Out of Time (29 page)

“Simon, I don’t think going all Rambo is going to help.”

He stared at her blankly, clearly not following the reference.

“I mean, I’d feel better with some sort of protection, but—” She shrugged.

“Elizabeth, against my better judgment, I’ve agreed to abide by your wishes and stay in this…city. But I will not let another day go by unprepared.”

Arguing was futile and the heat sapped her strength. It was impossible to remain angry with him. She knew how difficult it was for him to stay in town. How difficult all of this was for him. “All right,” she said. “But aside from getting stakes, what can we really do?”

“Over there,” he said. “The telephone office.”

“We’re gonna kill him with long distance charges?”

“That was beneath even you,” he said, but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

She stepped closer and fiddled with his tie. “You’re testy when it gets hot, aren’t you?”

“Elizabeth, please,” he said and pulled the tie from her hands. “This will take subterfuge. Do you think you’re up to it?”

“I can fuge with the best of them.”

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he said and stepped back and looked at her appraisingly. “Do you have any lipstick?”

Now that was an odd question. “Umm, no.”

“Nothing to be done for it, I suppose.”

“Gee, thanks.”

Simon ignored her sarcasm and narrowed his eyes. “Lick your lips.”

Maybe the heat really was getting to him. There was a nice shady spot over by the newsstand. “I think you need to sit down.”

“I need you to cause a diversion. Use your feminine wiles.”

“Oh. Oh!” she said, realizing what he’d been talking about. She pulled the collar of her dress down and arched her back, pushing out her breasts. Shifting her hips to the side, she looked at him coyly. “Little ol’ me?”

His frown deepened. “Maybe this isn’t such a good idea.”

She pouted, and he shook his head. “Come along, Matahari.”

“Be careful with that,” Elizabeth said as she closed the door to the apartment behind them.

Simon carefully eased a mason-sized, glass jar out from under his jacket. “Would you stop nagging?”

“When you put the acid down, I’ll stop.”

It was insane, she thought. Brilliant, but insane. Religious icons aside, there were only four ways to kill a vampire—a wooden stake through the heart, beheading, burning, and exposure to sunlight. Too bad tanning beds hadn’t been invented yet. King was just vain enough to try one.

The wooden stakes were easy enough to come by. A visit to the local hardware store and a few tent stakes later, they were set. Beheading, aside from being absolutely disgusting, was more difficult. That left fire. Burning the host body would also destroy, or release, the demon. Or so the books said. Carrying around torches was a bit too Mary Shelley and rather impractical. She doubted King would agree to a picnic in Central Park.

That’s when Simon hatched his crazy scheme to acquire other means. While she’d caused her diversion in the telephone and telegraph office, Simon had slipped into the battery room and somehow managed to pilfer a jar of sulfuric acid. It wasn’t difficult really. She’d gone in first, face flushed from the heat. Of course, she’d run in place outside first to get a good sheen of sweat and that slightly out of breath helplessness look down. The two men on the desk were more than solicitous. A demure smile laced with batting eyelashes and an appreciation of their gallantry was all she needed. The heaving bosom was a bonus.

“We’ll keep it out of the way in the corner,” he said, as he gently placed the jar on the floor.

Elizabeth sat down on the bed and picked up one of the tent stakes and tried unsuccessfully to twirl it in her hand. “I still don’t get it. Acid’s a good weapon, I suppose. The flesh it burns and all that, but it isn’t exactly practical to carry around.”

“We need to be prepared for all situations.”

It was no use trying to talk sense into him. If he could have walked down the street with a broadsword, he would have.

“We should think about acquiring a gun,” Simon said, giving one last glance at the jar in the corner. “But I’m afraid we’re a little short of funds.”

“I’m not very fond of guns. And besides, we already know from practical experience that it won’t stop him.”

Simon frowned. “Yes, but he has men who work for him. We need to prepare for every contingency. Perhaps we can acquire some silver bullets.”

“No guns. They make me nervous.”

“Well, for now we’ll have to make do with what we have,” he said and sat down next to her. He picked up one of the wooden stakes and slipped it into his inside breast pocket. “You’ll have to start carrying a purse. I’m afraid your dress doesn’t leave much room for concealed weapons.”

“I thought that’s what you liked about it,” she said coyly. Before he could sigh and remind her, yet again, that this was serious, as if she needed reminding, she stood and smiled triumphantly. “I’ve already worked that out.”

She put her leg up on the bed next to him, lifted the hem of her dress, and slipped a stake neatly under her garter belt. “What do you think?”

He blinked a few times and then narrowed his eyes. “That is…disturbingly sexy.”

“Is it?” she said and knelt on the bed, moving to straddle his lap.

His arms snaked around her waist and pulled her closer. “Very,” he said, and leaned in for a kiss, but stopped just short of her lips. “You will be careful, won’t you?”

“One more week and hopefully, it’ll all be over.”

His forehead creased with worry, and Elizabeth reached up to smooth away the lines. “I’ll be careful. And you, try not to rile King.”

He gathered her hand in his and brought her fingers to his lips. “I won’t start anything,” he promised, leaving unsaid the vow that, if need be, he would finish it.

THE AIR WAS THICK with sweat and smoke in the club that night. The sweltering heat from the day hadn’t dissipated, and seemingly every denizen of the city was out looking for a place to slake their thirst. Charlie’s club was more crowded than ever before. It didn’t seem to matter that the room was stifling, or that the booze just made people thirstier; they came in droves. They crammed extra chairs up to tables meant for two, and pulled up crates when the chairs ran out. Shoulder to shoulder, hot and sticky patrons crushed against the bar, until it was nearly impossible for Elizabeth to maneuver from table to table.

Around ten o’clock, King arrived. His customary table emptied quickly as the people scurried out of his way. With as much calm as she could muster, she walked to his table. “What can I get for you?”

His dark eyes danced over her body in smooth appraisal.

“We’re kinda busy tonight,” she said and nervously shifted her tray from one hand to the other. Courage, Camille, she told herself. One more week. Play it cool.

“I can see that,” he said without taking his eyes from her.

“So, you want something or not?”

“I hope you’re feeling better today.”

“I’m fine.”

“Mmmm. And I imagine you feel more secure with your…protection.” There was a hint of anger mixed with the amusement in his tone.

Did he know everything they did? “Yes. I do.”

He took a dramatic breath and leaned back in his chair. “I can see where your husband has his. The bulge in his coat is quite telling. But, where, I wonder,” he said and ran his gaze up and down her body, “have you hidden yours?”

“You forget yourself,” she said tightly.

He leaned forward and eyes sparked. “I think it’s you who’ve forgotten who I am.”

“No, I haven’t,” she said, taking a long breath that calmed her jangled nerves. How was she supposed to play it cool when it was hotter than blue blazes in here?

“No, I don’t imagine you have,” he said, easing back in his chair. “You’d be wise not to.”

Could he even have a conversation that didn’t include a threat? “You’ve already made that much clear.”

“I’m glad we understand each other. It wouldn’t do to have a misunderstanding at this point, would it?” he said, as his gaze fell on Simon. “They can be so…unpleasant.”

Despite the heat, she felt a cold shiver, which was quickly followed by a wave of anger. His eyes flicked back to her and he smiled, seeming to enjoy her discomfiture. “Things needn’t be that way, of course. They can be rather…pleasant, if you let them.”

Her stomach heaved at the way he shaded the phrase with innuendo and dark promises, but she’d be damned if she’d let it show. “I really should get back to work. Did you want something to drink?”

“No, nothing. I simply came to check on my…interests.”

“The club’s doing well,” she said, ignoring the implication of his not so oblique reference.

He grinned indulgently. “Yes, things are going well. Very well.”

“Have a good night then.”

“I already have.”

She marshaled a weak smile and made her escape. King lingered for a few minutes, quietly surveying his domain. She could feel the weight of his eyes on her back as she moved around the club. But, thankfully, he left and the night progressed without another incident.

Over the next few nights, the stress of waiting for King’s next move was starting to wear on them. Simon, true to his word, kept himself in check, but the tension at work spilled over into the day. They sniped at each other, pushing buttons better left alone. And it seemed the whole city shared their frustration.

The unbearable heat wave that gripped New York shortened everyone’s fuse. Hot, muggy air enveloped the city day and night. Dark clouds loomed perpetually on the horizon, but the storm refused to break. Anxious energy crackled in the air like electricity.

Even the normally congenial patrons at Charlie’s were beginning to show the strain. Bickering replaced conversation, and Lester had to break up two arguments before they broke out into full scale brawls.

That Friday night, an older, well-dressed gentleman entered the club and walked over to a recently emptied table against the wall. His tailored, herringbone suit and shock of white hair would normally have brought a few stares, but the heat had sapped everyone’s curiosity along with their good natures. He folded his long frame into the rickety, wooden chair, crossed his legs and melted into the dark wall behind him.

Dix didn’t even notice him at first. She was busy counting the hours till closing, dreaming of a cool bath to wash away the day’s grime. Eventually, she sidled over to his table to get his order.

“Whiskey,” he said in a gentle, rich baritone as he pulled a small notebook from his breast pocket.

“We got all kinds,” she said between snaps of her well-chewed gum. “Whatcha want? Scat? Panther?”

He smiled politely, his grey eyes were cool and soothing. “Whatever you suggest.”

“You’re English, huh?” she said, the thought taking the last of her energy.

“Guilty as charged.”

“The Professor is too,” she said, nodding her head toward Simon. “Don’t suppose you know him?”

The gentleman cast a cursory glance at the piano and shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

Dix shrugged and dragged a finger under her eye to rub away the dripping mascara. “Ya never know. It ain’t…”

The rest of her reply was drowned out by a commotion at the door. Three young men in their twenties stumbled into the bar making enough noise to wake the dead.

Dix tugged at the top of her bustier. “Now, we got trouble.”

“Charlie Blue, you old stinkaroo!” the shortest of the three bellowed. His pug nose glowed red from the heat and the four sheets he rode in on.

Charlie hurried around the bar and caught the man before he fell face first into the bar. “Come on, Jimmy. Why don’t you and the boys go on home. Looks like you’ve already had enough for one night.”

“I’m all right, old man,” he sneered and pushed away from Charlie. “We just saw Crash Murdock get the tar thumped outta him and I plan on celebratin’!”

One of the other boys squished up his pudgy face—he looked like a cherub that was kicked out of heaven—and pushed out his thick lips in a pout. “I’m tellin’ ya, the fix was in.”

Jimmy cackled and slapped him hard on the back. “You’re just sore cause you lost that fin, Eugene,” Jimmy said, drawing out the last syllable. Judging from Eugene’s reaction, his name was a sore point. “Come on Roy, drinks are on fat boy.”

Eugene grumbled under his breath, and the trio pushed their way through the crowd. Charlie put up a hand to signal Lester to let things be. For now. Maybe, just maybe, they wouldn’t cause too much trouble.

They commandeered a table not far from the piano and plopped down into the chairs. Dix started over to them, but Elizabeth beat her to it. She wasn’t too worried, in the past month she’d been impressed with the girl’s spunk. If she could handle dinner with King Kashian, she could handle these three mooks, no problem.

Simon hit a sour note and Dix cast a quick eye toward the piano. He might be a problem though, Dix thought as she moved back to the bar. Best keep an eye on things.

“What can I get you boys?” Elizabeth asked.

Jimmy smirked and cocked his head to the side. “I can think of a few things.”

“Why don’t you sit down, sweetheart?” Roy said, inching his chair back and patting his broad thigh.

Elizabeth shook her head. After a month of waiting tables, this sort of thing was old hat. “You boys want drinks or don’t ya?”

“Ooo, she’s got moxie, this one,” Jimmy said with a wink to his pals.

Roy grinned and waggled his eyebrows. “That ain’t all she’s got.”

“Call me when you make up your minds,” Elizabeth said and turned to leave, but Jimmy grabbed her arm.

“Now, why are you runnin’ off so fast?” he said. “Not that I mind the view. You’re just as good goin’ as comin’. But I think I’d like you comin’ best.”

Elizabeth tried to wrest her arm from his grip, but his dirty fingernails dug into her arm. Jimmy yanked harder and pulled her onto his lap. Grabbing her roughly about the waist, he tried to kiss her.

“Come on, baby,” he purred, as he squeezed her backside.