Dead-Tective Box Set

  I put a hand on his shoulder and was surprised at how thin was his arm. "You okay?" I asked him.

  He shrugged off my hand and straightened. Both arms dropped to his sides and he mastered control of his breathing. "I am fine. It is merely this frail body bothering me."

  Vince strode down the stairs and to our car. I followed him and ignored my passenger side to trail him around to the other side of the car. Vince opened the door and raised his leg. A popping noise echoed from his hip joint, and he grimaced and lowered his leg back to the ground.

  I hurried over to him. "I don't think you're okay," I told him.

  "My joints refuse to work properly," he admitted.

  "That's what I thought. All right, grandpa, that means I'm driving until we get you fixed," I insisted.

  I was surprised, and a little alarmed, when Vince didn't argue. He stepped back, walked around the car and seated himself in the passenger seat. Vince focused his gaze on the road ahead of us and avoided eye contact with me. I slid into the driver's chair and stared at him until he turned his head and glared back at me. "Speak or drive," he demanded.

  "Then I'll speak. You sure you don't need me to drop you off at Bat's or something? You're not doing so well," I pointed out.

  He returned his attention to the road ahead. "I will be fine when the hex is removed," he assured me.

  "Yeah, but we still have to find the witch," I reminded him.

  "And we are wasting time sitting here speaking when we should be driving," he snapped back.

  I scowled, but started the car and drove forward. "Where is this other Underground place, anyway?"

  "Beneath an abandoned sewer treatment plant along the river," he told me.

  I cringed. "Sounds like a lovely place. How do we get there?"

  Chapter 12

  Vince directed me to the river road well above the location of the Ninth Precinct and on the opposite side of the river. By this time our adventures swallowed the rest of the afternoon and night had fallen. I never thought I'd miss being a part-vampire, but driving in the dark without the vampire ability to penetrate the blackness wasn't quite as much fun.

  Because the less-fashionable Underground was on the other side of the river, we were forced to drive across one of the less-used bridges. As we bumped over the dark, sludgy water of the river Vince pointed to a decrepit road on the left that wound down to a small parking lot.

  "Park down there," he instructed me.

  I pulled the car over and in a moment we were parked. We stepped out, and I took a whiff of air, and immediately regretted it. The air smelled like a skunk had made love to a garbage truck, and their kids were sludge monsters. I clamped my hand over my nose and tried not to gag.

  "Lovely places we get to see," I commented.

  "This way," Vince instructed me. He led me beneath the bridge and to a large, upright grate stuck into the hill opposite the river. The grate covered a large sewer culvert that had a trail of muck oozing from the bottom. He grabbed a hold of the grate and pulled. Nothing happened to the grate, but Vince gave a few more yanks before he was winded. "I may. . .need assistance," he told me.

  "No problem." I grabbed hold of the grate, and together we pulled the heavy metal bands to one side until an opening was large enough for us to fit.

  Vince squeezed through and I followed him into the dank darkness. I worried Vince forgot about his inability to see in the dark, but my concerns were brushed aside when, about fifty feet inside the culvert, torches appeared on the walls as in the other part of the Underground. We zigged and zagged our way through the culvert for a half mile until the tin pipe ended and a large, high expansive area began.

  The large space was the site of the lower part of a former sewage treatment plant. Massive pipes wound their way between the buildings that sat on the ground level, and other buildings sat atop some of the large pipes in a mishmash of a metal hill. The streets were narrow and lit with recycled lamp posts discarded by the city because of damage or ineffective lighting. Dark alleys lay between the buildings, and the structures themselves were made of discarded trash. Some were welded together strips of roofing and siding, and others were wooden crates stacked one on top of the other. The riffraff buildings sat on a dozen blocks of various sizes, and the people who ambled through the streets mimicked the 'beauty' of the buildings.

  The attire customers of these fine establishments varied from hobo to serial killer. Many had scars on their bodies, and most had tattoos. Zombies shuffled along on one leg with their rotted flesh dragging on the ground, and witches cackled in small groups and showed off their latest spells in books sewn from some sort of animal skin. A few mummies with torn and soiled wrappings panhandled on the corners, and werewolves on leashes were led by raggedy wizards.

  I noticed there were fewer entrances to this slum paradise. They didn't welcome unexpected visitors. Vince led me into this mess of supernatural outcasts and through the front blocks to the back streets. I tripped over trash and jumped over dank puddles. "Nice place," I mumbled.

  "Quiet," he shot back.

  We reached the next street and he took a hard right into the mouth of a nearby alley. Ahead of us on this second street was an intersection, and on the far corner stood a four-floor building made of discarded railroad ties and thin slabs of particle board that covered the exterior like scabs. An anchor sat over the front door which was positioned at an angle to the street so that it faced directly at us. Patrons leered at the ladies of the night who stood outside, and inside I heard yelling and loud music. The name of the place was the Sea Slug. I thought it very appropriate as I stamped on a couple of the buggers while we stood in that rotten alley.

  We hid in the darkness and behind a mess of garbage cans that overflowed with trash. Vince nodded at the tall building. "The match box came from there. Our best hope to get inside without being noticed is to slip in the back door."

  "You've already been noticed."

  We both jumped a foot in the air and spun around to peer into the deeper darkness of the alley. A figure stood from behind a large can, and in the dim light I recognized our old acquaintance Parasquad zombie officer George Romero.

  "What are you doing here?" Officer Romero growled.

  I clapped my fists on my hips and glared back at him. "What the hell are you doing here? Isn't this a little outside your jurisdiction?" I countered.

  He frowned. "Our jurisdiction is wherever a supernatural causes trouble, and there's always trouble here." He nodded at the sleazy establishment. "We heard rumors there were illegal magic books being sold here. We're hoping to catch some of the dealers."

  "You would be better to wait and speak with Witch Vera before you attempt to capture the dealers," Vince advised him.

  Romero raised an eyebrow. "What's she got to do with these books?"

  "She has offered her sisters and herself to capture and destroy them," Vince explained.

  "Well, whether or not she is we don't have time to go visiting right now. You just get your undead-" Romero paused and leaned in closer to us. He sniffed the air and started back. "What the hell happened to you two?"

  "It's a long story, but we must get inside," Vince insisted.

  Romero shook his head. "No way. The bust is happening tonight and we don't need you-"

  I whipped my arm up and pointed my finger at something behind Romero. "Is that a mummy stealing a zombie's arm!" I shouted.

  Romero swung around, and I grabbed Vince's arm and dragged him out of the alley. "Hey!" I heard Romero shout, but that only made me run faster.

  I dragged the wheezing and aged Vince across the intersection, past the front of the Sea Slug, and into an alley that abutted the left side of the bar. We pressed our backs against the wall of the building and gasped for breath. Beside me Vince clutched his chest and grimaced. "We must. . .hurry," he wheezed.

  "You're. . .telling me," I agreed. I lifted one of my hands to run it through my hair, but my hand froze in front of my face. There were wrink
les and large veins on the back of my hand. "Uh, Vince?" I showed my hand to him, and he frowned.

  "Our joined rings have passed my aging onto you," he surmised.

  I grabbed his wrinkled hand in mine and pulled him toward a door on the side of the bar. "Then we'd better get this done before we're both hobbling after this witch," I suggested.

  We tried the door and I thanked every god but Astaroth that it was unlocked. I peeked my head inside and saw we were in a back hall with a wooden staircase on our left. The hallway stretched forward to the kitchen and the rowdy main area where there was the loud noises of carousing and singing.

  "If this witch is hiding she will be upstairs in one of the rooms," Vince told me.

  "How many rooms are there?" I asked him.

  "The top floor has rooms to let, and the second and third floor are reserved for 'guests' of the ladies," he explained.

  I raised an eyebrow. "You been here as a patron?" I teased.

  He pursed his lips, but said nothing and turned onto the stairs. The steps wound in a tight circle upward to the other three floors. The walls enclosed the stairs in a tight, claustrophobic loop, and I was glad for the railing when I developed a dizziness that made my aching head swoon. I had trouble breathing and every step grew into a chore. Getting old really sucked. Each landing signaled a floor, but we climbed higher and higher until we reached the fourth and final floor where the stairs ended.

  Vince led me into a single long hallway that stretched the full length of the building. There were old, faded wood doors spaced ten feet apart on either side, and showed the rooms were incredibly tiny. We tiptoed down the hall and at each door Vince listened for a moment, then continued to the next entrance.

  "What are we looking for?" I whispered.

  "Shh," he returned.

  I frowned and followed him, but at each door he left I pressed my ear to the rotting wood. I regretted my decision when I heard the sounds of lustful moans and cries. My face reddened and I hurried after Vince. "I thought you said the business part was downstairs," I hissed.

  "The women room here and often mix business with pleasure," he explained.

  I was just about to tell him off when he paused at a door and his brow furrowed. Vince pressed harder against the door and raised an eyebrow. He grabbed the knob and, without a sound, he turned the handle. It stuck, telling both of us it was locked. He reached into his long jacket and pulled out a jingling set of skeleton keys, and tried them one at a time. All this time we were completely silent, though any soft noise would have been drowned out by the rowdy sounds one to three floors below us.

  The third key worked, and Vince tentatively opened the door. He peeked through the crack for a moment and then turned to me. "Stay behind me and touch nothing." I nodded. We'd already seen one of Simone's place of residents. She no doubt had this apartment set up like a scenario from the movie Home Alone.

  Vince slunk inside and I after him. This apartment was a dump. There was only one room with a separate square bathroom carved out of one corner of the large room. The single grimy window looked out on the squalor below and the artificial lights gave off a sickly green glow through the filthy panes. The furniture consisted of two foldable chairs and a foldable table. The 'kitchen' was a sink on the right with a two-foot long counter. Cockroaches that made ours look like ants ran across the floor and into holes in the walls. Other than the bugs, the place appeared deserted.

  I unconsciously stepped closer to Vince. "I don't think anyone's home," I whispered.

  He didn't relax his stiff stance. "We may not be alone. Stay near the door." He tread carefully across the floor toward the bathroom. Vince reached the bathroom and opened the door. He leaned his head in, but a moment later he pulled out and shook his head. Nothing, but that didn't stop his eyes from sweeping over the room.

  I stood useless by the partially open door. It was unnerving to watch my partner walk across various rugs and dilapidated floorboards. I wondered if at any moment a trap would spring and we would both be useful only for fertilizer. The only action I could do was use my own eyes to scour the small space. The cockroaches scurried to their corners, but I noticed a few of them slipped beneath a space in the wall to the right that stood opposite the bathroom. The space should have been dark because it led beneath the wall, but instead I saw a faint light.

  I waved my arms above my head to catch Vince's attention. He looked to me and raised a gray eyebrow. I pointed at the wall. His eyes followed my finger and he was in time to watch one of the bug occupants slip beneath the wall. Vince furrowed his brow and silently crept to the wall. He leaned his ear against the faded, peeling wallpaper for a moment, and then he took a step back.

  My shoulders slumped, sure I'd been wrong about my suspicions. Then Vince pulled his hand back and slammed it through the wall. It tore through a thin layer of wallpaper and styrofoam. A woman shrieked, and the wall opened to reveal a hidden closet. The witch from the woods, Simone, sprang from the wall. She slammed the door into Vince, scurried past him and to the door, but I tackled her. I ended up on top of her as we both faced Vince.

  "Get off! Let go of me!" she shrieked.

  I clamped my hand over her mouth. "We're not going to hurt you," I told her.

  She didn't believe me and continued to thrash and pull. Vince came over and knelt in front of us. His blue eyes caught hers and she cringed. "Y-you! You're supposed to be dead!"

  "You performed the wrong hex," he explained.

  "Yeah, you made a vampire live and now he's aging to death," I added.

  Simone scowled at us. "Good! Anybody who works for Ruthven deserves to die!"

  "We have no affiliation with Ruthven," Vince revealed.

  Simone stopped her struggles and blinked at us. "You don't?"

  "No, and we need your help with two things," I spoke up. I nodded at Vince. "One, get rid of the hex on him, and two, tell us if you know why Ruthven had your friend Hilda killed."

  Simone frowned. "And if I don't?"

  Our conversation was interrupted by the howl of a werewolf, and that sound was quickly followed by screams and a panic from downstairs. Vince glanced at the door, frowned, and looked down at Simone. "Then we will feed you to Ruthven's werewolves."

  Chapter 13

  "Let me go!" Simone yelped. She resumed her struggles to get me off her.

  I pressed my weight down on her and glared at Vince. "Vera wanted her back to Witches, Inc., and probably alive and in one piece."

  "If she is of no use to us then it would be better if they killed her," Vince argued.

  Simone stopped her thrashing and scrutinized us. "Is that it? You just want to know why Hilda was killed?" she spoke up.

  We both looked down at her. "Yeah, and to get the hex off," I reminded her.

  "I'll do both if you get me out of the city," she offered.

  "We promised Vera we'd take you back to Witches, Inc.," I told her.

  She shook her head. "That won't work. Ruthven's too powerful in this city. He'll get at me there, but if you could get me out of here and away from him then I'll lift the hex and tell you what I know."

  "Lifting the hex now would be really helpful," I insisted.

  "I need at least five minutes to cast the anti-hex," she told me.

  There came another howl, and I heard the scurry of heavy claws on the stairs down the hall. We maybe had one minute. I whipped my head to Vince. "I'm saying yes to her offer."

  Vince frowned, but gave a nod. "Very well, but stay close."

  I let Simone up and took her arm. "Like on our heels," I added.

  "Follow me," Vince ordered us.

  He hurried to the single window and opened the lower part of the glass. Simone furrowed her brow. "You can't get out there. There isn't any fire escape."

  "No, but the boards on the exterior may hold a body, and are wide enough to use as hand and foot grips," he explained.

  "That's suicide," she argued.

  He looked to her and raised an eye
brow. "Unless you know a flying spell we have no choice."

  I raised my hand. "Um, I don't really think we want her casting any more spells. I don't want to turn into a flying carrot."

  Simone glared at me. "I am a perfect witch when I'm not under pressure."

  The howling and clawing reached our floor and scurried down the hall. The nostrils of the werewolves were loud enough I heard their snorts and sniffs. "I think this counts as pressure, so let's do as the nice former vampire tells us and get out that window!"

  I pushed her toward the window as Vince slipped out. Though he was aged he was at least still skinny, and the wooden boards of the building held his weight. Simone and I were both petite, and Vince led the way down with Simone above him. I swung one leg out just as something heavy slammed itself against the door. The wood broke in half and revealed a hairy shoulder. The shoulder was replaced with the elongated face of the werewolf, and its golden eyes swept over the room until they fell on me. The werewolf snarled and I sheepishly grinned and waved at it. It howled and rammed its shoulder into the splintered door. The entrance buckled and a half dozen werewolves spilled into the tiny room.

  I slipped onto the siding and scurried downward to where Vince and Simone awaited. I landed on the ground and my feet sank in a few inches of muck. Our escape had led us to the rear of the establishment which also happened to be near the end of the illegal Underground. I heard grunts and growls above me, and tilted my head back. The werewolf hung his head out the window and tried to squeeze his wide shoulders through the small window. The result was his getting stuck and his companions behind him howling in rage.

  "I must remember to dock their pay," a voice commented.

  Our attention turned to the opposite end of the building where stood a small, bespectacled man. I recognized him from the Ninth Precinct. This was Ron Field, secretary to Ruthven and creepy-man extraordinaire. His pale lips held a ghost of a smile

  "Where the hell is Romero when you need him?" I wondered.

  "There's no need for a policeman. I assure you I only want the witch," Field informed us.

  Vince stepped in front of our little group and scowled at our old acquaintance. "She is ours," he insisted.