The Vampire Files - Bloodlist Part 22

"Maybe you didn't have time to sleep."

"What are you bellyaching about? It was your idea for the sleeping arrangements, not mine, and you've had a dozen other girls up there since I moved in, and I've never said a word, not even when I was in the next room."

"You'd be in the same room if I wanted two at once. You like your job too much."

Two at once, that's a laugh. You can hardly keep it up for five minutes."

"You were caught, you b.i.t.c.h, so start shedding and I'll show you what kind of damage I can do in five minutes."

"No."

"If you can put out for a dead man-"

"What do you mean, did you kill him?"

"Yeah, I killed him. He was shot dead in the street two days ago, or didn't he tell you that?"

"You're crazy."

"You can ask Gordy, he was there. You like to screw corpses?" There was a tearing of cloth and the struggling sounds of two bodies against each other. She slapped him and cursed, but he forced her back and down. His mistress or not, I felt compelled to interfere and closed around him like newspaper over a mackerel.

Seconds later he gave his first s.h.i.+ver. "What are you doing?" he asked. Vague as the question was, it was no surprise that she couldn't answer. He moved off her, falling back against a cabin wall his heart going fast. "You're here, aren't you? Why don't you come out? Come on, Fleming! I know you're here!"

Bobbi sat still, probably deducing she was locked in with a dangerous lunatic. I didn't want to push him too much, so I eased off to let him get over his chattering teeth. Neither of them moved; Morelli was listening and Bobbi was watching him.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

"He was here, I knew he was here. He didn't want me touching you."

"There's no one here, Slick. No one."

"Didn't you feel the cold? He was here, he's probably still here, watching.""You're crazy. I'm going to my room."

"No! You'll stay here."

"What for, more roughhouse?"

"If I want it, yes."

"It's always what you want, isn't it?"

The argument started to build again and that's when I saw my mistake. All the guff between them had been some sort of ritual. They were quickly working up to another knock-down-drag-out. Bobbi had been with someone else and Morelli was rea.s.serting his claim and using his body to do it. Bobbi had said she knew how to handle him, and as for Morelli, I suppose it was none of my business how he expressed his masculinity, as long as he wasn't really hurting her.

They were yelling now. She goaded him one step too far and then he was on her again and they got down to serious s.e.x. I was not happy about the situation, but left them to it, exiting the cabin. No one had shown up to investigate the noise yet- apparently the crew were used to the histrionics.

Gordy was still in the main cabin, helping himself to the liquor cabinet before he dropped on a window seat to rest. He seemed to be facing out into the room, making an un.o.bserved materialization difficult. I found my corner again, hoped it was out of his immediate line of sight, and tried to solidify.

I tried. It was like pus.h.i.+ng a train uphill, caboose and all. I got scared, wondering if my remaining in a prolonged state of disembodiment had become a permanent thing. I tried again, harder. The train moved a little, but it was exhausting. The next time I really concentrated, visualizing each part of my body, willing it to come into being. There was weight. Arms felt like this, legs supported, eyes...

Like pouring cold mola.s.ses, I re-formed, the effort leaving me weak. Gordy spotted me right away, but he was surprised and it was little work to tell him to stay quiet and take a nap. He slumped over without a peep, leaving me to an undisturbed recovery.

Solid again, with my heightened senses running at full, I was immediately and urgently aware of the vast amount of water all around. Now that I had back hairs again, they were at attention from the lower spine to the top of my head. There was little I could do about the situation except to try and ignore it if possible.

The cabin was smaller than I thought, and I knew I'd been here before. My left hand, keeper of the memory, was twitching of its own accord. I tried to hold it still with the other. Outside I heard the occasional conversation of the crew, though I couldn't tell how many were aboard. Farther away were some distinct and unmistakable thras.h.i.+ng noises, and from the other sounds they made, they seemed to be enjoying themselves.A glance around the cabin revealed the bar, table, and chairs and a safe squatting against one wall. Thinking it might have a similar alarm system, I checked the small desk next to it. Almost in the same spot was the on/off switch. It was off now and though there might not be anything valuable aboard, it was worth a try while I had the chance.

It was unlikely it had the same combination as the one at the club, but for the moment I could think of nothing better to do. The tumblers were clicking at the same spots, though, until I got to the last one and had to experiment. My mind wandered between the clicks. I was worried about the difficulty I'd had materializing. The fact that I was over open water was the obvious reason for the trouble, but some illogical twinge of guilt * was nagging me about the fact I'd drunk human blood for the first time. Despite my extremely happy experience with Bobbi, 1 wondered if it made me some sort of monster, after all. As far as the books, the movies, and even the dictionaries were concerned, I was an altogether evil parasite.

There was an extraordinary amount of bad press available on vampires and I was understandably worried. All I had to refute it was my own limited experience.

I didn't feel evil. True, I was a predator, but unlike other hunters, I left my prey alive and in one case, feeling pretty good afterward. I knew I felt better. Perhaps it was just the euphoria of lovemaking, but I did feel stronger. Maybe human blood was the perfect nourishment, it was hands down certainly more exciting and pleasurable to acquire.

The last tumbler clicked into place and the door swung open. Inside was a bundle of cash and unlabeled envelopes full of papers. This stuff looked more like Escott's specialty and there might not be a second opportunity at it, so I folded everything up and stuffed my pockets, leaving the cash. I was a crusading reporter, not a thief.

"Don't move," Gordy said behind me. My attention had wandered too far, and I'd forgotten to keep an eye on him. He told me to turn around.

For the second time that night his gun was on me. He was on the window seat, but far from relaxed if I could tell anything about his thudding heartbeat. Still, he was remarkably calm about facing the supernatural. I doubted I would have had anywhere near the same moxie. I thought about putting him to sleep again and turned it down. It was better to wait for Morelli to come; it was time to settle things up.

He called to someone topside and told them to get Morelli. From the straining noises coming from the cabin down the way, such an interruption would not be welcome. I suppose I could have delayed things for another crucial moment, but why should one of my murderers have any fun? I listened, trying to keep a straight face as the errand runner knocked on the door. Morelli breathlessly told him to go away. The runner delivered his brief message. Morelli told him to go to h.e.l.l. The runner left, his job completed and the damage done. Morelli had to work hard to get worked up and now his concentration was thoroughly broken. After a short while, he gave up and things got quiet. In another minute he came charging in, loaded for bear.

"G.o.ddammit, Gordy! What- Gordy just pointed at me with his free hand.

Morelli went all white in the face. I was getting used to seeing him in that color.

He was looking rumpled already, with his hair messed up and wearing only a bathrobe. I hadn't improved things.

"Oh, G.o.d, it's him," he said out loud, but only to himself.

"He's the one I saw, Slick, except his eyes aren't red now."

No one moved. Perhaps Morelli was afraid I'd vanish again. It was tempting, but if I failed I didn't want to in front of them. The fewer weaknesses shown, the better.

"Look at his clothes, there's the holes and the blood's still there." Gordy stood to be in a more functional position to shoot.

Morelli was indeed looking at me. He noticed the clothes; I still hadn't b.u.t.toned my s.h.i.+rt and its tails hung sloppily out front. He also noticed that Escott's makeup job was gone.

"He looks real enough," he said, trying to generate some courage. His eyes dropped to my chest. "It can't be the kid, this guy's never been shot."

I beg to differ.

"Or there was a mistake on the street," said Gordy. "Joe never hit him, after all, the kid faked it."

"Then what about the other stuff?"

"Some kind of trick, like you said. He could have drugged the boys and robbed the safe. See, I got him red-handed just now."

Morelli looked past me. "Where are the papers?"

"In his pockets."

"Empty "em," he told me. It was the first time I'd been addressed directly. I didn't move. If he wanted his papers he could d.a.m.n well get them himself. He ordered me again, lost his patience, and came for them. As exasperated as he was, he approached me like a ticking bomb, giving Gordy plenty of target area in case I tried something. He threw all the stuff on the table and checked for other things. My wallet came out, my old one. I should have left it at home, but one can't think of everything. He looked at the papers inside.

The shock was almost physical. The wallet he held was supposed to be on a weighted body at the bottom of the lake, not in his own shaking hands. He dropped it and if possible, his eyes were bulging more than when he'd first walked in the room.

Gordy sensed the change. "What's the matter? Slick?"Morelli's thoughts flashed over his face. He was trying to understand, trying to put reality right again and failing.

I smiled.

He broke. "Shoot him, Gordy! Shoot him now!"

The gun was already level with my chest. Instinct made me throw myself to one side. The bullet caused a brief bright flash as it crashed through my skull, leaving behind white-hot pain. The force of the shot and momentum of my dive carried me forward, out of control, and my head connected with a solid crack on the sharp corner of the wood table, with all my weight adding to the force. By comparison, the bullet had been a pinp.r.i.c.k. I lay stunned and still by the sheer agony that enveloped me.

My body was turned over. My eyes stared at the light, unable to shut out the glare.

"Must have just glanced him," said Gordy. "There's a wound, but no hole. I coulda swore I hit him square, though."

"Is he dead?"

A heavy hand on my chest, then he shut my eyes. I couldn't have moved if I wanted to. "He's dead, see for yourself."

Before he could, there were quick steps and the door was thrown open. "Slick?" It was Bobbi's voice, frightened. "Oh, my G.o.d."

"Get the h.e.l.l out of here! No, wait-look at him, is he the one? Is he?"

"Yes," Her throat was congested with tears. Grief for me or shock, I couldn't tell.

"Shut up and get out!"

Yes, Bobbi, get out so you don't have to see- "I said get out!" The door slammed. She retreated down the pa.s.sage, trying to stifle the sobs.

I'd been in such pain before and in this same cabin, lying helpless in the heat with voices and questions, the air thick with sweat and smoke, the stink of my own body burning my lungs.

I slipped into the nightmare, embracing the horror of memory like a lover.

Lover- Bobbi- No, Maureen.

Maureen .Chapter 10 WE WERE LAUGHING at some private joke. It was good to hear her laugh, she did it so seldom, but when I turned to look at her, she was gone and the smile within me died.

I woke from the cessation of motion as the train stopped. It was a familiar dream, I used to hate it, but not anymore because I needed the shadow memory of Maureen to know that I'd once loved her and felt alive. She might have been saying good-bye to me this time, though. New York was behind me now, good memories and bad, and I wanted to start fresh again. That was what I told myself while threading through the crowded train station with my two bags. It wasn't much of a lie since I wasn't much of a liar, but the best for the moment, it would have to do.

Chicago was not windy today, it was late summer and the humidity was up to lethal levels. The walk from the station was unpleasant, the bags dragged hard on my arms, and the sidewalk threw the heat up in my face as though it were my fault. I was getting punch drunk from it until a hotel with the right price on the sign invited me into the shade. It was cheap, though not quite a fleabag. Later, if the money got too low, I'd end up in one of those, but not today.

Unescorted, I trudged upstairs to look for the door that fit my key. In these days of the Depression the hotel couldn't afford the luxury of a bellhop. The room was no worse than I expected, small and impersonal, with a sagging bed bolted to the floor, an ugly bureau and a chair to match, but it had a private bath and a phone and came with a fan, which I immediately turned on. I opened the window wide to let in the late-afternoon street exhaust and stripped out of my damp suit. I ran cold water in the tub and dropped in. Later on I'd hunt up a hamburger and read the papers to decide which one deserved to employ me.

The water was just rising past my chest when the phone rang.

I moaned and cursed, being one of those people who have to answer no matter what they're doing. It had to be a wrong number, the only person I knew in Chicago was the clerk downstairs. Lurching out and leaving a wet trail, I picked up the earpiece and said h.e.l.lo.

"Jack Fleming?" It wasn't a familiar voice.

"You got him, what is it?"

"Jack, this is Benny O'Hara from New York. You maybe remember at Rosie's bar about a year ago- Benny O'Hara, a little guy with big ears who gave me a tip on an arson story in exchange for five bucks and a drink. I'd let the cops in on it, they caught the guys, and I got an exclusive for the paper with a by-line.

"Yeah, Fourth of July, make it look like fireworks did it, collect the insurance. I remember.""Listen, I saw you leave the train station and followed you. I thought you could help me-"

The same old story. He needed a soft touch, but I couldn't afford it this time. "I'm sorry, Benny, but I was just on my way out-"

"No, wait, please, this is important!" He sounded desperate, I hung on out of curiosity. "You gotta listen. I've got something big for you, a h.e.l.l of a story, believe me."

"I'm listening."

"Can you come down and meet me in the street? I can't tell it all on the phone.

Please, Jack?"

"What'll it cost me?"

"You mean what'll it give you? This one is red hot."

"Arson again?" I joked.

"Please, Jack!" He was in no mood for humor.

"All right, I'll be out in a minute."

"Just walk outside, turn right, and keep walking. I'll catch up with you."

It seemed overly dramatic, maybe he did have something important. If I came to an editor with a hotshot story ready to roll.

so much the better my chances of getting a job, and with better pay. It was worth a try. I told Benny to hold tight and hung up, trying not to sound too eager.

Dried and dressed, I left the hotel, following his directions, scanning the faces around me for his. About a block later he appeared at my elbow.

"Don't look at me, for Chrissake!" he said in a low voice.

The glimpse I'd gotten was not rea.s.suring. He always looked to be just this side of starvation, that was normal, but now he was haggard and twitching at the edges. I wondered when he'd last slept.

"Just keep walking and I'll tell you everything."

"For how much?"

"I'll tell you. When I'm finished you can take it or leave it."

Now, that was out of character. If I hadn't been on guard before, I was now.

"Who's following you?""n.o.body yet, I think, but we can't take chances. Just keep walking."

I kept walking.