Stalking the Vampire (11 page)

“Good evening,” replied the dragon. Suddenly he looked embarrassed. “Excuse me—hiya, pal.”

“Bats,” said Mallory, “where do you sleep?”

“In a bed, of course,” answered McGuire.

“I thought you guys had to sleep in soil from your homeland.”

“Manhattan
is
my homeland,” said McGuire.

“And the soil?”

“So I don't change the sheets,” said McGuire defensively. “It works.”

“Okay, but if you were traveling with a coffin, where would you park it for the night?”

“Why don't you just ask Draconis where
he
sleeps?”

“We're not after him,” said Mallory. “We're after a vampire who's probably left his coffin at some mortuary that caters to the undead. Which is the likeliest one?”

“Ah!” said McGuire, his homely face lighting up. “I know just the place.” He headed off toward the Garden's main exit. “Follow me!”

“So where is this place?” asked Mallory as McGuire led their mismatched party of four down Madison Avenue.

“Not far,” answered the vampire. “It's just off the corner of Death and Despair.”

“Are those local streets?” asked Mallory, frowning. “I never heard of them.”

“They have different names in the daytime,” answered McGuire.

Suddenly Felina stopped and began sniffing the air.

“What is it?” asked Mallory.

“There's something dying in the alley,” she said. “Something small and fat and tasty.”

“Leave it alone,” said Mallory. “We've got work to do.”

“One of them can protect your front and one can protect your back,” she said.

“I can't waste any more time,” said Mallory. “Come or stay, it's up to you.”

“I'll catch up with you,” said Felina.

“You don't know where we're going.”

“I'll follow your scents,” she said. She pointed toward the dragon. “This one really stinks. He'll be easy to follow.”

Nathan turned to Mallory. “I don't know if I've been complimented or insulted.”

“Let's let it be one of life's little mysteries,” said the detective. “Come on, Bats—let's get moving.”

“Right,” said McGuire.

They walked a block in silence, then turned right, right again, and right a third time.

“You know if you turn right again we're going to be back where we started,” said Mallory.

“Only in daytime,” answered McGuire, making a fourth right.

Mallory looked around, frowning. “Where are we, and what happened to Madison Avenue?”

“We're at the corner of Death and Destruction,” said the vampire. “Despair is the next street down.”

They began walking toward Despair. Only one building was lit, right at the corner. A flickering, buzzing neon sign, clearly in need of repair, told the world that this was Creepy Conrad's Cut-Rate All-Night Mortuary.

“And this is where all the vampires go?” asked Mallory.

“Of course not,” answered McGuire. “There are thousands of us in Manhattan. This is just the likeliest spot.”

“What makes it the likeliest spot?”

The vampire offered a weak smile. “It was the only one I could think of.”

“Well, we're here,” said Mallory. “Let's go in and see what they've got.”

“Don't you want to case the joint first?” asked the dragon.

“We're looking for a vampire,” explained Mallory. “The only way we'll know if this is where he's holed up is if we find his coffin, agreed?”

“Right,” said Nathan.

“Do you see any coffins outside?”

“Ah!” said the dragon. “Good thinking, Mallory.”

“Praise from on high,” muttered Mallory. “Okay, let's go in.”

They entered the mortuary, which was illuminated by a few hundred candles. A morbidly obese man in a tuxedo that was four sizes too small for him waddled up to them, his hands clasped together in front of his chest. Mallory wondered if his arms were long enough to clasp his hands in front of his stomach, and decided they weren't.

“Good evening, dear friends,” said the man, “and welcome to Creepy Conrad's in your hour of need and suffering.” He looked around. “May I ask where the deceased is?”

“We haven't decided where he should lie in state,” answered Mallory. “We came by to see your facility.”

The man nodded his head knowingly. “Of course,” he said. “And what kind of service will you require?”

“We're not sure,” said Mallory. “What kinds do you offer?”

“We run the entire gamut,” said the man.

“Are you Conrad, by the way?”

“Oh, no, dear friends. Creepy Conrad has passed to another plane of existence, though he does come back and visit us for Scrabble on Tuesday evenings.”

Suddenly the stillness of the night was broken by the sound of gunshots and screeching rubber.

“Excuse me, dear friends,” said the man, “but I have a feeling that I shall soon have to preside at one of our short-term services. You are welcome to accompany me if you wish.”

He abruptly turned and waddled down a darkened corridor, and Mallory's party followed suit. A moment later they emerged at a large picture window, and seconds after that a car, its body studded with bullet holes, skidded up.

“Good evening, dear friends,” said the man, pressing a button that closed a gate in front of the car. “Welcome to our drive-by service window. Would you like the three-minute funeral with all the trimmings?”

A police siren began wailing.

“No time,” said the driver, and Mallory could see that there was a bullet-riddled corpse in the back seat. “Just take him.”

The fat man pushed a button and a drawer six feet long, three feet wide, and two feet deep shot out. The driver and another passenger lowered the back window and managed to shove the corpse onto the drawer.

“Our one-minute service is a bargain at only two hundred dollars,” said the fat man.

Bullets began raining down on the car.

“Perhaps our ten-second special for fifty dollars?”

The driver threw a fifty on top of the corpse.

“Our father who art in heaven, here comes another one,” intoned the fat man, releasing the gate and pulling the drawer in as the car peeled off. An instant later a police car raced by in hot pursuit.

“Our drive-by funerals are always a bit on the awkward side,” commented the man as a crew of gnomes and elves suddenly appeared and began carting the body off. “Still, it's a necessary adjunct to our business.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” said McGuire.

“Now, dear friends, perhaps you can tell me something about the deceased, so that I can show you the proper line of coffins and services available.”

“Well, it's a bit awkward,” said Mallory.

“Not to worry, my good sir,” said the fat man. “I'm sure no court in the land would find you guilty.”

“That's a definite comfort,” replied Mallory dryly. “But I'm afraid the problem is that our friend is not dead at the moment.”

“You plan to commit the heinous deed this evening?” asked the fat man. “I understand completely. Not to worry, sir. My lips are sealed.”

“Try not understanding me so fast,” said Mallory. “My friend is one of the undead.”

“Certainly,” said the fat man, studying the undersized McGuire with an expert eye. “We can even save you some money with a child's coffin.”

“Not him,” said Mallory. “The friend in question is out on the prowl right now, but he's going to need a place to stay come morning.”

“Will this be a long-term or a transient arrangement?”

“Long term,” said Mallory, and the fat man inadvertently licked his chops. “First I have to make sure the accommodations are suitable.”

“I shall be happy to show you around.”

“We'll want a tour of the place, of course,” said Mallory. “But there's something we have to address first.”

“No problem, my good sir,” said the fat man. “We accept dollars, pounds, francs, yen, rubles, drachmas, zlotys, rupees, gold, silver, diamonds, platinum, bearer bonds, and all major credit cards.”

“Fine,” said Mallory. “But we still have something to address.”

“And what might that be?”

“My friend comes from Transylvania…”

“Ah!” said the man, rubbing his hands together. “The old country!”

“And his coffin is still in transit.”

“As I said, we have an full line of coffins—wood, metal, even Styrofoam for those who awake in the middle of the endless sleep feeling claustrophobic and must get out right away.”

“I don't think you see the problem,” said Mallory. “The soil from his native land is also in transit. Have you any Transylvanian soil here?
He assures me he'd just need to borrow a couple of cups of it to mix with American soil until his coffin arrives. He'll sleep uneasily, but at least he'll be able to sleep.”

“I see,” said the fat man, frowning. “I'll have to check our records.”

“Are you boarding that many vampires?”

“Well over a hundred, sir,” said the fat man. “Excuse me a moment while I go to my office and see if we can accommodate you.”

He turned and left, and McGuire spoke in a low voice. “You can't just add a scoop of native soil. Drachma would never get to sleep.”

“Doesn't matter,” said Mallory. “I didn't know it, and more to the point
he
doesn't know it, so he'll give us the answer we need.”

Nathan pulled a notebook and pen out of his leather harness and began scribbling furiously.

“What's that about?” asked McGuire curiously.

“I'm just taking notes on how a real pro bluffs the enemy,” answered the dragon.

“He's not an enemy,” said Mallory.

“Ah! Right! You'd call him a civilian, wouldn't you?”

“Why not?” asked Mallory. “He
is
one.”

“I wonder why he's so secretive about his name?” persisted the dragon.

“If you want to know his name, why not just ask him?” said Mallory.

“Is that what you'd do?” replied Nathan.

“How else are you going to find out?”

“I don't know,” said the dragon. “Lift his wallet. Get his license plate and check it out with headquarters.”

“The direct way is usually the best,” said Mallory.

“Let me write that down,” said Nathan. “Direct way…best. Got it.”

The fat man returned. “I do believe we can be of help to you, sir,” he said. “Right now we are providing sanctuary for two different borders from the old country.”

“Have they got names?”

“Certainly, but of course it is against our policy to give them out.”

Nathan immediately began scribbling again, then tore the sheet out of his notebook and handed it to Mallory, who read it:

Do you want me to coldcock him when his back is turned and then go through his files?

Mallory crumpled the paper and stuck it in a pocket.

“I was just wondering if either of them might be friends of his,” said Mallory. “It would make him much more eager to come here if he knew some of the residents.”

“I see,” said the fat man with a knowing smile. “I can't break our policy, but if it will help, you can tell him that they are a couple of roguish bits of fluff who are always looking for a good time with gentlemen of their particular persuasion.”

“I'll pass the word to him,” said Mallory. “Thank you. You've been most helpful, and I'm sure we'll be in touch with you again shortly.”

He shook the man's pudgy hand, then walked out into the night, followed by Nathan and McGuire.

“Okay,” said Mallory. “At least we know where Vlad Drachma
doesn't
keep his coffin.” He turned to Nathan. “You weren't really going to crack him on the head and rummage through his office, were you?”

“Wings O'Bannon would have,” replied the dragon defensively.

“Maybe that's why you only sold six hundred copies of his last book.”

“Six hundred and fifty-one,” said Nathan defensively.

“Let me ask you a question,” said Mallory. “How many times does Wings O'Bannon get shot or knocked on the noggin in the course of one of your books?”

“At least once a chapter.”

“Must have a hard head,” said the detective.

“He has excellent recuperative powers,” said Nathan.

“Obviously.”

“All the gorgeous blondes who fall into bed with him remark on it,” continued the dragon.

“I can imagine.”

“Is that how it is with your women?”

“
My
women?” repeated Mallory.

“Are they slavishly devoted to you?”

“It's hard to say,” replied Mallory. “One of them's off on a safari with her team of trolls in Central Park, and the other's killing something helpless in an alley two blocks from here.”

“No I'm not,” said Felina.

Mallory looked around, but couldn't spot her.

“Up here,” she said from her perch atop a lamppost.

“I trust you enjoyed your meal?” said the detective sardonically.

She wrinkled her nose. “It begged and pleaded all the way down, and then after I'd eaten it, it began cursing a blue streak.” She paused. “I just hate it when they do that.”

“I probably would too.”

“Curse, or hate it?” she asked curiously.

“A little of each. Come on down.”

“I like it up here.”

“Come down anyway. It's getting near time to rendezvous with Winnifred.”

“I can see all the way to the next block.” Felina looked thoughtfully down at him. “You wouldn't like it up here, John Justin.”

“Heights don't scare me.”

“I know,” she said. “But what's coming up the street in this direction will.”