There was no story about all the excitement that had taken place behind Jerry’s Diner, and I hadn’t expected one in this issue. The Times-Tribune is a morning paper.
But it would be front-page news tomorrow unless a war broke out, and my luck never runs that good. Three Dead in Attack on Police Officer, the headline would read. And the local networks would have the story for their evening broadcasts.
I was glad that McGuire was going to have somebody on the door to keep the media jackals away. The last thing I needed right now was some asshole with a hundred-dollar haircut sticking a microphone in my face.
The Patriot Party had a full-page ad on page three, reminding me that the election was about a month away. The tone hadn’t mellowed any since I’d last seen their advertising. They were still attacking Mayor D’Agostino without mercy, although it looked like they’d found a new horse to ride: crime in the streets.
LAW AND ORDER?
GANG WARFARE THROUGHOUT THE CITY
TERRORIST BOMBS DESTROYING LIFE AND PROPERTY
DRUG-ADDICTED “SUPES” RUNNING RAMPANT
IS THIS THE MAYOR’S IDEA OF
LAW AND ORDER?
All of this was in what looked like thirty-point type.
As far as I knew, the only life that the “terrorist bomb” had taken belonged to one of those supes that the Patriot Party disapproved of, but my experience has been that political advertising and the truth have a nodding acquaintance at best.
I must have dozed off, because the next thing I remember was a tapping noise that turned out to be somebody knocking on the door of my room.
“Yeah – who is it?”
The door opened just wide enough to admit the head and shoulders of a uniformed cop who I vaguely recognized.
“You got a visitor, Sarge,” he said. “Says she’s your daughter.”
I glanced toward the window and saw that night had fallen. “It’s OK, officer,” I said. “Let her through.”
A moment later, Christine was in the doorway, bearing both a suitcase and a worried expression. I wondered why she was just standing there, but then I remembered.
“Hi, honey,” I said. “Come on in.”
She set the suitcase down at the foot of the bed. “I’d run over there and throw my arms around you, like a good daughter should,” she said. “But my guess is that it might hurt like hell.”
“You’re right – it probably would,” I told her. “Apart from this goose egg here, my back is sore from where some bastard dropped to his knees on me while I was down. There’s no permanent damage – just lots of colorful bruises that are very sensitive to pressure.”
She bent over the bed and kissed me carefully on the cheek. “I’d offer to have a few words with the assholes who did this you,” she said as she stepped back. “But my guess is, right about now, they’re just finding out that Hell doesn’t have cable TV.”
“I’ve heard that it does,” I said, “but all they get down there is reruns of Here Comes Honey Boo-Boo.”
When she finished laughing at my dumb joke, I asked her, “How come you know about all that? Did McGuire call you?”
She picked up a chair from the corner, put it next to the bed, and sat down.
“Nobody called me,” she said. “But the Times-Tribune’s web page is updated on a regular basis, remember? You’re the front-page story right now”
“Shit, I forgot about the digital edition.”
“I noticed that the story didn’t have any quotes from you,” she said.
“That’s the main reason that uniform is at the door,” I said. “To keep the goddamn media out of my face.”
“I figured that would be your attitude, and I managed to help out a little.”
“Really?”
“Really. I shared an elevator with a reporter and camera guy from Channel 22,” she said. “When I realized who they were coming to see, I, uh, convinced them that there was no story here, and they might as well leave. They took the same elevator car back down.”
“That’s my girl.”
“I figured that cop was outside in case whoever sent those three guys after you decided to send a few more.”
“Well, yeah – that, too.”
“That’s why I used some vacation time and took tonight off,” she said. “I’ll be right here, in case something happens. Unless you’ve got some hot babe coming over later to cheer you up. If that’s the case, I can wait in the hall with your brother officer while the cheering-up is going on.”
“Even if I knew where to find a hot babe,” I said, “the way I feel right now, anything she did would probably finish the job those guys started behind Jerry’s.”
“You don’t know any hot babes?” she asked with a half-smile. “What about what’s-her-name, that blonde cop from Wilkes-Barre?”
“Lacey Brennan.”
“Yeah, that’s her name. What about her? I thought you guys had a thing going.”
“That’s kind of up in the air right now,” I said. “Anyway, she’s in Wisconsin, visiting her sister.”
“That doesn’t sound too good.”
“We’ll see,” I said.
“Well, once you’re feeling better, let me know if you’re in the market. I bet I could fix you up with one of the warm girls at work.” She gave me a full-on smile, complete with fangs. “I know a couple of cute vamps, too, if you feel like a walk on the wild side.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said, and decided to change the subject. “McGuire says that the three guys who jumped me are muscle-for-hire up from Philly.”
She gave me a look. “Philly. The Delatassos?”
“Seems like,” I said. “I can’t think of anybody else in Philly I might’ve pissed off recently.”
She chewed her lower lip for a few seconds. “Why humans? If they waited until dark, they could’ve sent vamps after you.”
“Misdirection, maybe. Killing a cop brings down a lot of heat. Maybe the Delatassos didn’t want it focused on them.”
“You’re sure killing you was the objective – they weren’t there just to rough you up or something?”
“No, it was a hit.” I told her what I’d heard the goons say to each other while I was semiconscious.
She nodded slowly when I was done. “So they intended to take you out. Sounds like they would’ve succeeded, too, if not for – who?”
“That’s a question I’ve been giving a lot of thought to,” I said. “The answer’s been pretty fuckin’ elusive. I can’t think of–”
Another knock sounded on the door. The uniformed cop stuck his head in and said, “Your partner’s here, Sarge.”
“OK, thanks,” I said – then, in a louder voice I called, “Come on in, Karl.”
Karl Renfer had brought me a small plastic baggie that turned out to contain a Reese’s Cup, two Snickers bars, and a pack of Lance cheese crackers. “Just in case the food in this place is as bad as I hear,” he said, then looked toward my other visitor. “Hey, Christine.”
“Hey, Karl.” A look passed between them, and I wasn’t sure how to read it. Then I remembered that Karl had, out of necessity, spent a day in my basement with Christine a few months back. He’d been working until almost sunrise, and hadn’t had time to make it home.
During the daylight hours, a vampire is literally a corpse. But neither Karl or Christine had ever mentioned how much time they’d spent together downstairs once the night had returned. They’d never brought it up, and I’d never asked.
And I sure as shit wasn’t going to ask now.
Instead, I said to Karl, “Is this an official visit, officer, or are you just here on a goodie run? Not that I’m complaining.”
“Nothing official,” he said. “Once I found out what had gone down this morning, I took a couple hours’ personal time. McGuire said you weren’t in bad shape, considering, but I decided to see for myself.”