The Wizard of Lovecraft's Cafe

by Simon Hawke

  “Something about shipments,” said Natasha, frowning. “And somebody named Joey. Mean anything?”

  McGuire shook his head. “Could be anybody. Can’t you get anything else?”

  She crumpled the check up in her fist and closed her eyes. After a moment she opened them quickly. “Oh, boy,” she said.

  “What is it?”

  “Maldonado wants Angelo to take care of somebody, a woman,” she said. “A hooker, I think, or maybe he just thinks of her as being a whore. Something to do with Joey and these shipments. I’m not really getting anything else.” She flattened the check on the tabletop and smoothed it out a little with her hand. “Somebody named Tommy,” she said.

  “Tommy Leone?”

  “Maybe. He’s angry about the shipments. And Joey.” She shrugged. “Joey Something. Something Italian, with a B. That’s all I can get. I’m sorry, Steve.”

  “Maybe it’s enough,” he said. “Let’s cross our fingers. I’ve got to make a phone call.”

  They relinquished the booth back to the people who were sitting there, McGuire took care of their bill, then asked to use the phone in the office. He looked at his watch, then dialed.

  “Christine? McGuire. Look, I’m at Luigi’s. I found out Angelo met with Vinnie Maldonado here a few hours ago. Does Tommy Leone know anybody named Joey, last name something with a B, Italian?”

  “Joey Battaglia,” she said immediately. “Franco Maranallo’s nephew. A real sleaze. Likes to beat up women, especially hookers.”

  “Was there someone in particular he was associating with? A hooker, I mean, or some other woman?”

  “Hold on a moment, I can check Angelo’s most recent reports,” she said. “Why, have you got something?”

  “Yeah, I think so. Tommy Leone’s upset about losing some shipments. And he’s angry at Joey. It looks as if he thinks Joey’s been talking too much to some woman, a hooker, perhaps.”

  “Yeah, we had the D.E.A. seize two of their shipments last month, street value of over two million dollars. Angelo gave us the tip. It must have really hit Leone where it hurts. Let me see, Battaglia, Joey… here we go.” He heard the rustling of papers in the background. “Known associates… hmmmm… I’m sorry, Steve, nothing here about any women, hookers or otherwise. Apparently Angelo didn’t think there was anyone significant.”

  “Shit,” said McGuire.

  “Why, what have you come up with?”

  “You’re not going to like this. I think Maldonado sent Angelo out after some woman this Joey Battaglia’s been associating with.”

  “What do you mean, he sent him after some woman?”

  “Maybe to work her over, possibly even kill her.”

  “Wait a minute,” she said. “Are you sure? I thought you said Angelo was being controlled by some adept?”

  “That’s how it looks,” McGuire said.

  “So what the hell is he doing taking orders from Maldonado?”

  “I don’t have the faintest idea. It’s possible he’s not being controlled, after all.”

  “I thought you said he was a zombie?”

  “I said that my people said it was possible,” McGuire said. “There may be some other explanation for why he died and didn’t stay dead. Maybe the hospital really did screw up. I don’t know. But there’s a chance he may not know who he really is. That is to say, he may actually think his cover identity is his real identity.”

  He heard her sigh. “You’re telling me that Angelo might think he’s really Johnny Angel and he’s taken a contract on some woman?”

  “I’m afraid it’s possible.”

  “Dear God. You’ve got to stop him.”

  “I will, if I can find him. But you were the best lead I had. I can check with some of my people, but it would be a crap shoot. They won’t have your intelligence, because you’ve played it so close to the vest with your task force.”

  “Get off my back, Steve. Hell. I’m sorry. Look, I’ll see what I can do. I’ll check with some of my people, see if anybody knows more about who Battaglia’s been seeing. It might take some time, though.”

  “We may not have much.”

  “Then get the hell off the phone.” She hung up.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?” said Case, staring at his terminal monitor screen. “The files on Angelo are restricted?”

  “Detective John Angelo has been detached to special duty with the Organized Crime Task Force,” the computer replied. “I am unable to access his personnel files.”

  “Did you inform the N.Y.P.D. data bank that this is a B.O.T. priority request?”

  “I am programmed to do that as standard procedure,” the computer replied. “Clearance is required for access to all N.Y.P.D. personnel files.”

  Case sighed with exasperation. “All right. Make the request again, we’ll do it by the numbers. Give my full name, title, ID, shield number, and clearance authorization code.”

  “Working,” said the computer. A moment later the same “Restricted” message appeared on the terminal screen. “Request denied,” the computer said.

  Case swore. “What the hell do you mean, request denied?”

  “I mean that access to Detective John Angelo’s personnel file has been refused,” the computer replied.

  “I know that,” Case said irritably. “It’s not supposed to be refused. Can you determine if this is a computer error?”

  Why couldn’t he seem to think straight? He was practically dead on his feet, yet he hadn’t really done anything that he should feel so utterly exhausted. It must be stress, he thought. Or perhaps the aftereffects of whatever trauma he’d sustained that had made him lose his memory. He came out of the bathroom to find Blue stretched out on the bed. She had taken off everything except her panties.

  “I ordered some champagne and caviar,” she said with a sultry smile. “But we can start working up a thirst until it gets here.” She patted the bed beside her.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” said Angelo, “but I’d really rather not.”

  “What’s the matter?” she asked, a touch defensively. “Is it me? Or don’t you like girls?”

  “It’s neither one,” said Angelo, sitting down wearily on the other bed. “For one thing, I don’t really know you, and for another, I couldn’t even if I wanted to. I wouldn’t have the energy. I’m absolutely dead on my feet and I’ve got a splitting headache.”

  “Not tonight, I’ve got a headache, huh?” she said. She got up and came over to sit beside him on the bed. “Here, stretch out and lean back against me,” she said.

  “Really, Blue, I appreciate the gesture, but—”

  “Gesture nothing, I also happen to be a licensed masseuse,” she said. “Here, put your head back…” She started to massage his temples.

  “Ahhh,” he said. “That feels wonderful.”

  “Yeah, it helps me get better tips,” she said wryly. “I took a course in acupressure at the free university. Here, let’s get your shirt off. I’ll give you the full treatment.” She helped him off with his shirt and her eyes widened when she saw the runestone. “Hey, wow, is that a ruby?”

  “I suppose so,” he said. “I don’t remember how it got there, though.”

  “Jeez, look at the size of that thing!” she said, leaning closer to examine it. “It must be worth a fortune!” As she reached out to touch it, her bare breasts brushed Angelo’s face. “Hey! It feels warm!”

  Angelo cleared his throat slightly. “Body temperature, I guess.”

  She shook her head. “No, I don’t think so,” she said. “Trust me, one thing a girl knows about, it’s jewelry, and your body temperature wouldn’t warm it up like that. It’s got these little symbols carved in it.”

  “It does? I hadn’t really noticed.”

  “They look like runes,” she said. “You sure you don’t remember anything about this?”

  “No,” said Angelo. “I’m not really sure of anything.”

  “Here, t
urn over,” she said.

  He turned over onto his stomach and she straddled him to work on his neck, back, and shoulders. Angelo felt himself starting to relax a bit. She really was a very good masseuse.

  “You know what?” she said. “I think this is a magic stone. Maybe you’re an adept.”

  “I wouldn’t know,” Angelo replied. “What would an adept be doing with people like Joey Battaglia and Vinnie Maldonado?”

  “You got me there,” she said, kneading the muscles in us back. “You know something, you’re really in great shape. You must work out a lot.”

  “If I do, I don’t remember,” Angelo replied.

  “You really don’t remember anything?”

  “ Not really. Little bits and pieces of things. Like just now, 1 was standing by the window, looking out at the park, and 1 seemed for a moment as if the view was somehow familiar, only the angle was wrong.”

  “So you think maybe you used to live around here?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “God, it must be terrible not to be able to remember anything. Maybe if we work on it, we can jog something loose.”

  “I imagine you’ve got your own problems to worry about right now,” said Angelo. “You can’t go back to your place. Maldonado and his friends will be looking for you. What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t really know. I haven’t exactly had much chance to think about it.”

  “You have any money?”

  “I’ve got some squirreled away in an account,” she said “A few thousand. I was saving up to open my own gallery. I guess now I’ll go to the bank tomorrow and take it all out. I’ll need it to get out of town.”

  He grunted.

  “Maybe I’ll go to L.A. Or maybe Chicago, who knows I didn’t leave anything behind I can’t replace. Like my whole life,” she added sourly. “You know, as long as I can remember, I wanted to be an artist. It’s not as if I wanted to be a hooker, you know. Things just get kind of complicated sometimes. A girl’s gotta do what she can to get by. This town will chew you up and spit you out. Way it started out, a guy propositioned me and I was broke and hungry and 1 figured, well, just this once, you know, what can it hurt? And it was easy money. I just sort of turned my head off and got through it and afterward I felt like hell, but then the next time it was easier, and then the next time after that and the next time after that, and well, you know how it is. You just find yourself in these situations.”

  There was a knock at the door.

  “That’s room service,” she said. “Just relax a minute, I’ll be right back.”

  She got up and threw on a robe, then went to let in the room service waiter with his cart. She signed for it and poured herself a glass of champagne. She picked up the bottle and the other glass and went back into the bedroom.

  “You sure you don’t want some of this champagne?” she said. “It’s really good.”

  Angelo was fast asleep.

  “No, thank you, Blue,” she said. She shrugged and emptied the glass. She stood over the bed, staring down at him. He was breathing deeply and heavily. “Angelo?” she said. He did not respond.

  She repeated his name again, but he seemed sound asleep. Moving slowly and carefully, she went through his pockets until she found the roll of bills. She put the roll into the pocket of her leather jacket and got dressed. Her gaze fell on the semi-automatic in the shoulder holster he had left hanging on a chair. She took the pistol out of the holster. It felt large and heavy in her hand.

  She considered whether or not she should take it, as well. if Joey’s friends came after her… but then, about all she would really know how to do was point it. She knew nothing about guns, except that automatics were more complicated than revolvers. She knew that much from the entertainment programs she had seen and from watching Joey with his gun. He used to like to show it off. He would do this thing with the top part of it, where he would sort of slap it back, and the top part would move. It had something to do with loading it or getting it ready to fire. There were also little levers or something on it and she had no idea what they did. She put the gun back in its holster.

  She had the money, that was all that counted. She didn’t know how much was in the roll, but it was a lot. Enough, certainly, to buy her a ticket out of town. She looked back at Angelo’s sleeping form and hesitated. Guy saves my life, she thought, and I wind up rolling him. Great. Then she thought, who am I kidding? I’ve got to think of myself. The only thing he really saved her from was himself. And Joey. And his mobster friends. She took the roll out of her jacket pocket and stared at it for a moment, then took a deep breath and replaced it in her pocket. The hell with it, she thought. Life is hard and then you die. A girl’s gotta look out for herself. She started walking toward the door, but stopped before she reached it and simply stood there.

  Her shoulders slumped and she sighed, looking down at the floor. “Aw, hell,” she said to herself. “I can’t. I just can’t.”

  She took the roll back out of her pocket and turned around to put it back. She gasped. Angelo was gone. In his place on the bed, sitting back against the headboard, was an old man with a deeply lined face and skin that was the color of bronze. He was dressed in a white robe and long, fiery red hair hung down almost to his waist. His eyes were a brilliant, unsettling emerald green, almost like a cat’s, and they were so bright they seemed to glow. And they were watching her. She dropped the roll of bills to the floor and stared, her jaw slack Then her knees buckled beneath her and she fell to the floor in a faint.

  “Well, that’s it,” McGuire said, leaning back wearily against the car seat. “I can’t think what else to do. I’ve already got an A.P.B. out on Angelo. Sooner or later, we’ll find him, but by then that woman he’s gone after may already be floating in the river.”

  “There must be something else that we can do,” said Gypsy.

  “I’m open to suggestions,” said McGuire.

  “Couldn’t you bring in this guy, Maldonado, for questioning?”

  McGuire shook his head. “No, he’s a wise guy. He wouldn’t say a word and his lawyer would have him out in no time.”

  “Maybe if I could get a reading on him—”

  “Forget it,” said McGuire. “I’ve already stretched the rules too far involving you as much as I have. And involving myself, for that matter. Christine’s trying to build a case against Tommy Leone. If there’s even a hint of a psychic being involved, it will taint all the other evidence. It’s too much of a gray area. Besides, you don’t want to get anywhere near a guy like Maldonado. You want to wind up in a landfill somewhere?”

  “So you’re simply going to give up?”

  “No, but there doesn’t seem to be anything to do right now except wait. I’ve got Angelo’s apartment staked out, and there’s an A.P.B. out. I can question my detectives and see if any of them know anything about who Joey Battaglia’s been seeing, but he’s really not a major player. Maybe Christine will come up with something. The trouble is, the trail’s gone cold on us, and for that matter, I don’t even know who or what we’re after. Is Angelo an amnesiac cop who’s had a near-death experience or is he a corpse being controlled by some necromancer? This whole thing started with that crazy raid and now it’s gotten completely out of hand. I should just •ash my hands of the whole thing and turn it over to the Bateau. Let Case have the headache.”

  “But you’re not going to do that,” she said.

  McGuire gave a small snort. “Does your psychic’s intuition tell you that?”

  “No, I just know you.”

  “Well, you’ve been a big help, Natasha, and I appreciate it.”

  “That sounds like a dismissal.”

  “Don’t take it the wrong way. It’s an honest thank you. But you’ve done about all that you can do. From here on, it’s straight police work. I’ll go and have a talk with that adept physician at the hospital. Maybe he can give me a better picture of exactly what we’re dealing with. I’ll drop you off at your place.
”

  “What will you do when you find Angelo?”

  “Try to take him in. But I just don’t know if we’ll have that option. Whatever Angelo’s become, he’s clearly out of control. If he really has become a zombie, then we’re going to have to bring him down. I don’t even want to think about •hat’s going to happen if the media gets hold of this. In any case, Angelo isn’t my main problem. It’s whoever’s behind this, Cornwall or whatever his name is, and his confederates.”

  “I thought they were the Bureau’s problem,” Gypsy said.

  “If they’re turning cops into zombies, they’re my problem,” said McGuire grimly.

  He dropped her off in front of her apartment building and as the car skimmed away, the cab with Wyrdrune and Kira pulled up. Wyrdrune opened the back door. “Get in,” he said.

  “We’ve got trouble,” Gypsy said.

  “I know,” Wyrdrune replied. “I heard.”

  She frowned. “You heard? How did you…” And then her eyes got big. Her hand went to the amulet at her throat. “I don’t believe it. You bugged me?”

  “It was for your safety,” Wyrdrune said.

  “I can’t believe you actually bugged me!” Gypsy said She took off the amulet angrily and threw it out of the window of the cab. It immediately reappeared back around her neck “Damn it!” she said. She took it off again and threw it out again. And it came back again.

  “You’re wasting your time,” said Wyrdrune.

  “How the hell do I get rid of this thing?” she demanded.

  “You can’t. Not unless Sebastian takes off the spell.”

  “I’m going to have a word or two with that big fairy!”

  “I wouldn’t go losing my temper with him, if I were you,” said Kira. “Fairies don’t get mad. They just get even.”

  Gypsy sighed with exasperation. “Where are we going?”

  “Back to check in with Gonzo,” Wyrdrune said. “Maybe we’ll get lucky and he’s heard something.”

  “What worries me is that we haven’t heard anything about that necromancer,” Kira said.

  “That worries you?” asked Gypsy. “I should think no news is good news.”