The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 2: Cold Wars (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #2) (15 page)

I looked up at Sly Baum. He was already looking to the high-stakes tables. “You can go with them, Henry Wallace,” the kid’s father said quickly. “Long as you promise to be good and you come back before your bed time.” He nodded to me. “Is that okay?”

Weatherby answered before I could. “We shall see that no harm comes to him, Mr. Baum. You have my solemn word.”

“Great.” Sly was already heading for the poker tables, leaving us with Henry Wallace.

I would have pressed the matter, but I didn’t feel like arguing with Weatherby. I looked back at them, and saw Weatherby put his hand on the smaller boy. Henry Wallace beamed. “Try to keep up,” I muttered, as I headed for the exit.

We crossed the street and got into my Buick Roadmaster. I angled the car into the street, and sped past the Duat Grand. I waited until an alley popped up, and headed that way. Henry Wallace was sitting in the back, surrounded by guns and ammunition, with his hands folded and his owlish eyes wide. Weatherby was talking to him about Egyptology, but I wasn’t listening.

“Their afterlife is actually quite pleasant,” Weatherby explained. “The dead are judged by Anubis, their hearts weighed across the feather of truth. If it passes, they are allowed into the underworld and served by ushabti, clay figures given life.”

“What if their heart doesn’t pass the test?” Henry Wallace wondered.

“Well, then they are they are fed to Ammit, a strange composite demonic animal that is part lion, part hippopotamus and part crocodile.”

“Wow…” Henry Wallace whispered, as I turned the auto down the alley.

“Sounds like my kind of justice,” I added. The alley that ran behind the Duat was wide and dark. A couple dumpsters rested on the pavement, their contents overflowing onto the slick asphalt. Next to it, the Duat Grand squatted like a fat block of stone and light.

“So, what exactly are we doing in this dingy little corner of this wretched city?” Weatherby asked. “Don’t tell me we’re going to go through the trash.”

I pressed down on the brakes, coming to a stop right before the dumpster. “It’s a classic shamus move,” I replied. “Caduceus will expect it. I want to see his reaction.” I moved to open the door, my eyes flashed to the rear view mirror. There was a car at the mouth of the alley, a two-door Rambler Sedan. It was midnight black, almost blending in with the evening darkness.

An automobile full of hired killers – was that Caduceus’s reaction? “Henry Wallace?” I asked. “Be a good kid and hand me the shotgun, will you? The big one.”

“Okay, Mr. Candle.” The cannon looked massive in his small hands, but he handed it over. “Um, sir?” he asked. “The door near the dumpster, I think its opening.”

I looked out the window as I cradled the shotgun. The door opened and one of Caduceus’s waiters¸ wearing a wooden mask shaped like a ram’s head, stepped out, a revolver in his hands. “Damn,” I hissed, as I ducked down. He fired, and the glass of my window cracked. Then I opened the door, raised the shotgun and planted a shell right in his chest.

I knew the sound of bullets burning into flesh, and I didn’t hear it when the waiter was struck. It sounded like a clay pot had been kicked over. But he still went backwards and landed hard on the kitchen floor.

There were three more waiters behind him. One was a jackal. One was a lioness. One was an ibis. All were packing. They fanned out into the alley, cracking away with their weapons. “Get down!” I told Henry Wallace, but Weatherby was already keeping him below the windows. The kid had his revolver out, but I wasn’t betting on his skill with a heater to keep us alive.

The jackal took a shot at me with a rifle, and I ducked down. I racked the pump of my shotgun and fired, taking his leg out from under him. He didn’t scream, just turned around and tried to draw a bead on me. I racked the shotgun and fired again and that put an end to him. The lioness was cracking away with an automatic, his shots nearing Weatherby and Henry Wallace. I stood up and gave him a blast of gunfire that turned his mask and face into a pile of splinters and smoke.

I was about to reload, when the ibis came at me from behind. He pulled a knife from inside his white tuxedo, a strange curved blade shaped like a sickle moon. He swung it my way and the sharp curved end slashed into the upper part of my chest and would have gutted me if I hadn’t stepped back. There was no time to fire the gun. So I did the next best thing — swinging it around and crashing the butt right into that leering ibis mask.

I knocked him back against the wall and pounded that mask of his to splinters. Wood broke. I didn’t hear skull doing the same, but he dropped anyway. And then, for a few seconds, it was totally quiet in that alley. The crowd and the honking horns, the ring of slot machines and the simple lure of greed had covered up the gunshots.

I turned around and saw the Rambler sedan backing out of the alley and into the street. Its engine roared as it joined the endless stream of autos purring down the Strip. I shook my head. There was no catching it. But then I looked down at the four bodies, and found a whole different headache.

“They’re not human,” I said, as Weatherby and Henry Wallace stepped out of the Roadmaster to have a look. The waiters didn’t have flesh, skin and bone behind their wooden masks and white tuxedoes. Instead, they had clay. The muddy tan clay was shattered and broken where my bullets and blows had cracked it. I reached down and picked up a pot shard, then tossed it down the alley. “Any ideas, kiddo?”

“T-they’re Ushabti,” Henry Wallace whispered. He was still nervous from the gunfight, and shaking like a leaf. Weatherby patted his shoulder and that calmed him down a little. “Those clay servants you were telling me about!”

Weatherby smiled like a proud father. “Precisely. They are automatons, created through magical means to serve a wealthy master. I believe that is Nestor Caduceus. He is clearly more than he seems.” He pointed to the curved knife. “That is a khopesh, a traditional weapon of the pharaohs.” Weatherby looked up at the Duat Grand. “I think we need some further exploration of his establishment.”

“Sounds like a plan.” I reached for a cigarette as I looked back to the bullet hole in my auto’s window. “Hop in. We’ll go around and head to the front. I feel like taking a peek at that sixth floor, seeing just what Nestor’s got stashed up there.”

“But how are we to gain entrance?” Weatherby asked. “The place is swarming with Ushabti guards.”

I looked down at Henry Wallace. “I’ve cracked open more armed German fortresses than you’ve celebrated birthdays. I’ve already got a good idea. But it’s gonna depend on the little fellow here. Can you handle it, son? It might get a little rough, but all we need is a distraction and then we’ll be back to bail you out before things get too hot.”

Weatherby stared at me. “I do not want him exposed to danger, Mort! He’s in my care, and it’s my job to—”

“I want to help,” Henry Wallace said softly. “I’ll help. And don’t worry, Weatherby. It won’t be that bad, and you guys will be nearby. Right?”

“Aces.” I started the automobile. “It’s a simple thing, Henry Wallace. All you gotta do is throw a temper tantrum.”

I drove the Roadmaster back to the front of the Duat Grand and parked. I peered inside the glass doors, getting a feel for how crowded it was. The joint was packed like a lifeboat leaving a sinking ship. Sly Baum wasn’t there, probably having moved to high stakes tables in other casinos. But there were plenty of other customers, and we’d blend in fine without those clay mooks spotting us. Weatherby and I stayed in the lobby while Henry Wallace walked further in.

The kid had his hands in his pockets, and kept on pushing his glasses up his nose and staring around. He waited until he got to the center of the room, and then threw back his head and started to scream and cry. “I want a red racecar! And a BB gun! And a model airplane! And a real airplane!” He kept on shouting tons of items, yelling louder than the slot machines and the whirring roulette wheels.

Everyone looked his way. He kept on shouting, stamping his feet and waving his little fists in the air. It worked like a charm. A dozen Ushabti headed his way, giving us a free run to the stairwell. Weatherby’s eyes were fastened on Henry Wallace, his lips a grim line. I tapped his shoulder.

“Come on, let’s make some tracks,” I muttered.

We started hurrying across the floor, moving for the stairs. Weatherby still looked sour. “We are using the poor child,” he said. “He is an intelligent, polite, friendly, and wonderful boy and we are using him!”

“It’s for the case,” I replied, as we reached the stairwell. We started to walk up the red velvet steps. The stairwell wound around, bringing us to the second floor. There were more tables and rows of slots. We kept going. The Ushabti guards had all headed down, trying to stop Henry Wallace’s tantrum.

Weatherby was not convinced. “Anything for the case, is that it, Mort?” he demanded, as we reached the third floor. I stopped suddenly and stared at the end of the stairwell. Weatherby did the same.

“Almost anything,” I said. Miss Rosa was there, looking down at us. She walked down slowly, her eyes flashing. If she raised the alarm, a small army of Ushabti would descend on us in seconds. We wouldn’t simply be shown the door. I had a feeling that we’d be lucky to get a shallow grave in the desert.

Miss Rosa folded her arms and looked us over. “Mr. Candle,” she said. “I believe this area is off-limits to guests of the Duat Grand.”

“Well, you know me, sister.” I leaned on the railing, giving her a grin. “I’m always doing things I shouldn’t.” I leaned forward. “Your new lover’s got some strange habits, Miss Rosa. And some strange friends. These guards of his are made of clay. You ever been up to the sixth floor? Do you know what he’s got up there?”

She sighed. “I’ve liked you, Mort. In Havana, you were a good man, helping a father find his lost son. And now, here you are and what are you doing?”

“Making a living.”

“You will not be doing much of that if you cross Nestor Caduceus.” She was cool as an icicle and could make any man melt. I tried not to. She leaned close to me. “I won’t call the guards,” she said, and I felt a little relief wash over me. “And I’ll tell you this, you loco detective – Nestor Caduceus is kind to me and he is dangerous. That is all that I know. Don’t pry more than you have to.”

I nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”

Weatherby smiled at her, his pale face going red. “Y-yes, Miss Rosa. It is wonderful to see you. You look wonderful, by the way.” I stared at Weatherby. He could give you a lecture on Egyptian iconography at the drop of a hat, but toss a pretty dame into the room and saying hello became an ordeal. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at his shoes.

“Thank you, Weatherby. It is good to see you too.” Miss Rosa smiled at him, and passed us on the stairwell. I looked back at Weatherby and saw him grinning like an idiot. I shook my head and the smile vanished. We kept on going up the stairs.

The fourth and fifth floors were nothing special — offices and living quarters, and we didn’t have time to search each room. Besides, I could tell that the goods were on the sixth floor, where the stairwell ended in a massive set of double doors, covered in carved hieroglyphs.

Weatherby read them carefully. “He who enters this chamber shall have the wrath of the Gods fall upon him. The cobra will bite at him, and the scorpion will sting him, and the crocodile will have his flesh for an evening meal. Pestilence, famine, death, woe and destruction will come to all who come to this place.”

I shrugged. “Could’ve just put a ‘do not disturb’ sign,” I said, and kicked open the doors.

We stepped inside. The chamber was wide and made of carefully carved stone. Hieroglyphics and carvings of Egyptian gods decorated the walls, all glowing faintly in the light of blazing torches. A great cobra was coiled up near the door, thankfully sleeping. It was bigger than a python, with fangs like switchblades. But I hardly noticed it. I was looking at the strange device in the center of the room.

It was a set of scales, twice as tall as a man. A tall feather hovered over one scale, and a small piece of bloody flesh, still beating, sat on the other. Strange, shining silver chains covered the scales, wrapped around it a dozen times, and then lead down into a dark pit behind them. I didn’t see what was lurking in the pit. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.