The Last Hot Time (3 page)

It hit Danny like a fist. "I guess I'm learning."

"If you can learn, then it'll all be right. 'S'how it goes." McCain's voice was back to normal.

"Earlier—when Cloudhunter had the shotgun on me—he would have blown my head off just like that, right? No warning? Is that how it goes?"

"When you mean to kill somebody, only a damn fool gives him a chance to disagree. And only a damn fool pulls a gun without meaning to kill somebody." McCain turned, smiled—not all that reassuring a sight—said, "Ease up, Doc. You did a good job tonight.

You work for Mr. Patrise now. There's no better friend you could have on the Levee."

"Are we friends?"

"I do sincerely hope so."

McCain stopped the car in front of a lighted building with a violet awning that stretched from the curb down stairs to a double glass door. Massed electric bulbs spelled out LA MIRADA.

The door was opened by a man in a white top hat and tails. "Good evening, Mr. Patrise. Mr. McCain, Cloudhunter. And good evening to you, sir. Your coats?"

Patrise said, "Pavel, this is Doc Hallownight. A full member of the club with all privileges."

"Delighted to meet you, Mr. Hallownight. What will you be drinking?"

"A beer. Please."

"Your brand, sir?"

"Uh—anything. Have you got draft beer?"

"Of course, sir."

The entryway was lit by brass towers that threw light against the white sculptured ceiling. Brass vases of fresh flowers stood in niches along the wood-paneled walls. The corridor led to a double door of glass, frosted in geometric patterns, framed in chrome.

That door was opened by a blonde girl in a white blouse and an extremely short black skirt. "Oh! Mr. Patrise!"

The name stopped everything in the room. The few people there all turned.

The room was large and circular, with a domed ceiling that was black with twinkling stars. The outer part of the circle was three steps higher than the center. On one side of the upper ring was a black glass bar, backed by chrome and mirrors and endless ranks of bottles; a woman in a white shirt and red bow tie was mixing drinks. A man and woman leaned against the obsidian bartop, interrupted in conversation. On the other side were dining tables, all empty but one where two men in dinner jackets and two women in astounding gowns were seated.

The lower circle was a glossy black dance floor, empty. At the rear of the room was a bandstand with a white grand piano; a woman leaned against the piano, toward a man seated at the keyboard.

None of them looked like elves, but there was enough glitter and cool light that Danny was hardly sure.

Patrise went to the occupied table. One of the women said, "Patrise, how good to see you! You won't believe the stories that have been going around tonight." She sounded very drunk.

"Then you must tell me sometime, Tonia," Patrise said genially. "Hello, Erika. Bob, Warren. Have you had a good evening?"

They agreed that it had been splendid, that Fay had been in top form.

"Then you must consider it on the house. Always a good time here."

They were dazzled at Patrise's graciousness, and oh my was that the time, they'd all turn into pumpkins, good night, good night.

The woman from the piano was running across the dance floor. She wore a low-cut, ruffled black blouse and a gold metallic skirt; she held the skirt up to run, her golden high-heeled sandals clacking on the black surface, which reflected her image full-length, two people tap-dancing sole to sole.

"Patrise, oh God, Patrise," she said, flung her arms out and hugged him. "Oh, God, you're here."

"Of course, Carmen, dear." He put his hands on her wrists and unwound her. "Meet someone new. Hallow, this is Carmen Mirage. Carmen, meet Doc Hallownight. We had a little to-do with the Ruthins tonight, and Doc saved Norma Jean's life."

"Ohh . . . where is Norma?"

"I'm afraid she'll be going home now."

"Oh, that's so sad . . . but you saved her? That must have been very brave."

Danny said, "Well—" and then Carmen's arms were around him. She was very warm, and wore a potent cinnamon perfume, and she hugged tight.

"Pleased to meet you," Danny said past the lump in his throat.

"You mean that isn't a tongue depressor in your pocket, Doc?" Carmen said. "Or maybe it is." She laughed and finally let him breathe. He couldn't think. He looked down at his scrub shirt and jeans, here among all the satin and silk, and felt like he was knee-deep in pigshit and had a live chicken tucked under each arm.

The bartender had arrived with a tray of glasses. Patrise and

Cloudhunter had brightly colored drinks in tall frosted glasses, McCain a mug of coffee with whipped cream. Danny got hold of his beer, took a gulp. It went down just fine.

"Doc, this is Ginevra Benci." He gestured at the woman with the drinks.

She was a little shorter than Danny, with intensely black hair, dark blue eyes. She couldn't have been much older than he was. Her black skirt came to just below her knees, her legs and ankles showing pale and delicate.

"Hi, Doc."

He looked up at her face. She was smiling. "Hello."

Mr. Patrise said, "And Alvah Fountain at the mighty Bosen-dorfer." The young black man at the piano waved. His hair was done up in a mass of long, slender braids.

The two people who had been at the bar were approaching. The man was an American Indian in a wide-shouldered suit and a flowered tie. The woman was petite and Japanese, with dark hair coiled up and held with jeweled pins; she wore a tailored suit and a black turtlenecked shirt, calf-high boots of light brown suede. "Evening, Patrise," the man said. "Is this an open party?"

"Of course. Doc Hallownight, Lucius Birdsong of the Chicago Centurion —"

"Syndicated worldwide through GNS," Birdsong said.

"—pen sharper than a Trueblood arrow. Tongue, too. And Kit-sune Asa, the Tokyo Fox."

"Welcome to the Levee, friend," Birdsong said, and shook Danny's hand. "What's the matter? Aren't you going to tell me you read and admire my column every day?"

"No."

"Fair enough."

The Tokyo Fox said, "You're a doctor?"

"I'm a paramedic. What do you do?"

"Right at the moment, I drink standing up. Pleased to nicer you, Doc."

Patrise said, "Where's Fay?"

Ginevra said, "She went home right after her set."

Patrise said, "Yes?"

No one spoke. Then Miss Asa drained her glass, put ir on Gi-

nevra's tray, and said, "About two AM a couple of my-mama-eats-ambrosia Ruthins came in, with a side dish of Vamps."

Carmen said, "You said the rule was—"

"I know," Patrise said calmly. "Ginevra, get the lady another drink. Ruthins, attended. No Highborns?"

"Nope." The Fox shrugged. "They were hinting that you wouldn't be coming home tonight. Didn't seem to get the rise they wanted, so they left after Fay sang. People started drifting out after that. Last half hour it's been just us and that mooch patrol you saw."

"Who took Phasia home?"

Lucius Birdsong said, "Stagger Lee."

Mr. Patrise spread his hands. "Another hot time in the old town. I think it's time we went home too, ladies and gentlemen: I believe I'll have to be seen by a few people today, upright and walking in my own semi-solid flesh."

Birdsong said, "Is that typewriter of mine still under the bar someplace?"

"I couldn't find an open hock shop," Patrise said, and the two of them chuckled at whatever the joke was. "Ginevra!"

"Yes, sir, almost ready," she said, whipping a cocktail shaker.

"Pavel will shut down in front; you serve Kitsune and Mr. Birdsong as long as they want, then lock up. You've been on golden hours since two. And take tomorrow night off."

"Yes, sir. Thank you."

"Cloud, see Miss Mirage home. Lincoln, Hallow, let's go."

They got into the car, Patrise alone in the back. With the Mi-rada sign switched off, all the world seemed dark, the big car's headlights just pushing the blackness aside for a moment.

Danny said, "The Ruthins are a big elf gang, right?"

"One of them," McCain said. "Red's their color. You see a red leather jacket, you take care."

"The car that shot at you was red."

"You're observant. Yes, that would have been the Ruthins. Unless it was someone else who wanted them blamed."

"Is there some kind of gang war going on?"

"Conflict, I'd say. And there's always conflict. War, now, well. They'll cut each other up as easily as a round-ear. You heard there

were gang elves in the club tonight: they can come right in as long as they follow the rules. Not like the pure-Ellyll clubs."

"What's an—ethyl?"

"E//y//. Not that I can say it right, either. That's an elf name for elves."

"And Miss Asa said something about Vamps. That can't be what it sounds like . . . can it?"

McCain's voice was suddenly tense and quiet. "Vamps are human or halfie kids who want so bad to hang around no-shit-real live elves that the elves let them. The price is that you get a taste of elf blood."

"You mean, like, literally."

"I mean real literally. There's something in their blood that hits mortals like heroin. Slurp, you're hooked, and you'll do anything for another little sip. So the elves think up in-ter-est-ing things for you to do. Be real careful around the Vamps: an elf'll kill you for the sake of a joke, but a sucker'll kill you and never know why."

The car turned sharp right, went down a ramp. A steel door rolled up before them, and they drove into a concrete bunker of a garage. There were half a dozen cars parked, none as big as Mr. Patrise's, but all in the same old-time style. The garage was only about half full. As they got out, Danny saw a row of motorcycles, some with sidecars: big Harleys, BMWs, classic Indians.

A man in coveralls was cleaning the parts of a Thompson submachine gun. Laid out on a table near him were two pistols, several knives, and a black metal crossbow.

Mr. Patrise said, "Good morning, Jesse."

"Morning, sir. Glad to have you home."

"Have Stagger Lee and Miss Phasia come home?"

Jesse looked at a wall clock with a round white face and a swinging brass pendulum. The glass case read REGULATOR. " 'Bout two hours ago."

They walked on to an elevator lined with panels of etched bronze. It began rising. "Hallow will be in the north wing with US," Patrise said. "Good morning to you, gentlemen."

The door opened. McCain stepped out, waved for Danny to follow. They left Patrise behind.

They were in a broad, carpeted corridor, with Art Moderne geometric wood on the walls and overhead lamps of marbleized glass. It looked about half a mile long.

"In here." They went into a room lit by a hard white downlight. It shone mostly on a telephone switchboard, dozens of sockets and a row of plugs. A refrigerator-sized safe was in the corner. A woman was sitting at the switchboard, wearing a headset. "Hi, Line."

"Hi-de-hi, Lisa."

She moved her right hand out of shadow, put down the revolver that had been hidden there and picked up a coffee mug. "I take it things are all right now."

"Norma Jean got hurt. But she'll be okay, thanks to this guy. He's gonna be moving in with us. Twenty-four."

McCain made the introductions. Lisa picked up a phone and spoke softly while McCain went to the safe and twirled the knob. Danny saw Lisa reach under the switchboard, and the safe door opened. McCain closed it again, came away holding a key on a white tag.

"Give me your left hand."

Danny did. McCain squeezed the end of Danny's ring finger, and he felt a stick. A drop of his blood plopped onto the key tag, which seemed to suck it up like a sponge. The tag glowed for a moment. It was blue now. McCain pressed the key into Danny's palm.

"Lisa, call Michael Reese at six, find out how Norma's doing. Then call her folks."

She made a note. "Anything else?"

"No changes otherwise. G'night, Lisa."

"Good night, Line. And you, Doc."

As they walked down the hall, McCain pointed at the key Danny was turning over in his hand. "Nobody but you can use that now. You need somebody let in, let the staff know. Just pick up the phone in your room, you'll get Lisa or whoever's on the board."

"Is 'hi-de-hi' code for 'everything's okay'?"

"Good thought. Sometimes it is. Know anything about the witch works?"

"Magic?" McCain nodded. "No."

"You'll find out soon enough if you've got the Touch. If you

do, you'll be able to find the key with it. Enough stuff, and you can zap it to you. Here's your room."

Danny waited, then looked down stupidly at the key in his hand. He opened the door.

The room was about the size of the one he'd grown up in, paneled in rich dark wood. Desk, table, big closet door. The sofa would fold out to a bed, or maybe there was a wall bed, a Murphy.