Chapter 19
The cleaning crew had a cancellation and moved my emergency into the slot. By afternoon my apartment was clean and smelled like spring cleaning. Apartment maintenance had replaced the shattered window. The bullet holes had been smeared with white paint. The holes looked like little dimples in the wall. All in all, the place looked great.
John Burke had not returned my call. Maybe I'd been too clever. I'd try a more blunt message later. But right at this moment I had more pleasant things to worry about.
I was dressed for jogging. Dark blue shorts with white piping, white Nikes with pale blue swishes, cute little jogging socks, and tank top. The shorts were the kind with one of those inside pockets that shut with Velcro. Inside the pocket was a derringer. An American derringer to be exact; 6.5 ounces, .38 Special, 4.82 total length. At 6.5 ounces, it felt like a lumpy feather.
A Velcro pocket was not conducive to a fast draw. Two shots and spitting would be more accurate at a distance, but then Gaynor's men didn't want to kill me. Hurt me, but not kill me. They have to get in close to hurt me. Close enough to use the derringer. Of course, that was just two shots. After that, I was in trouble.
I had tried to figure out a way to carry one of my 9mms, but there was no way. I could not jog and tote around that much firepower. Choices, choices.
Veronica Sims was standing in my living room. Ronnie is five-nine, blond hair, grey eyes. She is a private investigator on retainer to Animators, Inc. We also work out together at least twice a week unless one of us is out of town, injured, or up to our necks in vampires. Those last two happen more often than I would like.
She was wearing French-cut purple shorts, and a T-shirt that said, "Outside of a dog, a book is man's best friend. Inside of a dog, it's too dark to read." There are reasons why Ronnie and I are friends.
"I missed you Thursday at the health club," she said. "Was the funeral awful?"
"Yeah."
She didn't ask me to elaborate. She knows funerals are not my best thing. Most people hate funerals because of the dead. I hate all the emotional shit.
She was stretching long legs parallel to her body, low on the floor. In a sort of stretching crouch. We always warm up in the apartment. Most leg stretches were never meant to be done while wearing short shorts.
I mirrored her movement. The muscles in my upper thighs moved and protested. The derringer was an uncomfortable but endurable lump.
"Just out of curiosity," Ronnie said, "why do you feel it necessary to take a gun with you?"
"I always carry a gun," I said.
She just looked at me, disgust plain in her eyes. "If you don't want to tell me, then don't, but don't bullshit me."
"Alright, alright," I said. "Strangely enough, no one's told me not to tell anyone."
"What, no threats about not going to the police?" she asked.
"Nope."
"My, how terribly friendly."
"Not friendly," I said, sitting flat on the floor, legs out at angles. Ronnie mirrored me. It looked like we were going to roll a ball across the floor. "Not friendly at all." I leaned my upper body over my left leg until my cheek touched my thigh.
"Tell me about it," she said.
I did. When I was done, we were limbered and ready to run.
"Shit, Anita. Zombies in your apartment and a mad millionaire after you to perform human sacrifices." Her grey eyes searched my face. "You're the only person I know who has weirder problems than I do."
"Thanks a lot," I said. I locked my door behind us and put my keys in the pocket along with the derringer. I know it would scratch hell out of it, but what was I supposed to do, run with the keys in my hand?
"Harold Gaynor. I could do some checking on him for you."
"Aren't you on a case?" We clattered down the stairs.
"I'm doing about three different insurance scams. Mostly surveillance and photography. If I have to eat one more fast food dinner, I'm going to start singing jingles."
I smiled. "Shower and change at my place. We'll go out for a real dinner."
"Sounds great, but you don't want to keep Jean-Claude waiting."
"Cut it out, Ronnie," I said.
She shrugged. "You should stay as far away from that . . . creature as you can, Anita."
"I know it." It was my turn to shrug. "Agreeing to meet him seemed the lesser of evils."
"What were your choices?"
"Meeting him voluntarily or being kidnapped and taken to him."
"Great choices."
"Yeah."