Black Oak 4, page 14
Cox stared at her, puzzled.
“I’m going to bring in a … I guess you’d call him an expert.”
“Aw, Jesus, Lieutenant, not that old guy.”
She smiled. “No, not him. But I know he’s at the hotel, the man I’m thinking of, and this just may be right up his alley.” She looked at him, waiting.
Cox shrugged. “Whatever you say, Lieutenant. I ain’t going anywhere.”
“Good. Watch him, then. I’ve got a call to make.”
Hockman replaced the receiver in its cradle, checked the length of the front desk, and decided that the first chance he had, he was going to complain to Baron. Greta was already ten minutes late returning from her break, and he’d be damned if he was going to do everything himself.
Like, for example, going over there to that Proctor guy to give him the cop’s message. That guy was damn spooky.
His eyes kind of looked right through you, and that voice … he shivered. He checked the telephone to be sure none of the lights were lit, then hurried around the counter’s end.
Last time, he vowed; last time I do that bitch’s job.
The bald one turned as he approached, but said nothing. The kid didn’t even bother; he was too busy listening to something that ex-cop was saying.
Nuts, Hockman thought; we’re filled with nuts tonight.
“Mr. Proctor?”
Proctor barely turned his head.
“A message from Lieutenant MacEdan, sir. She, uh, she says she wants to see you as soon as possible.”
Proctor looked at the others before saying, “All right. Where?”
“Fourth floor, sir. She said she’d be waiting in the hall for you.”
Proctor nodded, said, “Thanks,” and Hockman left as quickly as he could without seeming rude. Those eyes again
… jeez. Absently he rubbed an arm as if he were cold, saw that Sanburn still wasn’t back, and slapped the counter angrily. That’s it; he’d had it. He rounded the corner and headed straight for Baron’s door.
He raised a hand to knock, and behind him a voice said, “Excuse me.”
“Jesus!” he said, spinning around, a hand clapped to his chest. “Jesus H, you scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m so sorry,” the man said. “Forgive me.”
Hockman winced then, realizing what he’d said. “No,” he said, slipping on his best professional smile. “I’m sorry for the language. You … you startled me, that’s all. I wasn’t expecting—” He shut up; he was babbling.
“I understand. The weather, the power… I quite understand.”
Training drove Hockman behind the counter, still smiling. “And how may I help you, sir?”
The man looked embarrassed.
Hockman nodded knowingly. “Room key, right?”
“Yes, and there doesn’t seem to be anyone who can help me.”
One of Baron’s rules was never to leave the front desk unattended. On the other hand, Greta was supposed to be here, and if Baron showed up… his smile became a grin. “No problem, sir. If you’ll just give me your name, I think we’ll have you back in your room in no time.”
“I’m staying with a friend.”
“Not a problem. All I need is a name, sir. Yours, and your friend’s.”
“Excellent. It’s Valknir. My name is Emile Valknir.”
NINETEEN
Proctor stepped off the elevator and, as he had been the first time, was momentarily startled by how tall Lieutenant MacEdan was—at least six feet, with sharp features and coloration that announced an Indian heritage. Less than her height, however, was her bearing that commanded attention, a straight spine and a way of looking at you from those narrow dark eyes that made you feel as if you’d somehow stumbled into the path of some ancient royalty. He also knew she could beat the crap out of just about anybody, which didn’t hurt when it came to commanding respect.
“Proctor,” she said, grinning, holding out her hand.
“Granna.” He took the offered hand and held it. “My friends here—this is Doc Falcon, that’s Paul Tazaretti—think you’re corrupting me, ruining my vacation.”
She smiled. “You don’t take vacations, Proctor.”
“That’s what I keep telling them.”
He nodded a greeting to the sergeant standing by someone’s door, noticed this hall was more brightly lit than the others he’d wandered around earlier.
“I replaced the bulbs,” she explained. “I want to see, not trip over my own feet.”
From down the hall he could hear faint music, and a dealer popped out of one room, took one look at the group, and popped back in. She explained the staff use of the rooms, then began to explain about the man she wanted him to see.
“I already know,” he interrupted, and couldn’t help grin at her expression. “Taz here told me. He, uh,… hears things.”
She wasn’t pleased, and that widened his grin before he said, “It’s going on two, Granna, and I’m fading here. It’s been a long day. What do you want me to do?”
“Talk,” she said, leading up the hall. “And listen.” She gestured Sergeant Cox aside. “It’s weird, Proctor. But I can’t shake the feeling this guy’s not as nuts as we think he is.”
It didn’t take long for the lieutenant to convince Gladman she had someone willing to listen to his story. In fact, all he did was see Proctor in the doorway, and he agreed without any conditions except one: “Alone, okay? I want to talk to him alone.”
“No problem. I’ll be right outside if you need me.”
Once the door was closed, Proctor tossed his jacket onto a love seat, and walked slowly around the room, turning off one of the two lamps and the bathroom light as well.
“You won’t need them,” was all he said.
Bruno said nothing.
Proctor pulled aside the drapes, winced as he said, “Lousy view, Bruno,” and made sure the two halves overlapped in the middle. Then he dragged the room’s only easy chair over to the bed, sat, and propped his feet on the edge of the mattress. Bruno, backed against the wall, knees up and gripped by his hands, looked everywhere in the room except at him. Gasping quietly once when a gust roared past the window.
Proctor, in turn, watched the chauffeur carefully. A young man, not yet thirty, about as afraid as he’d seen anyone be. He pushed a hand back through his hair. He checked the room as if making sure they were actually alone before he said, gently, “Whatever it is you saw, Bruno, you can believe me when I say that I’ve seen stranger.”
Then he waited. Not smiling. Not staring. Watching, shifting to make himself more comfortable. A couple of guys in a hotel room, nothing more, nothing less.
Bruno inhaled slowly, deeply, and just as slowly allowed his legs to straighten, his hands to rest on the bed.
“He flew,” he said, obviously expecting either derision or skepticism.
Proctor only nodded.
I’ve seen stranger
Bruno swallowed, swallowed again, abruptly scooted off the bed, and hurried into the bathroom. The sound of running water, and he returned with a glass, sat next to Proctor’s legs.
“He flew.”
Proctor nodded.
stranger
“I’m not crazy.”
“Sure you are,” and Proctor gave him a lopsided smile. “Me, too.”
Bruno glared for a second, then shrugged, lips tugging into a reluctant smile of their own. “Yeah, maybe. But not then, I wasn’t. He flew, Mr. Proctor.”
“You’ve said that already.” He gestured. “You know Alice in Wonderland? Like it says, start at the beginning, keep going until you reach the end, then stop.”
The chauffeur emptied his glass, took a few seconds to decide to put it on the floor.
“I drive the Lighthouse limo, you know? About three years already. Mr. Baron tells me take this guy here, those people there, I drive them. That’s all I do. This guy, he’s a real pain in the ass. He acts like he’s been cheated out of a million bucks, and Mr. Baron, he gives him the treatment—he gets him out of the hotel, pretty much dumps him on someone else’s turf. I’ve done it a million times. Jerks; they’re all jerks, and they never tip, the cheap sons of bitches.
“So I drop this guy at the Sands, and I park down the end of the street, out of the way. Nothing to do but wait, but I always got a book or something, like a crossword magazine, to kill time. Never leave the limo, Mr. Proctor. That’s my rule—I never leave the limo.
“But this guy—Wharton, Barton, something like that—he really pissed me off. I couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t even listen to the radio, so I got out. Figured I’d walk around a little, you know? Just around the limo, that’s all, let off some steam.
“Now, you gotta understand, I was parked on the other side of Pacific, away from the other limos and cabs. It wasn’t totally dark, but it was pretty dark, not all the streetlights working, and if you were standing there at the casino, you probably couldn’t see me. It was cold, too, but I didn’t feel it much. I guess I was too pissed off.
“So I was walking around … hell, I guess it was like I was marching or something. It was pretty quiet, late and all, so when I heard this noise, it was pretty clear. I looked around, didn’t see anything, I figured I was hearing things. But I kept hearing it, so I looked around some more … Christ, Mr. Proctor, you’re gonna think I’m nuts.
“I’m standing by the door, you know? and I look down the street, and I see this … I see something flying toward me.
“It was too big to be a bird, anything like that, and I don’t know if it even had wings. But it came down out of the sky and right down the middle of the street and … it was … it was like I didn’t believe what I was seeing, you know? Like those guys in the movies, they rub their eyes and look again? I did. I did the same thing. And it came down the street and over the sidewalk and it… I couldn’t move … it landed right in front of me. I mean, it was a man, Mr. Proctor. At least that’s what I thought at first, that it was a guy in a dark coat. And he kind of smelled. Not bad, not like that, but there was this smell, I don’t know what it was. And … aw, Jesus, he looked at me, I couldn’t move for anything, and his face… it was kind of dark, but his face … I don’t know … it twisted and he wasn’t like a guy anymore and his … they were like this really dark red, his eyes they were this really weird red, and I couldn’t move and he was smiling at me, and I think he was laughing at me, and I think … I think …
“I’m a big buy, right? I go six-foot-four, I’m around two-seventy, two-eighty, okay? I go to get in the limo and he grabs my shoulder and it’s like I can’t move. It’s like he’s got me pinned there, I can’t move, and he’s still laughing and he shows me a hand like this … holds it up so I can see his fingers, and he … the nails, they … I couldn’t move and I couldn’t look away ’cause of the way he was looking at me, I don’t know, so I saw those nails, Mr. Proctor, it wasn’t that dark, I saw those friggin’ nails grow. But it was like they weren’t nails anymore, they were like claws or something and I knew I was gonna die. I mean, I just knew it, you know? Aw, Jesus, Mr. Proctor, I just knew I was gonna die.“
Proctor leaned over and rested a hand on Bruno’s leg, squeezed it until the young man looked right at him before sitting back again. “You didn’t die.”
Bruno, trembling as if the temperature had suddenly dropped through the floor, nodded shakily. “Yeah.”
“What happened?”
For a moment the young man looked as if he were going to cry. “I don’t know. I mean, I don’t remember, I swear it, Mr. Proctor, I don’t really remember. I saw those claws or whatever, and he must’ve taken a swing at me, because the next thing I knew I was flat out on somebody’s front steps, not even the same block, and all—” He stopped and laughed, a quick snap of a laugh. “I was in my underwear, and the limo was gone. After that”—he shrugged helplessly—”I swear, I don’t know. I just ended up here, that’s all I remember. Except that… that guy’s gonna kill me ’cause I saw his face, man. I saw his face.”
Again, he refused to meet Proctor’s gaze. After a brief hesitation he picked up the glass and wandered into the bathroom to refill it, not bothering to turn on the light. Proctor stared at the wall, hands clasped loosely under his chin, listening to the water, listening to the fading voice of the wind. He felt sorry for the guy, and didn’t know what to tell him. He was right that this man would probably want him out of the way, although he doubted the Ripper would be in any serious hurry to take care of it. It had already been over twenty-four hours and not even a hint of an attempt yet.
What was worse, however, what would haunt Bruno Gladman for the rest of his life, was the sudden knowledge that the world wasn’t as cut-and-dried as he’d once believed. Childhood stories weren’t always simply stories. Movie monsters weren’t always confined to the screen, to the back row of a dark theater, where boys protected their dates with a simple arm around a shoulder.
Once in a while there really was something in the closet.
Once in a while there really was something under the bed.
Once in a while, on a dark street, on a dark road, there really was someone back there, and it wasn’t always human.
Eventually Bruno would build a wall, a high and thick wall, and find the rationalization that would satisfy him. That would allow him to function in what he used to believe was the real world. That would wither the nightmares like a waterless flower, because belief would no longer be there to feed them.
“I’m not crazy,” Bruno insisted from the bathroom doorway.
It wasn’t a question, but it sounded like pleading.
“No,” Proctor said. “No, you’re not.”
Bruno inhaled sharply, stepped back, and closed the door. Despite the insistence of his sanity, that wasn’t the answer he wanted to hear.
At the same time, the hall door opened. Proctor lifted a hand and waved a “come in” over his shoulder, then pointed at the bathroom when Sergeant Cox asked a silent where is he? Granna sat on the edge of the bed, her coat open, hands on her thighs.
“Well?”
“He saw what he saw, Granna.”
“Meaning what?”
Proctor ignored the question. “What haven’t you been telling me? What do you know that I don’t?”
She glanced at Cox, who was leaning against the wall, concentrating on listening to what was happening in the bathroom. Proctor didn’t see what look he gave her, but she hesitated before reaching into her coat and pulling out a manila envelope folded in half. She dropped it into his lap and looked away.
Oh, man, he thought; I am not going to like this.
As he lay the envelope flat, he heard Taz and Doc come in. Taz he knew would be all right with what he was about to learn—the kid wouldn’t like it, but he’d been through one of these cases before. Doc, on the other hand, even after all these years, had never been in the field like this. All his work was done in research labs and photo labs, libraries and the shelved knowledge of his mind. All theory, no practice outside the office.
He opened the clasp, lifted the flap. Inside were a half dozen photographs.
“That’s only one,” Granna said. “Charleen Caje. The others are the same.”
“Boss?” Taz said.
“Later.”
“Sure.”
He slipped out the first picture, black-and-white, the woman’s body on the street. Black blood on the black tarmac, black blood on her chest.
“Told you there was blood,” MacEdan said, the smile on her lips, not in her voice.
“No vampire.”
“Shoot. I was hoping.”
He looked at her.
“You know.” She made a pass at her throat. “Tears it out to cover his tracks.”
Proctor grunted. “If there’s no blood left, MacEdan, wrecking the throat is kind of superfluous, don’t you think?”
“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Cox demanded. “Jesus, he’s a maniac, okay?” He rapped on the bathroom door. “Come on, Bruno, let’s move it, huh?” He rapped again. “Vampires. God Almighty.”
Proctor held the picture up to catch the faint light, caught his breath, and held it closer to his eyes.
I’ll be damned, he thought; son of a bitch, I’ll be damned.
He took out the second one. “My God, I don’t believe it.”
No one spoke.
Cox knocked again, harder, and opened the door a crack. “Move it, Bruno.”
The chauffeur answered, his voice muffled.
“Tough,” the sergeant told him. “I want you out here. Now.” He shook his head. “Ain’t doing nothing stupid on my watch,” he said to the room.
The other photographs were the same—all of Charleen’s face, two from the street, the rest from the morgue. He held one up. “Taz.” And waited for him to take it.
“You gotta be kidding,” Taz said as he took it back to show Falcon.
Proctor didn’t hear what reaction Doc had, if any. His was to turn facedown what remained in his lap.
There were holes, deep holes, where the dancer’s eyes had been, blood like black tears frozen on her cheeks. Her mouth was open, the right corner slit so it would open wider than normal. He saw teeth, gums, the roof of her mouth.
She didn’t have a tongue.
It had been sliced off near the base. Bruno left the bathroom just as Cox said, “Like I said, a nutcase. A razor, right? Some kind of hospital thing, surgeon’s instrument, right?”
The chauffeur sat on the foot of the bed, shivering, and Granna said, “Find him some clothes, Sergeant. It’s time he was dressed.” After Cox left, she looked at Proctor. “So? Was he right? A psycho with medical knowledge? A—”
“Maybe,” he said quietly, doubtfully.
She closed her eyes. “Shit.”
“That girl. The one who saw this man, the Ripper, on the boardwalk. Can I talk to her?”
“Nope,” Taz said.
He scowled and looked around the side of the chair.
“She’s in the show, remember?” Then: “Oh. You didn’t know. Oh, well, yeah, Suze is the one you’re talking about. And she’s in the show.” A glance at his watch. “She won’t be done until nearly three.”
