Night Life

by Ray Garton

  CHAPTER FIVE

  On Wells Street, Karen parked in front of Benedek's ranch-style house with a covered porch and a big, well-groomed yard. The yard smelled of freshly mown grass. Briefcase in hand, she went up the flagstone walk, climbed the porch steps, crossed the porch, and rang the doorbell. Her nose wrinkled when she got a whiff of garlic.

  Karen had reread the file on the plane. She could imagine someone believing it all. If one were open to that sort of thing—which she tended not to be—she could understand taking it seriously and wanting to find out the truth. Unlike Keoph, she did not think Burgess had a screw loose, but she agreed with him that Burgess was likely to be very disappointed in their findings.

  There were footsteps on the other side of the door. It opened on a tall, slightly stooped, but trim and fit man in his mid-sixties with thick white hair. He wore small round glasses beneath his bushy eyebrows. His long, rubbery face reminded Karen of that of an old basset hound. "Hello," he said.

  "Are you Walter Benedek?" Karen asked.

  "Now, why would an attractive young woman like yourself want to know that?"

  The way he said it, as if he'd been waiting for her to arrive so he could deliver the line, made her smile. "My name is Karen Moffett. I'm a private investigator. I've come to ask you some questions."

  "You found me, anyway, huh?"

  "I'm afraid I'm tenacious. I'm looking into the incident in Times Square in the winter of 1987," she said. "The explosion in a place called Live Girls. Does that sound familiar?"

  His jowly face fell a little and he stood up a bit straighter. But he said nothing in reply.

  "You are Walter Benedek, aren't you?" Karen said.

  "Who wants to know?"

  "I do."

  "Who hired you?"

  "I'm sorry, but that's privileged information."

  He looked beyond her at the road out front. "Are you alone?"

  "Yes."

  "You're sure you weren't followed?"

  "No, I wasn't. Why do you think I would be?"

  He ignored the question. "Are you a reporter?"

  "No, I'm a private investigator."

  "Can you prove it?"

  She removed her wallet from her purse and opened it to show him her license. "Moffett and Brand Security. California, huh?"

  "Los Angeles."

  "Are you working for a reporter? Do you want this information so you can publish it?"

  "Absolutely not. My client is not a journalist, and this is not for publication." Karen hoped that was true—Burgess had said nothing of writing about it. "Anything you tell me will go only to my client, and will remain completely confidential."

  He nodded once. "What do you want to know?"

  "I have a number of questions. Would it be all right if I came inside?"

  Benedek thought about it awhile as he looked beyond her at the road. Finally, he sighed and stepped back so she could enter. His living room was to the left, and he led her there.

  As she entered the living room, she smelled garlic again. It wasn't just a whiff this time, but a strong odor.

  "Have a seat," he said. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  "I'd appreciate a glass of ice water." She sat down on the couch.

  "Sure, no problem."

  While he was gone, she looked around. There were books and magazines everywhere. The couch and recliner faced the flat screen plasma TV on the wall above a bank of electronics—a DVD player, a VCR, and a stereo system. Over the fireplace was a painting of a beautiful woman with long silver hair.

  A wriggly little black-and-brown Chihuahua rushed into the room and came straight to Karen. The dog hopped into her lap, put forepaws on her chest, and licked her face. Laughing, she pulled her head back and held the excited dog at arm's length a moment before putting him back on the floor.

  Benedek returned with a glass of ice water, which he handed to Karen. He went to the recliner and sat down.

  "That's Bruno," he said. He snapped his fingers once and said, "Bruno, not now. Not now." Bruno went over to the recliner and curled up at Benedek's feet. "Now, you stay there."

  "Bruno seems to be a very happy dog," Karen said.

  "Spoiled rotten," he said with a smile. "How did you find me?"

  "My client hired a New York private investigator to track you down several years ago. It wasn't easy, but he did. He determined you were here in Honeoye. I found out where you lived by asking around."

  "I've tried hard not to leave a trail, but these days, it's impossible." He reached down and scratched the top of Bruno's head. "For awhile, I considered changing my name."

  "Why?"

  "Because I didn't want them to find me."

  "Who?"

  Benedek frowned at her a moment, thinking. "How much do you know?" he said.

  "Enough to know that you're probably referring to vampires. I read your Woodrow Hill piece. As well as every article ever written about it over the last seventeen years."

  "Yeah, the Inquisitor loves that story, don't they? They keep going back to it, time and time again. I think they've got someone making that shit up, because it's all crap."

  "I'd like you to tell me the truth, Mr. Benedek," Karen said.

  "What's your client's interest in my story?" Benedek said.

  "I'm not at liberty to—"

  "Well, if you want me to talk to you, you're going to have to bend the rules a little. You don't have to tell me who your client is, nothing like that. Just tell me what this person's interest is in my story."

  She thought about it a moment. She was uncomfortable with it, but it seemed to be a deal-breaker for Benedek.

  "I won't talk to you otherwise," Benedek added.

  Karen tipped her head back slightly and said, "My client's interest is simple curiosity. My client wants to know if vampires really exist."

  Benedek pursed his lips as his eyebrows rose. "That's it?"

  "That's it. My client has followed this story since it happened."

  "Then he doesn't know anything because most of what's been written since my article has been complete nonsense."

  "Well, that's his interest in your story," Karen said.

  "And you took the job?"

  "My partner and I, yes."

  "Where's your partner?"

  "He's in Los Angeles boning up on vampire mythology."

  There was a can of soda on the small table beside the recliner, and Benedek took a couple swallows from it, then crushed it in his hand as he stood. "You can forget the mythology, most of it's wrong." He tossed the soda can into a brown paper bag half-filled with crushed soda cans. He stepped into the kitchen for a moment and returned with a cup of tea, which he took back to the recliner. "I hope your client's paying you a lot of money," he said.

  "As a matter of fact, my client is paying us a great deal of money."

  "Because you're going to be risking your lives if you plan on looking into vampires. They don't like to be looked into."

  "What can you tell me about them?" Karen said.

  "Didn't you hear me, Miss Moffett? I just said your life will be in danger if you pursue this investigation."

  "I heard you."

  "That doesn't bother you?"

  "I'm not sure I believe it to be true. You haven't told me what I'm supposed to be afraid of yet."

  "Why tell you?" Benedek said with a shrug. "You'll listen to every word, you might even take a few notes down in a little notebook, or whatever it is you do. But you won't believe it. You won't believe a word of it. And you'll go on not believing it until one of those things comes out of the dark and sinks its fangs into your throat."

  Karen found the casual way he said it vaguely disturbing.

  "Does it matter to you whether or not I believe your story?" Karen said.

  "You're damned right it matters. Because if you don't believe my story, then you probably think I'm crazy. I don't like it when people think I'm crazy, when all I'm doing is telling the truth. That's why I haven't d
iscussed this with anyone in eighteen years."

  "But you're discussing it with me."

  "I'm considering discussing it with you. I'm discussing whether or not I want to discuss it with you."

  "Which way are you leaning?"

  "I seldom have company, and it's never as pretty as you. I may tell you just to keep you around for lunch. I may tell you to impress upon you the gravity of what you're doing, the danger involved. On the other hand, I might just send you on your way with nothing. I haven't decided yet."

  Karen took a drink from her glass of ice water. "Any idea when you'll know for sure?"

  Benedek frowned as he stared down at Bruno for several seconds. "Have you eaten, Miss Moffett?"

  "I skipped breakfast," she said. "I could use something to eat."

  "Drive down to the corner and turn right. Four or five blocks down, you'll come to the Coffeepot Cafe, on the right. The food's terrible, but they make an okay omelette or burger. Before I tell you anything, there's someone I have to call first. As soon as I'm done, I'll come join you. We can talk then."

  "Deal," Karen said.

  They both stood and she handed him the glass of water. "Thanks for the drink."

  Karen got back into her car and drove to the Coffeepot Cafe.

  Benedek went down the hall to his bedroom and found his address book in the top drawer of his nightstand. It was old and falling apart—he'd never gotten around to replacing it, although he would have to soon because some of the pages were falling out. He carefully opened it to O and ran his forefinger down the page until he found the name Davey Owen. A few numbers had been crossed out under Davey's name, but the one at the bottom of the list remained untouched. He picked up the cordless and punched in the number.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Davey Owen heard the phone's chirping as if through a layer of mud. It was garbled at first, but slowly grew louder, clearer. He finally lifted his head from the pillow, eyes closed, and listened. The phone sounded again.

  He lay in bed with his wife Casey, both of them naked. The black vertical blinds on the bedroom windows were all closed, and the room was dark.

  Davey groped for the phone on the nightstand and finally closed his hand on the receiver. He put it to his ear.

  "'Lo," he said.

  "Davey? It's Walter Benedek."

  "Walter? Hey, Walter." Davey sat up in bed, slowly put his legs over the edge.

  "You okay, Davey?" Benedek said.

  "Woke up from a sound sleep."

  "Yeah, I was afraid of that. Look, I've got something important to talk to you about. You want me to call back in ten minutes, give you a chance to wake up?"

  "Yes, I'd appreciate that, Walter. Give me... fifteen. In fact, I'll call you. It's the same number, right?"

  "Yep."

  "What's this about?"

  "Someone's asking questions."

  Davey took a deep breath and let it out through puffed cheeks. "I see. I'll call you back in about fifteen." He replaced the receiver, then rubbed his eyes as he yawned. He stood and stretched his arms.

  Someone's asking questions.

  Benedek's words began to sink in. Someone knew, or thought he knew.

  Davey walked around to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge. Casey was sleeping on her right side. He gently put his right hand on her shoulder.

  "Casey? Case, honey. Come on, wake up." He shook her slightly.

  She awoke suddenly, with a gasp, and sat up.

  "Sorry," Davey said. "I didn't mean to startle you."

  "What'sa matter?"

  "I'm not sure."

  "What do you mean?"

  "Let's go to the kitchen and make coffee. I'm going to call him back in a few minutes."

  "Call who back?"

  He went to the closet and got his gunmetal-gray robe, slipped into it. "Walter. Put your robe on and come with me."

  Downstairs in the kitchen, Davey quickly started a pot of coffee brewing. Casey came in, her strawberry-blond hair, which fell halfway down her back, in a tangle.

  "What did Walter say?" she said.

  He recounted the phone call to her.

  As soon as the coffee was ready, Davey poured some into two mugs. He put some sugar in Casey's, a little cream in his. They took their coffee to the kitchen table and sat down. A phone was on the wall above the table, with a speaker beneath the keypad.

  "What do you think Walter meant when he said someone was asking questions?" Casey said, still sleepy-eyed.

  "I'm assuming it's someone asking around about vampires in general or us in particular."

  "It's not necessarily us."

  "No. But we won't know till I call him."

  Casey reached over the table and poked him in the ribs playfully. "Then what're you waiting for?"

  Davey hit a button on the phone, then punched in Benedek's number.

  "Hello?" Benedek said.

  "Walter, it's Davey. I've got you on the speaker. Casey's with me."

  "Hello, Walter," Casey said.

  "It's good to hear your voice, Casey," Benedek said. "It's been too long."

  "You sound good, Walter," she said.

  "Thank you, dear. I wish I could say I was just calling to catch up," Benedek said, "but that's not it."

  He told them about Karen Moffett.

  "Are you pretty confident she's not a reporter?" Davey said.

  "I can tell she's not a reporter. She's too well-dressed, for one thing, and she didn't ask the right questions. A reporter would've started asking questions right away. I believe she's not a reporter. I believe she's a private investigator working for someone, but I don't know who that someone is, and that's what worries me."

  "What are you afraid of, Walter?" Davey said.

  "What if it's a vampire? From 'eighty-seven. One who just got tired of hunting for me and decided to hire a private eye to do it."

  "That's not their style, Walter," Davey said. "I've told you before, I think they've given up looking for you, or they would've found you by now. Maybe they're just not interested anymore."

  "I'm not so sure," Benedek said.

  "What do you want us to do, Walter?" Casey said.

  "I'd like you to talk to this woman. When I tell her my story, I know she's going to want to meet with you."

  Davey and Casey exchanged a frown.

  "Why, Walter?" Davey said.

  "I wrote that article eighteen years ago, Davey, and it was dismissed by everyone, laughed at, ridiculed. I was hoping I could create an awareness of those predatory vampires, that I might be able to save a few lives. But nobody believed me. Now, this woman comes along, and she's taking me seriously. Finally, someone wants to hear my story. I just want you two to corroborate it for me."

  "But that would involve revealing ourselves to this woman," Davey said.

  "She claims the information she gathers goes only to her client and remains completely confidential. Her client's only interest is to find out whether or not vampires really exist. I just don't want to tell my story if I'm going to be the only one telling it. Do you understand? I don't want her to look at me with that condescending, pitying look when I tell her what happened in New York eighteen years ago. Unless I can send her to you. Then she'll have to believe me."

  Davey said, "I don't know, Walter."

  "Think about it," Benedek said. "You know what they're doing. Not you, not others like you, but the ... what do you call them?"

  "The brutals," Casey said.

  "Yeah, the brutals. Think of what they're doing, night after night. Think of the people they prey on and kill. Maybe Miss Moffett's client is someone who can do something about that. That's all I ever wanted to do—warn people, let them know. Maybe I can still do that."

  "That would involve exposure, Walter," Davey said. "In order for something to be done about the brutals, it would be necessary to expose vampires everywhere."

  "Not necessarily everywhere," Benedek said. "People like you wouldn't need to be exposed. It wou
ld be the predators who would be exposed, the murderers, the child-nappers. You could easily keep your cover."

  "Unless talking to your private investigator shines a light on us," Casey said.

  "I don't think that'll happen."

  "But you can't be sure," Davey said.

  Benedek sighed. "Okay, a risk exists. But not a very big one, I don't think."

  The long silence over the line was finally interrupted when Davey said, "I don't know, Walter."

  "I didn't want to do this," Benedek said. "I really didn't. But I feel it's necessary."

  "Do what, Walter?" Casey said.

  "I didn't want to call in a favor," he said, "but you both owe me. I went into Live Girls after you. I've never asked you for anything in the eighteen years I've known you. Please. Do this."

  Casey looked at Davey and shrugged. The movement said, He's right, we owe him.

  "We'll do it on one condition, Walter," Davey said.

  "What's that?"

  "She comes to us, we answer her questions, then she leaves us alone after that, okay? She leaves us completely alone."

  "Fine," Benedek said. "If that's the way you want it, fine."

  Another silence stretched out over the line.

  "How've you been, Walter?" Casey asked.

  "I'm getting by. Arthritis in my hips makes me hobbly early in the morning or when it rains, but it always feels better after I go for a walk. This business of aging is for the birds."

  "Are you seeing anyone?" Casey said.

  "Oh, lord, no. I don't think I'll ever be seeing anyone, Casey. I had the love of my life. There won't be anyone after Jackie. I still miss her terribly. It's never gotten easier."

  "You need to come spend some time with us here in California, Walter," Davey said.

  "That would be nice," Benedek said. "I might do that someday. Are you going to do this for me, or not?"

  Davey and Casey laughed at Benedek's abruptness. Davey gave Casey a questioning look, and she nodded.

  "Okay, we're going to do this, Walter," Davey said, "but on a one-time-only basis."

  "Understood."

  "Send her over here for lunch tomorrow," Davey said. "If she wants to meet with us, she'll have to come here."

  "Lunchtime?" Benedek said. "You're sure you want to do that? You're pretty groggy about this time of day."