A Beast in Venice: (Literary Horror set in Venice) (27 page)

“Of course. I don’t think there’s any other choice. Mauro, have you given that vial to your cousin?”

“Yes, she’s going to get back to me in the morning.”

“Good. What about the phone?”

“I gave it to my friend who runs a computer consulting business to look it over and see what’s on it. I expect to hear from him tomorrow, too.”

“Good. Keep after them.”

“Brig,” Mauro said, “I have to get home. Some of us do have to work for a living.”

“That’s fine,” Brigham said. “Go get some rest and I’ll talk to you later.” 

“By the way,” Mauro said, “I know a doctor who might be willing to come over here and take a look at that cut without asking a lot of questions.”

“Have him call me. I’ve had it stitched, but I’ll need someone to look at it in a day or so.”

“I will,” Mauro said. “Ciao.”

“Ciao.”

“What’s the next step?” Gloria asked after Mauro left.

“I’m gonna rest, then in the morning I’ll come up with an answer.”

“I think I should stay here with you. You are in no condition to be alone.”

“Suit yourself. I could use the human company. Maybe you can help me figure out what to do next.”

“Certainly.”

“There is, however, one more little thing on the agenda for tonight.”

“Which is?”

“I need to satisfy my hunger, as it were.”

“You mean—”

“Yes. The pills helped, but I’m not going to make it until tomorrow without something.”

He told her about the episode with Lorenzo. He phoned Lorenzo, who had been expecting his call.

GLORIA PASSED THE NIGHT on Brigham’s sofa.

“How are you feeling?” she asked, handing him a cup of coffee the next morning. She wore one of Brigham’s bathrobes.

He realized that this young woman staying the night didn’t look so good. If Rose found out it would all be over.

“I feel a lot better,” Brigham said. “Sorry I had to leave for a while last night, but it was necessary.”

“I understand,” she said. “I’m just glad you’re better. We have work to do.”

He tried the coffee. “Wow, great coffee.” 

The dogs realized he was up and came running, the corgi jumping on him full force.

“Jesus, take it easy,” he said to the dog. “I’m old and injured.”

Gloria laughed. “I think they want to go out.”

“It is that time. Come on,” he said to the dogs. “Let’s go.” The dogs ran to the back door, and he let them into the garden.

“That’s quite convenient,” she said. “Not very many people in Venice have that.”

“That’s true. I don’t know what I’d do without it. And this coffee is really good.”

She smiled. “Thanks. There are a few things I know how to do.”

“Perhaps,” he said, taking a big gulp from his cup. “So are you on for tonight?” Brigham asked.

“Tonight? What’s tonight?”

“We are going to San Francesco della Vigna .”

Gloria sipped her coffee. “Yes, right. Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”

Brigham nodded. “Good. I expect to hear from Mauro about the contents of the vial and the phone any time now. And I’m afraid I’ll need to do something again tonight with respect to being a shroud eater.” 

The dogs ran back into the house, ready for breakfast.

“Let me ask you about that. Do you need to actually kill people or can you have a donor?”

“I don’t know,” he said, heading for the kitchen to feed the dogs. “I suppose all I really need is the blood, or the flesh.”

She followed him into the kitchen. “Flesh? You mean—”

“Yes.”

She hesitated. “Then... then let me be your donor. Blood only, of course.”

Brigham ran his fingers through his hair. “No,” he said, “I couldn’t allow that. It’s too much to ask.” 

“What are you going to do, then?”

He waved his hand. “You don’t want to know.”

“That’s how you got stabbed, isn’t it?”

The morning sun shone through the kitchen window, and a group of blackbirds sang in a nearby tree.

He nodded, lowering his eyes. “Yes.”

“Then I can imagine what horrible things you’ve done.”

“Better if you don’t.”

“And it’s quite dangerous for you.”

In the next room he pulled back a curtain. Light glistened off the canal as a man loaded bread into a boat on the other side. “Let me think about it. I would never ask it of anyone.”

“Don’t forget how we met,” Gloria said with a smile.

Brigham’s phone rang.

“Mauro, what’s up?” He motioned for Gloria to put her ear near the phone.

“I have news about what’s in the vial.”

“Tell me.”

“It’s a very old concoction called scorpion oil. They made it by drowning a hundred scorpions in a liter of olive oil. It’s supposed to cure just about everything.”

Gloria raised her brow.

“I’ve seen scorpions around Venice,” Brigham said. “Had a baby one in my bathtub once. Why do you figure the woman had it?”

“No idea.”

“And the phone?”

“You’re going to love this. One of the main people called on it was Charles Raymond.”

Brigham nodded. “Why am I not surprised?” 

“And that’s who he was talking to at the herbalist’s.”

“Makes sense. Anything else?”

“Nothing of interest to us.”

Gloria walked to the window.

“You on for tonight?” he asked Mauro.

“Of course. I can’t let you do it without me.”

Gloria pulled back the curtain and looked out the window.

“Thanks.”

“By the way, what is it exactly we’re doing tonight?” Mauro asked.

“We’re going to have a look around San Francesco della Vigna. Bring your crowbar.”

Church bells rang in the distance.

“The fun never stops with you, does it?” Mauro said.

“You in or out?”

“I’m in, but if we get caught I’m giving you up.”

Brigham chuckled. “No problem. I would expect nothing less.”

“So when and where?”

“I’ll meet you at the campo in front of the church at midnight. And stay in the shadows.” 

“He’s a reluctant hero,” Gloria said.

“He’s reluctant, but he’s no hero,” Brigham said, pouring himself another cup of coffee.

“Sure, he is. And I suspect he’ll have a chance to prove it.”

“Don’t give him too much credit. He’s a nice boy, but he has his flaws and limitations.”

She smiled. “Don’t we all?”

“Speak for yourself.”

Gloria laughed, then grew serious. “Now, what about the blood?”

“I will allow it this time,” Brigham said, “as sort of an experiment. But I’m not going to take it directly from you. I want you to get one of those gizmos I saw them using at the club.”

“Good, thanks. I’ll get on it. What time should I come back here?”

“Ten o’clock.”

GLORIA ARRIVED WITH A SIMPLE set up: a plastic tube with a needle on one end and a crimp on the other to prevent the blood from flowing unless released. Brigham held the crimp as Gloria inserted the needle into her arm. The tube became a red line as blood moved down its length. Brigham closed the crimp. He had been feeling the need to have blood for a couple of hours and was beginning to burn for it. Gloria reclined on the sofa while Brigham sat next to her with the tube in his mouth, slowly taking in the salty-sweet substance. It seemed to be working. His hunger was abated, although he felt vaguely unsatisfied. If this could hold him over, it would be a safer and more refined method of taking care of his cravings. Whether Rose would approve once she got back—and she would be back, as Brigham couldn’t handle the thought of things turning out any other way—was another question.

XXII

At midnight, they met Mauro at the small square in front of the church of San Francesco della Vigna. The moon lit the square light the color of bone. They stood in the gray shadow of the lone tree devising a strategy.

The tombs they sought to inspect lay in a large cloister, access to which was through an iron gate secured by a chain. Mauro quickly broke the chain with the crowbar, and they went in, closing the gate behind them.

They passed into the cloister through a small wooden door. Before them lay a walkway paved in tombs. Large, flat, rectangular stones carved with the names and dates of death of the deceased shone in the moonlight, smooth from centuries of wear.

To their left, a statue of Saint Francis stood in the middle of a lawn dotted with tall cedars. Around the lawn ran a row of columns, which held up the ceiling of the walkway.

“Wow, look at this,” Gloria said. “You would never know this was here.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Brigham said. “It’s one of Venice’s little secrets.”

“The garden is beautiful. And look at all these tombs.”

“One of my favorite spots,” Brigham said.

“There are a lot of windows around this thing. Do people live here?” she asked.

“No,” Mauro said. “These are administrative offices or classrooms. No one can see us here. We just have to be quiet.”

“Okay,” Gloria said. “Let’s get moving.”

She wore jeans and a baseball cap, her hair sticking out the back in a ponytail–a look Brigham didn’t like, but it was certainly practical. This was the first time he had seen her without a dress.

“Where do we start?” she asked.

Brigham took out the map he had found in the drawer in the herbalist’s shop. “I think we should start with the tombs marked with an X.”

“What should I do?” Gloria asked.

“You can play lookout at the entrance,” Brigham said.

“Good idea.”

“But stay out of sight,” Brigham said.

“Will do.” Gloria took up her post.

Mauro and Brigham located the tombs indicated on the map and opened them one by one, carefully sliding each lid back into place when they had finished. All were empty.

Brigham scratched his head. “I was sure there would be something here that would help me find Rose. Now what?” He stood looking up at the statue of Saint Francis, whose face glowed in the moonlight. “Maybe the X meant these weren’t the right tombs, so the ones without an X are where we should look.”

“We can’t open all these tombs,” Mauro said. “There are dozens of them.”

“I just thought of something. What about the ones inside, in the hallway before you get the main part of the church? It’s paved with tombs.”

“We can’t go in there, Brig. It’s a church. A real, active church… sacred ground.”

“Not again with the sacred ground. Gimme a break. You don’t believe in all that bullshit, do you?”

“Yeah, I believe it. We all do.”

“I don’t think you all believe it, especially you. Anyway, we’re just gonna have a look. These things are empty so don’t worry about it.”

Mauro threw his hands up in resignation and popped the lock on the door.

“You’d think this door would have an alarm on it,” Brigham said.

“No, the doors are too rickety. They have a guy who goes around and checks.”

“A guy who goes around and checks? You mean like a night watchman?”

“Yeah.”

“Wonderful. Now you tell me.”

“Thought you knew.”

“No, I didn’t know. Well, we better make it snappy.”

They went inside to the hall paved in tombs.

Brigham compared the layout to the map. “You know, I might have misread this thing. I can see where it could correspond to this hallway.”

“Where do we start?”

Brigham pointed to a tomb. “Start with this one.”

They pried up the lid on several tombs but found nothing.

Gloria ran in. “Someone’s coming,” she whispered.

“Probably the watchman,” Mauro said. “We’ve got to hide. He’ll see that someone has forced open the gate.”

“What’s he going to do?” Gloria asked.

“Call the cops,” Mauro said. “His job is to check the doors and call them if something is wrong, not to chase dangerous criminals.”

“All right,” Brigham said, “we’ll hunker in that corner till he’s gone, then we’ll finish the task.”

As Mauro predicted, the watchman looked at the gate, took a brief look around, then quickly left. “Quickly,” Brigham said, “let’s look in here and get the hell out.”

They looked in the last tomb, but it also held no clues.

“Nothing,” Brigham said. “This is a dead end.”

“Seems so,” Mauro said. “Now, let’s go.”

They replaced the cover on the tomb and started for the gate through which they had come. As they reached the gate, police officers were running toward the church.

“Follow me,” Brigham whispered. They dashed into the main part of the church. Near the front door sat two large, wooden counters. “We can hide behind these until the police pass. At my signal, run out the door.”

The officers charged in through all three entrances, stopped, and scanned the church.

“Shit,” Mauro said. “And look, they’re carrying machine guns.”

“Shh,” Brigham said. Christ, why the guns? Of course. This church had paintings by Bellini, Negroponte, Veronese, and others, ranging in value from infinite to priceless.

The police met in the center of the church. As they did, the three bolted through the front door and sprinted to the small canal near the side of the church.

The police shouted and came after them. Brigham intended originally to run across the nearby bridge off into the night. A small rowboat moored at the canal, however, gave him another idea. The police were too close behind to allow time to get in and row away. They ran into a dark tangle of streets from which Brigham knew there was no escape but would be a good place to hide until the cops went by.

The policemen stopped on the street just outside where they were hiding, discussing what to do, apparently baffled by losing them. One officer’s voice became louder as he walked into the street where the three of them cowered in the shadow of a doorway. He was just around the corner, shining a light. “Niente,” he said. Nothing. He joined the others. They talked for a moment, then continued down the street and around the bend.