Third Grave Dead Ahead
Page 49
“You’re lucky your jugular is still intact,” he said, the tenor of his voice deep and soothing despite its message. “Artemis doesn’t like people much.”
Completely covered in dirt, I rose into a sitting position with my arms braced behind me and gazed up. “She’s a sweet dog.”
Two more men walked up, looking just as scruffy as the first. One was young and looked like a Greek prince. The other looked more Italian Mafia than biker gang.
The first man turned to them. “She said Artemis is sweet.”
The prince shrugged. “She is sweet.” After receiving a jolting punch to the shoulder, he rubbed it and said, “She is. It’s not my fault.”
“It’s entirely your fault, bitch.” He seemed angry enough, but I found it difficult to pinpoint his exact emotion. “This chick should be missing half her face.”
Tony Soprano nodded in agreement. I shook my head, disagreeing wholeheartedly.
“She’s not even a good guard dog anymore. What the f**k am I supposed to do with that?”
Artemis jumped on his chest, as if to show him her new toy.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You got a present.” He rubbed her ears playfully and pretended he was going to eat it as he led her back to the ground and had her sit. She tried to jump again, but he kept a hand on her until she gave up and placed her full attention on the bone.
“Me, huh?” the prince said. “You old softy.”
After another loud thud echoed against the building, one that had my own arm aching in response, I looked up at the guy who was apparently the leader of this here motorcycle club. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.”
They glanced at one another and chuckled. “Are you kidding?” Mafioso asked.
“You can see them, can’t you?”
I refocused on the leader. “Them?” I was still on the ground and started to get up when he placed a boot on my stomach. Not hard, just enough to keep me down. Apparently, that’s how he liked his women. Despite the fact that I was already dirty, I glared up at him. “Do you mind?”
“You’re trespassing, remember? I can do whatever I want to you.”
And just when I was starting to like him.
“Who are they?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The prince kneeled beside me, leaned in until his mouth was almost on mine, then reached into my back pocket and pulled out my PI license. He stayed there a full ten seconds longer than need be, then glanced at my ID. “She’s a private investigator.”
He stood and handed it to the leader.
“Charlotte Davidson, PI,” Fearless Leader said, taking his boot off my stomach. “You any good?”
“You’d have to define good. Where are the other dogs? You guys usually have three.”
A silence fell over them. “Gone,” he said quietly. “Poisoned. Artemis barely made it.”
I gasped and climbed to my feet. “Who did it?” I couldn’t help but be outraged.
Mafioso shrugged. “We’re looking into it.” Then he eyed me suspiciously.
I chose to ignore the accusation. As if.
“So who are they?”
Turning back to the leader, I lifted my brows in question while swiping at my clothes. Artemis took my movement as a sign and darned near tackled me through the wall of the asylum. “Who are who?” I asked, falling back and hugging her to me.
“The ghosts in the asylum.”
I paused in surprise as the leader took Artemis’s collar and sat her down again. I realized how gentle he was being with her. Perhaps she was still sick. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who believes in ghosts.”
“Didn’t. Do now.”
“’Kay. What makes you think I know who they are?”
The prince spoke up. “Because you’re the only one who visits regularly to talk to them. Everyone else who breaks in here just wants to party, or take video of the haunted asylum.” He wiggled his fingers for effect. “Freaking ghost hunters. Of course, sometimes guys bring girls here just to scare them. It’s fun when they jump in your arms.” He smiled. “I’ve used that a couple of times myself.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “And what makes you think this place is really haunted?”
“We see the walls,” Mafioso said, “names there one day, new names the next. The ghosts scratch name after name, over and over into those walls.” He glanced up at the dilapidated building. “This thing’s going to fall down someday.”
I was worried about that, too. “Actually, it’s a he. Well, a Rocket, to be more exact. He’s the one who carves the names into the walls. His sister’s here, too, but I’ve never met her.”
Their belief stilled them. The underlings looked back at the leader to see what he would say. He wanted to ask me questions, but I really didn’t have time to go into it. I decided to shoot for the Reader’s Digest version.
“Look,” I said, drawing a deep breath, “Rocket died sometime in the fifties. He has this … I don’t know, ability. He knows the names of every person ever born and knows if they’ve died or not. I use that to my advantage when investigating rather often. He’s a savant. He’s—” The thought of Rocket’s personality made me smile. “—he’s like a kid. Like a big, burly kid with a really bad case of ADD.”
Completely covered in dirt, I rose into a sitting position with my arms braced behind me and gazed up. “She’s a sweet dog.”
Two more men walked up, looking just as scruffy as the first. One was young and looked like a Greek prince. The other looked more Italian Mafia than biker gang.
The first man turned to them. “She said Artemis is sweet.”
The prince shrugged. “She is sweet.” After receiving a jolting punch to the shoulder, he rubbed it and said, “She is. It’s not my fault.”
“It’s entirely your fault, bitch.” He seemed angry enough, but I found it difficult to pinpoint his exact emotion. “This chick should be missing half her face.”
Tony Soprano nodded in agreement. I shook my head, disagreeing wholeheartedly.
“She’s not even a good guard dog anymore. What the f**k am I supposed to do with that?”
Artemis jumped on his chest, as if to show him her new toy.
“Yeah, yeah. I know. You got a present.” He rubbed her ears playfully and pretended he was going to eat it as he led her back to the ground and had her sit. She tried to jump again, but he kept a hand on her until she gave up and placed her full attention on the bone.
“Me, huh?” the prince said. “You old softy.”
After another loud thud echoed against the building, one that had my own arm aching in response, I looked up at the guy who was apparently the leader of this here motorcycle club. “You’re probably wondering what I’m doing here.”
They glanced at one another and chuckled. “Are you kidding?” Mafioso asked.
“You can see them, can’t you?”
I refocused on the leader. “Them?” I was still on the ground and started to get up when he placed a boot on my stomach. Not hard, just enough to keep me down. Apparently, that’s how he liked his women. Despite the fact that I was already dirty, I glared up at him. “Do you mind?”
“You’re trespassing, remember? I can do whatever I want to you.”
And just when I was starting to like him.
“Who are they?” he asked.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The prince kneeled beside me, leaned in until his mouth was almost on mine, then reached into my back pocket and pulled out my PI license. He stayed there a full ten seconds longer than need be, then glanced at my ID. “She’s a private investigator.”
He stood and handed it to the leader.
“Charlotte Davidson, PI,” Fearless Leader said, taking his boot off my stomach. “You any good?”
“You’d have to define good. Where are the other dogs? You guys usually have three.”
A silence fell over them. “Gone,” he said quietly. “Poisoned. Artemis barely made it.”
I gasped and climbed to my feet. “Who did it?” I couldn’t help but be outraged.
Mafioso shrugged. “We’re looking into it.” Then he eyed me suspiciously.
I chose to ignore the accusation. As if.
“So who are they?”
Turning back to the leader, I lifted my brows in question while swiping at my clothes. Artemis took my movement as a sign and darned near tackled me through the wall of the asylum. “Who are who?” I asked, falling back and hugging her to me.
“The ghosts in the asylum.”
I paused in surprise as the leader took Artemis’s collar and sat her down again. I realized how gentle he was being with her. Perhaps she was still sick. “You don’t look like the kind of guy who believes in ghosts.”
“Didn’t. Do now.”
“’Kay. What makes you think I know who they are?”
The prince spoke up. “Because you’re the only one who visits regularly to talk to them. Everyone else who breaks in here just wants to party, or take video of the haunted asylum.” He wiggled his fingers for effect. “Freaking ghost hunters. Of course, sometimes guys bring girls here just to scare them. It’s fun when they jump in your arms.” He smiled. “I’ve used that a couple of times myself.”
I couldn’t help but grin. “And what makes you think this place is really haunted?”
“We see the walls,” Mafioso said, “names there one day, new names the next. The ghosts scratch name after name, over and over into those walls.” He glanced up at the dilapidated building. “This thing’s going to fall down someday.”
I was worried about that, too. “Actually, it’s a he. Well, a Rocket, to be more exact. He’s the one who carves the names into the walls. His sister’s here, too, but I’ve never met her.”
Their belief stilled them. The underlings looked back at the leader to see what he would say. He wanted to ask me questions, but I really didn’t have time to go into it. I decided to shoot for the Reader’s Digest version.
“Look,” I said, drawing a deep breath, “Rocket died sometime in the fifties. He has this … I don’t know, ability. He knows the names of every person ever born and knows if they’ve died or not. I use that to my advantage when investigating rather often. He’s a savant. He’s—” The thought of Rocket’s personality made me smile. “—he’s like a kid. Like a big, burly kid with a really bad case of ADD.”
