by P. N. Elrod
“The nearest thing you’ll see to a teacher for this kind of life. Right now you need me. I’ll play square with you, that’s a promise.”
“What do you get out of it?”
“A quiet town to live in.”
“What’s in it for me?”
“A quiet town to live in—where you don’t have to watch your back.”
“I do okay on my own.”
“Yeah, that’s why I was able to put a gun in your face. Wise up, Slaughter, you’re getting a hell of a chance here. Is that your real name?”
“It is now.”
“All right. For now think how vulnerable you are and how much you don’t know. In the meantime, if you ever use another person for food, I’ll twist your head off. And you know I can do it.”
* * *
The interview wasn’t exactly satisfying to everyone, but Slaughter looked like he’d behave himself for a while. He grudgingly provided a general location for the vampire who’d used and made him. Gordy and I left the club, climbed into his armored car, and drove to his own place, the Nightcrawler Club.
“Don’t trust that weasel,” I said. I went over things in memory, thinking up all the stuff I should have said.
“Never,” he agreed. “I see his kind plenty. He’ll go along until he thinks he’s got my number, then watch out. I’ll have people keep tabs on him in case he gets cute.”
“Or at least until he’s broken in on this new life he’s got. The change is a hell of a thing for anyone to handle. It still gets to me sometimes.”
“No excuse. He’s trouble. His type don’t learn easy. Maybe never.”
“Yeah. But I have to give him a chance. He didn’t ask to be changed. Who the hell could have done that to him?”
“Wasn’t in my territory, but I can ask.”
“Without mentioning vampires?”
“If there’s a dame biting drunks on the south side maybe some cop or a doctor noticed. More than one person shows up with blood on his throat, someone will remember.”
“Check the morgues, too. If she’s using people for food. . .it can get out of hand. Like we saw back there.”
“That girl was half-dead, Fleming. If we hadn’t come in tonight he’d have finished her. You’ve given him a chance to do that to another girl.”
“Or a chance to not to.”
“Why risk it?”
“I see myself in him. If things had gone different, I’d have needed someone like me to knock some sense into my skull.”
“You’re too tough on yourself and too easy on Slaughter. You were never that dumb.”
“I might have been if I’d lived in his shoes. What is he? Some poor schmuck who never had anything and now he’s got everything for the asking. The world’s in his hands, but he doesn’t know how heavy it is.”
“And you did when it happened to you?”
I shook my head. “It hit me different. I made a choice, knowing what I was in for, but I made mistakes I’m still wincing over. I want to stop Slaughter before he trips.”
“He’s already tripped. You’re just trying to stop him from landing too hard.”
“What do you want to do, Gordy? Go back and kill him? Just like that?”
“I can live with it. So can a bunch of others, the people he could end up hurting.”
I couldn’t argue with that and found it ironic that Gordy, who had participated in more cold-blooded killings than I ever wanted to know about, was playing the part of my conscience.
* * *
We spent the rest of the evening in Gordy’s office while he made phone calls trying to find the mystery lady. Not having a name, coupled with a second-hand description made the task fairly hopeless, but Gordy had more eyes in this town than Argus. If he hadn’t been a gang boss, he’d have made a hell of a detective.
There were some calls even I couldn’t listen in on, though. Respecting that, I quit his office and went downstairs to the gambling room to pass the time.
Most of his boys knew me by sight, if not always by name, and they kept their distance. I didn’t go out of my way to make friends, but would give a nod here and there just to be sociable and maybe offset whatever bad reputation I’d gotten. Parking at an empty table, I accepted a glass of water from a waitress in a short spangled skirt, and asked her to send one of the guys over.
She read me right and picked one of Gordy’s mugs, not one of the gambling operation employees.
“What you need?” the guy asked, standing over me, his stony face guarded. He was one of the ones who thought I was a creep, and that didn’t bother me. I prefer an honest reaction.
“Couple of the boys went over to Herm Foster’s the other night. They here?”
“Why do you want ’em?”
“Gordy said to say a word.”
“What word?”
“You’ll have to ask Gordy. I’m just doing what I’m told, same as anyone.”
He had to think that over, but must have worked out that I was somehow on the payroll. I wasn’t, but it didn’t hurt to give that impression. What would really bother him was the pecking order. Was I above, below, or an equal? Details like that are important. I didn’t care myself, but no need to broadcast it. Was there a pecking order to cover a neutral friend of the boss? Probably.
He gave a grunt and, without answering my original question, left the room, taking the door to the back hall, the fastest way to Gordy’s office. If he wanted to bother his boss about me, that was his business and no skin off my nose.
I wasn’t sure how long to wait before deciding that I’d been slighted, but a minute later two large guys came through the same door, spotted me, and strolled over. I motioned for them to sit and asked if I could buy them a drink. They were unopposed to that, and the waitress delivered a couple beers. The alcohol would make my job harder, but I judged these two would be more inclined to cooperate with a man running a tab.
After they each washed down some city dust with a sample of brew, I let them know Gordy wanted me to hear what had happened at Herm’s club. They hesitated and went vague. They’d gone there, but beyond that all I got was head shaking, shrugs, and strange looks. They were uncomfortable, but didn’t know why.
Where Slaughter tripped up was ordering them to obey a suggestion contrary to what was normal for them. They wanted to talk, but couldn’t remember the topic. I got through by using their inclinations—and buying five minutes worth of friendship with the beer.
As Slaughter had done earlier, I leaned forward and focused on one at a time, turn on turn. Trying to put two under at once was risky. I didn’t make a big noticeable deal out of it, else one or the other would get wise and perhaps interrupt.
Without them being stone cold sober it took longer and brought on the usual headache for the extended effort, but eventually my evil-eye whammy had them asleep with their eyes open. I gave myself a breather, so to speak, pinching the bridge of my nose even though that never worked. This was more of a mental throat clearing.
I told them to relax and to trust me, and finally cracked open the barriers Slaughter had put on their memories.
What a bright boy he was, too.
He could have ordered them to think they’d collected the week’s take, business as usual, but had intentionally primed them to be forgetful, knowing full well that a bigger fish would show up to check on things. He’d have influenced his way to the top man easy enough. Slaughter didn’t strike me as being especially smart when it came to consequences, but his acquisitive instincts were good.
It was his bad luck I’d come along.
The two strong arms woke up on their own, having no memory of being questioned. I bought another round, we talked about this and that. They liked me now, my suggestion of trust still fresh in their unconscious minds. It would fade, but for the moment things were fine.
The first man I’d talked to watched from one of the tables, letting me know he was watching.
“I think your pal wants you,” I said to my
guests.
“That’s Strome,” one told me. “You’ve got him worried.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“He thinks you want his spot.”
Not knowing what that was in the organization, it seemed unlikely. “Once in a blue moon Gordy tells me to do a chore, and I’m in no position to say no. That’s as far as it goes. Your pal can relax. I’ve got my own fish to fry.”
They took that as a sign our talk was over and moved on. Not surprisingly they went to Strome’s table to finish their beers and probably pass on the newly minted rumor that Gordy had something on me. I didn’t mind if mugs here thought I was a reluctant volunteer; it was better than the truth.
I did some thinking.
Gordy’s men had done their jobs by the book, so to speak. They’d asked for Herm, got Slaughter instead, and he’d taken them back to the office for some hypnosis.
Only he’d not just changed their minds about getting that week’s cut, he’d pumped them dry for information about Gordy and his operation.
They knew plenty. If they’d spoke that freely to a DA, Gordy would be under arrest by now.
So, was Slaughter just nosy or was he planning something? If I told Gordy about this, Slaughter wouldn’t see another sunset.
* * *
“Anything?” I asked, walking into the upstairs office again. I’d put some time at one of the blackjack tables. I was down two bucks, but I’d enjoyed the game. Sooner or later I’d win it back with interest, but on another night when my luck was fresher.
Gordy lifted one large hand an inch to indicate frustration. “Bupkis. She could be in a different state by now. Or Slaughter made her up.”
“Maybe he killed her.”
“No reason to think that yet.”
“No,” I said. “No reason at all.”
I hung around until the wee hours, but nothing new came in via the ringing phone. Wishing him better luck in the coming day, I left and drove to the Stockyards.
The Yards are dirty and when the wind direction and heat are in cahoots the stink is past imagining, but I don’t have to breathe regularly. The blood from all those doomed animals is plentiful and free for the taking, fresh on the hoof. I fed well, and I fed deep.
When I straightened from my crouch over the flowing vein I’d opened in a cow’s leg, I saw Slaughter on the other side of the enclosure fence. I’d not heard him; he must have gone invisible and floated in.
He looked disgusted. “How can you do that?”
“Because it tastes good.” I wiped my mouth with a handkerchief.
“There’s better stuff than that for guys like us.”
“And we need too much of it too often. You’d kill the girl.”
“Then take a little from a lot of girls.”
“That’s rape.”
He smirked. “Not if you make them want it.”
“It’s still rape. You’re not a real man doing that.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never tried. You ever kill anyone? Don’t tell me you haven’t.”
“I’ve never killed. . .for blood.”
He snorted and spat into the mud. It was always muddy here.
“Slaughter, why do you set yourself up to make people want to punch your nose into the back of your head?”
“A fancy-pants like you wouldn’t last a minute with me.”
He’d missed the point of the question. I’d halfway expected that. “Appearances are deceptive.”
“Prove it.”
Much as I wanted to turn his smug face inside out, obliging him would do neither of us any good. We were evenly matched; it could go either way, though I knew some tricks that gave me an edge. No matter who won, I’d lose any chance to straighten him out.
“We’re not enemies, Slaughter.”
“I think we are. . .because of what we are.”
“We’re a couple of guys standing around in cow shit.”
“We’re goddamn vampires, you son-of-a-bitch!”
“So?”
“You nuts or something? The things we can do—I can own this town! Didn’t you see that?”
“Yeah. From the first night I woke up, then I decided I didn’t want the worry. I’ve got my piece of the world, and I keep my nose clean. You need to do the same.”
“Or Gordy the goon comes after me?”
“You’re starting to get it.” I vanished from within the cattle pen and reappeared only a pace or so from Slaughter. He was less surprised this time, but still scowled, with a hint of jealousy behind his eyes. Maybe he thought I was showing off.
“Gordy has to find me first,” he said, as though trying to convince himself. “No one knows where I hide during the day.”
I chuckled a little. “You sure about that? Your life could depend on it. In fact, it does already. Just give us an excuse.”
“Goddamn cow-sucker.”
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it.”
“You can’t make me.”
“The idea is you do it on your own. Playing wet nurse ain’t in my line. You think I couldn’t force the issue? I’m older and stronger—”
A lie, but plausible to anyone who’d read Dracula.
“—I wouldn’t even break a sweat. . .but I’m trying to give you some respect.”
A flash from his eyes. Had I finally touched the right nerve? If he had the kind of upbringing that went with his tough guy manners, then he’d be starved for respect and acceptance. On the other hand, he was also scornful of anyone bestowing it. Bad enough if he started out with a general contempt for humanity, his change to something physically superior would tend to bolster that view. I had to get him to see farther than his own nose.
“You’ve been through the wringer and had it tough,” I continued. “I’m not talking about your life before your change, but what happened after you woke up dead. You were smart enough to figure things out and survive. That tells me you’ve got the smarts to get along without hurting others.”
“What’s it to you?”
“There aren’t a lot of us walking around. We look out for each other. I’m willing to teach you the rest of the stuff you need to know. Think it over. If you decide you’re better than the regular kind of mug you see, look me up. I’m usually at the Nightcrawler Club. Just ask for Jack Fleming.”
Slaughter made no reply, but he wasn’t sneering, so that was some progress. He needed me more than I wanted to deal with him, but no good would come of mentioning that fact. He’d have to think coming around to my view was his own idea.
I wasn’t especially excited about playing the mentor, either. He might be picking up on that. I didn’t like him. Sure, I saw myself in him, but those were the pieces of me that I’d outgrown and left behind. Having him hanging around would be a reminder of past mistakes and how much I still had to learn.
But balanced against that was something very basic and human: loneliness. We’re all alone, but there’s a lot more of it when you’ve got a condition that sets you even farther apart from others. We search for commonalities as a cure for that isolation. Like it or not, Slaughter and I had the vampirism in common. If not for that, I wouldn’t spare him two seconds of my time, and it wasn’t as though I wanted a new friend. I had to be altruistic to keep him from abusing the privilege.
“I’ll see you around,” I said. He was in the way. If I walked past, he’d bump my shoulder or try something equally stupid to provoke a fight. Schoolyard stuff: step across that line, I double-dare you. I’ll show you who’s the toughest kid in town.
Entertaining as that might be, it was late, and my suit had seen enough wear for one evening. I vanished again and floated high above him, moving swiftly away, not reappearing until I was clear of the pens and well onto the sidewalk. Now I was showing off, but I’d had a lot of practice and could make it look good.
He followed. A gray cloud that only I could see sieved through the fence near the ground, hovered a moment, then solidified into his shape. By then, I was in my car and dr
iving off. I didn’t wave good-bye; always leave ’em wanting more.
* * *
At exactly sunset I woke as usual, but not in the usual spot at home. There, I had a well-hidden sanctuary in the basement of my partner Escott’s house. Because of Slaughter, I’d steered clear of its shelter in favor of an even better bolt hole in a tobacco shop. It was in a seldom-visited upstairs storage room that backed the office where Escott ran his not-too-busy detective agency. In a long box hidden beneath a lot of other boxes I was safe for the day. The only access was through the shop below and through a concealed panel in the common wall of Escott’s back room. Only he and I knew about it.
I didn’t use the box often. It was too reminiscent of a damned coffin. I’d never been in one, but hated the sight of them.
Leaving it and the small bag of my home earth behind, I dematerialized and pushed through the common wall, going solid again in the back room, which was dark. Ingrained caution made me pause and listen before moving another inch. It paid off; someone was in the outer office. He was quiet, but when I concentrate I can hear a gnat belch.
It wouldn’t be Escott; he was out of town running an errand for a client, nor would it be another client. I’d made a point of locking the door before turning in. Next time I’d buy a heavy bolt to beef things up. It could not be Slaughter; he had no heartbeat.
Wary, I vanished and eased my way through the next wall until I was just behind the visitor. Serve him right if I gave him a heart attack.
The general grayness of my perception took on form and color as I gradually went solid. The office light was on. After being in the box, I squinted against the brightness.
The man turned out to be Gordy. His back was to me, his massive frame seated in one of the fortunately sturdy chairs in front of Escott’s desk. Something must have come up for him to be here waiting for me. Normally, he’d just phone at sunset.
And he’d phone me at home. He didn’t know I’d be here. He knew nothing about the box above the shop.