Hell's Belle (4 page)

CHAPTER 5

We headed to an abandoned dock at the Port of Providence, not far from the hospital. I forced to Max make a pit stop on the way to the crime scene. The candy bar did next to nothing to curb my hunger, and I needed a meat-like substance in my stomach before I snapped. There was a 7-Eleven about a block or so away from the crime scene, and I love hot dogs.

I squinted, my eyes adjusting to the harsh fluorescent lighting of the convenience store. The cashier had classic rock playing on the boom box behind the counter. Max studied the coffee. I made a beeline to the greasy “Big Bite” hot dogs spinning around on the rotating grill. Which one, or two, or maybe even three, wasn’t sitting there all day?

I chose one dog and examined the self-serve toppings. After deciding on mustard only, the pump squirted a huge blob on the corner of my dog. I used the hot dog to spread the mustard out evenly, licking the mess off my fingers when I finished. 

I examined the Slurpee selection. I missed the
Slurpees of my youth. The flavor choice was limited for sure, but I missed the simplicity of grape and cherry. It was too damn cold anyway. Opting to live without the sugar rush, I grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge down the aisle.

“You want a coffee?” Max called out from around the microwave that was blocking us. I wrinkled my nose.
Coffee from 7-Eleven? Gross.

“No thanks.” I stopped and examined the fruit in the open refrigerator case. The poor little apple looked all bruised up.
So much for healthy eating.

I maneuvered through the aisle to the register. The classic rock-loving clerk with three-day-old stubble stared at me from leaky red-rimmed eyes. Along with the dark circles, he looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“I got his coffee, too,” I said, nodding at Max who was dumping at least 20 packets of sugar into his cup. I guess he was hoping to mask the taste.

“
Ummm… Ahh… OK?” The clerk looked slightly baffled, like the idea of ringing up a cup of coffee halfway across the store was too taxing for his brain. Thankfully the register beeped loudly with each button he pushed, saving me from having to make awkward chitchat with a guy that was clearly stoned.

I dug out some cash from my jacket pocket, paid the man, and then stood by the newspaper rack, staring out of the plate glass window.

              Absorbing the view of a flickering neon sign in the shape of a woman’s extra large boobs, I bit into my hot dog, the slightly burnt skin giving my teeth a little resistance. I sighed in pleasure at the salty, nitrate-filled goodness. Max slipped up beside me, and stared out at the depressing landscape. A lone working girl was walking up and down the deserted streets, hoping for a date.

             
“Great atmosphere,” he said flatly. “And how can you be a coffee snob but eat that?” He stared as I shoved a huge chunk of hot dog into my mouth.

             
“Don’t knock ‘em,” I said through my chews. “These things hit a certain spot like no other questionable foodstuff.”

Max laughed and wiped a bit of yellow mustard off of my cheek. With my hands hot dog free, I opened the bottle of water and chugged down about half.

“So explain this place to me,” Max stared out at the Providence wasteland.

The area was pretty desolate, even though it was teeming with nightclubs a little over a block away. Of course, they catered to a decidedly seedy crowd.

“Several years ago, the city passed all sorts of ordinances that basically relegated the nudie bars to the area around the docks. We are on the strip of road that the locals called ‘Fantasy Island,’" I explained. “This road runs parallel to the water. If you keep going north, towards downtown, the clubs and sex shops get more populous.”

There was a club for every predilection, even of the illegal sort. There was the usual illegal gambling and prostitution, but there were also rumors of production on snuff films and other freaky acts.

Max raised his eyebrows. “Any of them any good?”

I snorted. “Yeah about as good as the hot dogs.”

He laughed, and shoved open the 7-Eleven door. “How far are we from the crime scene?”

I looked over his shoulder as we walked out the door. I could see the blue and red cop lights flashing from the parking lot.

“It’s right on the docks, just about a block that way.” I pointed left, towards the light show.

“I’ll walk the rest of the way,” he said. “The cops probably won’t let you much closer than this anyway.”

I straddled the bike and strapped on my helmet, feeling awkward. “Are you going to be able to get back to your car later?” I asked.

Max nodded, smiling, and laid his hand on my arm, giving my bicep a squeeze. “You and your concussion OK getting home?”

“No problem.” I smiled back at him and started up the engine.

Max nodded. "See you later." Then he thumped the top of my helmet and walked off in the direction of the red and blue flashing lights.

Once Max was out of sight, I started up the bike and followed him in the direction of the cop lights, cutting into an empty lot about halfway down the block. I killed the engine and dismounted. Then I ducked behind a scrap metal heap.

Because the Port of Providence was the largest exporter of scrap, mountains of twisted and rusting metal surrounded the docks. And in the valleys around these peaks, the garish signs from the strip clubs formed a neon oasis among the jagged metal.

There must have been a ship that went out earlier in the day. The pile wasn't crazy high; it was far from the Mt. Everest of scrap. I could easily scale it.

Since I saw one of the victims ghost out at the hospital, I wanted to get a bird’s-eye view of this murder scene. If he decided to go full-on haunt, maybe I’d pick up some clues that could help a medium send him along to his next life. Since he died violently, there was a good chance he’d need a little help.

I carefully put my booted foot onto what looked like an old car bumper and pulled myself up. The pile shifted under my weight, but steadied right away. As quickly and as lightly as I could, I climbed my way to the top, tottering about fifteen feet off the ground, the metal groaning slightly with each step. I trained my eyes on the crime scene, wishing I had binoculars.

The dock was abandoned, but it was covered with about a foot of well-trampled snow. The seclusion, plus the proximity to the strip clubs, made it a good spot for illicit activities. From what I could make out, five bodies were arranged in a circle, with the feet meeting in the middle. It looked like they formed the spokes of a wheel. There was an empty spot that had a human shape indented in the snow -- my ghostly friend from the hospital. Max stood over the bodies, his shape casting a dark shadow where it blocked the police floodlight.

"Get out of the light, dammit," I muttered as the metal shifted under my weight. I readjusted my footing and a trickle of metal slipped down the pile. The uniformed cop by the crime scene tape stood a little straighter.

Max walked towards a man I assumed was a detective, allowing the light to flood back over the bodies. I gritted my teeth.
Two men and three women. There were dark spots in the snow near the bodies -- blood spatter perhaps. But it was tough to make it out from where I was positioned.

Max huddled with the detective. He picked up a long, slender item. Murder weapon? It was hard to tell. This distance thing was a pain.

A flash of headlights pulled my eyes out of focus. I blinked a few times. When I looked again, my hospital ghost was standing in a disturbed area of snow near the corpses. That must have been where my little Casper went down.

He looked at the cops and looked back down at the bodies. He was growing increasingly agitated at what the cops were saying. His mouth moved rapidly, and his arms waved around, punctuating his silent words with an urgency that only I could see and sense. His defiance grew as the police continued to mill around the bodies. My hearing wasn't strong enough to pick up what the cops were saying, so I had no idea what had upset him.

He threw up his hands and aimed them at the floodlights. With a pop, the lights went dead and the dock was plunged into darkness. One of the cops let out a string of impressive curses and then chaos broke out as they scrambled to get the lights back up.

I shifted position again. The junk pile creaked under my weight. I lost my footing and slid several feet down the metal mountain, creating a loud crunching sound as metal scraped against metal. Landing ass first at the bottom of the heap, another pop sounded, and the floodlights unexpectedly came up again. I could hear more choice words as the sudden appearance of powerful light temporarily blinded the cops. It was a lucky break. The noise I made had momentarily piqued their interest. With the sudden burst of blinding light, they forgot all about me. 

Sharp metal pressed into my left hamstring, threatening to cut through. I pulled myself gingerly off the pile, and slinked towards my bike, the cops forgetting about the collapsed metal as they refocused on the carnage in front of them. A chorus of angry voices broke the silence. It sounded like someone trampled the crime scene in the blackout. 

My breath caught when my bike came into view. Casper stood by it. My heart pounded when I saw he wrote "vampire" on my gas tank in what appeared to be blood.

"That better come off," I snarled. My cheeks flamed with anger.

His eyes widened at my foul look.

"Yeah, Casper." My ghost scowled at me when I called him that, but I scowled right back at him. "Don't deface my shit with offensive graffiti. That's like a supernatural hate crime."

Agitated once again, he flickered in and out, jumping in front of me then fading away as I got closer to the bike.

He moved around so much that I passed through him by accident. The cold ooze moved through my body. I gritted my teeth and shuddered.

He stopped cold and stared at me. He looked almost familiar, but I couldn't place him. He had probably come into the bar once or twice. I felt myself soften. It's not easy being dead.

"Look," I said in a low voice. "You need to move on, my friend. There's no reason to stay here anymore. You’re supposed to move on.”

He became more animated, and his mouth began moving rapidly again. It looked like he was trying to speak, but I couldn't hear a word.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I don't speak ghost."

He looked exasperated and pointed at me and then at the bike. Then pointed at
himself and the crime scene. Then me and bike. Then him and the crime scene. I was playing freaking charades with a ghost!

"Do what you need to do," I said with a shrug. Then I straddled my bike, turned the ignition and felt the sweet engine kick in between my legs.

And then he did it.

The cold plasma ooze of ghost dropped into me, but didn't slip through like before. I felt his presence drop into my body. Then a searing pain shot through my head, ricocheting off the walls of my skull.

I couldn't ride like this. I killed the ignition and gripped the handlebars. "Get out," I seethed.

"Can you hear me?" He had a deep voice, with a slight Spanish accent.

"Of course I can hear you. You are in my brain!"

"Need help," he said. He was struggling at the possession too, which made me feel slightly better.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're dead. Not much I can do." I pressed at my temples with my finger tips, as if I could squeeze him out.

"Behind you! Don't trust!" With those parting words, he jumped out of my body, leaving me shaking with cold.

I glanced over my shoulder and saw a uniform cop coming up behind me on foot. Once again, I turned the ignition on my bike.

"Hey!" The cop called out, rushing up beside me. I instinctively reached into my jacket but came up empty. I wasn't expecting trouble, so I wasn't packing any weapons.

"This is a crime scene. You can't be here." His voice sounded normal, but he didn't seem human to me. His movements were too quick; the color of his green eyes too vibrant.

"On my way out," I waved my hand and kicked the bike into gear.

He stepped in front of the motorcycle, and grabbed the handlebars. The back tire spun on the pavement but I wasn't going anywhere. Now that he was right in front of me, I recognized him. He had been outside of Babe's earlier, canvassing the neighborhood. He smiled, and his fangs flashed in the spillover from the spotlight. Damn it. I knew Marcello lurked in the shadows outside of Babe's. Was this the only one he turned?

The good news was he was a new vampire.
A very new vampire. And I could handle a new vampire. It was the ones that had centuries on me that gave me the problems.

I killed the engine. Swinging my legs onto the seat, I quickly stood on the bike. I did a back flip off the bike as the Vampire Cop made a lunge for my legs. New vamps may be fast, but they are stupid, so they don’t anticipate their opponents very well. I just had to keep him moving until I could arm myself with something.

Vampire Cop lurched towards me and made another grab. I dropped to the ground in a push-up position. His arms wrapped themselves around air. I pushed my legs up and kicked out, nailing him right in the groin. He fell to the ground, whimpering.