The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 3: Red Reunion (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #3) (30 page)

“All clear here, Sarge!” Elkins said cheerily.

“Good to know. You get Fielding?” I asked. “The blonde bastard with a grease gun, I mean.”

Dutch shook his head. “He got moving right after we wasted his crew.” He jabbed a thumb up at the top floor. “He must be up there now. With Dracula and that Wagner guy.”

“And Evelyn,” Weatherby added. He was the first to start pounding up the stairs. We followed him, dashing around the stairs and hurrying up as fast as we could. I didn’t want to give Count Dracula and Viscount Wagner a chance to prepare.

We reloaded as we ran, wondering what we were gonna find up there. Weatherby said that Wagner was a sadistic nut, who would keep Evelyn alive until he had a chance of killing her in front of her loved ones. The kid was good judge of character, but I could only hope he was right. For all I knew, Wagner had already gutted Evelyn Dearborn or slashed her throat. No matter what he did to her, I resolved that Wagner Stein wouldn’t survive the day.

I remembered the top floor from Dracula’s meeting, just about a day and a half ago. But when I kicked open the double doors and stepped inside, it was a bit different from the last time I had been there. The big table stood there with in the far end, next to the tinted windows. But there was a coffin on it now, full of dark earth.

Occult artifacts were stacked under the windows. Wooden chests full of marked gold coins, enchanted mirrors with silver frames and obsidian glasses, swords and axes with gleaming baubles in their hilts, all waiting to be melted down and turned into Panacea and goods for Midnight Products. Wagner Stein stood next to him, his hand on Evelyn’s shoulder. I breathed a sigh of relief. She was unharmed. Fielding stood behind them, a fire axe resting on his shoulder.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” Wagner was not surprised. “Where is Verona, if I may ask?”

“He ran away,” I said.

“He’s a coward,” Wagner muttered.

“He’s smart.” I raised the Tommy gun.

“Let her go!” Weatherby cried.

“I’m afraid not, little Weatherby.” Wagner smiled. “She’s not going anywhere. Neither are you.” The dirt in the coffin shifted. Dracula emerged, his eyes closed and his mouth open, like a swimmer coming out of a lake. A curved scimitar was in his hands. He flew toward us, a dark blur with a white flash from his blade.

It was four guys and one string-bean kid against the most powerful vampire on earth. We did our best, but it was like fighting a hurricane, an earthquake and a tidal wave all at once. Dracula didn’t speak while he fought. He glaring eyes said everything, as his arms and sword struck out and tore us apart.

I raised the tommy gun and gave him a burst. He leapt into the air and I missed every shot. He landed in front of me, grabbed me by throat and then I was flying through the air and the hard marble wall was reaching out to meet me. I struck hard and rolled over. Everything went slow and blurry.

I turned around and saw Dracula bash Elkins on the side of the head with the handle of his sword, knocking him to the ground. Tiny stabbed at the Count with his Bowie knife, but Dracula sidestepped the blow almost before my gunner’s arm could move. He struck Tiny’s chin, knocking the Cajun giant back like he weighed nothing at all. Then Dracula faced Weatherby and pulled his sword back. He was going to take off the boy’s head.

But Dutch was smarter than all of us. “I don’t think so, bloodsucker boy!” he cried, pulling off his necklace. “You won’t hurt him!” He slipped the necklace over Dracula’s neck, letting the wooden crucifix reach the vampire’s throat. Dracula looked like someone had shoved a red hot poker into his guts. His mouth opened and his eyes rolled back. He stumbled backwards, and Dutch smiled.

Fielding didn’t give him the time to celebrate. I saw Fielding running for Dutch, bringing up his hatchet. I yelled out a warning, but my mouth wasn’t working and I couldn’t get the air into my lungs. The hatchet came down, striking right into Dutch’s back. Weatherby screamed and Fielding struck the boy across the face with a heavy fist, knocking him against the wall and to the ground. Dutch’s mouth opened and he stumbled.

Fielding just smiled. “Typical Army,” he said. “One shot and they’re finished.”

But he was wrong. With the axe still in him, Dutch turned around and raised his crowbar. He swung it against Fielding’s head and I heard bone crack. Fielding went down without a word and Dutch kept swinging. The crowbar went up and down, until the carpet was red and Fielding’s skull was paste and Dutch’s arm finally stopped moving and he collapsed.

Dutch had been with me through all of Europe. From D-Day to the Bulge to Berlin, he had fought by my side. And now he was dead. I stood up, forcing down the pain of all of my injuries. I looked at Dracula. The vampire managed to pull off the necklace and toss it away. He was recovering his strength too. That suited me fine.

I didn’t bother reaching for my fallen Thompson. I just ran toward Dracula, fist swinging at my side. He swung his blade at me. I caught his wrist and punched him hard enough to hurt my hand. He made some kind of gurgling sound so I punched him again. He slashed at my shoulder and arm and drew blood, but I didn’t let up. I pounded his face, sent a couple to his stomach and kneed him hard in the groin.

He turned around and looked at Wagner. Goddamn Wagner Stein had sat cool as a statue, holding tightly to Evelyn and watching the whole thing like he had front row seats to the best show in the world.

Dracula fell away from me, dropping his sword. “Why?” he asked Wagner. “Why don’t you help me?”

Wagner just pulled Evelyn closer to him. “Oh, Count Dracula. You are so predictable. The unstoppable leader, the Turk-killing despot – wanting nothing more than to give orders and see them carried out. You gave orders to me.” Wagner shook his head. “And I knew from the first moment I met you that I’d have to destroy you someday, for that very reason.”

I grabbed Dracula’s sword and swung it at him. He caught the blade with an open palm. He had strength enough to crack the steel. Wagner kept on talking, but I wasn’t listening. He was moving toward the window, pulling Evelyn along. He held the poor girl back with his cane kept across her chest, just like he did in the Hotel Grande.

“What is it you fear, my dear Count? I think it must be having nobody there to obey your orders. I can imagine the horrors you faced, alone in that castle in Transylvania, forced to set your own tables and do your own dishes. No wonder you want to conquer everything.” Wagner looked back at Dracula as he raised his cane. “And now here you are – all alone again.”

“No!” Dracula cried as Wagner smashed the tinted glass. Sunlight flashed in, striking Dracula. He crumpled, steam rising in a thousand thin lines from his body. Weatherby started running for Wagner, but he was too late. The Viscount leapt out of the window, shattering more glass. Evelyn screamed.

“Oh God!” Weatherby ran after him, as Wagner pulled his smoke trick once again. He became a living cloud, a twisting mass of smoke. But this time, Evelyn was trapped in the middle. He swooped down, and I lost sight of her.

Dracula fell to the ground. I pulled one of the stakes from my belt and kicked him in the face, knocking him flat on his back. He didn’t cry or beg, but just stared up at me with his hateful red eyes, like he was daring me to drive the stake into his rotten heart. I didn’t disappoint. I slammed the stake into him and he went to ash before my eyes.

I turned back to Tiny and Elkins. They were just getting to their feet. “We’re going after them in the Roadmaster. He can’t pull the mist gag for long. He’ll have to get in a car and he’ll take her with him and we’re going after them in the Roadmaster. You boys take the truck. You get Doc Dearborn down and patch him up.” I looked down at Dutch. It was too late for him. I didn’t even have dog tags to take. “We’ll claim his body at the morgue,” I said. “That’s the least we can do.”

“Well, I reckon that’s all right, but wait!” Elkins cried as Weatherby and I headed for the stairs. “It’ll be just you two alone against Wagner? One of the worst goddamn sorcerers who ever lived!”

“That’s correct,” Weatherby agreed, still swaying from the blow Fielding had given him. “And he doesn’t stand a chance.”

We ran out of the Knight Building and dashed for the ground floor. We didn’t bother with the elevator. Going down the stairs wasn’t easy, especially in our condition, but we made it and with enough energy left to run a marathon. We were fueled by pure rage, Weatherby and me both. We crossed the street and ran to the Roadmaster.

Chad and Selena were there, waiting for us. “What happened?” Selena asked, running to Weatherby. “Is Evelyn all right? What exactly happened? The police are on their way and—”

Weatherby struggled to explain. “Dracula’s destroyed, but at a terrible cost. Poor Dutch is dead.  And Wagner took Evelyn—”

The roar of a motor drained out his words. We saw Wagner’s purple corvette speed past. He was in the passenger seat, holding tightly to Evelyn. Joey Verona was behind the wheel.

“We’re going after him.” I jumped into the driver’s seat of the Roadmaster. Weatherby got into the passenger seat. Selena and Chad didn’t have a chance to protest. I slammed the gas pedal and we were off, leaving them behind.

Weatherby and I didn’t say much as sped down the road. I drove in and out of traffic, always keeping the purple corvette in sight. Wagner Stein had played us all. He made Dracula think that he was the one in charge, but Wagner was just biding his time and waiting to finish him. And now he was speeding away with a hostage, a psychotic gangster at the wheel, and a million evil spells pulsing within him. I had my knife and both my automatics, and Weatherby had his usual tools. That was all we needed. Wagner Stein had lived long enough.

I didn’t engage them until we got out of the city and into Upstate New York. Cops started flocking toward the Knight Building, rushing past us in swarms of siren-shrieking autos. The last thing I wanted was some well-meaning copper to pull me over now. So I just kept a foot on the gas pedal, staying a block behind the corvette at all times.

The kid didn’t like it. Weatherby kept his eyes on Evelyn. “Can we pull up next to them, and maybe get her aboard?” he asked, shivering slightly. “Or just do anything to make sure she’s safe?”

“We wait.” I drew out one of my automatics and set it on my lap. “Car chases are tough enough without being in a crowded street. And even if they see us, they won’t escape. I promise you that.” And so we kept on driving. The streets went wider and emptied. The buildings vanished, giving way to sparse scrub dotted with abandoned shacks and then the woods of Upstate New York.

When we were the only two cars on the road, I knew it was time. “Hold on,” I told Weatherby, and slammed on the gas. I leaned out of the window and started shooting. I didn’t bother with aiming, focusing mainly on not hitting Evelyn, and that I pulled off. I pinged bullets off of the trunk. I crashed one through the windshield. And best of all, I popped a rear tire.

I heard Verona scream, even over the roar of the autos. His car sped to the side, rubber squealing like a pained child. A tree stopped his momentum. I saw Wagner and Joey Verona reaching for the door, Evelyn still trying to pull away. I slammed on the breaks, getting ready to plant a bullet in both of them.

Then Wagner Stein looked at me. I saw a hunter’s smile playing about his moustache. I was just about to get him in my sights. I was already in his. “Get out!” I shouted to Weatherby. “Kiss the ground!”

He kicked open the door and fell into the street. I did the same, the pavement reaching up to kiss me. Behind us, the air went hot. A thin crack of white light ripped down from the sky and struck my car. It was lightning. Wagner Stein had hit us with a bolt of lightning. The poor Roadmaster couldn’t take much more. It was gone, blackened and broken from the lightning, and then its gas tank went up.

The explosion knocked me forward, pushing me into the woods. I fell on the grass. It felt like I’d start coming apart if I moved, but I got up anyway. My auto was on its back, smoke and fire pouring up from the wreck. “Weatherby?” I called. I couldn’t see the kid.

He limped out from behind the car wreck. He hurried over to me, and I steadied him. His revolver was out. We looked at the corvette. Footsteps in the dirt told us all we wanted to know.

“We’ll save her,” Weatherby said, starting after them and ignoring all his injuries. “By God, we’ll save her.”

I followed, both automatics in my hands. Weatherby went as fast he could, weaving through the trees with both eyes on the footsteps in the dark dirt. I kept my head up, making sure he didn’t walk into a tree or a branch. It was a good decision. Looking ahead saved my life.

I caught a flash of purple near a tree, and pulled Weatherby back. An automatic pistol blared away, firing in our direction. The bullets gouged bark and kicked up dark earth. I held Weatherby and stayed behind a tree, counting the shots. The gunman was a sap, firing his shells like he couldn’t wait to make them leave his pistol. I waited until they stopped, and then I stepped out.

Joey Verona stood before one of the large dark trees, struggling to jam another clip into his gun. I walked over to him, not even bothering to run. Verona looked even worse than usual. Sweat stained his forehead and seeped into the open wound under his eye. His purple suit was rumpled. He just finished getting the clip in when I slugged him across the face. His pistol hit the ground.