Sucker (Para-noir-mal Detectives Book 1)

by Mark Lingane

  This equipment was about killing.

  11

  There was a small table near the center of the room. It held a plate of food. Someone had been having dinner while watching the show. And in the dead center of the room was a great stone altar--and this time I had no hesitation in using the word. A great winged demon was carved at one end, its claws reaching downward. Stone half-heads perched on each corner, and channels ran from the center of the stone slab to each half-head mouth. The thing looked older than time and more evil by half.

  Pools of blood lay around the room. On one side, where I had been, were three large metal crosses. Crucifixes. Two were empty. The third held the skinny blond thing, still fighting for her life. She was naked except for the secrets wrapped around her vulnerability. I looked down. I was the same. Underwear was all I had. And a pair of bloodied and exhausted limbs.

  I spotted a sharp knife-like tool on the wall and wrenched it off. I clambered up onto her small metal plate and our bodies squashed together. Her head rolled around, fighting against unconsciousness. I could feel the heat of her body against mine as I reached up and hacked at the ropes. One hand came free and fell over my shoulder. The second was easier and she was soon draped over me.

  I hitched her up and she wrapped her legs around my waist. Her face fell against mine and her mouth brushed my ear. She whispered something inaudible. I twisted around, and slowly, with some considerable discomfort, eased us down onto the plate. My legs burned as I lowered her to the floor. When her feet touched the tiles, I let her go and she collapsed. I jumped down next to her.

  Shaking her face yielded no response. Her breathing diminished to the shallowest of gasps. Her eyes fluttered. Life was draining away from her.

  I ran over to the wall and wrenched off a long pike. I slipped the end into the doorjamb and put all my weight on it. Wood splintered and metal creaked, and the great steel door swung open. It was a good two feet thick.

  I ran back to the young lady. Her eyes were closed and her body was still. I checked for a pulse. I checked again. I checked a third time.

  I sat back. The urgency was gone. I had another dead, skinny blond thing.

  Her arm shot up in the air. Her fingertips glowed white and irradiated an intense cool that penetrated my skin and deep into my bones. Without flexing, she stood up. Her eyes snapped open, and she turned toward me. I scrambled back and fought for purchase on the bloodied floor. Her body, smeared with dark blood, moved toward me.

  I'd be a liar if I said I saw her legs move.

  I'd even swear she wasn't touching the ground.

  I took a couple of steps backward and she continued forward, pushing me toward the corner, past the table. Her hand reached out toward my chest. I could feel the burn, the crushing pain on my heart, as though she was sucking out my life. She squinted, and her face twisted like she was in trouble. I wrapped my hands around her wrist and tried to force her away, but she was as unyielding as cast iron. She pushed forward and I staggered backward, tripping and stumbling.

  My hand landed on the table and searched for something to use as a weapon. My fingers wrapped around a butter knife. I grasped it and thrust it toward her. It bent and broke against her shoulder, useless. I flailed for something else. In desperation I grabbed a handful of food and threw it at her, catching her in the face.

  I ran for the door. She leaped after me, pushing me to the ground. I lunged forward, but she grabbed my ankle. The burning was intense and shot all the way up my body. I cried out in pain. I grabbed the pike. She was up and leaping for me, her glowing hand fully extended. I raised the pike just as she started to descend, and it punctured her stomach. She collapsed to her knees, eyes blank. Her limp, impaled form hunched over and started to shake. The twitching increased. Her arms snapped forward and grasped the shaft sticking out of her body. She pulled on it until she had ripped it out, and then threw it to the floor.

  She grabbed me around the throat and flung me across the room. I landed heavily on the altar. Before I could blink, she was standing above me; feet planted on either side, looking down with those deathly blue eyes. She reached behind her and pulled a red, eighteen-inch dagger from the mouth of the stone demon.

  I scrambled to my feet and wrestled with her impossible strength. She braced with the dagger in her hands and we stood locked together, both unyielding. Then I felt the slightest flex in her arm and pushed--hard. When she spun around I smashed her hand into the face of the stone demon. She roared and spun back. I used her momentum and twisted her around, thrusting her back into the statue. I pounded her wrist into the ancient stone repeatedly until she cried out and dropped the dagger.

  She leaped off the altar and I lunged for the weapon. I ran for the door. She stood before me, barring the exit. She hissed at me. Her face had lost whatever beauty she once had, and she looked half animal. Her fingers had the form of claws. She leaped.

  I brought the dagger around and she scrambled to avoid it. She was too late. The dagger sliced into her chest. Her eyes went black and her head lolled to the side.

  Then there was an explosion, so bright, so loud, that it seemed to emanate from the air itself. In a moment where the entire fabric of space exploded, the room turned into a raging inferno. I dived for the doorway and just managed to roll to one side as the ball of flame roared through the opening and up the stairwell.

  I jumped to my feet and ran up the steps, still with the image of the demented girl impaled on the dagger, her eyes a combination of rage and sadness. I burst into another room, a large room, a party room. One I'd seen before.

  Welcome to the Vinyl.

  12

  The phone rang. Times had changed and I wasn't interested in what it had to say. I sat staring at the door. Was I expecting someone to burst through it? Probably. I had to round up some thoughts and herd them into the what-the-hell-happened rodeo. I wondered how I'd explain it to Watcher without him calling in the men with straitjackets. Maybe this was one I could leave behind. One thing was for sure; I needed some expert advice.

  Limbo's was where it had all gone wrong. The lady of a certain age owed me a few answers.

  I caught another thirty-five down to the Basin. As soon as I got there I knew something had happened. The entrance was busted open, but not from the outside. I went in through the gate. A clear path had been blown from the front door straight through the overgrown garden. Plants in the line of fire had been charred into a blackened mess, allowing an unbroken view of the sky.

  I went in through the front door. The marble had met the same fate as the garden. The smoking remains of the recently hung portrait were in pieces on the floor, but I could still make out parts of the face. Hugh Jorgen. I looked over the other portraits. I pulled out my Leica and took some snaps. It would be interesting to find out who they were.

  Phone-lady was dead, her burned body crumpled on the ground, her hands up in front of her, like she was a stone statue. I shuffled through the keys until I found 1969.

  The corridors were eerily quiet. I knocked on a couple of doors but there was no response. I made my way through the maze and eventually came to the California room. This time I opened the door cautiously before looking around. The place was empty of life. Hugh's body was lying on the floor. He was still smiling, but he didn't have much to be happy about.

  The trash monsters had visited. Most of the room had been turned inside out; whoever it was had definitely been looking for something. Pillows and cushions were slashed; drawers pulled open and upended. Stuff everywhere. What interested me were the artifacts in the shelving unit. They looked untouched, which seemed odd considering the rest of the chaos.

  I took a closer look. Each object was offset from a ring of dust, meaning they'd been slid over but left in roughly the same place. That seemed strange. I lifted up an old totem head, a piece of wood created to keep superstitions at bay. It didn't explode. It wasn't particularly heavy. There was a hand, dead as a doornail. It looked creepy. It didn't spring to life an
d try to strangle me, or answer a telephone.

  I guessed there were sixty-odd hundred compartments in the shelving unit, each space occupied except for one, bang in the middle of the structure. The space was long and thin, with a circular clip on one side. I took some more photographs, on the lookout for someone sneaking up silently behind me.

  I sat in Hugh's chair, hoping to see what made him look so happy. The sun was creeping across the sky. A high window above the roof was letting in dull light. I squinted as the sunlight fell into my eyes. I saw what he was smiling at. By the door were two framed gold records. His hits before people realized he wasn't any good.

  I grabbed one of the frames. It contained his first hit: "You Got Me." I flicked around the edges. The back was a patchwork of yellowing tape that held the frame together. I sat down in Hugh's chair again and ran my eye over the tape. Written on one small piece was the name S. Cain, followed by a number. It was the kind of thing you'd miss if you were in a hurry, or not particularly delicate. I carefully peeled off the tape and shoved it into my pocket.

  I picked up the second frame and started to examine it. On the edge of my hearing I picked up a distant crack. I ran over to the door and glanced out. Shadows fell over the entrance to the corridor. I bolted out of the room and tried the opposite door. The handle turned under my grip and I slid into the room. It was dark. I held the door open a sliver and peered out. The angle was bad. All I could hear were heavy steps trying to sound quiet. Whoever it was stopped in front of Hugh's door and looked around before pushing into the room. I made sure I didn't gasp. The solid, tall body with the long black hair was unmistakable.

  Levi.

  I closed the door and waited. In the darkness of the room my senses picked up. What they picked up was a particular, familiar scent. I heard a smashing of glass from the other room, like a frame containing a gold record being busted open. I glanced down at the one in my hands. It had suddenly become a lot more interesting.

  The scent hit me again. Its familiarity gnawed away at me. I put the frame down on the floor and walked further into the room. I could see the outline of a bed in the center. I fumbled around it until I found a side table. I turned on the lamp and the room was filled with a dull golden glow. I stood back and took in the scene.

  The bedsheets were tucked in tightly; the bed looked neat, shipshape and ready for action. The rope coiled in the center of the bed was a little unexpected, but not unheard of in a cheap or discerning hotel. The end had been cut and burned for incarceration rather than for freedom. But was the person tied up here, or released here? Why leave the rope neatly coiled?

  The walls caught my attention. I stepped back and took in the spectacle. Blood had been sprayed in large letters in a foreign language over each wall. I couldn't read the words, but I could guess what they meant.

  Still that familiar scent lingered in the air. I followed it to the source. My nose ended up hovering over the bed. I picked up the pillow. The scent was strong and reminded me of Desire. Something fell out of the pillowcase and bounced on the taut sheets. A broken-heart hairpin.

  Mina.

  The sound of a door being expertly and silently opened clicked delicately through the still air. I grabbed the hairpin and went back to the door, picking up the frame. I cracked the door and saw Levi look around before stepping out and heading down the corridor. His face was full of fury. Perhaps he didn't find what he was looking for. Perhaps because it was in my hands. One of two objects.

  I eased open the door and crept down the corridor after the big man. He was easy to follow with his great stomping feet crushing all sense of discretion into dust. He made his way back to the Terrace, but went west rather than toward the Vinyl. I tracked him by hanging off the back of his thirty-five. He was a guy who never looked back.

  When he got out at his stop, I cruised onto the next one and made my way back. I slipped behind a building across the street. Levi was engaged in a heated exchange with another large man. I'd describe the stranger as a bear; he was covered in hair and had a set of arms that could crush small vehicles. From my observation point it was easy to see they weren't friends. They weren't even enemies; the anger and spit ran way deeper.

  Levi poked bear-man in the chest.

  Bear-man let out a shout that could be heard all the way to the bay: "Betrayer!" He took a swing at Levi, who ducked out of the way easily.

  Levi pushed Bear-man, who stumbled backward. Levi turned and ran. Bear-man recovered and put in a couple of long strides before giving up. He let out another shout. I spotted a thirty-five approaching and dashed over to the bus stop. Bear-man strode back. He slowed as he passed me, giving the gold record and me a strange look, but he didn't stop and his long, loping strides took him down the terrace.

  I jumped on the thirty-five. Hanging off the back, I could see Levi ahead. He slowed, looked around and ducked into a small alleyway. As the bus slowed, I jumped off and ran back to the alleyway. Eden Lane. It was as empty as a Basin hooker's mind. I wandered down to the end. Brick walls ran down both sides and ended with another brick wall. No doors. No windows. No exits other than the way in. I kicked various points, but nothing happened other than my toe protesting.

  I took the gold record and went back to my office.

  I was pulling apart the frame when there was a knock on the door. I slid the frame behind my chair.

  "Yeah?"

  The door creaked open and Laura looked in. I waved.

  "You up to much? I was passing and thought I'd see if you wanted to go out."

  I looked hesitantly around the room.

  "You in the middle of something?" she said.

  "Yeah. An investigation."

  "Oh." The disappointment in her voice was solid, and her face fell.

  I couldn't let her be a warren for the sad bunnies. "How about dinner, tonight?"

  "Okay." She brightened, which made me feel better. "My choice?"

  I nodded.

  "I'll do some paperwork down at the tank until then."

  "Is your friend not here?"

  "Something happened. She got ill or something, and she can't come. My dad's friend said he'd say more when he got down here, but he was all weird and refused to talk about it."

  She disappeared, probably to plan some difficult night out that involved too much dancing and not enough drinking. It was a troubling thought, which I had to put out of my mind.

  The strange woman in the Vinyl was banging around inside my head. I wanted to know if I was crazy or if I was real crazy. I flipped open the pages and searched for possible assistance. Among all the shysters and con artists, it was hard to find an honest man. I grabbed a couple of names from the more interesting ads and stepped out into the afternoon.

  I was worried that my place was becoming too hot. I went by the yellowbox, where I'd hired a locker to secret the few things in my life that held any kind of value to someone other than myself, and dropped off the gold record. It would be safer than concealing it in the special flap in the floor.

  13

  The first two ended up being less substantial than a puff of opium through a broken hookah, nothing but unwashed men with excessive beards and weird eyes, and a misplaced belief that they were something more than ten-a-decimal wannabes. The third didn't even have a glitzy sign. The building only had a small silver plate screwed into the wall. The letters had been scribbled over by a demented person with a crayon.

  I pushed my way in, accompanied by the tinkling of a small bell above the door, and was immediately struck by the aura of the place. There was no showbiz here. It was a plain dark room with nothing but a couple of chairs and a small table up against the wall. There was a strong scent of garlic, like someone was cooking up a storm. I spotted several cloves on a small shelf above the table.

  "Is this a shop?"

  "That would imply I have something to sell," came the voice. It was hollow, full of defeat.

  "What do you do?"

  "I protect myself, and educat
e those of an inquisitive mind."

  I looked around the small room. It seemed devoid of any educational equipment. As my eyes became accustomed to the light, I began to recognize the outlines of various religious artifacts, painted black, hung against the wall. It reminded me, disconcertingly, of Hugh Jorgen's California room.

  "What has glowing fingers?" I asked as my eyes drifted around the room.

  "Are you talking about the skinny blond women?"

  "Yeah."

  "God, I hate them."

  A young lady stepped out of the shadows. She looked normal, unlike the other people, and was dressed in the "city" outfits all the uptown ladies were wearing--a white shirt, short black skirt, and a long set of white socks pulled up to her knees. Her long, dark hair was pulled back into a squirrel.

  "They're vampires," she said.

  I didn't say anything, but my expression conveyed it all.

  "No, really. I don't know where this whole myth of sinking fangs into the neck of virgins comes from, but these creatures, they turn into these large winged beasts and they suck the life force out of their victims--young girls." She reached forward, her eyes going wide and her fingers questing out.

  I'd seen that before. I took a step back.

  She focused on her hand, seemed to realize how it looked and lowered it.

  My mind flicked back to the food at the Vinyl, the strong herb aroma, and the effect it had had on the skinny blond thing. "What's with the garlic myth?"

  She took a clove down off the shelf. "It's the scent. Animals rely heavily on scent. If you wave garlic under the nose of a dog, the dog will shy away. And it fights mutated antibodies in blood, their blood." She rotated it in her hand, mesmerized by it. "It's like it was created to hurt them. A vampire hand grenade."

  "How do you know this?"

  In one swift movement she ripped open her top, which was unexpected, and pointed to the five burn marks on her chest. "One was sucking the life from me when a dog came along and scared her away."