Red Tide: The Flavel House Horror / Vampires of the Morgue (The Ian McDermott, Ph.D., Paranormal Investigator Series Book 2) (13 page)

CHAPTER 12

In the Bag

Ian, Zoey, and Scout were just pulling into the Astoria Column’s parking lot when Ian spotted Officer Parker’s car. “There he is,” Ian said in a low voice, then pulled into a spot a few places down.

Ian was cognizant that Zoey had noticed the policeman obviously wasn’t in a police car, unmarked or otherwise, and he decided to address that.

“Yeah, Officer Parker … Ned … is driving his own car. This entire operation – well, if that’s what you’d call it – is supposed to be totally off the books. Sort of like a …”

Zoey interrupted, “Like some kind of black-op?”

Ian looked over at her, then after a couple of silent seconds looked deeply into her eyes. “Yeah, well, even though that phrase sort of makes this all sound over-the-top intriguing, I guess that sums it up as good as any. Are you okay with all this?”

Zoey said with a blank face as she stared at Ned’s car, “Sure. It’s like I’m playing some character, like a spy in a suspense thriller. You know, like a book or movie.”

Ian thought about the irony of Zoey’s statement.
If Clayton gets his way, that’s exactly what this is.

Zoey glanced over at Ian and smiled reassuringly. She then looked away, back towards the plainclothes police officer, who had just exited his car.

It had just begun to rain. Ned quickened his pace as he headed towards Ian’s Jeep.

Ian spoke, “Zoey … Ned … he’s a good guy. I think you’ll like him.”

Zoey replied, “Well, that remains to be seen. I’m usually not big on cops.”

They both noticed straight away that Ned was carrying a brown paper bag in his right hand. And the way he was carrying the bag so close to his body made it immediately noticeable that he was trying to keep it and its contents as dry as possible. Ian motioned for Ned to open the door and get into the back seat, which he did, sliding in next to Scout. Scout paid Ned little attention, almost to the point of ignoring him.

Ian turned as far around in his seat as he could to better face Ned and noticed immediately that Ned had a scowl on his face. Ian quickly spoke first. “Uh, hi, Ned. This is my friend Zoey. She’s sort of … well on this … she’s my partner. Feel free to speak your mind. Whatever you need to tell me, you can say in front of her.”

Ned looked Zoey up and down for a moment before he spoke. “Okay. If Ian vouches for you, you must be okay. And by the looks of Ian’s hair, you must have had something to do with that, am I right?” Zoey smiled as she nodded. Ned looked over Ian’s new jet-black, spiked hair and nodded in approval. “Ian, don’t get me wrong, it’s perfect. Your hair. Now all you need are some threads that match the look.”

Zoey spoke up. “That’s exactly what we’re going to take care of today!”

Ned somewhat ignored Zoey as he continued to look directly at Ian. “Ian, did you get my text? Well, since then, there’s been another body turn up …”

Ian interrupted, “You mean the one found by the fisherman in Warrenton?”

“No. This is another young woman whose body was found across the river in Washington about twenty miles upriver.”

Ian shook his head. “Jesus Christ.”

Ned continued, “Yeah, well, that body was also completely drained of blood, but there’s been a new twist. That is, if the body recovered is a victim of the same lunatic. This one was found absent its head and hands.”

Ian thought to himself about the decapitations back at Harmony Falls.
Christ … not decapitations.

Ned shifted a little in his seat and cleared his throat before continuing once again. “Uh … um, yes. Well, if this new, yet-to-be-identified body is a victim of the same person or persons, they’re getting smarter. A body missing its head and hands … Well, that makes identification extremely difficult to say the least, as I’m sure you can imagine. No teeth, no prints. And so far, nobody’s come forward with another missing person’s report that might match up.”

Ned finally turned his attention to Zoey as he looked at her measuringly. He then turned his head back towards Ian. “All right, Ian. I don’t know your partner here, and maybe it’s best that way. I suppose since you trust her …” Ned reached into the heavily-crumpled, wet paper bag that he’d set on the seat next to him. He brought a small electronic device out of it. “Ian, this is a portable police scanner. All you’ve got to do is plug it into your cigarette lighter. It’s already set to our channel. This might come in handy if you decide to do some snooping around Salizzar’s nightclub. You know, it’ll let you know when officers are doing drive-bys and such. I don’t need it back.” Ned handed the scanner to Ian.

Ian replied, “Thanks. Good idea.” He couldn’t help but notice there was more in the brown bag.

Suddenly, a deep scowl overtook Ned’s expression. “The Feds are getting involved. FBI specialists. They’re gonna be flying in from the BAU, Behavior Analysis Unit, out of Quantico. They’re going to be setting up camp at the station in about a week, maybe less. I hear they’re gonna be sending us an agent in advance of their full team anytime now. That is, unless something turns on this thing. We’ve already got a couple agents from Portland poking their noses around, crawling up our asses. I figure your best play inside the club is day after tomorrow. Halloween night. That joint’s no doubt gonna be packed full of mainly out-of-town weirdos. As arrogant as either Salizzar or some crazed follower of his has seemingly been, despite all the increased heat that’s on him, that night, regardless of how cliché, will just be too tempting. The smart money says the perv won’t be able to resist making a big statement, if you get my drift. Anyway, we’re gonna be patrolling that place all night. Maybe even get one or more of our people inside. Regardless, even with Salizzar no doubt assuming we’ll have a very high profile police presence, my money says that narcissistic fuck … he’ll try and make a move anyway. Maybe his last one, his grand finale. You know, before he just up and disappears. A guy like him, with his kind of money, power, and connections … I don’t figure him to stick around much longer just to run a piece of shit nightclub.”

Ian didn’t say a word but totally agreed with Ned’s assumption that Salizzar wasn’t going to stick around much longer.

Ned paused and took a deep breath. He then slowly slid his hand back into the brown bag. Zoey began to fidget nervously in her seat as her eyes, just as Ian’s, had become fixated on Ned’s brown bag. Then very slowly, reluctantly, Ned began extracting from the bag, its content. Zoey was the first to catch a glimpse of what that was.

“Oh God!” Zoey nearly shouted, then in one deft motion turned around and sank down deep into her seat.

Now completely out of the bag, Ned grasped firmly in his right hand a large black handgun. An ominous-looking weapon whose handle and trigger were conspicuously wrapped in silver duct tape. Ian’s eyes bugged-out at the sight of the large pistol; he immediately presumed the handle and trigger were taped so it could easily be peeled off to effectively eliminate any traceable fingerprints. He thought,
Wait a minute. Even if Salizzar’s guilty as sin, I’m nobody’s vigilante or hit man.

After seeing the gun and watching his master’s reaction, Scout was now standing in the seat next to Ned, growling in a very threatening manner. His lips were fully drawn back, baring his fiercely formidable canines, waiting for either a word from Ian or just one more move from Ned.

After what seemed an eternity but in fact was no more than seconds, Ian mustered enough presence of mind to nervously speak. “What … what the hell are … What’re you planning to do with that?”

Ned sat frozen, looking directly into Scout’s glaring eyes. The large dog was now shifting his weight from paw to paw and growling furiously. Scout began shaking from an adrenaline-charged, all-out commitment to defend Ian.

By the expression on Ned’s face and the sweat beading on his forehead, he obviously thought he was about to become brunch for a very large, very angry German Shepherd.

Ned began to speak fast. “Oh … oh my gosh! What this must look like. No … God no! This gun’s for you, Ian. I mean, I thought maybe you’d be better off, if push ever came to shove, having a gun with more stopping power than that pea-shooter of yours. The tape is just for your protection, Ian. Your anonymity regarding any connection with …”

Ian relaxed his posture, one that had had his back fixed to and pressing back hard against his steering wheel. “Scout, it’s okay. CUT!” Ian said in an elevated but calm voice.

‘Cut’ was the vocal command that Charlie Redtail had taught Ian. The signal for Scout to back down immediately and halt any further aggression. If Ian would have said the word ‘strike’, Officer Parker, in less time than it would take a pin to drop, would have been requiring a new right hand and a tourniquet.

Ned looked impressed, with Scout as well as with Ian. Zoey, though no longer readying herself to attempt an escape, finally spoke in a noticeably rattled voice, “Gun? Ian, you never mentioned anything about you having … you packing a gun.”

Ned smiled at Scout as he slowly reached towards his jacket’s inner breast pocket. “Ian, tell your dog it’s okay. I’m just getting something out of my coat for ya.” Ned didn’t think a second misunderstanding of his intentions would bode well for him at all.

Ian looked at Scout. “It’s okay boy.”

Ned slowly retrieved a business-size sealed white envelope from his jacket, then equally as slowly handed it forward to Ian. Ian, understanding the contents of the envelope would likely be additional operational seed money, stuffed the envelope into his jacket’s inside pocket without examining it.

Ned spoke, “That’s just some dough to help with expenses.”

Ian replied, “Thanks!”

Ned opened the Jeep’s door, pausing before making his exit. “That’s the last of it. The last payment you can expect for your services. Services that have yet, I might add, amounted to nothing. So if you’re not just taking the chief and this town for a ride, and don’t misunderstand, I’m confident you’re not, then if you’re ever gonna get into that club and check things out, you better do it quick. Halloween night’s a natural. Anyway, get in there if you’re gonna before the Feds get further involved. Hey, one more thing. One that nobody outside of the department and the coroner’s office knows. The night before you came to town, a hooker was found dead in a parking lot not far from Salizzar’s club. By the looks of things, the crime scene reports indicate suspicion that she might have been a jumper ‘cept somebody got to her first. But here’s where it gets really weird. Her body up and vanished last night from the funeral parlor. It’s been kept there in the basement mortuary for a couple-few days waiting for an autopsy by a Portland forensic specialist. Yeah, her body, the only one not missing all its vital organs, was snatched. There’s been that and the recent Warrenton body and all the others. But get this. I had a lady come into the station in total hysterics. Says she and her quadruple extra-large, ex-professional football player husband … They were attacked down at the docks by … and get this … what she called a devil monster. She said her husband was abducted. So far, nothing’s checked out regarding any missing man beyond he might have just up and left her. But other than the part she said about him being taken by a devil monster, I believe her.”

Ian thought to himself,
Taken by a devil monster? Maybe he was.

Ned took a deep breath then continued, “Anyway, the gal … the possible jumper that disappeared from the mortuary … We did get a positive ID on her. Her name was, let me think, Brenda Peterson. Yeah, that’s it. A runaway hooker known on the streets of Portland as Lucy. She and a couple other pros lived in a shitty apartment downtown, just off Burnside. She ran away from home at sixteen. Not much of a rap-sheet. Had a couple priors for prostitution. Originally from Eugene. Mom died a few years ago from cancer. Dad left the family high and dry a couple years before that. I tell you all this only ‘cause shit’s getting way weird. Out of control. It’s gonna quickly turn into a media circus if we don’t cut the balls off this dog soon.” Ned turned towards Scout. “No disrespect intended.” Ned then turned his attention back to Ian and continued. “You two keep your heads down, and mind ya, be careful. Stay in touch. Good hunting.”

“Ned. That hooker you were just talking about. So, she died around three days ago, right?” Ian asked.

Ned paused before he replied, “Yeah, that’s about right I guess. Why you ask?”

“Oh ... I don’t know. No reason really,” Ian said as he thought,
Three days ago … Hmm, power of three.

CHAPTER 13

Hide and Seek

Zoey was seated at the small kitchenette in Ian’s trailer as she and Ian began to examine all of the fruits of their full day of shopping.

Though purchased for Ian, Zoey held up against her chest a black, crew-neck t-shirt, one that sported some death metal band’s name and logo that Ian had never heard of. Ian was ignorant to the specific meaning but understood the concept of the theatrics regarding the band’s use of the pentacle and witchcraft-like symbols.

Zoey smiled as she spoke, “This is gonna look great on you. You better not wear any of this garb around town other than of course the regular jeans, shirts, socks and underwear you bought for everyday. Anyway, all these club rags … You need to hide this look from anyone around here. This is your secret club persona.”

Ian nearly laughed as he thought to himself,
Wear any of that crap anywhere other than that club. Ha! I plan on burning it all when this is over.

He tried desperately to maintain an open mind. He did a fair job of mustering an almost believable, unassuming expression as he looked the shirt over. Under normal circumstances, Ian wouldn’t have been caught dead in it but he thought,
Ah what the hell? These aren’t what you’d call normal circumstances. Wearing this ridiculous shit won’t kill me, but if we don’t blend in, that could get us both killed
. Ian decided it was time to turn the focus from the freaky frocks to more pressing matters.

Ian blurted out, “Zoey, I want to get inside that club.”

Zoey, a bit taken aback, looked up from the shirt that Ian was still holding next to his chest as she replied, “Uh, yeah. That’s the whole idea.”

Ian smiled as he set the shirt down onto his little dining table. He momentarily shook his head and continued, “No … I mean yes. That’s the idea, right. But what I mean is, I want to get inside and check things out during the day. Mainly the ground, or rather the wharf-level floor. I’m not so interested in the club upstairs. That’s probably pretty normal. Weird, but well, you know what I mean.” Ian thought regardless of what Clayton said about vampires and sunlight, he’d still rather take his chances while the sun was still up.

Zoey looked curiously at Ian. “Are you saying … Now let me get this straight. You want to sneak … You want to break into that joint?”

Ian, with a slight grin on his face, nodded somewhat timidly.

Zoey paused for a protracted moment. After giving Ian plenty of time to have added to or retracted from what he’d just conveyed, Zoey said, “Why Ian, I had no idea you were such a rebel.”

Ian grabbed his coat, then began helping Zoey slip hers on as well as he spoke. “Let’s get going. We haven’t much time. It’ll be getting dark in a couple hours.” Zoey was slightly unnerved by the nervous tone in Ian’s voice.

She spoke up with intended levity, “Yeah, we should get there before the dead wake up hungry.”

Ian, slightly unsettled by Zoey’s comment, looked directly into her eyes as he thought,
If she only knew how right she just might be.

Zoey picked up on Ian’s befuddled expression and responded, “What? That was funny, right?” Ian didn’t answer. He just half-smiled as he nodded.

It was 3:15 p.m. when Ian, Zoey, and Scout reached their destination. Ian parked his Jeep one block north and two streets up from the area of the waterfront where Salizzar’s nightclub was located. He cracked open a couple windows of his Jeep. “You stay here and hold down the fort, Scout,” Ian said while opening Zoey’s door and helping her out of the vehicle. Scout panted and wagged his tail but began pacing back and forth in the back seat. Ian could see that Scout was behaving a little nervously.

Zoey spoke up. “Okay, here we go. But Ian, please go over the plan with me one more time.”

Ian and Zoey began walking down the sidewalk, heading towards the waterfront. Ian took a deep breath and began to go over his make-shift plan. “Uh, well, like I said during our ride here, this is going to be pretty much a ‘wing-it’ ordeal. I don’t know if we stand any chance of getting into the joint, especially without being seen. His warehouse may … It probably has a security system, like his house, the former Flavel House Museum. If so, we’re done before we get started. We certainly don’t want to get arrested for breaking and entering.”

Zoey glanced over at Ian. “No, we don’t want that. That would totally fuck up our cover.”

Ian replied, “Yeah, it would. That would be totally fucked up. I mean, it would certainly fuck up everything. Which would be really fucked.” Zoey started laughing at Ian’s overused, forced F-bombs. It was more than apparent that the F-bomb was not at the top of Ian’s small arsenal of seldom–uttered, descriptive expletives. Ian was trying to be funny and also trying to act a bit more in tune with his new look.

Zoey laughed as she said loudly, “FUCK YEAH!”

Ian and Zoey walked briskly across a cross-walk. They were heading north on the waterfront boardwalk still with a block to go to get to their destination. Ian continued telling Zoey his semblance of a plan. “Maybe, if we get lucky, there will be some way inside. You know, like a window around back that’s not locked. Something. I just hope besides doors being alarmed … I hope the place isn’t armed with motion detectors or a gauntlet of a spider-web of laser beams or whatever.”

Zoey looked suspiciously at Ian. With a smirk on her face, she said, “Oh, this sounds like a good plan. What could possibly go wrong? Spider-web of laser beams ... come on ... James Bond.” Zoey rolled her eyes and giggled quietly to herself.

Ian smiled and shook his head slightly as he replied, “Yeah, what could possibly go right?”

A few moments later Ian and Zoey stood on the north end of the nightclub’s deck-style parking lot, which was part of the expansive river front dock system that collectively covered at least a half-mile of Astoria’s waterfront. The large warehouse that served as The Morgue
nightclub had been built nearly fifty years ago by the Bumble Bee Seafood Company as part of their tuna and salmon processing and canning operations. Bumble Bee had shut down their canneries in Astoria over thirty years ago. Ian had read about it in one of the coastal informational brochures on Astoria that he’d picked up shortly after arriving in the area.

The large warehouse-turned-nightclub had to be, by Ian’s estimation, over twenty thousand square feet and spanned from the nearest terrestrial road all the way to the very edge of the river side of the dock. Ian mused,
Lucky guy … or whatever you are. You could fish right from any window on the river side of the joint. Oh well. No matter. I don’t imagine you eat fish.

Ian couldn’t help but admire the waterfront dock system, constructed of enormous timbers fashioned to be enormous wooden planks which served as the dock’s foundation. It was all supported by hundreds of huge, coal-tar, creosote-coated pylons, which were collectively engineered by design and placement to afford maximum strength and support to the docks.

Ian noted the construction was somewhat similar to turn-of-the-century train trestle bridge supports. He surmised the entire docking system was probably originally constructed not long after that period, but it was very apparent that it had been continuously well-maintained and no doubt upgraded in many ways over the years.

Ian marveled at the dock’s construction as he silently thought to himself,
This entire suspended waterfront was certainly built to stand the test of time and the elements. Imagine the relentless battering from storms, the continuous wearing away at the pylons from this incredibly powerful tidal river. Amazing.

Ian noticed that there were spacings between some of the massive planks large enough to actually see the river’s edge not twenty feet below. Ian quickly deduced by noting water markings on the pylons that it was nearly low tide. He smiled as he took a deep breath. The faint wafting smell of fish entrails mixed lightly with an even lighter hint of salt in the air was both fabulous as well as nostalgically fragrant to Ian. It reminded him of visiting Fisherman’s Wharf in San Francisco with his parents when he was a boy. The smell of salt in the air was of no more surprise to Ian than was the smell of fish as he mused,
The mouth of the Columbia, where it dumps into the open ocean, is less than five miles from here by way the crow, or rather the seagull, flies.

With that thought, Ian paused for a moment to watch the seagulls hang-glide the winds. Occasionally, one would land on top of the nightclub, using the high vantage point as a lookout for any fish in the river that might venture too close to the water’s surface for its own good, or any potentially meaty mussels attached to rocks and pylons that might become exposed by the rapidly-ebbing tide.

Ian couldn’t help but visualize some mental similarities between the gulls and perhaps other predators that might be residing in that building, ones that might be watching him and Zoey right now, just waiting for them to venture close enough that they might swoop down and snatch them up for a late afternoon snack.

Ian’s attention was suddenly diverted from the gulls and the warehouse. He smiled as he spotted a couple of otters frolicking in the water. They too were going for a fish or a mollusk meal as they dove deep down into the river’s cold, dark water. Ian noted that the otters were experiencing much more immediate success than the patiently watchful gulls.

Ian held Zoey’s hand for one peaceful moment. But unfortunately, that moment ended all too soon as he gazed upwards at the fast-moving clouds that had momentarily parted just enough to reveal a glimpse of the sun, which was in the final approach to its daily descent behind the western hills. Ian wished he and Zoey were back at Long Beach, where they could be enjoying the sun setting into the sea rather than fearing the dusk and then the absence of light that it would bring.

Ian shivered at the realization that they had maybe thirty minutes before darkness began to engulf the river city of Astoria, inviting its creatures of the night to come out to play.