Chapter Twelve
CHAPTER TWELVE
I was on my parents’ couch, watching hockey with my dad, when Grandma came home from the viewing.
“I got a real scoop for you,” Grandma said. “I’ll tell you in the kitchen. I need a piece of pie. The Goodman crowd ate all the cookies and by the time I got to the table there was nothing but crumbs. It’s like they never saw a cookie before. It’s because all those women who are friends with the Goodmans are nothing but skin and bones. Stick-figure bodies and big bobbleheads. Probably never have a cookie in the house. All they got in their refrigerator is kale and those green blender drinks. And then when they go out, they eat everyone else’s cookies. They don’t even eat them normal. They nibble and break them into pieces like they aren’t going to eat the whole thing.”
Grandma took the pie out of the fridge and cut a piece for herself and a piece for me. I took a tub of vanilla ice cream out of the freezer and put it on the table, and Grandma and I sat down and dug in.
“Here’s the deal,” Grandma said. “Grace told me that Jug and his slut wife and vicious dog are on vacation . She was happy to tell me all this because she’s not a fan of the wife or the dog and she’s not all that crazy about Jug, either. Plus, I think she’d had some cocktails before the viewing. She said the family felt it was best to get Jug out of town until they paid off the mother of the fourteen-year-old.”
“Did Grace say how long this would take?”
“They’re negotiating. Grace said everyone is being very protective of Jug. She did a lot of eye-rolling when she said this.”
“He has some serious tax evasion charges waiting for him in court.”
“I don’t think the family is worried about that. The judge and jury will all get fruit baskets. The family is mostly worried about Jug having a heart attack from a Viagra overdose. Anyway, Grace didn’t know where they were keeping Jug, but he’s going to be there for a while and it’s not the landfill.”
We finished the pie and ice cream and Ranger called.
“Are we still on for tonight?” he asked.
“Yes. Is that okay?”
“I’m down a man so I’m taking the night shift with Tiny. He’ll ride shotgun with us. I’m not expecting any problems so we should have time to take care of business. I’ll pick you up in half an hour.”
“Perfect.”
Ranger had high-end clients who paid a premium to get superior protection. He kept several fleet cars in constant motion 24/7 patrolling those clients. Tonight, he was riding patrol with one of his men. This was good for me. There would be no pressure tonight and tomorrow I could take my test.
I left my parents’ house, pulled into my building’s parking lot, and saw lights flash behind me. I parked and went to the Rangeman SUV. Ranger was driving, and Tiny was in the back seat. If Tiny was green, he could easily pass for the Hulk. I got in next to Ranger, said hello to Tiny, and buckled myself in.
“We’re going to Lucky Linda’s on the third block of Stark Street,” I said to Ranger. “Zoran, the vampire, seemed to be friends with, or at least an acquaintance of, the bartender.”
Ranger pulled out of the lot and headed toward the center of the city. “What’s the bartender’s name?”
“Goofy. No one seems to know his real name.”
“Do you have any other Zoran contacts?”
“Yes, but they all dead-ended. He hasn’t gone back to his house on Exeter Street. His parents say they haven’t seen him. His uncle who owns the laundromat says he hasn’t seen him. This morning, Lula and I followed blood tracks from the laundromat. They crossed the street and took us through the alley to Stark Street. That’s where they stopped.”
“That alley is used as a drug market,” Ranger said.
“It was empty when we went through it, but we talked to a guy on Stark who remembered Zoran as Fang. He said Fang shopped in the alley.”
Ranger stopped for a light. “Fang’s drug of choice?”
“Shrooms, acid, pot, special K, occasionally roofies.”
“He likes to trip out,” Ranger said. “Needs help getting a date.”
“I think he’s still on Stark Street somewhere.”
“And you want him because he failed to appear for his court date?”
“I saw him moments after he killed that woman. He was hovering over her with blood dripping out of his mouth. It was terrifying and unbelievably, sickeningly horrible. I think he’s killed before. I suspect he’s killed four other women. Maybe more.”
“And he needs to be stopped,” Ranger said.
“Yes,” I said. “He needs to be stopped.”
“Did you tell Morelli?”
“Yes. They’re working on it.”
“But you can’t let it go,” Ranger said.
“I’d love to walk away. This guy is insane. He scares the bejeezus out of me, but I have a responsibility to make an effort to capture him. I only have two FTAs right now. It’s not like I’m on case overload.”
“Your other FTA has disappeared,” Ranger said.
“I’m pretty sure I know where he is. Lula and I will be going after him tomorrow. Maybe.”
“Maybe?”
“One day at a time.”
Ranger turned off State Street, onto Stark.
“Do you know what Zoran looks like?” I asked Ranger.
“More or less. His mug shot was blurry.”
“That’s because vampires don’t photograph well.”
“Yeah,” Ranger said. “I thought it was something like that.”
We cruised past the drug alley and did a slow drive-by on Lucky Linda’s.
“It’s early,” Ranger said. “Not a lot going on. I’ll make one more pass and then we’ll park.”
When we came around the second time there was a Lincoln Navigator in front of Lucky Linda’s. Ranger parked behind the Navigator, and we all got out. Tiny took point, standing guard in front of the Rangeman SUV, and Ranger and I went into the bar. It was appropriately dark, with a bunch of high-top tables in the front and a horseshoe-shaped bar toward the back. A small, raised stage with a couple of poles had been placed inside the horseshoe. Two mostly naked women were writhing and twerking against the poles. Bump-and-grind music competed with the televised ball game at one end of the bar. A wasted couple nursed drinks at one of the high-tops and four men were at the bar, hands wrapped around their bottles of beer. They had a lot of gold chains and tats, and I assumed the men arrived in the Navigator.
Ranger and I slid onto bar stools at one end of the horseshoe, and Ranger signaled the lone bartender. Ranger doesn’t wear his weight in gold. He doesn’t have a tattoo. He doesn’t have a diamond stud in any of his teeth. His hair is perfectly trimmed. His body is perfectly muscled and toned. His gun is perfectly hidden under his perfectly tailored jacket. He only wears black. He says it makes his choices simple in the morning. I think it’s for effect, because it’s a power look and it’s sexy as hell. He’s former Special Forces, and if you’re foolish enough to mess with him, he’s deadly.
The bartender was young, medium height, and had a lot of curly red hair and a showstopping, brilliant white smile.
“What can I get you?” he asked.
“Are you Goofy?” I asked him.
“Usually,” he said.
“I’m looking for someone. His parents said you might know where to find him.”
“What’s his name?”
“Zoran,” I said. “I understand he also goes by Fang. He works at the laundromat on Freemont.”
“Whoa. Yeah. I know the dude. He thinks he’s a vampire.”
“Have you seen him lately?”
“Not since he sank his canines into one of his customers. Are you cops?”
“No,” I said. “We’re working for his family. They want to find him.”
This wasn’t a lie. His parents had put up his bond money. So, in a way I was working for them.
“His family,” Goofy said. “Are they like… vampires too?”
“Let’s just say they have dental problems and leave it at that,” I said.
“Look,” he said. “I don’t want any trouble. This dude is scary. I only know him as a customer. I entertain him just like everybody else. It’s my thing. I’m Goofy. I’m everybody’s friend. I can laugh like Goofy. Haw ah haw ah haw. ”
“That’s pretty good,” I said.
“Yeah, it gets me a lot of tips. Especially after people get drinking. On a good night I can make more than the girls.”
“He comes in here and he drinks and sometimes he’s high and he talks to you,” I said. “Think about it. What have you got for me?”
Ranger put a fifty-dollar bill on the bar, under a coaster. Goofy reached for it, and Ranger very quietly said, “Not yet.”
“Okay, why not,” Goofy said, “it’s not like I’m a lawyer or a doctor with client privilege. He lives close. In a house. I don’t know the street. He has a truck, but he never drives it. He walks from his house to the laundromat and here. He’s always alone. I don’t think he has any friends. I started working here two years ago and he’s sort of a regular. He comes and goes. I think he goes back to check on the laundromat and then he comes back here and has tequila. Always tequila. Once he said he liked blood. He liked the way it smelled and tasted. He looked over at the girl on the pole and licked his lips, and I almost threw up. Then he gave me a ten-dollar tip and left.”
“What about your other regulars? Did he ever talk to them?”
“He might have tried but talking about blood is pretty much a turnoff, even for the gangbangers and dopers. It’s just weird. And then there are the fangs. It’s not a good look.”
“Let’s assume he didn’t go far. Where would he be hiding?” I asked him.
“I don’t know. There are some condemned buildings when you get farther up the street. Housing is sketchy on this block. There are dopers who would take him in. Maybe you should just go door-to-door and see if you smell rotting flesh.”
That got a very small smile out of Ranger. He gave Goofy a business card with a phone number on it. No name. No address. Just a phone number. “If you have more information,” Ranger said.
“Who do I ask for?”
“Just identify yourself as Goofy.”
We left the bar and returned to the Rangeman SUV.
“Thanks for being Bruteman,” I said to Ranger. “I didn’t learn anything new, other than that he drinks tequila, but it’s possible that you’ll get a phone call.”
“It’s a process,” Ranger said.
It was almost midnight, but I couldn’t sleep. I was freaked out over the whole vampire thing. The ugliness of it. The insanity. I got out of bed, put my sweatshirt on over my T-shirt, and went into the kitchen. Rex was awake and running on his wheel. Oblivious to everything awful. I gave him fresh water and refilled his food cup. I went into the dining room and checked my email and text messages. I downloaded the GPS directions to the North Fork of Long Island to my iPhone. I studied the satellite picture of the vineyard.
I was ready to give sleep another try when I heard noise in the parking lot. Car radio, I thought. Some drunken idiot coming home, blasting his lame music. I shut my computer down and got myself a glass of milk and a Pop-Tart. I ate the Pop-Tart and drank the milk, and the noise continued. High-pitched squawking. Sounded a little like Paul Simon’s “Graceland” followed by “Do-Re-Mi” from The Sound of Music . I walked into my dark living room, looked out my window, and sucked in some air. It was Herbert, standing in the parking lot, under one of the overhead lights, playing his clarinet. A cop car turned into the parking lot and stopped just short of Herbert. Two cops got out and walked over to him. There was a short conversation, Herbert pointed up at my window, and I instantly jumped out of sight. The jumping away from the window was instinctive and most likely not necessary since my living room was dark and I wouldn’t be visible from the parking lot. I peeked out and saw Herbert get into his Prius and drive away. I felt kind of bad that someone called the cops on Herbert, but at the same time, I was happy to see him leave. I padded back to my bedroom, crawled into bed, and fell asleep with “Do-Re-Mi” playing in my brain.