Stalking the Vampire (17 page)

As he began running toward the girl and the chrysanthemums, Mallory said under his breath, “That might be sooner than you think.”

Within five more minutes he and his team had reached the edge of the park and headed toward Wall Street.

“The Stock Exchange,” announced Nathan as they came within sight of it. “Now the plot begins to thicken.”

“It wasn't thick enough for you already?” asked Mallory. “We've spent half of All Hallows' Eve looking for a vampire none of us has ever seen, and if we're lucky enough to find him, he's probably twenty times stronger than all of us put together.”

“You don't understand how these cases work,” explained the dragon patiently. “They have an ebb and flow to them.”

“As long as it's not my blood that's flowing…” replied the detective.

“I'm trying to think of what Wings O'Bannon would do in this situation.”

“From what you've told me, he'd probably seduce half the contestants in the Miss Nude Manhattan Contest while thinking of his next move.”

“I take umbrage at that remark!” said Nathan.

“Do you deny it?”

“No, but I take umbrage.”

“Don't take it too far,” said Mallory. “We're almost there.”

“I've been here before,” said Felina, twitching her nostrils.

“I know,” said Mallory. “If we're lucky, they won't remember.”

“What did she do?” asked McGuire.

“It's a long story.”

(Publisher's note: but a good one. Read about it in
Stalking the Unicorn
, available from Pyr Books.)

They stopped in front of the main entrance to the Exchange.

“Oh, boy—the intrigue that goes on here could fill half a dozen books!” said Nathan enthusiastically.

“And at least two thousand jail cells,” added Mallory.

“So what's our next move?” asked the dragon. “Case the joint? Talk to one of our snitches?”

“We don't have any snitches,” said Mallory, “and we don't have to case the American Stock Exchange. We'll just enter it.”

“Just like that?” said Nathan dubiously.

“They've been watching us since we got here,” said Mallory. “Third floor, sixth window on the left. If they don't want us to come in, the door will be locked.” He turned to the cat-girl. “Felina, climb those stairs there and see if the door opens.”

She soon reached the door, and before she could touch it, it swung inward.

“I guess that means they don't mind visitors,” said Mallory. “Felina, do you smell the vampire here?”

The cat-girl sniffed the air and shook her head.

“Then it should be relatively safe,” said Mallory. “Let's go.”

He entered the building and found himself in the Grand Foyer. He waited for the other three to join him, then looked around. To his left was the floor of the Exchange itself, to his right a series of conference and media rooms.

“They seem to have pulled all the guards,” remarked Nathan.

“You think so, do you?” asked Mallory.

“Yes, I do,” said Nathan. “I mean, look at all the expensive electronic equipment on the Exchange floor. Tens of millions of dollars' worth. Only a fool would leave them unguarded.”

“Unless there's something even more valuable to guard,” said the detective.

“Are you just killing time, or did you have some point to make?” asked McGuire.

“Those things in the next room are just machines,” said Mallory. “They break, you fix ‘em or you build new ones. They compute, but they don't
think
.” He paused. “But those people
upstairs
…them you can't rebuild, and they're the brains of the outfit, the ones that make the machines worth so much.”

“You're talking about them like they're machines themselves,” noted McGuire.

“They're moneymaking machines,” answered Mallory. “And it's my guess that like any of their kind, their twin fuels are greed and corruption.”

“Then why should they let a private eye and his award-winning biographer in here in the first place?” asked Nathan.

“You've won an award?” said McGuire, surprised.

“I will, now that I'm teaming with a real Marlowe.”

“Mallory,” the detective corrected him.

“So based on what you say, they've let us in because they can make a profit on us,” said McGuire. “
How?
”

“I suspect that once you get the hang of it, you can find a profit in anything,” said Mallory.

“Give me an example.”

“Look at the oil companies,” said Mallory. “The price of crude goes up halfway around the world, and tomorrow the price of gas at your local station is up fifteen cents a gallon. But that crude won't get processed and reach here for months. The stuff you're paying fifteen cents extra for was bought when it was cheaper and has been sitting at the gas station or the refinery for months.”

“I never thought of that,” admitted McGuire.

“Me neither,” said Nathan.

“Somehow I'm not surprised,” said Mallory. “You know, there's an old myth that seven financiers run the economy of the world in secret.” He glanced at the ceiling. “I guess it's really only five. And I think it's time to go visit them.”

“How do you suppose they can help us?” asked McGuire.

“I don't know. Maybe we'll let Wings O'Bannon's creator use his keen deductive mind and figure it out.”

“Me?” said the dragon nervously.

“Why not?” said Mallory. “You're an award-winning author, aren't you?”

“Suddenly my stomach hurts,” said Nathan.

“Don't worry about it,” said Mallory. “I'll do the talking.”

“Maybe we should just stay here and protect your back,” suggested McGuire.

“From two floors away?” replied Mallory.

“You never know where danger might come from,” said McGuire weakly.

“True,” agreed the detective. “But I've got a pretty good idea where it's
not
coming from. I'll post the pair of you outside the door to their room, but you're not doing anyone any good here on the ground floor.”

Mallory headed off toward an elevator, but Felina saw the escalator first and pounced on it.

“I like moving stairs,” she confided at the top of her lungs.

“Thanks for yelling,” said Mallory sardonically. “I wouldn't want our presence to startle anyone once we get off at the third floor.”

“I'm thoughtful to a fault,” replied Felina with a happy smile.

They reached the third floor without incident. The first thing they noticed was that the corridor was lined with uniformed guards. Only one office was lit, and Mallory began walking toward it. The guards scrutinized him and his group carefully, but made no move to stop them.

Mallory finally reached the door, then stopped and turned to McGuire and Nathan.

“Your choice,” he said. “Come in, or stay out here.”

“I'm coming in,” said Nathan. “Do you think they'll mind if I take notes, or maybe record the conversation?”

“If they do, I'm sure they'll make their objections known to you,” answered the detective.

“Well, I'm sure not staying out here alone,” said McGuire nervously. “I'm coming in, too.”

Mallory opened the door, and his party entered a plush, well-appointed suite. Four expensively dressed gray-haired men, each puffing on a cigar, were waiting for them, as was a young woman in a business suit who was seated at a huge mahogany desk.

“Good evening,” said the detective. “My name is—”

“Skip the preliminaries,” said one of the men. “Time is money.”

“Right,” said another. “You got a proposition for us?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“That's a very awkward manner,” said the woman. “Explain yourself.”

“I have a challenge for you.”

“Do we look like Boy Scouts to you?”

“No,” said Mallory. “Especially the young lady. In fact, what you look like is the Wall Street Five.”

“You know who we are?” asked one of the men, surprised.

“I think everyone knows who and what you are,” answered Mallory. “But I guess not everyone knows what to call you.”

“Well, I'll be damned!” said one of them. “Who told you about us?”

“A friend.”

“And why does this friend think we'd be interested in helping you?”

“He doesn't think you're at all interested in helping
me
,” said Mallory. He paused meaningfully. “But he thinks you'd probably like to help yourselves.”

“Explain yourself,” said one of the men.

“My name is John Justin Mallory, and I'm a detective. I'm on the track of an incredibly powerful vampire who goes by the name of Vlad Drachma. This vampire is literally thousands of years old, seems to have near-superhuman strength, and has been on a killing spree since he arrived here from Transylvania last week. He killed my partner's nephew earlier tonight. It's my job to bring him in, but so far I haven't had much luck.”

“How do you think we can help?” asked the woman. “And more to the point, why should we?”

“You make your money by bilking the public,” said Mallory bluntly. “Well, this particular vampire is fully capable of costing you twenty to thirty members of that public every week.”

“Vampires all start out hot and energetic,” said one of the men. “It's just a phase they go through.”

“Vlad Drachma has been going through this particular phase since before Moses brought the Ten Commandments down from Mount Sinai,” answered Mallory. He stared at each of them in turn. “I don't think any of you have a charitable bone in your bodies, so I won't appeal to your better natures or ask you to help me. But I think for people in your position selfishness is considered a virtue, or at least a survival trait, so I urge you to help yourselves.”

“We will need a moment to confer,” said the woman, getting to her feet. “We'll be back directly.”

The five of them left the room.

“Well?” said Mallory.

“I thought you insulted them,” said McGuire.

“They're beyond petty emotions like love and hate and fear and jealousy,” answered Mallory with absolute certainty. “All they care about is profit and loss.”

“I hope you're right.”

“While you were studying each of them,” said Nathan, “which one did you decide was the weak link?”

“Who knows?”

“But it's your job to know!” insisted the dragon.

“Right now my job consists of apprehending Vlad Drachma, and I'm grateful to anyone or any
thing
that will help me accomplish my purpose.”

“How, exactly, can these five help?”

“Anyone who runs the world is probably not without resources,” said Mallory with a smile. He was about to say something more when the Wall Street Five reentered the room.

“Well?” asked Mallory.

“Mr. Mallory, we have a deal,” said the oldest of the men. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am John D. Stoneyfeller. If it flies, I own it. If it pulls freight, I own its tracks. If it's parked in your garage, it goes nowhere without my tires and my engine. And if it works for a union, you'll never find it in my employ.”

“P. J. Morgan,” said another. “I shortened it from Morganthau. I issued every credit card in your wallet. And all of your savings are on deposit in my bank, because regardless of the names they use, every bank is
my
bank.”

“William Vandergilt at your service. Do you eat fried cicadas or chocolate-covered ants?”

“No,” said Mallory.

“Then I can say without fear of contradiction that every piece of food you've eaten for the last thirteen years, be it animal or vegetable, has been
my
food, picked on my farms or dispatched in my slaughterhouses.”

“And I am Andrew Boatnagie,” said the fourth man.

“Transportation, money, and food seem to be spoken for,” replied Mallory. “What do
you
control?”

“Control is such an insipid word, Mr. Mallory,” said Boatnagie. “I am the czar of your leisure time. Not a movie gets made, not a play gets produced, not a sporting event takes place, not a book gets published, not a CD or DVD gets cut, until I greenlight it.”

“And if the public doesn't like what you present?”

“Let them go to a competitor.”

“Are there any?”

Boatnagie smiled. “Never for long.”

“You're four captains of industry, to be sure,” said Mallory. He turned to the young woman. “And you are…?”

“Miss Subways,” answered the woman.

“Miss Subways?” repeated Mallory. “Like in
On the Town?
”

“No,” said Stoneyfeller. “Like she owns every subway in the USA, Europe, and Japan—the cars, the tracks, the stations, even the concessions.”

“I assume you didn't inherit them?” said Mallory.

She smiled a chilling smile. “What fun would that have been?”

“So, Mr. Mallory,” said Stoneyfeller, “our combined might is at your service. Not only that, but with a snap of our collective fingers, we can supply you with cannon fodder almost beyond calculation. How may we help you destroy this foul fiend who would dare interfere with our profit flow?”