The Spinoza Trilogy (21 page)

Chapter Ten

The Tam O’Shanter was a classy Scottish pub in Glendale.

I liked it because of its unique, somewhat secretive ambiance and the intelligent, diverse regulars. You could mingle at the bar, or sit quietly alone and listen to the pianist, Frank. I liked the older big band tunes. Frank was a real entertainer. He could jump from “Getting to Know You” to “Clair de Lune” with the seamless grace of a ballerina, either leading the chorus of voices that rose around him or bending into the kind of classical piece that let his piano do the talking. It was a great place to get away, a place where no one would think of finding me; it was my little secret haven.

I got into my car and headed over to the Tam, where I was to meet Veronica. As I entered the pub, Frank transitioned his melody to “As Time Goes By” from the old Bogie film,
Casablanca
. He knew I liked that particular tune and played it whenever I came in. He smiled at me, and I attempted a smile back.

Attempted.

Veronica was sipping a martini in a nearby booth. I slipped in across from her and ordered an Arnold Palmer. “Tell me something I don’t know, kiddo,” I said.

“
Stop calling me that.”

“
Okay, Mistress of the Night, tell me something I don’t know.”

Veronica unsheathed an olive from the toothpick and popped it into her mouth. My mouth watered. I looked away.

“You really have a knack for picking cases,” she observed as I faced her again.

“
I thought you were going to tell me something new.”

“
I am. I just don’t know where to begin.”

“
Why don’t you start with this: Who is the woman in the mask?”

Instead she said, “There’s a newer group of vampires in Orange County. They formed as a coven a few years ago, but they’ve grown much larger than that.”

“How much larger?”

“
I’m not quite sure. They’re very secretive. Probably about thirty in all. They’re becoming a gang, or like some mob or something.”

“
How so?”

“
They’re recruiting new vampires wherever they can to do their dirty work for them.”

“
Dirty work?”

“
You know, harvesting fresh blood and all that.”

My stomach turned as I considered this. I stirred my Arnold Palmer with a straw. “Murders?”

Veronica nodded. “Of course.”

“
Why haven’t I heard about this? If only in the newspaper?”

“
The cops are treating them like some serial case. They’re keeping it under wraps for now.”

“
Probably don’t want to scare away any tourists,” I said with a touch of bitterness. “How thoughtful of them.”

“
Yeah. Or maybe they’re just scared.”

I thought of the good cops I knew. Their jobs were tough enough. And finding blood-drained bodies all over the place? How would that sound to the public?

Frank was playing a beautiful rendition of Louis Armstrong’s “What a Wonderful World.” Ah, the irony of it all.

“
Scared. Possibly,” I said. “I take it this relates to our prisoner?”

“
I’m pretty sure. But this coven, or gang, is really on the down-low. My associates have only just begun to learn about them.”

“
I’m surprised you’re not hunting them down.”

She gave that wicked smile and her eyes gleamed. “Give me time,” she answered. I had to give the girl credit, Veronica was tough. Always had been. And it all began a few years ago when her own parents had been attacked and killed. By vampires.

They’d picked the wrong victim.

She was, of course, one of them now. A vampire who hunted her own, as she would, apparently, until the end of time.

I guided her back to the subject at hand. “And the vampire in the iron mask?”

“
I don’t know much. Her name is Natassa. She arrived on the scene not long after this coven formed, and there are a couple of different theories about her.”

I waited.

“Some say that she’s from some country in Europe...”

“
Like Transylvania?”

“
Ha ha.” Veronica gave me the finger; she hated vampire jokes. But I liked to tease her when I could. “Go on,” I said.

“
Some say this coven captured her because she was trying to hunt them.”

“
She was hunting a coven? By herself?”

“
I don’t know if she was alone. But rumor has it she’s pretty powerful. So they keep her as an example for anyone else trying to cross their path.”

“
Interesting,” I noted. “What’s the other story?”

“
This is the curious part. My associates who do know about her believe it’s possible that she’s the one who started all the killing, and that they’re holding her to prevent her from doing more damage. The idea is that she created some real monsters and the coven is trying to stop all the killings.”

I envisioned those violet eyes. Her brief words implied concern not for herself, but for me and...who?

“Maybe your client?” Veronica asked as surely as if I had voiced my question. I might never get used to the fact that she could read my thoughts. “You haven’t heard from him, have you?”

“
Just once. One phone call. I’ve called him back a few times today; he doesn’t pick up. And I don’t know his name.”

“
Oh?”

“
Some of my clients work that way. They just put the payments under my door, so to speak. It’s not too unusual.”

“
He might be in trouble.”

I nodded. I touched the back of my head again, gauging the size of my bruises. “I wonder why they didn’t kill me.”

“I’m betting it’s because you’re fairly well-known.”

“
You think I would have made headline news?” The thought gave my ego a little boost.

“
Killing a PI usually isn’t wise,” she stated. “You’re not a cop, but you have cop friends.”

“
I’ll add that to the perks of my line of business.”

For a moment we were lost in our own thoughts. Or maybe Veronica was picking my brain again. The thought that they hadn’t killed me didn’t mean they wouldn’t. I should handle this quickly. Move in, move out. Mission accomplished.

“So you think you’re just going to go in there and get her?” she said, reading my mind again.

“
I don’t think she’s gonna walk out of there on her own,” I said.

“
Look, Spinoza. I have certain friends who can keep this confidential. They would be willing to help.”

I shook my head. “I’m not getting mixed up with a bunch of vampires. This is my case; I’ll handle it.”

“But...”

“
No buts. Tell them thanks for the offer, though.” Before she could protest further, I said, “Your first view of the situation makes more sense.”

“
That they caught her trying to hunt them down.”

“
Yes.”

“
Well,
I’m
coming with you, anyway.”

“
Look, kiddo—Veronica—I appreciate it. I saved your life once, and I don’t want that to be in vain.”

“
You can’t do this on your own, Spinoza.”

“
You’d be surprised.” I was no vampire, but over the years I had contrived more than a few brilliant plans to bring back missing kids, plans that most men in their right minds wouldn’t dare to attempt. But whoever said I was in my right mind?

“
Why? Why are you going to do it? If you’re not sure?”

“
One, because I was paid to do a job. Two, I saw her. She’s no demon. I have to help her.”

“
Knight in shining armor.” Veronica rolled her eyes.

“
Pun intended?”

“
Yes.”

I remembered how weak, yet determined, those eyes were. Young eyes.

“She’s not a kid, Spinoza. Neither are they.” Veronica locked eyes with me. “I’m serious, Spinoza.”

“
So am I.”

“
I see those timeworn wheels turning.” She made a squeaky, old sound.

“
Funny.”

“
You’re not that old. But seriously...an Arnold Palmer?” Veronica laughed. I regarded the drink I was nursing with disdain. Okay, I was old, so what? I made a mental note to start going to the gym, maybe after this case was over.

“
You can’t just go in and get her out,” she observed. “That’s why you owe me.”

“
That makes no sense whatsoever.”

“
You did something for me, now I’m going to return the favor. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”

I considered this. It would be good to have a partner. I trusted Veronica. Also, I knew how stubborn she was. She’d probably follow me whether I wanted her to or not.

Hell, we were telepathically linked.

I drummed my fingers on the bar and listened to the music and couldn’t help but start to plan. I’d seen enough, I believed, of the building’s layout. I thought of Al Pacino, of Bruce Willis, and then sighed as my plan worked itself out in my mind. Hell, I still had it in me.

I think.

Veronica knew I didn’t take bullshit from anyone. For sure I wasn’t going to let anyone get away with clobbering me. She was expertly applying lipstick to her full lips, without the aid of a mirror.

“How many are there?” I asked.

“
Not sure, but I’d say about ten.”

I thought about how to get her out of there.

“It won’t be easy,” Veronica said, reading my damn mind again.

“
Sorry,” she added.

She didn’t sound sorry. “All right,” I conceded. “You’re with me. But on my terms. Got it?”

“Sure,” she said, tossing back the last of her martini.

“
We move tomorrow night,” I told her. “Here’s what I want you to do...”

Chapter Eleven

I stepped into AJ’s gun shop.

The shop is located in a not-so-nice area of Hollywood. Hookers, dealers, crazy people with big signs warning of the end of the world. It was late afternoon, and another customer was buying supplies. AJ nodded a greeting to me. I nodded back and waited until the customer left.

“
What can I do you for?” There were hundreds, hell, probably thousands of gun and ammo dealers in Los Angeles, but AJ was one of those who respected privacy. And confidentiality. Two virtues that I considered essential. At least in a gun dealer.

“
Lock the door,” I said softly. “Turn off your cameras.”

AJ was a tough guy. In his business, you had to be tough. He looked like a muscle-head bouncer, but was far more shrewd. He was six-foot-four and none of his two hundred and forty pounds were fat. His head was shaved, and he had tattoos up and down his massive body, including an unlikely pair of red lips on his scalp.

We’d known each other for a few years, and he respected my work. Hopefully, he still would after my purchases today. He flipped a switch under the counter, turning off the cameras, and crossed the room in two long strides to bolt the door. He also turned his door sign around to: “Closed.”

AJ knew I was in the business of finding lost kids, but he never asked me questions. Smart. The less you know and all that. But he wasn’t quite prepared for this request.

“I need two semi-automatics that can hold silver bullets,” I said, as if I were ordering coffee. Or maybe a Bloody Mary. Pun intended.

AJ regarded me a moment with a stone-faced expression, then went into the back. I listened as he shuffled around a few things, and soon he returned with a long, polished wooden box and a few boxes of ammo. He watched me expectantly, arms crossed over his chest.

“May I?” I asked.

He grinned and opened the box. The inside was lined with red velvet that surrounded the finely made but very lethal rifle. The piece itself was hard, smooth silver. The handle was crafted out of obsidian. It was beautiful, a work of art. If an assault rifle could be considered as such.

“This here’s a Colt M4 Carbine,” he said. “Silver plated. Carries ninety-rounds per clip, and has a custom extended extra clip for easy...ah...access.”

I drew it out of the casing. It felt heavy but comfortable in my hands. I could see the red-aim dot at the top.

“Nice,” I commented. I held the weapon’s butt to my right shoulder and took aim at the mirror. It wasn’t loaded, but I still felt a chill, and a perverse sense of power holding it.