Stalking the Vampire (5 page)

“Stop drooling on my shoe.”

“My God, what a pair of wings she must have!”

The salesgirl looked up and saw McGuire staring at her. For a moment she looked surprised. Then she gave him a big toothy smile.

“That's it!” announced McGuire. “I'm in love!”

“Fine,” said Mallory, starting off. “Stay here. I've got work to do.”

“You don't mind?”

“No insult intended, but you haven't been all that useful so far.”

“You cut me to the quick, Mallory.”

“Wishful thinking.”

McGuire turned back to the store, just in time to see a handsome young man, dressed in a tuxedo, walk up to the salesgirl. She threw her arms around him and exposed her neck to his teeth.

“Boy, talk about fickle!” muttered McGuire. “And I would have married her!”

Mallory looked surprised. “You would?”

“Well, we'd have had the honeymoon first and maybe visited half a dozen sex clubs to make sure we were compatible…”

“I've never seen anyone fall in love and get jilted so fast,” remarked Mallory. “You coming or staying behind?”

“I'm coming.”

“There's only one more store with its lights on,” said Mallory, looking down the corridor. “We'll take a quick look and then decide what to do next.”

“It's a poster shop,” observed McGuire as they approached it. “See, there's Bela Lugosi. And there's a young Frank Langella. He's the one who made young girls
want
to be bitten. Without him, there'd be no billion-dollar romance novel industry.”

“
Is
there one?”

“Young women gobble them up the way young men consume girlie magazines.”

“Doesn't anyone write romance novels
without
vampires?” asked Mallory.

“Have you been to a bookstore lately?” replied McGuire.

“Not really.”

“We're the New Thing,” said McGuire proudly. Suddenly he frowned. “On the other hand, getting laid anywhere but on the printed page isn't any easier than it ever was. I blame it on anti-vampire prejudice in high places.”

“Perhaps,” said Mallory. “Or it could just be that you're an ugly little wart with bad manners and worse breath.”

“Is that any way to speak to a friend of long standing?”

“We've only known each other for maybe an hour,” replied Mallory.

“Well, that's as long as most of my friendships usually last,” said McGuire. He wrinkled his brow thoughtfully. “Probably it's jealousy. Or maybe envy. Or, as I was saying, it could simply be a misguided dislike of vampires.”

“Let me know when you're through feeling sorry for yourself,” said Mallory.

“Right,” said McGuire. He was silent for a moment. “Five…four…three…two…one. Okay, I'm through. For the moment, anyway. Let's go.”

“Just a minute,” said Mallory, staring intently through the window.

“What is it?”

“This wasn't a wasted trip after all,” said the detective, pointing to a poster showing a skeletally thin black-clad man and promising that the noted European poet Aristotle Draconis would make one of his rare public appearances at Madison Round Garden at eleven o'clock on All Hallows' Eve.

“Where to now?” asked McGuire as the little vampire and Mallory emerged from the elevator on the ground floor and walked to the exit.

“We've got almost two hours to kill before this Draconis shows up,” answered Mallory. “There's no sense wasting it. You're a vampire. Where would you go to hide?”

“That's a very broad question,” said McGuire as they emerged into the cool night air. “Would I be hiding from the police—and if so, the vice squad or the fraud squad? Or from another vampire? Or maybe I'd be hiding from Harry the Book, who's been trying to collect what I lost at Jamaica yesterday. And of course I always hide from overly aggressive redheads called Thelma, because you never know which one might turn out to be the one I made some silly promises to when dazzled by the midday sunlight. Or I could be hiding from the AAA Ace Credit Company. Or…”

“Shut up,” said Mallory wearily.

“Yes, sir.”

“You sound like you spend you entire life in hiding.”

“It's not easy being an unemployed middle-aged vampire,” said McGuire defensively. “I know, from the outside it looks like it's all blood and bites, but the general public has absolutely no idea.” He stifled a manly little sob and wiped his nose on his shirtsleeve.

“Is there any way to convert back into a normal human being?” asked Mallory.

“One of
them?
” demanded McGuire with an expression of absolute contempt.

“Sorry I asked.”

“I apologize,” said McGuire. “It's hardly your fault that you're not at the top of the food chain.”

“Getting back to business,” said Mallory, “where are we likely to find a kid who's been bitten once or twice, hasn't joined the glorious ranks of the
vampire brigade yet, and—now, I know this is difficult for you to come to grips with—doesn't
want
to be a vampire?”

“Doesn't
want
to?” repeated McGuire. “One of the insane asylums, of course. Bellevue, probably.”

“I don't believe I'm getting through to you at all,” said Mallory. “At least you were
trying
to be helpful before.”

“Helpful is my middle name,” said McGuire. A pause. “Actually, Oglethorpe is my middle name, but I've never been very fond of it. Perhaps if I'd actually
known
any Oglethorpes…Still, I suppose it could be worse. Could be Frothingham.”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Where would someone go if he didn't want to run into a vampire?”

“Ah!” said McGuire, his face brightening. “You mean, where would a prey animal hide?”

“Right. And make it within a mile of Seymour Noodnik's grocery store.”

“What were you doing there in the first place?” asked McGuire.

“Picking up some stuff to eat.”

“Like ripe young girls with bulging jugular veins?”

“Calm down. I was going to put the kid up at my apartment, and since I'm almost never there, I figured I should lay in some supplies.” Mallory grimaced. “I haven't bought any milk in about three months. How long does it stay good?”

“Not
that
long.”

“Just as well,” said Mallory with a shrug. “I don't think my refrigerator's working anyway.”

“So where
do
you spend your time?” asked the vampire.

“Mostly at the office. It's just a block from where I live—well, on those occasions that I live there.”

“Well, that makes it easy enough,” said McGuire. “As far as the kid knows, you're his one protector. He'll gravitate to your apartment or the office.”

“His aunt is a protector, too, and he knows her far better,” Mallory pointed out. “Why would he choose me?”

“Because Colonel Carruthers could be stalking through the middle of
Central Park with her trolls,” answered McGuire. “At least he knows where to look for you.”

“Oh, shit!” muttered Mallory, suddenly heading off. “I know where he'll be! Come on!”

“Your apartment or your office?” asked McGuire, his little legs moving rapidly to keep up with the detective.

“He's never been to either. He doesn't know where they are. He'll be at Winnifred's apartment.”

“That doesn't make sense,” offered the vampire. “He left Noodnik's quite some time before you and I visited your partner, and he hadn't shown up.”

“That's because I'm not a stranger to Manhattan, and I'm not looking into every shadow to see what might be lurking there ready to pounce on me,” answered Mallory.

“I don't know…”

“I've been waiting half an hour for you to come up with a better suggestion. Have you got one?”

“No, but…”

“Shut up.”

“Yes, sir,” said McGuire.

They'd gone about two blocks when a goblin stepped out of the shadows, blocking their way.

“Encyclopedias?” it asked in its sibilant voice. “Nice cut-rate encyclopedias, only been read by half-blind little old ladies?”

“Weren't you just selling dismembered corpses or something like that an hour ago?” said Mallory disgustedly.

The goblin wrinkled its nose dismissively. “A drug on the market. And speaking of drugs on the market, how about—” it lowered its voice conspiratorially—“a bottle of (get this!) children's aspirin.”

“Go away.”

“You're right, sir,” said the goblin. “You haven't been a child in days now. Any fool can see that.”

“Yeah, I think that pretty much defines both the situation and the speaker,” said Mallory. “Get out of my way.”

“Subscriptions!” cried the goblin. “
Look! Colliers! Argosy All-Story! Mating Habits of the Tree-Dwelling Wildebeest!
”

“Bats,” said Mallory, “count to five and if he's still blocking my way, bite him in the neck.”

“How about a correspondence course on seven ways to prepare goblin for Thanksgiving?” offered the goblin, backing away.

Mallory began walking again. “Let's go.”

“Banned eight-millimeter movies!” shouted the goblin after them. “Candy Barr! Joan Crawford! Linda Lovelace! Arnold Stang!”

Mallory stopped and turned. “Arnold Stang?” he repeated.

“I was just kidding,” said the goblin. “But it got your attention, didn't it?”

“Bats, kill him,” said Mallory, starting off again.

“
Deep Ear! The Bratislavan Stallion! Behind the Mauve Door!
”

“Uh…I don't know if I've ever mentioned it,” said McGuire, softly enough so the goblin couldn't hear, “but I'm terrified of goblins.”

“Just you, or all vampires?” asked Mallory.

“Just me. How do you think I got to be forty-seven?”

“Figures.”

“
The Devil and Arnold Stang!
” yelled the goblin just before they passed out of earshot. “Half price! And I'll toss in a two-month supply of vitamin H!”

“
Is
there a vitamin H?” asked McGuire. “I've been feeling run down lately, and…” He paused and looked up at Mallory. “I know: Shut up.”

They walked another block in silence, and then Mallory peered ahead and slowed down.

“I don't like the looks of this,” he said.

“It's just a few cops and an ambulance,” said McGuire.

“That's not an ambulance,” said Mallory, and as they got closer McGuire could see a spavined, ancient horse harnessed to a wagon. “That's the death cart.”

McGuire shrugged. “People die. No reason to take any notice of it, especially on All Hallows' Eve.”

“Don't you recognize where you are?” snapped Mallory. “That's Winnifred's building.”

“It is?”

Mallory pulled out his license, held it up, and elbowed his way through the small crowd of humans, goblins, gremlins, elves, and unidentifiables. A moment later he was looking down at the lifeless body of Rupert Newton.

“You know him?” asked a cop.

Mallory nodded. “Yeah. What happened?”

The cop shrugged. “We got a call that there was this stiff on the street, and this is what we found.”

“Vampire?” asked Mallory.

“He's got a couple of holes in his neck, but they're not fresh. We'll schlep him off to the morgue and let
them
worry about it. You wanna come down and make an official ID?”

“Can I just do it here?”

“If you could, I wouldn't ask you to come down there. Don't give me a hard time; this is All Hallows' Eve. If the worst that happens is that we trip over a few dozen bodies between now and morning, we'll be ahead of the game.” He paused. “You know where the morgue is?”

Mallory nodded.

“We got four more to collect. Figure we'll be there in an hour.”

“Got you,” said Mallory, stepping back as the cops moved forward to lift Rupert and put him in the cart.

“I'm sorry,” said McGuire, as the death cart headed off down the street and the crowd began dispersing.

“Something's wrong,” said Mallory.

“I know. You client is dead.”

Mallory shook his head. “He's not my client. He's Winnifred's nephew. And that's not what's wrong.”

“What's wronger than being dead?” asked McGuire.

“The kid was running for his life,” said Mallory. “He was scared to death of Aristotle Draconis, who is the guy who nabbed him in the neck and started him on the road to vampirism, right?”

“Yeah?” said McGuire, trying to see where the detective was leading him.

“Well, if the cop was right, he wasn't killed by a vampire,” said Mallory. “No fresh bite marks.”

“Sometimes shock and fear will do it,” offered McGuire.

“Is that your personal observation?” said Mallory sardonically.

The little vampire shifted his feet uncomfortably. “I believe I read it somewhere.”

“There's another problem, too.”

“What is it?”

“This Draconis is a European. He nailed the kid on the boat during the cruise over, but he could no more find a stranger at night in an unfamiliar city of seven million than you could.”

“I beg your pardon!” said McGuire, drawing himself up to his full if unimpressive height.

“Damn it, Bats! You know who we looking for, you live in the city, and you didn't come up with a damned thing. Draconis is a stranger, he's probably got some handlers from the reading—I'm sure they paid his way across and want their money's worth—and he's got to be on stage at eleven. What if he actually caught the kid and couldn't find his way back? He has to figure the kid has told at least a friend or a relative what happened to him. I've been looking at this wrong. I figure that either Draconis hasn't given the kid a thought since he landed or else right now he's damned near as scared as the kid was.”

“Scared?” repeated McGuire. “Of what?”

“I won't know that until I talk to him.” Mallory sighed. “In the meantime I'll get over to the morgue, ID the body, and see what
did
kill him. It's always possible the cop was wrong. The fact that there are no marks on the neck doesn't mean somebody didn't drain his varicose vein.”

“What a disgusting thought!” said McGuire. He paused and considered it. “But tasty.”

“All right,” said Mallory, stopping and staring down at the little vampire. “I don't know what I'm up against, and I have a feeling that I need all the protection I can get.”

“Borrow your partner's Nitro Express,” suggested McGuire.

“I can't walk through the streets of Manhattan carrying a high-powered rifle.”

“Why not?” asked the vampire. “Hundreds of others do every day. Maybe thousands.”

“Forget it.”

“It's forgotten. But this is a very confusing conversation.”

“I want you to think,” said Mallory. “What are vampires most afraid of?”

“High cholesterol levels?” asked McGuire uncertainly.

“Come on, Bats,” said Mallory irritably. “This isn't a school quiz and it's not a trick question. If a couple of vampires—let's stretch credibility and suggest that they're even more fearless than you—were coming at me, what one thing could hold them at bay?”

“Nothing. We're a pretty brave, gritty lot.”

“There is
nothing
that every vampire fears?” persisted Mallory. “Crosses, garlic, anything?”

McGuire shook his head. “Not really. You have to understand: I'm much more sensitive and emotional than most of my kind.”

A black cat shot out of the shadows and crossed their path.

“Omygod, omygod, omygod!” cried McGuire in panicky tones. “Let's turn around and go a different way.”

“It's already crossed your path,” said Mallory. “Any damage is already done.”

“What are you talking about?” shrieked the little vampire. “It has claws, hasn't it? And teeth! And it can see better in the dark than a bat can!”

Mallory's eyes narrowed.

“And vampires don't like that?”

“We positively hate it! Let's turn down a side street. It might come back.”