by P. N. Elrod
“Next morning Nelly showed up real early. Woke the whole house, carried on like it was the end of the world, screaming and crying. Scared me good.”
“What had happened to her?”
“Donno. All she had in one piece was her coat. Her dress was all tore up and bloody, and she was black-and-blue and…and tore up. You know. Down there. Called a doctor for her, and Mrs. Temple sent her off again. She never come back. Not here, anyway.”
He couldn’t speak for a long time.
Lettie finished, got a damp towel, and brushed at his shoulders to clean off the clippings. “I’m done, Mister.”
He shut his eyes. After a few minutes, the bedsprings squeaked.
“Mister?”
“Gabe,” he whispered. “Gabriel.”
“You want to do anything?”
He blinked clear of the empty dark. She sat on one corner of the bed, bare feet dangling, the robe hanging loose and open. “Where did Nelly go?”
Lettie shrugged. “One of the girls said she went back to her mother. They brought in a new girl and told us to keep quiet. It was like Nelly was never here to start with. Mrs. Temple won’t let us talk about her, gets mad if anyone says her name.”
“But she’s all right?”
“I guess. You’d have to ask Mrs. Temple.”
Indeed he would, but not until the cold, sick roiling in his gut eased. A drink would help, but he couldn’t touch the stuff on the dresser. As for the stuff in the girl’s veins…he was sure he could not touch that, either.
Lettie slipped off the bed. “You wanna see how I did?” She picked up a hand mirror and offered it to him. “I think it’s okay, but it’s your hair.”
He held the mirror and checked the faded image in it. The features were vaguely familiar, but he didn’t know the man wearing them. “Best I ever had.”
That he could remember. He gave back the mirror.
She was pleased by the praise, and he knew he had to get away from her. Lettie was pretty, and he’d wanted her, but that wasn’t going to happen. He would talk with Mrs. Temple, find out what she knew about Nelly Cabot, and get the hell out.
He stood and reached for his pants. There, that hadn’t changed, one leg at a time, pull them up, button the buttons.
“You leaving?”
“Yeah.”
“But…did I do something wrong?”
No, but I might have. “Nope.”
“You can’t. I mean…Mrs. Temple will—”
“I’ll fix it with her, don’t worry.”
“At least stay a little longer. They’re gonna think I didn’t do a good job for you.”
He touched her cheek briefly. “I’ll say you were terrific…” Her confusion got to him. Love was all she had to offer, paid for or not, and rejection hurt. She’d recover. He found his wallet and pulled out a century note. He folded it into her hand.
She gaped. “But I—but…”
“Call it a tip,” he said. “For the barbering.” He pulled his undershirt on, tucked it in. His feet were cold, in more ways than one. He sat on the chair and snagged his socks. When he straightened, Lettie suddenly crowded close and parked her duff on his leg, arms around his neck to keep from falling off.
“Hey!”
She wouldn’t get up. “Hey, yourself. You wanna pay for nothing, that’s your business, but I gotta do at least this much.”
“Or what?”
“I donno. C’mon. We’re friends, ain’t we?”
Well, he’d been the one to put the idea in her head. Must have been one hell of a strong suggestion.
She squirmed, and he had to bring his legs together to balance her, dropping the socks. Her robe was wide open, and everything was close and smelled good. He didn’t know what to do with his hands, finally giving up and letting them hang at his sides.
“You’re not making this easy,” he said.
She giggled. Damn, she was cute. She squirmed some more and gave him a closed-mouth kiss. That was first-class. Yes, he’d have some of her lip color on him, more than enough proof that they’d…
Lettie wriggled off his lap, turned, and straddled him. Her arms went around his neck again, but now they were face-to-face. “You’re a good-looking man,” she told him.
She was paid to flatter, but he liked hearing it. “Lettie, I—”
Another kiss, warmer, softer, her mouth opening just a little. She pressed close, but he cringed away. He couldn’t do this.
“It’s all right,” she said. She stood, backing off him, her hands running the length of his arms. She tugged on his wrists until he stood as well. “C’mon.”
“I can’t.”
“What, you’re sick or something?” One of her hands dipped to his crotch, lingering. “You feel fine to me.”
This time she was much slower unbuttoning his pants. They slid to the floor, and he stepped clear of them, getting just that much closer to the bed. She helped with the undershirt, too. The gooseflesh returned to his arms and thighs as she dragged his underwear off.
“That’s better. Right over here.”
Yes. The bed. It hadn’t moved an inch.
She pushed him onto it.
Any protest at this point would be ridiculous. He made room for her, and she climbed in next to him.
“You like anything special?”
“Just you,” he heard himself saying. He pulled her onto him, full length. The step-ins were in the way. She wiggled around and got rid of them. No bleach job that he could see. She was soft there, very soft; his tentative caress made her smile.
“You’re beautiful, Lettie.”
She didn’t disagree with him.
He wanted to touch every inch of her. He could not remember how he’d been with women before his change but appreciated that he was different now. What his mind could not recall, his body did. His big hands slid over her smooth, smooth skin, and he found himself kissing her shoulders and breasts, going lower and lower. He finally rolled atop her and tasted that musky softness between her black curls. She writhed under him, and he held on to her hips.
How quiet she was, but her breath came fast, and her heart beat faster. He lifted enough to kiss the insides of her thighs. One of her hands was on the back of his head and pressed him down low again. She’d liked what he’d been doing there. He took his time, until the musk turned sweet and silky in his mouth.
She abruptly shuddered under him, which startled him until he realized what was going on. Well, anything to please a lady. He continued until she settled a little, then moved his way up, going slow.
Her eyelids were half-closed, a dreamy expression on her face. He nuzzled her breasts, then her throat. Yes, the big vein there, easy to find, too easy to damage. Just a little ways past it, then.
But first…there. He slipped right into her as though they truly were longtime lovers. Yes, that felt good, damn good. Her legs wrapped around his, hips moving for him.
Lettie did not quite match his rhythm, just enough out of sync to press herself against him. Her breath shortened again. Damn, the girl was going for a second helping.
He slowed, smiling when she made a somewhat frustrated moan.
“More, baby,” she whispered. “Just a little harder.”
His open mouth ranged over her throat, seeking that one spot. Yes…his corner teeth were out and had been for some time. His own throat ached. How he wanted her.
Her palms pressed against his backside. “Just a little more…please.”
He obliged.
She arched under him again, trying to hold in her cry.
Now or never. He bit into her, not deeply, but enough. Her blood was better than the sweetness between her legs, and he drew strongly on it, tasting her climax as it whipped through her. An overwhelming release surged through his body in that moment, and he was able to draw it out in a way wholly new to him. Another taste, another crash of ecstasy for them both, over and over and over. She moved under him, hands clutching and beating against the matt
ress.
He held on, making it last, pushing gently inside her, drinking from her. He needed it to last, because to his wonderment he was able, for just a little while, to forget the pain of not remembering who he’d been.
In this room, and for this here and now, it was all about who he was learning to be.
* * *
GABRIEL drowsed, arms around Lettie as she lay on him. She didn’t mind being held. She was solid but soft weight, and he liked the feeling of her heartbeat against his chest. He’d not realized how much he missed that sensation. From now on he’d have to borrow from others. Hell of a life, but better than that grave in the woods.
A clock ticked somewhere, other people in nearby rooms laughed, murmured, or grunted with sweating effort, beds squeaking under the pressure. Sometimes he wished his hearing wasn’t so sharp. He wanted to come back to this place again, but with more privacy and less distraction.
Maybe that was what had happened with Nelly Cabot. He’d wanted to take her to a better, quieter spot, had arranged for a weekend out…then something had gone wrong. But it couldn’t have been his fault. Mrs. Temple had to be mistaken about him. He could never hurt a woman, it just wasn’t in him.
The driver…Ramsey. Gabe couldn’t remember the man’s face, just the name, and then only because he’d asked others. The people who knew him didn’t know that much. Even with hypnosis to push things, Gabe got nothing more than that Ramsey was a tough son of a bitch who knew guns, cars, and kept his mouth shut. Indispensable traits for a mob bodyguard and probably why Gabe had chosen him. Certainly it meant the Gabriel Kroun of that time had secrets to hide. Ugly ones, if Sonny’s ravings had any truth in them.
Why would I bring the girl to the sanitarium?
Showing her off to Sonny? Checking his reaction to her? Or had she been there for Sonny to play with? No…not that, or the old bastard would have bragged about it and demanded more.
I have to finish this.
Which meant speaking with Mrs. Temple.
Gabe checked his watch. He’d been here long enough to ensure Lettie’s reputation in the house was secure. He unwillingly quit the bed and dressed. His movements woke Lettie. She got out on her side and pulled on her silk robe but not the step-ins. God knows where those had ended up.
He adjusted his tie by touch, but Lettie came over to make some small change for him. He caressed the side of her throat, close to the marks he’d left. They’d soon heal, but for the present looked alarming.
“You have anything to cover that?” he asked. “Beads or a collar or…?” Damn, what kinds of stuff did women wear?
She went to the dresser mirror, checking. “It’s not so bad. I’ve had worse.”
He fixed her with a look. “Forget that I made them.”
Her eyes clouded for a moment, then cleared. “You ever come back, ask for me, okay?”
He couldn’t think of anything to say to that. Maybe she liked him, or his money, or it had to do with that suggestion about being friends, but it was nice to hear.
He bent and gently engulfed her in a bear hug. He held her tight for a long, sweet, contented moment, then reluctantly eased away and departed.
The bouncer was at the foot of the stairs when Gabe came down. The man threw him a quick glare and went up, probably to check on Lettie. The madam hurried out of a back room, her face taut with a frown.
“Mrs. Temple?”
She lifted her chin.
“Got a private place to talk?”
She went pale.
NOT his easiest interview. Mrs. Temple had imbibed earlier, and it was hard to get past the booze; the effort made his head ache. Gabe got the name of Nelly Cabot’s mother and that she ran a diner someplace, but no address. He also got the name of the doctor and where he might be found. As for what had happened that night, Mrs. Temple simply did not know, nor had she the curiosity to find out. The hysterical girl had been turned over to the doctor, and that was the extent of Mrs. Temple’s responsibility. Asking questions about the private habits of the big bosses could make you dead.
The doctor, annoyingly, had since moved to another state. She didn’t know which.
Gabe persuaded the bouncer to drive him to the Nightcrawler Club. The man hadn’t known anything useful, so the trip was utterly silent. Plenty of time to think.
None of the previous goings-on at the brothel had gotten back to Gordy, or Gabe would have already found out from him. But Michael knew more than a little, though. He’d been in a lather to turn Gabe away from that cabin and from Sonny. Was that from having a guilty conscience? Might he have been involved and have something to hide?
I should have thought to ask Sonny, dammit.
But just looking at the old bastard made Gabriel’s guts spin like a mill wheel. It’d taken everything he had not to puke all over those torn-up newspapers. He’d been playing that talk wholly by ear, improvising to get any information Sonny might have. Then came a point where Gabe couldn’t stand to hear another word.
The easiest path would be to talk with Michael and get his end of it.
Which would mean coming clean with him. About everything.
Gabe wasn’t ready to take that road yet. It would leave him too vulnerable. The less Michael knew about the whole blood-drinking angle, the better. Anyway, he would simply discount it and believe that Gabe had gone dangerously insane like Sonny and had to be put down. There would be no lingering in a loony bin.
I could disappear myself, but sooner or later he’d find me, and he’d kill me.
Yes, that was a given.
Mike would feel really, really bad about it—
But do it all the same.
9
FLEMING
ON the way over to Escott’s office, I stopped at a couple places and bought a couple things. I was unsure if they’d do much good, but what the hell, why not?
Not knowing what lay ahead, I approached the block slowly, on the lookout for Coldfield’s Nash. It was a newer version of the one Escott drove, armored, of course…and parked right in front of the outside stairs leading up to the office.
I cruised past, circled the block, and stopped to wait far down at the end behind another car.
Yes, I was being chicken. Coldfield had already clobbered me this week, and I was in no mood to risk more of the same or worse. Not so long ago I’d have tried an eye-whammy to cool him down, but I couldn’t play that card again; I’d just have to tough things out. Besides, Escott might get in the middle and he had to have enough on his mind already.
Just as I set the brake and cut the motor, Coldfield came downstairs onto the sidewalk. He looked both ways but didn’t see me, got in the Nash, and drove off, alone.
Lights remained on in the office.
Not knowing how long that would last, I grabbed my parcels and moved quick.
I clumped up the stairs to the door with THE ESCOTT AGENCY painted on its pebbled-glass window. He’d have heard me, but I knocked twice before trying the knob. The door swung open easily with a soft creak.
Escott sat at his desk in the small, plain room, pipe in hand, stacks of mail in front of him, business as usual. I damn near choked at the normalcy.
“Busy?” I asked, keeping on my side of the threshold. I couldn’t help but recall the first time standing there, pretending to need an invitation to enter, while he gave me a good long look to figure out if I was friend or foe.
He gave me another good long look, his lean face just as wary. By God, his bruises were gone. He looked the same as ever…but things were changed. Break a leg, and the bone could heal straight, and you might not even limp, but you’ll still feel it, you’ll always feel it.
What I’d broken was the trust we’d had.
“Were you waiting long for Shoe to leave?” he asked.
That was normal, too, him figuring things out so quick. “Just parked. You send him away?”
“I needed an uninterrupted hour to myself. Business.” He indicated the mail.
�
�Oh. Okay.”
“Jack.”
I halted my turning to leave. Looked back. With the pipe he gestured at one of the empty chairs before the desk.
“Come on, old man,” he said, not unkindly. “Let’s get it over with.”
I shoved the door shut with one foot and sat facing him. Things got quiet, and I didn’t know where to look.
“Well. This is bloody awkward, isn’t it?”
“Oh, yeah.” I checked over the small office, avoiding his eye.
“What have you there?” he asked.
The parcels. I put them on the desk. “Peace offerings.”
He pulled the paper from one, which uncovered a bottle of dark beer, cool, not cold. The others held a fresh loaf of rye bread and a quarter pound of salted butter.
His eyes went wide. “What the devil…?”
“You asked for them the other night.”
“I did?”
“Before the fever really took hold.”
“They had me doped with some awful stuff. I don’t remember.”
Just as well. “You hungry?”
“As it happens, I am. This is perfect.” He had a flat sharp letter opener handy and used that to cut the bread and spread on the butter.
I didn’t much care for the food smells, but he was eating…and drinking. He knocked the bottle top off using the edge of the desk and washed down the bread with a healthy swig.
He noticed me watching. “Worried that I picked up one of your habits?”
“Huh?”
“Swilling blood instead of this excellent brew?” He tilted the bottle.
“Shoe told you what happened?”
“In rare detail. I missed the show, but he was highly impressed.”
“Kroun laid us in the aisles all right. How are you?”
“Remarkably well, thank you.” He brushed two fingers along the side of his face. Last night his eye had been swollen shut, his face more black than blue; not a trace of injury remained. “All better.”
Jeez. I was used to that sort of thing for myself, but not for others. This spooked me. “You remember anything about that part? Drinking the—”