“--and a side of ham and sausage, please.”
Chloe scribbled quickly. “Ham and links, got it! And for you, sir?”
“—with hash browns and cottage cheese,” Elvira continued.
Chloe scribbled. “Sunday Sampler, got it! Sir--?”
“--and a large stack of pancakes. Extra butter.”
“Cakes and extra butter.” Chloe was running out of paper. “Anything else?”
Elvira turned to me expectantly.
“Is it my turn? Just coffee and pancakes, please, Chloe.”
“You got it! Be right back, folks!” And our waitress was out of there.
The big eyes turned back to me. “So! Eat here often?”
“Not really. Why do you ask?”
“You called the waitress by name. I just assumed that…” She frowned at me. “Ed? My face is up here…”
I nodded, meeting her eyes. “I know. Just marveling.”
“Really.” The pretty mouth twisted annoyance. “Your name is Ed Magee and you were marveling at my cleavage. Wow. That’s one I haven’t heard before.”
“Actually, I was marveling at that tiny little waist, wondering where it was going to put all those pancakes and sausage.”
She seemed to like that, or the smile returned anyway.
“Haven’t eaten in a while, myself. You?”
She seemed to like that too. “Aren’t we clever. Ed the mind reader.”
“Funny you should say that.”
Don’t!
“Oh? You actually read minds do you?”
“Well, I can read yours. A little.”
Idiot! She’s one of them! Get out of there!
“Can you now? Clever and talented. Okay. What’s my name?”
“Sylvia.”
She didn’t flinch an inch. “Is it?”
“It is. When they don’t call you ‘Sylvie.’ That clever and talented enough?”
She leaned closer, near enough so her perfume didn’t have to fight the cooking smells in back. “Well, Ed,” she batted the big brown eyes, “it would be clever--if you hadn’t seen me in the street an hour ago. Yelling at that fat-ass Lonnie?”
“Ah!” I sat back, chagrined. “Okay, but you’re the first real witch I ever met who didn’t believe in magic.”
She gave me a kind of…indescribable look. Then she sat back in the booth herself. “That wasn’t magic, Ed. You could have seen me at the convention as well. I saw you.”
Will you for chrissake scram the hell out of there!
“You did?”
“I did.” She gave me a sly look. “What’s the matter, Ed? You look nervous.”
“Me? No! Fine!”
“Do you think I’m going to bite you?”
Oh, Jesus! Run!
“Well,” I swallowed, “I was hoping, you know…maybe after breakfast...”
That made her smile and laugh.
A wonderful, deep-throated whisky laugh. “Eddie Magee from the vampire convention,” she shook her head. “Not all that quick on the uptake, but you do have a certain charm. I think maybe even the kind I can trust! Would you like to see some real magic?”
No!
“Sure.”
She smiled coyly, turned to her purse, drew out a cigarette and placed it between her little red Elvira lips.
Then she stretched a slender index to the Formica table, scratched quickly, and her fingertip burst into flame like a match. She held it to the cigarette, puffed once and blew out the finger. She snapped me a cunning wink. “That magic enough?”
I pressed further back in the upholstery, skin crawling. “Jesus,” I breathed, “what the hell are you?”
Her smile was mocking now as she blew smoke in my face. “As you already said, Ed,” she chuckled, “the first real witch you ever met!”
THREE
Sylvia put the cigarette out in her water glass immediately.
“Filthy habit,” she muttered, reached over to her purse again, withdrew a compact and began redoing her lipstick as if nothing had happened.
“What’s the matter, Ed?” she asked puckering at the compact’s mirror, “never seen a real witch before?”
Part of me was already out the door, the other part sat there staring in fascination at her. “You’d be surprised what I’ve seen,” I told her.
She smiled confidently, pursed her lips again, blotted them together, put away the compact just as Chloe arrived with our breakfast.
We ate mostly in silence.
Even if I’d wanted to continue the conversation, Sylvie was too busy stuffing her pretty mouth to engage me. She either hadn’t eaten for days or she really was a witch, I couldn’t decide which.
“It was a trick, right?” I asked finally above my coffee cup. “The finger thing? An illusion.”
Sylvie shrugged tiny shoulders, chewing ravenously, offered another big wink. “Ed, old buddy,” she mouthed around a forkful of pancake, “all of life is an illusion.”
She washed it down with coffee, smiled over at me and shrugged companionably. “Listen, for all I know you really can read minds! Or maybe you’re a warlock?”
“Warlock?”
“Male witch.” She tilted her head speculatively, finally shook it. “Nah, you’re too cute to be a warlock. Tell me, is there a Mrs. Ed somewhere?”
I thought of Clancy, wrapped in Ivan’s arm, ascending to that black chopper. Probably already in Chicago by now. “Maybe. Someday.”
She looked surprised. “No? How’d a good-looking guy like you stay single so long?”
“Just lucky, I guess. What about you?”
She was looking at her watch. “That, my dear Eddie, is a very long and tedious story.”
“I’d like to hear it.”
She put down her napkin, leaned across and kissed me on the mouth. Lingered an instant then pecked me quickly again. “Maybe someday,” she said. “And thank-you, that was delicious. Will you excuse me a minute?” She pushed out of the booth, smoothing her dress. “Little girl’s room!”
I watched her move away down the aisle…along with every other guy in the restaurant, including a few grandpas and a couple of women. Ever see Some Like it Hot, the way Marilyn’s bottom revolved inside that tight black dress? It was like that.
Even then Clancy’s image kept crowding my mind. I couldn’t stop imagining her with Ivan Kolcheck, where they were right then, what they were doing. Had he already fanged her—turned her?
But no, that wasn’t possible. Clancy wouldn’t turn. She was inoculated, a half-breed, as she’d say. Did Ivan know that when he took her? If so, why was he so interested in her? Because clearly that why he’d crashed the convention roof party, not just to dispatch the lovely Alicia but to steal away the even lovelier Clancy. A brazen night time raid, even for the Prince of Vampires.
Why was he so attracted to my beloved Clancy? He must have seen the way I looked at her on that roof, knew I was in love with her--why hadn’t he gotten rid of me, killed me as he had Alicia?
That is, if Alicia was really dead…
“Bring you change, sir--?”
I blinked and looked up at Chloe smiling down, her hand on the two twenties stuck under Sylvie’s saucer. A jolt went through me. I hadn’t paid the bill…
My hand flew to my jacket lining pocket.
Empty.
When I looked up again I was staring at the Ladies Room door across the room. But dark eyed little Sylvie, I suddenly realized, had headed the opposite way. To the front door…
Stupid!
“Sir--?”
I jerked up at the waitress. “N-No. That’s okay, Chloe, you keep it.”
“Thanks! Y’all come and see us again now!”
Not likely—certainly not as a couple! I vaulted from the booth and literally sprinted for the front door past surprised faces.
I was just rounding the cashier’s desk when the truck stepped in front of me from nowhere.
Lonnie.
Sylvie had her back doo
r covered.
Only it wasn’t wearing the Day-glow Elvira T-shirt now. Lonnie was sporting an even louder Hawaiian shirt that—up close like that—held a lot more muscle than fat.
“Easy there, pal, don’t wanna go rushin’ off in a huff, do we?”
It all came together in about a nanosecond. Sylvie was the shill. Lonnie here was her boss. Or her pimp. Even with the evidence towering above me I didn’t want to believe it; those big dark eyes had a genuinely sincere loneliness behind them. And a touch of class despite the Elvira getup. What was a gorgeous girl like that doing mixed up with this oaf? I wanted to know.
“Out of my way, Lonnie!” I ordered.
The lummox snorted. “Or what, hot-stuff? You’ll hurt me?”
I was way out of my depth.
I shoved at the broad chest anyway. The heels of my hands hit a brick wall.
“You really don’t wanna do that, friend.”
And he was right. I wanted to do just about anything but that. Which is why I was so surprised when my fist smacked the big lantern chin.
I really have no idea what effect it had on his chin--he just remained standing there right where he had been, unfazed and smiling--but all the knuckles of my right hand were on fire.
The bastard even had the nerve to wink at me.
It must have been a style between him and Sylvie, the winking thing. That and the confident smile. “Now, I’m just gonna let that one go, friend, and hope you got it out of your system. Then I’m gonna turn around and leave this dump and walk back to my truck. And you? You’re gonna stay right here to the count of a hundred like a good boy and let these nice folks enjoy their quiet Sunday breakfast! Right?”
And he winked again. Then turned that massive back on me.
I think it was the wink that did it. Pushed me over the edge.
I kicked him as hard as I could in the ass.
Things got a little weird after that.
Probably the most amazing part of the whole thing was how quickly he spun around again on me. I think I remember that single instant more than the whole rest of the fight—that a big palooka like that could move so fast, so graceful, almost like a dancer.
The next thing I recall was that huge Lonnie fist headed straight between my eyes, the knuckles alone the size of Radio City. What was even more memorable was the way they missed.
Zipped right past my ear like a passing breeze.
At first I thought: this big tank is one lousy fighter. But inertia took over and the rest of him barreled after the fist, all two hundred plus pounds of it, and there was no way all that mass could miss me. Yet it did.
It wasn’t until after Lonnie had pin-wheeled on by and crashed to the floor on his fat face like a wounded elephant (you could hear saucers rattle across the restaurant) that I realized he’d missed because I’d side-stepped him. Somehow. I didn’t even remember doing it. And I was sticking around to find out.
The back door through the kitchen was the fastest way to the parking lot.
Wounded elephant or not, Lonnie was still quick as a cat. I was hardly past him, on my way to the cooks, when I heard him trumpet behind me and leap on my back. That time I stepped left and Lonnie, big feet pumping like he was treading water, plowed into two tables like a 747, cracking one in half and spattering startled customers with bloody yolk.
I turned around in disbelief. To hell with the back door. I had to hang around and find out what was going on.
Lonnie, streaming mustard sauce and syrup, lunged at me again. And again.
And every time Lonnie lunged (screaming like an ape there toward the end) I was somewhere else, pirouetting away or ducking under at the last instant like one of those defense-oriented martial artists who dodge and weave but never lift a hand. Dodge and weave and duck and spin until their opponent is reduced to a dizzily stumbling bag of wind, chest like a bellows, legs like rubber, face purple clear up past his bald dome.
When it finally got to that part—me not even breathing hard and thoroughly amazed at my entire incredible self (there was this perky blonde sitting enraptured at one of the un-demolished tables I just knew I could have taken home)--Man Mountain Lonnie so far gone he could only stand there flat-footed, shoulders hunched, coconut arms dangling impotently at his sides, stupid, sweat-dripping face just aching for a pasting, I knew I was looking at my chance.
I stepped in front of his crossed eyes, planted my feet squarely, drew back my right fist with everything I had behind it…
…thought better of it…
…picked up a chair and bashed him in the puss.
As the crowd of customers parted before me like the Red Sea I still had no clue how in hell I’d pulled it off; I mean, I didn’t have a scratch! The perky blonde stepped before me at the kitchen door, hands clasped together against in adoration and a napkin with her scribbled phone number. Had Clancy not be forever at the forefront of my mind, I might not have tossed the napkin in the trash barrel on the way out the back door.
The thunderous applause and cheering behind me was a nice bonus, though.
But nothing compared to the one waiting outside in the parking lot.
* * *
I pushed triumphantly through the back door into bright Kansas sunlight. And nearly fell off the short stoop into the gravel lot.
Mitzi was waiting there for me, tail thumping.
“Hi ya, Sport! How’s tricks!”
“Mitzi!”
For a moment I thought I was hallucinating again; she didn’t quite look like Mitzi--not the poodle I knew--but her voice inside my head was unmistakable. “Wouldn’t have a comb handy, would you, Eddie?”
“Mitzi! It’s really you!” and I swept her into my arms and held her high. She was heart-breaking light and smelled awful.
She let me hug her for a few seconds then pushed away with her front paws. “Yeah, yeah, I missed you too, Sport, but we really don’t have time for this.”
But I couldn’t it over it, beaming ear to ear. “But you were burned up, Mitz! Cremated! That vet said so!”
She gave me a disgusted look. “Yeah, that vet says a lot of thing. Do I look cremated, Eddie?”
“No! You look…you look…” I drew back from her matted, dirt-streaked fur, the mud between her toes, “…you look really awful, actually.”
“Being buried under six feet of top soil will do that, trust me. Listen, before we get too sentimental, we really need to get outta here.”
She wiggled free and began loping across the lot.
I chased after. “I don’t understand! What about the vet?”
“The vet was a Class A creep and tightwad. Once he found out you weren’t paying for the cremation, he dumped me in the back yard with the rest of his less than successful patients.”
“And you…what—just woke up? Crawled out somehow?”
“I’m here, aren’t I?”
I got that prickly feeling on my neck again. “And…the vet? Mitzi?”
The poodle just licked her lips once.
“Oh, God. You didn’t!”
“He was a quack, Ed! Now he’s the one underground. Hey, he’d already dug the hole, why waste it?”
I sighed. “I thought you looked well-fed under those dirt clods. Jesus, Mitz.”
“He never felt a thing. Look, we really need to get out of here, now!”
And she began to pick up speed across the gravel.
I was too elated at seeing her again to realize we weren’t heading toward Mrs. Portman’s Lexus.
“Hey, Mitzi!” I jinked left, kicking up gravel. “The car’s this way!”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Edward. A couple of cops were out here earlier giving old lady Portman’s fancy ride the onceover. My guess is they’re still lurking about somewhere close by. Waiting to see who slides behind the wheel.”
My heart cinched up. “Really…?”
“Really. Just keep moving, like a guy out walking his dog. We can catch a bus over at the corner.”
/> But I kept on veering right, though not toward the Lexus. “They won’t let you on a bus, Mitzi. Anyway, I’ve got a better idea!”
I could see the familiar tail gate of Lonnie’s big U-Haul several spaces from my car.
Mitzi veered with me, gave me a quizzical look. “What are we doing?”
“Just stay close and follow my lead. And keep sharp. There may be some hardware involved.”
We approached the pickup from behind, not to be seen by Sylvie, who was sitting patiently in the passenger’s seat, elbow out the window, waiting.
“Who’s the broad?”
“Explain later, just stay frosty.”
I slowed to a walk, tried to look casual in case cops really were watching from some hidden vantage point.
“Stay behind me, Mitz. I’m going for the driver’s side door. If it’s open, jump ahead of me into the truck and hop in the back seat.”
“We’re stealing a truck?”
“If we’re lucky. Keep your eyes on the chick with the rack. Especially her purse. She has very fast hands! If she moves or tries to jump out, go for her throat. The less screaming the better.”
“You do know her?”
But we were already there.
I locked eyes with the poodle. She took position. I nodded, turned and jerked open the driver’s side door. Mitzi leapt past me and into the back. I slid smoothly behind the wheel. What a team!
The keys were in the ignition as I’d prayed. I turned the big truck over and jammed it into reverse, careful not to leave rubber, attract attention. To my amazement, Sylvie didn’t make a peep, just sat there by her window looking at me. She didn’t even seem particularly alarmed.
I got the feel of the big vehicle quickly, changed gears and pulled smoothly out of the lot, no sign of police out the front or rearview.
In a moment we were surrounded by morning traffic without incident and I began to breathe easy again. At the first light, I glanced over at Sylvie. She was watching me impassively from her side, either not terribly upset or an amazingly good actress. Maybe it was all that modeling.
“Hello again, Ed.”
“Hello again, Sylvie.”
“I’ve been sitting here thinking about you.”
I nodded as the light changed. “Yeah? And where do I rate on your personal chump meter? Oh, sorry…” I motioned behind me, “…Sylvie this is Mitzi, Mitzi meet Sylvie. Sylvie is a witch. When she’s not being a model. When she’s not being a grifter.”
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