B007JBKHYW EBOK Read online

  I stood there blinking reflectively in buttery morning light…reached out slowly to touch one of the freshly painted iron spears--

  “Hey you!”

  I jumped about six feet out of my skin--whipped around and somehow managed to cram my heart back down my throat.

  “Hey, you bastard! What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

  Alicia was standing fifty feet down the empty street yelling furiously at me. I’d know that voice anywhere, not to mention the familiar black dress and raven hair.

  I started to run back to the Lexus when I saw the U-Haul truck parked at the curb beside her, and the balding, fat-bellied man behind the open tailgate, lifting a heavy-looking cardboard box into the truck bed. It was he Alicia was yelling at. Only, of course, it wasn’t Alicia. Her double, maybe--generous bust, long shapely legs--but not Alicia. Alicia wouldn’t be yelling at someone in the middle of the street at seven in the morning; she’d just fang them.

  “You fat creep! You said ‘payment when the con closes! The con’s closed!”

  The chubby man heaved another cardboard box aboard and turned to the stacked brunette, top of his bald head reddening as well. Now I could see his day glow Elvira T-shirt. “Yeah, well, that’s when I had somethin’ to pay you with! Half my concession table went up in the fire, along with my wallet!”

  He was one of the dealers, packing his truck up now to depart the convention. And he was with Elvira! The Elvira of nationwide TV horror host fame!

  Who was not a happy camper. “You’re full of shit, Lonnie! There was no fire! Now, give me my modeling fee!”

  The tailgate slammed shut with finality, the chubby man brushed past her to the cab door. “Look, kid, we both got screwed this trip! I can’t pay what I ain’t got!” He slid in, patted the load of boxes in the passenger seat beside him. “Sorry, Sylvie, no room in the truck!”

  Sylvie?

  Not Elvira? Not even Cassandra Peterson? And certainly not Alicia.

  Especially now that she was tearing off the black, bouffant wig in rage and flinging it in Lonnie’s chubby face. “How the hell am I supposed to get back to Chicago?”

  The truck growled to life as Lonnie slammed the door. He leaned out the driver’s side window, gave her the once-over from black heels to now rich brown hair. “Shouldn’t have trouble hitching a ride in that outfit.”

  “Goddamn it, Lonnie!”

  Lonnie set the gears. “Life’s a bitch,” he said, peeling away, “and then you’re dead!”

  Sylvie ripped off her left high heel and threw it after his gas fumes. “Bald-headed tub of guts!”

  And she went hobbling after her shoe.

  My cell phone burred.

  I started to thumb it open, hesitated…

  What if it was one of them?

  They’d ransacked my room, got my number from the front desk and had some weird new vampire technology to trace my location if I answered my phone!

  Something said no in my head.

  For just a second I thought it might be Mitzi…but finally decided it was the less paranoid side of my own mind. “Hello--?”

  “Ed? Doc Feral here. You get some rest?”

  “How’s my dog?”

  “I ran every available test short of a cat scan and—“

  “Just give me the bottom line.”

  “She’s a goner, pal. Sorry. Dead as they come. Rigor already setting in.”

  My insides caved. Mitzi.

  “Did all I could, buddy. But the good news is I’m waving all examination charges! Figure you feel bad enough.”

  “Appreciate that, Doc.”

  “Only bill is for the cremation. And I’m take ten per cent off that—“

  “The what!”

  “Don’t thank me, least I can do for a fellow skirt-chaser!”

  “You cremated her?”

  “Cleanest way. Got our own little crematory right out back—“

  I saw red. “I didn’t give you permission for that! Are you saying my dog is ashes?”

  “Calm down, Ed, it’s only a hundred bucks for the service, plus I got some nice little urns here if you want to keep her remains. Make you a good price!”

  “You son of a bitch! You burned up my dog!”

  “Okay, I’ll throw in the urn for free. But I gotta charge you for the cremation, Ed. Takes a lot of gas to fire up the old—“

  “You fucking moron!”

  “Ed. I thought it was what you’d want—“

  “Stupid ass-chasing convention geek!”

  “Ed. Please. You’re spitting—“

  “I’ll sue you blind, you incompetent twit!”

  “Sue? You’re joking, right? I mean, at best she was less than a quarter pure poodle...”

  I screamed.

  Threw back my head and bellowed at the sky, the sound knocking down the narrow street. I swung around and dashed the cell phone to the sidewalk. Unlike the girl’s high heel, it didn’t bounce, just exploded in a rain of black plastic and unused minutes.

  I stood there leaning against the former Miss Portman’s shiny Lexus in a void of fury, body trembling, listening to my ragged breath, the ringing of blood in my own ears. When I’d stood long enough to begin feeling foolish, I looked up sheepishly at the girl in the black Elvira outfit down the street.

  She was gone.

  TWO

  What followed was what we’ll call my creepy period.

  Not that this whole story hasn’t been more than a little creepy; more accurately, I guess, we’ll call it my out-of-body period. Hallucinatory if you like, only that doesn’t exactly describe it either. I wasn’t exactly tripping, seeing purple buildings and Day-glow sidewalks, it was more like being there but watching myself from somewhere just above it at the same time…my body, the car, sometimes the whole city.

  Maybe I was having a psychotic break. I read somewhere that that can happen when the mind is simultaneously impinged upon by so many different emotions and blind alleys it doesn’t know which way to go next—shit or go blind, as it were—the synapse so overloaded they don’t quite engage.

  I remember I was terribly sad about Mitzi, terribly worried about Clancy, terribly afraid of Ivan, terribly sure that the Topeka vampire police were waiting around the next corner, and terribly certain I was a thirty-six year old ex-newspaper reporter who suddenly had no idea either where his life was going, or even sure where it had ever been…or certainly what it meant. Which was the most terrible thing of all: the idea it might have meant nothing, had been nowhere and was heading nowhere. Fast.

  But most of all, that I was just terribly, terribly alone.

  This from a guy who had, for the most part, been pretty much alone all his life but for an unremarkable childhood, and even more unremarkable (and short) list of girlfriends and relationships that went nowhere…and a future, I was beginning to realize, I had not exactly given a lot of thought to. I thought about it now. Plenty. And reached some conclusions.

  You might as well be dead.

  The idea leapt unbidden to my fuzzy brain, and for just that bare fraction of a moment I could have sworn it was coming from Mitzi. But that was impossible, of course.

  Mitzi was gone.

  Clancy was gone.

  And I was on the run in a stolen car with no real place to go home to, no place to go at all.

  Knock it off. You know exactly where you’re going.

  Which was true. Chicago.

  Even if I hadn’t the least idea how to get there. But that, as they say, is why God made roadmaps.

  So I drove listlessly around Kansas City stopping at this gas station and that trying to purchase a road atlas. In the old days the nearest Standard or Philips station would give them away for free, along with free air for your tires and a free window cleaning from a brightly smiling guy in a crisp, neat uniform and bowtie. No more. What I was offered now was an occasional regional map of the city and outlying suburbs or just a blank expression, or both. “Road Maps? Nah, we don’t ca
rry ‘em no more. Most folks have them satellite directional things on their front dash.”

  Most people, maybe, but not the late Mrs. Portman. A shiny new Lexus, yes, but it must have been the trimmed-down model.

  After a while I gave up on gas stations and began looking for bookstores. I had always loved Borders Books, used to hand out there for hours drinking coffee and reading Stephen King for free. Maybe that’s why all the Borders are gone now. Along with all the mom and pop bookstores. I was just beginning to hunt for a Barnes & Noble when a deep growl filled the car. I almost, from pure habit, turned to the passenger seat, expecting Mitzi. But the passenger seat was still empty, along with my growling stomach.

  I hadn’t eaten in hours, and although the thought of food made me vaguely nauseous, I knew I’d never make Chicago without something on it. So I gave up on bookstores and began looking for cheap restaurants . Preferably ones that sold road maps.

  I’d just spotted an always dependable Denny’s, when I saw the flashing rack lights in my rearview.

  * * *

  “Nice, Magee,” I whispered pulling to the curb, eyes on the big patrol car behind me, “think you may as well be dead and it shall be given you!”

  You’re alive and breathing, calm down. It’s just a cop.

  “Just a cop? This is a stolen car! I’m a wanted man! The cop is probably a vampire!”

  Or you could panic, that will help a lot.

  “Mitzi? Is that you? Are you…still alive, reading my mind?”

  What are the three things that can kill a vampire, Ed?

  “Uh…a wooden stake…cutting off the head…and…uh…”

  --burning in a crematorium. Get a grip now, before the nice officer catches you talking to yourself.

  I jumped at knuckles rapping the Lexus’ window.

  I hit the button and the window scrolled down. He was a big cop, with a meaty face and lantern jaw, those mirrored sunglasses that turn you into an emotionless insect, and a scowl of permanent constipation; my favorite kind of law enforcer.

  “License and registration, please.” He also could have used a breath mint.

  “Was I speeding?”

  “Sir. License and registration.”

  I fumbled out my wallet, held up the little plastic window to him.

  “Take it out please.”

  I struggled with the little plastic window, finally wrenched free the license and handed the wrinkled cardboard to him. He stood there waiting. The registration.

  You’re a writer! Think of something!

  But I couldn’t. I found myself reaching over to Mrs. Portman’s glove compartment in hopeful desperation, fishing around inside like I knew what I was doing. Remarkably, under a pile of cosmetics and a packet of Kleenex, I found her registration and insurance card. I hesitated a moment, not sure at all this was a good idea, and handed them over to the cop.

  He looked them over silently, looked back at me. “Sir, your license says you own a 1986 Chevy.”

  I nodded. “That’s right.”

  “This car is a Lexus.”

  I thought of glancing down at the wheel in front of me, looking surprised, saying something funny like, “Wow, when did that happen?” but he didn’t look like a cop with a sense of humor.

  “It’s my…mother-in-law’s car.”

  The officer stared at me.

  “My Chevy’s in the shop.”

  “In Topeka?”

  “Yes.”

  “Sir, would you turn off your engine, please?”

  I did as told. When I looked up, the cop was walking back to his patrol car.

  I could see him in the rearview putting in the call on his dash mike. Checking.

  Nice! That was pretty smart.

  “Not so smart. What if the Topeka police are looking for Mrs. Portman?”

  Why would they? Besides, she’s dead, remember? Vanished in a puff of white smoke when the sunlight hit her dog pee anointed sunblock?

  “What if he’s not a real cop? What if he’s one of them! Or someone on Ivan’s payroll! Look what happened to Alicia and Clancy in their hotel suite! Maybe Ivan’s already turned half of Kansas City into vampires! What if—“

  What if you shut-up now-- he’s coming back.

  The cop filled my side window again, handed me back the license and other papers.

  I put them all back with visibly rubbery fingers. “Thank you.”

  “Sir, I’ve been following you for the better part of half an hour.”

  “Oh? Why’s that, officer?”

  “You’ve kind of been driving around in circles. Is everything okay?”

  Think fast.

  “Well…”

  Faster than that!

  “Sir, may I ask what your business is here in Kansas City?”

  I started to say ‘visiting relatives’ but—

  No! He can check on that! Stick to the truth!

  “…I, uh…came up for the convention last night.”

  The cop’s demeanor seemed to change. Maybe relax a bit. “Not that vampire thing?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted.

  He nodded, straightened and peered toward the hotel with a patient look. “Everybody who came out of that thing last night looked half baked. Drugs, huh?”

  “Uh, not really…just--”

  “Geeks. So you’re one of them Goth weirdos, huh? My sister’s husband is a horror geek. Dresses up like a sheep.”

  “A sheep?”

  “Or a dog. Or something.”

  “A wolf?”

  “Maybe that’s it. Weird. But I guess that’s the whole point, right?”

  “I guess.” I gave him an innocent little smile.

  He grunted, shook his head. “Vampires. I liked it better when it was just hippies and hop heads. You drive safe now, sir, and remember to use your belt.” And he walked back to his car.

  And I pulled the Lexus into the Denny’s lot and walked across to the restaurant. Still breathing.

  Good job! That was nice!

  I paused at the entry door, listening to the inside of my head. “This isn’t Clancy, is it? Clancy—that you talking in my head?”

  Ed?

  “What!”

  Don’t be an idiot…

  * * *

  It was crowded inside; the morning breakfast shift.

  The Please Wait to Be Seated sign greeted me in the entrance foyer.

  “It’ll be just a minute,” the cashier girl smiled behind her counter.

  I looked over both sides of the restaurant: the non-smoking side and the new non-smoking side. Both were full of Sunday morning families behind lots of full plates, especially the kids who seemed more diminutive than usual behind those skyscrapers of pancakes. Kids. Notoriously slow and picky eaters. My stomach complained again loudly. The cashier girl caught it and giggled.

  After a while I’d begun to consider other kinds of eateries. Then I suddenly spotted an empty booth at the far end near the front window. Not exactly empty, most of the half-circle of plastic upholstery was stacked with suitcases and cardboard boxes. The right end was stacked too—really stacked. I recognized the plunging black neckline immediately, the Elvira look-alike face. I recalled the angry falsetto outside the hotel shouting at the chubby guy loading the pickup: “How the hell am I supposed to get back to Chicago?”

  I told the cashier that I’d spotted my party and threaded my way through grandmas and harried parents to the dark eyes, mousy brown hair and air of quiet desperation in the corner booth.

  I didn’t see the point in trying to be clever in the face of so much cleavage so I plunged right in. So to speak. “Hi.”

  The dark eyes looked up, accessed me impassively. She didn’t “hi” me back.

  “Look,” I smiled, “I’m sure you hear this all the time but—“

  “No.”

  Or…perhaps ‘clever’ would have also worked.

  I nodded disappointment. “Not a chance, huh?”

  She shook her mousy curls . She
really did look like Elvira, even without the haystack black wig, had that same small but sexy-sly little red mouth. Which, unfortunately, was not smiling at the moment.

  I gave it the old college try anyway, putting on my best pathetic face. “Are you sure? This place is packed solid and I really am starving.”

  She was about to shake her head again when my stomach gave out with another liquid growl, something akin to the MGM lion, the surrounding customers actually turning to look and snigger. When I turned back from apologizing to them, Elvira was smiling a little too.

  She pushed one of the suitcases out of the way beside her. “Okay.”

  I started to scoot when she held up a finger. “On one condition…”

  “Name it.”

  “You buy.”

  That’s when I noticed the only thing on her table besides the napkin holder was a cup of black coffee and soda crackers.

  “You got it,” I said and slid in, extending my hand. “Ed Magee!”

  This is a mistake.

  “Shut-up,” I said and her small, black-nailed hand froze in mid-shake. “I beg your pardon?”

  I took her hand quickly before she could pull away. “Ed Magee!”

  She peered suspiciously up with those wonderful dark eyes. “Sounded like Ed Shut-up.”

  I shrugged. “Haven’t eaten in a while!”

  She continued peering at me suspiciously. I was losing her.

  Good! Get out of there!

  “Shut-up!” This time, thankfully, only in my mind.

  Dark Eyes was appraising me thoughtfully. “Mr. Magee?”

  “Please, call me Ed!”

  “Mr. Magee…you want to let go of my hand now?”

  I let go of her hand. Think she was about to use it to redirected me to the exit door, when our waitress walked up, pad in hand. ‘Chloe’ according to her name plate. “Sorry, folks, didn’t realize there were two of you.”

  Elvira ignored her, still giving me that baleful peer.

  I decided to give in and go gallant. “Actually, I was just leaving—“ and I began sliding out of the booth when those black nails closed around my wrist, holding me tight.

  The big eyes turned to Chloe. “I’ll have another cup of coffee, please. And two eggs over easy.”

  “Eggs over-- coming right up—“