His expression was still disturbing. "But tell me, Mr. Fleming, and with all truth, what would it mean if there are such things? What would it mean to you?"

"I'd have to think that one over."

"I already have. I've thought a lot about it. We have this bright world of daylight, predictable and comfortable to us. Normal. But what do we do when something happens that simply does not fit into that world and makes us conscious of another world altogether, existing and blending closely with our own? A world we can but glimpse and then dismiss as a fantasy, a world we cannot sanely accept, for that would doom our complacent security. Its citizens are beautiful monsters, to be feared or laughed at as at a dream. But if their reality were to be proved to you, how would you react? You can deny it or accept the truth. One keeps your illusion of your world safe and the other... well, your hand might hesitate tonight before it turns out the light. How can you slumber in peace when you cannot see what the darkness conceals? Our eyes blink against it, our ears hear things that might be moving, our skin shivers and antic.i.p.ates crawling things beneath the covers. Within that dark, which is as sunlight to them, they watch and bide their time until sleep takes you; they sense it as we sense the heat and cold. They approach, marking you, stealing your heart's essence to strengthen their own Undead bodies, and when the dawn comes they're gone... and one more part of your soul is gone with them."

It was past time to leave. The man knew too much and yet too little. He was perceptive enough to know there were other reasons besides a bogus book to inspire my research. Maybe he hoped I would confide in him, show him the marks on my throat and ask for help. That was out. I was not under any restraining hypnotic suggestion from Maureen, but I did have a share of common sense. Even if I told him the truth about vampires, it would do no good. He was the wrong sort to unlearn all the nonsense he had sitting on his shelves, such truth would endanger his illusions just as he said.

He read my face correctly and knew he'd gone too far too soon. Cultivating acolytes takes time. "I'm sorry, I do ramble on a bit."

"That's all right. It was very interesting, but I have to be going. Thank you very much for letting me read the book. I really appreciate it."

"Not at all," he replied, shaking hands. "I hope you'll come again?"

"Sure," I lied.

Social conventions sometimes come in handy. We smiled, said the usual things, performed the expected rituals, and pretended all was right in the world. It was for me as soon as I stepped out into the brisk March dusk to walk home. Braxton's outlook on reality was enough to throw anyone off center. If nothing else, he personified my own fears of vampirism and made me realize how groundless they were. Compared to Maureen, Braxton was far more frightening.

The relationship Maureen and I shared was hardly consistent with the popular image of vampire and victim. Our love-making was astonishingly joyous and normal, and if at its climax she drew a little blood from me what did it matter as long as we both enjoyed it? Maybe she wasn't a typical vampire, maybe there were others just as dangerous as Stoker's creation. I did not know.

I never mentioned Braxton to Maureen; I didn't want her to know about my fears, especially now that they'd been dispelled. She needed my love and support, not my insecurities. After a very short time, the incident faded from my memory.

Chapter 5.

AGAIN TAKING REFUGE in a large, anonymous hotel under a different name, I stopped for the day in Indianapolis. My car was left several blocks away in another hotel's garage. Not the best kind of subterfuge, but I was hoping Braxton was not that good a detective. My hopes panned out or I was lucky again; the next night I was back in the familiar and relative sanity of Chicago. My first stop was Bobbi's place.

I waved at the night clerk as usual, he nodded back, turned to a pillar near his desk, and resumed talking to it. This sort of behavior makes me curious, so I walked over to see what made the pillar such a fascinating conversationalist. Leaning against it, just out of my line of sight, was the house d.i.c.k, Phil. He was a medium- sized, slightly tubby man in an old derby and a loose collar. He didn't look like much, but Bobbi said he could take care of himself and knew where to go for help if he needed it.

He saw me and nodded. "Morning, Fleming. You up early or out late?"

I shook his calluses. "I'm always out late. How's business?"

"Slow, but there's the weekend coming up."

That was when he made most of his tips. As long as the trysting couples were quiet about it, he was conveniently blind and deaf; disturb the other guests and the offenders were out on their ears.

"Good luck, then. Listen, could you do me a favor?"

"Depends." His face was as carefully blank as the lobby's marble floor.

"There's been a couple of guys following me..."I gave him an accurate description of Braxton and Webber and an inaccurate account of their activities. "They've already pestered my folks and I figure they might try bothering Miss Smythe next."

"They can try." The only thing Phil liked better than bribes was kicking pests around.

"I'd appreciate it if you kept your eyes open." I stuck my hand out in farewell and we shook again briefly. He pocketed the sawbuck I slipped him with the discreet manner that made him so popular with the other hotel patrons.

"I will do that," he promised. The only thing Phil liked better than bribes and kicking pests around was to be bribed to kick pests around. "Please tender my regards to Miss Smythe."

Phil and the clerk resumed their discussion, which had to do with the merits of various betting parlors in the city, and I completed my journey to the elevator. The operator put up a good imitation of being awake and he took me up to Bobbi's floor.

"She's got guests tonight," he told me.

"Anyone I know?"

He shrugged and opened the doors. "They look the fancy type to me."

That could mean anything. I stepped out and immediately picked up the loud thrum of conversation down the hall. Bobbi had mentioned her plans for a little party a few days ago. Her idea of a little party meant inviting only half the city, not all of h.

The door swung open at my knock and a dangerous-looking female barred the way in. She sucked in a lungful of smoke from a skinny black cigar and let it blow out her nostrils to corrode the air. "Well, speak of the devil."

Not knowing how to respond to that one, I waited for her to stand aside, only she didn't, and hung on to the doork.n.o.b to look me over.

She had well-powdered white skin stretched over her bones, and dark eyes, which were made larger and darker by a liberal use of makeup. Her hair was jet black, shaped like a helmet with thick, severely cut bangs that just covered the eyebrows.

The rest was leveled hard against her jawline. If any single hair dared to rebel, it had been rigorously dealt with by a dose of lacquer.

She wore something box shaped and bright purple, with green sequins edging a deep neckline that didn't suit her long face. The talons she affected were another bad choice, as they accentuated the developing witchiness of her fingers. They were painted the same color as her wide mouth: a deep maroon. I put her down as a case that was determined to look a young and sophisticated twenty no matter what her actual age. As far as I could tell under the war paint, she'd just edged her way over forty.

She'd finished a.s.sessing me as well, took a step backward, and swept her hand in a gesture to indicate I could pa.s.s. We locked eyes for a second and she smiled. It was no more than a thinning of the lips, but it expressed her contempt as plainly as if she'd spit in my face.

Then Bobbi said my name, threw her body against mine, and we forgot about everything else for a few moments.

"You should have called." Her mouth was very close to my ear and I enjoyed the tickling of her breath. "I didn't know when you'd be back."

"I like surprising you."

"It is easier to catch them out that way," the woman said agreeably.

Bobbi pulled back a little, but kept her arms around me. "Jack, this is Marza Chevreaux. She's my accompanist."

I had wondered what she was. "How do you do?"

"Not as well as you, dear boy," she drawled sweetly, and held out her hand, forcing me to relinquish my hold on Bobbi in order to take it. It wasn't a fair exchange; her fingers lay briefly and limply in my palm and then recoiled to be better occupied at playing with the chain of her long necklace. She smiled again, took a step backward, pivoted on the same movement, and left us.

I hoped she was out of earshot and opened my mouth, but Bobbi beat me to it.

"You don't have to say it, I already know."

"I never saw her at the club.""Slick didn't like her."

"Fancy that."

"She really is a good accompanist, once you get past all her dramatics. We're a good team and I got the station to agree to have her play when I sing."

"She said 'speak of the devil'; should my ears be burning?"

"A couple of the girls were wondering who I was dating, and I can't help but talk about you. Because of Slick, Marza doesn't think much of the men in my life, but she'll come around once she gets to know you."

"Do you have some less discriminating guests in the meantime?"

"Sure, come in and meet them."

"What's this about again?"

"Just a little pre-broadcast party, then afterward we'll have a post-broadcast party."

"I didn't know you were so social."

"Neither did I, but getting away from the club was like getting out of jail. I just want to celebrate." Then she kissed me again, linked an aim in mine, and pulled me into the living room with all the noise.

It wasn't as large a group as I thought, but they made up for it in volume. A half dozen were in the immediate vicinity, with several brands of cigarettes and perfumes, none of it too breathable, so I only indulged when it was necessary to talk.

Marza Chevreaux had taken up a station at the piano, but was clearly not about to play it. Her purpose must have been to prevent others from doing so. She clutched a drink and stared with gla.s.sy eyes at an intense-looking man crouched on the floor next to her. He wore thick gla.s.ses and had short skin-colored hair on the sides and long dark hair on top. It looked too much like a toupee to be one, so it had to be his own. He was making short, waving movements with his hands as he tried to prove a point of some kind to Marza.

"That's Madison Pruitt," Bobbi whispered. "Marza brought him along because he irritates everyone."

"He looks more than capable of it. Why is he so irritating?"

"Because if you give him half a chance he'll try to get you to join the Communist party. He's as bad as the Jehovah's Witnesses."

"You're kidding me, n.o.body could-" I hauled up short, staring at the mountainous back of a man on the sofa. "What's he doing here?""Are you angry?"

I thought it over. "Actually, no, just curious."

She was relieved. "He's my friend. Jack. I wanted him here. You don't have to talk to him, he'll understand."

"That wouldn't be polite. Besides, this place isn't that big and he's a hard man to duck."

"You going to be nice?" She was half-joking, half-serious. I felt like kissing her and saw no reason not to and followed through.

"I'll be nice," I promised, and walked over to the sofa.

He was taking up most of it, a big man with hard muscle under the tailored lines of his evening clothes. With short-cropped blond hair and a grim set to his lips, he wasn't the sort you invite to liven up a social occasion. His eyes were slightly sleepy from the drink in his hand until he looked up at me. They visibly sharpened, went on guard, then relaxed into a pseudo-dullness. I knew that to be one of his defenses, that dull look. People expected a big man like him to be stupid. He let them think what they liked and consequently learned more about them than they cared.

I put my hand out. "h.e.l.lo, Gordy."

He registered a flicker of surprise, slowly stood, and shook hands. He was beyond trying to prove himself with a crushing grasp and gave me a firm, careful grip.

"Fleming," he returned. "Bobbi said you might turn up."

"Yeah."

"She says you're taking good care of her."

I wasn't sure how he meant that. Bobbi wasn't dependent on me financially, so he must have been referring to our emotional relationship. He was too polite where Bobbi was concerned to make cheap remarks on our s.e.x life.

"She's a wonderful girl."

"Glad you know that."

"And if I didn't?"

"I'd sic Marza on you."

It was my turn for surprise. I hadn't expected him to make a joke. I glanced over to the piano and saw he was serious after all. Marza was glaring at us, and from her expression, all she needed were some snakes for hair to turn us to stone.

"No, thanks." I hooked a chair so we could sit and be eye to eye. Standing with him was uncomfortable. I wasn't used to looking up at people, and Gordy was tall enough to give Paul Bunyan a stiff neck. "How are things at the club?"

He shrugged and settled into the sofa. "Had to put up with a raid last week."

"The casino?"

"It looks good for City Hall in the papers, but they should hold off until just before election, like they usually do. They grabbed all my slot machines and chopped up the tables. Take a few weeks to get new ones, but by that time the heat will be off. The club's still open, lot of the regulars still ask after Bobbi."

"You think she'll go back?"

"Not after all that mess with Slick. Can't blame her."

"Nope."

"You working?"

"Son of."

"Need a job?"

"What kind?"

"What kind you need?"

I shook my head and smiled. "Thanks."

"About that mess with Slick-"

"No hard feelings, Gordy."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I mean, sorry if I hurt you. I was just doing a job."

"You didn't hurt me."