Spirit Sanguine (11 page)

Joe kept talking, his accent thickening, but Gabe only hummed and nodded in reply. His attention turned back the other direction, where Gustav straightened and crossed his arms over his chest. Harvey gazed at him, head tilted at a slight angle, eyes wide open and his lips pursed in a hint of a pout. The big vamp heaved a sigh and nodded. Whatever their exchange had been about, Harvey had come out on top.

Gabe said nothing when Harvey sidled up to him, still beaming with triumph.

“Who’s your new friend?” Harvey asked.

“This is Joe from Russia,” Gabe introduced the man. “Joe, this is Harvey.”

“Howdudoo,” Joe looked at them hazy-eyed, then turned back to the bar and signaled for another refill.

Harvey tugged at Gabe. “C’mon, I wanna dance.”

“To this?” Gabe asked. The jukebox blared Led Zeppelin.

“Oh hell no. Let’s go somewhere with real music.”

Harvey waved good-bye to Gustav before they shuffled out the door.

“You two used to go out, didn’t you?” Gabe asked once they were outside.

“Yeah, so?”

“Has he been a pirate at one point?”

“I dunno, possibly. We didn’t chat much.”

“You did tonight.”

“Well, yeah. I have a cunning plan, and I need Gus’s help.”

Gabe studied Harvey with suspicion. “What plan?”

In the process of pulling out of their parking spot, Harvey nearly took off another car’s side-view mirror. Without batting an eye, he kept on talking. “I had to convince him to slip my mix into his patron’s cocktails. Only the vampires’ drinks, of course.”

There were so many things wrong with that statement, Gabe for a second didn’t know where to start. He ended up picking the most obvious one. “Vampires don’t drink.” Come to think of it, he’d seen vamps in the bar with glasses and bottles of beer; he’d just never thought much of it. After all, that was what everyone did in a bar.

“Why wouldn’t they?”

“You said—”

“That it doesn’t do anything to us. But when you’re in a bar with a bunch of regular people, it’s weird to act like you were in AA. Not to mention, the owners wouldn’t be happy. Mind you, at some places they water down the vamp drinks like you wouldn’t believe. Not Gus, though. He’s old-fashioned that way. He says watering the hooch is a hanging offense. You know, maybe he really used to be a pirate.”

“But isn’t it unethical?”

“What, watering down drinks?”

“No, mixing stuff into them without people knowing.”

“Pfft. The government mixes iodine into table salt for public health reasons. They add fluoride to drinking water to reduce tooth decay—or so they say. How’s that different?”

“It’s the government doing it, for starters.”

“And they can do no wrong, right?”

“And it’s not a secret.”

Harvey shrugged. “What they don’t know won’t hurt them.”

“I can’t believe it. You’re a vegan terrorist!”

Harvey snorted. “You’re one to talk. Anyway, maybe if they fill up on my tonic, they’ll have less appetite for blood. It’s sure something you can get behind, right?”

Gabe had no answer, so he kept to himself and his conflicted thoughts till they reached their destination. It was better not to distract Harvey while driving, in any case. Not if you wanted to get there in one piece.

“So is Gustav inked all over?” he asked when the car finally stopped.

“Oh yeah, even his cock.” Harvey gave Gabe a look too wide-eyed to be sincere, lips pursed too tight as if smothering a laugh. Yet again, Gabe had no clue if Harvey was joking or not, but he now liked Gustav even less.

Harvey pulled Gabe’s face close and gave him a peck on the nose. “Oh, Angel, stop being so serious. It’s a beautiful night.”

Chapter Three

Gabe grabbed a few hours of shut-eye before having to get up and head out again.

Denton Mills, aka Dead Man, was not what Gabe had expected. Gabe had no clear idea what a ghost whisperer should look like, but the skinny guy in his late twenties with spiky, coal-black hair and half a hardware store in his face wasn’t it.

“Denton Mills?” he asked, just to be sure.

“Yeah, that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” the apparition replied. The gruffness in his voice was at odds with the roguish glint of his gaze.

“My name’s Gabe Vadas. Victor Augustine sent me,” Gabe said, by way of introduction.

Denton looked Gabe over with curious eyes. “And it’s not even my birthday. Come in.”

Gabe followed him into an alarmingly untidy living room. Articles of clothing, naked music CDs, coffee cups and other assorted objects covered most horizontal surfaces. The furniture itself seemed to have been arranged by a distracted tornado.

“Did you just move in?” Gabe asked, because he could see no other reason for such chaos.

“No, but I’m moving out next week.”

“Oh, so you’re packing.” That made sense too.

“I haven’t started yet.” Denton threw himself onto a sofa, putting his feet on the coffee table. He knocked over a stack of computer magazines but didn’t bother to pick them up. “Why?”

“Nothing,” Gabe said, staring at the biohazard-green socks. He looked away before the image could burn his retinas. After contemplating the other sitting option, a chair of indeterminate color, he decided to remain standing.

“What does the old bloodsucker want now? By the way, don’t tell him I called him that,” Denton said, grinning.

The effect was disconcerting, especially since he eyed Gabe with undisguised interest. For a treacherous moment, Gabe’s thoughts wandered off, imagining Denton on his knees sucking cock. From the way he talked, Gabe could tell Denton had a tongue stud. Gabe shook his head, and the fantasy fled. He had work to do.

“There was a murder. Augustine says you can talk to the deceased. Oh yeah, this is for you.” Gabe gave him the envelope.

Denton ripped it open, peeked inside and then nodded and looked back up. “Murder, you say. I bet it was bloody.”

“Yes, the guy had—”

“No, don’t tell me the details. They’ll ruin the surprise. You got the address?”

Gabe nodded. “I’ll drive us there.”

Denton fished a pair of combat boots from under the sofa and pulled them on. “Well shit, let’s go, then.”

Once in the car, Denton rolled down his window and stuck his hand out, fingers spread out, letting the air whoosh between them. After a few minutes, he turned to Gabe.

“So, Gabe, you’re new.”

“I guess. Have you known Victor Augustine long?”

“Awhile. He and I have an arrangement.”

“You do jobs for him, and he and his kind leave you alone?”

“Something like that.” Denton fingered one of his eyebrow piercings.

“So what is it exactly that you do? You summon the dead guy and the two of you have a chat?”

Denton curled his lip. “It’s not like that. I’m not a medium. They are all fakes, if you ask me, but what the hell do I know? I mean, who am I to shit on another person’s talents without knowing anything about them, right?”

That was fair enough, Gabe had to admit. “Right. Sorry. So explain yours to me.”

“The dead are dead. They don’t wander around trying to talk to the living. What you think of as spirits are only imprints. At least that’s what they usually are.”

“Usually?”

“Sometimes they get weird.” Denton’s gaze flickered past Gabe, then back. “But generally what happens is that when somebody dies suddenly, and especially violently, they leave a trace.”

“Of what?”

“Their final moments. It stays there where they died for a while, until it fades away.”

“And you can see this…trace?”

“More than that, I can feel it.”

“Hmm.” Denton’s explanation sounded wacky, but for the time being, he was going to take Denton’s word for it.

Their destination turned out to be a small street with widely spaced streetlights. At night it had to be fairly dark and deserted. Gabe parked at one end, and they hoofed it the rest of the way. As they got closer to the scene, Denton lagged farther and farther behind. Gabe checked the street address and stopped. One part of the sidewalk was cleaner than the rest—somebody had taken care to wash away the blood.

Denton stood a good fifteen feet away. “Is that it?”

“I think so.”

Denton inched closer. “Oh yeah, this is the spot.” He clenched his jaws and swiftly strode up next to Gabe. He closed his eyes and stood very still. A few moments later, his body stiffened, and he began to talk in a hushed voice. “He’s coming behind me. I hear him too late. I turn.” Denton whipped around, though his eyes remained closed. “There’s a knife—I try to grab it. I’m young and strong, but he’s stronger.” Denton’s hand flew to his neck, and his knees buckled. Gabe jumped to steady him.

Denton’s eyes popped wide open. “Fuck. At least it was quick,” Denton said, getting his composure together, although he didn’t hurry to pull away.

“Did you see his face?”

Denton shook his head. “No. Too dark, happened too fast.”

“Any identifying marks?”

Denton closed his eyes again, and lines of concentration appeared on his forehead. “I think he has dark hair. And there was this smell…menthol, maybe licorice.” He opened his eyes and looked at Gabe. He was pale as a proverbial ghost himself. “Sorry that’s all I got. Your perp came up from behind.”

“Could the killer have been a vampire?”

Denton squinted his eyes, thinking. “I don’t know. The whole thing happened too fast. He was strong, for sure.”

“All right. You look like shit. Let me buy you a drink.”

“Now? It’s not even noon yet.”

“I’m sure we’ll find something open. C’mon.”

They found a restaurant that served liquor. Gabe ordered a double-scotch for Denton, and a burger and fries for himself. He was hungry.

Gabe watched the color slowly return into Denton’s face.

“Is it always like that?” he asked.

“Like what?”

“You know, upsetting.”

Denton grimaced at him. “Yeah, death tends to be a drag.”

“Sorry.” Gabe returned to his burger.

Denton’s expression gradually smoothed out. “Don’t mind me. I’m always bad tempered after a session. It’s never fun. At least this one I expected. The worst is when they sneak up on me. I’d be walking down the street, minding my own business, and BAM, traffic accident from weeks ago. That shit sucks.” With his glass raised, Denton signaled the waiter for another drink.

“I can imagine. There must be a lot of deaths in a city this big. Have you thought of moving to the country?”

Denton stared back at Gabe with horror. “Oh fuck no! I hate the country. All the idyllic bullshit is there to lull you into a false sense of security, and when you’re all relaxed, the ugly side jumps you and bites you in the ass. I can tell you that from personal experience.”

Denton played with the saltshaker till Gabe moved it out of his reach. Then he started folding and unfolding his napkin. He had restless hands, always touching and feeling things. Finally he returned to tugging on his eyebrow hardware.

The waiter glided by and exchanged Denton’s empty glass for a full one.

“What happened?” Gabe asked.

Denton took a long look at Gabe like he was trying to decide if Gabe was trustworthy enough. Either what he saw or the alcohol in his system came up with a positive answer. “I’ve always been a city boy, but my gramps had a house out in the countryside, next to a lake. We were out there one winter. It was cold as fuck, even the lake froze over. Not enough, though. The ice broke when I walked out too far.”

“Shit.”

“Some guy happening by pulled me out. Otherwise they probably wouldn’t have found my body till spring. I don’t remember any of it. They say I was under the ice for ten or fifteen minutes, and that I was clinically dead. I know I was dead for real. I saw white light, my dead grandpa waiting for me, the whole shebang. And then at the last moment, I was yanked back.”

“It wasn’t your time yet.”

“That’s just it. I really think it was, but I got to cheat death somehow.”

“Is that why they call you the Dead Man?”

“I wouldn’t know. Augustine’s people are a spooky bunch. They give me the heebie-jeebies.” Denton’s cheeks were flushed by then, although still pale compared to his hair. “Anyways, afterwards in the hospital I started noticing the dead people, and you know, hospitals have shitloads of them.”

“That must’ve been rough.”

Denton shrugged. “You know how it goes: whatever doesn’t kill you only makes you weirder.” His sly grin indicated he was aware how much the twisted adage was true for him.

They finished their early—and, in Denton’s case, liquid—lunch making only sparse small talk about the weather and traffic. It was all very mundane, but Gabe got an odd vibe from his companion. The flirtatious glances Gabe carefully ignored, but from time to time Denton’s gaze slipped off Gabe, piercing the thin air beside him.

That night, Gabe met with Victor Augustine, who was not happy about the inconclusive findings. He sent Gabe home with the autopsy report.

Gabe read through it and the complete police files cover to cover. The body had been found by an early riser walking his dog. By then the victim—Paul Mayer, Caucasian, age twenty-five—had been dead for hours. The cause of death was massive blood loss. There was no evidence of robbery. The murderer might have been a psycho, picking his victim randomly. Alternately, his motives could’ve been personal. If he were the police, Gabe would be looking for someone who knew the victim, and he assumed the cops were doing exactly that.

The autopsy report didn’t produce any big surprises, but it revealed some useful information. The victim had remnants of pizza and salad in his stomach and elevated alcohol levels in his blood. So he was probably out partying at one of the many bars or nightclubs of Boystown. Evidence suggested recent anal sex, but no semen was found. So he was gay and practiced safe sex. The photographs showed a bruise at the victim’s groin, but according to the coroner, it originated hours before the attack.

To help him pull his thoughts together, Gabe appropriated one of Harvey’s notebooks and wrote down what he knew. Paul Mayer went out clubbing on Friday night, had some casual sex and had his throat cut on his way home. Gabe recalled Denton’s words at the scene and mulled them over—they indicated that Paul hadn’t known his attacker, or not well anyway, or he probably would’ve recognized him even during that brief struggle. Gabe tended to think of the murderer as a man, although he had to admit a female vampire could’ve overpowered Paul just the same. At that point, Gabe got stuck and put the notebook away.