by Margaret Carter, Crystal Green, Erica Orloff, Patricia Rosemor
Though I had a feeling I wasn’t going to like this, I said, “Go on.”
“I’ve heard rumors that someone hanging at the bar is a—” she cleared her throat “—a real vampire.”
My thudding heart steadied and I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, okay.” Now she was going over the top.
“I’m not kidding.”
“So I’ll wear garlic.”
“You shouldn’t joke about it.” Silke slapped down the pencil and picked up a pot of purple eye shadow. “You joke about anything that you can’t see in black-and-white. That’s why I didn’t want to say anything. Close your eyes.”
Silke dabbed a bit of color on my right lid and then on the left. But she didn’t go on and on about this real-vampire business. Which made me wonder why she’d brought it up in the first place. I knew she was frustrated with me for not wanting to develop this mental pathway she was so into. I suspected she believed in lots of things I would find totally unbelievable.
“You can open.”
I did and was startled by my own reflection. I’d shed my girl-next-door look for one that would make heads turn. I looked more like Silke than ever before. No one would be able to tell I wasn’t her.
“Okay, Silke, show me how you walk in this getup…carry a tray…count your money.”
I was leaving nothing to chance, and becoming a Silke clone didn’t come naturally. So I spent the next half hour imitating her walk and gestures and getting down her expressions and patter. Good thing I was a quick study.
When we were done, Silke started sorting through the lipsticks on the makeup tray. “You aren’t going to take any foolish chances, are you?”
“Hey, this is my kind of gig.” And I would be wearing a weapon, which I could legally do off duty. “I’m going on a fact-finding mission, is all. What could go wrong?”
Famous last words.
Well, let’s hope not.
But an hour or so later as I approached the building that held Heart of Darkness, I got that twist in my gut I always get when going undercover. I’d done this kind of thing dozens of times in my career, starting when I was a tactical officer working vice, and I knew all I had to do was breathe and get into my part and I would be okay. It was probably the same way Silke felt before going on stage. Then, once there in the spotlight, everything seemed real and the butterflies went away.
Only thing was, in an official capacity, I’d worked with a team, including someone to watch my back, even if from a distance. This time, I would have to remember the only backup I had was Silke via cell phone.
So basically, I was going it alone.
I thought about that all the way to the bar.
Though I could have parked somewhere west on Randolph, I wanted to check out what was going on under the el on Lake Street. Besides, it wouldn’t do to let anyone who knew Silke’s old beater see me getting out of something more upscale.
So I parked my car under the tracks and walked around to the main drag, all the while keeping an eye peeled for anything out of place. All I saw was a hiker getting out of a car and jogging back the way he’d come. The area was still in an early stage of gentrification and not necessarily safe at night. Thora should have known that, I thought, part of me hoping against hope that she would actually show at the bar tonight and I could tell Silke all the fuss was for nothing.
Only my gut told me that wasn’t going to happen. I was ninety-nine percent convinced that Thora Nelson had met the same fate as LaTonya Sanford.
A mile west of the Loop, Randolph Street had once been part of the city’s old market area, but now it was a mix of upscale restaurants and businesses and paper companies with a couple of those surviving meat and produce markets thrown in the mix. Heart of Darkness was the main attraction in a converted building that held several other businesses: Snazzy Trash, resale and sexy clothing mart; Taboo Tattoo, tattoo and piercing parlor; Bad Hair Day, cuts and coloring salon; and Garden Goths, fantastical critters depot.
As I approached the door of the bar, I caught my reflection in the plate glass. I still couldn’t believe how very Silke I looked wearing her long, ragged-hemmed black skirt and red bustier. Thankfully, I’d insisted on adding one of her capes. This one was black and short enough not to get in my way. Not only did the cape give me a little added modesty, but it also hid my gun, which I had holstered behind me at the waist.
The bustier was making me nuts, though, so I sucked in my gut and pulled it up in front. Then, taking heart that even I couldn’t tell the difference between Silke and me, I opened the door of the establishment and stepped inside to determine whether someone connected with the bar was a killer.
Jake DeAtley sensed a new arrival and turned from the drink he was mixing to see who had slipped in the door.
Silke Caldwell, late again.
Not that it really mattered since the place had yet to fill up. But the Goth waitress stopped just inside the door and looked around as if she was hesitant. But just for a moment. Then she gathered herself together and marched back to the small office where employees signed in.
Curious, Jake couldn’t stop himself from watching her, which in itself was a curious event. While he thought Silke was pretty enough—as far as he could tell, that is, considering the war paint covering her fine features—he could take her or leave her. But tonight, there was something about her that piqued his interest.
Something he couldn’t put a finger on.
“Chéri, the drink,” Desiree said, her accent lightly French. “We keep the customers happy, yes?”
“Sure, boss, coming right up.”
Getting back to work, Jake wondered how many drinks he would have to make before he was either satisfied or too bored to keep up the pretense.
As he served the waiting customer, Jake glanced at the bar owner, whose appearance was as steamy as her voice. Her waist-length hair was loose, a sheet of blue-black satin around naturally pale skin. She appeared to have been sewn into the midnight-blue dress that barely covered what passed for breasts. Desiree was so model thin, he swore any day she would melt to nothing and float away in the ether.
Not that he was interested in her personally, either.
He wasn’t interested in anything but his mission.
The two non-Goth women sitting at the end of the bar closest to the door had ordered a couple of Bloody Cosmopolitans, the red being a big dose of cranberry juice. He was always mystified by the “normal” people who hung around the bar for a free show. Locals mostly, but the bar’s reputation had been spreading. Heart of Darkness had become a hip hangout.
A new group of customers entered, both sexes looking appropriately pale and dressed in black, purple or bloodred. He’d seen some of them before, but several new faces clustered around the one who called himself Elvin Mowry. As if being above all others was his due, the purple-haired prince of freaks ascended the half-dozen stairs to the raised deck of the bar. One by one, his troupe followed.
Jake delivered the Bloody Cosmopolitans to the two young women who were watching Elvin Mowry and his sycophants.
Then his attention was drawn back to Silke when she appeared to take their orders. Jake was aware of the action around her—a newbie with electric-blue streaks in his long black hair eyed Silke with a lecherous grin.
And as the waitress moved closer to the guy, Jake tensed. His gut told him the guy was going to pull something, and Hung Chung was nowhere around to break it up. Though he usually spent most of his time hanging around the bar, the security guard must be doing a round of the other businesses in the building. Ready for an altercation he would have to deal with himself—and he would enjoy every minute of it, because Mowry and his minions irritated the hell out of him—Jake focused his attention on the newbie.
“Hey, sweet cheeks. You and me. Let’s grind hips together later,” he heard the guy say while sliding his hand up the back of the waitress’s skirts.
About to leap over the bar, Jake froze when she grabbed the guy’s hand and bent i
t back so fast it looked practiced. The pressure took the creep out of the chair and onto his knees on the floor. And still she didn’t let go.
“Don’t ever try that again or you’ll be sorry,” she said, her voice soft but threatening. “You know how many bones there are in a hand? You will if I break them all.” She let go, saying, “Now, can I take your order?”
The moron slid back into his chair and cradled the wounded hand to his chest. “Beer. A red beer,” he said, refusing to look at her until her back was turned. Then he shot a vile glare of hatred at her.
As if nothing had happened, Silke continued taking orders, leaving Jake to wonder what in the hell he’d just witnessed.
Chapter 4
I couldn’t believe my luck. First night playing waitress—no, first order—and I was assaulted by some loser with roaming hands.
How did Silke deal with this kind of crap? I wondered, stalking toward the bar to hand over my order. She wasn’t a fighter. Oh, she knew the moves. If she remembered them, that was. I’d made her take a self-defense workshop, but that had been years ago. She’d said it had been to appease me, but I figured she’d thought it might come in handy if she ever had to be part of a stage fight.
I felt that prickling, got a vague feeling that told me my twin was tuning in. I ignored not only her but also the music assaulting my ears—Gothic keyboards, dense guitars and mournful vocals going on about bloody kisses.
Arriving at the bar, I handed the order to the bartender. “A red beer and a bottle of Shiraz.”
“You okay?” asked the guy who I knew to be Jake DeAtley. The fine scar in the beard stubble gave him away.
“I’m okay,” I told him, visibly shivering the way I’d seen Silke do when she didn’t like something.
Eyebrow slashing upward, he asked, “So how many bones does the human hand have?”
“Twenty-six.”
How had he heard my threat? The place was pretty big—not terribly wide, perhaps, but long. And Mowry and his crew were on the raised level in back, which put them even farther away. The acoustics in this place must be something, I thought as Jake opened a bottle of red beer. When I tried to tune in on Mowry and company, I got nothing but music. Maybe there’d been a break between tunes, I thought.
“That was some fancy move,” Jake said, pulling me out of my musings. “Where did you learn it?”
“Cable television has something for everyone.”
Though he didn’t respond to my tart remark, Jake gave me a piercing look that made me nervous. I took it to mean that he hadn’t thought that I—rather Silke—was capable of an effective defensive move. Or that Silke would be so acerbic. Uh-oh, I didn’t want to arouse suspicions.
So I said, “Sorry, I’m still a little uptight. Actually, my sister got me to take a self-defense workshop. You know, one of those one-day wonders that give you a couple of moves to protect yourself. She doesn’t like me working in this neighborhood at night.”
“Any neighborhood can be dangerous at night.” Jake set the beer on the tray in front of me.
“Yeah, but I’ve heard stuff that creeps me out.”
“Stuff?”
“Like last night, Raven was all worried about Thora. She was certain something bad happened to her.” Considering Raven had spoken only to Silke, Jake wouldn’t know what was said, and I didn’t elaborate. “You haven’t seen Thora tonight, have you?”
“Thora…no, can’t say as I have.”
“What about Raven?”
“Sorry.”
“Hey, did you ever catch Raven’s last name?”
He shook his head.
I watched Jake open the bottle of red wine, his expression suddenly closed. Could he possibly know something? I wondered. While he was busy, I gave him an intense once-over.
Six feet tall, athletic build, dark hair and smoldering good looks played up by a black collarless shirt. His skin was pale. I might think he was a Goth, but he wore no makeup at all, and only had a single piercing. The stud in his right ear looked like a black diamond. The pale scar slashing through the beard stubble on his left cheek was window dressing as far as I was concerned. I had a few scars of my own. It simply made me think he was rugged, a man’s man, and made me curious as to whether or not he had any additional scars on that pumped body.
“Here you go.” He cut into my musings by pushing the tray toward me.
The way he was studying me—as if he was trying to read my mind or something—made me back off. I was getting vibes a whole lot stranger than the ones I got off Silke. Only these I didn’t understand.
I took the tray and almost dropped it. “Nerves,” I said, purposely doing a Silke twitch. “I guess that guy really got to me.”
Before Jake could respond, I moved through the poorly lit bar, looking for Thora as I had been doing since I’d arrived. I’d asked several people about her now, with no results. I’d been looking for Raven, as well, but as far as I could tell, she hadn’t shown, either.
Great. I was getting nowhere fast.
I tried to imagine who might know LaTonya Sanford in this place. She’d been underage, but that didn’t mean anything. Lots of these customers might be using fake IDs. As a cop, I knew it wouldn’t be hard to get one. Not that I had ever found evidence of one in the Sanford case. But there had been those matches. If she hadn’t been in here herself, she’d known someone who had.
LaTonya’s purse had presented me with a conundrum. What to do with it? I’d been reluctant to accept potential evidence on a case I was not actively working for the Chicago Police Department. And what I had found hadn’t been enough alone to take it in and make the investigation official. In the end, after returning the contents into the purse—including those matches—I’d regretfully left it in Mrs. Sanford’s care. Temporarily, I reminded myself.
The bar had enough atmosphere to attract a growing number of customers, enough that I had to dance around a few to get to the stairs. Deep purple walls, black ceiling, wood floor stained a dark red, no mirrors, and lamps that looked like and gave off as much light as candles. Cigarettes rather than candles filled the air with a nasty cloud of smoke.
I headed to deliver the drinks to Elvin Mowry and what I figured were the other vampire cult members. I put a beer in front of the creep whose hand I’d wanted to break. He sucked on his cigarette and immediately looked away.
Then I set wine glasses down before Mowry and his companions.
“I shall taste before you pour, my dear,” Mowry said. “And please forgive Ronald for his poor judgment earlier. He’s new,” he said, as if that explained away the little creep’s transgression.
I smiled into Mowry’s pretty face and poured a splash of the ruby-red wine in his glass. Then I watched as he lifted it with ring-covered fingers—a wolf, a bat, a gargoyle, all in pewter. He held the drink up to a light fixture overhead and licked his lips in anticipation. I was certain he’d chosen this vintage because he thought it looked like blood, and the action creeped me out. Unless he actually had something to do with draining women of their blood, he’d probably never seen the real stuff in any quantity. If he worked homicide, his romance with vampirism would fade fast. Nothing like a blood-splattered wall to kill one’s appetite for red wine.
“Wonderful. Pour,” Mowry commanded. When I began filling glasses, he said, “You are a lovely and complex woman, Silke.”
The name reminded me to give him a subtle Silke smile and soften my voice as I set down the bottle and asked, “Would that be a compliment?”
“Definitely. Your unexpected vigor tonight adds a spiciness that I appreciate to our relationship.”
Relationship? Silke thought Mowry was nothing but creepy. But I smiled again and said, “I always aim to please.”
“You would pleasure me greatly if you would join me when the bar closes.”
Great. Was this going to be grope number two?
“Thanks, but no thanks.”
“I am a gentleman, Silke—”
&nb
sp; “Sorry. I don’t fraternize with customers. It’s kind of a rule of mine.”
I tried to keep that smile pasted to my lips as I flicked my gaze over the purple spiked hair and settled it on Mowry’s pretty-boy face.
Ironically, the song blasting through the bar was “Love You to Death.” How many young women had been? I wondered. And did Mowry see me as the next victim? Did the creeps who took enough blood from a woman to kill her do it while having sex with her? Was that what had happened to Thora? And LaTonya Sanford?
The mystery eating at me as it had been all these months, I said, “Besides, Elvin, I thought you and Thora had a thing going on. Where is she, anyway?”
I caught a fleeting expression chase Mowry’s features before he shuttered them and said, “I have no idea of where she might be. Thora can be amusing, but she is not anyone I would consider…well, permanent.”
The way he said it made my blood pressure come knocking at my arteries.
Had Elvin Mowry just admitted to killing Thora Nelson?
“Everything’s okay, right?” Silke asked anxiously when I finally took a break to call her.
“So far.”
In addition to packing my weapon, I’d of course brought my cell phone. I’d told Jake I needed some air, so I was outside the bar where my conversation wouldn’t be overheard. I’d needed a break, a few minutes of being out of a crowd that had tripled since I’d arrived…of being away from the haze of smoke that threatened to choke me…of not having to worry about every word coming out of my mouth.
“Mowry didn’t seem broken up over Thora’s absence,” I told her. “He said she was amusing but not permanent.”
“Jerk!”
In my opinion, that was the general consensus about men. Until they got blindsided by the love bug, they were casual with the women in their lives, thinking there was always another one around the corner. And usually there was.
And speaking of men…
“What about Jake DeAtley? How well do you know him?”