BloodWalk

by BloodWalk (lit)

  A mulatto hooker eyed him and brushed on past. He fell into step with her. This might be the place to start. "Don't rush off, honey. Talk to me."

  She rolled her eyes. "We got nothing to talk about . . . Officer." She shook her head. "I don't know where Vice finds you kids. Don't you have height and weight requirements anymore?"

  Fine; let her assume he was SFPD. "I'm Homicide, not Vice. I'm looking for a woman who might have been hanging around the area the past week or so . . . small, dark hair, violet eyes. She isn't a professional, but she'll have been up here every night, hitting on a different guy each time."

  The hooker snorted. "The amateurs cruise the bars, not the street."

  "She has to walk through the street to reach the bars. You sure you haven't seen her?"

  She thought a moment. "Violet eyes?"

  "And dark hair. A petite woman, pretty. Foreign accent."

  The hooker shook her head. "Nope. Sorry." She eyed him more closely, and smiling, moved closer. The scents of her blood and perfume carressed him. "You know, for being a cop and so skinny and all, there's still something kind of . . . interesting about you. Did you ever consider that just like you're not always on duty, neither am I?" Her voice went professionally husky. She leaned still closer, the warm, tantalizing scent of her blood setting hunger snarling in Garreth. "Your pistol starts weighting you down, little boy blue, come look me up." Her hand ran down his crotch. "The name's Anita."

  If he stayed near her any longer, the hunger was going to take control of him and drag her into the nearest alley. "Anita," he echoed, and hurriedly moved away.

  Distance helped push hunger back in its cage. A passing couple helped more. The reek of garlic from what had to be their recent Italian meal snapped around his throat like a noose. Garreth did not collapse or choke enough to attract attention, but he leaned against a light pole for support while he fought for breath. By the time air moved freely through his lungs again, hunger had vanished in the profound pleasure of breathing.

  He resumed asking about Irina. Questions to several more hookers and a number of barkers through the area all brought negative replies, however. No one remembered a woman of that description.

  A glance at his watch showed fifteen minutes until the bars closed. Smoothing his mustache, he frowned thoughtfully down the street and debated whether to try a few more questions or pack it in for the night and head for the piers.

  The debate broke off as he felt eyes on him. Garreth turned to find a tall, lean young man in an Italian-cut suit glaring furiously. In one sweeping glance Garreth took in the carefully blow-dried hair, the silk shirt open halfway down the chest, and the bulging crotch of the tight trousers.

  Garreth folded his arms. "What's your problem, cowboy?"

  "You, Jack," the hustler snapped. "You're trespassing." His eyes flared red with the reflection of passing car lights.

  Shock jolted Garreth. He sucked in his breath. A taste of the incoming air told him no scent of blood came from the other man, either. "You-you're another."

  The hustler closed on him. "Right, and this is my territory, Jack. There's plenty of game here for everyone but you find some other block and fucking well stay there." Grabbing the front of Garreth's jacket and shirt, he jerked him almost off the ground. "Or I'll be forced to hurt you."

  Any police officer learned to tolerate verbal abuse, but manhandling was another matter entirely. Garreth reacted without even thinking. A knee drove hard into the hustler's groin.

  The man dropped into a groaning knot of pain on the sidewalk.

  "Don't touch me," Garreth snapped. "Don't you ever touch me again, or you'll be the one hurt!"

  People had stopped and were staring. Barkers for a couple of the clubs started forward.

  Garreth whipped out his badge case for a quick flash at them. "Thanks, gentlemen, but I have it under control." He dragged the hustler to his feet and down the sidewalk. "Walk. We have things to talk about."

  "We've got nothing to talk about." The hustler pulled loose from him and leaned against a building, grimacing. "I don't care if you are a cop, this is still my territory."

  "I'm not after your fucking territory! Look, all I want is information."

  "Information?" The hustler blinked, then frowned skeptically. "What kind of information?"

  "On a woman . . . one of us. Small, dark hair, violet eyes. Eastern European accent. Have you seen or talked to her?"

  "I don't think so, but then,"-the hustler grimaced wryly-"I don't move in exactly the same circles as some others of the blood around here."

  The hair on Garreth's neck prickled. "Others? What circles?"

  The hustler snorted. "Jesus. Where've you been living, Jack?" Then his eyes narrowed, a sly light glittering in them. "Say, maybe-"

  "Ricky! Hey, Ricky," a female voice called. "Come on. I've got us a three-"

  The voice stopped short. Garreth looked around and raised brows at a blond hooker behind him.

  She stared back, eyes hard, then focused past him on the hus­tler, voice going casual. "A friend wants to buy the two of us a drink, Ricky . . . if you're interested."

  After a hesitant glance at Garreth, the hustler said, "Sure I'm interested." He ducked around Garreth to follow her to a Continental at the curb. A man sat behind the wheel. As he climbed into the car, the hustler called over his shoulder, "I think maybe I can help you, Jack. Meet me back here in two hours and we'll discuss it."

  13

  Hunting quickly used up the two hours. Once he recaptured the skill he had had to learn to hunt, Garreth slipped like a shadow through the darkness of the covered piers, using his hypnotic power on rats so he could pick them up to break their necks and slit their throats with a switch blade. It took only minutes to decide that he liked hunting around Baumen better. There he had the exhilaration of the run to and from the pastures, often with a curious coyote for escort, and blood from one cow would fill the thermos without harm to the animal, compared to the dozen or more rats that had to die here. The strain of keeping alert for sounds indicating possible discovery added no pleasure to the hunt, either.

  Still, it was blood, and with both stomach and thermos filled, he drove up to meet Ricky. The vampire was not there. Garreth waited, sure the hustler would show up sooner or later. The tone of his words made it clear that the discussion he had in mind was to fix a price on his information, and vermin like Ricky never wasted opportunities for making a buck.

  After an hour Ricky had still not appeared, however, and Garreth gave up. The three-way trick with the hooker and her john must have proven more profitable than selling information to a cop. Driving back to Harry's house, he slid inside, stowed the thermos in the refrigerator, and slipped upstairs to fall into bed.

  14

  Pounding on the door and the sound of Lien calling his name dragged him back to consciousness. "Garreth? Garreth, we're leaving for work. Sleep in as long as you like, then help yourself to whatever you want for breakfast. I've left a message for you from I Ching on the kitchen table. Be sure to read it. We'll see you later."

  So she still consulted the Sage every morning to see what the day held for Harry, and today, for him. "Okay. Thanks," he mumbled.

  Sleep in as long as he liked. He would. Sometime he had to see Holle, but afternoon would be soon enough. Late afternoon.

  The thought trailed away as he sank back into sleep.

  Sleep, not rest. He dreamed of stalking the hustler up Broadway. As he tried to catch the other vampire, however, he felt someone watching him. Lane? The spicy musk of her perfume curled out of the blood scents around him. He swore bitterly. Would her shadow never stop following him? Every time he turned around, he glimpsed her tall, red-haired figure, but when he pursued her, she became a small woman with violet eyes who vanished among the crowd before he could see her face.

  Lane's voice remained, though. It called to him from every shadow. "Garreth. Lover. Come to me. Come to me, Mik-san."

  Mik-san?

&nb
sp; In the dream he pounded his fist against a wall. Shit. That had to be a real voice calling him, not Lane's. Cursing wearily, he clawed his way back toward consciousness.

  "Mik-san." The doorknob rattled in a futile attempt to open the door. A fist pounded. "It's Harry. Wake up, damn it!"

  Maybe Dracula knew what he was doing sleeping in a crypt deep under the castle. From there no doorbell could disburb him, no matter how long and hard friends and salesmen from the daylight world leaned on it. Without opening his eyes, Garreth called through gritted teeth, "I have a loaded gun, Harry. In five seconds I am going to fire it through the door at whoever is stupid enough to be standing there."

  "At last. I thought maybe you'd died in there, Mik-san."

  The man not only woke him, but had the unmitigated gall to sound cheerful! "I'm not kidding, Harry."

  "I'm not either, I'm afraid. You have to get up. It's important. Besides, this isn't the middle of the morning; it's three-fifteen in the afternoon."

  Three- Garreth pried open his eyes, only to squeeze them shut again in pain. Sunlight flooded around and through the thin window shades. Struggling out of bed, he groped blindly for his sport coat hanging on the closet door and fished his glasses out of the breast pocket. With them on, he stumbled over to unlock and open the door.

  In the hall, Harry wore a grimly unhappy expression.

  A chill slid down Garreth's spine. "What's wrong?"

  Harry grimaced. "You're sure a hard man to wake up. When no one answered the phone, we thought you'd gotten up and gone out. Then the black-and-white spotted your car still here, so they tried knocking on the door. Without any response. So Serruto asked me to drive home and see if you were inside."

  The cold in Garreth's spine deepened. "Why, Harry?" And why did he have this sudden vision of violet eyes peering out of the shadows at him?

  Harry rubbed at a flaw on the paint of the doorjam. "What do you know about a guy named Richard Maruska?"

  Garreth frowned. "I've never heard of him. Who is he?"

  Harry sighed. "A male prostitute. Faye and Centrello's new case. Some people they've talked to say they heard a guy threaten him last night up in North Beach, a guy who claimed to be a cop and who fits your description, Mik-san."

  1

  Harry pushed open the door of the squad room. "Here he is. Now let's get this nonsense cleared up."

  Heads swiveled in their direction. Fowler, standing by Faye's desk with his wrists cuffed behind his back and a pick in one hand, broke off in the middle of an apparent handcuff-escape demonstration for Faye, Centrello, and Girimonte, his brows arching expectantly.

  From the doorway of his office, Serruto pointed at the glassed-in interview room in the opposite corner, and said, "Not you," to Fowler.

  Fowler shrugged and went on working at the lock of the cuffs.

  The detectives, the lieutenant, and Garreth filed into the interview room.

  Blood scents quickly filled the confined space, washing warm and salty over Garreth, drowning him. He bit the inside of his cheek, but the pain did not provide enough distraction. He remembered how he crouched over the girl at the accident again, rain pouring over him and the taste of her blood sweet liquid fire in his mouth. Longing seared his throat.

  Think about something else, man. Think about the hustler. How can he possibly be dead? A vision of a sharp wooden stake flashed in Garreth's mind. He twitched away from it. Harry would surely have mentioned something that bizarre.

  "You call this nonsense, Takananda?" Serruto asked.

  The blood smells still surged around him. Garreth felt sweat break out under his mustache. He fought the impulse to grab a chair and throw it through a window to flood the room with fresh air. Except that would let in more light, too. The weight of day dragged enough at him already.

  Harry frowned from the lieutenant to Faye, Centrello, and Girimonte. "I told you before-he was sound asleep at my place all night."

  Serruto sat down on a corner of the table in the middle of the room. "And what do you say, Mikaelian?"

  Garreth forced himself to focus on the lieutenant. There was no point in trying to deny he had been in North Beach. Faye and Centrello's witnesses had to be the barkers who saw his scuffle with the hustler; they would make him in a second in a lineup. He had shown them his ID, for God's sake. No, what he had to do was concoct a reasonable excuse for being there.

  If he could only think . . . but his mind spun uselessly. All he could think about was the blood smells around him and the taste of that girl's blood.

  Serruto folded his arms. "Well, Mikaelian?"

  Fowler paced the squad room outside, free of the cuffs and obviously eaten by curiosity. Those inside the room stared hard at Garreth. Harry had growing concern creasing his forehead.

  Think, man. Think, Garreth snarled at himself. At least buy yourself some time for it. "Yes, I decked that hustler." He sent Harry an apologetic smile. "Sorry."

  The betrayal in Harry's eyes went through Garreth's gut like a knife. "But-how-"

  "How did I happen to be up there?" Okay, now lie your heart out, Mikaelian. "I've worked nights for a year and a half, Harry. After a couple of hours I woke up and couldn't go back to sleep. I went downstairs to read but couldn't concentrate on that, either. So I went for a drive and ended up in North Beach." He glanced at Faye and Centrello. "How did just a physical description and a claim of being a cop make you think of me?"

  "The guy showed the witnesses a police ID, but the badge was an oval shield, not a star," Centrello said. "How many visiting cops can we have who look and dress like you?" He pointed at Garreth's yellow turtleneck and tan corduroy jacket.

  "Tell us about the hustler," Serruto said. Steel edged the words.

  That helped him forget about the blood scents. Fast. Garreth made himself shrug while cold crawled through him. "There's nothing much to tell. I was just up there walking around and he grabbed me. I kneed him without thinking. What would you have done?"

  They said nothing but agreement flashed in every pair of eyes. None of them would have tolerated manhandling, either.

  "After I picked him up it turned out he'd mistaken me for someone else. Then a blond hooker came along and he got into a car with her and another guy-a late­model Continental with California plates. I didn't catch all of the license number. Two-two-something with the last letters UW or VW. Didn't the barkers tell you about that?"

  "Yeah," Faye said. "They also said Maruska called something about being able to help you and meeting you in two hours."

  "Help you with what, Mikaelian?" Serruto asked.

  More steel. He gave the lieutenant a tight smile. "I don't understand why you're so interested in me. He didn't keep the appointment. I never saw him again. How did he die? Did his little three-way with the hooker and her john go bad?"

  Serruto repeated evenly, "We'd like to know what he was going to help you with."

  The only plausible lie that came to mind was one that Serruto would not like. Garreth used it anyway. "Lane Barber. The hustler thought he might have some information on her."

  The lieutenant's mouth set in a grim line. "Mikaelian, I warned you about-"

  "I'm not tracking her on my own! I swear. I just stumbled across this possibility while I was talking to the hustler. If it had panned out, I would have told Harry, just like I told him about Holle. So." Garreth made his voice casual. "How and where did the guy die?"

  "Not in the middle of the three-way," Centrello said. "The barkers gave us the hooker's name and we've talked to her. She swears Ricky left her and headed back to meet you. His roommate came home this morning and found him in the bathtub. His throat had been slashed and his neck broken. Coroner says he died between three and six."

  The nervous system destroyed. Of course. That was the only permanent death. But how did the killer manage it? No human could overpower a vampire at night.

  Maybe no human had. Violet eyes floated in the shadows of Garreth's mind.

  "Where's the gray
turtleneck you wore yesterday?" Serruto asked.

  "At the house." Grimy with dust from the piers, but at least not splashed with blood, not even rat blood. He had been very careful about that. The knowledge did not stop the chill of fear biting into him. "Hey, you don't seriously think I had anything to do with it."

  They all glanced at each other. Girimonte's eyes narrowed speculatively. Harry looked down. Serruto said, "At the moment, Mikaelian, you're all we've got."

  Adrenaline surged through Garreth, icy hot. Could he really mean that? "This is crazy. It's a case with more holes than Swiss cheese and you know it! I was never near the hustler's apartment, wherever it is, and you won't find anyone who's seen me there."

  Centrello sighed. "Unfortunately no one we talked to in the building saw anyone. At that time of night they were all asleep."

  "Then check my prints against the ones the lab-" Schneider rapped on the door. "Harry, phone call for you. A Mr. Leonard Holle. He sounds excited." Harry left to take it. Two minutes later he was back at a run with Fowler right behind him. "Barber's turned up! Holle went to check the apartment this afternoon and it's been cleaned out! He's waiting there for us."

  A chorus of indrawn breath rolled around the interview room. Relieved breath, Garreth noted with relief of his own.

  Harry smirked. "So we have someone else after all. Barber could have been in North Beach last night and heard Garreth's conversation with Maruska, then killed him to keep him quiet."

  "Slitting his throat and breaking his neck are rather her style, aren't they?" Fowler asked. His eyes glittered.

  Garreth bit his lip in dismay. Lord, what had he done? Screwed up royally. The department would be wasting its time and manpower hunting the wrong person.

  On the other hand, did he really want them finding Irina?

  Serruto scowled at Fowler. "It could be Barber." He glanced at Harry. "I expect if it is Barber, you're going to want a piece of this hustler case. Faye, Centrello, do you have any objections to giving it all to him?"