My plan is to keep David occupied until it’s too late for him to consider contacting Tamara. I figure until ten or so. Then I’ll read that last chapter in Frey’s book.
When I face Sandra the next time, I’ll be prepared.
To do that, I have David swing by the office on our way to Luigi’s. I tell him I want to pick up the papers Jamie’s office faxed to me yesterday.
Yesterday? Has it only been one day?
He waits for me in the car while I run inside. I do grab the papers along with Frey’s book and stuff them in a briefcase. Then we’re off to a place that used to be my favorite eating joint.
Luigi’s is a block from my cottage. It’s small, dark, cramped and always busy. The owner is not Italian at all, but Greek. He’s a short, middle-aged guy with a penchant for long-sleeved designer shirts and well-pressed jeans. He runs his place like a general commanding troops. But Ted can cook. His meatballs are world renowned—at least to hear him tell it—and I can personally attest that there are none better in San Diego. I’ve eaten my fair share.
Before the vampire thing turned garlic into a weapon, that is.
Ted is behind the bar when David and I walk in. He does a double take and slams a glass down on the counter so hard, it shatters. He snaps his finger to the barkeep to clean up the glass and stomps out to meet us, scowling.
“So. You aren’t dead, after all. Figured you had to be, it’s been so long since you dropped by. So what was it? Amnesia? You forget your friends in the neighborhood now that you have a fancy office downtown? You find another place that feeds you better than Luigi’s?”
He looks like he’s winding up for a long tirade. I can’t speak the smell is so offensive. At the moment I think I’m going to have to run out or puke all over his Gucci loafers. He takes David’s arm in one hand and mine in the other and steers us to a booth by an open window. It’s already occupied, mind you, but that doesn’t stop Ted from shooing the couple out, gathering up their dishes, and plunking them down on a table in the center of the place. They’re too stunned to object. Even if they did, Ted wouldn’t care. He’s a force of nature. His place, his rules.
David and I slide in. Neither of us has spoken a word. Ted’s storm passes as quickly as a cloudburst, and by the time he’s signaled for the busboy to wipe down our table and bring setups, he’s beaming at us.
“How about a nice Chianti?” he says. “For the antipasti. Then I’m going to cook something special for you. You two leave everything to Ted.”
He heads for the kitchen like a robin after a worm. At least here by the window, I can smell fresh air. I scoot as close as possible to it and gulp down the nausea. What I do to protect my friends. This is not going to be fun.
CHAPTER 52
THE CHIANTI IS SMOOTH, FULL-BODIED, GOES down easy. I had planned to drink beer, but Ted sends a bottle over and before we know it, it’s empty and David is calling for a second. By the time the first course arrives, huge plates of pasta with rich, red marinara sauce chunky with tomatoes and meat, David is on the third bottle. He’s nice and relaxed. He’s also famished. Chopping wood and Gloria’s angst have obviously built up a tremendous appetite. Lucky for me, he’s hungry enough to consume both our dinners, hardly noticing that I keep ladling my portions onto his plate. Having a big guy as a partner has its perks. I can sit here sipping wine while he does the heavy lifting.
Keeping my nose pointed to the window, I start in on a third glass of wine. Three glasses out of three bottles. It occurs to me that David is starting to look bleary-eyed. Even with all the food, three bottles of wine take a toll. I don’t think David will be driving home tonight.
We finish up. I pay the bill minus the wine, which was on Ted, and I end up helping David out of the restaurant. Ted tells us not to be strangers. David goes for his keys.
“No way. We’re only a block from the cottage. You can crash at my place tonight.”
David seems to be considering it, though I can’t be sure if the vacant look is a thought being processed or the slide into a wine-and-food-induced stupor. It doesn’t matter. He comes along at my urging, and we’re halfway down the block when he stops. His eyes clear for a minute, and he looks at me with a frown of concentration, like he’s remembering something important. He jabs a thumb back toward Luigi’s.
“Wait. I can’t leave my car out on the street.”
At first, I don’t understand. Then an image of my Jag flashes, and I realize he’s concerned if there’s some crazy out there vandalizing nice cars, his might be the next target.
Like, even if it hadn’t been personal, a Hummer is in the same class as a Jaguar. We’re talking elephant versus, well, jaguar.
“It’s okay. I’ll get you to the cottage and come back for the Hummer. I’ll park it in the garage.”
That appeases him. The frown smoothes back into blankness. We continue down the sidewalk, David under his own swaying steam. I unlock the door to the cottage, lead David to the couch, give him a push. He sits down abruptly.
“I’ll go move the car,” I say. “Then I’ll come back and make up the bed in the guest room. You sit here until I get back, okay?”
His eyes are open and he appears to be listening, but I could swear he’s already fast asleep.
I dig his keys out of the pocket of his jacket along with his wallet and cell phone. He doesn’t stir. There’s a “missed call” message flashing. It’s pure nosiness that makes me hit the “hear now” button and press the phone to my ear.
“Hey, David, it’s Tamara. If you get in before eleven, call me. I’m a night owl. Maybe we can still get together.”
I erase the message and close the phone. My instincts were right. I’m glad David is here with me.
I put the phone on silent mode and place it along with his wallet on the coffee table. The keys I take with me on the run back to the parking lot behind Luigi’s. In five minutes I’m cramming that tank into my garage. Lucky for me I had the garage built higher and longer than average. Otherwise, the Hummer would never fit. As it is, it’s like squeezing paste into a toothpaste tube.
Another five minutes and I’m back in the house. David hasn’t moved. He’s still sitting up, his eyes are still half-open but he’s snoring. I’ve never seen anyone sleep with his eyes open. I stare at him for a minute, trying to decide if I should carry him up the stairs to the guest room. What happens, though, if he awakens in my arms? No, better to lay him out here and cover him up with a blanket.
Which is what I do.
Finally, at eleven thirty, I’m in a pair of sweats and curled up in my bed with Frey’s book open on my lap.
Here we go—chapter seventeen.
CHAPTER 53
THERE’S NO HEADING TO THE CHAPTER, NO HINT of what it contains. Once my brain has adjusted yet again to the difficulty that comes from deciphering calligraphy, I’m plunged into a history of demons in the world.
In the beginning (according to this text) was not the word. In the beginning were the demons, the first species in human form to populate the earth. They were the spawn of the fallen angels sent to a harsh and unforgiving new world to survive or perish on their own. Among the first demons were the vampires. They were the strongest and most vicious of the predators and soon held dominion over all the beasts. Their reign lasted for a thousand years.
Then the gods (and it’s plural) decided the now warm and abundant earth had become a paradise, too good for the demons. They sent man, possessed him of brain and brawn, allowed him to multiply. They set him against the demons. Man triumphed. The demons were banished underground, to the realm of darkness. Here the vampire stayed, coming forth only to hunt and feed, for a millennium.