Symphony of Blood, A Hank Mondale Supernatural Case (5 page)

“Hello, Mr.
Greenwal
. Always a pleasure.”

He wasn’t as amused by my attempt at mixing with the upper crust. His bloated pink lips curled slightly and he waved me up. I walked up the steps, two at a time. I suddenly got the feeling his boss didn’t want to be kept waiting.

Greenwal
led me past another flight of steps. I couldn’t help but look up. At the top a large man in a suit stood, arms folded; he was big and sturdy, but also had a pretty large gut. I heard some ruckus, but couldn’t quite make it out. A woman’s voice, perhaps? Hard to tell.

“This way, Mondale,”
Greenwal
said with another hurried wave. He was ten feet in front of me and stretching it to fifteen. I picked up my pace and cut it to five. Then, he stopped in front of a room and opened the door. “This is the library. Have a seat.”

I walked through a slender, wood-trimmed doorway. Bookshelves lined all four walls and there weren’t any windows in the room. There was a large desk at the far end flanked by a huge globe on one side, and a large bust on the other. I walked towards the bust; it was Ben Franklin.

“Big Franklin fans. Me too.” I said to
Greenwal
.

“Have a seat, Mr. Mondale. Read a book. There’s also a selection of magazines on the table. It will be just a few minutes.”

“Okay.”

“Would you care for a drink or anything?”

“No. No thank you.”

I sat down on a bench with tiny red cushions on top of gold…brass I guess and not very comfortable at all. Judging by the shine on it, it was either cleaned daily, or never used. I picked up a magazine at random. Some financial rag. I’d never understand a word of it, so I threw it back down and sat back and waited.

A few minutes passed, and I heard some scuffling coming from just outside the half-opened door to the room. Finally, my soon-to-be benefactor showed himself.

He walked into the room with the same quiet ease he spoke with on the phone, although his body language told me he was anything but at ease; his face was red, and he seemed out of breath. He was a tall and slender man, probably in his early fifties; salt-and-pepper hair perfectly trimmed and combed in a smooth side part; the kind of cut that must have been done once a week so not a single hair was out of place. He wore a gray suit and dark tie. I recognized him from television.

“Hello, Mr. Mondale. Thank you so much for coming.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“Do you know who I am?”

“Thomas Blake. Yes, I know who you are.”

“Good. Very good. Then you know I am a serious man. A man who expects a lot out of anyone he hires. And a man who pays his people well.”

“So I hear.”

“Does that interest you? Working hard and being well paid for it?”

“Of course. Absolutely.”

“Good. Very good. Because that is exactly what I need.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of Thomas Blake. I knew he was rich. He was known for real estate, and investments, and money—all stuff I knew nothing about. He had a reputation of being a bit of an egomaniac, but to meet him in person, I didn’t sense an ego at all. Certainly not an ego that matched the grandiosity of his home, or an ego the size he was purported to have in the news media. Maybe that was all bullshit for his image. The real man may be different from the persona. I wasn’t sure yet. But I knew he had money and didn’t figure his paychecks bounced.

“Mr. Mondale, would you care to take a walk? I think better outside.”

“Sure.” Truth be told, I wasn’t really thrilled with going out into the cold, but he was the boss.

We walked down the staircase and the butler walked by. I thought for sure he’d bring over our jackets. But Thomas Blake didn’t even make eye contact with the old man.

“This way, Mr. Mondale.” Blake said.

He led me through a dining room and into a long hallway. At the end was a windowed, double doorway that led to the outside. Blake opened the doors and we walked out into the night.

We followed a lit path away from the house, and soon when I looked back I could just see a light or two fading in the distance. The chilly steam blew from our mouths like marching steeds, but Blake seemed unaffected.

Finally, he broke the silence.

“You’re cold, Mr. Mondale, aren’t you?”

“Well, yeah.” I felt I should kiss his ass, but why deny the obvious.

“Seems a simple test, but you’ve passed.”

“Being cold on a freezing cold night is a test?”

“Not exactly. More your reaction. Clearly, you are a practical man. And a rational man. I desperately need those two qualities right now.”

We walked up to a shed, and he opened the door. It smelled like animal and there was hay scattered about the ground. I guess it was a horse stable. A blanket hung from the wall and he handed it to me. Oddly enough, the cold hardly seemed to bother him.

“I need a detective. One who’s methodical. One who is a pragmatist. And one who won’t stop until he gets the job done, no matter how crazy the job may seem.”

I nodded, and shook and shimmied beneath the blanket to keep warm.

“The job I’m about to offer you is going to sound completely and utterly insane. I realize that. But I assure you, Mr. Mondale, I am a sane, rational and practical man. Just as you are.”

“Of course, Mr. Blake. Of course you are.”

“Let me go upstairs. I have a heavy jacket for you. Then we can resume our walk.”

“Sure.”

He disappeared up a wood staircase and quickly returned with a heavy, down feathered jacket. He handed it to me and I put it on. Then I followed him back out the door.

“Mr. Mondale, there is a monster trying to kill my daughter.”

I tried to keep a straight face, but he read the look in my eyes.

He laughed, then said, “I told you it would sound crazy. I know it does.”

“Well, Mr. Blake…yes. I guess it does. But I’m listening.”

“My daughter is nineteen years old. She is the love of my life. My wife passed away several years ago. I have no other children. She is everything to me.”

“Of course, sir.”

We walked further into the grounds, down a cobblestone path and passed several empty cages.

“My daughter loves animals. This is her zoo. Her very own zoo. The animals are inside now. It’s too cold for them.”

“It’s too cold for me!” I said, blowing frost from my laughing mouth.

He smiled back and said. “Okay, let’s head back towards the house.”

Blake led the way down the path and I followed closely behind. The lights of the house quickly came back into view.

“Mr. Mondale,” he said with his back to me, “I realize this is unusual, but I need you to help me.”

“Of course. You can count on me.”

I figured Blake was like most fathers are over their nineteen year old daughters: in complete and total denial. She was probably whacked out on smack, or crack, or coke or who knew what. Regardless, if Thomas Blake, the famous real estate mogul, wanted to pay me to chase his daughter’s monster, I was all for it.

We walked back inside the double doors, and he closed them behind us. I pulled off the jacket and handed it to the butler, who made his way over to us in no time.

“Let’s head upstairs, Mr. Mondale,” Blake said as he walked towards the staircase.

I followed close behind. We reached the top then turned towards the second flight of stairs. Blake turned to me but didn’t stop walking up.

“That’s Marty,” Blake said as we reached the top.

Marty, the big guy I saw earlier just nodded. Another large man, this one a bald African-American with a well-groomed goatee, big like Marty, but more rippled, and less fat, and wearing a similar dark gray suit, walked towards us.

“That’s Wes. Wes and Marty take care of my little girl. They look after her, and just about everything else around here.”

“I see.” I nodded to each man one at a time.

“It’s not always easy being Thomas Blake’s daughter. And it’s not always safe.”

I nodded again.

“Mackenzie has it rough, being my daughter,” Blake continued.

I nodded again, although to me, being the daughter of a
freakin
’ billionaire didn’t sound so rough; she should have met my dad.

Blake turned to the men. “Wait outside. Mr. Mondale and I are going to go in and try to talk to Mackenzie.”

Wes nodded and said, “She’s still in the bathroom. She hasn’t come out.”

“I figured as much,” Blake said as he opened the door.

I followed Blake into the room, and was hit by a stench, like a rotten banana, as he shut the door behind us. The walls were painted pink and the room was huge. It was an absolute pigsty. A four-post bed was in the dead center of the room with a sheer pink cover hanging off it, ripped in several places. There was a faux fur pink rug that looked as if it had been soaked in vodka and cranberry. Papers and magazines were strewn about. Plates with half eaten meals lay on the floor. There was one window in the room, but a bookshelf had been placed in front of it, and I only noticed it because of the pink drapes that hung above it.

“Pardon the mess, Mr. Mondale. She refuses to let the maid in.”

“No problem. You should see my place.”

We walked up to another door, and Blake knocked on it lightly.

“Mackenzie, honey. There’s someone here to see you.”

“GO AWAY!” came a high-pitched shriek from the other side of the door. Her voice was crackly and unsteady.

“Mackenzie, please. Someone’s here to help you.”

“LEAVE ME ALONE!”

“Mackenzie. We’re coming in.”

Blake took a key ring from his pocket and put a key in the lock. He turned the door, and slowly opened it.

The lights were off. Blake turned them on. Looking over his shoulder, into the room, I could see that the bathroom was pink too: dark pink wallpaper with light pink tiles on the floor.

From behind a wall that separated the john from the rest of the bathroom I could hear her shout, “Turn it off! Turn it off now. It will know we’re in here!”

Blake turned the light off. I looked in the mirror but could only see her light-colored shoes poking out around the corner of the wall.

“Mackenzie. This is Hank Mondale. He is a private detective. He’s here to help us.”

It seemed to me like she needed a shrink, not a detective, but on cue, I walked in and called in my softest, most sympathetic voice, “Ms. Blake, I’m here to help.”

“Go away.” She suddenly sounded more like a spoiled brat than a hysterical girl in need of help, and it occurred to me that maybe she didn’t need a shrink or a detective, just a good, solid kick in the ass.

Blake waved me forward in front of him, and I walked deeper into the bathroom. The light from the bedroom was just enough to guide me.

I turned the corner and saw her. She was huddled between the john and the wall, clutching something. It was moving and panting. As my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized it was a dog: a tiny, furry thing. It looked like white fur but it was hard to tell, could have been gray or even light brown.

Mackenzie Blake was hugging the dog, swaying back and forth, her head buried in the dog’s fur.

I walked closer, put my hand on her shoulder and whispered, “It’s okay. I’m here to help.”

She looked up at me. I could see red, bloodshot eyes that almost glowed in the dark. Her face was clean, and fresh. Blake said she was nineteen but she looked sixteen to me.

She whispered, “It’s
gonna
kill me.”

 “What?” I whispered back. I hunched down and leaned against the wall. “What is trying to hurt you?”

“It.”

“It? Ms. Blake, you need to let me help you. Please tell me more.”

She cradled her dog and continued rocking back and forth, refusing to look up at me.

* *

She continued to whisper. Repeating herself over and over again:

“It’s
gonna
kill me.”

She must have said it half a dozen times. I tried to comfort her, awkwardly patting her shoulder and trying to get her to talk to me, but she just looked away, her eyes hollow like two rotten tree trunks, and repeated the phrase. “It’s
gonna
kill me.”

Finally, I walked out of the bathroom and gestured to Blake that I was leaving, but not speaking, almost like I was at a library. He nodded, then followed me out of the bedroom and into the hall. Marty and Wes quickly went inside.

“I’ll keep an eye on her, Mr. Blake.” Wes said softly as he walked by.

Blake nodded to him as Wes lightly closed the door. Then, Blake said to me, “I realize this is unusual, Mr. Mondale.”

“I’m not one to judge, Mr. Blake. I don’t have kids but I imagine this must be really tough for you. I don’t know what to say, other than I feel really bad. It’s obvious your daughter is going through a rough time.”