Devil Dead (17 page)

“See how pleasant normal life is? You and me, both alive and relatively uninjured, sitting here together and enjoying all this warm spring weather and each other. You, only bleeding a little bit. All is well.”

Claire laughed. “Okay, now you're beginning to sound sappy. So how about enjoying some dessert with this nice spring evening? Gelato, maybe? Or chocolate fudge cake? Or both?”

“How about we enjoy that dessert upstairs in bed?”

“Don't you ever get tired of—”

“No, I don't.”

He held out his hand toward her, fingers spread, and she smiled back and threaded her fingers through his. Black stood up, pulled her up, and then followed her upstairs to their bedroom. He was content. Claire was in a safer job, at least she was at the moment, and he was going to enjoy it for as long as he could. He shed his coat and pulled loose his tie and decided the end of his day from hell was turning out pretty damn well after all.

 

Later that same night, about a mile away from Claire and Black's house on Governor Nicholls Street, way down at the far end of Decatur Street, Will Novak was still thinking about his first day on the job with Claire Morgan. He sat inside the smoky and rather dingy interior of Devil Dead, the nasty bar that the Carver kid had mentioned. The place was a real dump, just like the junkie had told them, mainly drunks and hookers and stupid young kids pretending they were witches and warlocks and vampires and werewolves. Man, that whole vampire craze was absolutely pathetic. Some people were just so needy and dumb. What? Watch a couple of movies about good-looking vamps and witches, and decide witchcraft and magic were real and just what one needed to spice up one's love life and get what they wanted out of other people. Idiotic, plain idiotic.

Novak glanced around at the black walls with all kinds of satanic symbols painted on them, in glow-in-the-dark paint, no less. Things that he thought were called Devil Traps or Devil Signatures, or something else equally as silly. Other designs and emblems abounded, too, most of which he assumed were used in so-called black magic rituals and/or spells. He knew what each was called, because somebody had scrawled the names of the symbols right below them. There were the usual pentagrams, all drawn in that same fluorescent paint that glowed brilliantly inside the dark bar. He had suggested to Claire that they would come in to Devil Dead tomorrow, together, and question the employees. And they would certainly do that, but first he wanted to check the place out by himself. Especially since she was already nursing a stab wound. Not that it seemed to bother her much.

Still, Nick was not going to be particularly pleased that she had been attacked, and with a pair of scissors no less. In their brief encounter before Novak had gone in and met with Claire, Black had made it known that her safety was his primary concern. He had made it crystal clear that that was the most important thing to him above all else. And it was something to be damned concerned about, all right. She was a good enough cop. He had already seen that. Very good, in fact, but he had also seen that she was a mite reckless, especially when being reckless meant getting what she wanted. Jack had told him some of the stuff that she'd done in the past, what she'd been through, and a lot of it made it hard to believe that she was still upright and breathing.

Novak had chosen a table in the corner where he wouldn't be noticed. He took a swig of lukewarm beer and watched a couple of guys who had just come into the front door, long greasy hair tied back in ponytails, and with scrunchies, for God's sake, the kind that Sarah used to wear. Then he remembered the way she used to pull her ponytail loose and shake out all that long raven hair and how silky soft it felt when he'd gathered it up in his fists. He shuddered and blocked her sweet face out of his mind.

He raised his bottle again and concentrated on watching the two newcomers. Both had on black sleeveless T-shirts and sported all kinds of demonic tattoos that covered the bulging muscles of their arms and necks, designs that matched the devil etchings adorning the walls. Both losers, too, no doubt about it, trying to pick up immature teenyboppers enthralled with teenage vamps and books romanticizing all the wrong things. He just didn't get it, but he wasn't young and he wasn't female and he wasn't stupid. The two wannabe bloodsuckers sidled up to a couple of the aforementioned groupies who had been hanging out at the bar, and they tried their best to act like supernatural creatures. Stupid, stupid. That was the only word that truly described them.

He was watching for the girl, Andrea Quinn, but he was already bored and pretty sure she wouldn't come into this kind of place twice. Maybe he'd get lucky, though, and she'd just walk right in, and he could grab her and get her the hell out of town. Unlikely, true, but the best scenario he could hope for. It was very strange in his mind that she had disappeared like a puff of smoke, with no one the wiser. He didn't like the witchcraft element being a part of the story, and it didn't make a whole lot of sense, anyway. The missing girl sounded to him like she'd been a pretty good kid with her head screwed on straight enough. It appeared she was all into books and studying, an exceptionally good student at Tulane, one with an A minus average according to her professors that they'd interviewed that afternoon, as well as at her exclusive Parisian schools before that. Nothing much was adding up. But if she was into drugs now, that explained a whole hell of a lot.

After two hours of utter, unrelenting boredom, Clarence Carver did show up, just as Novak had suspected he would. He was with a girl, too, but unfortunately, it wasn't Andrea. The two kids were dressed like hippy vampires in black clothes and lots of black eye makeup and took a table in a back corner where it was dark and private. He waited a while before he decided to approach them, wanting to make sure they were not waiting for somebody else to show up, hopefully Claire's missing person. After fifteen minutes, he thrust back his chair, ready to go over and talk to them, but felt a firm hand on his shoulder pushing him back down. He shrugged it off, jerked around, fists doubled, ready to defend himself, and found Claire Morgan standing right behind him.

“So, you wanted to wait until tomorrow, huh? I guess I did hear that right?”

“What the hell are you doing here, Morgan?”

“Probably the same thing you are, and lookee look, there's creepy old Carvy, right over there in the corner.” Claire scraped up a chair close beside him. “You tryin' to cut me out, huh, Novak? Well, that's just not gonna happen.”

Inside, Novak smiled to himself. She was sharp, this girl. He just stared at her a moment, and then he said, “Thought you were goin' after a normal life, you know, all that nine-to-five crap that people seem to want so much.”

“You can count me outta that. That's Black's dream come true. Not mine.”

“So I suspect he's not too happy with either of us right now. Since you're here and not safe at home with him?”

“He was called next door to his clinic to tend to a freaked-out patient that he's extremely worried about, and I'm not one to sit around twiddling my thumbs and waiting for him to cure her. He said he'd be very late, something I like to take advantage of. Besides, I figured you were down here checking this place out. That's what I would've done.”

“I'm used to working alone.”

“Well, get unused to it. I'm here, like it or not. And I'm not going anywhere.”

Novak wasn't quite sure if he did like it or not, but she was right. She was here, and no way in hell was she leaving. He already knew that much about the woman. She was as stubborn as a mule, take it to the bank.

“So what are we waiting for?” she said. “Let's go have another little chat with Carver and his new girlfriend.”

“You read my mind.”

Carver didn't seem the least bit pleased to see them. They pulled out chairs and sat down at the table, very close on both sides of him. That's when Carvy jumped to his feet and darted some frightened looks all around, as if afraid somebody would see him and think he was snitching. Which was interesting in itself. “Hey, you guys following me, or what? How come? I didn't do nothin'! You got no right!”

“Who's your girlfriend?” Claire asked him. “Don't believe we've met.”

The girl looked about eighteen, or maybe early twenties, but that was probably pushing it. She had dark hair with fluorescent yellow spray applied in an arc around her forehead and temples. Looked like a halo of sorts. She had way too much dark makeup around her eyes, which Novak had noticed seemed to be the new fashion out at Tulane, and her lips were painted fluorescent black. She, too, had some interesting and demonic-looking tats, all glowing in the dim light. These people did love their glow-in-the-dark paint. He doubted if their brains lumped together would fill a teacup.

The girl wasn't nearly so nervous. She held out her hand, one that had black leather gloves with the fingers cut out. She also had an upside-down crucifix hanging around her neck. Cute. Parents must be very proud of her.

“Nice necklace,” Claire Morgan said, ignoring the proffered hand. “They'll love that when you get down to hell.”

Novak found that rather amusing, but the girl appeared miffed. “Maybe that's what I want. What's it to you?”

“Really, you want to go to hell?” Claire said. “Well, be my guest.”

“What's your name?” Novak asked her. Claire didn't like the kid. It was pretty obvious. He probably ought to do the talking.

“None of your goddamn business.”

Novak said, “I guess we can tail you night and day until we find somebody who'll tell us who you are.”

“Yeah, that sounds way fun. Hey, I've never met any real live witches before. Maybe you can heal this cut on my arm. Wanna give it a try?” said Claire.

“Maybe I'll just call the cops and say you're harassing me.”

“Go right ahead,” said Claire. “Some of my best friends are cops.”

The girl gave an exaggerated and very put-upon sigh. “Okay, my name is Kitty Carson. What's the big deal?”

“Doesn't sound much like a witch's name to me. Whatever happened to Hazel and Samantha and Sabrina?” Novak asked.

But it did seem that the talk of calling the police tended to make Carver a tad uncomfortable. He looked around, nervous as hell and showing it freely. “Okay, okay, no need to call the friggin' cops. Sit down, everybody, we'll talk to you. We ain't got nothin' to hide. What'd you want from us, anyways? We just came in here to have a drink and talk some. Don't you guys got nothin' better to do than to bother two innocent college kids?”

Claire laughed at that.

Novak said, “We want to know who your friend here is, and why you're meeting up with her.”

“She's just a friend. We're just talkin' and havin' a beer. How's that any of your business anyway?”

“What's her real name?”

“That's her real name.”

“Like hell, it is.”

The girl looked at Novak and spoke from glowing black lips. “Wanna see my driver's license, big guy?”

Novak said, “Yeah, I sure do.”

Kitty Carson smiled. “Sorry, I left it at home.”

Claire said, “Where's home?”

“None a' your business, lady.”

Claire frowned. Novak thought she looked like she was going to belt the girl a good one up the side of the head. Luckily, she refrained herself.

Novak said, “Look, there's a girl who's gone missing. We are trying to find her. We need your help. We are not hasslin' you for the fun of it or because we have any special interest in you two. Tell us what we want to know and we'll go away.”

The two kids looked at each other, and a short silence ensued. Then Kitty said, “So this is about Andi? That it?”

“That's it. You know her?”

“Of course. She hangs out with us sometimes, smokes some weed now and then, but she's a real Goody Two-shoes. She doesn't fit in with our crowd.”

“Sounds like a smart girl,” Claire said.

“You want us to talk to you or not?” Kitty said, glaring at Claire. The two women did not care for each other, and for good reason. Novak would lay odds on Claire, if any altercation ensued. Bandaged arm and all.

“Just tell us what you know. When did you see her last?”

Kitty sighed again, a real drama queen. “I saw her last week, I guess. On campus a couple of times. Then later out at Carvy's house. She smoked some pot and then she left with some guy.”

“What guy?”

“Some guy is all. How should I know who she's hookin' up with? They're down in Mexico on a
peyote
binge for all I know. You can get good stuff down there.”

“You know this guy Andi was with?” Novak asked Carver.

“Yeah, he's a frat guy, that one I told you about. I don't know him. I don't like those jocks. They're big and dumb. Look, we don't have nothin' to do with Andi disappearin', or nobody else. I told you that I like her. We just in here havin' a beer and enjoyin' the music and you hafta go and jump our case like we're some kind of killers or somethin'. We're the ones who oughta call the cops on you for followin' us around.”

Carver really didn't listen to what was said. Or his mind was too drug addled to remember much.

Claire verbalized his thoughts. “Like we already said, two or three times. Go right ahead.”

Claire was tired of the bullshit, but so was Novak. On the other hand, he didn't think they were gonna get much more out of the two stoned and uncooperative kids. Not right now anyway. He stood up. “Okay, thanks for the help.”