Paradigms Lost (5 page)

“In short, then, I had to look for a young man who was on close terms with the police, who worked with computer-enhancements or had access to them, who had an open mind, and, from the tone of your voice, who had had at least one death recently that he was personally concerned with. I think you will admit that the field of choices becomes very narrow.”

I flushed.
Nice work, moron!
I had set myself up perfectly.

The clothes and food arrived; he directed me to a small alcove to change. I came out feeling almost human again and I was actually hungry. “So, what are you going to do with me? I presume that if you intended to kill me, you’d already have done so.”

“I do not kill unless in self-defense, Mr. Wood. You are entirely mistaken in your impression of me. I have killed no one since I arrived here three years ago.”

The last thing I expected here was denial. “Entirely mistaken? Are you saying you are not a drug dealer?”

He winced. “I dislike that term. I am a supplier of substances which your government terms illegal, yes.”

“Then you’ve killed hundreds by proxy. That’s even worse.”

He glanced at me; his expression was mild, but his eyes appeared to flame momentarily. “Do not seek to judge me, young man. What your culture calls illegal is its business, but I do not acknowledge its sovereignty over me or others. I walked this world long before the United States was even a possibility, and I will exist long after it has gone and been forgotten in time. If members of your population choose my wares, that is their affair. I do not sell to children, nor do I sell to those who do. Adults make their own choices of salvation and damnation. I supply the means to make that particular choice. I live in comfort on the free choices of these people.”

“Once they’re addicted, it isn’t much of a free choice! And some of them—many of them—turn to drugs because of their dead-end lives.”

He flicked a hand in a negation, red light flashing from a ruby ring on his finger. “Mr. Wood, this lecture of yours is at an end. I did not bring you here to discuss my business affairs. But I will say that I target my wares to those who can afford them. They have both the choice and the resources to make or unmake the choice. I take no responsibility for the idiocy of others.” He held up the hand as I started to answer. “No, that is enough, Mr. Wood. You are a well-meaning young man, and I would enjoy talking with you on other subjects. But this discussion is closed.

“To the point, Mr. Wood. I presume that you believe that I killed your . . . friend, Lewis. Would you tell me why I might do such a thing?”

Could he be that dense? “Obviously you were hungry.”

He nodded. “I see. And can you think of any other reasons?”

“Lewis was one of my contacts. Maybe he knew something about you or your operation.”

He began to smile, then he laughed. It was as warm and rich as the chuckle, ringing like a deep bell. “Come with me, Jason.”

He led me out of the library, down a hall, and into his own chambers. He pointed at a cabinet. “Open that.”

I pulled on the handles. The rosewood opened to reveal a large refrigerator. Inside were dozens of bottles filled with red liquid.

“I can obtain blood legitimately from several sources, Jason. It can be expensive, but I have many millions. I can even warm it to the proper temperature. I can eat normal food, though I derive no nourishment from it, and it gives me what a mortal would call cramps; but thus I can maintain a masquerade.”

I was stunned. I had missed all this totally. How could I be so stupid? “But what if Lewis knew something? You—”

“Really, Mr. Wood, you can’t think that I would personally kill him? I have people—such as Camillus—for that, who can use bullets or their bare hands, or strangle with generic wire, or cause automobiles to go out of control at convenient locations. What earthly reason would I have to kill someone in a fashion so bizarre as to draw just this sort of attention?” He led the way back to the library. “You are a reasonable man, Jason. Unless you believe me so insane that I have lost any semblance of rationality, then you cannot believe I am responsible for these terrible killings.”

I nodded. How could I argue? I should have realized all this without having to have it rammed down my throat. “Then what you are saying is that there is another vampire in the city?”

“I see no alternative.”

I cursed, earning me a scandalized raise of an eyebrow. “Sorry. But this puts me back to square one. Now I’ll have to sort him out from a hundred and fifty thousand people in the area.”

“I may be able to help you.”

He sure had my attention. “How?”

He leaned back in his chair. “Normally, I do not get involved in . . .” he paused oddly, then continued, “. . . squabbles between my other brethren and you mortals. If they are stupid enough to be discovered, they deserve the fate that you weaker but numerous mortals will inevitably dispense. But in this case,” his voice grew hard, “this one’s actions have almost led to
me
suffering that fate. So I will tell you something very useful.” He reached out, pulled open a drawer, and dropped an envelope on the desk.

I opened it; the negative was inside. “How . . .” I began, then thought a moment. “Never mind.”

Verne Domingo pointed to the photo. “That is the key, you see. Not in the way you thought, of course. It is the fact of its existence.”

“How do you mean?”

“I have been well aware of my effect, or lack thereof, on photographic film for many years. Therefore, I do not permit myself to be photographed. Moreover, I am always aware of all mortals in my vicinity. If I concentrate—and I always do when outside—I know who is about me, within a large radius.” He shifted his gaze to me. “The only beings I cannot sense—and thus the only beings who could photograph me without my knowledge—are my own or similar kind.”

My appetite vanished and my stomach knotted. It was suddenly as clear as the crystal glass in front of me. Who had taken the picture? Who liked nightshifts? Who had argued with me until I realized I had a photo of a vampire? Who had handed over a phone number and practically pushed me toward Verne Domingo?

Lieutenant Elias Klein.

I stood and crossed the room to the desk, reached out. Verne Domingo’s dark-skinned hand came down on mine, effortlessly forced the telephone receiver back to its base. “No calls, Mr. Wood, please.”

“I have to at least let Sylvie know I’m all right.”

“You do not have to do anything of the kind.”

“But—”

“Will you
listen
to yourself! Think, mortal, use that mind of yours! Why are you here?”

That was a silly question. “Because three thugs with Uzis dragged me out of my bedroom and brought me here.”

He closed his eyes and drew a breath. “That is a simplistic answer, Mr. Wood. It is nearing dawn and I am tired. Now please think about your situation.”

Okay, what did he mean? I thought about it, piecing together causes, effects, Klein . . . “I’m here because Klein wanted you to come after me; he wanted me out of the way, or maybe if I got lucky,
you
out of the way.”

Domingo opened his eyes and smiled. “Light begins to dawn. So what will happen if you call?”

“Sylvie wouldn’t tell.”

“Perhaps not; I lack the pleasure of the young lady’s acquaintance, so I am ill-equipped to judge. However, she would very likely not show an appropriate level of worry. Why should you risk your present position when her authentic emotions can serve a better purpose?”

Finally, the idea clicked.
God, I am slow sometimes.
“You mean, let Klein think you got me . . . that I’m dead or removed.”

“Precisely.”

“But then what? I can’t prove a thing against him without coming back out, and even then I’d have to expose you, and I assume you wouldn’t . . .” I looked at him and his eyes answered the question. “No, you wouldn’t.”

Domingo drained a wineglass of red liquid; I tried not to watch, but it had a horrid fascination about it. He set the glass down and looked at me. “I shall have to help you, Mr. Wood. There are certain things—‘loose ends,’ as you would say—which Elias must clear up in order to secure his position. One is this negative. He must find it and destroy it; he can ill-afford to let evidence of vampires remain. I am, of course, another.”

“Loose ends . . . Sylvie!”

He nodded slowly. “Yes, she is certainly one. She knows far too much for him to be safe, and moreover she believes . . . and has psychic resources as well.”

I started to stand, then looked at him suspiciously. “How do
you
know that Syl’s . . . psychic? I didn’t think you even knew her!”

Domingo chuckled slightly. “Personally, I do not. However, it is in my best interests to determine what people of Talent exist in my vicinity, and it was not long at all before my people had compiled a considerable dossier on the young lady. Your own reaction, skeptic though you are, merely confirms my impression; she is one of the few who truly possesses what she claims to have.”

This time I did stand, and started for the door. “Then I have to go! Her safety’s more important than mine or even than nailing Elias.”

Without so much as a flicker, Verne Domingo suddenly stood between me and the door. “Not more important to
me,
young man. This Elias has dared to use me—
me
—as a pawn in his games.” For a moment, I saw, not a vampire of the modern world, but a man of a far more ancient time, a lord whose honor had suffered a mortal insult. “He will regret that.”

“I don’t give a damn about your stupid ego, Domingo! He could be going after Syl this minute!”

He spread his hands, yielding a point. “Well spoken; if I do not respect your reasons, I cannot expect you to respect mine. But he will make no move until tomorrow night; or rather, tonight, since we are well into the morning. He must have the police—probably through your young lady—discover that you have been taken. He believes me ruthless and willing to kill to protect myself, and will assume you dead. Only tonight will he search your quarters and deal with your Sylvia.”

An idea occurred to me. “Is it true that vampires cannot enter a dwelling unbidden?”

He hesitated a moment. “Yes. It is true.”

“Then Syl should be safe if she stays home.”

“Indeed? Elias Klein, respected lieutenant of police, friend of yours, shows up on her doorstep with news of you; do you truly believe she would have him stay on the porch?”

I shook my head reluctantly. “I guess not.” I thought that Syl’s . . . Talent might warn her, but it might not. Syl had been in an accident or two, so while her power might be a hundred percent accurate, it was far from a hundred percent reliable.

“I guess not as well! No, there is only one way to handle Mr. Elias Klein, and this is the way it shall be done . . .”

CHAPTER 6

Fright and Flight

I ejected the magazine from the .45, checked it, returned it to the gun.

“Believe me, Mr. Wood. I have no reason to tamper with your weapon. Your captors were instructed to bring any weapons they might find; not to interfere with them.”

I clicked off the safety. “It isn’t that; it’s just always wise to recheck your weapon before you might need it.”

“Indeed.” Verne Domingo touched my arm suddenly, and pointed.

From our concealment to one side of Tamara’s Tanning, I saw the tall, angular figure of Elias Klein emerge from the Silver Stake. There was no mistaking the long black hair of the person with him. “Sylvie! He’s got her!”

Domingo’s hand almost crushed my bicep. “Wait! Can you not see that
she
is leading
him
? Obviously he has not yet revealed himself to her; she is probably trying to aid him. When they enter your office, then will be your time.”

“My time? What about you?”

For a moment, I thought I saw conflict on his face, a shadow of a feeling of responsibility. But then his face hardened. “I have done all I intend to. If you fail, then I may have to act more directly. I prefer, however, to let you finish the job at hand.”

I glared at him, but he simply gazed back with expressionless eyes. “Are you sure he can’t sense me?”

“Quite. Any vampire can cloak a limited number of mortals from the senses of other vampires; undoubtedly, our friend Klein used that to conceal whatever partners he worked with. Mr. Klein will not notice you until he actually sees you. At that point, my protection will be gone.” He glanced outward. “They have entered. Good luck, Jason Wood.”

I gave his hand a quick shake. “I wouldn’t say it’s been fun . . . but it has been interesting.”

Carefully, I started for my front door. I slipped inside and walked with great care along one side of the hallway. As I approached my office, I heard Klein’s voice:

“Where else? Think, Sylvie! That negative may be the only thing keeping Jason alive now!”

Sylvie’s voice trembled faintly. “I don’t know, Elias—wait. He kept really important data in a safe, over there behind the wall panels.”

Footsteps as they went from the upstairs towards my workstation; then a rattle as the panel was pushed open. I peeked around the corner from the den.

Sylvie was standing behind Elias, who was bent down over the small safe.

“Sylvie, do you know the combination?”

“I don’t know if I should tell you that.”

He turned towards her; I ducked back just in time. “Sylvie, please! Domingo knows that negative is the only hard evidence we have! Without it, we don’t have a thing to bargain with.”

She sighed. “All right. It’s thirty-one, forty-one, fifty-nine, twenty-six.”

He snickered a bit. “Of course. Pi.” I heard the rustle of his clothes as he turned back to the safe.

My only chance. As quietly as I could, I stepped through the door and snaked an arm around Sylvie, clamping my hand over her mouth and nose so she couldn’t make a sound and pulling her head toward me enough so she could see me. Her eyes widened, then narrowed when I put a finger to my lips. I could see her glance towards Klein as I let go. One nod told me she’d figured out the situation. She slowly started back out the door.