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

by Michael Panush

  But Dutch was smarter than all of us. “I don’t think so, bloodsucker boy!” he cried, pulling off his necklace. “You won’t hurt him!” He slipped the necklace over Dracula’s neck, letting the wooden crucifix reach the vampire’s throat. Dracula looked like someone had shoved a red hot poker into his guts. His mouth opened and his eyes rolled back. He stumbled backwards, and Dutch smiled.

  Fielding didn’t give him the time to celebrate. I saw Fielding running for Dutch, bringing up his hatchet. I yelled out a warning, but my mouth wasn’t working and I couldn’t get the air into my lungs. The hatchet came down, striking right into Dutch’s back. Weatherby screamed and Fielding struck the boy across the face with a heavy fist, knocking him against the wall and to the ground. Dutch’s mouth opened and he stumbled.

  Fielding just smiled. “Typical Army,” he said. “One shot and they’re finished.”

  But he was wrong. With the axe still in him, Dutch turned around and raised his crowbar. He swung it against Fielding’s head and I heard bone crack. Fielding went down without a word and Dutch kept swinging. The crowbar went up and down, until the carpet was red and Fielding’s skull was paste and Dutch’s arm finally stopped moving and he collapsed.

  Dutch had been with me through all of Europe. From D-Day to the Bulge to Berlin, he had fought by my side. And now he was dead. I stood up, forcing down the pain of all of my injuries. I looked at Dracula. The vampire managed to pull off the necklace and toss it away. He was recovering his strength too. That suited me fine.

  I didn’t bother reaching for my fallen Thompson. I just ran toward Dracula, fist swinging at my side. He swung his blade at me. I caught his wrist and punched him hard enough to hurt my hand. He made some kind of gurgling sound so I punched him again. He slashed at my shoulder and arm and drew blood, but I didn’t let up. I pounded his face, sent a couple to his stomach and kneed him hard in the groin.

  He turned around and looked at Wagner. Goddamn Wagner Stein had sat cool as a statue, holding tightly to Evelyn and watching the whole thing like he had front row seats to the best show in the world.

  Dracula fell away from me, dropping his sword. “Why?” he asked Wagner. “Why don’t you help me?”

  Wagner just pulled Evelyn closer to him. “Oh, Count Dracula. You are so predictable. The unstoppable leader, the Turk-killing despot – wanting nothing more than to give orders and see them carried out. You gave orders to me.” Wagner shook his head. “And I knew from the first moment I met you that I’d have to destroy you someday, for that very reason.”

  I grabbed Dracula’s sword and swung it at him. He caught the blade with an open palm. He had strength enough to crack the steel. Wagner kept on talking, but I wasn’t listening. He was moving toward the window, pulling Evelyn along. He held the poor girl back with his cane kept across her chest, just like he did in the Hotel Grande.

  “What is it you fear, my dear Count? I think it must be having nobody there to obey your orders. I can imagine the horrors you faced, alone in that castle in Transylvania, forced to set your own tables and do your own dishes. No wonder you want to conquer everything.” Wagner looked back at Dracula as he raised his cane. “And now here you are – all alone again.”

  “No!” Dracula cried as Wagner smashed the tinted glass. Sunlight flashed in, striking Dracula. He crumpled, steam rising in a thousand thin lines from his body. Weatherby started running for Wagner, but he was too late. The Viscount leapt out of the window, shattering more glass. Evelyn screamed.

  “Oh God!” Weatherby ran after him, as Wagner pulled his smoke trick once again. He became a living cloud, a twisting mass of smoke. But this time, Evelyn was trapped in the middle. He swooped down, and I lost sight of her.

  Dracula fell to the ground. I pulled one of the stakes from my belt and kicked him in the face, knocking him flat on his back. He didn’t cry or beg, but just stared up at me with his hateful red eyes, like he was daring me to drive the stake into his rotten heart. I didn’t disappoint. I slammed the stake into him and he went to ash before my eyes.

  I turned back to Tiny and Elkins. They were just getting to their feet. “We’re going after them in the Roadmaster. He can’t pull the mist gag for long. He’ll have to get in a car and he’ll take her with him and we’re going after them in the Roadmaster. You boys take the truck. You get Doc Dearborn down and patch him up.” I looked down at Dutch. It was too late for him. I didn’t even have dog tags to take. “We’ll claim his body at the morgue,” I said. “That’s the least we can do.”

  “Well, I reckon that’s all right, but wait!” Elkins cried as Weatherby and I headed for the stairs. “It’ll be just you two alone against Wagner? One of the worst goddamn sorcerers who ever lived!”

  “That’s correct,” Weatherby agreed, still swaying from the blow Fielding had given him. “And he doesn’t stand a chance.”

  We ran out of the Knight Building and dashed for the ground floor. We didn’t bother with the elevator. Going down the stairs wasn’t easy, especially in our condition, but we made it and with enough energy left to run a marathon. We were fueled by pure rage, Weatherby and me both. We crossed the street and ran to the Roadmaster.

  Chad and Selena were there, waiting for us. “What happened?” Selena asked, running to Weatherby. “Is Evelyn all right? What exactly happened? The police are on their way and—”

  Weatherby struggled to explain. “Dracula’s destroyed, but at a terrible cost. Poor Dutch is dead. And Wagner took Evelyn—”

  The roar of a motor drained out his words. We saw Wagner’s purple corvette speed past. He was in the passenger seat, holding tightly to Evelyn. Joey Verona was behind the wheel.

  “We’re going after him.” I jumped into the driver’s seat of the Roadmaster. Weatherby got into the passenger seat. Selena and Chad didn’t have a chance to protest. I slammed the gas pedal and we were off, leaving them behind.

  Weatherby and I didn’t say much as sped down the road. I drove in and out of traffic, always keeping the purple corvette in sight. Wagner Stein had played us all. He made Dracula think that he was the one in charge, but Wagner was just biding his time and waiting to finish him. And now he was speeding away with a hostage, a psychotic gangster at the wheel, and a million evil spells pulsing within him. I had my knife and both my automatics, and Weatherby had his usual tools. That was all we needed. Wagner Stein had lived long enough.

  I didn’t engage them until we got out of the city and into Upstate New York. Cops started flocking toward the Knight Building, rushing past us in swarms of siren-shrieking autos. The last thing I wanted was some well-meaning copper to pull me over now. So I just kept a foot on the gas pedal, staying a block behind the corvette at all times.

  The kid didn’t like it. Weatherby kept his eyes on Evelyn. “Can we pull up next to them, and maybe get her aboard?” he asked, shivering slightly. “Or just do anything to make sure she’s safe?”

  “We wait.” I drew out one of my automatics and set it on my lap. “Car chases are tough enough without being in a crowded street. And even if they see us, they won’t escape. I promise you that.” And so we kept on driving. The streets went wider and emptied. The buildings vanished, giving way to sparse scrub dotted with abandoned shacks and then the woods of Upstate New York.

  When we were the only two cars on the road, I knew it was time. “Hold on,” I told Weatherby, and slammed on the gas. I leaned out of the window and started shooting. I didn’t bother with aiming, focusing mainly on not hitting Evelyn, and that I pulled off. I pinged bullets off of the trunk. I crashed one through the windshield. And best of all, I popped a rear tire.

  I heard Verona scream, even over the roar of the autos. His car sped to the side, rubber squealing like a pained child. A tree stopped his momentum. I saw Wagner and Joey Verona reaching for the door, Evelyn still trying to pull away. I slammed on the breaks, getting ready to plant a bullet in both of them.

  Then Wagner Stein looked at me. I saw a hunter’s smile playing about his
moustache. I was just about to get him in my sights. I was already in his. “Get out!” I shouted to Weatherby. “Kiss the ground!”

  He kicked open the door and fell into the street. I did the same, the pavement reaching up to kiss me. Behind us, the air went hot. A thin crack of white light ripped down from the sky and struck my car. It was lightning. Wagner Stein had hit us with a bolt of lightning. The poor Roadmaster couldn’t take much more. It was gone, blackened and broken from the lightning, and then its gas tank went up.

  The explosion knocked me forward, pushing me into the woods. I fell on the grass. It felt like I’d start coming apart if I moved, but I got up anyway. My auto was on its back, smoke and fire pouring up from the wreck. “Weatherby?” I called. I couldn’t see the kid.

  He limped out from behind the car wreck. He hurried over to me, and I steadied him. His revolver was out. We looked at the corvette. Footsteps in the dirt told us all we wanted to know.

  “We’ll save her,” Weatherby said, starting after them and ignoring all his injuries. “By God, we’ll save her.”

  I followed, both automatics in my hands. Weatherby went as fast he could, weaving through the trees with both eyes on the footsteps in the dark dirt. I kept my head up, making sure he didn’t walk into a tree or a branch. It was a good decision. Looking ahead saved my life.

  I caught a flash of purple near a tree, and pulled Weatherby back. An automatic pistol blared away, firing in our direction. The bullets gouged bark and kicked up dark earth. I held Weatherby and stayed behind a tree, counting the shots. The gunman was a sap, firing his shells like he couldn’t wait to make them leave his pistol. I waited until they stopped, and then I stepped out.

  Joey Verona stood before one of the large dark trees, struggling to jam another clip into his gun. I walked over to him, not even bothering to run. Verona looked even worse than usual. Sweat stained his forehead and seeped into the open wound under his eye. His purple suit was rumpled. He just finished getting the clip in when I slugged him across the face. His pistol hit the ground.

  “He left you, didn’t he?” I asked. “You stay behind and take his lumps while he gets away with the girl. Was that the plan?”

  “Yeah…” Verona scrunched up his face. It made his sagging skin stretch. “And he made sure of it…” He pointed down to his leg. A large knife had pierced through his flesh, pinning him to the tree. Verona lowered his head. His eyes closed. “He left me to die. Just like the Mafia. Just like Vizzini. Just like every friend I’ve ever had.”

  I wasn’t moved. “Gee,” I said. “I wonder why.”

  “Go ahead and laugh, Morty. Laugh it up. You’ve got friends. You’ve got people who won’t stab a shiv through your leg and leave you to die. You’ve got all the cards.” He looked down, his hands going limp. His whole body made like a ragdoll. “I’m a joke. I know it. Everyone knows it. I’m the biggest joke of all, and I’m the only one who doesn’t think it’s funny.”

  That was all I could hear. I pressed the muzzle of my automatic to his forehead. “No!” Weatherby cried. He grabbed my arm. “Please, Mort,” he said. “We don’t have to kill him.”

  “He’s a murdering psychopath.” I kept the gun level.

  “He’s a human being, lost and alone in the world,” Weatherby replied. “Please, there’s just been so much death today, and so much killing, and I know there will be more. Please, just let him live for now.”

  I didn’t want to say no to the boy. So I knelt down and grabbed the knife pinning Verona to the tree. “If you make another run at me, you won’t be so lucky.” I pulled the knife free. Verona screamed. Blood bubbled through his purple trousers. I twisted it a little as I brought it out, and tossed the bloody blade in the dirt. He sank against the tree, crying like a baby. “Be gone by the time I get back,” I told him.

  Weatherby and I left him mewling there. We followed the track of Wagner and Evelyn, deeper and deeper into the forest. Now even our adrenaline was burning out. We were running on hatred alone. Lights flashed behind my eyes. I wanted to lie down and go to sleep forever. But Weatherby kept me going, and I kept him going, and after a little more walking through the woods, we found the church.

  It was some old stone structure, long-abandoned and rotting in the forest. The cross had fallen from the steeple of the arched stone roof, and lay shattered before the crumbling wooden doors. The footsteps led inside. Evelyn and Wagner Stein were in there. I caught my breath and raised my automatics.

  “Okay,” I said. “I’ll go in and start shooting. I’ll handle the wizard. You focus on getting out with the girl. Sound jake?”

  “It is more than acceptable.” Weatherby drew out his revolver.

  We stood before the door in silence. A second passed. It felt like an eternity. I kicked open the door and stepped inside, swinging my pistols over the empty pews and the stone floor, to the two figures at the altar. Wagner Stein held Evelyn close to him, with the blade of his sword-cane at her throat. His other hand pulsed with black energy, like he had grabbed a fistful of smoke. I leveled my guns and put a bullet past Wagner’s head, enough to knock off his fedora.

  Weatherby ran to them. “Evelyn!” he cried, but Wagner’s hand moved. The smoke left his fingers, reaching out like a black fist. It struck Weatherby in the chest, knocking him hard onto the pews. Wood broke and Weatherby lay there, aiming up with his revolver.

  I prepared to fire again, but the smoke headed in my direction. It didn’t bother ramming into my chest, but spread out, becoming a thin line – and went around my throat. It tightened like a noose. My legs lost their strength and I hit the ground. I dropped my pistols and clutched at the smoke. My fingers tore at my own skin. It felt like drowning.

  “Well, isn’t this delightful?” Wagner asked. “I’m going to kill her, Weatherby. You love her, and so she’ll die, right in front of your eyes. And there’s absolutely nothing you or your idiot guardian can do about it.” He slashed Evelyn’s shoulder, cutting her nightgown and drawing blood. The tough little girl screwed her lips together and didn’t scream. “I’ve always loved doing this, in my previous life. And I find a kind of poetry in doing this to you, Weatherby. It demonstrates exactly why your generation of the family is so weak.”

  “You bastard…” Weatherby pointed his revolver at Wagner, but he couldn’t fire. I was struggling at the rope around my neck, trying to get enough air in to stay conscious. “Let her go!”

  “Your friends, little Weatherby. They are your weakness. I just have to point a blade in her direction and you collapse. All of your strength, all of your knowledge – all destroyed when I shed a little of her precious blood.” He pricked her again. This time she did scream. “Drop the gun,” Wagner ordered.

  The revolver tumbled from Weatherby’s hands. The poor kid couldn’t help Evelyn. But then he looked up and I saw a light in his eyes. “You’re wrong, Wagner,” he said. “My friends have saved my life. They’ve given me a reason to live. They’ve filled with me hope and love and happiness and made me a better person.”

  “They’re useless!” Wagner cried. He sounded like a frustrated child, his nasally voice rising as he threw a tantrum. “You brought all of them together and you still couldn’t defeat me!”

  “Well,” Weatherby replied. “They all hadn’t arrived.”

  And now they had. Something smashed through the faded stained glass window. A massive fist cracked into Wagner’s back, knocking him hard to the ground. Evelyn left his grasp and ran to Weatherby. Wagner turned around, raising his sword, but a fist like a wrecking ball tore into him and knocked him back. Adam stood there in the church, larger than life and looking angry. He was a patchwork man, made from a dozen corpses sewn together and draped in an oversized crimson zoot suit. He didn’t look happy.

  “You!” Wagner cried, scampering to my feet. “You should have been my victory!”

  “That will never happen.” Adam took a step toward him. “I smelled you, Wagner. I smelled you as soon as I got into the city and I fol
lowed you here. And now you’re finished.”

  Adam swung at him. Wagner stabbed with his sword-cane. When Adam stood up, he had the blade jammed through his shoulder. It didn’t seem to slow him. Wagner lay on the ground, broken and bleeding. The smoke drifted away from my neck, as harmless as if it had come out of the tip of a cigarette.

  Weatherby reached down and grabbed his revolver. Evelyn held tightly to him. She was crying softly. He was too. Weatherby pointed the revolver at Wagner. The ancient sorcerer looked up at the kid and smiled through broken teeth. “Go on!” he hissed. “Kill me! Come on, you sniveling runt! Show me our line has not decayed so far!”

  “N-no,” Weatherby whispered. “I c-can’t.” The revolver dipped in his hand. I realized the reason why he was such a bad shot. It wasn’t just that he was clumsy and bad with his eyes and his hands. It was that he could never bring himself to take a life. So, maybe without realizing it, he always tried his best to miss.

  “Coward!” Wagner cried. “Wretched coward!”

  But then Evelyn hugged Weatherby close to her. “No,” she said. “That doesn’t make you a coward at all, Weatherby. You’re the bravest man in the world.”

  I turned to Adam as I picked up the kid’s gun. “Take them outside, big man,” I ordered. “Get back to the road and wait for me. Do what you can for their wounds. I’ll deal with the garbage here.”

  For a few seconds, I thought Adam was going to protest. But then he turned his bulk around, heading for the door. Weatherby and Evelyn stayed ahead of him, and they all left.

  Wagner and I were alone. I slid my guns into their shoulder-holsters. I picked up the revolver and put it in my belt. I looked down at Wagner. “I don’t have any problem with killing,” I said.