the flyer off their windshield and tossed it on the ground, then it ends up in the alley."
"Crap. That was our best lead so far."
"Sorry. Wish I could help more, man."
"Yeah, me too. Guess it's time to earn the itty-bitty retainer the CMPD has me on for this case. If you come up with anything else, please let me know." I stood, turning toward the door. I'd just reached my hand out when the door flew open. A twenty-something boy with bleached hair and teeth ran in like the devil himself was outside. Which given my luck, wasn't out of the question.
"George, you gotta come quick. There's this huge guy at the front door and he's fighting with Otto." The boy gasped.
"Otto's a black belt in three different martial arts. I don't think I need to be there to help him." George looked about as concerned as if he'd just been told the floor needed mopping at the end of the night.
"No, you don't understand. He's kicking Otto's ass! He might need an ambulance! Call 911, quick!" The kid was almost hyperventilating, and I shoved past him to get back to the club. I ran past Greg and Sabrina, shouting for them to follow me. We headed to the door as fast as we could, which for me and Greg was pretty fast, only to draw up short when we saw the mess that was waiting for us right outside the entrance.
Chapter 10
There was mayhem just outside the front door, and it took me a couple of valuable seconds to figure out exactly what was going on. When I finally got a good look at the scene, I still didn't exactly believe what I was seeing. Otto, the bouncer with Greg's taste in clothing, was bleeding from the nose and mouth and circling a giant on the porch leading to the club's entrance.
Yeah, I said a giant. Probably a vast oversimplification, but I couldn't come up with a better description for a beast that topped out at about nine feet tall and somewhere in the range of four hundred pounds of solid muscle. This thing had greenish skin, arms bigger around than my waist with claws at the end of each finger, and a face that not even a mother could love. Otto was a big dude, and obviously had some hand to hand combat chops, because he was still alive, but I knew if we didn't do something fast, that was about to change.
"Do you have a gun hidden somewhere in that outfit?" I asked Sabrina as Greg and I started to fan out and try to flank the giant.
"It's called a handbag, you idiot, and yes." She muttered, knowing she didn't have to speak loudly for me to hear and not wanting to terrify the crowd any more than they already were.
"Alright, then get George, the bartender, and tell him what you're going to do." I was moving out of her earshot as I got around behind the beastie. I saw it freeze and start to sniff the air, and I knew our cover was about to be blown. Vampires have a unique scent, kind of an old blood smell, and creatures that have enhanced senses can pick us out in a heartbeat. That's one reason we don't hunt in the suburbs – too many dogs. This guy obviously had a good sniffer, so our element of surprise was blown. Because it can't ever be easy.
"And what exactly am I going to do?" Sabrina asked.
"Make the crowd ignore this!" I yelled as I leapt for the giant's back. Greg saw my move and went in from the side at the monster's knees. Otto saw that the cavalry had arrived and launched a flurry of roundhouse kicks at the monster's face to give us a chance to land our best shots.
That didn't go nearly as well as it had in the movie in my mind. The giant took a couple of shots from Otto to the face, but ignored them because apparently it was way tougher than I expected. It was also way faster than I expected because as soon as I landed on its back, it reached over one shoulder and grabbed me by the back of my neck. The thing swept me over its shoulder and right into the path of my flying partner. We went to the ground in a tumble of arms, legs and unfortunate wardrobe choices, and I looked up to see a shoe that had to be a size twenty-seven coming down at my head.
Greg and I rolled in opposite directions and both managed to avoid being stomped into paste, and we got up on opposite sides of the creature. I kicked the thing in the knee, and it backhanded me off the porch into the parking lot. I skidded for several feet before coming to a halt against a BMW convertible. I checked to make sure I hadn't dented it, and got unsteadily to my feet.
Greg was standing toe-to-toe with the monster, landing huge haymakers on the monster's midsection. I thought I heard a rib crack, and the thing reared back in pain. Then it lashed out with a foot and caught Greg square in the gut. He flew several feet through the air and right behind me in the windshield of the Beamer. I pulled him free of the shattered glass and said, "You okay?"
"No. You?"
"Not really. Let's go." With that, we ran back at the monster, Greg going low for its knees while I went for a flying clothesline. The thing just jumped straight up into the air, making Greg miss entirely and swatting me out of the air like a retarded frisbee. Which is how I landed, too. I got to my feet, wiped a little blood out of my face, and circled around to the monster's side. Greg went in the opposite direction, and to my surprise, Otto the bouncer flew in with a dropkick that rocked the thing back on its heels. He landed in front of the monster in a combat stance, albeit a little unsteady.
"Get out of here." I growled at the bouncer. "You're just gonna get killed."
"Not tonight, friend. But I do appreciate your assistance." The bouncer replied, and he made an odd gesture with his right hand. Suddenly a gleaming sword with a three-foot blade appeared out of thin air, and Otto launched himself at the giant, sword raised high above his head. He
moved almost faster than I could see, and that's really saying something.
"I hate surprises in the middle of a fight." I muttered as I knelt under a backhanded blow from the giant. While I was on one knee I pulled my backup pistol from an ankle holster and emptied the clip into the giant's crotch.
The beast screamed in pain, and Otto's sword flashed down lightning-quick, cleaving the monster's head from its shoulders and splattering greenish-black blood all over Otto, Greg and me. I licked my lips experimentally, but apparently giant blood has no nutritional value, so I was just grossed out, not grossed out and fed.
"Ick." Greg said, wiping giant blood and whatever else out of his eyes.
"Ick indeed." I agreed, looking around for Sabrina. The porch, which had been crowded with onlookers just seconds before, was curiously empty. Only the four of us and the corpse of a green-blooded behemoth were outside the club. I looked over to where Sabrina was leaning against the closed door of the club and asked, "What did you do?"
Black Knight 02 - Back in Black Page 4