Stalking the Vampire (4 page)

“Okay,” said Mallory, walking to the door. “There's no sense our hanging around until your crew shows up. We might as well get busy.”

“I'll see you at twelve thirty,” said Winnifred. “Or perhaps sooner, if it's a successful hunt.”

McGuire accompanied Mallory to the elevator, and a moment later they walked out into the night.

“All right,” said Mallory. “You're the vampire expert. Where would a young, very frightened almost-vampire go?”

“I've been a vampire since I was seven years old,” said McGuire, “but if it was just occurring now, I'd seek out other vampires to find out what was happening to me, what kind of life I was facing.”

“Makes sense,” agreed Mallory. “Where is he likely to find the greatest concentration of vampires?”

“I should think the answer would be obvious,” replied McGuire.

“The zoo?” suggested Mallory.

“Of course not,” said the little vampire.

“Maybe some graveyard?”

McGuire shook his head. “No. There's only one place he'll go—the Vampire State Building.”

“The Vampire State Building,” repeated Mallory, staring at him. “You're kidding, right?”

“Am I smiling?” replied McGuire.

It was the Empire State Building in the Manhattan Mallory had left behind, but as he was constantly discovering at the most inopportune times, he wasn't in
his
Manhattan anymore.

If he'd had any doubts, they were dispelled when he and McGuire came to the front entrance. Like most office buildings, it had a uniformed doorman. Unlike most, this one hung upside down from the top of the doorway.

“Hi, Boris,” said McGuire. “I wonder if you can help us out?”

“Sure,” said the doorman, stifling a guffaw. “Which way did you come in?”

“Boris fancies himself a humorist,” explained McGuire.

“No problem,” replied Mallory. “I've got a fat seventy-three-year-old aunt who fancies herself a sexpot.”

“Boris, this is my friend, John Justin Mallory,” began McGuire. “He—”

“Mallory?” repeated the doorman, pushing off and somehow landing lightly on his feet. “You're the guy who found that unicorn?”

“Yeah,” said the detective. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Has he…uh…joined the club?” asked Boris.

“No,” answered McGuire. “At least not yet. We're here on a case.”

“You're working for him?”

“Like I said, he's my friend. I'm just helping him out.”

“Okay,” said Boris. “Got a nice broad neck, though.”

“If anyone nabs him in the neck, it'll be me,” said McGuire. “Now, are you gonna listen to him or not?”

“Don't go getting offended,” said Boris. “It was an honest question. What can I do for you, Mr. Mallory?”

“I'm looking for a young man who's run away,” replied Mallory. “About five feet eight, maybe a hundred and sixty pounds, brown hair, brown eyes, couple of puncture marks on his neck. His name's Rupert Newton.”

“You sure he's
run
away?” asked the doorman. “I mean, if he's one of us, he could have
flown
the coop, so to speak.”

“I don't think he's a fully fledged member of your fraternity yet,” said Mallory. “My guess is he'd want to seek out some vampires and find out what's been done to him, what he can do about it, what he can look forward to.”

“Well, then, he's come to the right place.”

“Have you seen him?”

“No,” answered Boris. “But then, my vision isn't what it used to be. Before the change, I mean.” He paused. “I suppose he
could
be here.”

“He'd have shown up in the last ten or fifteen minutes.”

“It's possible, then,” said Boris. “I was off having a bite”—McGuire giggled at his choice of words—“until about two minutes before you showed up.”

“It's a big building,” said Mallory. “Where would he be most likely to go?”

“Well, it
is
our holy night, so most of the offices are closed,” answered Boris. “If he's here at all, he'll be on the ninetieth floor.”

“Why the ninetieth?”

“It's the only one that's open.”

“Thanks,” said Mallory, stepping through the doorway and into the building. “If you see him coming out, do me a favor and grab him until I can catch up with you.”

“Grab him?” Boris's left eyelid began twitching and the muscles in his jaw tightened. “With pleasure.”

“One other thing,” said Mallory, turning back to the doorman. “Does Aristotle Draconis work in this building?”

Boris shrugged. “Check the registry. We've got thirty thousand people working here.” He paused. “Well,
some
of them are people,” he added.

“Come on, Bats,” said Mallory, heading off to the elevator.

McGuire scurried after the detective, and a moment later the doors slid shut behind them. The small enclosure was immediately flooded with music.

“‘Strangers in the Night,'” commented McGuire as he identified the tune. “Ah, the memories that brings back!”

Mallory frowned. “I don't remember anything in the lyrics about biting.”

“What a kidder!” said McGuire. “Next, you'll be telling me it's supposed to be a love song.”

“I wouldn't dream of it.”

The song ended as they passed the sixtieth floor, to be replaced by another.

“Ah!” said McGuire with a happy smile. “‘Fangs for the Memory.'”

“So what are we likely to find on the ninetieth floor?” asked Mallory.

The little vampire shrugged. “Trial lawyers, literary agents, all the usual bloodsuckers. I mean, it
is
the Vampire State Building.”

“Somehow I don't think Rupert would be looking for a lawyer
or
an agent.”

“No sense guessing what we'll find,” announced McGuire as the elevator came to a stop and the doors slid open. “We're here.”

The first thing Mallory saw was a huge poster announcing that a band named Vlad and the Impalers would be performing on All Hallows' Eve at the annual Zombies' Ball.

“Vlad and the Impalers?” said Mallory. “Are they serious?”

“They're the hot new group,” McGuire informed him. “Though it'll be tough to top last year's band.”

“Let me guess: Lassie and the Wolfwomen?”

“Silly name,” said McGuire. “No, it was Igor and the Graverobbers.”

“It figures,” muttered Mallory.

“Personally, I always liked Guy Lombardo,” admitted McGuire, “but one has to keep up with the times.”

“Well, let's look around and see who or what's up here,” said Mallory, walking past the poster. He found himself in a broad corridor lined with offices and tasteful store windows. He walked past a couple of doors, then stopped and read the neatly printed sign in a small window. “‘Bat Ecology for the Newly Changed.'”

“That certainly sounds likely,” agreed McGuire. “No, wait.”

He pointed to a little note taped to the door:
Closed for the holiday
.

Next was an AAA office. “American Auto Association?” suggested Mallory. “What the hell would they be doing in the Vampire State Building?”

“American
Aeronautics
Association,” McGuire corrected him.

Mallory peered through the window. He saw stacks of maps, a number
of books listing the best caves in America, and a desk with a sign:
File Your Flight Plans Here.

An incredibly slim woman, dressed all in black, with black hair and bright red lips, sat at the desk. When she saw Mallory staring at her, she winked and smiled at him.

“What do you think?” said McGuire.

“Not my type,” replied Mallory. “I prefer 'em alive.”

“I meant, do you think she can help us?”

Mallory shook his head. “The kid didn't have wings twenty minutes ago. I don't imagine he's sprouted any since then.”

“No, you're right,” agreed McGuire. “If he'd…
changed
…we'd have found his clothes. Take it from me, it's damned hard to fly when you've got a wingspan of forty inches and you're wearing a suit, a tie, and a pair of jockey shorts. Or even boxer shorts, for that matter.”

They passed a trio of offices, and then Mallory came to a halt before the Advisory Council for the Newly Converted. “This looks like the kind of place he'd come,” announced the detective. “It's certainly where
I'd
come if it had happened to me.” He turned to McGuire. “You stay out here, and if you see a kid who fits Rupert's description, give a holler.”

“I'm not very good at hollering,” said McGuire. “I never know what to yell. ‘Yoicks!' seems somehow out of place, and of course ‘Excelsior!' is just too old-fashioned. I could scream ‘Stop thief!' of course—but if he's not a thief, we could have a defamation suit on our hands.”

“Okay, don't yell,” said Mallory disgustedly. “Whistle.”

“I can't.”

“You can't whistle at all?”

“Only ‘Bloody Mary Is the Girl for Me.'”

“Then yodel.”

“I've never yodeled before.”

“Goddammit, McGuire!” said Mallory impatiently. “Just pound on the window and I'll take it from there.”

“What if I break the window?”

“What if I break your nose?” growled Mallory.

“Okay, okay, I'll think of something,” said McGuire.

Mallory just glared at the little vampire for a moment, then turned and entered the office. A portly man, all smiles and dimples, stood up from behind a desk and walked over to him, hand extended.

“Greetings, my good man, greetings!” he thundered. “How may I help you? We represent the finest academic institutions in all Manhattan. If you're having difficulty finding your way around, I can arrange sonar lessons from the great Vladimir Plotkin himself.”

“No, thanks,” said Mallory. “I—”

“Perhaps a correspondence course on Arteries and How to Find Them,” suggested the man. “Or we have a special this week: two tickets to the opera plus three private Squeaking on Key lessons.”

“Can I get a word in, please?” said Mallory.

“I apologize,” said the man. “My only excuse is my enthusiasm to help the newly converted.”

“I don't qualify,” explained Mallory. “I'm just looking for someone.”

“Oh, we don't arrange liaisons here, my dear sir. You'll want the dance studio on the fourth floor. Their advertised specialty is How to Vamp for Your Man. Always a nice selection down there.”

“I'm looking for a young man who
is
among the newly converted,” said Mallory. “I was hoping he'd come here.”

“Are you the…ah…
converter?
”

“Just a friend. If he came here, it would have been in the last half hour.”

The man shook his head. “No, it's been at least two hours since our last visitor. You might try Ebbets Field; I understand the Louisville Sluggers are in town. Our crowd just goes bats over them.” He practically choked holding back a self-satisfied chuckle.

“How about Aristotle Draconis?” asked Mallory, ignoring his pun. “Tall, skinny, definitely not a newcomer to the practice.”

“No, I'd remember a name like that.”

“Okay,” said Mallory with a grimace. “Thanks anyway.” He turned to leave.

“Is your young friend from America?” asked the man.

“Yes.”

“Too bad. The Acme Coffin Company, down on forty-eight, is having a
special on soil from the Old Country. Sooner or later your young friend is going to have to sleep—though probably not until morning. If he was from Transylvania, he'd have to find an outlet that sells his native soil, unless he brought it along with him. And now,” he concluded, “if there's nothing further, I'm going to be closing the office down until tomorrow.”

“I would have thought you did most of your business at night,” remarked Mallory.

“Oh, absolutely we do—but this is All Hallows' Eve, my good sir. It's our night to howl.” He suddenly looked embarrassed. “Well, to squeak, anyway.”

Mallory walked to the door. “Thanks for your time.”

“I'm sorry I couldn't help you,” said the man. “But you might consider making the usual rounds before the partying really gets hot and heavy.”

“The usual rounds?”

“The young man is aware of the pending transformation, is he not? I mean, that's why you thought he might come here.”

“Right.”

“Well, then, he's going to have to prepare for some major changes in his lifestyle. For example, he'll need super-strength sunscreen. No more than half a dozen pharmacies carry it. He'll need highly polarized shades…sunglasses to the uninitiated. Sooner or later he has to eat, so he'll undoubtedly want to buy a portable AIDS testing kit before he consumes any of his victim's blood. If his canines are anything like your friend's there”—he pointed to McGuire—“he may want to visit a cosmetic dentist before they pierce a hole through his lip.”

“There's a lot more to being a vampire than I thought,” remarked Mallory.

“Oh, indeed there is, sir,” agreed the man. “If you would like to come back tomorrow, we can continue our discussion, but I really must close up shop now.”

Mallory walked out of the office, followed by the portly man, who locked the door and headed off to the elevator.

“Learn anything?” asked McGuire.

“A bit about vampires,” replied the detective. “Nothing about Rupert or Draconis.”

“There are still a few lights on,” said McGuire.

“We'll look, but I don't think we're going to find anything.”

They began walking down the corridor, with Mallory reading the signs aloud as they went: “Anemics Anonymous…Transformations, Inc…. The Lonely Veins Club…You know, if I hadn't seen the bites on Winnifred and the kid, I'd have a hard time believing some of this.”

McGuire suddenly stopped as they came to a haberdashery. “Look at those velvet capes!” he exclaimed. “I would kill for a cape like that!”

“I think that may be a prerequisite to wearing it,” replied Mallory.

“And that salesgirl!” enthused the little vampire. “Look at the teeth on her! She can bite my neck any time she wants!”