Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) (20 page)

Though Zoey said nothing in response, Ian saw for the first time a trace of noticeable fear on her face.

After a short pause, Ian continued, “I think this guy Salizzar – man, monster, or myth, whatever you want to call him – I think he’s supplying others like him all around the world, in addition to supplying ultra-rich people who can afford to buy blood products or body organs for transplants without having to go on any waiting list.”

Just then, their waitress, Madison, arrived to their table with their beers and said, “Okay, let me know if you like the beer. Your food should be up in just a few minutes.” She smiled then turned and briskly walked to another table.

Ian immediately took a sip of his beer. He winced ever so slightly in reaction to its bitter hop flavor. He’d never been a big beer enthusiast.

Ian cleared his throat then continued, “Uh, um, anyway, I think Salizzar’s got himself a factory going on in the basement of his club. With all that we saw yesterday, it would be a perfect set up. Bone saws, walk-in subzero freezer, all stainless steel countertops and sinks with high-pressure washer-sprayers. I think he’s collecting blood and body parts, packaging them, and selling them to vampire-like wackos and maybe witch covens. People into cannibalism maybe. Very likely, he supplies people who need human organs and can pay to get them totally off the grid. Little doubt he’ll sell his products to anyone who’s able to pay his price and keep totally silent lest they quickly wind up dissected themselves. My guess is he sets up a factory for a very limited time, does his thing, makes a number of fast millions, then per his pre-planned exit strategy, he and his people disappear without a trace. When a guy’s as well-funded and connected as it appears to me that he is, he can almost instantly become a ghost besides being a blood sucker.”

Zoey gasped a bit, then took a three-gulp drink of beer. She slowly set her beer glass down, her hand was trembling slightly. After a few uncomfortably long silent seconds had passed, she finally spoke. “Oh … my … God! If you’re even half right about any of it, he’s gotta be stopped. Ian, we’ve gotta do what we can to stop him.”

Ian slowly nodded as he panned his eyes around at the tables near them to see if Zoey’s small outburst had drawn any attention. It hadn’t seemed to. The music in the place was at the perfect volume to allow for discreet table conversation.

“Now, whether I’m right or not as far as a plan for tonight, I feel we’ve got to, for our own protection, operate under the assumption of worst case scenario that I’m, like you said, even half right. Under that assumption, I feel we should …” Ian paused mid-sentence as the man who had gone to the men’s room just minutes before walked past them to his table, which also sparked Ian’s thought.

Ian continued, “As for tonight, we can’t be separated any more than necessary, for lots of obvious reasons. I think at least some of the abductions probably occurred right in the club itself. I’ve been thinking that over and over in my mind. I always come up with the same …” He stopped again as Zoey, who’d been staring unwaveringly into his eyes, suddenly turned her attention behind him as she spotted their waitress, Madison, who was rapidly heading towards them with their food.

“Here, guys. I hope you enjoy!” Madison exclaimed as she set their food down onto their table. “Can I get you anything else?” Ian had already noted that there was already ketchup, mustard, and Tabasco sauce at the table.

After looking at Zoey and seeing that she smiled and shook her head, Ian replied, “No, I think we’ve got all we need, at least for now.”

Madison flashed Ian a bright smile, then turned and headed off towards the kitchen.

Ian took another even larger drink of his beer, this time with seemingly no displeased reaction to the beer’s strong hop flavor. He smiled as he glanced at his glass, then looked back at Zoey and continued, “This isn’t bad. Kinda grows on ya. Anyway, where was I? Oh, yeah. I think we should concentrate somewhat on the restrooms. Primarily the lady’s room.”

Zoey looked at Ian with a confused expression before interjecting, “The restrooms …?”

Ian fired back, “Yeah. Where else does a person leave their date and go, usually more than once throughout an evening, more than to the restroom? That is if their date’s of the opposite sex, that is.” Ian smiled, and Zoey rolled her eyes while she giggled. Ian continued, “Granted, often women will go to the lady’s room in couples or even in groups. And presumably in a club like that, there will be couples of all genders doing all sorts of things in both bathrooms. But still … some … a lot will go alone, right? And when they do, once inside a private stall with all kinds of commotion going on and a background of loud music from the sound system or a band …” Zoey suddenly got the mental picture Ian was painting.

“My God, Ian. You might be right. What if there’s some kind of trap door or something in the bathroom stalls in the women’s … well, and maybe in the men’s room too for that matter. And …”

Ian interrupted, “People are being shanghaied at least down to the basement for exsanguination and dissection.”

Zoey covered her mouth as she exclaimed, “Good God, do you really think so?” Ian solemnly nodded twice.

He continued, “Something like that. A doorway behind the toilet that someone could grab a person from behind or a trap door in the floor that would suddenly drop an unsuspecting victim. Either way would serve as a perfect way to quickly abduct and disappear a person.” Zoey again nodded her head in response to Ian’s theory. “Oh shit ... I just thought of something.”

Zoey looked deep into Ian’s eyes as she spoke. “What?”

Ian continued, “I just remembered that I forgot that police scanner that Ned gave me. It’s back in the ... it’s in my Jeep. Oh well, we probably won’t be just sitting around listening to it anyway.” Zoey nodded in agreement.

After nearly a minute of silence, Zoey said, “Anyway Ian, about what you were talking about before. All anyone working at the club would have to say to any waiting boyfriend or girlfriend that might go looking around the club for their missing partner would be something like, ‘I think they left cause they got sick.’ Or, ‘I think I saw them leave with another person.’ Or, ‘We didn’t see a thing.’ Shit, whatever. Nobody would be the wiser.”

Ian didn’t say another word for a couple of long, silent moments. He just sat thinking over his theory. As terrifying as it was, it made sense.

After a few long seconds passed, Zoey took a deep breath, exhaled, and spoke. “Ian, what you told me before about what happened in that town … What was it called, Harmony Falls, I believe you said?”

Ian replied, “Yeah, that’s right.”

Zoey continued, “Well, I too am willing to keep an open mind about what you call extreme possibilities. For certain, I believe there’s much more going on in this world than meets the eye. And I believe in you. What I’m trying to say is, I believe something clearly unimaginably horrific happened to you and your friend Charlie. And you guys took care of business the only way you could. End of story. Now all that said, it’s time we get out of here, walk up the block, and go and kick some vampire ass. Do we, like, need any special weapons ... like wooden stakes or holy water? Stuff like that?”

Ian bit his lip and raised his eyebrows while shrugging in response to Zoey’s question all the while thinking to himself,
Christ, according to Clayton, stuff like that wouldn’t even help. Although it sure as shit took silver bullets back at Harmony Falls. Let’s hope that Glock 9mm counts for something.

CHAPTER 20

All Hallows Eve (II)

Standing at the top of a long, wide, Z-shaped ramp that led up to the second floor, then forward to the front door of The Morgue, was a very tall, extremely formidable-looking, middle-aged black man. He had pronounced streaks of gray concentrated around his temples, which sharply contrasted the mostly deep ebony color of his heavily product-enhanced hair.

This near giant of a man was nattily dressed in a black silk tuxedo, white wing-collar shirt, and a thin black leather bowtie. Over his shirt, he wore a long, impressively substantial, serpentine-link gold chain, which had a large, presumably solid gold pendent designed to look like brass knuckles. The mammoth-sized man also wore large, diamond-stud earrings, one in the lobe of each ear. His eyes were perfectly hidden behind very dark lenses held within also likely solid gold wire frame sunglasses. The imposing way the man posed himself with his massive arms crossed left no doubt that he was at least one of the club’s bouncers and likely one of Salizzar’s personal bodyguards.

The huge bouncer’s tuxedo coat, though an obvious nicely-tailored fit, was ever so slightly draping roomier on the left side than the right. Ian quickly deduced that the bouncer was likely packing more than just sheer muscle.

There was a very lengthy line of people waiting for their chance to get invited past the red velvet rope gate that served as a gateway to the front door and forward to the elevator beyond.

Ian quickly observed that unless you were a beautiful, Playmate-esque, pseudo
Elvira Mistress Of The Dark
vampiric type, or your name was among those on the clip-board list which was wielded like it had magic power by a pale-skinned dwarf, convincingly costumed from head to foot in the attire of a medieval court jester, getting inside was going to be challenging to say the least.

Ian couldn’t keep from staring at the freakishly pale, bordering on semi-transparent Lilliputian, who even in the very low light appeared to have tiny, bulging blue veins that spider-webbed all around his forehead and cheeks.

The dwarf’s appearance, though small in stature to the extreme, was to Ian nonetheless forebodingly frightening with his pointy ears, appendages that Ian reasoned had to have been surgically altered. And his teeth, though no larger than those of a child, appeared also to have been cosmetically fashioned to be like those of a shark, grotesquely filed to what appeared to be pin-point sharpness. All with the obvious intent of achieving the look of a devilishly demonic, folklorish, hell-spawn imp. There was something inexplicable about him, something mesmerizing that transcended just mere morbid fascination at the sight of the fiercely evil-looking elf.

Zoey noticed that Ian was staring at the little man, much longer than what would be considered polite by any measure. She tugged on Ian’s right arm slightly, which broke his trancelike fixation. As Ian looked away from the midget, realizing why Zoey had broken his concentrated stare in the manner she had, he thought,
There’s just something about that ... little devil.

After waiting in the cold and drizzling rain for about ten minutes, it was becoming clearer by the moment that it was going to be a very long wait to move up in the line, let alone ever gain entrance. That was until Ian saw a man hand the dwarf a fat wad of cash. Fortunately, Ian had anticipated that this night might require a lot of green, so he reached inside his recently heavily-fattened wallet and pulled out three portraits of Benjamin Franklin.
Ian folded the bills in such a way as to show off the sum of his offering intended for the little jester.

The maniacal-looking munchkin was standing near the front door with his back turned towards them. Then, as if the demon dwarf had eyes in the back of his head or could literally smell money, in less than three seconds he was standing hip-high alongside Ian. The dwarf never spoke a word; rather, with mouth open wide and his gums fully retracted, displayed a killer, shark-like, terrifying smile as he grabbed the money from Ian.

The monstrous miniature then pointed up to the large black man, who nodded back at him. The huge bouncer signaled Ian and Zoey with a wave of his massive hand to bypass all those ahead of them in line to proceed forward to the doorway to be admitted at once into the club.

Once inside the front door, Ian and Zoey were greeted by a veiny-faced blond albino man of no consequential size. He was also nattily dressed in a black tuxedo. He stood eerily glowing blue under a large, black-light illuminated podium. The man was checking everyone’s identification before allowing them to proceed any further.

Zoey had given her driver’s license to Ian earlier in the evening so she wouldn’t have to pack her purse around and risk getting it stolen. Ian had subsequently locked it in the trunk of the rental car.

Ian handed the man both his fake driver’s license as well as Zoey’s real one. The man glanced at both for just a second. Ian figured it was mostly formality due to their ages, and the lighting that the black lights emitted was so dim he didn’t figure the guy could read them anyway.
Unless, of course, he’s got some kind of night vision.

After less than two seconds had passed, the man looked at Ian as he spoke in a heavy Eastern European accent, “You and your date have a lovely evening, Mister … McBride.” When the man spoke, Ian and Zoey both couldn’t help but notice he had Hollywood-styled stereotypical vampire fangs. Ian wondered,
Are his fangs permanent prosthetics? Or are they removable? Or are they unnaturally natural?

Once Ian had retrieved their IDs from the man and had put them back in his wallet, they were instructed to go over to an elevator that was located just a few feet straight ahead of the entrance.

When they approached the elevator, Ian noticed in an instant that it was configured to only go up from where they were, which was technically the second floor. The next floor, the third floor actually, was the nightclub level.

Ian was more than happy that they’d only checked IDs and weren’t patting people down, or worse, using a metal detecting wand. He had his trusty .32 Beretta that he’d years ago affectionately named Ole Caretaker
strapped to his right ankle. After giving it more thought, Ian knew there was little to no chance at all of going with his first plan of trying to sneak in the large 9mm Glock that Ned had given him, so he’d left it in the glove box of the rental car and opted for his much smaller, easier to conceal weapon.

Once Ian and Zoey, along with a few other chosen ones, were inside the elevator, Ian looked over the control panel and quickly deduced that the elevator probably did go down to the daylight basement below via the insertion and activation of a key into the unmarked keyhole located just below the button labeled ‘Level One’.

A young, beautiful woman, distinctly Gothic in appearance, quickly pushed the button marked ‘2’ and soon, the doors closed. Within less than ten seconds, they were up on the club level.

The moment the elevator doors opened, Ian, Zoey, and the other occupants quickly shuffled out into the club. There was a free-standing portable sign directly ahead of them that said,
Enter of your own free will - and please seat yourself.

Once they were inside the club, it was immediately obvious the place was designed to look like a medieval European castle. Its walls and archways that led to various adjacent rooms were all constructed from imitation stone. Ian surmised the material must be similar if not identical to what Hollywood would use to construct a medieval-looking fortification on a movie set when painted Styrofoam wouldn’t be structurally strong enough to serve the purpose.

There were wrought-iron chandeliers that sported imitation candles all over, torches that lined the walls, and corridors whose burning flames, upon Ian’s close examination, were not flames at all, merely cleverly devised lighting effects that created a very convincing illusion of fire.

Ian thought,
Apparently, even vampires have to obey fire codes when building their clubs.

As Ian continued looking around at the imitation suits of armor, period-perfect-looking furniture, and stained glass darkened windows … he thought,
Maybe this guy Salizzar’s no boogieman. No more real than those torches. Maybe this club and his eccentric lifestyle just mark him as an easy target to pin the killings on. Still, the killer, or killers, could be freaky frequenters of this place. Come on, Ian. Stay focused. If it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, it’s probably a …

“Hey, how about we sit over there in the corner? That little booth for two. It should offer a pretty good view of at least half of this place,” Zoey said, almost shouting. The music was loud, almost intolerably loud for Ian.

Ian followed Zoey over to the table. She was right. It offered a good vantage point that would allow them to view much of the main room and what appeared to be the main bar. Ian felt lucky to have gotten a table at all. The place was filling up fast. It was just a few minutes past 10:00 p.m. Ian knew that was still very early by clubber’s standards. At the rate people were pouring in from the elevator every couple of minutes, there would be no tables left and the place would be standing room only within an hour.

As Ian looked about the main room of the nightclub, he noticed that there were a few presumably private booths built into the walls. They had burgundy velvet, crescent-moon-shaped couches with lots of matching pillows. Their style was slightly Victorian, with diamond-tucked upholstery. And small, probably imitation Duncan Phyfe
-
style tables in their center. Ian surmised they were imitations and not actual antiques, since all of the tables appeared to be clones of one another. The booths had dark burgundy velvet curtains tied back with thick, golden ropes that if pulled shut would offer assured privacy.

One such booth already had its curtain closed, but not completely. Ian could see inside just a bit, primarily due to light emitting from the booth’s table lamp, an incandescent candelabra.

What Ian saw going on inside the booth almost made him gag. A young woman was slitting her wrist with an antique-looking straight razor and letting another woman lap up her flowing blood.

Ian directed Zoey’s attention to the booth. When Zoey saw what the two women were up to, she had to immediately and momentarily cover her mouth, fearing that she might get instantly sick.

Just moments later, a very tall, exceptionally-pale male waiter came to their table.

“May I get you something from the bar? We have a fine selection of licentious libations and of course pride ourselves on serving the best Bloody Marys in town. We also have imported Romanian absinthe. It’s been said absinthe makes the heart grow fonder.” The waiter flashed a maniacal grin in response to his own lecherously-delivered levity. He too spoke in a thick Eastern European accent, but his was the voice that Ian felt could launch a hundred nightmares. It was devilishly deep and freakishly monotone. Ian loudly replied at a volume that he could only hope the waiter would hear, “I’ll have a Jack-n-Coke. Light on the Coke. And the lady will have …”

Zoey smiled at Ian and nearly shouted, “That sounds perfect. I’ll have the same.”

The waiter nodded his head once as he replied, “Excellent!” He turned and headed towards the bar.

“Wow! It’s so loud in here. That guy must have the ears of a …” Zoey didn’t know how to finish her statement.

Oddly, to both Ian and Zoey, even as loud as the room was from the band that was playing in the adjacent room … and they were VERY loud. The waiter was easy for them to both hear and understand. Even odder was that he could so readily hear Ian. Zoey only barely made out what drinks Ian had ordered, and she was facing him directly and much closer to him than the waiter was. Zoey only agreed with Ian’s choice because she didn’t want to have to try and yell out her own choice of drink.

Ian thought that it was if the would-be Lurch
spoke directly to his mind, more like thought transference than mere spoken words. But within moments, Ian recanted that thought as being ridiculous, merely his imagination getting the best of him.

The waiter was quickly back with their drinks that he held among others that he balanced on a drink tray. He said nothing as he first placed cocktail napkins on their table, then set their drinks down on top of the napkins. The waiter, still without speaking a word, quickly turned and left to deliver drinks to other tables.

Zoey suggested to Ian, more by hand signals than words, that they leave their coats at the table and take their drinks to walk around the place, primarily down the short corridor past the restrooms that led to the room where the band was playing. Ian smiled and nodded firmly twice, indicating that he thought that was a good idea.

Ian motioned for Zoey to take his hand. They began walking through the corridor that led past the restrooms and into the next room. Upon entering the band room, Ian and Zoey immediately understood why the name of the club was The Morgue.

The room was about two-thirds the size of the main room they’d just come from and was designed and filled with decor to look just like a real morgue. It had what looked like stainless-steel, refrigerator-styled cadaver drawers stacked one atop the other, three drawers high. They were all installed along the room’s south wall.

Ian thought
, The steel drawers look genuine. Maybe this room during the day serves as some kind of demonic dormitory for the hell-spawned help.