Abracadaver (Esther Diamond Novel) (12 page)

“So Ted’s not in danger from him?” I said. “Well, that’s a relief.”

But based on what Max said next, it sounded as if someone who was not involved in the murder probably
was
in danger.

“In keeping with what Mr. Nolan has conveyed to you, Ted says that Danny soon got noisy and made a scene. Upon paying his respects to the family, he told Mrs. Ning that he knows who killed Uncle Six and he vowed to extract vengeance—though his language, one supposes, was far more colorful than that.”

“Indeed.”

In the Chinatown underworld, Danny’s wagon had been firmly hitched to Uncle Six’s star. I had previously seen how the gangster fawned on the tong boss, and I thought he had probably felt an emotional attachment to him. Mostly, though, I assumed Danny’s grief and rage now were caused by his career prospects spiraling due to his patron’s death. Ambitious members of the Red Daggers were probably eager to challenge Danny’s position as leader now that he wasn’t protected by Uncle Six, and other powerful underworld bosses presumably already had their own trusted right-hand thugs and didn’t want Uncle Six’s leftovers.

Danny’s performance at the wake sounded like he was mostly acting out . . . But just because he was an idiot didn’t mean he wasn’t a survivor. So I thought he might also have his eye on the ball. If he could reinvent himself as the avenger of Uncle Six’s murderer, he might turn his fate back in the direction he wanted it to go.

Max asked, “Have you convinced your friend to cease following Danny?”

“Nolan’s not a friend, he’s a colleague,” I said automatically. “And, no, he won’t listen.”

“Based on what we know of that lad, I am very concerned for Mr. Nolan’s safety.”

“So am I, but he’s ignoring me now,” I said. “And it sounds like Quinn is probably still here.” I relayed the information I had gotten from Nolan.

“Sudden illness, such as Detective Quinn apparently experienced after arriving here, is a common reaction of the oppressed to increased demonic energy,” said Max. “I think it likely the demon is gathering its strength and focusing its energy on a goal.”

We both looked in the direction of Uncle Six’s closed casket. If the old man rose and tried to get out of the coffin, I had a feeling that things would get revoltingly messy, given that his body had fallen six floors last week before being scraped up off a city street.

“Yuck,” I blurted, shying away from the images in my head.

“Let’s make our way to the back rooms,” Max said. “If Detective Quinn is there, we should extract him immediately.”

With Nelli right behind us and occasionally stepping on our heels, we pushed our way through the crowd, apologizing as we went and ignoring the censorious looks we got from mourners who clearly thought a wake was no place for a large, wet dog.

I kept looking around, hoping to see John, Nathan, or Lucky, but the whole funeral home was so crowded this evening that I couldn’t spot any of them. I had no idea if they knew Quinn was here, and I wanted to warn them that we feared Uncle Six might stop resting in peace at any moment. But in the current circumstances, I was unable to communicate with them.

After prolonged pushing, sidling, and squeezing through the press of bodies, we reached the door to the back rooms and went through it. Once on the other side of it, it was such a relief
not
to be in that densely crowded hall anymore, we paused for a moment to take a few steadying breaths and compose ourselves.

Then I said to Max, “Let’s just start opening doors. If he’s here, we should find him quickly.”

He nodded, handed me Nelli’s leash, and stepped in front of me to open the door to the office.

A man inside the room shrieked.

Max gave a startled cry and staggered backward into me. When his skull crashed into my nose, I cried out and staggered back, too—and stepped on Nelli. Nelli wailed and jumped sideways, then gave me a reproachful look.

“Dio mio!”
Lucky’s voice sounded breathless. “Don’t creep around like that! You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“My dear fellow, I’m so sorry! We didn’t expect to find you in here.”

I put a hand gingerly on my throbbing nose while my eyes watered.

As we entered the office, I saw that a telephone receiver was in Lucky’s hand. He put it back in its cradle on the desk and said to Max, “Well, now I know why you’re not answering the phone at the bookstore.”

“I left you a message,” I said to him, sniffing a little.

He shook his head. “My phone’s dead.”

A wave of cold passed through my chest. “Since when?”

“Since Detective Doom-To-Devices got here,” Lucky said grimly.

“Is he still here?” Max asked urgently.

“Yep. But how did
you
know? I been trying to call and tell you.” He gestured to the phone on the desk.

“You should have called
me,
” I said, waving my cell phone in the air. Still no reply from Nolan, I noticed.

“When I say my phone is dead, kid, I mean
dead.
I can’t even look up the numbers.” He added, “But the bookstore is listed in the phonebook, so I’ve been calling there.”

“Where is Quinn now?” I asked.

“Don’t worry. I got him tied up next door.”

“Tied up?”
I repeated as Lucky led the way out of the room. “Literally?”

“Yeah. He’s gagged, too. Sounds don’t really carry from here to the visitation rooms, but better safe than so—”

“You
bound
and
gagged
him?”

“Would you relax? I didn’t hurt him.” Lucky added, “Well, not much.”

“You’ve tied up a
cop?
” I said. “Are you crazy?”

“I didn’t know what else to do,” Lucky said defensively. “When John told me he was here, I didn’t think we should just let him roam around loose. Not after what happened the last time he was here.”

Max said to me, “Lucky has a point.”

“Max, we can’t tie up a police officer,” I said firmly.

How was I going to talk Quinn out of charging Lucky with kidnapping him?

More importantly, how would I talk him out of telling Lopez about this?

We entered a storage room. There was a narrow cot there, and I realized this must be where Lucky slept when he’d been hiding from the police in recent weeks.

Now the cot was occupied by Detective Quinn, who had been bound and gagged with—even I could see—professional efficiency. Both wrists and both ankles were tied to the metal bedframe. He was conscious and, as might be expected, looked absolutely furious.

Nelli started growling. A low, deep sound that rumbled in her throat.

I looked anxiously at her, realizing I didn’t have the strength to hold her back if she attacked the helpless man tied to the cot. But Nelli wasn’t even looking at Quinn. Her eyes scanned the room a few times, then she half-closed them as she continued growling softly. Whatever she found threatening, apparently she couldn’t locate it; she just knew it was somewhere in our vicinity.

Quinn’s angry gaze shifted from Lucky to the growling dog, and his eyes widened with alarm. He started struggling against his bonds.

“Oh, my God,” I said in a hollow voice, my heart pounding. “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod.”

We were in deep shit this time.

This was a
cop
we were holding prisoner.

At the sound of my voice, Quinn’s gaze moved from Nelli, who was still growling softly, to me. A little disoriented, it took him a moment to recognize me. And then his expression transformed into appalled shock. He tried to speak through the gag, addressing me. His comments just came out as muffled grunts, of course, but I had the impression he was asking what the fuck I thought I was doing and declaring that I was every bit as crazy as Lopez feared.

“Lucky,” I said desperately. “We can’t do this.”

“Too late now. It’s done.” The old mobster shrugged. “Spilt milk.”

“Oh, my
God.
” I couldn’t think of what else to say.

While Quinn writhed in protest against his bonds and continued grunting angrily through the gag, Max leaned over his body and took a few sniffs. Checking for odors of excrement, rotting flesh, or putrescence, I supposed.

Then he looked in each of his ears and peered into each of the detective’s eyes. Quinn found the examination peculiar enough that he stopped struggling for a few moments and just stared at Max in bemusement.

“Lucky, how did this happen?” I demanded.

“Well, John told me he was back here, lying down,” said Lucky. “He’d arrived with another cop—not your boyfriend, someone else.”

“The other guy isn’t a cop,” I said. “He’s an actor.”

“After what happened last time . . .” Lucky looked down at Quinn and added, “You
jerk.
”

“Hm?” Quinn grunted.

“Well, John was really worried about him being here in the middle of a big wake.”

“Of course,” said Max. “As soon as we learned this was his destination, the alarming implications of his presence were immediately apparent.”

“Hm?” Quinn said again, frowning at Max.

“So John sees him arrive and walks up to speak to him, hoping he can get rid of him. Maybe say it’s insensitive for cops to be here on such a sad occasion,” Lucky continued. “Something like that. But before he can make his point, the other cop tells him—”

“Nolan’s not a cop, he’s an actor.”

“—that Quinn is feeling really sick all of a sudden and asks if there’s somewhere he can lie down until their ride comes for them.”

I supposed Quinn had gotten a squad car to drop them off here and told it to come back later for them.

“And instead of refusing, which he’s got a constitutional right to do, John gives him my cot.” Lucky made a disgusted sound. “And him such an educated boy, too.”

While Max continued examining Quinn and Nelli continued growling softly, which was starting to get on my nerves, I said to Lucky, “So you . . . what? Came straight back here, conked him on the head, and tied him to the bed before he regained consciousness?”

“Yeah.” Lucky seemed pleased that I was catching up to the plot. “Then I started trying to get in touch with you two. Which wasn’t working, so I’m really glad someone else told you this bozo was coming back here to reiterate another corpse.”

“Hm?” said Quinn.

“I think you mean reanimate.”

“Hm?”
the cop grunted.

“Are you still feeling sick?” Max asked him.

Quinn shook his head. Then he glared at Lucky and said something.

“I think he’s saying his head hurts,” I said.

“I didn’t hit him that hard,” Lucky said dismissively.

“Even if he’s better, he could have another bout of nausea,” I said to Max. “We should remove the gag.”

“Bad idea,” said Lucky. “What if he goes into some mumbo jumbo chanting to raise another body from the dead?”

“Hm?”
said Quinn.

“We should remove him immediately from this place,” said Max.

“It’s too risky,” I argued. “We can’t get a bound and gagged cop out of here without being noticed. Not with so many people around.”

“We could haul him out through Antonelli’s,” said Lucky. “No one’s using those rooms tonight. The exit is clear.”

“But there are people on the street,” I said. “Even if we use the hearse—”

“Hm?” said Quinn, looking alarmed.

“—and pull it right up to the door, the risk of being seen abducting a cop is too great.”

“We’ll put him in a coffin,” Lucky said. “Problem solved.”

Quinn protested emphatically.

“That may be the best solution,” Max said apologetically to the detective. “A speedy departure is advisable, and I fear that you are not in a cooperative frame of mind. We may only have moments before Uncle Six becomes reanimated.”

“Hm?”

Lucky said, “And Nathan won’t like
that.
”

Quinn protested some more, then choked a little on his gag.

“This is too dangerous, Lucky.” I gestured to Quinn. “What were you
thinking?
A gagged person can drown in his own vomit. What would you have done if he died while you were trying to phone us?”

“I’d make sure no one ever found the body.”

“Actually . . .” Max glanced at Nelli, who continued her low-level growling, then he frowned darkly at Quinn. “I rather suspect . . .”

“What?” said Lucky.

Max pulled something out of one of his pockets, and I saw that it was a crucifix. He laid it on Quinn’s forehead and stared at him for a long moment.

Quinn stared back, then finally shrugged and made an inquisitive sound.

“Hmmm.” The next object Max pulled out of his pocket was a small bottle of clear fluid.

“Holy water?” I asked as he opened it.

“Yes.”

He flicked his wrist lightly to sprinkle some water over Quinn’s face. It flew out of the mouth of the bottle faster than he’d anticipated, drenching the helpless officer and getting in his eyes. Quinn snorted a little and shook his head, blinking rapidly.

“Oops! My apologies,” said Max.

Quinn rolled his eyes.

“So where’s the demon?” Lucky asked. “Ain’t it supposed to appear now?”

Quinn gave Lucky a peculiar look as Max said, “It may not be responsive to Christian symbolism. Fortunately, anticipating this possibility, I have brought a variety of supplies.”

The redheaded detective groaned in protest.

I realized Max had made advance preparations, anticipating an emergency. He’d certainly had no time to gather supplies before we dashed out of the bookstore this evening.

Max said, “
However,
I have a feeling . . .”

Nelli’s growling got louder. I turned to look at her, and I saw her eyes were getting glassy now, her expression growing fierce and feral. Her lips drew back in a snarl, exposing her long, sharp canine teeth.

“Max.”
My grip tightened on the familiar’s pink leash.

Quinn started protesting in alarm and struggling so hard that he rocked the cot. But Nelli wasn’t threatening
him.
She whirled around and started growling menacingly at the open doorway . . . or perhaps at something beyond it.

“Or maybe the demon ain’t reacting,” Lucky said slowly, “because it ain’t with
this
guy anymore?”