"What about his partner, what's-his-name, Casey?" Karl asked.
"We found him in back, on the ground, screaming. Know why?"
Karl shrugged. "Because he saw what had happened to his partner?"
"No," Milner said, "Casey was screaming because he was covered with spiders – fucking tarantulas, dozens of them."
"I know tarantulas are poisonous," I said, "and they look gross as hell. But their bite's not fatal to humans – probably not even a bunch of bites."
"It wasn't the poison," Milner said. "One of the other guys knows Casey, they're cousins or something. He says Casey had something-phobia. Fear of spiders."
"Arachnophobia," Karl said.
"Yeah, that's it. The cousin said Casey had it bad. Guess somebody else knew that, too, and covered him with the one thing he couldn't stand. He was still screaming once they got those things off him and loaded him into the ambulance."
"Tarantulas aren't native to this part of the world," I said, just to be saying something. "They come from the tropics."
"Yeah, I know," Milner said. "Funny how a whole bunch of them found their way to Casey, huh? Almost like magic." The bitterness could curdle milk.
"I know you like Rachel Proctor for it, but there's something–"
"Like her for it? She a fucking witch, and witches use magic, and it was magic that fucked up two cops, decent guys with families. It don't take fucking Einstein to connect the dots."
"I know, but–"
"But nothing, Markowski. I heard you was tight with that cunt, but you know what? I don't care how many times she sucked your cock, or how good she was at it. There's a BOLO out on her, and if everybody on the force doesn't know she's a cop killer, they will before end of third watch today. I guarantee it. Now get the fuck out of my sight."
We got.
We were almost back to the car when my cell phone rang.
"Markowski."
"So this guy goes to a whorehouse, but he doesn't know that all the girls working there are vampires, right? He says to the madam–"
"Lacey, I am really, really not in the mood for jokes right now."
"Suit yourself, Stan. But I'm looking at something I think you might wanna see."
"Which is...?"
"Another dead vamp."
"Shit."
"Yeah, and it looks like the same M.O. – well, it is, but it isn't, if you know what I mean."
"No, I don't," I said, "but it doesn't matter. Look, Lacey, I appreciate your calling, but there's shit I need to deal with here tonight. Can you just send me the reports and photos online later tonight, or tomorrow?"
"I probably could, but it's not my case. I'm in Pittston, the most musical town in the Valley."
"Say what?"
"You ever drive down Main Street? Bar, space, bar, bar, space. You'd probably get the opening song from that musical Bats if you played it on the piano."
"Lacey–"
"Okay, okay, but that's where the vic turned up. A Statie I know gave me a call, because he knows about the dead vamp we turned up the other night."
"A Statie?"
"Well, Pittston doesn't exactly have a Homicide squad, you know? So they called in the Staties, and the PBI's taking over the investigation."
"Shit."
"If you put in a request through channels, you might get copies of all the case materials in, I dunno, a week or so. Maybe two."
"Shit."
"You keep saying that, Stan."
"Well, what did you say when you found out you were going to have to drive to Pittston tonight?"
"Me? I said motherfucker."
"Give me your 20, and I'll see you there in a little while."
She gave me an address along with some directions, then said, "Are you bringing that partner of yours along – the big guy?"
"I was planning to, yeah."
"Good. He's cute."
As I guided the car onto 81-South, I said to Karl, "Four dead vamps. Normally, I'd file that under G for "a good start", but if Vollman's right, that means Sligo, or whoever's behind this, is almost ready to do the Big Nasty."
"Except we don't know what that is, either."
"Or when he's gonna do it, or where, or even who this Sligo is. But other than that, I'd say we're pretty much on top of this thing."
We'd gone about a mile down the highway when Karl said, "Stan. Listen."
"What?"
"If this is none of my fucking business, then just say so, but..."
"But what? Just spit it out, Karl – I won't shoot you. Not while I'm driving, anyway."
"Well... it's pretty obvious that you've got a real hard-on for vamps. Not for other supes, so much. I never heard you bitch about weres, or trolls, or even ghouls – and those fuckers creep me out. But you just hate vampires. And that's your business, I'm not tryin' to tell you what you oughta think. I was just wondering... how come?"
I thought about making a joke about it and changing the subject. And I thought about telling Karl to mind his own fucking business. Then I thought about telling him the truth.
Since he's my partner, who's saved my ass at least twice, I decided to go with door number three.
I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Okay," I said. "It's like this."
I've been on the force fornine years, and a detective for two, and I want that Detective First Grade shield so bad I can taste it. I can't explain why it means so much to me. Maybe it had something to do with my old man, who said I'd never amount to much, or the Irish nuns, who always treated me like just another dumb Polack – it doesn't matter why. I want that promotion, and the way to get it is to make collars and clear cases. So I'm putting in a lot of overtime, and I mean a lot.