Part 19 (2/2)
I caught Bobbi's eye and gave her a smile and a thumbs-up signal. She smiled back, her face breaking composure to light up with excitement. She was in her element and loving it.
A little guy with slicked-back hair and an oversized bow tie stepped up to a microphone the size of a pineapple. Someone in the booth gave him the go-ahead, he signed to the band, and they started up the fanfare of the show. For a minute I thought the little guy was Eddie Cantor, but his voice was different as was his style of cracking jokes. A studio worker in an open vest and rolled-up s.h.i.+rtsleeves held up big cards printed with instructions telling us when to clap or laugh. The audience liked the comedian, though, and hardly needed the prompting.
A deep-voiced announcer stepped in to warn us against the dangers of inferior tires, then the band came up again, and Bobbi was given a flowery introduction. She was standing and ready at the mike. Marza got her signal from a guy in the booth, and they swung into a fast-paced novelty number. It was one of those oddball songs that gets popular for a few weeks and then you never hear of it again, about a guy who was like a train and the singer was determined to catch him. Off to one side, a sound-effects man came in on cue with the appropriate whistles and bells. Before I knew it I was applauding with the rest of the audience and Bobbi was taking her bows. She'd gone over in a big way and they wanted more.
When the noise died down the comedian joined her, and they read from a script a few jokes about trains the song had missed. The tire man came on after them with his stern voice of doom, and that was when someone poked me in the ribs from behind.
Braxton had turned up another gun and was hunched over me with it concealed in a folded newspaper.
”Stand up and walk into the hall,” he told me quietly.
He was d.a.m.ned right that I'd do what he wanted. We were in a vulnerable crowd, and all I wanted was to get him alone outside for just two seconds. Showing resignation, I got up slowly and preceded him. The usher opened the door, his attention on the stage. He must have really liked tire ads.
The hall was empty except for Matheus, who was clutching his cross and looking ready to spook off. Braxton had done quite a job on him.
”I give,” I said. ”How'd you find me this time?”
Braxton was smug. ”We didn't have to! We've been waiting. Last night you said Miss Smythe was going to be in a broadcast. I merely called around to find out which station and when. There was a risk you wouldn't show, but it all worked out.”
If he expected me to pat him on the back for smarts, he'd have a long wait. ”Okay, now what? You gonna b.u.mp me off ten feet away from a hundred witnesses? The wall between isn't that soundproof.”
He hadn't picked up on the fact that I wasn't as afraid of him and his silver bullets as I'd been last night. The gun moved a degree or two left. ”In there, and slowly.” He indicated a washroom across the hall.
”That'll be some headline,” I grumbled, ” 'Journalist Found Dead in Men's Room; Police Suspect Lone Ranger.' Matheus, you better stay out here, this could be messy.”
”Shut up.”
”Have some heart, Braxton, you don't want the kid to see this. Save him some nightmares.”
The elevator opened at the far end of the hall and a man in a long overcoat got out. He noticed our group, looked at his watch, and walked away, turning a corner.
He was just part of the background to me, but he made Braxton nervous. He was suddenly aware of the openness of the hall and didn't like it.
”Move,” he hissed. ”Now. ”
I looked past him to Matheus. Our eyes locked for an instant. It was long enough.
”Stay out here, kid.”
His expression did not change, nor did his posture, but I knew I'd reached him.
He stood very still.Braxton saw this exchange and his eyebrows went up, adding more lines to his dry, scored forehead. The gun wavered as he tried to decide whether to snap the kid out of my suggestion or shoot me outright. I saved him the trouble; when he came a half step closer and tried to urge me backward, I s.h.i.+fted my weight as though to comply and turned it into a lunge. It was faster, literally faster, than he could see and much faster than he could react.
The gun was now in my pocket, and he was staring at his empty hand as unhappy as any kid whose toy had been taken away. He looked up at me and thought he saw the grim reaper and made an abortive attempt to run, but I grabbed two fistfuls of his clothes and swung him around against the wall. His mouth opened and sound started to come out, but I smothered it with one hand.
Far down the hall I heard approaching footsteps. It was too public here, so I adopted his plan and dragged him to the men's room. The door swung shut and I rammed a foot against its lower edge to keep people out.
He was trying to struggle, his body bucking ineffectually against my hold. He was finally getting a clear idea of just how strong a vampire can be at night, with all his powers.
”Hold still or I'll break your neck,” I said, and perhaps I meant it. He subsided, his eyes squeezed shut. From the pressure of his jaw, he was trying to hold his chin down. I was hungry, but not that hungry. It'd be a cold day in h.e.l.l before I'd touch his blood.
His breath was labored, the moist air from his nose blowing out hard over my knuckles, and his heart raced fit to break. He needed to be calmer and so did I.
Emotions, the kind of violent ones he stirred up in me, would only do him harm. I sucked in a deep lungful of air and let it out slowly, counting to ten. Outside someone walked past, the same steps that had chased us in here. They paused slightly, then went on, fading.
His eyes turned briefly on me, then squeezed shut again.
He had an idea of what I was trying to do and was on guard. It might be too difficult to break through to him without doing permanent harm. I s.h.i.+fted my grip and his eyes instinctively opened.
”Braxton, I won't hurt you, just listen to me.”
He made a protesting sound deep in his throat. My hand relaxed enough over his mouth so he could speak.
”Unclean leach-”
”Listen to me.”
”d.a.m.ned, you're-”
”Braxton.””-d.a.m.ned to-”
”Listen to me.''
His muscles went slack, his lungs changing rhythm slightly. Id gotten to him, but had to ease up.
”That's it, just calm down, I only want to talk.”
He looked up in a kind of despair, like a drowning man whose strength has gone and knows you won't make it to him in time.
”Everything's all right...”
I didn't understand how it worked any more than I understood the mechanics of vanis.h.i.+ng at will, but I had the ability and now the need. My conscience was kicking up, but beyond moving to another state or killing him, there seemed no other practical way of getting rid of him.
”Everything's fine, we're just going to talk...”
Without any more fuss, he slipped under my control. I relaxed and opened my cramped hands. His eyes were gla.s.sy rather than vacant.
”Braxton?”
”Yes?” It was the quiet voice this time, the reasonable one he'd used at my parents' house.
”Where is Maureen Dumont?”
”I don't know.” was disappointed, but not surprised. ”When did you meet her?”
”Years ago, long time.”
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