Samantha Moon: First Eight Novels, Plus One Novella (19 page)

“Sure,” I said. “Even an old dog like you.”

“
How reassuring.”

Through Horton’s wrought iron fence I saw a figure struggling with something bulky. The fence swung open and Horton appeared in a yellow slicker, struggling to wheel a single green trash can. The can appeared awkward to maneuver. Or perhaps Horton was just clumsy. As he deposited the can near the curb, his foot slipped out from under him, sending him straight to his back. I voted for clumsy.

Sherbet shook his head. “Smooth,” he said.

48.

“
Let’s wait a few minutes,” said Sherbet after Horton had dashed inside. Horton ran like a girl.

“
Doesn’t look like much of a killer,” I said.

“
No,” said Sherbet. “They never do.”

The rain came down harder, pummeling the truck, scourging what appeared to be a custom paint job. Sherbet seemed to wince with each drop.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be into cars?” I asked.

“
You can never be too old.”

“
I think you’re too old.”

“
Yeah, well how old are you?”

“
I’d rather not say. Not to mention you’ve looked at my police record and already know.”

“
Thirty-seven, if I recall,” he said. “A very young thirty-seven. Hell, you don’t even have a wrinkle.”

“
I’m sure it will catch up to me someday,” I said, and then thought: o
r not
. But I played along. “And before I know it, I’ll look into the mirror one day and find a road atlas staring back at me.”

He snorted. “Welcome to my world.”

We waited some more. The rain continued to pound. Some of the water collected and sluiced along the windshield in shimmering silver streaks. Sherbet and I were warm and secure in our own little microcosm of leather, plastic, wood, and empty Wendy’s bags. Here in this mini-world, I was the vampire queen, and Sherbet was my noble knight. Or perhaps my blood slave, from whom I fed.

“
Your name always reminds me of ice cream,” I said. “I like your name.”

“
I hate it.”

“
Why?”

“
Reminds me of ice cream.”

A light in Horton’s upstairs window turned off. The house was dark and silent. So was the street.

“You stay here while I procure the target’s trash,” Sherbet said. “We’re going to have to adhere to some protocol if we hope to get a search warrant out of this.”

“
Lot of fancy words to basically say you’ll be the one getting wet.”

“
Oh, shut up,” he said.

I grinned. “Procure away, kind sir.”

“Okay,” he said, pulling on his hood. “Here goes.”

He threw open his door and dashed off through the rain. His nylon jacket was drenched within seconds. He moved surprisingly well for an older guy. He reached Horton’s trash can, pulled open the lid, and removed two very full plastic bags. I was suddenly very much not looking forward to digging through those. He shut the lid, grabbed a bag in each hand, and hustled back to the truck. He deposited both in the bed of his truck.

“You’re dripping on the leather,” I said when he slid into the driver’s seat.

“
I know,” he said, starting the truck. “It saddens the heart.”

49.

We drove until we found an empty parking garage adjacent to an ophthalmologist college. The lights inside the garage were on full force and a white security pick-up truck was parked just inside the entrance.

We pulled up beside the truck. The guard was out cold, wrapped in his jacket, hugging himself for warmth, the windows cracked for air. Sherbet rolled down his window. The sound of thumping rain was louder and more intense with the window down. The guard still hadn’t moved.

“
Hey,” said Sherbet.

The man bolted upright, accidentally slamming his hand against the steering wheel. The horn went off and he jumped again, now hitting his head on the cab’s ceiling.

Sherbet turned to me. “Night of Ten Thousand Fools.”

“
An Arabian farce.”

The detective leaned out the window, producing his badge from his jacket pocket. “Detective Sherbet, Fullerton PD. We need to, um, commandeer your garage for a few minutes.”

“Of course, detective.” The guard’s voice was slightly high-pitched. He was fortyish and much too small to be taken seriously as a guard. His neck was also freakishly long. “It’s the rain, you know. Knocks me out every time. My bosses found out I was sleeping again, they’d fire me.” He looked sheepish.

“
Don’t worry about it, pal,” said Sherbet. “I won’t tell if you don’t.”

He brightened, his job secure. “Is there maybe something I can do for you? You know, maybe help you out?”

“Sure,” said Sherbet. “Guard this entrance with your life. No one comes in.”

“
You got it, detective!”

Sherbet rolled up his window and we eased into the parking structure and out of the rain.

“Commandeer the garage?” I said.

“
Sounds important.”

I looked back. The guard had positioned his truck before the garage’s entrance. “Good of you to give him something to do,” I said. “But what happens if someone wants to come in?”

“Then they’ll have to deal with Flamingo Neck.”

I snorted. “Flamingo Neck? Thought he looked more like a stork.”

“Whatever.” Sherbet pulled into a slot. “You ready to dig in?”

“
As ready as ever.”

The covered garage was mostly empty, save for a few desolate vehicles. These vehicles had the look of semi-permanence. Sherbet handed me a pair of latex gloves.

The bags were sodden. One of them stank of rotten dairy. I gave that one to the detective.

“
Thanks,” he said.

“
I’m a lady,” I said. “Ladies don’t dig through smelly trash.”

“
They do when they’re on my shift.”

“
Yeah, well, luckily I don’t work for you.”

“
Luckily.”

With legs crossed, I hunkered down on a parking rebar. I untied the my bag and was immediately greeted with what must have been last night’s chicken teriyaki. My stomach growled noisily. My stomach seemed to have missed the memo about my new diet. My new
blood
diet.

No chicken teriyaki for you, my friend. Ever.

I removed the big stuff first. An empty gallon of milk that, because it was sealed, had bloated to half again its normal size. Boxes of cereal, an empty jar of peanut butter, many cardboard cases of beer. Someone liked beer. A smattering of plastic Coca-Cola bottles. I sorted through it all, leaving a careful pile to my left.

At the bottom nook was a batch of papers which proved to be torn mail, the majority of which were credit card applications. Smart man. Debt, bad.

“Nothing over here,” I said.

I looked over at the detective who was squatting down on one knee. His hands were smeared with gelatinous muck. He looked a little green, and for a homicide detective, that’s saying a lot.

“More of the same,” he said. “Nothing.”

Beyond, the security guard was pacing in the rain before his truck. Occasionally he stole glances at us.

“Same time next week?” Sherbet asked.

“
Yes,” I said. “More fun.”

“
And Mrs. Moon?” he said, looking down at his rancid ichor-covered latex gloves. “Next time
you
get the smelly bag.”

50.

Sherbet dropped me off at the hotel and suggested that I take a shower because I smelled like trash. I told him thanks. At the hotel lobby, the doorman greeted me with a small bow. I could get used to that. Then he crinkled his nose. Maybe I did need to take a shower.

Conscious of my stench, I took the elevator to the ninth floor and inserted my keycard into the lock and pushed the door open and my warning bells went off instantly.

Someone was inside.

Movement down the hall. I turned my body, narrowing it as a target, just as an arrow bolt struck me in the shoulder, slamming me hard into the open door, which in turn slammed shut. I ducked and peered through the darkness and there, standing near my open balcony, was a man. A good-looking man. Tall and slender. Silhouetted in shadows. But I could see into shadows. His spiky blond hair looked like a frayed tennis ball. He was staring at me down the length of a cocked crossbow.

I knew him. It was the UPS man.

He didn’t say anything, didn’t move. Simply stood there with his crossbow trained, sweat gleaming on his forehead. His hands were unwavering. A flask of clear liquid was at his hip. There was a cross around his neck and a strand of garlic. He adjusted his sights imperceptibly, and I realized he was searching for a clear shot at my heart. I was determined not to give him that clear shot. I looked at him from over my shoulder.

“
Who are you?” I asked.

“
You don’t need to know.”

“
Then why are you doing this?” My breath came in short gasps. I needed to do something about the shaft in my shoulder, but I didn’t dare take my eyes off the man. The strand of garlic was bullcrap. Hell, I cooked with garlic all the time. But the water on his hip—holy water, no doubt—was troubling. I hadn’t dared experiment with holy water.

“
It’s nothing personal,” he said.

“
The bolt in my shoulder makes it personal.”

“
It was meant for your heart.”

Behind me I heard voices. Someone was getting off the elevator. The voices were mixed with drunken laughter.

Although I hadn’t taken my eyes off the hunter, I had unwittingly shifted my weight to the sound of the voices. Apparently I had exposed my heart. He saw the opening he was looking for, and fired.

I heard the
twang
and
snap
of the bolt leaping from the crossbow. I saw it coming, too. Clearly. Rotating slightly in the air. My world slowed down. Much as it had when I leaped off the balcony.

As it rotated, its metal tip gleaming off of light unseen, my hand was coming up. And just before it buried itself into my heart, I caught the damn thing in the air, snagging it just inches from my chest.

The hunter gaped at me in disbelief, then flung himself backward through the open French doors and vaulted the railing. I pushed away from the doorway, stumbled through the suite and out onto the balcony. It was still raining. I peered down over the ledge and saw a man rappelling down the facade of the building. The rope was attached to the roof above. He dropped down into some foundation brush and unhooked himself. He looked up at me briefly and then dashed off. I watched him disappear around the corner of the hotel.

Back in my suite, out of the rain, I gripped the fletched end of the arrow shaft and winced.
Okay, this is going to hurt.
I inhaled deeply and pulled slowly. The pain was unbearable. I gasped and stumbled into the bathroom. The mirror revealed empty clothing, animated clothing, a miracle of special effects. An arrow protruded from the blouse’s shoulder area. A thick wash of blood was spreading down from the shoulder. The sight of the bloodied disembodied clothing was surreal.

I closed my eyes, continued pulling. White flashes appeared behind my eyelids. I pulled harder, screaming now. I looked down once and saw that the metal tip was almost out. I also saw that it was bringing with it a lot of meat from my arm.

Tears streamed from my eyes and I heard myself whimpering and still I continued to pull, and finally the bolt came free, followed immediately by a great eruption of blood.

It was then that I fainted.

51.

Sometime during the night I awoke in the bathroom to find myself in a pool of my own blood. I was cold and not very shocked to see that the wound in my shoulder had healed completely. I stumbled into the bedroom and collapsed into bed.

I slept through the day and awoke at dusk. I felt like hell, groggy, disoriented. I had to remind myself where I was. I bolted upright. Shit! I had forgotten to pick up the kids!

I was just about to hop out of bed until I remembered it wasn’t my job to do so anymore. Danny’s mother picked them up now. I slumped back into bed, immediately depressed.