Stalking the Vampire (23 page)

“Are you quite sure?” replied Professor Hari. “We have a wonderful new Yeti display on the second floor, right next to all the exhibits on global warming.”

“Perhaps some other time,” said Mallory. “Come on, Jim.”

Nathan turned and began following him to an exit.

“My goodness, have you been standing there listening all this time?” said Professor Hari. “I thought you were one of the exhibits.”

“You're thinking of my aunt Maude,” said Nathan. “She's in one of the back rooms.”

“Do you really have an aunt Maude on display here?” asked Mallory as they left the building.

“Hell, no. I didn't even know this place existed until twenty minutes ago.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“My aunt Maude never gave me a birthday or Christmas present. She ran off with a traveling salesman thirty-two years ago. I'd like to think she wound up here, stuffed and mounted.”

McGuire and Felina were waiting where Mallory had left them.

“Did you learn anything?” asked the little vampire.

“Lots,” said Mallory. “Most of it useless.”

“So what's our next move?”

Mallory checked his watch again. “It's almost 4:30. The sun will be up in another two and a half hours. He's not leaving enough clues for me to track him down before then, so I think we're going to see if we can force him into making a mistake.”

“How?” asked Nathan.

“I'm going to call Albert Feinstein and tell him to put a freeze on Vlad's TransEx card. Next time he tries to use it, he'll know someone's on to him. That means he'll have to use cash for all his transactions. We have to figure he hasn't got any, or he wouldn't keep using a traceable card. So he's going to need some quick cash.”

“So?”

“He's been trying to keep a low profile. If he robs a store or a citizen, the cops will be after him—and for all he knows, the mark or the store might be under the Grundy's protection. I don't think he'll risk that. The easiest way to get cash at this time of night is to pawn something, and if he does, I know just the guy who can tell me the address on the pawn ticket,” said Mallory.

Mallory stopped when he came to an all-night coffee shop and entered it.

“I thought time was of the essence,” said McGuire, as he, Nathan, and Felina followed the detective inside.

“I phoned Feinstein less than a minute ago. He's probably just freezing the card right now. We're going to have to give Vlad a little time to try to use it and find out it's no good.” A young medusa with dark glasses approached them for their orders.

“Three coffees,” said Mallory.

“And an elephant,” said Felina.

“And a glass of milk,” said Mallory.

“What if Vlad doesn't try to use his card before sunrise?” asked Nathan.

“Then we keep trying to hunt down his coffin during the day, and if we don't find it, we hope he tries to use his card tomorrow night.”

“And that's
it?
”

“It's like a minimal-information problem,” explained Mallory. “Our actions are constricted by what we know, and we don't know very much.”

“In situations like this, Wings O'Bannon would renew his finely honed detective instincts,” said Nathan.

“With a blonde or a brunette?” asked Mallory.

“First one, then a session at the target range, then the other,” answered the dragon.

“I don't know where Wings O'Bannon finds the energy to get through the day,” said Mallory.

“Hey, he's a detective,” said Nathan, as if that answered everything.

“Let me tell you something, Scaly Jim,” said Mallory. “Being a detective is a lot like being a big-game hunter. There are long days of following a trail as it goes this way and that, punctuated by a few seconds of excitement, during which time you wish you were back following the trail.”

“That's antithetical to everything in a Wings O'Bannon novel!” protested Nathan.

“Which you write after drawing on your vast experience in the field of detection.”

“There's no reason to get personal,” said Nathan in hurt tones.

“You want to write about my bathroom habits, and you say there's no reason to get personal?”

“That was business!”

“
This
is business,” replied Mallory. “We're on the trail of a cold-blooded killer, and we're beating time, waiting for him to make a mistake.”

“You're destroying all my preconceptions,” complained Nathan. “The next time Wings O'Bannon takes on a dozen hoods using only his wits and his dukes, I don't know if I can make it believable.”

“He must have a brigade of bedmates, if not a whole division,” said Mallory. “Have them help.”

“Let's not be ridiculous,” said Nathan with dignity.

“Right. No sense messing with the sense of realism that permeates the books.”

“I'm glad you understand.”

The medusa returned with their order. Felina grabbed her milk right off the tray, while the medusa handed each of the others their coffee.

Mallory took a sip, made a face, and poured in some cream. He tried again, didn't like it any better, and added sweetener. It didn't help.

“Try the ketchup next,” suggested McGuire.

“I'll pass,” said Mallory. He watched as the little vampire took the top off the bottle. “You're not really going to pour ketchup into your coffee, are you?”

“It's red,” replied McGuire.

“So what?” asked Nathan.

“I have an urge to drink red things.”

“You're never going to convince your body that it's blood,” said the dragon.

“Speak for yourself,” said McGuire. “My body is incredibly naïve and trusting.” He paused. “Tomato soup would have been even better, now that I think of it.”

“Why don't you just drink some blood and be done with it?” asked Nathan.

“Disgusting stuff,” said McGuire.

“That's a hell of thing for a vampire to say,” replied Nathan.

“Do I tell you to go out and kill knights in armor?” shot back McGuire. “Don't tell me how to be a vampire.”

“Knock it off, both of you,” said Mallory at last. “Try to remember who the real enemy is.”

They spent another twenty minutes trying not to think about how their coffee tasted. Finally Mallory left some money on the table and stood up. “I think we've killed enough time. Let's go see if Vlad's noticed that his TransEx card's no good.”

They went out onto the street. It began drizzling as Mallory turned left. They walked a few blocks and then came to a darkened building that covered an entire city block.

“Why are we stopping?” asked McGuire.

“We're here,” said Mallory.

“But it's just an old warehouse.”

“Right,” said Mallory. “In point of fact, it's the Old Abandoned Warehouse.”

“I heard about this place,” said Nathan, frowning. “Isn't it owned by a duke or an earl or something?”

“The Prince of Whales, the biggest fence in the city,” replied Mallory. “He's an old friend.”

“It looks like he doesn't want any company,” noted McGuire, indicating a quartet of leprechauns who were standing guard at the front door.

“Halt!” cried a leprechaun. “Who goes there?”

Mallory stepped forward. “You know who I am. Step aside and let me through.”

“Nobody enters this building!” said the leprechaun.

“I haven't got time for the usual fun and games,” said Mallory. “Just tell your boss that John Justin Mallory is here.”

“You
look
like John Justin Mallory,” said another leprechaun. “You
sound
like John Justin Mallory. You're as rude and aggressive and ill-mannered as John Justin Mallory. But how can we be sure?”

“Cut the crap. I've got to see the Prince.”

“The only way to prove you're Mallory is to give us the passwords.”

“Felina,” said Mallory, “kill any leprechaun who tries to stop me.”

“The very words!” said the leprechaun hastily. “‘Felina, kill any leprechaun who tries to stop me.' You can enter.”

The leprechauns fell all over themselves stepping aside to let Mallory and his party enter the building. The detective led the way through the rows of goods to a well-appointed office.

“Your security force is about as useful as ever,” said Mallory.

A huge blue-skinned man in a purple sharkskin suit, light blue shirt, violet tie, and navy blue shoes and socks stood up from his desk. He was just under seven feet tall and weighed in the vicinity of five hundred pounds.

“Mallory!” he said in a deep voice. “Good to see you again!” He glanced at the detective's companions. “I see you still haven't managed to get rid of the cat creature. And who are these other two?”

“Bats McGuire and Scaly Jim Chandler,” replied Mallory. “They're working with me on a case.”

“Scaly Jim Chandler?” repeated the Prince of Whales. “I must have three hundred copies of your latest book here.”

“You do?” said Nathan, surprised.

“Yeah. Some idiot thought you were the other Chandler and stole them. Tell you what—as long as you're a friend of Mallory's, come by anytime and you can cart them away.”

“Really?” said Nathan happily. “That's very generous of you.”

“Any friend of Mallory's is a friend of mine,” said the Prince. “Besides, they're a drag on the market. I can't give the damned things away. They need more sex and violence.” He turned to Mallory. “So what brings you here?”

“I need a favor.”

“Anything for the man who put my evil twin Skippy behind bars. Just name it.”

“I'm after a vampire who called himself Vlad Drachma. I had his credit card frozen, and I think if he needs money he'll either pawn something of his own or swipe something and pawn it.”

“Drachma, Drachma,” repeated the Prince of Whales. “No, he hasn't been here.”

“You remember every fence and pawnbroker in the city,” said Mallory. “Can you find out if he's pawned anything in the last half hour?”

“I can try.”

“We'll wait.”

“And that's all you want to know?” continued the Prince. “Just if he pawned anything?”

“And the address he gave on the pawn ticket.”

“Ah!” said the Prince. “Let me get to work on it.”

He had the answer four minutes later.

“He pawned a velvet cape at Stella Houston's,” announced the Prince.

“Stella Houston's?”

“She used to be Stella Dallas before that incident with the entire Texas Oilwells football team,” replied the Prince. “The one that made all the tabloids. Anyway, the address your vampire gave was the Kringleman Arms Hotel. Ever hear of it?”

“Yeah,” said Mallory. “It's a boardinghouse for Santas, all those old guys you see on street corners in red suits and beards at Christmastime, ringing bells for charity.” He frowned. “This doesn't make any sense. He'd stand out like a sore thumb there.”

“Could there be two Kringleman Arms?” asked Nathan.

“Not a chance,” said Mallory. “There's just the one. I was there on a case. It's owned by Nick the Saint, a high roller from up North.”

“I remember him,” said the Prince. “Got a blue-nosed reindeer, drives a hard bargain.”

“That's the one,” said Mallory. “I have a feeling this is a dead end, but we'd better check it out anyway. Thanks for your help.”

“Any time,” said the Prince, escorting them to the door.

“We'll take the subway,” Mallory told his companions. “It's got to be fifty blocks from here. No sense walking it.”

There was a station at the corner. They descended on an escalator, then waited about a minute for a subway train to pull up.

“What'll it be?” asked McGuire. “The observation car or the dining car?”

“This is an express,” said Mallory. “We're getting off at the next stop. Just find a seat.”

“You know,” said Nathan, “I've never tried the sauna car. I understand it's unisex. I should scout it out, just to see if I want to put Wings O'Bannon there in my next book.”

“If there are naked women, what's to scout out?” asked Mallory. “Of course you'll put him there.”

“True, true,” agreed Nathan. “It'll help him relieve all the tension from the chase that leads him to the train in the first place.”

“I prefer the observation car,” said McGuire. “Why work up a sweat when you're getting off in less than two minutes?”

“Bats, this is the subway,” said Mallory. “There's nothing to observe.”

“True,” agreed McGuire. “But you can observe it from much closer range in the observation car.”

“You observe what you want, and Wings will observe what
he
wants,” said Nathan.

The train began screeching to a halt.

“We're here,” said Mallory, looking at the station platform. “Let's go.”

“Just over a minute and a half,” noted Nathan as he followed Mallory out onto the platform. “Wings O'Bannon would have had time for seconds.”

“He can't have satisfied his partners at that speed,” noted Mallory.

“He's
Wings O'Bannon
,” said Nathan. “Being with him is all the satisfaction they need.”

“I apologize,” said Mallory. “I wasn't thinking clearly.”

The four of them took the escalator to the street level and stepped out into the cold drizzle.

“There it is, right across the street,” said Mallory.

“It looks homey,” observed McGuire.

“It looks full,” said Nathan.

“Santas need a place to stay even when it's not Christmas,” said Mallory. “Come on, let's go see if he's there.”

They crossed the street and entered the hotel's lobby. Mallory walked up to the desk, where a bored young man greeted him.

“Good evening, and welcome to the Kringleman Arms, ho ho ho,” he said. “How may I help you?”

“I'm looking for one of your borders,” said Mallory. “Name of Vlad Drachma.”

“No such person registered here, ho ho ho,” said the clerk.

“How about Vlad Dracule?”

“Nope.”

“Count Dracula?”

The clerk stared at him for a long moment. “Okay, where is it?”

“Where is
what?
”

“Come on,” he said. “This is
Candid Camera
, right? I mean, who the hell else would ask for Count Dracula?” He looked around the lobby. “Where's the camera?”

“You're too smart for me, fella,” said Mallory. “It's in the door handle.”

He and his companions left the hotel as the clerk combed his hair, straightened his tie, and grinned stupidly at the handle on the front door.

“Was he telling the truth, do you think?” asked Nathan.

“Yeah,” said Mallory. “He's too stupid to lie.”

“Then we're out of leads. What do we do now?”

“Wait for a break in the case,” answered Mallory. “Could take an hour, could take a day, could take a month.”

He was wrong. It took ninety-three seconds.