The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) (14 page)

“Mr. Candle, your skills with firearms are unparalleled,” Greeley said. “And Weatherby Stein’s reputation, and that of his family, makes him invaluable.” He held out his hand. I got the feeling he was pleading with me.

“And it ain’t like you’ll be riding alone.” Nails grinned. “Me and the Bike Bats will be there, driving along, watching your back. This thing is the definition of a milk run, daddy-o.”

“Yeah,” I said. “Except if you were any good, they wouldn’t need to hire me. The vamps don’t want to put their last hopes in a chump like you, Kenzie.”

That made Nails mad. He drew out a switchblade, snapping it to life in a single motion. The thin blade gleamed in the low light of the warehouse. “What did you say?” Nails asked. “Did you say something, big man? Why don’t you say that again and find out what happens?”

Greeley grabbed his arm and pulled him back. I was right. Balthazar Greeley knew it, and so did Nails. “Please,” Greeley said. “Will you help us?  Rest assured, you will be richly rewarded.”

I looked to Weatherby. He was looking at his shoes. The kid didn’t like working with bloodsuckers, but he knew we needed the money and they had it. It took about five long seconds for him to convince himself to get over his distaste. Finally, Weatherby gave a small nod.

I shook Greeley’s hand. “Pleasure doing business with you,” I said, as he handed me an envelope fat with cash.

“You’ll get the rest after we reach Castle Dracula,” he explained. “We shall depart tomorrow morning. Mr. Kenzie will be outside your hotel, with the truck containing our coffins. We are sound sleepers, but I do hope you drive carefully. Weapons will be provided, and the truck should be fully gassed.” He stepped back. It was time for us to leave.

Weatherby and I stood up and headed for the door. I paused as we crossed the barren cement floor, under the cold eyes of the hidden vampires. I turned around. “One more question,” I said. “How’d you get the bank to set this thing up? You clowns don’t look like millionaires. Who’s your butter and eggs man?”

Someone stepped out of the shadows, a portly man, going bald, in a hand-tailored brown suit, vest and striped tie. “That would be me, Mr. Candle,” he said, in a faint Russian accent. He wasn’t a vampire, but he had something just as bad as fangs between his lips. His teeth were all made of solid steel. I had heard that a lot of Russians who had done time in the Gulags had steel smiles, a result of Party discipline knocking out their real teeth. He held out his hand. “Kazmo Karlov. KGB.”

I didn’t shake his hand. “I don’t let communists get too close to pick my pockets, buddy,” I said. “Matter of principle.”

“No offense taken, Mr. Candle.” Karlov was as smooth as his shining metal smile. “The Cold War makes strange bedfellows, after all. Dracula is important to the Soviet Union. Once he is resurrected, he can sap power away from counter-revolutionary movements in the Balkans, like the recent troubles in Hungary.” He shrugged. “And if you do not like working with us, than simply count your money and forget about the unseen hands pulling your strings.” Karlov stepped back into the shadows were he belonged.

Vampires and the KGB – the only way this job could get worse was if the devil himself was involved. And by the descriptions of Dracula, that might not be too far off. But Karlov was right. This job was a paycheck – nothing more and nothing less. As Weatherby and I headed back to our hotel, through the crowded, narrow streets of Sofia, that’s exactly what I kept telling myself. I got the feeling Weatherby was thinking something similar.

But though my mind was busy, my instincts were as sharp as ever. I looked over my shoulder, and saw a shadow press itself against a stone wall. We were being followed. I put my hand on Weatherby’s shoulder. He stopped walking. My fingers wrapped around the butt of an automatic, and I kept going. My footsteps were echoed.

I turned around, lunging for our pursuer. I had my hand on his arm and my automatic in his face before I realized who I was. Once I knew that, I considered pulling the trigger. “Bobby Belasco,” I said, stepping back and letting go of him. “What the Hell are you doing here?”

Belasco’s stubble-clad face split in a grin. He wore a rumpled Hawaiian shirt under a tan leather jacket, not even bothering to hide his holster. He raised his hands. “Hey there, Mort,” he said, sounding like we had bumped into each other at the grocery store. “How’s life been treating you?”

“I bet you already know.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “All right, all right. You don’t like me jawing at you like we’re best friends. I get it. So here’s the score – you’re thinking about helping these vampires and the Russkies resurrect Dracula. You’re making a mistake.” He looked down at Weatherby, giving him a smile. “Come on, sport. You’re smarter than this. You know what happens if you play with fire.”

“Is it a lesson that you have learned, Mr. Belasco?” Weatherby demanded. “With your proxy wars, and your friendships with gangsters and murderers? Who are you to tell us not to make a deal—”

“That’s right. It’s a mistake I’ve made a million times.” Belasco put his hands in his pockets. “Yakuza. Blood-crazed Cubans. More South American war criminals than I can count. The good old American Cosa Nostra. And sometimes it even works out. But most of the time…” He shook his head. “Look, Dracula’s not some weapon you can just pull out and use. The Soviets think they can control him. The vampires think he’ll save them. Nobody’s really given much thought to what Dracula himself is going to do.”

“And you have?” I asked. Belasco was making a lot of sense. I didn’t like to hear it.

He shrugged. “Hey, I just want to let sleeping dogs lie. Same with vampires. Dracula is better just left buried. Ain’t that right, Weatherby?”

The kid turned to me. “Perhaps he is right. Dracula was an immensely powerful supernatural monster. But the vampires are promising us a fortune. And Chad and Selena need every dollar I can send them. And after all, don’t the vampires deserve someone to help them?” He was reaching, and he knew it. But neither of us wanted to give in to Belasco.

“Look, pal,” I told him. “You ever heard of the boy who cried wolf?”

“Sure. And let me tell you, Dracula’s not a sweet little old lady. Take off grandma’s clothes, and he’s a wolf.”

“That’s Little Red Riding Hood, sir,” Weatherby corrected.

“Uh-huh.” Belasco was already turning away. “Well, don’t take my word for it. Go have a look at him yourself.” He stepped away into the darkness of the street. The sound of his loafers clicking on the cobblestones faded as he left us.

I looked down at Weatherby. He was staring at his shoes. I patted his shoulder. “Come on, kiddo,” I said. “It’s late.”

We walked back to our hotel and headed to our room. We had a big day ahead of us.

The vampires wanted to get started early. The honking of a horn woke me up. I looked out the window and there was Nails Kenzie, straddling his motorcycle before a large Soviet military truck. A dozen other Bike Bats were with Nails, but they were the same kind of bums as their leader – useless in a fight. Nails waved up to me, and I waved back.

Weatherby and I dressed in silence. We had a quick breakfast of toast and coffee, and hurried downstairs. I wore my fedora low, blinking in the sudden sunlight. Nails Kenzie was waiting for me, his eyes hidden behind broad sunglasses. He handed me a manila folder, and the keys to the truck.

“It’s a big car, daddy-o,” he said. “Think you can handle it?”

“Keep talking like that and I’ll run you off the road.” I took the keys and looked through the folder. There were papers to get us past borders with ease. I tucked them under my arm and opened the truck. Weatherby tried to get into the passenger seat and nearly tumbled out. I gave him a boost, while his face went red with embarrassment.

Nails grinned cruelly at Weatherby. “You two gonna be okay in there?”

“Just try to keep up.” I got into the driver’s seat. I didn’t look at the trailer. I knew it was full of coffins. There were weapons leaning against the seat. I looked over them quickly. A big Russian submachine gun, with extra drum magazines, and a small box of stick grenades made up the truck’s armory. It was enough firepower to start a fight and win it. I rested the sub-gun on my lap and started the car.

The engine rumbled and the truck rolled forward. I kept it on the road, hearing the roar of Kenzie’s motorcycles as the Bike Bats followed. I took the truck out of Sofia and reached the open road. It was too early for much traffic, and we made good time. Soon enough, we were in the country. A couple of the Bike Bats shot ahead of us, acting as scouts to make sure the Order of Reprobus didn’t try anything. There weren’t too many cars on the road, so there was no way we could blend in. I had a feeling the heaters would come in handy.

Both Weatherby and I were uneasy. I lit a cigarette and let it smolder between my fingers, the heat feeling good against the morning chill. We were driving through open farmland, going into the dark hills and mountains that cut through Central Europe. Civilization was light on the ground here, and everything seemed wild – even in the ruins of the occasional old castle that dotted the hills.

I turned to Weatherby. “You’re thinking about Wagner Stein, aren’t you?” I asked.

He nodded. “We unleashed his evil upon the world. Maybe Mr. Belasco was telling the truth, and resurrecting Dracula will be dangerous. I can’t imagine much good of coming from it.” The kid turned to me. “Perhaps we should stop.”

“The vampires and the KGB are promising us a fortune.” I took a drag on the cigarette before tossing it out the window. “And so what if we bring him back? What’s one more monster in this world?” I shrugged. “Come on, kiddo. We’re in a distasteful business. We better get used to it.”

“I refuse to believe that, Mort,” Weatherby replied. “My father and mother would not approve.”

“Here’s a top detective tip – focus on the case. Hate yourself later.” I leaned back in the seat, scanning the open road. “Try and follow that, will you?”

We continued along in silence, drawing closer and closer to Transylvania and Castle Dracula. We passed a couple checkpoints, where soldiers in greatcoats and thick accents looked over our papers and let us pass. Karlov had pulled out all the stops. I could probably drive the truck into the Kremlin itself, if I had a mind to. Instead, I kept speeding deeper and deeper into the forest-topped hills.

Soon we left the open road altogether, and went into the woods. The dark forest wrapped around us, and if I didn’t know better, I’d have to double check to make sure the sun was still shining. Transylvania was a wooded county, broken by hills, crags and the occasional ruin.

Things got quiet. The woods seemed to suck away human conversation, replacing it with the cries of ravens and the howls of wolves. Mist rolled off the hills, wafting over the road. I kept driving, keeping an eye on the road for any sign of the Order of Reprobus. I didn’t have to wait long.

A motorcycle came screaming up to the side of the truck. I looked down and saw Nails, slamming his hand on the truck door, trying to signal my attention. Nails and some of the Bike Bats had gone ahead of the truck, scouting out the road for any sign of the Order of Reprobus. Now he was back. He wanted to talk and he was in a hurry.

I rolled down the window. “What’s the rumpus, Nails?” I asked, shouting over the rumble of the engine. “You don’t gotta ask my permission to use the bathroom.” That’s when I saw an arrow poking out of his shoulder. Blood trickled down his crisp leather jacket, and I could see the grimace behind his sunglasses. I leaned out of the window. “It’s the monks?” It wasn’t much of a question.

“They got a roadblock, man!” Nails whined. “Dozens of them! They got arrows, holy water, crosses, stakes – everything that makes vampires sleep uneasy in their coffins!” He winced as he pulled out the arrow and then tossed the shaft fall him.

We kept speeding along, and I got ready. I hunched my shoulders, held the wheel with one hand and fastened my fingers around the handle of the submachine gun. The road turned and then I saw them.

A score of monks stood in the road, and they weren’t there to sing in choir. They wore heavy brown robes, with ropes for belts and thick wooden crosses around their necks. The monks were armed too, with heavy crossbows, long pikes, and a couple guns that would have looked new in the Napoleonic War. They stood in front of the road, along with an old oxcart to block the way.

“What course of action should we take, Mort?” Weatherby asked, shivering in his seat.

I kept the gas pedal fully depressed. The truck roared. “These monks are about to learn something I learned when I was twelve years old,” I said. “If you want to kill a guy, you gotta bring the right kind of weapon. They’re prepared for vampires. They ain’t prepared for me.”

The truck rocketed along the road. The monks panicked. They dashed out of the way, a few of them jumping off the road and into the surrounding wood. The ox cart was in our way, but I didn’t care. I smashed my way through, feeling the impact as the heavy truck pushed the cart aside like it was made of cardboard. Wood splintered and truck kept going, though the steel was a little dented and my bones ached.