The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) (23 page)

“Good afternoon,” Dracula said, every trace of Eastern Europe gone from his voice. “Please, take your seats and I will tell you exactly why you should invest your every penny in Midnight Products.” He had a low booming tone, the kind you wanted to obey as soon as you heard it. A broad-shouldered tank of man stood behind him, with blonde hair cut brutally short and a business suit matching his boss’s. “This is Fielding, in charge of security for my company. He must remain in my presence for obvious reasons.”

I saw his eyes flash over the businessmen as they sat down. They lingered on me. I wondered if he remembered me from that bloody chase in the Transylvanian woods, where only a dozen crosses had kept him from sucking my blood. I saw him take a step toward me. “Excuse me,” he said. “But what firm do you—”

Baum interrupted him with a cough. “He’s my bodyguard, Mr. Dragonson. I’m Sly Baum. I’ve earned a fortune in various ventures in Las Vegas, Atlantic City and Havana, and I’m looking to invest.” Dracula turned his gaze to Baum, looking over his sunglasses. His eyes glowed solid red, and Baum squirmed as he sat down. “H-he’s just my bodyguard,” he managed. “That’s all.”

“Of course.” Dracula turned away, his interest switching completely to the slideshow. He flicked it on and a picture of a smiling blonde family in front of their suburban house filled the screen. Dracula folded his hands, and I could imagine him as some despotic medieval warlord, preparing death for the invading Turks. “Gentlemen, I would like to present to you Midnight Products’ business plan, which I believe will make us the most successful corporate entity on the globe. Soon after arriving here, I began a detailed study of America, with an eye toward potential markets. I have discovered one.”

“And what’s that, Mr. Dragonson?” Baum asked, smiling pleasantly.

“All Americans have a desire to be accepted by their peers. To do what is considered ‘normal.’ If that means participating in a system that discriminates against minorities, oppresses the poor, and leads to wars against weaker countries, then so be it.  They’ll give up their own happiness and independence – all for a desire of conformity.” He clicked to the next slide. It showed a bunch of goods, from cans of hair tonic to TV dinners to cases of Jell-O. “So that’s what we’ll appeal to. These products won’t make Americans happy. But they’ll help Americans blend in with other Americans. And that’s what they all really want.”

I stood behind Baum, watching everything. This marketing strategy couldn’t be all of Dracula’s scheme. Sure, it was a masterful business decision, but I’d bet my bottom dollar that he had more up that perfectly creased sleeve.

“So that’s your big plan?” I asked. All of the businessmen looked my way. I didn’t care. “You think the average Joe in the street’s gonna want something just cause his neighbor has it? What about the products actually being, you know, good?”

I felt a firm grip on my shoulder. I turned around. It was Fielding. The big chief of security was squaring his shoulders, like a boxer before the first punch is thrown. “You ought to hold your tongue when Mr. Dragonson is speaking,” he said.

“Maybe you ought to make me,” I retorted.

“Fielding, please.” Dracula motioned his pet bulldog to heel. “It is a valid question, though delivered rather bluntly.” He clicked through more slides. I saw factories spewing smoke, photographs of Klansmen lynching Negroes from down South, United Fruit plantations in some Latin American hellhole, and more.

“Look at what the average American is willing to tolerate in his government and economy, all for the sake of maintaining the same standard of living as his neighbors.  Midnight Products is prepared to exploit this for a maximum effect. In the various floors of the Knight Building, my junior executives are hard at work creating commercials for radio, television and print that will portray this principle. Factories in New York and other cities are already opening to create the necessary goods. We will begin nationwide distribution by the end of the month.” He smiled without revealing his teeth – or his fangs. “The only question, gentlemen, is if you and your wallets will be along for the ride.”

He switched off the slideshow. The businessmen liked his speech. They ran up, handing out cards and promising their support. Baum and I stood back, watching the whole thing. It made me want to puke. I could’ve told everyone there that Mr. Dragonson was a bloodthirsty vampire and they wouldn’t have cared. They would sell out their country to Dracula, all for a piece of the percentage.

As they were talking amongst themselves and a receptionist brought in drinks – Bloody Marys, I noticed – Dracula and Fielding walked over to Baum and me. We were still in our seats, and watched them slide through the crowd of investors. Dracula lowered his glasses. I saw his hateful red eyes.

“Mr. Candle,” he said, keeping his voice low. “Would you like to tell me exactly what you are doing here?”

“Hey, no harm in listening in to your little business pitch,” I said. I folded my arms, trying to play it cool.

“Oh, but I’m afraid there is harm, you wretched little mortal. A great deal of harm.” He spoke slowly, like I was stupid. Dracula opened his mouth to reveal his fangs. Baum shivered in his seat, nearly crying out. “If you don’t forget about my business and return to your pathetic lives, then we shall become enemies. I’ll drain the life from you, Mr. Candle. I’ll make you like me and lock you up in a dungeon, torturing you for centuries and you’ll never die. And I would tell exactly what I’m going to do to the little Stein heir, but I’m sure you can guess.”

Baum managed to scrape up enough courage to protest. “Mr. Dragonson, we’re really just here to—”

“I don’t know why you’re doing this, Baum, but I’ll only tell you once to stay away from Morton Candle.” Dracula’s lips curled back, giving Baum a better view of his teeth. “Do you have family, Baum? Children? They’ll be the first to die. Mark my words.”

But mentioning Henry Wallace had the opposite effect. Baum bristled. He stood up. “You won’t hurt my son, buster,” he said. “You mark my words on that.”

Fielding balled his hands into fists. “Just give me a reason, pal. I’ll tear you apart, you and your detective friend both.” He looked up at me, like I was a morsel on a plate. “The boss had me read the file on you. I heard you were in the Airborne. I’m impressed. Too bad I was in the Marines.”

“You should be carefully what you say, Fielding.” I reached for my cigarettes and lighter. I snapped the fire near Dracula, making him step back from the sudden light. “It might get you into trouble someday.” I nodded to Baum. “Let’s dangle. These bums don’t interest me anymore.”

The two of us headed for the elevator. Most of the other business people were still hobnobbing, so only Dracula and Fielding watched us go. I gave them a wave before the elevator doors closed. We started shooting down. Baum breathed a sigh of relief and leaned against the wall of the elevator. He wiped his forehead with his sleeve.

“Jesus,” he whispered. “Dracula’s one scary guy.”

“He does put on a good show,” I agreed.  I offered him a cigarette, and he gratefully took it. I lit it for him and we smoked as the elevator shot down to the lobby. “You want out?” I asked, as the elevator reached the bottom and the doors rushed open. “If you’d like, you can pick up Henry Wallace, get a cab, and get out of here.”

Sly seemed to consider it. “No,” he finally said, loosening his tie. “Do you know what I did, during the War, Mr. Candle? I put all the money I had won to work and got myself a cushy desk job. I sat there and signed papers while real soldiers died by the thousands. And afterwards, I saw the camps and the horrors in all the newsreels, and I knew I hadn’t done my part to serve my country or protect the innocent.”

“And you think helping us will do that?”

“I’m not sure what Dracula’s planning, but it’s bound to be bad for the whole human race.” He turned to me as we walked through the wide lobby. “And I want to look my son in the eye and tell him that I did everything I could to stop it. I’m with you, Mr. Candle. You’ve got an ace up your sleeve.”

“Thanks, Mr. Baum. I appreciate it.” We reached the auto and got inside. I spun the car around to pick up Weatherby and Henry Wallace. I had a bad feeling we were being watched as I drove down the crowded streets. Dracula didn’t make idle threats. We’d see exactly what he was talking about later on. And now Sly Baum and his little boy were along for the ride.

I played it careful the rest of the day. We picked up Weatherby and Henry Wallace Baum, and headed back to the hotel. I moved up the guns into the hotel room, and went to work. I carved crosses into bullets, making sure they’d mangle the guts of any unholy creature that got in my way. I loaded up my Thompson and shotgun, prepared the sniper rifle and set them all in the closet. If we got into trouble, we’d be ready.

The sun set over the city and the lights went on. The neon glow made an ocean of strange colors fill the city, and the traffic on the sidewalks and in the streets only got larger. I was thinking of ordering up some food, when Weatherby suggested we go across the street to Reuben’s, a deli that I had visited with him before.

“You will adore it, Henry Wallace, I assure you,” he said, enjoying playing the part of a knowledgeable host. “The pastrami sandwiches are particularly delectable. And they serve free pickles with each meal!”

“That sounds swell.” Henry Wallace turned to his father. “Can we go with them, papa? It sounds really tasty, and I think you’d like it.”

Baum looked at me for an answer and I shrugged. “Could be dangerous, kiddo,” I said. “Dracula and all his goons are out there. He told me and Sly to give in and we didn’t, so I think he’ll be pretty pissed. Sure you don’t just want to hole up here, maybe wait him out?”

“N-no.” There was a slight tremor in Weatherby’s voice. “I d-don’t think so.” He wanted to show his friend a good time. After being with Henry Wallace the whole day, he had pushed aside his fears. I couldn’t blame him for that. And after all, what was the harm in getting a meal just outside of the hotel? I’d still have my pistols with me, and a pastrami sandwich as thick as my arm sounded pretty appetizing.

“Okay,” I said, reaching for coat and hat. “Let’s head to down to Reuben’s.”

We left our room, and went to the lobby. The joint was right across the street, so there was no need to get our car. We got a booth in the back and ordered, and after our meals arrived, we started talking about what Sly and I had learned in the office of Midnight Products. We had told Weatherby earlier, and now I wanted his opinion on it.

“He must be hiding something,” Weatherby said, between bites of his pickles. “And he’s right, you know. America is a great country – perhaps the greatest in the world. But it has its weaknesses. And Dracula appears to be exploiting them.”

“But you do really think he could turn America evil?” Henry Wallace asked, his voice dropping to a frightened whisper. “Do you?”

Weatherby considered the question, setting down his half-eaten pickle. “I was very young when Germany went fascist,” he said. “And I think Dracula was correct. Most of the average Germans who swore allegiance to Hitler were not truly evil. They did not harbor a particular hatred for people like me and my mother. But they saw everyone else going along with it, and they wished to conform. Something similar could happen in America.”

“It could happen here,” I said.

“But what about the Bohemian types?” Sly asked. “Their whole existence is about being different. They don’t even buy things in normal markets and they’d sooner burn in Hell than live in a suburb like everyone else. How’s Dracula planning to corrupt them?”

It was a good question. “Dr. Twist,” Weatherby answered. “He’s working with Dracula, remember? His plan must involve neutralizing the counterculture in some way.” He looked away from his pastrami sandwich, like he had suddenly lost his appetite. “By all the angels and devils. If they take control of the mainstream and the counterculture, they’ll own America.”

It was a scary thought. I took another bite of my sandwich, feeling the warm, greasy meat and sharp mustard slide down my throat. From behind me, I heard a waitress scream. The cry was taken up by other patrons. Someone was headed our way. I swore as I reached into my shoulder-holsters. I turned around – but something had already knocked me off of my seat and onto the floor.

I looked up into an ugly face that belonged on a rat – with long fangs that belonged to a cobra. The vampire was totally bald, with a short pointed nose, large pointed ears, sharp curved nails topping his thin fingers, and an expensive midnight-black suit. He leaned down, ready to take a bite out of my throat. People were screaming and running from the deli. I didn’t notice. I grabbed his shoulder and tried to push him back, but he was stronger.

“Dracula sends his regards,” the vampire hissed, leaning forward for the kiss of death.

Then my free hand closed on the handle of my knife. It must have tumbled to the ground when the bloodsucker tackled me.  “Yeah?” I asked, tightening my grip on the blade. I brought up the bit of silverware and slammed it into his rotten heart. The vampire hissed and reared back, his skin deteriorating and floating away. He was turned to ash in seconds.

I came to my feet. Half a dozen more of the ugly vampires were crouched in the restaurant, around abandoned and overturned tables and chairs. I stood up, reaching for my pistols. “These must be Midnight Products’ junior executives. Dracula’s disciples. Some fellows will do anything for a paycheck.” I pulled out my automatics. The vampires weren’t scared.

Henry Wallace ran to his father. Sly wrapped his arms around his son, and turned to Weatherby. The kid stood up slowly, reaching into his frock coat. “They are vampires of the Nosferatu variety,” he explained. “Hideous, strong, and utterly at home in the darkness of the night.” He pulled a small glass vial from his suit and grabbed the candle stick on our table. “Can you keep them busy, Mort? And keep them away from the Baums!”

“I’ll do my best,” I replied, as the Nosferatu charged for our table. I started tossing lead. My first shot blasted a vamp’s head in half, the cross on the bullet making a mess out of his ugly face. Sly covered his son’s eyes. That was a good move. I fired again, striking a vamp in the chest, but it didn’t slow him. He reached me and his clawed hand shot out, scratching my arm and drawing blood. I dropped an automatic and went for my knife. That vamp got a Ka-Bar in the heart for his trouble.