The Vampire Files - Bloodlist Part 16

She kept her eyes on the machine. "I think you'd better go now."

"I'd rather stay."

"Suit yourself, it's no skin off my nose."

"A guy could get discouraged."

"Good."

"I know Slick killed my brother."

She had a lot of control, but now the fear smell was drowning the perfume. She went on playing, pretending she hadn't heard.

"If you see him tonight, pa.s.s that on. I'll be around."

"You're not kidding, are you?"

"No."

"Why do you think he-" "Because I was at Frank Paco's last dinner party, the one with the hot finish that made all the papers. I overheard things. Slick's name came up in the course of the conversation."

"Aren't you being kind of stupid to march in here like this?"

"Maybe, but Slick won't hurt me because I've got something he wants."

"What?"

"The same thing he wanted from brother Jack, but didn't get."

"Okay, be cagey."

"The less you know the better it is. I don't think you want to be in the middle of things."

"So everyone tells me. Why should you care?"

"You remind me of someone."

"Thanks a heap."

"She was afraid sometimes, too."

She watched me, troubled and wary. I shut up and moved away, there was no more to say to her and I couldn't trust my voice. Maureen was still too strong within me and I was feeling guilty for being attracted to Bobbi. She was as beautiful as Maureen, but in a different way; she was also vulnerable and worked hard to hide it.

She gave me a lot to think about and I drifted blindly for a while. I lit more cigarettes, but didn't inhale. My body allowed me air to speak with, but rejected all foreign substances but one, and I had tanked up on that last night. I puffed superficially and added to the haze.

In one of the alcoves a little away from the noise, a serious poker game was in progress. There were five players, but most of the chips were on one side of the table in front of a totally bald fat man with a tangled brown beard bunching along the edge of his jowls like a baby's bib. Just as I strolled up one of the players threw down his hand and folded for the night. He left with a sweat-slick face, his body giving off the kind of reek that only comes from a habitual gambler, the kind that loses. I was the only observer of the game, the fat man probably won far too often for it to be of any interest to onlookers.

The cards went down and he raked in another pot, neatly stacking his chips according to color with his short, flat fingers. There must have been nine thousand dollars in front of him.

"Care to join?" he said, not looking up.

"No, thanks, I'll watch." I didn't like poker, tending to agree with Ambrose Bierce, who defined it as a game played with cards for some purpose unknown. I'd been listening to heartbeats and knew my little trick would be totally useless at this table with these veterans of the bluff. To test it, I mentally played a hand against the fat man, looking over the shoulder of another player. I lost repeatedly, as he registered about as much emotional reaction as the felt-covered table. All hands were alike to him. Bored, I finally left, sliding quietly out of the alcove. The fat man's gla.s.sy soulless eyes followed me before they snapped back to his cards.

After patrolling the room once for Morelli, I went back to the blackjack table and settled in for some serious gambling of my own. As a game to play, it was much faster, and I enjoyed the mental workout it gave. Before I knew it, two hours were gone and I was the only player left. It increased my odds of winning, 1 had the dealer's reactions down well enough by now to practically read his mind.

I flipped up my last card-it was a straight blackjack, I got them occasionally. It was time to quit. Hardly believing it, I gathered up fifty-eight hundred dollars in chips. At this rate I could buy Dad a whole new chain of stores. My conscience wasn't chafing a whole lot. It was Slick Morelli's money and he owed me.

Shuffling the chips away, I looked up, my eyes locking on to Bobbi's face. She moved without hurry across the room, not smiling, not frowning, carefully blank. She sat on the stool next to me and gave the dealer a quiet signal. He closed the table and left.

"You gave up on me pretty fast. Why?" she asked.

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"I don't know what I want right now."

Dance music filtered in sporadically from the club room as the door opened and closed. I caught her scent again-roses and fear. It was strangely exciting. Her skin was very light and in the shadow beneath her jaw I could see the veins throbbing with life. I could smell that, too.

Keeping very still, I waited for her to look up at me. She was so very beautiful and the first woman I'd wanted in a long, long time. When she finally looked, I suggested we leave the room. She stood and let me follow her through an unmarked door at the back. We were in a dim hall, silent for her; for me it was filled with the uneven rhythm of her lungs and the booming of her heart. She let the wrap slide back from her shoulders as her arms went up around my neck. The length of her body pressed warmly against mine, just as I had wanted it. I caressed her hair, tilting her chin up and kissing her red lips.

But the pa.s.sion was all one-sided. Her face was empty of all thought or feeling, her mind was in some neutral state, waiting for my next suggestion. I backed off in doubt, then, suddenly knowing it was wrong, I turned away.

As a living man I'd never forced myself on a woman, and I wasn't going to start now. My changed nature had provided me with an all-too-easy route to seduction.

Maureen completely avoided the use of this ability. She had wanted a willing lover, not a slave.

Bobbi's arms hung loose at her sides, and gradually awareness returned to her eyes. If she had some idea of what I'd been doing, she made no sign. Perhaps she thought her own desire had brought us here. I put a hand on the doork.n.o.b, hers stopped me.

"I think I should go."

"No." Her voice was hardly above a whisper. "I had to tell Slick what you said."

"I know, it's all right. That's why he sent you after me."

"Was it that obvious?"

"Just unexpected."

"I can get you out from here. I'll tell them you got wise and ran."

"Too risky for you, though."

"I'll be all right." Her breathing was back to normal and she still held my hand.

Her face was tilted up again and she was free from any form of suggestion now. I lowered my head and kissed her and felt elation when she responded. I wanted to stay there, but reluctantly had to draw away. There was a pleasant kind of pressure building in my upper jaw. It was different from hunger pangs, but just as intense, pus.h.i.+ng out my canines. While things were still manageable, I pushed them back into place with my tongue. Now was not the time or place for that sort of thing.

"This isn't Slick's planning," she said.

"I know."

"Look, maybe I can meet you tomorrow- "Tomorrow night. I have to talk with Slick first."

"Why?"

If I tried to answer that one we'd be there all night, which under any other circ.u.mstances would have been most desirable. I shook my head and smiled a little.

"I'll take you back before you're missed."

She crumpled. "I hate it when he makes me do this. He said it was a joke, but I know better. He wanted me to get you outside, for you to meet me out front so you're seen leaving the club."

"I'll oblige him, but we'll leave you out of it."

"But you're a fish on a hook now. Don't you see?"

"Like my brother?"She was trying not to s.h.i.+ver. "I don't know about him, I really don't. Two weeks ago Slick spent several days on the yacht. He came back exhausted and in a bad temper, maybe your brother had something to do with it, but I just don't-"

She looked like she needed a pair of arms around her, and I did the best I could.

"Don't worry about it, it's my choice. I'm leaving now, by the front door."

"He'll kill you," she said with certainty.

"No, he won't." It was too late for that, but a person doesn't have to have a bullet drilled through his heart to be emotionally dead. I smiled again, got hers in return, and felt alive for the first time in years.

Chapter 8.

I TRADED MY chips for cash at a grilled window under the hard gaze of two gunmen and folded the money away. The cas.h.i.+er made a big point of inviting me back again tomorrow night. He must have figured my beginner's luck would have worn out by then.

The band was playing a last slow number and I emerged from behind the door marked PRIVATE. Bobbi had gone around by another door and was on the dance floor, floating in the arms of a man who was holding his face close to her gleaming hair. Some guys had all the luck. It might have been Morelli, but I was only guessing.

The tables had lost most of their patrons. One whole section had been roped off and the mop-and-bucket boys were busy cleaning it. I collected my top hat and scarf, giving the girl at the counter enough of a tip to wake her up, and left by the front entrance.

I wondered how much line they were going to give me before hauling me in.

The cool night breeze off the lake felt clean and moist. The place was probably an Arctic h.e.l.l in winter, but now things were just right. There were still a few hours before dawn. If they planned to try anything, I hoped the night would be long enough to accommodate them. I turned left along the front of the club, walking slowly.

Behind, two sets of shoes were keeping pace with mine. I stifled a smile.

Between streetlights I paused and glanced back. One of them was the walking mountain, the other was the guard from the casino door. I tried to not be overly optimistic that they were after me. They could be underpaid enough to just want my newly acquired money. I continued on and turned the corner. There were two more men standing in the way. One of them plucked a toothpick from his mouth and flicked it away. He must have seen that one at the movies.

The guys behind caught up with us and completed the quintet. To make it look right I tried to duck past them for the open street. They were fast and professional and didn't even muss my clothes, but then I was not using my full strength to fight them. With arms held pinned to my sides and the white scarf over my eyes, I was marched quickly back to the club.Prom the length of the walk and the smell at the end of it, we were going in by the alley entrance. I made some stock verbal protests until one of them shoved my own handkerchief into my mouth. This was done only to shake me up. If I'd really started to yell for help, they'd have been a lot rougher. In silence I was dragged up some steps and over a linoleum floor. From the leftover smell of grease, I guessed it was a kitchen. We trod on wooden floor for twenty-eight paces, then I was stumbling up a flight of stairs. Knuckles rapped on wood and I was shoved forward.

The door shut. I stood on carpeting in a room with two sets of lungs; one right behind me, probably the Mountain and the other about eight feet in front. A light switch clicked, and I felt a gentle warmth on my face.

The scarf was yanked down. The warmth came from a flexible desk lamp whose bulb had been angled to s.h.i.+ne right in my eyes. The rest of the room was dark, but it didn't matter; the man trying to hide behind the glare was quite visible to me.

He was medium sized and dark haired, with a pale olive complexion slightly marred by old acne scars on his cheeks. In his young thirties, he had a set of sweet dark eyes that should have been on a woman. He would have been handsome, but his nose was too pinched and he had what looked like a razor cut for a mouth. His stare was intense and I s.h.i.+fted uneasily.

He smiled approval at my reaction.

I checked the room over so as not to look at him. It was a plain working office, but with a nice rug, a couple of paintings of s.h.i.+ps, and an expensive desk-and-chair set. On the desk was a phone and blotter, in the corner behind me stood a file cabinet.

There was no other place to sit, though some dimples showed in the rug where chairs had been. He was smart enough to know how well such minor intimidations can undermine a person's confidence. He sat relaxed behind his desk, gave me a good once-over, then raised one finger as a signal to the man behind me. Hands probed, and my wallet, half a pack of cigarettes, and a book of matches were dropped on the desk. He opened the wallet, ignoring the money, and his eyes rested a moment on the little pasteboard card.

"I think you can consider this an emergency," he began. "Would you like us to put you in contact with your brother?"

Figuratively speaking, I could breathe a little easier. I'd worried he wouldn't have accepted me as Gerald. I didn't answer, but squinted at the light as though trying to see past it.

"I heard about you being at Paco's. They said you wanted to trade the list for your brother. I know where he is and I'm willing to deal with you."

It was simply stated and the truth, but I didn't think he was dumb enough to think I was that gullible. He was only feeling me out."Are you willing to deal with me?"

"Only if you're Slick Morelli."

He didn't answer except to move his hand slightly. The Mountain came up on one side and buried his knuckles in my stomach. That hurt a little-very little-and I faked the rest, going down on my knees as I had done at Paco's; no imagination, these guys.

"You can call me Mr. Morelli, Junior," he told me. "Now say thank you."

I was pulled to my feet and punched two more times before I got bored with the business and said what he wanted. There was a purpose to it all; get me to give in and obey him once and it would be that much easier for me to give in later about other things. He knew his business. I'd seen it done in other situations. The faces changed, but the technique remained constant. I let the Mountain hold me up and concentrated on breathing. Under the circ.u.mstances, they were both bound to notice if I stopped.

"Now, where is the list?"

Again, I said nothing; my memory had it in a place I could not reach. They'd killed me over it before, and they'd certainly try again-a difficult job in my present state, but not impossible. I had some control this time, though, and would stall to try and learn more, hoping my contact with them would trigger a memory.

Morelli opened a drawer in the desk, drew out a long black cigar, and fitted it into a silver holder. The skin on my head began crawling in different directions, my left hand twitched, and I fell back a step into the Mountain. He held me firm as Morelli looked up and saw my fear. The reaction had come boiling up without warning, and it was all I could do to stifle the urge to tear away and bolt out the door. He finished lighting the cigar and blew smoke at the ceiling.

"Start talking, Fleming."

A film was over my eyes. I blinked uncontrollably. My hands jerked up to rub them clear.

("Start talking, Fleming.") The Mountain's grip kept me on my feet or I'd be on my knees again.

(The cigar stink filled the little room. Its burning end pivoted from my eyes and pointed down to my left hand. The pain shot up the arm, into the brain, and came clawing out through my clenched teeth. I tried to tear away from it and the binding ropes...) The Mountain shook me out of it. My jellied legs found the floor and I stood under my own power, staring at Morelli with hot rage. I wanted badly to let it out, knowing what it would do to his mind; good revenge for my past pain, but it would accomplish nothing. My eyes tracked another cloud of smoke. His leisurely manner reminded me that he had all the time in the world, I only had until sunrise.

"What did you do to Jack Fleming?" I asked. "How did you get him?"

"I ask the questions, Junior." This was punctuated by another punch.

"Did you have Paco shoot him?"

I was on the floor now and felt the distant blow of a shoe in the back of one leg. I made an appropriate noise in response. The Mountain bent down to pick me up. For the first time he spoke, whispering in my ear.

"Tell him what he wants, kid. He won't let me let up."