“I do indeed. To see if they make any mistakes. And they do.” Dr. Schwartz tapped a non-corporeal toe. “Not many. But they’re not perfect, these doctors. I give them advice when they’re willing to listen. And so many of them are foreign. What’s wrong with American doctors? Don’t the universities churn enough of them out? There are Indians here, and I mean the ones from India. And there is a—”
“I’m here to see someone.” Thomas decided to go ahead and be a little rude. “Evelyn Love. She came in here—”
“—some hours ago. Nasty. Nasty. Lost a lot of blood. I watched them give her four units. Or maybe it was five. Yes, five now that I think about it,” Dr. Schwartz said. “You know, the human body only holds twelve.”
“Is she … did she …”
“Make it? Yes. They wheeled her out of here a little while ago. They didn’t make any mistakes. Good that you missed the messy part, the surgery. You don’t have the look of a physician about you. Wouldn’t want you to get all squeamish in my wing, and—”
“Do you know where they took her?”
The ghost made a harrumphing sound. “Certainly. To recovery.” He gestured with an insubstantial arm. “I’d escort you, but I’m busy. Shift change is coming up, and I need to see who comes on duty tonight.”
“Uh, thank you, Dr. Schwartz.”
“Anytime.” The ghost turned and stuck his head back through the door.
Thomas never cared for hospitals. Outside of his surgery at Memorial, he’d ventured into hospitals only to see people die: namely his mother, struck in a hit-and-run that forever colored his father’s view of all OTs. He brushed the memory away and followed the arrow.
Evelyn was still in recovery.
He floated next to her bed, glancing between her and the green and blue lines and numbers that moved and changed on the monitor. She looked peaceful, like she was sleeping, her chest rising and falling regularly. But she had an ugly bruise on the side of her face and her arm was in some sort of padded contraption. Still, she looked lovely.
“I’ve been doing a lot of research,” Thomas said, coming out of his “invisible man” mode and raising his voice so that she could hear him … on the chance that in her unconscious state she really could. “I know how to save Pete. It won’t work for all the gargoyles Arnold is out to get, but we can save Pete, and then we’ll go to work on the other buildings case-by-case. You see, Arnold is stymied by zoning restrictions. They’re strict in Haight-Ashbury, probably because so much of the area is original, didn’t come down with the big quake. Buildings can only be so big, and Arnold can’t come in and tear something down to put up something taller that doesn’t fit with the rest of the block. So his notion of bright and shiny condos isn’t going to fly.”
Thomas floated to the other side of the bed, not wanting to watch the lines and numbers anymore. He wanted to focus solely on Evelyn. “I read all the reports. Arnold has been trying to get around the restrictions, and he can’t. He tried petitioning other building owners in the block, in the blocks all around us, trying to get them to support a change in the restrictions. He hasn’t gotten a single signature. So between the restrictions and getting us on the National Register, we’ll be all right. Pete will be safe.” He paused, listening to the steady beep of the machine. “Of course, we still have to pay enough rent so Zaxil won’t fall into bankruptcy. But I have good news there, too. I can go to court, Evelyn.” He said the last bit again.
He leaned close to her face. “But you’ll have to be there with me. I don’t know if they’ll let me legally try a case. You’ll have to do that … at least for the time being. I’ll help you study for the bar. You’ll get your license, and—”
“Sir? I’m sorry, sir, but you can’t be here.”
Thomas hadn’t heard the doctor come in. She was short, with a dark complexion and an accent that suggested she was one of the Indians Dr. Schwartz had spoken about. Her smile was warm, and her eyes kind. He read her nametag: Dr. Ojal Anajali.
“I—I—I—” Thomas was at an uncustomary loss for words.
“Are you … were you … a relative?” She stuck the end of her stethoscope in her pocket.
“No.” Thomas was surprised that the doctor took his appearance in stride, not a hint of shock on her face. “Employer, actually. She works at my law firm, and I—”
The doctor dropped her voice to a whisper. “I’m not worried that you’ll contaminate her. However, I am concerned that you will disturb her. Ms. Love needs rest. She’ll be moved to ICU in the morning, probably for a day, then to acute care.”
Thomas looked between Evelyn and the doctor. “Dr. Anajali, I have to know if she—”
“Even ghosts need to obey the visiting hour protocol. Why don’t you stop by later in the day tomorrow? Sometime after noon would be best.”
Thomas nodded and drifted toward the door.
“But, yes, Ms. Love will be fine.”
He thanked her and dropped through the floor, passing Dr. Schwartz on his way out. The portly ghost was deep in conversation with a young physician, who appeared to be taking copious notes.
Chapter 2.13
Dagger thought the old furniture store looked creepy.… beyond the trio of undead that hopped inside. Most of the light fixtures were gone. There’d been wainscoting, and it had been carted somewhere, a stripe showing the original plaster marked its passing. The walls to his left and right had been ripped open and some of the pipes removed. Spools of copper wire were in a corner near the front. The “good stuff” had or was being salvaged. On a beam overhead, he saw a charge of explosives, farther back another one, wired but not primed. He knew that to demolish a building you didn’t have to blow it all to hell; you just had to take down the parts that had been holding it upright.
“Thank you for accompanying my jiang shi,” the backlit woman said. Her voice was a purr, silky like a proficient voice actor. “I understand that you have been inquiring about me. Is it because I asked some of my friends to kill Evelyn Love? I had no choice. She was getting close to my business dealings, and I could not allow that. And now, you know too much about me.”
Dagger stopped midway into the store. She was about twenty feet ahead. The undead were between her and him. “Jiang shi, that what you call these things? They some sort of zombie, Mei-li?”
He heard the pout in her reply. “My loyal friends, these jiang shi,” she said. “You have me at a disadvantage. You know who I am. Who are you?”
Dagger thought about replying: “A tourist,” but being snide wouldn’t get him anywhere. He sniffed the air, still finding the strong scent of rotting flesh, but picking up the faintest hit of perfume: jasmine.
“I’m Dagger McKenzie, a private investigator.” Dagger took another step forward. The jiang shi turned to face him; the most recent dead man hopped a little closer. “I started out investigating your husband. Seems he doesn’t like OTs, particularly gargoyles. And he turned one of my friends into an OT, a ghost. Had him killed.”
“Franklin is not here.” Her silky voice had developed a brittle edge.
“I gather that.” Dagger had been trying to keep her talking, letting his eyes better adjust to the gloomy interior so he could pick out more details, separate the shadows. He saw two more figures, one in each of the far corners, more jiang shi judging by how their arms stuck out.
The most recent dead man took another few hops, closing the distance to Dagger. The undead stench grew stronger.
“I also gather that your husband doesn’t know you’re an OT.”
He’d triggered her. She stepped out of the shadows. Beautiful was the first word that came to Dagger’s mind. She was slight without being skinny; all the features of her face perfect like a Barbie doll, hair long and silky-looking, her eyes inquisitive and angry at the same time. Her makeup was flawless, but perhaps it wasn’t makeup … maybe she naturally looked that way. She raised her arms and pointed at him, and the five dead men hopped, faster than he’d seen them move out on the
street. “Drink his qi, my children,” she purred in Mandarin. “Feast on his flesh and grow stronger. Take his life and make him suffer.”
Dagger understood every word.
She reached behind and turned off the light, plunging the immense room into darkness.
“Wonderful,” Dagger said. “They’re friggin’ hopping vampires.”
Dagger couldn’t see in utter darkness, but a little light was shining through the front windows from the lampposts out on the street. It was enough. He swung his helmet bag at the closet jiang shi, aiming high and striking the side of its head. The neck snapped, the head lolling to one side and bouncing on its shoulder, but the thing kept coming.
He slipped past it, giving a vicious side kick as he went that set the undead off balance. It fell, arms outstretched and catching itself in a pushup pose. Dagger pressed on to the next target, reaching under his jacket and pulling out a knife he kept in a concealed sheath. He sliced at one jiang shi while kicking at another. Then he spun and delivered a roundhouse kick to the one he’d just slashed. Though the creatures were rotting, he could tell they’d been embalmed; the wizened organs that spilled out had that scent to them.
The competing awful odors made his stomach twist, but he kept going. The one he’d disemboweled flailed on the floor; he considered it out of the combat. That left four. The one in the pushup pose had managed to regain his feet, head still lolled to the side and eyes looking crazy and unfocused.
“You all are seriously disgusting,” Dagger said as he whirled and alternately slashed with the knife and kicked. “I know Evey and Tom champion OTs, undead rights. But you undead … there is nothing right about you.” He spat and jumped at the shortest one, swinging with as much strength as he could muster and slicing deep into its neck. The head flopped backward, held only by the spine. He cut it again and the head dropped to the floor, a moment later the body joining it.
“Okay, so that’s how we do it, eh? I cut off your head and you die again.”
The three remaining were trying hard not to give him that sort of opening. They’d retained some intelligence in death, and one of them had retained some martial arts skills. It was employing the Thunder and Lightning style, focusing on the ki punch and crushing block. It managed to get close and sink its teeth into Dagger’s cheek.
The bite hurt like hell, but worse was the dizzying sensation that came with it. The thing was sapping his qi, or life essence. Dagger pushed it away and wiped at his cheek. “Now you really pissed me off.”
He moved faster, wishing he’d taken off his leather jacket, which was a little confining. He slashed hard to his right, finding another throat but not cutting deep enough, pivoted and brought the blade back with more force, landing a blow against an outstretched arm and breaking it. The limb hung limply and caused the jiang shi to totter. Dagger kicked it and it fell back, good arm and legs waiving like a turtle trying to right itself.
Two standing.
“Let’s hurry this up,” he told them. He wanted a face-to-face with Mei-li, even though he knew she’d left with the darkness—no more jasmine scent.
And more undead coming from a back corner. There must be a stairway somewhere.
“Oh, this is getting better and better and better,” Dagger said. He counted eight … nine, as the one he’d knocked on its back was getting up. Nine was going to present a problem. A glance behind him confirmed that he was surrounded. “Better and better and better.”
It wasn’t a full moon tonight, so Dagger had to put effort into his transformation. He rarely took this path when the moon didn’t force the change on him. It was painful, and he thought it took a little piece of his mind away each time. His heart beat faster, finding a rhythm that matched Chinatown’s secret, dark one. He felt it expanding his chest, pressing at the seams of his shirt, his arms lengthening, straining the confines of his expensive leather jacket. The sides of his shoes ripped out and his pads spread, his palms broadening, fingers elongating, nails turning into claws. Everywhere coarse black hair grew; his pelt was thick and parts of it looked silver in the light that filtered in through the big front windows.
His face changed, and that was the most painful part. The bones popped and moved, rearranged themselves as he grew a snout. His ears shifted and he screamed against the agony. It turned into a howl as he dropped to all fours, slavering jowls closing around the leg of a jiang shi, snapping it and dropping the creature, turning on the next and doing the same. Over and over, he rapidly tore into the undead with a viciousness they couldn’t match. From the back of his mind, Dagger watched the beast rage, finding it at the same time compelling and disturbing, and exerting control over it when only one jiang shi remained. He snapped its legs and removed its arms.
Dagger pictured himself a man again and felt his body folding in upon itself, the hair receding, claws shrinking, chest regaining its normal size. He fell on his hands and knees next to the surviving undead and gulped in the malodorous air. His clothes hung on him in tatters, and his shoes were worthless.
The last undead glared up at him, unable to move.
“I came here looking for information about Mei-li Arnold,” Dagger said. His voice was hoarse, and his throat felt dry. “You need to tell me about Mei-li. I bet you know all about Mrs. Arnold’s plans, don’t you? I bet you know all about her.”
The defiance in the jiang shi’s eyes faded, and slowly it talked.
Dagger cut its head off when he’d gotten enough, stood, and surveyed his carnage. He ached, like he had bad arthritis, but he knew the pain would pass. He grabbed up his helmet bag and padded toward the back corner where he’d seen the jiang shi emerge. The scent of jasmine was stronger here.
He found Mei-li downstairs with two more jiang shi attendants. She was strikingly beautiful, dressed in traditional silks, but from an era long passed. Her skin was pale like cream and her feet small as if they’d been bound in childhood. One oil lantern on an old sea chest provided the only light, but it was enough for Dagger to see beyond her and to the room’s contents. His stomach roiled. Apparently the jiang shi lived down here. A dozen coffin-shaped boxes lined one wall, and against the other were piles of bodies in various states of decay, no doubt what the jiang shi had been eating. The freshest bodies were the most gruesome, a few were children, all were Chinese, and all had been dressed in ragged clothes.
Dagger’s pocket had survived. He reached into it, pulled out his cell phone, and took some pictures. “Smile for the camera, Mei-li.”
“You are a fool.”
“Probably. But I’m not a murderer.” Dagger pointed to the tangle of bodies. “Indentured servants, weren’t they? You’ve been buying people from the Triad, smuggled in. Food for your friends. You’re murdering these people.”
Mei-li smiled, the icy expression sending a shiver down Dagger’s back.
“Not much bothers me,” he said. “But this … you’ve managed to seriously turn my stomach.”
In Mandarin, she told her remaining attendants to drink Dagger’s life. He dropped his helmet bag and made fast work of them. She headed for the stairs and he cut her off.
“You trespass,” she hissed. “This is my building.”
“Call the cops,” Dagger said. He took another picture of her. “I’ll let you use my cell phone.”
She stepped back, gestured at the lantern. He’d expected her to douse it but instead it burned hot and bright, much more than the device was naturally capable of. The light revealed more explosives rigged to support beams, made the remains even more grotesque, and then it grew so bright he found it hurtful.
“I am immortal. You cannot kill me, and so you cannot stop me.” At the same time as the light grew brighter still, Mei-li shrank. Dagger took more pictures. It was a transformation similar to Dagger’s. But where he’d grown larger, she halved her size and then halved it again. Her dark hair turned umber and flowed down her limbs like butter melting. Her perfect nose became a snout, her head heart-shaped, and nine tails grew.
She was a fox. Literally.
“Fine, so I can’t kill you,” Dagger said, putting his cell phone away. “That’s not my plan anyway.”
Chapter 2.14
Dagger found Franklin Arnold in his office. He’d gone to the man’s house first, and a reluctant and sufficiently intimidated butler revealed that “Mr. Arnold is working late tonight.” Evelyn had mentioned Arnold looking like a horse. Dagger concurred. The man’s face was overly long and his long gray hair was like a mane. But where a horse’s eyes appeared soulful, Arnold’s were cold and hard like buttons.
“I received a call that said to expect a tattered, barefoot man,” Arnold said. He closed the screen on his laptop. “How did you get past security?”
Dagger didn’t answer. He took a look around the office. The carpet was thick and felt good against the soles of his feet. It smelled pleasantly musky, and he sucked in a few deep breaths, hoping to rid the last of the undead stench from his lungs. The room was larger than Thomas Brock’s entire law office and was richly appointed. One leather chair probably cost twice what Gretchen’s desk had set Brock back. He glided forward, appreciating the deep pad under the carpet, and dropped his motorcycle helmet bag on Arnold’s desk.
“How about you leave Thomas Brock and Evelyn Love alone.” Dagger didn’t pose it as a question. “Brock’s dead, your hit mostly succeeded. And you and your wife targeting Evey? That stops. All of it stops.”
Arnold glanced at the lumpy looking bag.
“Mr. McKenzie—”
Dagger showed no surprise that Arnold knew who he was.
“And there’s more to this bargain,” Dagger continued. “Change your building plans. The ones with the gargoyles … leave them the hell alone. Consider it a trade for what’s in the bag and what I’ve got pictures of. I can e-mail you copies of the pics, if you’d like. Pics of indentured servants your OT wife had murdered. Pics of your OT wife. But I won’t send them to the Chronicle or anywhere else if you leave the gargoyles and their buildings alone.”
The Love-Haight Case Files Page 17