Lifeblood

Chapter 5

AGAIN TAKING REFUGE in a large, anonymous hotel under a different name, I stopped for the day in Indianapolis. My car was left several blocks away in another hotel's garage. Not the best kind of subterfuge, but I was hoping Braxton was not that good a detective. My hopes panned out or I was lucky again; the next night I was back in the familiar and relative sanity of Chicago. My first stop was Bobbi's place.
I waved at the night clerk as usual, he nodded back, turned to a pillar near his desk, and resumed talking to it. This sort of behavior makes me curious, so I walked over to see what made the pillar such a fascinating conversationalist. Leaning against it, just out of my line of sight, was the house dick, Phil. He was a medium-sized, slightly tubby man in an old derby and a loose collar. He didn't look like much, but Bobbi said he could take care of himself and knew where to go for help if he needed it.
He saw me and nodded. "Morning, Fleming. You up early or out late?"
I shook his calluses. "I'm always out late. How's business?"
"Slow, but there's the weekend coming up."
That was when he made most of his tips. As long as the trysting couples were quiet about it, he was conveniently blind and deaf; disturb the other guests and the offenders were out on their ears.
"Good luck, then. Listen, could you do me a favor?"
"Depends." His face was as carefully blank as the lobby's marble floor.
"There's been a couple of guys following me"I gave him an accurate description of Braxton and Webber and an inaccurate account of their activities. "They've already pestered my folks and I figure they might try bothering Miss Smythe next."
"They can try." The only thing Phil liked better than bribes was kicking pests around.
"I'd appreciate it if you kept your eyes open." I stuck my hand out in farewell and we shook again briefly. He pocketed the sawbuck I slipped him with the discreet manner that made him so popular with the other hotel patrons.
"I will do that," he promised. The only thing Phil liked better than bribes and kicking pests around was to be bribed to kick pests around.
"Please tender my regards to Miss Smythe."
Phil and the clerk resumed their discussion, which had to do with the merits of various betting parlors in the city, and I completed my journey to the elevator. The operator put up a good imitation of being awake and he took me up to Bobbi's floor.
"She's got guests tonight," he told me.
"Anyone I know?"
He shrugged and opened the doors. "They look the fancy type to me."
That could mean anything. I stepped out and immediately picked up the loud thrum of conversation down the hall. Bobbi had mentioned her plans for a little party a few days ago. Her idea of a little party meant inviting only half the city, not all of h.
The door swung open at my knock and a dangerous-looking female barred the way in. She sucked in a lungful of smoke from a skinny black cigar and let it blow out her nostrils to corrode the air. "Well, speak of the devil."
Not knowing how to respond to that one, I waited for her to stand aside, only she didn't, and hung on to the doorknob to look me over.
She had well-powdered white skin stretched over her bones, and dark eyes, which were made larger and darker by a liberal use of makeup. Her hair was jet black, shaped like a helmet with thick, severely cut bangs that just covered the eyebrows. The rest was leveled hard against her jawline. If any single hair dared to rebel, it had been rigorously dealt with by a dose of lacquer.
She wore something box shaped and bright purple, with green sequins edging a deep neckline that didn't suit her long face. The talons she affected were another bad choice, as they accentuated the developing witchiness of her fingers. They were painted the same color as her wide mouth: a deep maroon. I put her down as a case that was determined to look a young and sophisticated twenty no matter what her actual age. As far as I could tell under the war paint, she'd just edged her way over forty.
She'd finished assessing me as well, took a step backward, and swept her hand in a gesture to indicate I could pass. We locked eyes for a second and she smiled. It was no more than a thinning of the lips, but it expressed her contempt as plainly as if she'd spit in my face.
Then Bobbi said my name, threw her body against mine, and we forgot about everything else for a few moments.
"You should have called." Her mouth was very close to my ear and I enjoyed the tickling of her breath. "I didn't know when you'd be back."
"I like surprising you."
"It is easier to catch them out that way," the woman said agreeably.
Bobbi pulled back a little, but kept her arms around me. "Jack, this is Marza Chevreaux. She's my accompanist."
I had wondered what she was. "How do you do?"
"Not as well as you, dear boy," she drawled sweetly, and held out her hand, forcing me to relinquish my hold on Bobbi in order to take it. It wasn't a fair exchange; her fingers lay briefly and limply in my palm and then recoiled to be better occupied at playing with the chain of her long necklace. She smiled again, took a step backward, pivoted on the same movement, and left us.
I hoped she was out of earshot and opened my mouth, but Bobbi beat me to it.
"You don't have to say it, I already know."
"I never saw her at the club."
"Slick didn't like her."
"Fancy that."
"She really is a good accompanist, once you get past all her dramatics.
We're a good team and I got the station to agree to have her play when I sing."
"She said 'speak of the devil'; should my ears be burning?"
"A couple of the girls were wondering who I was dating, and I can't help but talk about you. Because of Slick, Marza doesn't think much of the men in my life, but she'll come around once she gets to know you."
"Do you have some less discriminating guests in the meantime?"
"Sure, come in and meet them."
"What's this about again?"
"Just a little pre-broadcast party, then afterward we'll have a post-broadcast party."
"I didn't know you were so social."
"Neither did I, but getting away from the club was like getting out of jail. I just want to celebrate." Then she kissed me again, linked an aim in mine, and pulled me into the living room with all the noise.
It wasn't as large a group as I thought, but they made up for it in volume. A half dozen were in the immediate vicinity, with several brands of cigarettes and perfumes, none of it too breathable, so I only indulged when it was necessary to talk.
Marza Chevreaux had taken up a station at the piano, but was clearly not about to play it. Her purpose must have been to prevent others from doing so. She clutched a drink and stared with glassy eyes at an intense-looking man crouched on the floor next to her. He wore thick glasses and had short skin-colored hair on the sides and long dark hair on top. It looked too much like a toupee to be one, so it had to be his own. He was making short, waving movements with his hands as he tried to prove a point of some kind to Marza.
"That's Madison Pruitt," Bobbi whispered. "Marza brought him along because he irritates everyone."
"He looks more than capable of it. Why is he so irritating?"
"Because if you give him half a chance he'll try to get you to join the Communist party. He's as bad as the Jehovah's Witnesses."
"You're kidding me, nobody could--" I hauled up short, staring at the mountainous back of a man on the sofa. "What's he doing here?"
"Are you angry?"
I thought it over. "Actually, no, just curious."
She was relieved. "He's my friend. Jack. I wanted him here. You don't have to talk to him, he'll understand."
"That wouldn't be polite. Besides, this place isn't that big and he's a hard man to duck."
"You going to be nice?" She was half-joking, half-serious. I felt like kissing her and saw no reason not to and followed through.
"I'll be nice," I promised, and walked over to the sofa.
He was taking up most of it, a big man with hard muscle under the tailored lines of his evening clothes. With short-cropped blond hair and a grim set to his lips, he wasn't the sort you invite to liven up a social occasion. His eyes were slightly sleepy from the drink in his hand until he looked up at me. They visibly sharpened, went on guard, then relaxed into a pseudo-dullness. I knew that to be one of his defenses, that dull look. People expected a big man like him to be stupid. He let them think what they liked and consequently learned more about them than they cared.
I put my hand out. "Hello, Gordy."
He registered a flicker of surprise, slowly stood, and shook hands. He was beyond trying to prove himself with a crushing grasp and gave me a firm, careful grip.
"Fleming," he returned. "Bobbi said you might turn up."
"Yeah."
"She says you're taking good care of her."
I wasn't sure how he meant that. Bobbi wasn't dependent on me financially, so he must have been referring to our emotional relationship. He was too polite where Bobbi was concerned to make cheap remarks on our sex life.
"She's a wonderful girl."
"Glad you know that."
"And if I didn't?"
"I'd sic Marza on you."
It was my turn for surprise. I hadn't expected him to make a joke. I glanced over to the piano and saw he was serious after all. Marza was glaring at us, and from her expression, all she needed were some snakes for hair to turn us to stone.
"No, thanks." I hooked a chair so we could sit and be eye to eye.
Standing with him was uncomfortable. I wasn't used to looking up at people, and Gordy was tall enough to give Paul Bunyan a stiff neck. "How are things at the club?"
He shrugged and settled into the sofa. "Had to put up with a raid last week."
"The casino?"
"It looks good for City Hall in the papers, but they should hold off until just before election, like they usually do. They grabbed all my slot machines and chopped up the tables. Take a few weeks to get new ones, but by that time the heat will be off. The club's still open, lot of the regulars still ask after Bobbi."
"You think she'll go back?"
"Not after all that mess with Slick. Can't blame her."
"Nope."
"You working?"
"Son of."
"Need a job?"
"What kind?"
"What kind you need?"
I shook my head and smiled. "Thanks."
"About that mess with Slick--"
"No hard feelings, Gordy."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, sorry if I hurt you. I was just doing a job."
"You didn't hurt me."
"I didn't? How come?"
"You already know that."
He took a long pull on his drink, studying me. " 'Sfunny, you don't look any different from a hundred other guys off the street."
"If I did, I wouldn't survive long. People notice when you're different."
"Hell, you don't have to tell me that."
"You always been big?"
"Ma said I weighed thirteen pounds when I was born. Damn near killed her. You wanna drink?"
"No, thanks."
Again the long study. "You eat anything?"
"Not eat."
"So that stuff's true, that you only drink--"
"Yeah, that part's true."
"What about Bobbi? Doesn't that hurt her?"
"If it did, I'd stop seeing her. Why not ask her yourself?"
"Nan, I couldn't do that."
"If you're worried, just look at her, she's healthy."
He looked. She was in a corner talking and laughing with a white-haired man with a beard. "She's not under some kind of spell or something?"
I made an effort to match his serious face. "None."
He digested this. "Okay. I just wanted to make sure about a few things."
"On the other hand, I could be lying."
His head went back and forth in a slight wobble, his version of laughter. "Hell, kid, you ain't no liar."
Bobbi introduced me to some names and faces, and a couple of the voices that went with them were familiar because I'd heard them on the radio.
We made the rounds, and then it was my turn to do some steering.
"What gives?" she asked when I took a determined grip on her arm.
"You'll find out."
The only unoccupied place was the bathroom, not the most romantic setting, but it was private.
"Alone at last," I sighed.
"At least until the next customer comes--there's a lot of booze flowing out there."
"Too bad. I wanted to see you for a minute without an audience."
"Oh, so what do you think?" Hands on hips, she did a slow turn. She was in her best color, which was no color; something white and clinging, probably silk.
I shrugged. "It's all right, but the hem's too long."
She made a playful swat at my stomach. "Stinker, it's perfect and you know it."
"Only because you're in it." Then we took up where we left off when I first came in.
After a few minutes she came up for air. "Say, you did miss me."
"Very much," I muttered, nosing around in her hair. Her head tilted back and my lips brushed against the large vein of her throat. I ran my tongue over the two small wounds there, taking in the slight salt taste of her skin and feeling the strong pulse beneath.
Then the damn phone rang and made us both jump because it was so close.
"Hell, what's that doing in here?" I complained.
"Better in here than the bedroom. Hello?"
It was someone from the radio station working late. They hashed out a minor scheduling problem and hung up.
"Why the long face?" she asked.
I curled my upper lip back and made a mock growling sound.
"Oh," she said with vast understanding, and cuddled back into my arms.
"When can you get rid of your friends?" I lisped.
"As soon as the booze runs out, which shouldn't be too long with that crowd. Why wait? You can nibble on me in here."
"That's like going straight to the dessert and skipping the rest of the banquet. I want us to take some time and enjoy everything."
This disconcerted her a bit, and a blush fanned over her cheeks.
"Dammit, sometimes I feel like a schoolgirl with you."
"Isn't it great?"
On this occasion, Bobbi proved to be a terrible hostess and ran out of drinkable alcohol before the guests had run out of party enthusiasm. But her guests were resourceful: one of the girls suggested removing to a nearby bar that she thought was still open and led an exodus for it.
Bobbi and I promised to be along and somehow forgot about it the moment the last person was gone.
Her white dress was certainly beautiful, but since I'd arrived, the major thought on my mind had been how to get it of)' her. The fastenings were located on the left side instead of in the back, but she slipped away before my inquisitive fingers could accomplish anything.
"Help me search the place," she said from the kitchen.
"For what?"
"In case someone got left behind. That happened to me once, and it's damned embarrassing."
We searched the place and then later, much later, in a sleepy voice she said, "Welcome home."
"Thanks."
"I mean it. Move in with me."
"Move in?"
"I want you around all the time."
"What would the neighbors think?"
"Whatever they like, I don't care."
"Bobbi, I don't want to say no--"
"But that's your answer."
"It has to be."
"Why?"
"Because of what I am."
"Because you have to be up to your eyeballs in some cemetery by dawn, right?"
"Something like that. I'd be very dull company during the day. I just don't want you to see me like that. You don't let me see you in curlers."
"Listen, if I can get used to your not breathing--
"This is different, it's different for me. What I've been through, what I've become--I'm still trying to get used to it. I don't know how else to explain why. This is nothing against you."
"I know. You've had a lot of things happen to you all at once."
"I need some time."
She signed. "Then don't worry about it. If it's no, it's no."
"You can be pretty damn terrific."
"Yeah, and I just realized what sort of commotion would happen if someone like the maid happened to find you while she was dusting. Having a coffin lying around with a body in it might upset the hotel staff."
I laughed. "Good grief, I don't use a coffin.'"
"I thought all vampires did."
"Maybe they do, but not me--I have a more modern steamer trunk. It's smaller, just as light proof, and a lot less conspicuous."
"Very clever."
"I have to lay low for a while, anyway."
"What's wrong? Is it Gordy?"
"No, nothing like that."
We lay comfortably tangled together in the dark, and I told her about my trip and in particular about Braxton and Webber. "They can travel during the day, so they're probably in Chicago by now and looking around. I just want you to watch out for them, or for anyone asking after me."
"You're the one who needs to watch out if they're trying to kill you."
"They won't. I can lose myself in a city this big."
"Forever?"
"Until I can figure out what to do about them or until they run out of money."
"Look, I can call up Gordy. He and some of the boys can throw a scare into them--
Bobbi, my sweet, they are determined to track down a hideous, bloodthirsty vampire; a demonic creature of the night. Do you think they'll be intimidated by a couple of gangsters with guns and brass knuckles?"
"Who said anything about intimidation? Gordy can just have their legs broken."
"I can do that myself," I said dryly. "Just promise me you'll be careful. They may try to save you from my evil clutches."
"But I like being clutched by you."
"I doubt if they could understand that."
"Got any idea what to do about them?"
"I don't know, I'd like to talk it over with Charles first and see what he thinks."
"I'm glad you mentioned him. He called today, but I'd forgotten all about it because of the party. He wanted you to drop by when you got back, no matter how late."
"Even this late?"
"He said if the lights were on to come in."
"I hate to leave you"
"Oh, pooh, you'll have to go sooner or later, so come on.
I'm hungry now, anyway." She rustled her way out from the sheets, and I obediently followed her to the kitchen.
What with our reluctant good-byes and some unexpected early traffic, it was close to six before I got to Escort's. My rear-view mirror was clear all the way over, which was encouraging, and when I arrived, there were welcoming lights in the windows. He must have heard me pull up, for the door opened before I knocked and a cloud of stale pipe smoke and white dust billowed out along with his greeting.
"I finally got your message. Sorry I'm so late."
"Not at all. Do come in." He was dressed uncharacteristically in some ancient paint-spattered overalls and his hair was full of plaster dust.
"Please excuse my appearance, I started the job today and it turned out to be more involved than I thought." He ushered me into the parlor.
"What are you doing?"
"At the moment, taking a well-deserved break. It seems the previous owners subdivided all the bedrooms so they could accommodate more customers at one time. I've been upstairs knocking down a wall."
"You've been at it all night?"
"It's a very stubborn wall, if I may anthropomorphize it."
"When do you sleep?"
"Hardly ever," he said in an indifferent tone.
"What'd you want to see me for?"
"This. I'm not in a position to judge. It will be for you to decide what to do." Before I could ask what he was talking about, he reached for a folded newspaper and pointed to a circled item in the public notices. My fingers grew cold as I read it.
Jack, will you please call me. I want to talk to you about Maureen.
There was no name, only a phone and room number. I stared at the symbols on the page as though they could tell me more.
"Sorry about the shock, old man," he was saying. "I knew you would want to know about this as soon as possible, but I couldn't really give any details to Miss Smythe."
I read the ad again, not believing it, but none of the wording had changed. "How long has it been running?"
"It started the day after you left."
Then I stopped being stunned and things cleared up for me. "That old bastard"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Braxton must have planted it to try and trap me."
"Who is Braxton?"
"Someone else you can check up on when you go to New York. He knew Maureen, or at least I think he did." I settled back and told him the story of the last three nights of my life. "The kid said they began looking for me when they noticed my ad was gone. This is probably just bait to flush me out."
"I think not. I took the liberty of tracking down the number. It belongs to a small but respectable hotel near the Loop. When I made inquiries, I was told to go to room twenty-three, occupied by a Miss Gaylen Dumont.
She arrived two days ago from New York; a semi-invalid, she takes her meals in her room and is regarded as a very quiet, trouble-free guest.
The name suggests that she is a relative of Maureen Dumont."
"Gaylen?" I repeated blankly. "I wouldn't know, Maureen never talked about her family."
"People who don't generally have a good reason. In the simple cause of common sense, I counsel you to be cautious about this."
"Hell, yes, I'll be cautious. Did you learn anything else?"
"She is in her seventies, listens to dance music on the radio, and doesn't like fried foods."
"How did you--"
"It is amazing how much one can learn from a hotel's staff when the right questions are applied in the right manner. Have you any reason to think that Braxton might be connected with this woman?"
"If he knew Maureen, he might know this Gaylen. I just don't know."
"This could be bad timing or coincidence, but it will be safer if you assume it is not. You removed your ad and some people noticed."
"Yeah, but not the one that mattered." The paper twitched in my hands.
"I'm checking on this first thing tomorrow night. Want to come along?"
"I was leaving for New York tomorrow, or rather today, but I can postpone the trip if you wish."
"No, I couldn't ask you to do that. I guess I can handle one old lady."
Escott looked out the front window. "Jack, it's getting lighter. If you've no other place to stay, perhaps we should move you in now."
"Jeez, I forgot."
My second trunk went into the basement next to the first, and between us we emptied the car of thirty-six bags of earth, piling them neatly in a corner. The faint gray of dawn was just beginning to hurt my eyes when we finished. Escott dusted his hands off.
"I'll bid you good morning now, I still have some cleaning up to do."
"It won't disturb me," I assured him.
"No, I daresay it would not. Pleasant dreams." He climbed the basement steps and shut the door.
As long as I had my soil around me I was past the point of being able to dream. All the speculations tumbling through my brain would have only given me nightmares, anyway. There were some compensations to my condition, I thought as I wearily lowered the lid of my trunk to hide for another day.