The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3)

by Michael Panush

  Then Peggy and Mort were pulling him through the kitchen and the living room. They got outside, through the door and onto the lawn. Weatherby looked back at the house and saw that the fire had spread. The suburban palace was turning black under the flame, sending up thick gouts of smoke as it started to shift and crumble.

  But they were alive. Weatherby breathed a sigh of relief and looked at Peggy. “God,” he whispered. “We made it.”

  But Peggy just shook her head. “Was he telling the truth? Are you really some private detective, sent to spy on us?”

  “Yes,” Weatherby said. He didn’t want to lie to her. “But that’s no reason to—”

  “You jerk!” Peggy’s slap was sudden. It cracked across Weatherby’s cheek, making him look away. “Butch would never have tried to contact bigger demons if you didn’t make him jealous! If you didn’t poke your nose in Silver Hills, none of this would have happened! I hate you! Go back to the road and your cases, you little detective, and leave me alone!” She turned around, storming off before Weatherby had even a chance to respond.

  The boy took a step after her, but stopped. “She’s right,” he whispered. He felt hot tears growing in his eyes and buried his face in his hands. “Good Lord. She’s right.”

  “No.” Mort put his hand on Weatherby’s shoulder. “I know how you feel. I’ve felt it plenty. But she ain’t right. Butch was a psychopath. He’d have done something awful sooner or later, and I know you didn’t mean to antagonize him.” Mort looked at the burning house. “It’s this lie, this damn big suburban lie, that everyone and everything’s gotta be the same and everyone and everything’s gotta be perfect. Butch couldn’t do it alone, and he turned to demons for help.” He looked back at Weatherby. “How do you want to play this, kiddo?”

  Weatherby wiped his eyes on his sleeve as he considered the question. “We’ll tell the parents that we didn’t find anything and there was no Black Magic going in Silver Hills,” he said. “That Butch was just killed in a fire, instead of being dragged to the Inferno by a Crowned Prince of Hell. Let the lie live.”

  “All right.” Mort put his arm around Weatherby’s shoulder and helped him down the sidewalk. “Come on, kiddo. I got the auto parked around the corner.” They walked along in silence. Behind them, fire trucks rolled down the street to the Waller house, as doors opened for neighbors to see what was going on.

  Mort looked down at Weatherby and sighed. “I’m sorry you had trouble fitting in with those kids,” he said. “I know it meant a lot to you, and now it’s gone. I’m sorry about that and about everything.”

  “Yes,” Weatherby said. “I should have known better.” He allowed himself a small smile. “But at least I have one true friend.”

  “Yeah,” Mort agreed, grinning back. “You do have that.”

  The two of them walked back to the automobile, and got inside. They drove away from Silver Hills, and left the suburbs behind them.

  Lounge Lizards

  Weatherby didn’t tell me we’d be meeting his sister at the Royal Crown Lounge until we reached Lake Tahoe. We were there on a case, and maybe I would have been pissed at the kid for arranging to meet her when we were on a client’s time, if I didn’t know how much he cared for her, and how rarely they saw each other. Selena brought out a subtle change in Weatherby. The mask of a superior, confident, arrogant genius aristocrat cracked like porcelain under a baseball bat when he saw her. The fifteen-year-old kid in Weatherby got to take a peek outside.

  I also didn’t mind because I knew Selena wasn’t some airheaded college girl, worried about clothes, shopping, boys and not much else. Selena could take care of herself. She was studying anthropology in New York, and was almost as big an expert on the occult and folklore as her baby brother. She was brave, too. Selena had been at boarding school in the States when the Nazis had taken her family as hostages for Hitler. Weatherby was all she had left, and it wasn’t hard to see the affection they had for each other. Call me a sap, but I didn’t mind seeing her.

  I spotted her when I pulled the cherry red Roadmaster up to the curb of the Royal Crown Lounge. It was a brisk day in Tahoe, where the mountain air slid into your lungs like a sharpened switchblade. The Royal Crown was a round structure, made of polished, shining wood, with a fat neon sign glowing gold before the doors. Like most joints in the town, it had gambling in the open and girls if you looked a little, but the main draw – for the rich mugs that flocked here – was entertainment.

  ‘Tommy Gabriel – Live Every Night!’ the sign declared. Gabriel was a lounge singer and seemed more popular than God. I had listened to him. I didn’t see the appeal. But Tommy Gabriel and his sappy love ballads meant big money, and the owner of the club had some problem with him, which only the Stein and Candle Detective Agency could solve. We hurried over, and Selena was there to meet us.

  “What’s she doing up here anyway?” I asked, as I opened the door. “Studying the habits of the rich? This place is lousy with them.”

  “I think she’s on vacation,” Weatherby said, stepping carefully onto the curb. “She did not provide much of a reason for her presence, but she was decidedly delighted that I was here. I think she said she wanted me to meet someone.”

  We walked onto the sidewalk as I tossed the keys to a valet. That’s when I saw Selena Stein. She was standing in the shadow of the Royal Crown, and hurried over to us, arms outstretched for Weatherby. There was somebody with her. I got a good look at him as he stood next to Selena while she embraced her little brother. I didn’t like what I saw.

  Selena chattered away, patting Weatherby’s shoulder. “Oh, Weatherby, you look wonderful! Have you gotten taller? I’m sure you have.” She wore dark jeans and a collared shirt under a neat leather jacket, a backpack slung over her shoulder. She shared Weatherby’s thin nose, dark hair and bright eyes behind spectacles. “And I can’t wait for you to tell me about your adventures in Europe with our ancestor, and everything else you have been up to.” She paused and stepped back, standing next to the fellow who had come out with her. “But first, you have to meet someone. This is Chad Albright. He’s my boyfriend.”

  Weatherby looked at Chad Albright. He was a thin guy, with straight dark blonde hair and matching moustache and goatee. He had sunglasses on, and he pushed them down his nose to look at Weatherby. He wore a tight black sweater under a black leather jacket. I could tell right away what he was – a beatnik, a bohemian, one of those fruity kids who liked coffee, poetry and communism in equal measure. Weatherby’s eyes went wide.

  Then Chad made it even worse by opening his mouth and talking. “I’ve heard all about you, little man. It’s great to finally meet you.” He held out his hand and Weatherby took it, as gingerly as if he was handling a rattlesnake. “I gotta say, Weatherby, your sister is one swell girl. She’s real nice, and if she’s to be believed, you are too.”

  “T-thank you, sir,” Weatherby said. “Pleased to meet you.”

  “No need to be so formal, little man!” Chad laughed. “I dig that coat of yours too. So, you mind if we just tag along while you do your work?”

  I stepped in front of Weatherby and looked down at Chad. His smile slowly faded. “I think we do, pal,” I said. “And ain’t you got some juice bar to clutter up? Or a protest to go to?” I glared at Chad, and balled my hands into fists. “I don’t know if Selena’s told you about me, but I’m Morton Candle, Weatherby’s best friend, and I don’t like some prick with a good haircut and some Mary Jane cigarettes trying to seduce his sister. How about you scram before I beat the hair tonic out of you?”

  “Morton Candle!” Selena sounded like a shrill schoolteacher. She put her arm on Chad’s shoulder and looked up at me, like a tiger about to pounce. “Chad is a good man! He does not use any kind of drugs, and he is kind and loving. You have no reason to insult him, and I will not send him away while I spend time with my baby brother. If staying with you while you work on your cases is the only way I can get the two men I love most in the world to meet each ot
her, then so be it.” She tapped my chest with a thin finger. “And you have no right to stand in my way.”

  I turned to Weatherby. As far as I was concerned, it was his call. “What do you think, kiddo?” I asked.

  The boy looked back at Chad, who smiled. “Well, all right,” Weatherby said. “If you want that, Selena. I won’t disagree with your wishes.” He turned away, and headed inside. I stayed close to him, and Selena and Chad followed.

  Chad leaned forward, trying to talk to Weatherby. “Thanks, Weatherby. I’m sure we can be good buddies. I really like your sister, and I think we can—”

  “Please.” Weatherby turned to him, and he clammed up. “Just don’t talk to me, if you please? At least for now.” He turned back to me as I held the door for him. I think Weatherby’s polite silence hurt Chad more than my enraged insults. I didn’t mind. As far as I was concerned, the toilet bowl was the only place a beatnik loser like him belonged.

  The interior of the Royal Crown Club was done up like a hunting lodge. Warm red carpets, a blazing fire in the corner, and the heads of deer and moose on the walls gave the appearance of a place where gentlemen swapped stories of their biggest kills. But the only hunters there were looking for good stocks and summer homes, as well as the buffet and a night’s entertainment. Something was screwy with that entertainment, so the management had called us in.

  As soon as we entered, a short, fat guy in a leopard-print tuxedo came toward us, a martini shaking in his hands. He had a red face, topped with a few strands of gray hair. He looked like a soccer ball with arms and legs. This was Ben Blemmy, the owner of the Royal Crown. He wiped sweat from his forehead as he shook my hand. “Good to see you, Mr. Candle, Mr. Stein, good to see you. Please, follow me.”

  He headed to a service entrance, and we followed. He talked constantly, not bothering to check who Chad and Selena were. I guess he had other things on his mind. “You fellows know about Tommy Gabriel, don’t you? Sure you do. He’s a gold mine, a solid gold mine, a crooner that makes the ladies go crazy and fork over dough by the handful. Sure, he’s a headache and a half, with a bunch of weird conditions, but I’m not one to complain.” He turned back to look at me. “Am I?”

  “Nope,” I agreed. “What’s wrong with him?”

  Blemmy laughed. “I could write a book on that, I tell you! He don’t want no one in his rooms, he only takes certain foods, and he wants his room nice and toasty at all hours. But that I can handle. You see, Tommy Gabriel is the best kind of employee – the one who pays you back. Every buck he earns goes to the tables, and the Royal Crown takes it back. Matter of fact, he was in pretty deep debt to me – until he took off yesterday morning, with about half of the cash we got in the Royal Crown’s treasury. I want you to find him and get my money – and my crooner – back.”

  We left a small service hallway and walked into a series of private rooms. These were the high class places, where the Royal Crown’s richest guests could afford to flop. Blemmy led us to a door marked with Tommy Gabriel’s name in gleaming gold letters. He fiddled with his keys, unlocking the cream-colored door.

  “Mr. Blemmy, may I ask a question?” Weatherby said. “Would not the police or a normal private investigator specializing in missing persons be better for this situation?”

  “Well, some of the money Gabriel swiped wasn’t exactly earned legally. And I don’t like cops.” Blemmy opened the door. “I pay good money to the local Outfit to keep the coppers out of my business. A lot of the money Gabriel stole was for them. I already put in a word to the boys in Reno, and they said they’re sending me a top shooter. All you gotta do is find Gabriel. The Mob’s button man will do the rest.”

  We stepped inside. This case was getting worse by the second. Dirty money and mob hitmen were a bad combination. “But why did you hire us?” I asked. “What’s so strange about this case?”

  Tommy Gabriel’s room was as ritzy as they come. A king-sized bed gleamed across from a glass coffee table, and a fully stocked drinks cabinet beckoned in the corner. The room was kept hot, warm enough to make me sweat in my trench coat.

  “You want to know why?” Ben Blemmy asked. He pointed to a large mirror against the far wall, where various cosmetic supplies rested in neat wooden cases. “That’s why.”

  I saw what he was talking about. There was a mask on a wooden stand, and the mask was Tommy Gabriel’s face. The pink skin, perfectly curled pompadour, and little dimple that all of America knew and loved sat there. Tommy Gabriel had peeled it off before he left. Weatherby and I walked over to it, while Chad and Selena stayed near the door.

  “This is an amazingly lifelike mask…” Weatherby said. “It must have cost a fortune to create. But if Gabriel had to disguise himself, then that means—”

  “He ain’t human.” I said what we were all thinking. If he was just a deformed guy, he could’ve gotten plastic surgery to make him look passable instead of spending a bundle on an expensive mask. Something else was going on here.

  Chad gulped. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s something all right.”

  Mob hitmen, dirty money, and a lounge singer who could take off his face – this case was about as bad as they come. And there we were, with Selena’s new beatnik boyfriend, right in the middle of it. Luckily, I already had some ideas where to start.

  There was a cab stand down the road a little from the Royal Crown, and we headed straight there. According to Blemmy, Gabriel didn’t own a car. Without an auto – and missing a face – he couldn’t have gotten far, so I bet he bundled himself up and called a cab. Most people think cabbies don’t notice anything but the road in front of them, but that’s not the case. A taxi driver sees everything that goes on in the backseat, and they’d remember if one of their passengers wasn’t human.

  Despite the glitz and the sleaze, Tahoe wasn’t that big of a town. We rode past some of the casinos and lounges, almost hidden in the surrounding forest. The ride was painfully silent. Weatherby and Selena sat in the back, talking in quiet whispers, while Chad slouched in the passenger seat. He tapped a finger on his knee as he looked out the window. He looked like he was trying to think of something to say to me.

  “So,” Chad finally said. “You play any tunes while you and the kid are cruising around? I know a lot of these really gone bands back in New York, you know, jazz and bebop and such. I can give you some records if—”

  “Close your face,” I told him.

  “Morton!” Selena cried. “Chad is just trying to be polite! You have no cause to be mean to him!”

  I mumbled an apology and kept driving. I didn’t say anything, but Weatherby did. “Mr. Albright?” he asked. “How exactly did you become acquainted with my sister?”

  “It was a party,” Chad explained, happy to have some conversation. “Just a little campus shindig. I always enjoy going to those, just to see what crazy thing my fellow students are up to. So I was there, digging the records and snapping my fingers, when I looked in the corner and saw the most beautiful girl I had ever seen, just standing there next to the wall, with no one talking to her. So I went over and introduced myself. I was holding a cup of coffee. She was near the table with the sugar and cream. We got to talking, and I realized that she’s smart, and kind, and just an amazing person, in every way.”

  Weatherby smiled a little. “She certainly is,” he agreed. “And you know, of our…” He paused and stammered. “Our circumstances and misfortunes?”

  “Yeah.” Chad looked back at Selena. “She told me about the War. I’m sorry, Weatherby. My own parents are a bunch of stuck-up high society losers, but I can’t imagine what losing them would be like. They named me, ‘Chancy,’ if you can believe it. I don’t think they’d like Selena. They wouldn’t even like the idea of her. I don’t think they even like me that much.”

  “Not hard to see why,” I said. Chad Albright was a rich kid with bohemian delusions. And I didn’t know if Selena was part of his act – or if he genuinely loved her. He didn’t take my bait, but kept on talki
ng, looking at Selena and Weatherby all the while.

  “So, little man, I just want to let you know that I’ll never let Selena get hurt, or want for anything. She’s a grown woman, and she doesn’t need to be taken care of, but I’m there for her. And I’m there for you, too, if you need me to be.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Weatherby said, and Selena put her arm around his shoulder. I could tell Weatherby didn’t think much of Chad Albright. But Chad loved Selena. That was obvious to Weatherby, and I guess, for him, it was enough.

  We arrived at the cab stand, left the car and got to work. Chad and Selena stayed outside while Weatherby and I started our interviews. Most of the taxi drivers were enjoying their lunches in a small break room next to the garage when we arrived, and I walked in with a crisp fin held between my fingers. They looked up from their sandwiches to the dollar, and I nodded to them.

  “Hello there,” I said. “I’ll give this and its brother to anyone who can tell me if they picked up a strange passenger last night, and where they took him.” I returned the five-spot to my pocket. “But don’t think about getting smart. If you say you gave the Loch Ness Monster a ride, I’ll bust your jaw for lying.”

  Silence fell over the cab drivers. One fellow, a portly guy in a checkered shirt and flat cap stood up. “I think I saw something,” he said. “Hell, I don’t think I’ll ever forget it.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I work a late shift. I get all kinds of weirdoes. But this was different. He wore a big trench coat and a fedora, low so that his whole face was shadowed. Then a bit of moonlight came in through the window, and I saw his face. It had scales and it was green as a lime. He only went a little down the highway, and had me drop him off in the woods.”

  Weatherby and I exchanged a glance. “A reptilian humanoid,” he whispered. “That’s remarkably odd.”