Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) (11 page)

Clayton then rolled up the right sleeve of his shirt, revealing to Ian razor-blade self-inflicted wounds. Ian quickly deduced that Clayton had been bleeding himself and adding his own blood to his wine. The very thought sickened Ian, though he did a fair job of concealing it.

“You take every caution, Ian. I’ve armed you with knowledge that may only be the tip of the proverbial iceberg. Remember this above all else. Blood to vampires is more intense of an addiction than heroin is to a junkie. Blood is more than merely food to them. Do you understand? As for me, if Salizzar is destroyed, I should recover.”

Ian fired one last question. “Clayton, you said that most real vampires are captains of industry and the like. As such, they would be under much public scrutiny. Someone like that would never risk going out roaming the streets to hunt their prey, would they?”

Clayton smiled, clearly pleased that Ian was such a quick study. “That’s right, Ian. It’s commonly understood that many business tycoons and high-profile famous people have their connections to receive their drugs of choice. In the case of ultra-wealthy vampires, both their food and their drug of addiction is human blood, which I suspect is distributed perhaps world-wide via a very sophisticated underground coalition, a network whose customers, mega-wealthy vampires, can and will pay any price to receive shipments of blood on a regular basis. Salizzar’s nightclub may very well be a human blood-bank and body-parts processing and distribution center. He and his followers may harvest and sell organs to both vampires and humans alike. Anyone who seeks human organs for either cannibalistic food or for organ transplants that can be attained without having to go on any waiting list. I suspect if I’m correct in my vast assumptions that he would sell to anyone who can pay his price and remain totally discreet. Besides Salizzar’s nightclub, there may be many such body parts factories and underground blood banks located all around the globe.”

Upon hearing that, Ian thought about what Officer Ned Parker had said, that the club might be a front for drug trafficking and perhaps even a black market distribution center for human organs. Ian pondered for a second.
Ned was spot on with his theories. Well ... likely mostly right anyway.

Clayton and Ian said their goodbyes. The rain had momentarily subsided. Ian walked out to meet Zoey at her car, which was a late model, silver Honda Accord. Ian walked up to the driver-side door and Zoey lowered her power window.

“Ian, just follow me back to town. But if you lose me, my shop’s about a half block down from Marsh’s Free Museum but on the left-hand side of the street. You’ll see our sign. New Wave Hair Salon.”

Ian smiled. “Sounds good. I’ll follow ya. No worries. I’m pretty sure I know almost exactly where your shop is.”

CHAPTER 10

Change

Ian immediately spotted Zoey’s car, which was parked directly in front of her shop. He parked on the opposite side of the street, switched off his Jeep’s ignition and headlights, then slowly exited the vehicle. The rain that had been not much more than a heavy drizzle during his drive had suddenly begun to come down in ever increasing intensity. Strong winds driving an incoming cold front seemed to have come from nowhere. The wind was blowing hard inland from the sea, dropping the temperature nearly instantly from what had been strangely, almost eerily mild to nearly frigid conditions. Ian quickened his pace as he began crossing the street, all the while attempting as best he could to wick away from his face the wind-propelled waterworks that stung his eyes and blurred his vision. Although the weather had all at once become bad enough to have passed itself off most anywhere else as the beginning of a storm of consequential magnitude, Ian knew as he crossed the street and walked briskly up to the front door of Zoey’s hair salon that this was typical for the Washington coast, especially in the latter part of October.

Even though Ian was being relentlessly pounded by the torrents of harshly cold wind and rain, and was becoming increasingly soaked and chilled to the bone, he paused for reflection there at the front door before knocking. The pain and stiffness in his neck that he’d first suffered a couple days ago had begun creeping back on him once again. Ian surmised it was mainly due to tension. He couldn’t help but question himself regarding the wisdom of further involving a young woman in what could prove to be a very dangerous endeavor. But despite his trepidation and confliction pertaining to the chain of events which were about to unfold due to involving Zoey, Ian felt he had reached a Rubicon Crossing, the point of no return, as he knocked on the door.

On some level beyond Ian’s intellectual grasp, he’d been instantaneously intrigued, almost captivated by Zoey beyond mere sexual attraction from the first time he’d laid his eyes on her.

Standing at the front door waiting, and now completely drenched and shivering, Ian thought,
Come on, Ian. Just keep it professional. Like I have to worry about that. What would a hot young gal like Zoey want with an old fart like me? Christ, it’s cold!

Just then, the door to Zoey’s shop opened. “Oh, God, Ian, I hope you haven’t been standing here in the rain long! I had to run to the bathroom.”

Ian smiled as he replied, “No, no. Just been here a moment. Boy, it sure is coming down!”

With a quick smile, Zoey motioned for Ian to come in. “Well, Ian, I invite you to enter of your own free will. That’s something I got from my uncle. He always says that when inviting anyone into his house. Guess it sorta rubbed off on me.” Zoey chuckled.

Ian went inside and immediately removed his jacket, which was completely soaked through. Seeing just how wet he really was, Zoey spoke up. “Ian, now don’t be shy, I insist that you slip out of your shirt and jeans. I have an industrial clothes dryer in the back room. We do a lot of laundry around here. Well, mostly just towels. But anyway, it gets really hot and dries real fast. It’s hell on delicates.”

All of the blinds were pulled shut, but Ian, normally more than a bit timid regarding getting undressed to any level in front of a new, especially female, acquaintance, was to say the least reluctant. “Uh, do you have, like, a changing room or something?”

Zoey laughed. “Changing room? Ian, this isn’t a clothing store. Now take off your wet clothes and hand them to me.” As Ian began to comply, he noticed that Zoey was hardly even wet. She was still wearing the same clothes; all but the waist-length black leather jacket that she’d kept on while at Clayton’s house. She was wearing the same oxford grey button-front knit, black belted dress, slightly more than mini-length. Beneath that she wore black fishnet leggings topped-off with black Doc Martens-style short-top, brass-buckle boots. Having had a daughter, Ian knew of Doc Martens. He mused, regarding his intense observation of her,
No bra. No panties. Not even a thong could hide itself under that dress. She must have got here just moments before the downpour.

“I was lucky. The hard stuff didn’t start coming down till I got inside.” Zoey said while retrieving Ian’s pants and shirt from him. She then headed for the back room. Ian, with what he guessed must be a pretty silly expression on his face, just stood there in the middle of the salon for a few befuddled, uncomfortable minutes. But that was instantly eclipsed by his now significant embarrassment at the sight of himself in a mirror sporting his somewhat less than bright white, v-neck t-shirt and equally less than originally white tube socks and blue and white striped boxer shorts. All of course not to be outdone by his current wet-dog disheveled hair. But worst of all, his t-shirt was damp enough to highlight where once not so many years ago dwelled washboard abs. They appeared to Ian to have somehow graduated from a six pack to a love-handle enhanced pony-keg.

Zoey came through the backroom doorway. Upon seeing her coming his way, Ian immediately did the best he could to suck in his gut.

Ian rather nervously spoke up, “It’s certainly warm enough in here, thankfully, since I’m … Well …” Ian looked down at himself to try and make light of his situation, and it worked. Zoey laughed at the sight of him standing there in the middle of her shop in his present state of attire, or rather lack thereof.

“Yes, well, I have to keep it nearly uncomfortably warm in here for the blue-hairs.” Zoey said while still somewhat giggling.

“Blue-hairs?” Ian asked, momentarily confused.

“Little old ladies. Blue-hairs.” Zoey blurted out.

Ian smiled. He couldn’t believe that one got by him. He’d heard that expression before dozens of times. “Oh yeah. Of course. Blue-hairs.” he said, trying not to sound too naïve or ignorant. “For a second, I thought you were referring to some birds that flew into your shop to get warm. You know, Blue-Haired Biddies I think is their ornithological name.” They both laughed, Ian a bit more than Zoey. “I … I used to be a zoologist. But I was never that into birds,” he said, attempting to clarify his attempted humor.

Zoey flashed Ian a quirky look as she rolled her eyes just slightly and grinned, “Okay. How about we get down to business?” Ian nodded.

“Take a seat,” Zoey said as she pointed to the chair at her workstation.

Ian sat down. Zoey immediately grabbed a comb and scissors. She gave Ian’s head a look over. “No need to waste time with a shampoo or wet your hair any more than it already is.” They both laughed.

Ian replied, “No, I should think not.”

“You know, Ian, when you talk, you sound a lot like my uncle. Half the time, I don’t know what the hell he’s talking about.” Again, they both laughed.

Ian interjected, “Oh, I seriously doubt that’s true. I guess I’ve never really considered what I sound like when I speak. But as for your uncle, he’s without question a brilliant man.”

Zoey smiled, “Brilliant. Oh yeah. That’s for sure. He, like, knows everything.” She tied a hair-cutting cape around Ian’s neck and covered him appropriately. She then began cutting and chopping at his hair. Zoey kept at it, taking momentary pauses to examine her progress, until she was satisfied with what she’d achieved, all the while intentionally keeping Ian’s chair turned away from the station’s mirror.

“All right, I think that’s good. Now, I’m gonna apply some color: black.” Zoey began running her hands through Ian’s hair, which to Ian felt wonderful.

“Actually, I really hate to change your hair color. The smattering of salt mixed with brown looks really good on you.” she said, still running her fingers through Ian’s hair.

Ian blushed ever so slightly from the compliment.

Zoey continued, “Anyway, I just so happen to have some of that five-minute men’s coloring in the back in a few of the basic colors. Occasionally, we get a man in that wants to color his gray away but is too embarrassed to buy the stuff for himself.” She began to laugh before she spoke again, “God knows how they ever get the courage to buy condoms.” Zoey stopped laughing, then continued, “The color doesn’t last near as long as what I’d typically use for women, but for a short time, a couple of weeks, it does the trick. I’ll be right back.”

When Zoey returned, she had a box of hair product in her hand, which she set down on the counter of the station. She noticed that Ian was rubbing his neck and slowly twisting it from side to side.

“What’s wrong, Ian? Stiff neck?” Zoey asked as she opened the small box that contained the hair coloring.

“Yeah, it comes and goes in intensity. It’s been bugging me for a couple-few days now,” Ian replied, still rubbing and stretching his neck.

Zoey looked up from the bottle and application paraphernalia that she’d just removed from the box. “I’ll see what I can do for that after we’ve got you finished here. Among my many talents, lucky you, I’m also a masseuse.”

“Really.” Ian said, sounding impressed.

Zoey continued, “Yeah, I’ve got a little massage table in the back. It’s actually starting to become an important part of my business as an additional revenue stream, as Clayton puts it. My uncle paid for my schooling. You know, beauty school over in Astoria. Later, he even paid for me to go to school in Portland to also become a massage therapist. God, I mean, he even bought this building and fronted the money for me and my partner, Todd, to open this place and live upstairs. There’s a two-bedroom apartment up above. I’ve been paying him back. I pay my uncle rent and all. So far, it’s been good. The truth is, Clayton’s done … He’s always been there for me. My parents were both killed in a fire when I was just a baby. Clayton sort of adopted me and moved me here from San Francisco after they died. My dad and Clayton were brothers. Yep, that’s my story.”

Zoey put on the disposable plastic gloves that came with the box of hair color. She then began shampooing the coloring into Ian’s hair. Ian somehow felt compelled to share a bit of his past with Zoey since she’d shared so much with him.

“I’m a widower. My wife and daughter were killed in a car accident a couple years ago. They were hit head on by a drunk driver.”

Zoey instantly stopped working on Ian’s hair. She took one step back to better look straight into his eyes. “Oh, God! I’m so sorry! I mean, in my case, I never really knew my parents, but you …”

Ian lifted his right hand from underneath the large, bib-style cape. “No. No, I mean thanks, but it’s quite all right. I’m doing much better with dealing with it all. I have my work, and that keeps me busy. And I have my dog, Scout. He keeps me company and …”

“You have a dog? Really? What kind?” Zoey asked.

“I’ve got a large German Shepherd. You might say he’s my best friend.”

Zoey started spreading the color evenly all over Ian’s head as she interjected, “You know, I think I could really dig having a dog. That is, if I could get over the fear of being bitten. Clayton tells me I’m afraid of dogs ‘cause I was attacked – bitten – by one when I was very young. I can’t quite remember the incident, but whenever I see a large dog, just knowing it’s got those huge fangs, sort of … I don’t know … freaks me out. Stupid, right?”

Ian thought to himself,
Strike one.

Zoey continued, “But I think all I would have to do is get used to being around the right dog, you know, and I’d be fine. ‘Cause I really do love animals.”

He mused,
It’s a hit.

Ian paused for a second then spoke. “I think you’d get along great with Scout. He’s as gentle as a big ole teddy bear. That is, unless someone was to attack me or something. If that was the case, I’ve no doubt he’d shape-shift quick from teddy bear to grizzly bear. He was trained as a police dog.” Ian thought about what he’d just said.
Shape-shift. That was a weird way to put it. All the talk earlier with Clayton about vampires has me thinking with monsters on my brain
.

Zoey spoke up, “Well, it’s settled then. Bring him. Bring Scout with us when we go shopping for some club clothes for you tomorrow. It’s time I get over such a silly phobia. That a deal?”

Ian smiled as he replied, “Deal.”

After glancing at the clock on the wall, Zoey said, “Okay, it’s been more than five minutes. Let’s rinse this out of your hair and see what we’ve got.” She took Ian’s hand and led him over to a chair at a hair-wash station. Ian sat down in the chair, and Zoey tilted the chair back and gently lowered his head back into the sink. Ian winced just a bit due to his stiff neck. Zoey then began rinsing the residual product out of his hair.

“Boy, that neck of yours is really tight, huh?” Zoey said with a sympathetic tone in her voice.

Ian replied, “Yeah, it’s getting worse I think. Maybe you’ve got some Tylenol or Ibuprofen. Or better, a straight shot of tequila?”

Zoey laughed. “Like I said before, once I’ve finished with your head, I’ll work on that neck.” After she finished rinsing Ian’s hair, she reached up and opened the wall-mounted cabinet above the sink, pulled out a plush white towel, and began drying his head.

Zoey looked Ian’s hair over carefully. “Now, Ian, don’t over comb your hair. In fact, don’t comb it at all. Just run your hands through it after showering. The way I’ve cut it, well, it’s supposed to look sort of messy.”

Ian was beginning to grow slightly concerned regarding how much all of this after-hours special service was going to wind up costing him.