The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) (24 page)

“Weatherby!” I cried, as another Nosferatu grabbed my leg and pulled me down. “I ain’t got all day!” The Nosferatu were extremely strong, and the vampire holding my leg tossed me aside like I was a sack of mashed potatoes. I cracked down on another table. Wood broke and I tumbled to the ground alongside silverware and jars of pickles. I tried to stand up. Then I saw the four vampires approaching Henry Wallace, Weatherby and Sly, and knew I wouldn’t reach them in time.

But Sly was ready. Still holding close to his son, he grabbed a fork and knife and pressed them together, creating a makeshift cross. “Don’t come a step closer!” he shouted. The Nosferatu stayed in place, hissing and covering their eyes. Sly’s voice was full of panic, but he was defending his son, and nothing would stop him. “That’s right!” he cried. “Just stay right there and—”

A Nosferatu’s flailing foot knocked the cutlery out of Sly’s hands. The fork and knife fell to the ground. I turned my automatic and started shooting, as the vamps lunged for Weatherby, Sly and little Henry Wallace.

But then Weatherby raised the vial and smashed it onto the table. “Cover your eyes!” he cried, just before a blinding wave of light burned through the whole restaurant. I pressed my palms to my face, but my eyeballs still felt like someone was dipping them in the sun.

When I blinked a few hundred times and got my vision back, I saw the Nosferatu were dashing away out of the windows, smoke pouring from their bodies. They leapt nimbly onto the street, hissing madly. They vanished into the night, leaping into back alleys and getting lost in the city. Sirens whined in the distance.

“Concentrated sunlight, captured in this glass,” Weatherby explained, looking at the fragments of the shattered vial. “Cornelius Agrippa himself designed that.”

I bent down and grabbed my fallen automatic. “Just another night in the big city,” I muttered. “Let’s head back to the hotel.”

My friends agreed and we left right away. We slipped out the back, went around the block, and were in the lobby of the Hotel Grande by the time the cops showed up. When we were in the elevator, Henry Wallace gave his father a happy hug.

“You were amazing, papa! You saved our lives from those vampires! And Weatherby knew just what to do, and Mr. Candle was undefeatable!” He smiled at all of us. The boy knew that we’d been endangered, but was content with us watching over him. I wasn’t sure the trust was that well placed. If I had been a little slower, or my aim was a little off, poor Henry Wallace would be nothing but a midnight snack for those vampire bastards. Weatherby talked to him quietly about the best ways of dealing with vampires, while Sly and I chatted.

“How’d you learn to do that trick with the cross?” I asked Sly, as the elevator reached the top floor.

“Learned it in one Henry Wallace’s comic books.” Sly shrugged. “What’s our move now, Mort?”

“We must be on the right trail, as long as Dracula’s sending his trouble boys around to screw with us.” I considered my options. “So I say we keep right on going. You and your son should go and get some rest. I don’t want you leaving the hotel until this thing is finished. The top floor is our base now, and as long as we’re secure here, we’ve got no need to leave.” I nodded to myself, slipping back into a military mode of thinking. I needed more troops. “We may need you again, Sly. In the meantime, I’m gonna make some calls.”

“Sounds good.” The elevator reached the top floor. We shook hands, Weatherby giving a formal goodbye to Henry Wallace, and split up for our respective suites.

Weatherby’s eyes were half-closed and dark. “I was confident,” he whispered, half to himself. “I should have known better. If my parents, or if your squad was overconfident and stupid, I would’ve perished years ago. I cannot allow the same for Henry Wallace.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “It’s all right, kiddo,” I told him. “Nobody’s dead but a bunch of stinking vampires, and that’s a happy ending in my book.” I slumped on the couch. The bar had been restocked, and I busied myself with making a quick drink. “Now get on the phone and ring up your sister. We’ve got a lot to talk about.”

“What do you mean?” Weatherby wondered, reaching for the phone. He had memorized the number for her new apartment.

“Chad must have all sorts of contacts in the fruity beatniks that surround Viscount Wagner Stein. I want to find out what Wagner’s plans are, try and get a handle on the whole conspiracy. You ought to call up Chad and see if he can scope anything out.”

Weatherby smiled as he dialed. “I think you’re beginning to like Mr. Chad Albright, despite your professed prejudices.”

“Yeah and maybe I’m turning green with yellow spots too.” I had a sip of bourbon, and felt it burn down my throat. “See if they can meet with us tomorrow morning. And then give me the phone. I got a few calls of my own I gotta make.”

“To whom?” Weatherby wondered.

There were three people, in three different corners of the world. Dutch was a mechanic working in Los Angeles. Trustworthy, reliable, could work miracles with machines – and wield a shotgun just as well.  Elkins was a sniper, doing hits for the Chicago Outfit. He was an Okie hick, but there was no one better with a scoped rifle. Tiny was somewhere in Southeast Asia, running guns for dope kingpins. He was a massive Cajun, with a temper only matched by the fury of the heavy machine guns he favored. During the War, we’d been brothers. Now, I needed their help again.

The next morning, we met Selena Stein and Chad Albright in the Hotel Grande’s restaurant for breakfast. Sly and Henry Wallace joined us, and Weatherby introduced both of them with his usual antiquated formality. Selena politely shook the hands of Sly and called Henry Wallace handsome, which made the little boy blush. I sat back at the end of the table, sipping coffee and waiting for it to be over. When it was, I asked Chad if he had done the snooping I had asked him to.

“Yes, sir, Commander Candle,” he said, snapping off a mock salute. “I made a few inquiries. Dig this – Dr. Twist is set to appear at a poetry reading, this afternoon at the Café Rigoletto. He’ll be slinging his dope, so there’s expected to be quite the crowd in attendance.”

“Then that’s where we’ll go.” I drained my coffee. “Chad, I don’t like it, but I don’t know the first thing about your nancy, long-haired friends, so you better come along. Selena and Weatherby should come too.” I nodded to the Baums. “Sly, why don’t you stay in the hotel with your boy? The security in this joint is the tops. And I think you deserve a break, after what happened at dinner last night.”

“And what did happen at dinner last night?” Selena wondered.

“Vampires, ma’am,” Henry Wallace explained. “Nosferatu, to be exact.”

She covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh god,” Selena whispered. “Weatherby, you are mixed up in something extremely dangerous. You should have called me sooner.” She looked down into her coffee. “I can’t persuade you to stop. I know that’s foolhardy. So I’ll come with you. I’ll try and protect you. That’s the least I can do, so please let me do that.”

“I wouldn’t care to have anyone else by my side,” Weatherby said. He reached across the table and clasped his sister’s hand.

I finished my coffee and stood up, sliding my trench coat over my shoulders and looking into the street. Were we being watched? The city was a jungle of passing cars and towering skyscrapers. It wouldn’t be hard to slip a spy inside to keep an eye on us. Then again, using the crowds as cover worked both ways. It was perfect for letting Weatherby and I do some recon on Wagner Stein.

“You brought some clothes like I asked you?” I reached for a cigarette, scanning the sidewalk and the passing traffic. I didn’t see anything suspicious, which only made me more uneasy. Selena and Chad nodded. “Good. I’ve rented a room for you, down the hall from ours. I want you where Weatherby and I can easily protect you, in case Drac or Wagner tries anything. Why don’t you head up there now and get unpacked, and then we’ll head to the village.”

“Sounds like a plan, my man.” Chad stood up, reaching for his suitcase. He looked around at the restaurant and leaned closer, whispering in my ear. “This is one sweet place, Morton. I gotta thank you for letting Selena and I stay in a five-star joint like this. Sure, there’s a lot of evil going around, but maybe this could still be like a romantic getaway for me and Selena, you dig?”

“Shut up, Chad.” I stood up and walked out of the restaurant to reach the street, Weatherby hastily finishing his eggs and following. He stood by me, saying nothing as we looked out at the roaring traffic, filling the streets like water fills an ocean. The kid was nervous. I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, kiddo. This poetry shindig will be a big event. Wagner won’t risk trying to attack us in public.”

“I know,” Weatherby agreed. “But we won’t be in public for long, will we?”

“So you think they’ll try to attack us at the hotel?” I asked. I shook my head. “That’s okay. We just gotta be prepared.”

I spent the rest of the morning getting ready, loading my automatics and taking a few other cannons to the Roadmaster, in case heavy artillery was called for on the road. The tommy gun and shotgun should handle any trouble we ran across in Greenwich Village. Weatherby and Selena watched cartoons with Henry Wallace, enjoying each other’s company much more than the simpering images flickering on the screen. Chad read from some dog-eared beat novel. Sly Baum played solitaire. Before I knew it, it was time to go.

We said our goodbyes to the Baums and headed downstairs. The Roadmaster was waiting, and I got behind the wheel and drove to the Village. I wasn’t looking forward to it. That part of town was Jerusalem, Mecca and Rome all rolled up into one for punk kids, hipsters, hopheads, commies and fruitcakes. But that’s where the enemy was and that’s where we went.

Traffic wasn’t bad, and we made good time, getting to the Café Rigoletto right around the start of the poetry recital. The Café Rigoletto was the kind of place that put the emphasis on being trendy, rather than serving good food. It was cramped and dark, with worn wooden chairs and tables surrounding a small stage. Chad, Weatherby, Selena and I squeezed our way in, and sat down at the back.

“Oh, I really dig this guy,” Chad whispered, pointing to the bearded nut in the plaid shirt squatting on the stage, who was removing his glasses and opening his notebook. “He’s just got a kind of power, you know? A raw vitality, that really speaks to the soul of America.”

“It really speaks to something,” I muttered. I was eyeballing the crowd. It was fruit city. Guys had hair longer than their girlfriends, people were smoking – but not tobacco – and everyone was trying their best to look as cool as possible. I looked through the slumming rich kids and eager devotees of Beat Poetry, until I spotted what I was looking for, sitting like a king on his throne in a dark corner of the restaurant.

Viscount Wagner Stein was a bit older than the rest of the audience, and stood out in his purple three-piece suit and fedora. But I guess he didn’t mind. Two of his skeletal henchmen sat next to him, wearing sunglasses and low fedoras to disguise the fact that they didn’t have any skin or flesh on their faces. Wagner held a cane topped with a silver skull, and rapped it on the ground as the audience applauded.

I waited for the poet to finish his reading. He spoke loud and fast, sounding like a drill sergeant yelling at his troops. From what he said, I figured they ought to lock him up in the madhouse. Some line about ‘one-eyed shrews’ really stuck in my head for a reason I couldn’t place. Chad nodded along with each word, and Selena and Weatherby listened with rapt interest. After a while, I realized that I was doing the same.

The poet finished and stood up, nodding his head in a ragged little bow. The place exploded with applause. I turned to Wagner, and found that he hadn’t gone anywhere. The poet hustled off the stage and the crowd started to talk and mingle. Some clown strummed an acoustic guitar on the stage while his buddy worked a set of bongos, but nobody paid them much attention.

“Right,” I said, standing up and facing Wagner. “Time to pay our friend a visit.”

Weatherby, Selena and Chad followed me as I made my way to the corner. A long line of beatnik kids stood before Wagner, handing him thick rolls of cash. He handed them paper bags, smiling and nodding with each transaction.

“Yes…” Wagner said, grinning as he dealt dope. “Remember, you cool cats, Panacea is the kind of pick-me-up that can’t be beat. Don’t bother dating old Mary Jane, as Panacea should be the only girl worthy of your interest.”

I pushed junkies out of the way. Some of them complained loudly, but nobody raised a hand against me. They were smarter than they looked. Soon I stood before Wagner and glared down at him. Chad, Selena and Weatherby did the same, the girl with her arm around her little brother’s shoulder. I pointed at Wagner. “What you hell are you doing?” I asked.

He smiled. “Destroying the best minds of this generation,” he replied simply. “Nothing more, nothing less.” He held up a bag of Panacea. It was dark as grave dirt. “Want a taste, Mr. Candle?   First one’s free.”

“I ought to take that dope and shove it down your throat,” I growled. “Now what are you doing with Dracula? What’s the big plan you two are putting together?”