Ian thought to himself, Taken by a devil monster? Maybe he was.
Ned took a deep breath then continued, “Anyway, the gal … the possible jumper that disappeared from the mortuary … We did get a positive ID on her. Her name was, let me think, Brenda Peterson. Yeah, that’s it. A runaway hooker known on the streets of Portland as Lucy. She and a couple other pros lived in a shitty apartment downtown, just off Burnside. She ran away from home at sixteen. Not much of a rap-sheet. Had a couple priors for prostitution. Originally from Eugene. Mom died a few years ago from cancer. Dad left the family high and dry a couple years before that. I tell you all this only ‘cause shit’s getting way weird. Out of control. It’s gonna quickly turn into a media circus if we don’t cut the balls off this dog soon.” Ned turned towards Scout. “No disrespect intended.” Ned then turned his attention back to Ian and continued. “You two keep your heads down, and mind ya, be careful. Stay in touch. Good hunting.”
“Ned. That hooker you were just talking about. So, she died around three days ago, right?” Ian asked.
Ned paused before he replied, “Yeah, that’s about right I guess. Why you ask?”
“Oh ... I don’t know. No reason really,” Ian said as he thought, Three days ago … Hmm, power of three.
CHAPTER 13
Hide and Seek
Zoey was seated at the small kitchenette in Ian’s trailer as she and Ian began to examine all of the fruits of their full day of shopping.
Though purchased for Ian, Zoey held up against her chest a black, crew-neck t-shirt, one that sported some death metal band’s name and logo that Ian had never heard of. Ian was ignorant to the specific meaning but understood the concept of the theatrics regarding the band’s use of the pentacle and witchcraft-like symbols.
Zoey smiled as she spoke, “This is gonna look great on you. You better not wear any of this garb around town other than of course the regular jeans, shirts, socks and underwear you bought for everyday. Anyway, all these club rags … You need to hide this look from anyone around here. This is your secret club persona.”
Ian nearly laughed as he thought to himself, Wear any of that crap anywhere other than that club. Ha! I plan on burning it all when this is over.
He tried desperately to maintain an open mind. He did a fair job of mustering an almost believable, unassuming expression as he looked the shirt over. Under normal circumstances, Ian wouldn’t have been caught dead in it but he thought, Ah what the hell? These aren’t what you’d call normal circumstances. Wearing this ridiculous shit won’t kill me, but if we don’t blend in, that could get us both killed. Ian decided it was time to turn the focus from the freaky frocks to more pressing matters.
Ian blurted out, “Zoey, I want to get inside that club.”
Zoey, a bit taken aback, looked up from the shirt that Ian was still holding next to his chest as she replied, “Uh, yeah. That’s the whole idea.”
Ian smiled as he set the shirt down onto his little dining table. He momentarily shook his head and continued, “No … I mean yes. That’s the idea, right. But what I mean is, I want to get inside and check things out during the day. Mainly the ground, or rather the wharf-level floor. I’m not so interested in the club upstairs. That’s probably pretty normal. Weird, but well, you know what I mean.” Ian thought regardless of what Clayton said about vampires and sunlight, he’d still rather take his chances while the sun was still up.
Zoey looked curiously at Ian. “Are you saying … Now let me get this straight. You want to sneak … You want to break into that joint?”
Ian, with a slight grin on his face, nodded somewhat timidly.
Zoey paused for a protracted moment. After giving Ian plenty of time to have added to or retracted from what he’d just conveyed, Zoey said, “Why Ian, I had no idea you were such a rebel.”
Ian grabbed his coat, then began helping Zoey slip hers on as well as he spoke. “Let’s get going. We haven’t much time. It’ll be getting dark in a couple hours.” Zoey was slightly unnerved by the nervous tone in Ian’s voice.
She spoke up with intended levity, “Yeah, we should get there before the dead wake up hungry.”
Ian, slightly unsettled by Zoey’s comment, looked directly into her eyes as he thought, If she only knew how right she just might be.
Zoey picked up on Ian’s befuddled expression and responded, “What? That was funny, right?” Ian didn’t answer. He just half-smiled as he nodded.
It was 3:15 p.m. when Ian, Zoey, and Scout reached their destination. Ian parked his Jeep one block north and two streets up from the area of the waterfront where Salizzar’s nightclub was located. He cracked open a couple windows of his Jeep. “You stay here and hold down the fort, Scout,” Ian said while opening Zoey’s door and helping her out of the vehicle. Scout panted and wagged his tail but began pacing back and forth in the back seat. Ian could see that Scout was behaving a little nervously.
Zoey spoke up. “Okay, here we go. But Ian, please go over the plan with me one more time.”
Ian and Zoey began walking down the sidewalk, heading towards the waterfront. Ian took a deep breath and began to go over his make-shift plan. “Uh, well, like I said during our ride here, this is going to be pretty much a ‘wing-it’ ordeal. I don’t know if we stand any chance of getting into the joint, especially without being seen. His warehouse may … It probably has a security system, like his house, the former Flavel House Museum. If so, we’re done before we get started. We certainly don’t want to get arrested for breaking and entering.”
Zoey glanced over at Ian. “No, we don’t want that. That would totally fuck up our cover.”
Ian replied, “Yeah, it would. That would be totally fucked up. I mean, it would certainly fuck up everything. Which would be really fucked.” Zoey started laughing at Ian’s overused, forced F-bombs. It was more than apparent that the F-bomb was not at the top of Ian’s small arsenal of seldom–uttered, descriptive expletives. Ian was trying to be funny and also trying to act a bit more in tune with his new look.
Zoey laughed as she said loudly, “FUCK YEAH!”
Ian and Zoey walked briskly across a cross-walk. They were heading north on the waterfront boardwalk still with a block to go to get to their destination. Ian continued telling Zoey his semblance of a plan. “Maybe, if we get lucky, there will be some way inside. You know, like a window around back that’s not locked. Something. I just hope besides doors being alarmed … I hope the place isn’t armed with motion detectors or a gauntlet of a spider-web of laser beams or whatever.”
Zoey looked suspiciously at Ian. With a smirk on her face, she said, “Oh, this sounds like a good plan. What could possibly go wrong? Spider-web of laser beams ... come on ... James Bond.” Zoey rolled her eyes and giggled quietly to herself.
Ian smiled and shook his head slightly as he replied, “Yeah, what could possibly go right?”
A few moments later Ian and Zoey stood on the north end of the nightclub’s deck-style parking lot, which was part of the expansive river front dock system that collectively covered at least a half-mile of Astoria’s waterfront. The large warehouse that served as The Morgue nightclub had been built nearly fifty years ago by the Bumble Bee Seafood Company as part of their tuna and salmon processing and canning operations. Bumble Bee had shut down their canneries in Astoria over thirty years ago. Ian had read about it in one of the coastal informational brochures on Astoria that he’d picked up shortly after arriving in the area.
The large warehouse-turned-nightclub had to be, by Ian’s estimation, over twenty thousand square feet and spanned from the nearest terrestrial road all the way to the very edge of the river side of the dock. Ian mused, Lucky guy … or whatever you are. You could fish right from any window on the river side of the joint. Oh well. No matter. I don’t imagine you eat fish.
Ian couldn’t help but admire the waterfront dock system, constructed of enormous timbers fashioned to be enormous wooden planks which served as the dock’s foundation. It was all suppo
rted by hundreds of huge, coal-tar, creosote-coated pylons, which were collectively engineered by design and placement to afford maximum strength and support to the docks.
Ian noted the construction was somewhat similar to turn-of-the-century train trestle bridge supports. He surmised the entire docking system was probably originally constructed not long after that period, but it was very apparent that it had been continuously well-maintained and no doubt upgraded in many ways over the years.
Ian marveled at the dock’s construction as he silently thought to himself, This entire suspended waterfront was certainly built to stand the test of time and the elements. Imagine the relentless battering from storms, the continuous wearing away at the pylons from this incredibly powerful tidal river. Amazing.
Ian noticed that there were spacings between some of the massive planks large enough to actually see the river’s edge not twenty feet below. Ian quickly deduced by noting water markings on the pylons that it was nearly low tide. He smiled as he took a deep breath. The faint wafting smell of fish entrails mixed lightly with an even lighter hint of salt in the air was both fabulous as well as nostalgically fragrant to Ian. It reminded him of visiting Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco with his parents when he was a boy. The smell of salt in the air was of no more surprise to Ian than was the smell of fish as he mused, The mouth of the Columbia, where it dumps into the open ocean, is less than five miles from here by way the crow, or rather the seagull, flies.
With that thought, Ian paused for a moment to watch the seagulls hang-glide the winds. Occasionally, one would land on top of the nightclub, using the high vantage point as a lookout for any fish in the river that might venture too close to the water’s surface for its own good, or any potentially meaty mussels attached to rocks and pylons that might become exposed by the rapidly-ebbing tide.
Ian couldn’t help but visualize some mental similarities between the gulls and perhaps other predators that might be residing in that building, ones that might be watching him and Zoey right now, just waiting for them to venture close enough that they might swoop down and snatch them up for a late afternoon snack.
Ian’s attention was suddenly diverted from the gulls and the warehouse. He smiled as he spotted a couple of otters frolicking in the water. They too were going for a fish or a mollusk meal as they dove deep down into the river’s cold, dark water. Ian noted that the otters were experiencing much more immediate success than the patiently watchful gulls.
Ian held Zoey’s hand for one peaceful moment. But unfortunately, that moment ended all too soon as he gazed upwards at the fast-moving clouds that had momentarily parted just enough to reveal a glimpse of the sun, which was in the final approach to its daily descent behind the western hills. Ian wished he and Zoey were back at Long Beach, where they could be enjoying the sun setting into the sea rather than fearing the dusk and then the absence of light that it would bring.
Ian shivered at the realization that they had maybe thirty minutes before darkness began to engulf the river city of Astoria, inviting its creatures of the night to come out to play.
CHAPTER 14
Seek
Ian began to privately rethink his initial approach to the nightclub. Any attempt of a hopefully clandestine investigation of the place might be in vain, especially this late in the day. In vain. Ian shuddered slightly at the irony of his word choice as he thought of its homophone. Yeah, this could end up in ‘vein’ all right.
He decided it was time to let Zoey in on what he was contemplating. Ian began speaking just above a whisper. “Okay, the way I see it is, there’s probably no way to get inside the place without getting confronted by someone or tripping an alarm. That is, unless …” Zoey looked at Ian with a confused expression on her face.
“Unless, what?” she prompted before Ian could collect his thoughts and elaborate.
Ian continued, “That is, unless there’s some kind of doorway, like a trap door that gains access to the place from the river below. You know, between the pylons. Hopefully not too far from shore at low tide anyway. Trap doors like those are usually pretty common in dock warehouses. You know, so they can lower goods onto skiffs for transport out to tugs and ships. Warehouses and waterfront bars sometimes used trap doors many years ago even for unsavory things like shanghaiing.”
It seemed to make sense to Zoey, as she nodded her head in agreement.
Ian glanced at Zoey as he spoke. “Okay then. Follow me.” He began walking across the suspended parking lot towards the street. Towards land. He headed to the very edge of the dock, which he guessed would be the nearest point that might afford any chance for them to make their way beneath the dock. That would put them around a hundred yards from the warehouse, hopefully not too far for them to work their way over into position directly under the nightclub.
It seemed to be a good idea, and there was almost no pedestrian or vehicular traffic around. As they arrived at their intended destination, Ian was pleased to see that the tide was indeed low enough and far enough out to allow them to get under the docks. There was a small gate in the dock railing, one that, if opened, afforded access to what appeared to be a galvanized steel dock ladder that was permanently affixed onto the side of the dock for access beneath it.
But it was obvious from the warning sign attached to the small gate that it was for maintenance personnel only, and access by anyone else was strictly prohibited. Any trespassing violation would subject the perpetrator to arrest and at the very least a hefty fine.
Ian thought about the warning for a moment, then looked around and saw nobody in sight. He opened the gate and climbed down just far enough to see beneath the dock and ahead to what they might be facing. What Ian saw immediately put a frown on his face. It wouldn’t be easy going at all. There were planks attached to pylons that appeared to serve as a series of catwalks that led off in several directions.
One of the catwalks looked like it would at least get them under the warehouse, but the going looked tricky to say the least. Ian also noted that all around, bolted to pylons, were numerous KEEP OFF warning signs, which underscored the foolishness of them proceeding any further with his idea. He continued down the ladder until he was standing on a small platform. From there, he had access to the catwalk planks. Zoey had also climbed down and stood beside him to see for herself all that Ian had been checking out.
“Well, we didn’t come all this way for nothing, did we?” Zoey nudged Ian gently.
Ian grinned slightly, then took a deep breath. “No. No, I don’t guess we did. And what the hell ... what could possibly go wrong. Besides falling off the catwalk down onto the muddy river bottom, which will probably act much like quicksand, trapping us until the tide comes in and drowns us. Or if we make it a bit farther out, then fall, we could easily be impaled by one of those many broken planks and poles that you see protruding from the river bottom. Or if we make it further out yet, you know, where the water is, that sorta speaks for itself. Other than all that, like I said ... what could possibly go wrong?”
Zoey gently placed her right hand on Ian’s mouth, stopping him from continuing with any more morbid potentialities. She then smiled brightly as she spoke. “Or … or we could be just fine.”
Somehow, Zoey’s reassurance was all of the encouragement that Ian needed to muster up some confidence.
Ian took a deep breath, than spoke. “Okay, I’ll go first. Keep your hands … hold firmly onto something at all times. If we go slowly, you’re right. We should be fine.”
Ian paused for a moment and pointed ahead of them. “You see those planks way ahead of us? They’re so barnacle-encrusted, it tells me that sometimes the tide’s so high they are occasionally, at least partially, underwater. Let’s hope that’s not gonna be the case today. Either way, they’re gonna be slippery as all …”
Zoey interjected before Ian could complete his phrase. “Slippery as slimy snot on a door-handle.” Ian thought, Not how I would have described it, but yeah. Slippery as that.
&n
bsp; Without any further thought of the danger or the possibility of being discovered and arrested, Ian and Zoey proceeded, with Ian leading the way.
Ian turned his head to glance behind him. Zoey was no more than three feet back. They were walking on planks that were little wider than a balance beam, all the while trying to hold onto, when possible, the intermittent support pylons and sparsely affixed 4x6 inch makeshift hand-rails. Ian whispered, “Zoey, be especially careful. It looks like just ahead it gets even more sketchy.”
“Yeah, I see that,” Zoey replied in a low voice but loud enough for Ian to notice that her stress and apprehension was beginning to elevate.
Just when Ian began strongly considering that the risk was getting too great to proceed any further, he spotted it. There was indeed a trap door devised to enter into the warehouse from beneath the docks, as well as a galvanized steel access ladder that went from the catwalk all the way up to the hatchway.
There was a second ladder that went in the opposite direction from the ramp down to just a few feet above the river’s surface at what would be nearly low tide. The trap door and ladders were obviously devised for loading small boats directly from the warehouse and to facilitate human transit between warehouse to tugboats or ships by way of ‘river taxi’ motorized skiffs.
In his excitement, Ian unintentionally left Zoey behind in his hurried efforts to reach and check out the trap door. Once he reached the trap door’s metal ladder, he began to climb up the approximately ten foot distance until he was able to reach the hatchway.
Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) Page 15