Yeah, I’m going crazy.
“What the hell were you doing there?” she asked.
Veronica still looked eighteen, although her dark eyes held more wisdom than any eighteen year old I’d ever seen. We’d touched base only a few times since I’d saved her life a couple of years ago.
“How did you find me?” I asked.
“You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“We’re...” she paused, started again. “We’re connected somehow, Spinoza.”
Crazy words. They were words that made me even forget the two lumps at the back of my head. “I need a drink.”
“No drinks, Spinoza. The man who attacked me years ago was a vampire. You know that.”
“I really need a drink.”
“Calm down, buckaroo. This isn’t new news. Anyway, by saving me, we somehow...bonded.”
“Bonded?”
She nodded. “Mentally. It happens when there’s a close bond between vampire and mortal. Apparently saving one’s life accelerates that bond. Who knew?”
“You know you sound crazy,” I said. “Batshit crazy.”
“Says the man I found lying in the alley in a pool of his own blood. How do you think I found you?”
I thought about that as long and hard as my throbbing head would permit. Bonded? Lord help me.
“Now that that’s out of the way, Spinoza, why don’t you tell me what sort of shit you’ve stumbled into?”
Rubbing my head, hearing the craziness that was issuing forth from my mouth, I told her about my case, everything I’d explained to Roxi, plus the night’s events.
She sat there, thinking. “Huh,” she finally said.
“Very astute,” I commented. “Know anything about the woman in the iron mask?”
“I will soon,” was all she said. “And, if my hunch is correct, she is far more than a woman. Far, far more.”
Chapter Nine
I opened the fridge, half-expecting to find an ice-cold beer. Or a twelve-pack. Of course, there wasn’t any beer. There was a half-bottle of Roxi’s chardonnay, but I firmly guided my hand to a Diet Coke, along with half a meatball sandwich that I tossed in the microwave.
I took these to my desk. I wanted nothing more than to crawl into bed, but I had work to do. I thought of those woeful eyes behind the mask. Not blue, but violet. And they had been full of pain that may have matched my own. Maybe.
I picked up my cell and punched in my client’s number. Voicemail. I left a message and hung up. I opened my laptop and researched Medievaland. I wanted to learn who owned that particular franchise. This information could be easily found, if one knew how. Then I did some background checks on the owner. Came up with nothing. They weren’t vampires, of that I was certain. They didn’t even live in California. That’s one annoying aspect of private detective work; much of the research is necessary but hardly ever relevant to the case.
I washed the last of the sandwich down with a swig of Diet Coke. Her accent. Swedish? Norwegian? I could be at my laptop all day. I didn’t have enough information. I called my client again, frowning when he still failed to pick up. Now that I’d seen her, I understood his concern. So why wasn’t he answering?
I knew it was pointless, but I searched the internet for vampires with violet eyes. That would have been too easy. And probably inaccurate. Nothing, of course. I called a couple of trusted contacts and inquired.
Three hours later, still at my desk, I sat drumming my fingers. My mind wandered to the last drink I’d taken before killing my son. He would have been fifteen now, had I not taken that last drink. Or maybe the last four or five. He might have had a girlfriend. I’d never had a chance to give him “the talk.”
It was early afternoon and Roxi would be calling soon. She called me every day. The thought was comforting, and I felt a pang of disappointment that I might disappoint her with my lack of progress. Meeting a vampire in silver chains was something, but I didn’t consider getting clobbered and dumped in an alley as progress. I knew two things: one, I needed to talk more with my client, and two, I had to help the imprisoned woman, whoever she was.
* * *
A shower and clean clothes helped.
I’d heard somewhere that a shower could make you feel as good as 25 milligrams of Demerol. I wondered if that was true. I’d never taken it; I refused to ever take anything to ease pain. I didn’t feel I deserved to be relieved of pain of any kind. But I did ice the lump on my head to bring down the swelling. I’d had concussions before. I didn’t think I had one now, but I wouldn’t be of use to anyone if I couldn’t function.
I had filled Roxi in when she called. With my past cases, in regard to creatures of the night, Roxi had proven to be remarkably open-minded. More so than I had been. I would have dismissed such stories as just that...stories.
That was, if course, if I hadn’t seen these things first-hand.
They’re real, I thought. Whatever they are.
And Veronica was one of them. And perhaps even more strange, she and I were linked telepathically. As in, she somehow had access to my thoughts. My tortured thoughts. Poor thing.
I shook my head again and winced.
“You should see a doctor,” she said, referring to my head injuries.
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Well, let me at least come over. Fix you dinner?”
I supposed all women had a tendency to fix things, but I hated it.
“It’s okay. I have to go out. Research.”
“About vampires?”
“Something like that.”
She asked me to call later. I promised I would. Roxi cared for me, but she also respected my work. Even when it came to blood-sucking fiends. If I were her, I would have run for the hills. And kept running.
I hung up and got my coat and keys.
Chapter Ten
The Tam O’Shanter was a classy Scottish pub in Glendale.
I liked it because of its unique, somewhat secretive ambiance and the intelligent, diverse regulars. You could mingle at the bar, or sit quietly alone and listen to the pianist, Frank. I liked the older big band tunes. Frank was a real entertainer. He could jump from “Getting to Know You” to “Clair de Lune” with the seamless grace of a ballerina, either leading the chorus of voices that rose around him or bending into the kind of classical piece that let his piano do the talking. It was a great place to get away, a place where no one would think of finding me; it was my little secret haven.
I got into my car and headed over to the Tam, where I was to meet Veronica. As I entered the pub, Frank transitioned his melody to “As Time Goes By” from the old Bogie film, Casablanca. He knew I liked that particular tune and played it whenever I came in. He smiled at me, and I attempted a smile back.