by P. N. Elrod
I put my hand out. “Hello, Gordy.”
He registered a flicker of surprise, slowly stood, and shook hands. He was beyond trying to prove himself with a crushing grasp and gave me a firm, careful grip.
“Fleming,” he returned. “Bobbi said you might turn up.”
“Yeah.”
“She says you’re taking good care of her.”
I wasn’t sure how he meant that. Bobbi wasn’t dependent on me financially, so he must have been referring to our emotional relationship. He was too polite where Bobbi was concerned to make cheap remarks on our sex life.
“She’s a wonderful girl.”
“Glad you know that.”
“And if I didn’t?”
“I’d sic Marza on you.”
It was my turn for surprise. I hadn’t expected him to make a joke. I glanced over to the piano and saw he was serious, after all. Marza was glaring at us, and from her expression, all she needed were some snakes for hair to turn us to stone.
“No, thanks.” I hooked a chair so we could sit and be eye to eye. Standing with him was uncomfortable. I wasn’t used to looking up at people, and Gordy was tall enough to give Paul Bunyan a stiff neck. “How are things at the club?”
He shrugged and settled into the sofa. “Had to put up with a raid last week.”
“The casino?”
“It looks good for City Hall in the papers, but they should hold off until just before election, like they usually do. They grabbed all my slot machines and chopped up the tables. Take a few weeks to get new ones, but by that time the heat will be off. The club’s still open, lot of the regulars still ask after Bobbi.”
“You think she’ll go back?”
“Not after all that mess with Slick. Can’t blame her.”
“Nope.”
“You working?”
“Sort of.”
“Need a job?”
“What kind?”
“What kind you need?”
I shook my head and smiled. “Thanks.”
“About that mess with Slick—”
“No hard feelings, Gordy.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
“I mean, sorry if I hurt you. I was just doing a job.”
“You didn’t hurt me.”
“I didn’t? How come?”
“You already know that.”
He took a long pull on his drink, studying me. “ ’Sfunny, you don’t look any different from a hundred other guys off the street.”
“If I did, I wouldn’t survive long. People notice when you’re different.”
“Hell, you don’t have to tell me that.”
“You always been big?”
“Ma said I weighed thirteen pounds when I was born. Damn near killed her. You wanna drink?”
“No, thanks.”
Again the long study. “You eat anything?”
“Not eat.”
“So that stuff’s true, that you only drink—”
“Yeah, that part’s true.”
“What about Bobbi? Doesn’t that hurt her?”
“If it did, I’d stop seeing her. Why not ask her yourself?”
“Nah, I couldn’t do that.”
“If you’re worried, just look at her, she’s healthy.”
He looked. She was in a corner talking and laughing with a white-haired man with a beard. “She’s not under some kind of spell or something?”
I made an effort to match his serious face. “None.”
He digested this. “Okay. I just wanted to make sure about a few things.”
“On the other hand, I could be lying.”
His head went back and forth in a slight wobble, his version of laughter. “Hell, kid, you ain’t no liar.”
Bobbi introduced me to some names and faces, and a couple of the voices that went with them were familiar because I’d heard them on the radio. We made the rounds, and then it was my turn to do some steering.
“What gives?” she asked when I took a determined grip on her arm.
“You’ll find out.”
The only unoccupied place was the bathroom, not the most romantic setting, but it was private.
“Alone at last,” I sighed.
“At least until the next customer comes—there’s a lot of booze flowing out there.”
“Too bad. I wanted to see you for a minute without an audience.”
“Oh, so what do you think?” Hands on hips, she did a slow turn. She was in her best color, which was no color; something white and clinging, probably silk.
I shrugged. “It’s all right, but the hem’s too long.”
She made a playful swat at my stomach. “Stinker, it’s perfect and you know it.”
“Only because you’re in it.” Then we took up where we left off when I first came in.
After a few minutes she came up for air. “Say, you did miss me.”
“Very much,” I muttered, nosing around in her hair. Her head tilted back and my lips brushed against the large vein of her throat. I ran my tongue over the two small wounds there, taking in the slight salt taste of her skin and feeling the strong pulse beneath.
Then the damn phone rang and made us both jump because it was so close.
“Hell, what’s that doing in here?” I complained.
“Better in here than the bedroom. Hello?”
It was someone from the radio station working late. They hashed out a minor scheduling problem and hung up.
“Why the long face?” she asked.
I curled my upper lip back and made a mock growling sound.
“Oh,” she said with vast understanding, and cuddled back into my arms.
“When can you get rid of your friends?” I lisped.
“As soon as the booze runs out, which shouldn’t be too long with that crowd. Why wait? You can nibble on me in here.”
“That’s like going straight to the dessert and skipping the rest of the banquet. I want us to take some time and enjoy everything.”
This disconcerted her a bit, and a blush fanned over her cheeks. “Dammit, sometimes I feel like a schoolgirl with you.”
“Isn’t it great?”
On this occasion, Bobbi proved to be a terrible hostess and ran out of drinkable alcohol before the guests had run out of party enthusiasm. But her guests were resourceful: one of the girls suggested removing to a nearby bar that she thought was still open and led an exodus for it. Bobbi and I promised to be along and somehow forgot about it the moment the last person was gone.
Her white dress was certainly beautiful, but since I’d arrived, the major thought on my mind had been how to get it off her. The fastenings were located on the left side instead of in the back, but she slipped away before my inquisitive fingers could accomplish anything.
“Help me search the place,” she said from the kitchen.
“For what?”
“In case someone got left behind. That happened to me once, and it’s damned embarrassing.”
We searched the place and then later, much later, in a sleepy voice she said, “Welcome home.”
“Thanks.”
“I mean it. Move in with me.”
“Move in?”
“I want you around all the time.”
“What would the neighbors think?”
“Whatever they like, I don’t care.”
“Bobbi, I don’t want to say no—”
“But that’s your answer.”
“It has to be.”
“Why?”
“Because of what I am.”
“Because you have to be up to your eyeballs in some cemetery by dawn, right?”
“Something like that. I’d be very dull company during the day. I just don’t want you to see me like that. You don’t let me see you in curlers.”
“Listen, if I can get used to your not breathing—”
“This is different, it’s different for me. What I’ve been through, what I’ve become—I’m still trying to get used to it. I
don’t know how else to explain why. This is nothing against you.”
“I know. You’ve had a lot of things happen to you all at once.”
“I need some time.”
She sighed. “Then don’t worry about it. If it’s no, it’s no.”
“You can be pretty damn terrific.”
“Yeah, and I just realized what sort of commotion would happen if someone like the maid happened to find you while she was dusting. Having a coffin lying around with a body in it might upset the hotel staff.”
I laughed. “Good grief, I don’t use a coffin.”
“I thought all vampires did.”
“Maybe they do, but not me—I have a more modern steamer trunk. It’s smaller, just as light proof, and a lot less conspicuous.”
“Very clever.”
“I have to lay low for a while, anyway.”
“What’s wrong? Is it Gordy?”
“No, nothing like that.”
We lay comfortably tangled together in the dark, and I told her about my trip and in particular about Braxton and Webber. “They can travel during the day, so they’re probably in Chicago by now and looking around. I just want you to watch out for them, or for anyone asking after me.”
“You’re the one who needs to watch out if they’re trying to kill you.”
“They won’t. I can lose myself in a city this big.”
“Forever?”
“Until I can figure out what to do about them or until they run out of money.”
“Look, I can call up Gordy. He and some of the boys can throw a scare into them—”
“Bobbi, my sweet, they are determined to track down a hideous, bloodthirsty vampire; a demonic creature of the night. Do you think they’ll be intimidated by a couple of gangsters with guns and brass knuckles?”
“Who said anything about intimidation? Gordy can just have their legs broken.”
“I can do that myself,” I said dryly. “Just promise me you’ll be careful. They may try to save you from my evil clutches.”
“But I like being clutched by you.”
“I doubt if they could understand that.”
“Got any idea what to do about them?”
“I don’t know, I’d like to talk it over with Charles first and see what he thinks.”
“I’m glad you mentioned him. He called today, but I’d forgotten all about it because of the party. He wanted you to drop by when you got back, no matter how late.”
“Even this late?”
“He said if the lights were on to come in.”
“I hate to leave you. . . .”
“Oh, pooh, you’ll have to go sooner or later, so come on. I’m hungry now, anyway.” She rustled her way out from the sheets, and I obediently followed her to the kitchen.
What with our reluctant good-byes and some unexpected early traffic, it was close to six before I got to Escott’s. My rearview mirror was clear all the way over, which was encouraging, and when I arrived, there were welcoming lights in the windows. He must have heard me pull up, for the door opened before I knocked and a cloud of stale pipe smoke and white dust billowed out along with his greeting.
“I finally got your message. Sorry I’m so late.”
“Not at all. Do come in.” He was dressed uncharacteristically in some ancient paint-spattered overalls and his hair was full of plaster dust. “Please excuse my appearance, I started the job today and it turned out to be more involved than I thought.” He ushered me into the parlor.
“What are you doing?”
“At the moment, taking a well-deserved break. It seems the previous owners subdivided all the bedrooms so they could accommodate more customers at one time. I’ve been upstairs knocking down a wall.”
“You’ve been at it all night?”
“It’s a very stubborn wall, if I may anthropomorphize it.”
“When do you sleep?”
“Hardly ever,” he said in an indifferent tone.
“What’d you want to see me for?”
“This. I’m not in a position to judge. It will be for you to decide what to do.” Before I could ask what he was talking about, he reached for a folded newspaper and pointed to a circled item in the public notices. My fingers grew cold as I read it.
Jack, will you please call me. I want to talk to you about Maureen.
There was no name, only a phone and room number. I stared at the symbols on the page as though they could tell me more.
“Sorry about the shock, old man,” he was saying. “I knew you would want to know about this as soon as possible, but I couldn’t really give any details to Miss Smythe.”
I read the ad again, not believing it, but none of the wording had changed. “How long has it been running?”
“It started the day after you left.”
Then I stopped being stunned and things cleared up for me. “That old bastard . . .”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Braxton must have planted it to try and trap me.”
“Who is Braxton?”
“Someone else you can check up on when you go to New York. He knew Maureen, or at least I think he did.” I settled back and told him the story of the last three nights of my life. “The kid said they began looking for me when they noticed my ad was gone. This is probably just bait to flush me out.”
“I think not. I took the liberty of tracking down the number. It belongs to a small but respectable hotel near the Loop. When I made inquiries, I was told to go to room twenty-three, occupied by a Miss Gaylen Dumont. She arrived two days ago from New York; a semi-invalid, she takes her meals in her room and is regarded as a very quiet, trouble-free guest. The name suggests that she is a relative of Maureen Dumont.”
“Gaylen?” I repeated blankly. “I wouldn’t know, Maureen never talked about her family.”
“People who don’t generally have a good reason. In the simple cause of common sense, I counsel you to be cautious about this.”
“Hell, yes, I’ll be cautious. Did you learn anything else?”
“She is in her seventies, listens to dance music on the radio, and doesn’t like fried foods.”
“How did you—”
“It is amazing how much one can learn from a hotel’s staff when the right questions are applied in the right manner. Have you any reason to think that Braxton might be connected with this woman?”
“If he knew Maureen, he might know this Gaylen. I just don’t know.”
“This could be bad timing or coincidence, but it will be safer if you assume it is not. You removed your ad and some people noticed.”
“Yeah, but not the one that mattered.” The paper twitched in my hands. “I’m checking on this first thing tomorrow night. Want to come along?”
“I was leaving for New York tomorrow, or rather today, but I can postpone the trip if you wish.”
“No, I couldn’t ask you to do that. I guess I can handle one old lady.”
Escott looked out the front window. “Jack, it’s getting lighter. If you’ve no other place to stay, perhaps we should move you in now.”
“Jeez, I forgot.”
My second trunk went into the basement next to the first, and between us we emptied the car of thirty-six bags of earth, piling them neatly in a corner. The faint gray of dawn was just beginning to hurt my eyes when we finished. Escott dusted his hands off.
“I’ll bid you good morning now, I still have some cleaning up to do.”
“It won’t disturb me,” I assured him.
“No, I daresay it would not. Pleasant dreams.” He climbed the basement steps and shut the door.
As long as I had my soil around me I was past the point of being able to dream. All the speculations tumbling through my brain would have only given me nightmares, anyway. There were some compensations to my condition, I thought as I wearily lowered the lid of my trunk to hide for another day.
6
ABOUT thirteen hours later I emerged from the basement, drawn by the swish-and-cri
nkle sound of pages being turned. Escott was in the parlor, half-buried in a drift of newsprint.
“I thought you’d be on a train by now,” I said, dropping into a leather chair next to his radio.
He gave out with a slight shrug. “I seem to be acquiring your habits. I was up late and overslept.”
“The whole day?”
“Most of it. Knocking down walls is a very exhausting exercise. This afternoon was too late to make a good start, and by then my curiosity about Gaylen Dumont had grown considerably. If she has any useful information it could save me much trouble. I’d like to meet her, but if you would rather go alone, please don’t hesitate to say so. I shall be more than happy to wait here for your return.”
“Nothing doing, I could use the moral support.”
He looked relieved, but covered it by picking up his cold pipe and fiddling with it. “I’ll do my best.”
The papers weren’t thrown about haphazardly, but shuffled into stacks on the sofa and floor. A neat pile was on one end of the table, each refolded so that it was open to the personal column. I flipped through them, and each had the same ad he’d shown me the night before.
“They are all the papers that you had used,” he pointed out. “Either she knew which ones or she is remarkably thorough.”
“I’ll find out.”
His phone clung to a dingy wall in the kitchen, which he hadn’t gotten around to repainting yet. With one of the papers in hand, I carefully dialed the number. A professional voice answered, identifying the West Star Hotel and asked if it could help me. I asked for room twenty-three and heard clicking sounds.
After five rings a woman said hello. Her voice jarred me to the core because it was Maureen’s voice. I bit my tongue and counted to five until I could respond normally.
“I’m calling about the ad. I think I’m the Jack you want to talk to.”
There was a pause at the other end and I heard a long, soft sigh being released. “Jack,” she finally said. “Could you prove that somehow? I’ve had two crank calls already.”