Evil Dark (22 page)

 

After I finished ruining Lacey's life, I didn't waste any time signing out and heading home. Even so, there were only about five minutes left until sunrise as I pulled into the garage – which was, fortunately, goblin-free this time. I was relieved to see Christine's blue Ford Carpathia parked in the driveway. Worrying about her was about the last thing I needed right now.

  Christine was at the kitchen table with the paper, but she stood up as soon as I walked in the door.

  "Daddy! Oh my God, are you all right?"

  She threw her arms around me and hugged me more vigorously than usual. If it was anybody else applying that much pressure, I'd have made them stop – vampires are pretty damn strong, and I was starting to worry about my rib cage when she finally let go.

  She stepped back, and must have seen something in my face because she said, "Oh, my gosh – that must've hurt! I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I've just been so worried."

  I opened the refrigerator and was glad to see that we still had some pineapple juice. It's pricier than OJ, but nothing tastes better after a long night than a tall glass of cold pineapple juice. Actually, a couple of beers would have been even better, but I had to stay awake for the locksmith, who was coming at 9am. After the shift I'd had, two beers would probably put me in dreamland.

  As I poured my juice I asked, "What's got you so upset, babe? Is there something in the paper about my little goblin infestation last night?"

  "Oh, is
that
what the smell is? No, there's nothing in the T-T, but the driveway's half covered with this sticky green stuff and it smells just
awful
. And I found some of these, too."

  She picked up several small round objects from the table and showed them to me. I knew at once they weren't silver, or she couldn't have handled them.

  "Let me see," I said, and took them from her.

  Each little sphere was the size of a dried pea and the color of an old nickel. "Shotgun pellets," I said. "Double-ought buckshot, looks like. These appear to be cold iron. And the green stuff in the driveway is definitely goblin blood."

  "Why were you shooting goblins with a shotgun in our driveway?"

  "I wasn't," I said. "Not with a shotgun, anyway. That was my guardian angel."

  She ran a hand over her face. "Now I am
really
confused."

  "I'll explain everything later," I said, and looked out the window. Dawn was just reaching the horizon. "You better get downstairs, babe, and quick. I'm OK. Stressed beyond belief, but physically undamaged. Now go – I'll fill you in at sundown."

  "OK. She gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'm glad you're all right." And then she was through the cellar door and gone. Vampires can move fast when they want to. And at thirty seconds to sunrise, they usually want to.

  Hank, the locksmith, showed up at 9.05am and installed state-of-the-art locks on the front and back doors. I've known him for years, and can trust that he won't be giving out duplicate keys to anybody but me. He noted the window alarms and said, "Never saw much point in those. They don't do much good, some guy breaks in while nobody's home."

  Or while Christine is – literally – dead to the world. I kept that thought to myself.

  "These don't make noise," I said. "Anybody breaks the circuit, they send a signal to the security company, Semper Fi."

  "Oh, I see." Hank nodded, keeping his face blank.

  "I know – you're thinking that rent-a-cops are pretty much worthless, and you're right, for the most part. But Semper Fi only hires ex-Marines with combat experience. And they're all licensed to carry."

  "That's not too bad, then."

  Next, I had him install a heavy-duty deadbolt on the basement door. I told him that I wanted the kind that could be opened by a key, from either side.

  "Why would somebody wanna lock themselves
inside
the basement?" Hank asked me. Guess he didn't have any vampires in the family.

  "Sometimes I throw an orgy down there," I said, my voice as matter-of-fact as my expression. "My guests like their privacy – you know how it is."

  He looked at me for a couple of seconds, as if unsure whether he was being kidded. Then he snorted and set to work.

  After Hank left, I was finally able to stagger off to bed. As my head hit the pillow, I prayed that I wouldn't dream. But, like most of my prayers, that one went unanswered, too.

 

It was full dark when Christine and I shared breakfast – well, we shared the table, but our menus were different – and I told her about my eventful night. I left out the part about the end of my visit with Rachel, since I wasn't sure yet what exactly she had done, or how I felt about it. But Christine heard everything else.

  "Just listening to it makes me feel like my head's going to explode," she said. "I can only imagine what it must have been like to go through it. Pretty tough dude, my old man. Takes a real lickin' and keeps on tickin'." I knew she was referencing an old Timex commercial.

  "We'll see how well I keep time tonight," I said. "I feel like the crystal's cracked and the mainspring is about to break from being wound too tight."

  "You'll be fine," she said. "But poor Lacey – what an absolutely horrid thing to listen to."

  "I only told her because–"

  She held up a pacifying hand. "I know, I know. I'd have done the same thing in your place – and in her place too, for that matter. Sometimes there's no easy way out."

  "Yeah, I think I heard that somewhere," I said.

  "And speaking of easy ways out," she said, "who the fuck is sending goblins after you?"

  "Oh, that would be Mister X," I said.

  She cocked an eyebrow at me. "Really? Is that his first or last name?"

  "For now, it stands for both."

  "OK. So who is Mister X, and why does he have it in for my daddy?"

  "He's probably the guy – or the gang – behind the snuff films. Karl's theory is that he's like the Columbians. Apparently down there, if somebody so much as whispers something about going after those guys, they take him out. Don't even wait for him to become a nuisance. Just bang-bang."

  "And Karl feels Mister X has the same bloody mindset?"

  "It explains why somebody took out Milo – who, as far as I know, hadn't turned up anything new about the snuff film operation," I said. "Although he did have Sharkey waiting in the wings, just in case."

  "And now Sharkey's your guardian angel."

  "I figure Milo paid him to follow me – well, Karl and me – around until we found Mister X. Then Sharkey would step out of the shadows and hit him. And since I can't lead him to Mister X if some goblin sticks a knife in my gizzard, he's keeping me alive until then. And the way this case is going, Sharkey's gonna have to watch my back for a long time to come."

  "Even though Milo's dead," she said.

  "Sharkey's the most ethical man in the business, they say. As well as the deadliest."

  "Well, it would seem better to have him on your side, rather than on your case."

  "Amen to that," I said.

  "I don't know who Mister X is, obviously," she said. From deep in her eyes, I saw a glint of red. "But if I ever meet him, he'd better guard his throat."

  "That's my girl."

  "And in the meantime, somebody's killing supernaturals, in the hope of starting this Helter Skelter race war?"

  "They're killing humans, too, and framing supernaturals for it."

  "This Howard guy you were telling me about," she said.

  "Lester Howard, yeah. If he was really the victim of a vampire, then I'm Mary, Queen of Scots."

  "Let's hope you're not," Christine said with a grin. "You wouldn't like the wardrobe, and she came to a bad end, as I recall."

  "I'm probably safe," I said.

  She took a sip from her cup of heated plasma. "And who's behind this Helter Skelter bullshit?"

  "I'm still working on that. For now, let's call him Mister Y, although 'he' is probably a 'they'."

  "Except you think X and Y are one and the same."

  "I think they might be," I said. "At first, we all figured that the motive behind the snuff films was purely financial – same as the pervs who make kiddie porn."

  "Let's not talk about kiddie porn – please. I may be a vampire, but those fuckers are the real monsters."

  "No argument from me. But their motive is to make money, and we figured the same was true of the guys behind the snuff films. But now…"

  "The press has got hold of the story."

  "Looks that way," I said. "Maybe some nosy reporter just stumbled over it. But if info about these videos was deliberately leaked – well, a lot of people are gonna get real upset when they hear about these supernatural torture sessions." "More ammunition for Helter Skelter." "Could be, honey. Could just be."

 

I could see that McGuire had visitors. Thorwald and Greer were in the office with him, looking serious. I think there's a course they offer down there at Quantico called "Federal Gravitas 101." Or maybe it's just that their job doesn't present too many occasions for giggles. Come to think of it, neither does mine.

  I looked at Karl, who was sitting at his desk. "How long have J. Edgar's finest been in there with the boss?"

  "Beats me," he said. "I just rolled in a couple of minutes ago myself, and they were already here."

  "I want to talk to the Feebies, but I don't think we oughta just sit here with our thumbs up our asses waiting for the privilege."

  "Amen to that," he said.

  "Let's get out of here," I said. "I had a long, painful talk with Lacey last night. I wanna tell you what she–"

  McGuire must have noticed that I'd come in, because he went to his office door and waved me over.

  "Great," I said to Karl. "Well, let's go."

  "Not sure I was included in the invitation."

  "You are now," I said. "Come on – maybe you can intimidate Thorwald with your fangs."

  "I've got something else I could intimidate her with," he said, getting to his feet. "But the boss probably wouldn't appreciate my whipping it out in his office."

  "You mean your pistol."

  "'Course I do," he said. "What else?"

  McGuire's office wasn't built to accommodate five people comfortably, but then sometimes comfort's overrated.

  I guess Thorwald didn't think so. "It's kind of cramped in here, so perhaps Detective Renfer could excuse us?"

  "No, he couldn't," I said. "We work as a team, just like you and your partner."

  "If it gets bad, I could always turn into mist and float above everybody," Karl said.

  "You can really do that – create mist?" Greer asked him.

  "Sure," Karl said. "Every time I fart."

  "Let's cut the crap," McGuire said. "Agents Thorwald and Greer have been working on identifying the victims in the snuff videos," he said. I guessed the issue of Karl's presence was settled.

  I looked at Thorwald. "Any luck?"

  "At the Bureau, we don't believe in
luck
," she said. "But intelligence and hard work did pay some dividends, yes."

  Looks like Greer wasn't the only one to complete the "How to Be a Federal Asshole" course.

  I kept my mouth shut. Next to me, Karl muttered a word in my ear that sounded like "hunt", but probably wasn't.

  Seeing that I wasn't going to rise to the bait, Thorwald said, "We have been able to identify three of the victims. None of them are from Scranton, which is why they didn't appear on your department's missing persons list. But only one of the three even had an MP report filed – by his mother, who lives in Arizona and became alarmed when her son never answered his phone or returned her calls. These are solitary men, which probably explains why they were marked for abduction by the snuff film makers."

  She reached into her big leather bag and pulled out three manila folders. She put them, one at a time, on McGuire's desk.

  "Albert Becht, 41, of Old Forge. Daniel Cossick, 29, of West Pittston. And Gregory Ryfa, 38, of Wilkes-Barre."

  I noticed that the files didn't look very thick. But at least they were files, and they did have victims' names on them.

  Thorwald pulled a notebook from the bag, opened it, and flipped some pages. "Becht was in video number 2 as the torture victim. Cossick and Ryfa both appeared in video number 3 – Cossick the possessed torturer, Ryfa the victim."

  "Did they know each other?" Karl asked.

  "We're working to determine that," she said. "Thus far, I'm inclined to say no. As I said, they tended to keep to themselves."

  "Didn't they have jobs?" I asked her.

  "No, they didn't. Cossick and Ryfa were both on public assistance, while Becht was living off a trust fund."

  "Welfare and a trust fund," I said. "Can't get much more different than that."

  "Naturally, we obtained warrants to search their residences," Thorwald said. "They each owned a personal computer, which isn't surprising. The hard drives have been removed and sent to Washington for analysis."

  "So now you're looking for common factors," I said.

  She nodded approvingly, as if the special needs kid had actually answered a question correctly in class. "Exactly. A cursory study of their homes doesn't tell us much. They shared the usual male interests – sports, beer, and pornography, but the last reflected nothing as extreme as the snuff films. Just the usual tits, ass, and gash."

  I wondered if she'd used that last word to prove that she was really one of the guys, or to show her contempt for us.

  "Oh, and they all seemed to have an interest in vampires," she added.

  If I didn't know better, I'd have said it was chance that she happened to be looking at Karl when she said that last part.