Dark Rain: 15 Short Tales (16 page)

t was an hour or so later, and we were at a place called Patty’s, a dive bar a few dozen miles away, just outside of Palm Springs.

Monty the ghost hunter was playing darts with Nick Caine and Ishi. All three, I thought, could use some work on their technique. Jack the Park Ranger and Roan my disappearing investigator friend were taking it to a few unsuspecting drunks at the pool table. I happened to know that Jack and Roan were better than most at billiards, although I’ve been known to give them a run for their money. Max Long, the private eye out of Mystic Falls, was currently doing his damndest to impress a pretty young waitress. His smile might have been winning her over. Detective Sherbet had left after a few drinks. I was about to make a joke about drinking and driving, until I remembered that drinking and driving wasn’t very funny. Sherbet patted me on the shoulder as he slipped out. He looked older than I remembered, and far more tired. It might have been well past his bedtime. Aaron King left soon after. Earlier, Aaron had seemed a little too eager to jump on stage for his turn at karaoke, belting out “Love Me Tender.” That he had sounded exactly like Elvis Presley concerned me more than it probably should have.

Now there were four of us at the bar, drinking, our elbows up on the scarred, aged wood. We could have been cowboys from days of old. But we weren’t. We were private eyes and thugs, and damn good at both. I was drinking Blue Moon Pale Ale and remembering fondly my detective friend out of Boston, a big guy named Spenser, who was, last time I checked, nearly as tough as me, although I wouldn’t want to mess with his friend Hawk.

Private eyes are a weird breed. We come in different shapes and sizes. Some of us are brawlers. Others are computer nerds. All of us live on the fringe, much like those bikers. We just follow the law a little more. Not always, granted. But usually.

Spinoza was sipping water. My old friend had given up the hard stuff long ago, after the accident with his son. I would have given it up too. Spinoza, the smallest of all of us, was leaning back against the bar, an elbow propped up behind him, watching Max work his magic on the waitress. Or trying to. Spinoza gave the impression of not listening, or of being easily distracted. I think that was his M.O. I knew the little bastard was hearing everything within twenty feet of him. Occasionally, he and Numi commented on Max’s pick-up technique.

“That won’t be the end of it, you know.” Sanchez sat next to me.

“I know,” I said.

“Some will come looking for you.”

“I know that, too,” I said.

“You gave Steel Eye a shiner.”

“I did. Gladly.”

“He’s going to have to save face.”

“He will,” I said.

“He’ll be coming for you, too.”

“I would be disappointed if he didn’t.”

“You look terrified,” said Sanchez.

I drank more beer, watched Nick and Ishi both literally miss the dart board. They might have been the world’s best looters, but they sucked at bar games. I yawned and said to Sanchez, “What was the question again?”

“Wasn’t a question, and never mind. So, what about the girl?”

“I know a lady,” I said. “Runs a shelter for abused women. She’ll help her start over somewhere.”

“She’ll probably just go back to him or someone like him.”

“Probably,” I said.

“But you’re hopeful she’ll turn her life around,” said Sanchez.

“With infinite disappointment,” I said, “comes infinite hope.”

Sanchez looked at me. “Martin Luther King?”

“Duh,” I said.

“So where is she now?”

“With Sam, for now.”

“Samantha Moon?”

“Yeah.”

“I like her.”

“So do I.”

“But she scares me.”

“Me too,” I said.

“She’ll be safe with Sam,” said Sanchez.

I nodded. And while the singers paraded across the karaoke stage, and while Nick and Ishi and Monty still sucked at darts, and while Jack and Roan killed it at the pool table, and while Max finally pocketed the waitress’ phone number, and while Numi and Spinoza stared off into the far distance, Sanchez and I sat quietly, contemplating hope, disappointment, and another beer.

r. Spinoza?”

“If ever there was.”

“Ah, you must be a Robert B. Parker fan?”

Years ago, I might have bantered with a complete stranger on the phone. Bantering was one of the first of many things to go. Instead, I said, “How can I help you?”

The man on the other end cleared his throat. Apparently, he’d been expecting a quip worthy of the master himself. No quips for you. “Yes, right… I am interested in securing your services.”

I waited, saying nothing. While I kept saying nothing, I looked at the framed photo on my desk, a photo I look at a hundred times a day.

“Are you there, Mr. Spinoza?”

“I am.”

“Did you say something about a boy?”

“I did not.”

“Right, never mind then.” He cleared his throat. “Although I’m not a rich man, I will pay you twice your going rate if you can meet me tonight.”

“Meet you where?”

There was a pause. “Do you enjoy trains, Mr. Spinoza?”

Something stirred in my gut. I’d learned to trust that something. I took in some air. “I have no opinions on trains, one way or the other.”

“Good. Now, do you have an opinion on vampires?”

“Thank you for meeting me on such short notice, Mr. Spinoza,” said the vampire on the train.

We were in the lower-level cafe coach, at a table near the register. The cafe wasn’t as exciting as it sounded. It featured a couple of display cases and a bored cashier working an ancient register.

I nodded and studied the man sitting across from me. Did one call a vampire a man? Or were they
things
? Entities? Monsters? I wasn’t sure, although I had come across my fair share of them.

The
person
before me certainly didn’t look like a monster. He looked sort of bookworm-y. Nerdy. Someone who could have passed for a friend on
Big Bang Theory
. Roundish glasses. Tweed jacket. Slacks and loafers. No socks. He was, quite frankly, the last person I would’ve ever pegged for a creature of the night.

I checked the time on my watch. 7:28 p.m. Well after sunset.

“You haven’t said a word yet, Mr. Spinoza.”

“It’s been rumored,” I said, “that I don’t talk much.”

The vampire across from me threw back his head. His laughter was short but explosive. A deep, rich laughter, better suited to a man twice his size. “We all have our idiosyncrasies, Mr. Spinoza. Nothing wrong with being the quiet type—or the shy type. Or both.”

“Who said anything about being shy?”

“You haven’t looked me in the eye yet, Mr. Spinoza. I don’t bite. Not like the others you’ve come across.”

“What others?”

“Vampires, Mr. Spinoza. You’ve made the press, and I know how to read between the lines. Do you deny that you’ve seen your fair share?”

The train lurched forward, then proceeded a little more smoothly. We were off. Two women waited in line, one holding a coffee, the other a can of Diet Coke.

I said, “I’ve come across things that I don’t understand.”

“Don’t understand—or don’t want to understand?”

“Does it matter?”

“The former seems unlikely. The latter suggests you are in denial.” He smiled at me, and I saw it then: the deadness in his eyes.

“Tell me, Mr. Spinoza, do you deny vampires exist?”

“Let’s just say I’m uncomfortable with the term.”

“Why is that?”

“You tell me.”

He smiled again, and, try as he might to come through genial and gentlemanly, there was no warmth in his eyes. The eyes of a cadaver at the UCLA medical school.

“Perhaps you are afraid to admit the reality of vampires. Or afraid that using the term might summon one of us. How’s that working out for you?”

“Not very well.”

“You are looking at my eyes, Mr. Spinoza. Or, at least, thinking about them, wondering about them, perhaps even fearing them.”

I considered the weapon inside my light jacket. “Not fearing,” I said. “Never fearing.”

“Good. Of course, you aren’t afraid. Perhaps I am the one who should be afraid. After all, there is a reason why your gun is loaded with silver bullets.”

I said nothing. The weight of my weapon was comforting. I wondered how fast I could reach it. I also wondered why I had ever agreed to meet him here. Or how he knew about the bullets.

“I am not here to accuse you. Whether or not you have killed some of my kind is your business. I surmise you had every reason to. Like I said on the phone, I only want to hire you.”