Stalking the Vampire (18 page)

“I'm going to have to give it a little thought,” replied Mallory, “and decide how best to utilize you.”

“Fine,” said Morgan. “We'll be right here waiting, and woe betide the vampire that is foolish enough to match strength with us.”

“He's pretty strong,” offered McGuire.

“So are we,” answered Boatnagie. “Economically speaking, that is—and when all is said and done, what other type of strength matters?”

Mallory walked to the door.

“You'll be in touch?” said Miss Subways.

“First chance I get,” he promised her.

Then, followed by Felina, McGuire, and Nathan, he left the room, walked to the escalator, and a moment later emerged from the main entrance to the building.

“How does my nose look?” he asked McGuire.

“Why?”

“I just want to make sure it didn't grow six inches after I lied about getting back to them.”

“Aren't we going to?”

Mallory shook his head. “No. It's a pity, too. There's not a drop of red blood left among the five of them. They'd be immune to Vlad Drachma's bite.”

“Then why won't you use them, if you're so sure they could help us with Drachma?”

“Because,” replied Mallory, “while I was listening to them, I realized that sometimes the cure is worse than the disease.” 

“So it's back to Square One?” asked McGuire.

“Not exactly,” replied Mallory. “While I was listening to them, something they said gave me an idea…”

“So what's your insight?” asked McGuire.

“Private eyes don't have insights,” Nathan corrected him. “They have notions.”

“Okay, what's your notion?” asked the vampire.

“Vlad's been living here for a few days, right?” said Mallory.

“I don't know if
living
is the proper word,” said Nathan. “But go ahead with your notion.”

“It's an expensive town. If he's in a hotel, or even in a mortuary, no one's giving it to him for free. Maybe he doesn't pay for the blood he drinks, but he hangs out at the Gryphon's Roost and for all I know a couple of other places. He's got to pay for whatever he's getting.”

“Of course,” said McGuire. “But everyone needs money, and everyone spends it. What's your point?”

“We're trying to find him, right?” said Mallory. “If he uses cash, where did he convert it from the currency he used in Transylvania? If he uses a credit card—well, you heard P. J. Morgan. He controls every credit card in the world. There's got to be a record of what he's spent, and more important, where he spent it.”

“I thought you didn't want to work with Morgan and those others,” said McGuire.

“I don't.”

“Then how—?”

“We'll go back to the Gryphon's Roost,” answered Mallory. “We know it's his hangout. If he's used any plastic, they'll have a record of it. Once we get his card number, we can always hunt up a hacker who can find out when and where he's using it.”

“I don't know…” said Nathan dubiously.

“What's wrong with it?” asked Mallory.

“Wings O'Bannon never asks for help.”

“That's a book,” said Mallory. “This is the real world.” He grimaced. “Probably a little less real than some…”

He heard a hissing sound above him and looked up to see Felina atop a lamppost, hissing at a banshee that had swooped down and flown off with a pigeon just before she could pounce on it.

“And a lot less real than others,” added the detective. “Felina, come on down.”

“I like it up here,” she said. “I can see clear to the next block.”

“Don't tell me,” said Mallory. “Another dinosaur?”

“Just a lot of people taking off their clothes and dancing.”

“Maybe we should just go take a quick look, in case Vlad's one of them,” said McGuire, heading off in the direction Felina indicated.

“You do what you have to do,” said Mallory, his voice heavy with disgust. “I'm going to the Gryphon's Roost. Felina, come on down or I'm leaving you behind.”

“If you do, I'll never tell you what's waiting for you in that alley you're coming to,” she said.

“If I don't leave, then it doesn't matter what's waiting, does it?”

“I never thought of that,” said Felina, leaping lightly to the pavement. “All right, John Justin, let's go.”

They began walking, followed by Nathan and McGuire. As they reached the alley, a goblin put his fingers into his mouth and gave them an annoying “Pssst!”

“What do you want?” asked Mallory in bored tones.

“Me?” said the goblin. “I don't want anything. But you look like a man who needs something unique, something that causes him to stand out in a crowd.”

“And you don't think walking around with a dragon and a cat-girl will do that?” said Mallory.

“Not as much as
this!
” said the goblin enthusiastically, pulling a three-foot-long snake out of his pocket. “Just consider its uses. It makes the perfect belt. Skin it and you have the makings of a unique pair of shoes, provided
that your size is eight and a half double-A or smaller. If you've grown tired of your pet rat, just leave it alone with the snake for a minute and your problems are over. Are you being pursued by an aggressive but morbidly obese redhead with a snake phobia? This is the answer to your prayers. Are you worried about being attacked in your sleep? Leave this snake on the floor by your bedside, and when you hear the revolting squishing sound of his being stepped on in the dark, you'll have up to three seconds to prepare your defense or race out the other side of the bed, provided that it's not pushed up against an open eighth-floor window. There is absolutely no limit to the number of uses to which this snake can be put.”

“I hate snakes.”

“No problem, sir. Feed him and he goes comatose for two months while he's digesting his meal. You won't have to walk him, play with him, groom him, or even acknowledge his existence. Even when he's awake he'll have no more fondness for you than you have for him, so unless you turn your back on him after abusing him, the two of you need never have any physical contact or social interaction at all. What more could a man want to treat himself to on All Hallows' Eve? And—get this!—the price is only three thousand dollars.”

“Forget it.”

“Two thousand.”

“Go away.”

“Seven dollars and ninety-three cents?”

“No.”

“It's not fair!” complained the goblin. “Here I am, entering into an honest transaction, and you aren't holding up your end of the negotiation.”

“I think that sums it up nicely.”

“Okay, take him,” said the goblin, holding out the snake. “He's yours.”

“I don't want him.”

“What has that got to do with anything?” whined the goblin. “This is a free-market society. I'm a merchant. You're a consumer. You're not fulfilling your function!”

“I thought the consumer was always right.”

“That's an urban myth,” replied the goblin. “All right, I'll pay you seventy-five cents to take the damned thing off my hands.”

“No.”

“Two dollars!”

Mallory began walking, followed by Felina, McGuire, and the dragon.

“Five dollars, and that's my final offer!” the goblin yelled after him.

“Good,” said Mallory.

“Six fifty, and I'll throw in the August 1962 issue of
Playboy!
”

Mallory kept walking.

“What the hell am I going to do with a snake?” yelled the goblin. “It doesn't even like me.”

“I can't imagine why,” said the detective with a sardonic smile.

Then they were out of earshot.

“You know,” said Mallory to his companions, “I think I liked goblins better back in
my
Manhattan, when all they did was scare the hell out of impressionable schoolkids. They seem to have become the merchant class in this Manhattan.”

“But they never sell anything useful,” noted McGuire.

“Neither do most the merchants back where I come from,” answered Mallory. “Felina, we're going back to the Gryphon's Roost. You know how to get us there?”

“Yes, John Justin.”

“Okay, lead the way.”

“For six goldfish.”

“No.”

“Seven?”

“No.”

“Then skritch my back.”

“When we get there.”

“What if I die of a hideous disease before then?” asked Felina.

“Then your back probably won't itch,” said Mallory.

“I never thought of that,” said Felina. She smiled brightly. “This way.”

They followed her to the entrance. As before, Mallory left McGuire and Nathan just outside the building, while he and Felina took the elevator up to the sixty-sixth floor. When they got off they entered the casino, where Mallory sought out Mary, Queen of Slots.

“Back already?” she said.

“I need some information.”

“Sure,” she said. “Never draw to an inside straight.” She waited for the laughter than was not forthcoming. “That was a joke.”

“Hilarious,” said Mallory without smiling.

“All right, shamus,” she said. “What can I do for you?”

“You said Vlad Drachma comes here every night, right?”

“Yes.”

“How does he pay his tab?”

“You'd have to ask in the bar,” said Mary. “He never gambles, so he never spends any money here in the casino.”

“Thanks,” said Mallory. He left the casino and walked into the bar.

“Another cream for your cat?” asked the bartender.

“Yeah, why not?” said Mallory, shoving a bill across the bar.

“Hey, that's a sawbuck,” noted the bartender. “For that she gets two gallons.”

“We'll settle for one glass and some information.”

The bartender filled a glass and handed it to Felina, who began lapping it noisily. “What can I tell you?”

“How does Vlad Drachma pay his bill?”

“He doesn't.”

“I thought he was here every night,” said Mallory, frowning. “Is he running a tab?”

“No. I suppose we'd let him run one if he asked, but after he shelled out five large, in cash, for the booth, he hasn't ordered a damned thing. Just asks for water and never drinks it.”

“The cash,” said Mallory. “Was it dollars or some other currency?” 

“All we take is stuff printed in the good old USA,” said the bartender. 

“And he hasn't spent a penny since then?”

“Nope.”

“Okay, thanks anyway,” said Mallory. “Felina, finish that up and let's go.” “You didn't skritch my back yet,” she said accusingly.

“I bought you the cream instead. Now finish it. We're in a hurry.”

“Maybe I'll just stay here where I'm appreciated,” she said. “Maybe I'll just live on cream and back-skritching.”

“Fine,” said Mallory, heading to the elevator. “I wish you a long and happy life.”

He knew what was coming next, but the force of ninety pounds flying through the air and landing on his back still almost knocked him down.

“I forgive you, John Justin!” purred Felina.

“I can't tell you how thrilled I am,” he grated as he reached the elevator.

“I knew it would make you happy,” said Felina as the doors slid shut behind them. She turned to the elevator operator. “We're a team.”

“Bully for us” was the reply.

“Isn't this the same elevator we took to the Gryphon's Roost?” she asked.

“Yes, it is.”

“I have an observation,” she said. “Whatever goes up must go down.”

“Zounds,” said Mallory. “I must wire Vienna immediately.”

“I'm a genius, aren't I?” said Felina proudly.

“In every month that's got a K in it,” answered Mallory.

McGuire and Nathan were waiting for them as they emerged from the building.

“Did you learn anything?” asked the little vampire.

Mallory shook his head. “He had some cash the first day he showed up and hasn't spent a cent since then.”

“So we don't even know if he has a credit card?”

“That's right.”

“And the cash he spent is untraceable?” asked Nathan.

“Probably.”

“Then the money trail is a dead end,” said the dragon.

“Not necessarily,” said Mallory.

“I don't understand,” said McGuire.

“The whole reason I'm trying to find him is because he bit Rupert Newton on the boat coming over, right?”

“Right,” said Nathan and McGuire in unison.

“He had to have paid for his passage,” said Mallory. “And perhaps it was with a credit card.”

“I don't know,” said McGuire. “We vampires are like royalty in Transylvania. Maybe they comped him.”

“And maybe they were so glad to be rid of him they comped him,” added Nathan. “This could be another dead end.”

“You're both overlooking something,” said Mallory.

“Oh? What?” asked McGuire.

“He wouldn't have come without his coffin, loaded with Transylvanian soil. Even if he was given free passage, my guess is that he'd have had to pay the cargo fee for the coffin. I mean, there's no way he could take it into a cabin with him.”

Nathan had his notepad out again. “Wings O'Bannon couldn't have reasoned it out any better.”

“I'm flattered beyond belief,” said Mallory dryly.

“What's your next move?”

“We'll go down to the docks, find the ship that Rupert and Vlad arrived on, and learn out how Vlad paid.”

“Very good,” said Nathan, scribbling away. “Will you go in disguise?”

“Why?”

“Because I've never seen a private eye don a disguise before, and since Wings O'Bannon looks like a different person in every chapter, at least until he takes his pants off, I should see how it's done.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but when you're asking questions and following leads, the very best disguise is to appear as a private eye,” answered Mallory.

“And what if we find the right boat and the captain or the chief petty officer or whoever else you want to speak to tells you there's no record of payment, that it was made before the ship sailed?” said McGuire. “What then?”

“Then we interview every cargo hand.”

“Why?”

“Because he had to have come with his own coffin, and I'll bet every cent I have that it's not still on board. And that means there's still another way to locate him—more dangerous, to be sure, but possibly also more effective.”