Vampire Uprising s-4
Page 9
“Tell her yourself.”
Abel chuckled all the way up the stairs. Although Cole tried ignoring him when he asked some of the others in the workshop about where Paul and M had gone, the greasy smile plastered on Abel’s face made that task next to impossible.
“I remember Paul coming through,” a Skinner from the West Coast said. “He was a quiet guy who’d come alone to poke through the house.”
“Where did they go?” Cole asked.
Pointing to a stack of crates filled with old baby food jars containing a multitude of fluids that most definitely should not be fed to babies, he replied, “M went straight for that pile there and left with half a milk crate full of stuff.”
“What stuff?”
“Don’t know. Without Lancroft’s journals, a lot of this is being filed in the unknown category.”
“And they just walked out with it?”
“M’s supposed to be with Paul, and Paul is a Skinner,” the guy pointed out. “Why would I stop him? Is there some sort of pecking order I don’t know about?”
“No,” Cole grunted. Of all the things that were bugging him, not one of them had to do with the guy from the West Coast. In fact, most of the Skinners who’d drifted in had been content to take a few supplies or one of the old weapons and be on their way. The ones that grated on Cole’s nerves the most were the ones that refused to leave.
As if picking up on his chance to grate some more, Abel asked, “Where’s Paige?”
“Not sure,” he lied.
“You’re not sure? You don’t keep track of your partner?”
“No,” Cole snapped. “Do you?”
When Cole walked over to the crates of jars along the opposite wall, Abel stuck with him. “Jory and Selina are pretty close,” Abel said, “but not like you and Paige.”
The words didn’t bug Cole so much as the creepy way Abel said them. Crouching down to pull some of the crates away from the wall so he could get to the back stacks, he found a few that weren’t quite in line with the rest.
Either Abel was used to being ignored or he took Cole’s silence as an invitation to continue. “From what I seen, you two are real close.”
“And what have you seen?”
“You know. The way you look at her. That sappy shit when you touched her hair.”
Cole gnashed his teeth. He’d forgotten about the hair thing. His phone rang, saving him the trouble of continuing the conversation. When he saw who was calling, it was even easier to pretend the other man didn’t exist. “Hey, Paige,” he said into the phone. “Where are you?”
Screaming over the thumping tones of a remixed version of Duran Duran’s “Rio,” she replied, “Some club in Miami. Did you find anything?”
“I think so. There’s some kind of—”
“I can barely hear you. Are you finished with everything over there?”
Abel grinned and nodded as if he’d paid five bucks to sit on a sticky chair and watch the show. “Yeah,” Cole grunted. “I’m through here.”
“Then head to Chicago.”
“Actually, there are a few loose ends I should wrap up here.”
“Fine,” she said. “I’m headed home now. When you’re about to leave, give me a call and I’ll pick you up at the subway station.”
“Will do. ‘Bye.” He hung up, put the phone in his pocket, and found Abel still looking at him with that same grin. There was a renewed speed in Cole’s movements when he picked a sample jar from each of the crates that looked as if they’d recently been moved.
“So,” Abel sneered, “you’re hittin’ that, right?”
“Shut the hell up.”
Abel smirked as if his clumsy attempt at slang was too cool for the room. “You two aren’t just close. You’re like, close. You screwing her or what?”
Once again Cole’s silence didn’t deter the other man in the slightest.
“Not that I blame you,” Abel continued. “She’s got a sweet little ass. Kind of a butter face, but—”
“Wait,” Cole said as he straightened up and turned to face the other Skinner. “What the hell did you just say?”
“Butter face. You know, like she’s got a nice body, but her—”
His fist slammed into Abel’s jaw as if it had a mind of its own. After taking a moment to think, he did the right thing and hit Abel again, this time with enough force to knock the little prick onto his ass.
Chapter Seven
West Chicago, Illinois Three hours later
Watching the Dryad temples work was somehow more impressive than actually stepping through the beads. A crackle of energy washed over Cole’s body. He caught a strong whiff of clean woods. There was a rush of sound and that was it. He’d only been teleported a handful of times, but it was already getting old. Of course, some receptions were better than others.
The beads were still rattling behind him when he was lassoed by a tall blonde wearing fishnets and a suit jacket that was cut to frame her bare breasts despite all three buttons being buttoned. With her hair up in a bun and plastic-framed glasses perched upon the bridge of her nose, she looked like a naughty secretary pulled straight out of a porno from 1958. “Just try to look frazzled, honey,” she said while dragging him away from the beads.
Staring out at a large room partially filled with men in business suits, Cole replied, “No problem there.”
The place was a typical strip club, but with the distinction of having most of its neon on the inside instead of out. Replicas of vintage Las Vegas casino signs, complete with the old-school cowboy leaning against a post, lit up two large stages. Only one stage was being used at the moment, but considering it was early afternoon, that still seemed like a lot. His entrance was made even more peculiar due to the fact that he was still carrying a banker’s box filled with the samples he’d taken from Lancroft’s basement.
“How was it, partner?” one of the businessmen asked.
Cole’s fumbling attempt at a response brought a round of hollers from the sparse crowd.
“Find out for yourself, honey,” the blonde said. To Cole, she added, “Your date’s right over there.”
Paige sat at a bar that was another throwback to Sin City’s golden age. When she waved at Cole and hopped down from her stool, the businessmen broke into another round of applause before being distracted by a nurse named Florence Naughtygale.
“Where the hell did I land?”
Although it was tired, Paige’s smile went all the way down to the bone. “The nymphs just set up shop here after Tristan spread the word that Lancroft wasn’t hunting them anymore. They don’t have the temple portion sectioned off yet, so they just made it a part of the scenery.”
Cole looked back to find the beads strung across an alcove bearing the large flowing script. It was supported by an arch inscribed with more symbols and a sign that read: vip ROOM.
“When I called, you could have warned me I’d be on display,” he said.
“And miss your grand entrance?” she asked while leading him to the front door. “Not a chance. Besides, I arrived at the tail end of last night’s party crowd. The hoopla you got was nothing in comparison to me being escorted through that curtain by some leggy broad in a kitty cat outfit. Wipe that grin off your face. Save the image for when you’re alone.”
“Oh, you know I will.”
Once he stepped outside, Cole was hit by the sun blazing down at him through a thin layer of fog. So far, most of the other nymph-run strip bars had been on lonely stretches of highway with a minimum of neighbors. West Chicago wasn’t exactly urban, but there were several small businesses, convenience stores, and gas stations within sight of the place. Farther down the road the scenery was taken over by small houses.
“So,” Cole mused as he turned to get a look at the sign above the purple A-frame. “Pinups, huh?”
“Yep. This’ll be our local stop on the Stripper Subway.”
“I like it. Hell, I like just being away from that damn Lancroft house.”
“Just some samples that look like Nymar blood,” he said as he spotted the beat-up white Chevy Cavalier parked between a Dumpster and the cluster of businessmen’s cars. The single piece of metal on it that wasn’t dented was the front bumper, and that’s only because it had been replaced after its most recent accident. The front window was new but had picked up several chips already, thanks to gravel kicked up on the interstate. “Aw, man! Can’t we get a new car?”
“What for? We won’t be needing to take any long road trips anymore.”
“Yeah, but still!”
Paige tuned out his whining with the same efficiency that she ignored the grinding of the motor as she started up the Cav. Cole set the box on the floor next to his feet as he dropped into the passenger seat. Every spring poking him in the back or butt through the minimal padding felt like the touch of a familiar hand. Even the smells of exhaust, dried blood, and stale fast food struck a nostalgic chord. The car might have seen some rough times, but he’d been there for them as well. Settling into the seat as the Cav lurched into motion, he was more relaxed than he’d been in weeks.
“This is nice,” he said.
“What? Pinups or the fact that we’re just in time to get stuck in rush hour on our way back to Raza Hill?”
“Just … this. No more sitting around some basement from a serial killer movie. No more listening to a bunch of werewolf hunters bicker over mayo jars filled with old teeth. No more putting up with assholes like Abel or … well … Abel. Just you and me. Back to the normal routine.”
“Don’t get used to it. The way things are going, we’ll be dealing with those others for quite a while. Tell me what you found after I left.”
Cole gave her the rundown of his investigation as Paige drove up North Avenue. When he was done, she asked, “So what did Abel do that was so bad?”
“Apart from getting on my nerves, not much.”
“Sounds like something happened while I was away.”
“No, Ma, I swear,” Cole said in a slow drawl. “We was good.”
“Maddy said you punched him.”
“Maddy saw that?”
“Yep.”
Cole fiddled with the radio until he found something other than talk or a commercial. “Well, okay. I punched him. Now how about you tell me what you did in Miami while I was crawling around a basement?”
“First of all, the club in Miami had some of the most impressive asses I’ve ever seen. And I’m not just talking about the dancers.”
“And?”
“And one of the ladies attached to one of those asses pointed me in the right direction to catch up with the Skinners that arrived just before I did. It took some fast footwork and a taxi ride that damn near required a change of pants before it was done, but I caught up to them.”
“Did you recognize them?”
Paige focused her attention on the traffic in front of her. Although it was bad at that time of day, it was unusual for her to focus that much on driving. The Chicago blood running through her veins allowed her to control a motor vehicle without being restricted by fear of losing life or limb. “Yeah,” she said after cutting off a black Toyota. “I did. Bobby was one of them.”
“And the other?”
“The other wasn’t Tru. I followed them for as long as I could and broke off before I was spotted. It didn’t take long for them to disappear among all the other bloodsuckers.”
“Miami’s a big Nymar town?”
“Are you kidding me? All those half-dressed hotties looking to dance, hook up, or party? I wouldn’t be surprised if a Nymar founded that city. It’s bad enough those Canadians are working with Nymar so closely, but having Bobby smuggle in a new one after making sure our backs were turned makes this a whole new game.”
“We work with Daniels pretty closely,” Cole reminded her. “He’s Nymar.”
“I know Daniels. I don’t know Bobby well enough to cut him that kind of slack. So what am I supposed to make of those pictures you sent me?”
“They’re pictures of that dead Nymar I found in the basement. Last time you were down there, were any of the cells open?”
“No,” she replied without hesitation.
“This one was about halfway down the row.”
Paige didn’t have to think long before saying, “The only cells that had much of anything in them were toward the end of the hall. Nobody touched the thing at the far end, did they?”
“No. This Nymar had a lot more tendrils in it even after the spore had been taken out. Tendrils that reacted to light. They’d swell up and turn the skin black. Also, I didn’t feel anything in my scars. I know it was dead, but I was right there and should have felt something, right?”
“Yes. That part could be bad.”
“Also, I think Bobby and M went through some of those jars that were piled up in all those milk crates. I took samples to see if we could figure out what they wanted.”
They drove in silence for a while. A triple play of Aerosmith was on the radio, so both of them relaxed during their stop-and-go journey across town. Cole knew he hadn’t heard everything that had happened in Miami. Paige was in too good a mood for there to have been a fight, but she was holding something back. Since he was holding back a few details of his own, he figured he’d let the matter drop. The silence was comfortable and easy. After the final swaying notes of “Dream On” had faded away, Paige reached out to shut them off with a twist of the radio knob.
“I’m going back, Cole.”
“Back to Philly? It’ll just be more of the same. If those locals are setting something up with the Nymar, we shouldn’t go back alone. Let’s bring Rico. We can say he’s just taking his turn claiming some of that Lancroft crap. We’ll have to warn him about Henry, though.”
“No. Rico’s not coming with me, and neither are you. I’ll probably head back to Philly sooner or later, but I meant I’m going back to Miami. There’s something I need to double-check. You’re going back to Raza Hill and staying in Chicago. We’ve been gone for too long. Steph was just getting the Nymar organized here when we left for KC, and kept organizing while we were in St. Louis. Who knows what she’s got going on by now. She and the rest of her girls need to see a Skinner presence around here again. Make the rounds. Show yourself around town. Bust some heads if anyone’s stepping out of line. Let’s face it, with Steph and Ace in the area, someone’s bound to be stepping out of line.”
“If you’re not taking me along, then at least tell me you’re taking someone.” Cole’s eyes drifted to her arm. Since her injury in Kansas City, Paige had been able to move it a lot better and even found some creative uses for the hardened tissue impeding her movement. The sling was long gone, but the scars made it clear she wasn’t functioning at one hundred percent. “You really shouldn’t be on your own, Paige.”
Despite flying down a rare stretch of open road, she shifted her focus away from the windshield and to her passenger. “You don’t even know what I’m doing. Why the hell should you tell me how I should go about doing it?”
He had plenty to say to that, but held it back. At the moment he was so pissed off that he no longer even wanted to hear her voice.
Chapter Eight
“They’re back in town.”
Steph had plenty of smiles in her repertoire. Most of them were sincere, but in a way that most smiles weren’t supposed to be. She had the grin that she put on for her customers at the Blood Parlor, which was prospering in its location on Rush Street. That was always a crowd pleaser since it was accompanied by one or more of her girls coming in to take customers off to a room to enjoy the pleasures of feeling Nymar teeth ease into their necks or wrists. There was the hungry smile that allowed all three sets of her fangs to slide out from beneath her gums. That was her favorite, since i
t was the predatory equivalent of stripping naked and showing yourself to a lover before the much anticipated next act. And then there was the one that came to her now.
Her smooth face was illuminated by an earnest display of joy when she asked, “Are you talking about the Skinners?”
Standing in the doorway to her office, Ace nodded. He was a skinny guy who looked to have been somewhere in his late twenties when he’d been turned. Although he still looked youthful, there was too much experience in his eyes for him to properly carry the baggy jeans and netted shirt he insisted on wearing. The narrow patch of hair sprouting from his chin, and the heart shaved into the side of his head, didn’t help his case much. “Come on,” he said. “You can hear them now if you want.”
Steph hopped up and practically skipped around her desk to follow him down a hallway that led to the back rooms of her parlor. Little stone gargoyles lined the walls, each of them holding electric candles in clawed hands. The walls were painted dark red. Newly purchased black carpeting rubbed her bare feet. Muted, moody music played from hidden speakers to complete the parlor’s effect. So far the people who paid to have the Nymar feed on them loved every last one of the clichéd gothic touches. They especially liked seeing Steph in a good mood. One of the men, a stockbroker in his early forties, scooted all the way to the edge of an overstuffed couch in the waiting room just to get a look at her as she left her office. Fully aware that she was on display in a lavender nightie that stopped just short of covering the ruffles of her cream-white panties, she looked back at him and kissed the air. That was enough to convince him to spring for the deluxe package.
Most of the rooms branching off the hallway were small, luxurious bed chambers that came complete with closed-circuit video cameras hidden behind sculptures and wall sconces. They were all wired into the room full of monitors that the Blood Parlor’s managers were now entering. The security room was all sharp edges and glowing reminders of what century it truly was. Ignoring the assorted depravities being displayed on the screens, Steph and Ace went immediately to a laptop set up on one metal desk in the corner of the room. On that screen was a display mapping the time and pitch of scratchy sounds being played through the computer’s speakers. Ace selected a time stamp he’d already highlighted and pressed the button for it to play.