The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) (17 page)

“The Invocation of Ra,” Weatherby whispered. “Very impressive.”

Evelyn smiled. “It’s a simple matter of memorization and proper pronunciation.”

I started shooting, and the servants of Babi ran for it. I blasted one in midair, the bullet gouging into its chest and letting bits of ash rain to the ground. But as they jumped out of the window, a pair of the animals reached down and grabbed up Henry Wallace. Their long fingers and tails wrapped around his chest and arms, and started to haul him through the shattered glass.

“Henry Wallace!” Weatherby cried, running to his friend’s side. He grabbed the boy’s leg and held him – until another baboon tackled Weatherby to the ground. Evelyn kicked it off and her old man finished the beast off with a single strike from his machete.

I ran to the window, aiming my pistol out at the night sky. But it was too late. The baboons were flying into the starless sky, carrying Henry Wallace up above the twinkling, towering casinos with windows that glowed like angry eyes. We heard a final yelp of panic from Henry Wallace, and then the boy was gone, swallowed up by the darkness.

“No.” Weatherby sank down to his knees. “He was in my care. I should have protected him.” He closed his eyes and sucked in air. He looked like he might break in half.

Evelyn patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry, Weatherby. We can rescue him.”

“But Miss Dearborn, you haven’t seen the interior of the Duat Grand. Nepher-Ka has an army of Ushabti at his disposal. We can’t fight our way in, not against all of those guards – and whatever other dark magic the bastard has conjured up.” He sighed, clenching his hands into fists. “But there must be another way.”

I nodded. “We’ve got proof that Caduceus is monkeying around – and I don’t mean with the baboons. I’ll give Don Vizzini a ring. Maybe he can help us.” I turned to the owner of the joint while Evelyn and Doc Dearborn helped Weatherby off the floor and into our booth. I felt burning scratches on my skin, and burns and blood in my clothes. I wasn’t in any mood to screw around. “Say, pal,” I said. “Let me use your phone, will you?”

The owner stared at me in terror. “Right in the back,” he said. “You crazy monkey-murdering maniac!”

“There’s no need for name-calling,” I said, as I walked over to the phone. I plopped in a dime and talked with the operator. She gave me the Desert Rose, and then I wasted precious minutes with a pair of secretaries before I finally got to speak with Don Vizzini. I started talking before he could greet me. I told him the whole score, from the truth about Nestor Caduceus to what he was doing to poor Henry Wallace’s predicament.

When I finished, he paused for a few seconds. “So, you have definite proof?” he asked.

“I saw it with my own eyes,” I said. “And I trust them plenty. You thinking I’m feeding you a line?”

“No. I have seen many strange things in my time, Mr. Candle. I do not doubt you.”

“All right. So what are you waiting for? Put out the word. Send an army of hard-hitting torpedoes over to the Duat Grand, kill as many of Caduceus’s clay kooks as possible and shut him down for good! I’ll go with you, and bust out the Baum kid.”

“This is not Havana, where an obvious attack would be applicable. A use of force like that would be ill-advised.” Vizzini breathed in sharply. I heard a little static over the line. “No. Tomorrow, I shall contact my allies in the government of Nevada, in local offices as well as law enforcement. We will begin to take action against Nestor Caduceus and bring him down through subtler methods than a simple assault.”

“And little Henry Wallace?”

I could almost picture the Don’s smile as he responded. “I don’t need to remind you that I am no friend of Sly Baum. Let his boy die. I do not care.” He waited patiently as I swore. “Come by the office at the Desert Rose any time. You’ve done a fine job, Mr. Candle. Your payment is waiting.” Then the smug bastard hung up.

I stared at the phone for a while and then walked back to the booth. Evelyn, Weatherby and Doc Dearborn stared at me. From my look alone, they knew I didn’t have good news. “It’s a no go,” I said. “Vizzini doesn’t want an outright attack. He doesn’t care about Henry Wallace getting his heart ripped out to power some magic dingus. So we can’t count on him.”

Nobody said anything for a few seconds. Weatherby closed his eyes and pressed his palms flat on the table. But then he looked up, his face a grim mask. “I refuse to let Henry Wallace down,” he said. “Mort, we’ve a carload of firepower. Doc Dearborn, and Miss Dearborn, you doubtlessly have similar tools and weapons in your own vehicle. We have to come up with some way to get past the guards, get to the sixth floor, overcome Nepher-Ka’s defensives and save young Henry Wallace. Any ideas?”

So we talked. And after a while, we made a plan. It was a screwy idea that belonged strictly in the funny pages, but it was the best chance to keep Henry Wallace’s heart from plopping on that bloody altar. It could save him. It could get us all killed. Now it was time to put it into effect, and see which way the dice would fall.

My part started with a phone call to the Duat Grand – and Rosa Dominguez. She answered, sounding tired. When she heard my voice, she nearly hung up, but I kept talking. “Look, sister,” I said. “I feel a little like a heel, calling you out for what you are in front of Mr. Caduceus. I was wondering if maybe I could buy you a drink.”

Miss Rosa paused. “You are sorry?” she asked.

“Sure.” It wasn’t hard for me to apologize. I had given her a raw deal, after all. “You saw a chance and you took it. Story of the world. And Caduceus treats you well, as long as you don’t ask questions. If I were in your high-heeled shoes, I bet I’d make the same decision.” It wasn’t a lie, and Miss Rosa knew it.

“I’ll meet you outside the main doors of the Duat Grand,” she said.

“One more thing – does your room have a balcony?” That was vital to the plan.

“Yes. Fifth floor, overlooking a side alley. Why?”

“Cause I like good views, sister,” I replied and hung up. I nodded to Weatherby and Evelyn. Doc Dearborn was already in his automobile. Weatherby, Evelyn Dearborn and I headed outside. They were talking quietly together, exchanging information about their situations. I didn’t mind it. I had other things to think on.

After a short drive, I reached the Duat Grand. I parked outside and headed up the steps, leaving the kids behind. Miss Rosa was standing in front of the door. The lights from the casino came behind her, making her body seem like shadow in a diaphanous dress. It was late, and the Duat still had some guests, but not many. That was another stroke of luck. Less chance of any innocents getting hurt when the lead started flying.

Miss Rosa walked over to me. “Morton,” she said. “I think I am glad to see you. I don’t want us to be enemies.”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’d be bad for both of us.” Then I grabbed her shoulder and pulled her close. I pressed the muzzle of my automatic against her belly. Weatherby was back in the car. He didn’t see it. I had told him I could convince Miss Rosa to help us, and I wasn’t taking any chances. “Listen up,” I said. “We go inside and go to your room. You try to run, and you’re dead. You call for help, and you’re dead. You scream, and you’re dead. You understand, senorita?”

“Yes,” she hissed through clenched teeth. “Follow me, cabrón.” She led me through the double doors. We walked through the floor, passing the slot machines and the tables as we went to the stairwell. If any of those clay guards noticed us, they didn’t do anything about it. I kept Miss Rosa close, the pistol hidden from view but jabbed into the small of her back, she stared forward, a mindless machine going through the motions.

She didn’t say another word to me until we reached her room on the fifth floor. It was well-furnished, with light fixtures that looked like spaceships and an angular couch. I let her go and walked out to the balcony. Las Vegas gleamed up at me in a thousand shades of angry neon.

“Why?” Miss Rosa asked. “What are you doing? Why do you hate Nestor?”

“Because your husband is a resurrected Egyptian pharaoh,” I explained. “And he needs the bloody hearts of children to power a magical mechanism that gives this place success. Victim número dos is little Henry Wallace Baum.” I reached into my coat, and pulled out a bundle of stiff, black strong cord. It belonged to Doc Dearborn. He used it for scaling cliffs and it could hold ten times his weight. I hooked the rope around the balcony and let it fall. Then I looked back at Miss Rosa.

Her arms were folded. “What’s a matter, sister?” I asked. “You don’t believe me?”

“Nestor is a little… strange,” she said. “And perhaps it does not surprise me. But you never gave me a chance. Maybe if you told me your story, I would have helped you.” She sat down as the cord started tugging. “Caduceus treats me well, but I know I am little more than a piece of furniture, some sign or machinery, that must be treated a certain way in order to function properly. And I don’t wish to see a child hurt. If you gave me a chance, maybe I would have helped you – without you putting a gun to my head.”

“Maybe,” I said. “I’ve learned not to live my life on maybes.”

“Then you must have a wretched life.” Miss Rosa turned away, as Weatherby finished clambering up the rope and fell over the railing, into the room.

He, Doc Dearborn and Evelyn had been in the alley, waiting for the rope to fall down. They were all armed, and Weatherby handed me my tommy gun. I tucked the chopper under my arm and touched the brim of my hat to Rosa. She didn’t look back. I nodded to Dearborn and Evelyn. He had his machete, a long rifle across his back, and a bundle of dynamite in his pocket.

“Dynamite?” I asked. “You archaeologists don’t screw around.”

Doc Dearborn’s old eyes sparkled. “Experience has taught me not to,” he said. “Now let’s get moving.”

The play with Miss Rosa stank, but it allowed us get to the sixth floor without taking on every Ushabti in the joint. But as we headed up the stairs, we saw more of those white-suited waiters standing guard by the massive double doors. The place was lousy with them, and they were well armed. Doc Dearborn nodded to me as he drew out a stick of dynamite.

“Now,” he said. “Mr. Candle, you and I shall provide covering fire. Evelyn, my shimmering jewel, you and the Stein boy shall go and find young Henry Wallace, freeing him and getting him out of here.” He didn’t say what we all feared – that Henry Wallace was already dissected by the psychotic pharaoh. “Is everyone clear on their roles? Excellent. Let’s go.”

He lit the stick of dynamite and hurled it forward. It rolled in front of the Ushabti, and they stared at it with the painted eyes of their masks. The fuse burned down and went up, and the explosion rocked the hall, blew the doors open like they were made of cardboard, and turned the Ushabti into smashed crockery. We ran forward, guns ready, straight into Nepher-Ka’s chamber.

Strands of smoke got in my eyes. I cleared them as I raised the tommy gun, and looked into a scene right out of a nightmare. Nestor Caduceus stood at the center of the altar before the chained scales and the pit, wearing a jeweled headdress and black robe like he had just walked out of King Tut’s tomb. Ushabti stood around him, wearing white robes and their wooden animal masks. A couple of those baboons, and the giant snake, rested at Caduceus’s feet like loyal dogs. And right there on the stone altar, held down by two priests while Caduceus held a khopesh dagger over his heart, was little Henry Wallace Baum. Blazing torches filled the room with flickering dark lights.

“Weatherby!” Henry Wallace cried, and the kid didn’t wait for the order to charge in to the rescue. Doc Dearborn and I leveled our weapons and started shooting, bringing down the Ushabti as they went for the curved knives and swords at their waists. Evelyn hurried forward, following Weatherby closely. I gave the Ushabti and the baboons half of the Thompson’s clip, and then the giant cobra started slithering my way.

Doc Dearborn went to work with his rifle. He was a damn good shot, and he didn’t fire at anything that he didn’t hit. One Ushabti rocked backwards, knocking a torch to the ground with a flailing clay hand. The torch hit the ground, and caught a tapestry. Fire crawled up the cloth, bathing the room in flickering, smoky light. I’d seen Hell in the war – but it wasn’t as bad as this.

Caduceus snarled at us, all of his royal charm falling away. “You dare enter the sacrificial chamber!” he bellowed. “You will be crushed by the coils of Apep!” He pointed to the giant cobra, which reared up and towered over me. I’d seen streetlights that weren’t as tall.

The cobra lunged down to sink its long fangs into my head. But before it could, I raised the tommy gun and gave that snake the rest of the clip, right in the face. Those big .45s cut through the cobra’s head, ripping apart scales and bone and brain. The headless snake fell at my feet, the coils writhing as it died. I dropped the empty tommy gun and went for my automatics. I started shooting, blasting down the Ushabti and baboons that ran towards us, gunning them down before they hacked us into bits.

But the Ushabti and Caduceus had other ideas. The white-robed clay goons made for Evelyn and Weatherby. The poor kids didn’t stand a chance. A falcon-headed Ushabti swung a heavy fist into Weatherby’s chest, knocking him to the ground. He scrambled to draw his revolver, but I didn’t think it would do much good. Evelyn grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back, seconds before an Ushabti’s scimitar would have taken off his head. Another Ushabti came with a dagger in each of its clay hands, and Doc Dearborn’s rifle blasted off its skull in a single shot.