The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) (18 page)

Caduceus laughed. “It amuses me!” he said. He grabbed Henry Wallace’s throat and forced the kid down, raising his khopesh high. “I find it amusing that you would challenge me! I have walked through the centuries and known the company of the dark gods of the desert!”

Weatherby’s revolver barked. It missed. He cursed as he held the gun with both hands and fired again. It had the same result. Twice more times he fired, and twice more times he missed. I cursed as I raised the automatics. I couldn’t pop Caduceus, not without hitting Henry Wallace. Weatherby was the kid’s only hope, and he had one shot left that he was sure to miss.

But then Evelyn reached out and tapped his shoulder. As the smoke poured around them and bullets rang through the stone chamber, he turned to look at her. “Weatherby? Could I try?” Evelyn asked. “I have an idea.”

He handed her the revolver and she took aim with both of her hands. I saw her cock the pistol and pick her target, and then squeeze the trigger like a pro at the range. A little bit of hope flickered to life in my chest. But then the revolver fired and the bullet missed Caduceus, whining just past his shoulder. He grinned at Evelyn, and raised his khopesh to skewer Henry Wallace.

The blade came down, and I figured we were screwed. That’s when I heard a strange creaking sound, and a rumble in the pit. I looked behind Caduceus at those electrum chains binding the pair of scales, and saw that they had been shattered by Evelyn’s bullet. Evelyn was as good a shot as her old man. She hadn’t missed at all.

The chains fell away. They burst off of the scales like buttons from a fat man’s vest, and rattled as they struck the ground. Nestor Caduceus turned around, letting go of Henry Wallace for just a second. The boy wriggled free, and hurried to Weatherby and Evelyn. They held him close, and helped him run from the bloody altar.

I saw Nestor Caduceus turn around, his ancient face splitting in horror at the pit. The chains were snapping and shattering. Something big moved in the pit.

“What the hell is down there?” I asked. Bits of flaming tapestry were tumbling down like leaves in autumn, casting smoky shadows around the room.

A long green snout, as big as an automobile, emerged from the pit. The mouth opened wide to reveal teeth like machetes. Caduceus tried to run, but a pair of tawny paws reached out and grabbed the chest of the pharaoh. They dragged him back, pulling him over the flagstones and towards the pit. I realized exactly what was in that pit, chained there and waiting for him for centuries.

“Ammit,” Henry Wallace whispered, as Evelyn covered his eyes and pulled him away. “The Eater of the Dead.”

We ran out of that burning hellhole, as the fires started to spread across the rich carpet and through the casino. Behind us, Caduceus screamed his heart out.

The fire followed us, and we hurried outside to the sidewalk, just ahead of the crowd. The dealers, showgirls and guests followed us, calling out in panic as the fire spread throughout the Duat Grand. We didn’t stop running until we reached the sidewalk, and then looked back and saw the great stone building, going up like a candle in that neon city. Sirens started whining, a fire truck and cop cars threaded their way through the choked street. We sat back and watched the casino burn.

“You guys saved me,” Henry Wallace said. He smiled at Weatherby. “Thank you.”

“It was no trouble, my friend,” Weatherby said proudly. “None at all.” He pointed down the sidewalk. “Oh, it appears your erstwhile father has returned.”

Sly Baum hurried down the sidewalk, running awkwardly around firemen and onlookers. He swept his son in a fierce hug. “Oh, my boy, you’re okay, you’re okay!” He kissed Henry Wallace and then looked up at me and Weatherby. “You kept him safe?”

“That we did,” I agreed.

“Swell. You’re up far past your bedtime, sport. Let’s head back to the hotel.” Sly and Henry Wallace started heading away. The boy waved to Weatherby and Evelyn, and they waved back.

As Sly and Henry Wallace left, a long limousine pulled over next to me. The tinted window rolled down slowly. A bandaged face looked back at me. Don Vizzini held out an envelope that was fat with dough.

I took the cash and stuffed it into my trench coat. “Looks like I did your job for you,” I told the Don. “Nestor Caduceus – and his casino – are finished.”

“Excellent. And you will soon see that I have doubled the fee we previously agreed upon. You have saved my organization a great deal of time and effort. You have my gratitude.” Don Vizzini’s bandaged face was inscrutable. He was already nodding to his driver. “Perhaps we will have need of your services in the future, Mr. Candle.”

“Sounds swell,” I muttered, but the limousine was already speeding away.

I opened the envelope and started counting the money. “Say, kiddo,” I told Weatherby. “The Don didn’t lie. This is double our fee – a regular fortune. What do you say we head to the classiest hotel in town and pick up a pair of thick steaks for dinner?” But Weatherby wasn’t listening. He was standing next to Evelyn, folding his hands and tapping a foot nervously on the sidewalk.

Evelyn turned around and looked at him. She smiled. “Hello, Weatherby,” she said.

“Hello,” Weatherby repeated. “Say, um, Miss Dearborn?”

“Evelyn, please.”

“Evelyn.” Weatherby said her name and smiled. “Would you like a milkshake? I’d pay for it, I mean. And have one, as well. Or we could share one. But getting the milkshake together would be the important thing.” He was flustered and nervous, but when I saw Evelyn’s grin, I knew he had made his case just fine.

“That would be lovely,” Evelyn said. “My father can drive us there, and pick us up when we finish.”

Weatherby turned back to me. The kid was beaming. I gave him a quick nod, and saw him and Evelyn head to her father’s Rambler sedan. Weatherby was a cynic and a know-it-all – in everything that didn’t have to do with people. He was honest, nervous and sweet, and Evelyn saw all of that in him.

As they headed away, I looked back up the sidewalk and saw Miss Rosa Dominguez hurrying away, a suitcase in each hand. I thought about calling to her, to apologize – and this time for real – for every name I had called her and everything I had made her do. Caduceus was a child-murdering bastard, but he had kept her safe and paid for her, and now that was finished.

But as she passed me, Miss Rosa shot me a glance that could wither grass. Any chance of an apology died with that glance. She didn’t want to have anything to do with me, and I couldn’t blame her. I treated her like a heel, and I deserved her hatred and plenty of it.

Out of me and Weatherby, maybe I was the better detective. But he was the better person.

The Hollow

I staggered into the bar, needing a drink like a fish needs water. I was reeling, shaking from head to toe with a feeling of terror and doom that I couldn’t shift, but I’d be damned if I wasn’t going to try. I slumped onto the bar, and put my hands on the worn wood. The bartender had white hair on his chin but none on his head, and he passed me a bottle without a word. That was fine by me. I wasn’t in the mood for talking.

The joint was some hillbilly saloon, nestled in a green and hilly corner of the Appalachians. Like everything in those wild green mountains, it was old, rickety, poor and rough. The moonshine tasted like liquid fire, burning my throat as it settled into the center of my chest. That was good. I needed the fire. I’d need a damn good blaze if I wanted to burn up what I was feeling.

My partner, Weatherby Stein, and I went to the Appalachians for a case. It was a strange one, and the client was right to call Mort Candle and Weatherby Stein – detectives dealing in bizarre business that gave normal guys nightmares. We came into a small Virginia town, a mining camp, and got our orders, and then went into the hills to the place called Witch’s Hollow. That’s where things had gone bad. I had gotten out. Weatherby hadn’t. And now I was drinking, leaning on the wooden bar and trying to figure out my next move.

A thin handed rested on my shoulder. I perked up, turning around and looking into the familiar, pretty face of a young woman. Of all the dames in world, she was the one I didn’t want to bump into at that moment. Her name was Selena Stein, and my partner was her kid brother.

“Mr. Candle?” she asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Getting plastered.” Selena was a nice girl, a college student in New York studying anthropology. She cared deeply for her brother, and if she knew what was going on, she’d insist on trying to help. That would put her in danger, and neither Weatherby nor I wanted that. “What are you doing out here in hillbilly country?”

Selena was smart as a whip. She knew something was rotten. “I’m studying the local folklore,” she explained. “The professor was very impressed by my paper on Hawaiian customs, and he’s anxious for me to do something similar with the local traditions and beliefs here in Appalachia.” She leaned forward. “Where exactly is Weatherby?”

I looked at her. She was a slim girl, with Weatherby’s dark hair going just past her ears. She had a pleasant round face and wore a rugged collared shirt under a worn leather jacket and jeans. She wasn’t the kind of person I’d want with me, not when I had the Heart of Darkness as my destination and horror and death as my traveling companions.

“He’s doing a little legwork for the case,” I said. “It doesn’t concern you, sister. Why don’t you do both of us a favor and dangle.”

But Selena didn’t leave. Weatherby was all the family she had left. “Mr. Candle,” he said. “Is my brother in trouble? If so, I demand that you take me to him. I know this territory. There must be something I can do to help Weatherby.” She stared at me, her eyes going narrow and her mouth becoming a thin line.

I cracked like cheap plastic. I put my hands in my trench coat and looked into the whiskey. “We were hired by Clayton Crabbpatch,” I said. “You know the Crabbpatches, I bet.” They were one of the big clans out here in the country, with more branches than Western Union. That many men gave them a power unmatched in the backwoods, and they ran moonshine and rackets that would put Capone to shame. “He wanted us to find his daughter. Her name’s Charity. She’s around your age.”

“And what happened to her?” Selena wondered.

I shifted uneasily in my seat. “She was taken to the Hollow. Witch’s Hollow. I bet you’ve heard of that too.”

“I have,” Selena said, her voice dropping so the other barflies couldn’t hear. “It’s cursed, Mr. Candle, a forbidden section of the woods. The haints, as they are called in local terminology, gather there, along with witches and other devils. A coal mine opened there in the twenties, and cave-ins and many deaths led to its speedy abandonment. No one ventures there, not without very good reason.”

“We had good reason, sister – a fat stack of dough. We drove in, expecting a milk run. What we got was anything but.” I shivered as I thought about it. “There were dozens of them, flying around like buzzing insects. They were women and men – but they were red, blood-red, and glistening in the sunlight. They laughed, like they had just heard the best joke in the world, and then they swept down and pulled Weatherby right out of the Buick.”

“Great God,” Selena whispered. “Witches. They shed their skin, you know, when they take to the air. And they have Weatherby.” She looked at the rickety wood of the bar and closed her eyes. It was getting dark outside, and a shadow passed across her face. When she opened her eyes, she fixed me with a glare that could break stone. “Right,” she said, coming to her feet. “We’re going after him.”