There's Always Tomorrow (Immortal Series) (10 page)

The drop of a
pin could have been heard in the parlor, as Sophie took in Tony’s remark.
 
Only a slight quivering of her lower
lip betrayed her true feelings.
 
She wiped her lips with her napkin and stood up to leave.
 
First turning to Grant, Sophie spoke in
a controlled voice.
 
“I’m very
happy that things turned out so well, last night.
 
Please, fill me in later, if you don’t mind.
 
The little boy is home safe with his
parents, isn’t he?”

Grant nodded.

“Good,” she
reiterated.

Then she turned
to address Tony.
 
“Thank you for
taking care of my wounds and giving me a place to sleep.
 
I will never forget your...
kindness
.”
 
She held her lips in a firm line and
did not smile.
 
“Thank Ibsen for
the breakfast.”
 

As she rushed
past Tony, she hollered over her shoulder, “Call me a damn cab,” and she was
gone.

“Just what the
hell did you do to her?” Grant yelled at Tony.
 
“I swear...if you took advantage of her, I’ll beat the
living hell out of you.
 
You really
will wish you could die.
 
Dammit,
Tony.
 
You know she thinks she’s in
love with you.
 
She thought she was
in love with me, the first week she came to work here.
 
She’s all alone in the world, and as
innocent as they come.
 
You should
know better, Tony.”
 
Grant paced
back and forth across the luxurious carpet.

“Relax,
Grant.
 
I didn’t do a thing to her
and she’s not nearly as innocent as you believe.
 
She tried to seduce me!
 
I told her I wasn’t interested, but …”

“Forget it,
man.
 
I’ve seen your face and your
crotch come to life every time she enters the room.
 
You definitely have the hots for her.
 
Did you have sex with her?”

“No!
 
I did
not
have sex with that
woman.”
 
Tony smirked, and then
Grant started to chuckle.

“Point well
taken.
 
Well, be careful around
her.
 
I feel about her like I would
a little sister, and I’d hate to have to make you beg for mercy.”

“Okay.
 
I promise to be on my best
behavior.
 
How did last night
go?
 
What did you tell the cops?”
 
Tony finally poured himself a cup of
lukewarm coffee—just the way he liked it.

Grant helped
himself to a similar cup and sat in Tony’s favorite leather chair.
 
He smiled.
 
“It was the usual pack of lies.
 
I’ve told them so many times; I could recite them in my
sleep.
 
I told the detectives about
the graffiti picturing some pervert carrying a small child.
 
They already knew about the stolen
blankets and milk, and were clever enough to put two and two together.
 
I told them I heard a child crying, as
a man rushed by me, knocking little Sophie to the ground.
 
I grabbed for the kid and the man
jumped into the Hudson.
 
They’ll be
dragging the bottom for a week before they give up.
 
I never mentioned the tunnel, and they have no reason to
search it.
 
The Undertaker already
has the body...both parts.”

“Will the
authorities want to speak to Sophie?”

“They
might.
 
I’ll coach her on what to
say.
 
It’s simple enough.
 
After all, she wasn’t really involved.
 
A man simply ran into her as he tried
to flee the scene.
 
She didn’t know
him or see anything.”

“Well, that’s
great, Grant.
 
Looks like our work
is done, and I think I’ll leave town for a while.
 
I need a vacation.
 
Maybe I’ll get myself laid.”

“You do
that.
 
And while you’re at it, try
to forget about our little Sophie.
 
She deserves better than freaks like us.”
 
Grant curled his upper lip in disgust.

“What’s this I
hear?
 
You just said you liked your
circumstances, and now you’re calling us ‘freaks’.
 
What gives?”
 
Tony was surprised to hear his friend make such a disparaging
remark.
 
Usually, the man felt some
empathy for the poor beings he tracked down and disposed of.

“This guy was
different.
 
For a moment, I saw us
through his eyes.
 
At one time,
during his long life, he’d had his skull crushed.
 
It was obvious at first glance and truly grotesque.
 
Maybe that’s the cause of his
insanity.
 
He’d filed his teeth and
nails to sharp points; the better to rip you apart, I suspect.
 
It helped him tear through the flesh of
his victims, in a short amount of time.
 
He’d turned feral, living like a rat in the darkness.
 
My guess is, he was lonely and he needed
a pet.
 
He ate dogs and cats, so he
found a laughing, cooing toddler to play with.

“I separated
his head from his body and the Undertaker will remove the heart.
 
It’s a horrendous thought, being alive
and trapped in a concrete vault, knowing you’ll never escape.
 
To be just a head and a beating heart
that refuses to die.”
 
He visibly
shuddered.
 
Grant wondered if he’d
ever get over the revulsion he felt, at the final judgment for the criminals of
his kind.

Grant stood and
extended his hand to his friend.
 
“I need some sleep.
 
Will I
see you anytime soon?
 
I’m certain
a particularly pretty office assistant will be inquiring about your
whereabouts.”

“No.
 
I’m definitely leaving town for a
while.
 
I need to put some distance
between Sophie and myself.
 
You’re
fairly perceptive for an investigator,” Tony remarked.
 
“I do have feelings for her, but I
can’t commit to her.
 
She’ll expect
marriage and babies and I can’t do that again.
 
As bad as watching your loved ones grow old, it’s much worse
to watch them die young, while you just stand around, unable to do anything to
save them.
 
I’ve loved my wives and
children, with all my heart…only to have it shredded to pieces when they died
without me.
 
I can’t do it
again.”
 
Tony’s voice grew hoarse
with unspent emotion.

“Okay,
friend.
 
You have valid
reasons.
 
I’ll contact you if we
have to go in search of another brother.
 
Take care.
 
I’ll let myself
out.”

Tony heard the
front door close and listened for his loyal servant, Ibsen, to walk away.

He felt much
the same way as Grant, when it came to the entombment of the rogues.
 
They would suffer for all
eternity.
 
“Surely the fires of
hell would be more merciful,” he whispered, remembering his good friend,
Thomas.
 
For years, after Thomas
sacrificed himself, Tony tried to forget with liquor.
 
He drank to excess.
 
In fact, there was a time when he felt he was in real danger of going
rogue...until he met a woman.
 
Her
name was
Giada Bruncato
.

* * *

It was 1923,
and Chicago was the place to be.
 
The food was good, the entertainment was lively, and the women were
beautiful.
 
Anthony was there for
the booze.
 
In spite of being
illegal, it flowed like water in all the best speakeasies and infamous
dives.
 
Of course, he had to keep
an eye out for the local cops and the Feds.
 
He was lucky.

There was
this one little joint, he frequented, called the Paradise Lounge.
 
It was out of the way and not well
known, which was perfect for him.
 
Their liquor was the real thing, smuggled down from Canada.
 
Soon, he was their favorite customer.
 
Sometimes he would eat, but mostly he
just drank until he passed out.
 
Every night, just after close, Max Foerner, the burly bartender, would
pick him up and dump him in the back of his chauffeured car.
 
No one knew his business.
 
Hell, they didn’t even ask his
name.
 
His money was good and
that’s what was important.

Anthony
wasn’t sleeping, as the familiar nightmares continued to flash through his
mind.
 
Terrifying visions of his
best friend, screaming in agony and knowing there was nothing he could do to
put an end to it, was driving him to the brink of insanity.
 
Thomas was no longer with the living,
and it left an enormous hole in his own life.

After the
war in Europe, Anthony couldn’t face returning to England, the land of his
birth, nor did he want to retrace his steps in the American West.
 
He was alone—completely
alone—now that he’d lost Thomas.
 
Day after day, month after month, passed by him, unnoticed.
 
It was his interminable future, he
dreaded.
 
Forever more, he was
destined to live the life of a freak of nature, an immortal with
frailties.
 
It was a life
unthinkable, and he was quickly losing his grasp on his humanity.

“Where do
you think he goes every night, after he leaves here?” the pretty dancer asked
Max.

“Wouldn’t
know.
 
He’s got plenty of dough, so
you don’t have to worry about him,” the big man grumbled, as he finished
putting the last of the mugs away.
 
“It’s time to lock up, Giada.
 
Go get your things and I’ll walk you home.
 
It ain’t safe for a young woman to be out on the streets,
this time of the morning.”

Giada smiled
at the burly bartender.
 
He was
gruff.
 
That was his way, but she
knew he had good reasons.
 
The
mobsters, who frequented the nightclub, had to respect him or they would think
they could take over.
 
He dared not
show a soft side or a weakness in front of them.
 
It was his job to protect the girls and keep the alcohol
flowing.

“Thanks,
Max.
 
I’ll be out in a flash.”
 
Giada ran to the dressing room and
grabbed her thin coat and hat.
 
She
sighed.
 
Both were dreadfully out of
date, but she was lucky she had them.
 
All the money she earned, by dancing in the Paradise, went to help
support her family.

The cold air
whipped around her short skirt as Giada stood in front of the club, waiting for
Max to finish locking up.
 
She hated
standing on the deserted sidewalk.
 
She had read the papers.
 
A
girl could get shot for just standing around.

Max took her
by her elbow and they turned to walk toward State Street.
 
As they rounded the corner, a red
Lincoln Town Car pulled over to the curb.
 
They both stopped.

“Girl,” Max
whispered softly, “If I tell you to get down, you do just that.
 
I’m not sure about this.”
 
The big man pushed the small dancer
behind his body in the hope of giving her some protection, in case trouble
started.

Giada peeked
around his shoulder.
 
The rear door
slowly opened, and the handsome stranger from the club, leaned out and wretched
onto the sidewalk.
 

Immediately,
she pulled away from her protector and ran to the man’s side.
 
“Oh, you poor, poor man.
 
Why do you do this to yourself?”
 
She held his head, as he continued to
empty the contents of his stomach.
 
“When did you last eat?
 
You’re
all skin and bones.”

Anthony
managed to smirk between his bouts of nausea.
 
No one had ever said he was skin and bones.
 
In fact, it was impossible for him to
get into such a state, as his body would heal itself with strong muscle, at the
first drop of nourishment.
 
She was
a pretty little thing, though.
 
He
was actually enjoying her feeble attempts at making him feel better.

After
tearing his insides out, Anthony plopped his butt down on the cold, damp
concrete and shut his eyes.
 
The
cool air refreshed him.
 
Then he
felt the tender touch of a handkerchief glide across his lips and chin.
 
He opened his eyes.

“I hope you
feel better, now,” she said.
 
“I
see you almost every night at the club.
 
Do you drink in excess every night?”