After Dark (The Vampire Next Door Book 2) (23 page)

“Yeah? So?”

“But that’s...Never mind!”

“You care?”

“I shouldn’t, it’s really not my business. Why are you bothering to talk to me anyway?”

“’Cause Bruce said you wanted it to stop, before people started to put the blame on you guys.”

“Well, that’s true.”

“The cops won’t stop it.”

“How can we—”

“You’re our only hope.”

“Look, kid, we can only go out after sundown, so we don’t see that much, and most people are afraid to talk to us, and the cops are better organized… “

“Hey. People are dying out here, man.”

Martin poured the cereal mechanically, poured juice, then the milk was poured robotically, without thinking. “You did your homework last night, right?”

“You already asked me that, Daddy.”

“That’s a good girl, honey.”

Martin couldn’t eat any breakfast. He did not sleep last night; his mind simply drifted cold and alone through the night’s darkness. And he did not wish to return to work, not at all.

No. No, it’s okay, I don’t need to take no time off.

But, Martin, this case is causing you way too much stress.

Hey, it’s okay, chief, I know, it’s really disgusting, but, look, I got a handle on it, okay?

Well, it’s for the FBI now, Atkinson. So just forget it. Forget the case ever happened. Focus on your other cases now.

Martin knew he was getting nowhere. Usually, he wondered, if the bureau was involved, wouldn’t some fed in a bad looking suit hover around asking questions? Maybe the department was embarrassed by the New Age fruit in the blue pantyhose that was hired, allegedly to use psychic powers to find the killer, but in reality just to please the media. Negative Energy. Yeah, right. Martin was told, no, he was ordered, to just forget it. Like McMurphy, the chief told him it was too much for him to take.

“Look it, Daddy!”

Jenny found a bright pink plastic toy at the bottom of her box of sugar coated cereal. She turned the box upside down, spilled out the contents, poured the green, orange, yellow, and purple cereal all over the table, and now the Sugar Puff Balls were dropping all over the kitchen floor, making a steady tapping sound that he didn’t really notice. He stared at it, and decided to leave it to the mice.

“Look it, Daddy!” She held it up. He didn’t really know what kind of toy it was supposed to be.

“Oh, that’s real nice, yeah, real nice. Did you finish your homework last night like Daddy told you to, honey?”

Rick woke at dusk and heard pounding at his back door. It wasn’t Laura, she didn’t pound. She would simply drift in through the gallery. He sat up. The sketch pad fell on the floor, he had collapsed on the couch at dawn, fell down into dark oblivion while gazing at the picture of her in the faint delicate gray light that crept under the curtains. He grabbed the pad of paper and hid it under a cushion.

“Hey, Rick, wake up man, wake up! Let me in!” It was Leon.

He stood up, opened the window that overlooked the back steps. “Okay, what’s the emergency?”

“Hey, tell me, is it really true?”

“What?” Rick moaned.

“People are saying that you are in love!”

“Shut up, Leon. Let me guess, you’re here to borrow my car to impress Allison, right?”

“Hey, Allison just dumped me today for a body builder she met at the beach. Let me in.”

Rick went to unlock the door and Leon came in. “You’re better off without her, anyway.”

“Life sucks, Rick.” He sounded depressed. “So, how about you?”

“Leon.”

“Come on. I wanna know all about this new chick in your life.”

“Okay, Leon, that’s it.”

“I came over to show you this.” He pulled an envelope containing a computer printout from of one of the pockets in his jacket. “The notorious magazine article!”

“I almost forgot about that.”

“Yeah, real interesting too. Like, these people in New York State, they own a big cow farm, convenient, huh?”

“Thanks for bringing it over, even if it is probably just something some smart kid made up. I’ll read it later, when things calm down around here.” He went to drop back onto the couch and landed on the sketch pad. He pulled it out from under the cushion. “Well, Leon, this is what she looks like.”

“Hey, Rick, she is one okay piece—

“Shut up.”

Leon chuckled. “Anybody gonna write to this college kid? Find her on the web, or something?”

“I don’t know. We have enough problems of our own right now.”

He sipped his tea, trying to appear civilized. “So, did you ever buy that Cadillac?”

“I did not think it really mattered to you, Detective Atkinson,” she answered coldly.

“Look, I’ve got a whole lot of apologizing to do, Irina. I suppose I’m lucky to be let in here.”

“I was only curious to see what misery you intend to inflict upon us this time; that is all.” She stood by the window, looking down at the traffic below. The city lights illuminated the darkened room.

“I’ve been taken off the case.”

“Yes, of course, they are now hiring sorcerers.” She pulled at her long string of pearls as she continued to gaze out the window.

“Yeah, right.” He finished the tea. “Look, it’s gonna keep happening. There’s stuff they’re not telling about this. No one but me seems to care.”

“I received a disturbing phone call, before dawn, yesterday.”

“About what?”

“Talk to Rick. He knows something. He is the one who is checking on these things.”

“Why him? I thought he was too pissed off with me.”

“He lives near the middle of town, closes up shop at midnight, plenty of free time. He can do it. Go see him.”

“He might not even speak to me.”

“He will. Now go to him.”

“Irina, thank you.” He rose to leave. “I mean it. I was wrong.”

“A Coupe DeVille.”

“What?”

“I bought a Coupe DeVille.”

He closed down the art gallery almost immediately after she wandered in. It was nearly midnight, a Friday night, and she could spend more time if she wanted to.

“How is life in the jungle?” he locked the door.

“They are little monsters, and always worse on a Friday. And to think I once believed in the philosophy of the sweet little angelic child, his mind filled with wonder and joy.”

“They’ll just grow up to be lawyers, businessmen, politicians.” He locked the cash register. It was an old one, all mechanical, and not computerized like the ones she saw at the supermarket. “And serial killers.”

“A child brought in a tarantula today, it crawled all around the art table, and caused a panic, lots of screaming.”

“You are probably lucky. I hear most of the little rascals have machine guns in their lunch boxes these days.” He turned to gaze back at the lone figure standing outside the window, staring in at them. “Oh hell.”

She looked to see what it was he was complaining about. “It’s the policeman I talked to.”

“Yes, damn it. It’s him. Better let him in.” He went to the door and growled something in Russian—perhaps a swear word?

“I should go,” Laura said sadly. She did not want to.

“Nice to see you again, Miss—” Martin tried to remember her name.

“Yes, hello again.” She did not like to face him; she knew he must think of her as strange, or worse, to have any kind of feelings for Rick, even if they were considered just friends. “It’s late, thank you for showing me the gallery,” she added, so the cop would not believe she came for anything else. “I must be going.”

Rick locked the door again, as she went out. “Well, what will it be this time, Marty? Call in the vice squad ’cause you saw me talking to a girl?”

“I’m sober tonight, Rick,” Martin drifted slowly to the stairs that led up to Rick’s home above and sat on the bottom step, his head sank in despair. “Yeah, and I’m off the case. Don’t know why, but they say the FBI will handle it. Funny thing though, no feds have been around to ask questions or get input on what’s been happening. That’s it. No one’s been around.”

“Can’t help you with that, Martin.”

“Okay, Rick. I was an asshole. I’m sorry. Jesus, you are strong. I suppose I should just be happy you didn’t kill me. I’d probably let you if I didn’t have my kid.”

“I wouldn’t do that to you, Martin. You’re an idiot, but I won’t kill you.”

“Can we start over?”

“Can you be trusted?”

“Right now, the department doesn’t think so.”

“Good. Let’s talk.”

“Yeah?”

“Got all night?”

Martin wandered around slowly and gazed at the rows of oil paintings. Some were quite good, even beautiful. “Hey, who did this one?” He pointed.

“I did,” Rick now sat at the foot of the stairs, his long legs stretched out before him.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Surprised I got any talent?”

“N-no. It’s just real nice, that’s all.”

“Martin,” Rick let out a quiet sigh. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“What? Oh hell. Look it, I was drunk that night. Okay? So I was an asshole.”

“No, I mean what you did tonight.”

“Huh? I wasn’t being sarcastic. It’s a nice picture.”

“No. I mean she’s gone, Martin. She left because you came in.”

“Her? Hey, she okay?”

“I hope so,” he wondered.

“Sorry.”

“Never mind.”

“Look. I wish you’d all trust me again. I said some stupid things, I know.” He drifted back over to the stairs, sat by Rick, only because there was no place else to sit.

“It’s not what you said, Martin, my sources tell me the killer is a cop.”

“Who’s saying this stuff now, with the homeless guy dead?”

“No more details, I have to protect these people, even if they could be dead themselves before long, God help them.”

“I’m off the case, remember?”

“So? You’re still a cop.”

“Okay. Just tell me what you know.”

“Fine. Like I’ve said before, they tell me it’s been going on for years, maybe decades. Up until now, it’s been unreported. Before, some men in a squad car would come and load the carcass into the trunk of the car and get out buckets and stuff and clean up the mess, wash the blood off the streets. They would do all this before dawn, before the world was awake. Except now, the men no longer come to clean up the mess, and the killing continues. No one ever cared before, the victims being all homeless people and street kids. They disappear, no one cares. They’re like us. No one cares about us either. What you’re seeing now is probably just the tip of a very disgusting iceberg.”

“You serious?”

“This is what they tell me. So. Why are you off the case?”

“Not sure. They say it’s ’cause of stress. Hell, that crazy idiot McMurphy acts out all the time and he gets away with it. No one complains about his stress management. So I drink. Big deal. Everybody drinks.”

“Who’s he? Another cop?”

“He’s a big idiot. Used to be my partner. Couldn’t stand him. Has a hell of a temper. When he gets going, he acts like he’s losing his mind. But hell, no one ever touches him. I make a few mistakes and get my ass in trouble, but no one ever touches him.”

“Who’s on the case now?”

“Don’t know.

“Find out. It might lead somewhere.”

“Yeah. I tried to. They just brushed me off.” He wondered about it.

“Maybe you should ask around?”

But he could not get McMurphy out of his head. “That guy is a real pain in the ass. You know, a while ago, this broad came in, like she was nine and a half months along, know what I mean? And know what? She was lookin’ for him. Didn’t hear anything else on it later, though. Must’ve worked stuff out.”

“Maybe he paid her to stay out of his life? People do that.”

“Don’t know. Look Rick, I hope you’re wrong.”

“Nope. Don’t think so.”

It was late. She undid the chain that locked the door. “Hi.”

“I don’t think he believes me either,” and he drifted in. “It’s late. I’m sorry. I’ve been wandering the streets, wondering what to do.”

“I don’t know. Well, sit down, try to relax. Wish I could get you something.” Couldn’t offer him a drink. That might hurt. Or would it?

He sat tiredly on the couch, gazing absently out the dark window. She couldn’t stop looking at him. The tea kettle whistled, and the sudden screeching pitch made him stir. She dropped the teacup she held; it shattered at her feet. “Oh.”

“You okay?” he got up.

“No, it’s fine.” But he came to help pick it up. “It’s fine.”

She bent to clean it up.

“Careful, it’s sharp.” She watched as he picked each bit of smashed china up slowly and she dropped the one small needle-like piece she held. It dropped to the white floor, covered in blood. “Oh my God.” Her hand shook. She stepped back.