A Cup Full of Midnight (28 page)

“None that we know of.”

“Prints?”

“Wiped clean. No hair, no fibers. Guy’s a fucking ghost.”

“So he says.”

Frank heaved a sigh. “We’re sitting on Collins now. Piece of work, isn’t he? Scared out of his wits and still talking trash. Says he can take care of himself, we’re
cramping
his
style
.”

“He gave me that same line,” I said. “About being able to take care of himself.”

“What can I say?” Frank said. “The world is full of stupid people.”

If Elgin Mayers was a ghost,Absinthe had become mist. Her teachers had no idea where she might have gone. Her classmates knew her only as an odd girl who claimed to be a witch. The Goth kids down on Elliston were no help: she was finding her path, she was following the great wheel, maybe she’d hitchhiked to California.

I left a trail of business cards around town, all bearing the same message: “Absinthe, call me, 24/7.” By then I was just going through the motions. I only hoped that Elgin Mayers was having no better luck.

On Thursday morning, while Jay finished the last of his Christmas shopping, I stayed with Dylan. He spent the morning dozing and conversing with his invisible Marine. The two of them seemed to have developed a companionable relationship, and I was glad of it.

For lunch, he managed to swallow a few mouthfuls of Campbell’s cream of mushroom soup. Then he turned his head away from the spoon and waved it away with his hand. Two sips of water and he was done.

“You’re good with kids, aren’t you, Straight?” he asked. “I always wished I’d had some. Too selfish though, I guess.”

“They’re a big commitment,” I said. “Nothing’s quite the same after you have one, that’s for sure.”

He smiled and pointed toward the window. “I like that little blonde girl with the ponytail. I see her here a lot.”

“Do you?” I glanced toward the window as if I might actually see her there.

“I think they like it here. Lots of light, and Jay’s Christmas tree. Do you think that might be it?”

“Maybe they just came by to say hello.”

“Maybe so.” His smile was wistful. “I think they like me, Straight. I can’t imagine why the hell they would. Maybe they just come to see this little guy.” He scratched the pup’s oversized ears. Then he murmured, “I keep forgetting they’re not real.”

I wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so I tapped a few fish flakes into the fishbowl instead. The beta darted up to the surface after them.

“Straight?” Dylan said.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got to take a piss.”

I was rinsing out the urinal when Jay came in. His cheeks were flushed with cold, his arms full of department store bags. Rolls of metallic wrapping paper jutted out of one of them.

“How is he?” he asked.

“Seems okay.”

He nodded toward the urinal. “Sorry you had to do that.”

“Not a problem.”

He held up the bags. “This should do it for me. What do you have planned for the rest of the day?”

“Thought I’d go sit around and watch Barnabus’s place.”

“Don’t the police have that covered?”

“Beats asking the same two hundred people if they’ve heard anything from Absinthe.”

He shook his head. Tsk-tsked. “I’ll leave you some dinner in the fridge if you want it.”

“Could be a long time. Maybe a couple of days.”

“I’ll take care of the horses while you’re gone.”

I thanked him and grabbed my jacket. “Call me if there’s a problem. Anything.”

As I started out the door, I heard Dylan call out, “Come on, children. It’s time to go home.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

M
ovies notwithstanding, there’s nothing fun about stakeouts. Muscles aching, bladder swollen. Nothing to read. Nothing to do. No heat or air conditioning, because sitting in a parked vehicle with the engine running draws the wrong kind of attention. In fact, sitting in a parked vehicle at all gets to look suspicious after a while, which is why tinted windows are a good thing.

Trying not to eat or drink, because intake leads to output. I had an empty plastic jug on hand for emergencies, but obviously that wouldn’t cover all contingencies.

I drove by once, spotted the unmarked across from the house, two plainclothes cops slouched inside sipping coffee and looking bored. Two. So one could watch while the other took a piss.

Lucky bastards.

I sighed and parked a few blocks over. Circled wide through the neighbors’ yards and came around the back. No cops here. It looked sloppy. Since Frank was anything but sloppy, it told me he’d put his men inside the house instead.

Even at this time of year, Barnabus’s yard was an overgrown tangle that stretched back two hundred yards and ended at the edge of a wooded tract that probably belonged to someone else. I hunted around until I found a deadfall I could sit behind and still see the back of the house without being spotted. Then I hunkered down behind a rotting log, put my phone on vibrate, and burrowed into my parka.

It wasn’t cold enough for frostbite, but it was cold enough to numb my fingers and toes. I spent a long, unfruitful night. Then in the morning, stiff and cranky, ears burning with cold, I went to a nearby Waffle House for a bite of breakfast and a real restroom. I called Jay at home, but got no answer. On the way back to Barnabus’s, I picked up a few packs of peanut butter crackers and two bottles of water.

It was past time to give up. Frank had everything under control, and the smartest thing I could do would be to go home and take a long, hot shower. But I’d reached that stubborn stage, where, when nothing is working, you dig in your heels and hang on until something gives.

Someone had killed Tara and Dennis Knight. Slashed Medea’s throat. With Absinthe in the wind and Josh under wraps, that same someone was coming after Barnabus. Maybe later, maybe sooner, maybe Mayers, maybe someone else, but he was coming. I intended to be there.

At suppertime, I broke out a pack of peanut butter crackers and took a few sips of water.

I waited. Took a leak. Checked my phone. No messages. Waited some more.

Night fell. The lights came on in Barnabus’s windows, and I felt a surge of resentment that the master vampire was inside all warm and cozy, while I was skulking around in the woods pretending to be Supercop.

It got colder. I lowered myself to the ground, leaned my back against a tree trunk and shivered, tucking my hands under my arms.

I must have dozed off sometime after midnight, because suddenly my eyes snapped open and I came fully awake. A sharp cry came from inside the house, followed by the crack of a pistol. I scrambled to my feet and felt for the Glock. Moved in closer for a better look.

There was a flurry of movement behind the curtains. Then the back door burst open and a man plunged out into the darkness. He sprinted for the woods, arms and legs pumping. In the dark, I couldn’t see his features.

I moved to intercept him, the Glock pointed at the center of his chest, and said, “I’d stop if I were you.”

He skidded to a halt and cocked his head to one side. His gaze flicked left, then right, settled on my face. Up close, I recognized the pitted cheeks, the long scar, the heavy mustache. A Ruger double-action revolver dangled from one hand. I could see him thinking about it.

“Don’t do it, Elgin,” I said. “Bad idea.”

He sank into a combat stance but didn’t raise the gun. “I can take you,” he said.

I held the Glock steady. “Could be.”

“Pansy.” He spat at my feet, but cast a glance over his shoulder, where two men carrying sidearms were scrambling out the door. In the illumination from the porch light, I recognized the one in front. Kurt something or other.

The man in back was limping, a bandana knotted around his thigh just above a dark wet stain.

Kurt said something into his radio and started in our direction.

“Why don’t you put that popgun down?” Elgin said. “You and me see who’s the better man, McKean. Mano a mano.”

I laughed. “That only works in the movies, pal. I do something that stupid, I deserve to get my ass whipped.”

He glanced behind him again. “Oh well. Worth a try.”

He let the Ruger fall to his side.

Kurt paused at the edge of the woods and peered into the shadows. I had a better view of him than he did of me.

“Kurt?” I called. “It’s Jared McKean. I’ve got your guy here.”

“Zat so?” He advanced noisily, leading with his 9mm. “What’re you doing here?”

“Same thing you are,” I said.

“Dying,” Elgin said, and snapped up the Ruger.

I dove to the side, firing two shots at his center of mass. His first bullet grazed my shoulder as I fell.

His second spatted into the ground beside my head.

My next shot caught him in the chest as Kurt emptied the 9mm into his left side.

The Ruger swung toward Kurt—my God, how could this guy not be dead?—and I fired again.

Elgin looked down at the crimson flowers spreading across the shoulder and sleeve of his jacket. The hand with the Ruger hung limply at his side. “Damn,” he said. He sounded bewildered, like a child awakening in a strange place.

I pointed the Glock at the center of his forehead. His pale eyes were clear and cold. My finger twitched on the trigger. He’d murdered three people and shot a cop; one look at Kurt’s face told me I could end it here and walk away clear. No chance Elgin would hire some shit-for-brains defense attorney and get off on some technicality, no chance he’d ever come for Josh.

Elgin’s hand, the one with the Ruger, still dangled, useless. The viper defanged. Finished.

I slid my finger off the trigger.

Elgin smiled. “Took two of you,” he said and sank to his knees.

CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

T
he lights were on when I got home. From force of habit, I looked in on Dylan before I went upstairs. The hospital bed was gone, the medicines and Dylan’s gifts piled into a box and pushed against the far wall.

Damn. Damn.

Damn.

I found Jay in his room, the plastic monster models he’d made when we were kids lined up on the desk in front of him like toy soldiers. Dylan’s pup lay at Jay’s feet. It stretched, yawned, and blinked up at me with sleepy eyes, tail thumping.

“Why didn’t you call?” I asked.

Jay looked up, his face tear-streaked. “What could you have done?”

“Been here.”

He gave me a sad smile and turned back to his desk. He ran a finger lightly across the Wolfman’s face. “Did you catch the bad guys?”

“I think so. One of them, anyway.”

“Good.”

I sat down on his bed and looked around at the walls, which were covered with posters from his favorite old movies.
Casablanca. Creature from the Black Lagoon. Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein.
“When did it happen?”

“Yesterday. I started to call you, but then I thought, what the hell for, you know? You were doing something important.”

“I would have come home,” I said.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I didn’t call.”

With Elgin neutralized, Randall and his family finally came home. On the phone, I told them about Dylan.

“Give Jay our sympathies,” Randall said. “And tell him y’all can come over to our place after the service.”