The Laughing Corpse

“No, I won’t let you go alone. Caroline can just get a new sitter or tell the hospital no.” He smiled when he said it. Always happy to help a friend. Caroline would give him hell for it. Worst of all, now I didn’t want to take Charles with me. You had to do more than look tough.

What if Gaynor got wind of me questioning Wanda? What if he found Charles and thought he was involved? No. It had been selfish to risk Charles. He had a four-year-old son. And a wife.

Harold Gaynor would eat Charles raw for di

I had an idea.

“Go home, Charles. I won’t go alone. I promise.”

He looked uncertain. Like maybe he didn’t trust me. Fancy that. “Anita, are you sure? I won’t leave you hanging like this.”

“Go on, Charles. I’ll take backup.”

“Who can you get at this hour?”

“No questions. Go home to your son.”

He looked uncertain, but relieved. He hadn’t really wanted to go to the Tenderloin. Maybe Caroline’s short leash was what Charles wanted, needed. An excuse for all the things he really didn’t want to do. What a basis for a marriage.

But, hey, if it works, don’t fix it.

Charles left with many apologies. But I knew he was glad to go. I would remember that he had been glad to go.

I knocked on the office door. There was a silence, then, “Come in, Anita.”

How had he known it was me? I wouldn’t ask. I didn’t want to know.

Jean-Claude seemed to be checking figures in a large ledger. It looked antique with yellowed pages and fading ink. The ledger looked like something Bob Crachit should have been scribbling in on a cold Christmas Eve.

“What have I done to merit two visits in one night?” he said.

Looking at him now, I felt silly. I spent all this time avoiding him. Now I was going to invite him to accompany me on a bit of sleuthing? But it would kill two bats with one stone. It would please Jean-Claude, and I really didn’t want him angry with me, if I could avoid it. And if Gaynor did try to go up against Jean-Claude, I was betting on Jean-Claude.

It was what Jean-Claude had done to me a few weeks ago. He had chosen me as the vampire’s champion. Put me up against a monster that had slain three master vampires. And he had bet that I would come out on top against Nikolaos. I had, but just barely.

What was sauce for the goose was sauce for the gander. I smiled sweetly at him. Pleased to be able to return the favor so quickly.

“Would you care to accompany me to the Tenderloin?”

He blinked, surprise covering his face just like a real person. “To what purpose?”

“I need to question a prostitute about a case I’m working on. I need backup.”

“Backup?” he asked.

“I need backup that looks more threatening than I do. You fit the bill.”

He smiled beatifically. “I would be your bodyguard.”

“You’ve given me enough grief, do something nice for a change.”

The smile vanished. “Why this sudden change of heart, ma petite?”

“My backup had to go home and baby-sit his kid.”

“And if I do not go?”

“I’ll go alone,” I said.

“Into the Tenderloin?”

“Yep.”

He was suddenly standing by the desk, walking towards me. I hadn’t seen him rise.

“I wish you’d stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Clouding my mind so I can’t see you move.”

“I do it as often as I can, ma petite, just to prove I still can.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I gave up much of my power over you when I gave you the marks. I practice what little games are left me.” He was standing almost in front of me. “Lest you forget who and what I am.”

I stared up into his blue, blue eyes. “I never forget that you are the walking dead, Jean-Claude.”

An expression I could not read passed over his face. It might have been pain. “No, I see the knowledge in your eyes of what I am.” His voice dropped low, almost a whisper, but it wasn’t seductive. It was human. “Your eyes are the clearest mirror I have ever seen, ma petite. Whenever I begin to pretend to myself. Whenever I have delusions of life. I have only to look into your face and see the truth.”

What did he expect me to say? Sorry, I’ll try to ignore the fact that you’re a vampire. “So why keep me around?” I asked.

“Perhaps if Nikolaos had had such a mirror, she would not have been such a monster.”

I stared at him. He might be right. It made his choice of me as human servant almost noble. Almost. Oh, hell. I would not start feeling sorry for the freaking Master of the City. Not now. Not ever.

We would go down to the Tenderloin. Pimps beware. I was bringing the Master as backup. It was like carrying a thermonuclear device to kill ants. Overkill has always been a specialty of mine.

Chapter 23

The Tenderloin was originally the red light district on the Riverfront in the 1800s. But the Tenderloin, like so much of St. Louis, moved uptown. Go down Washington past the Fox Theater, where you can see Broadway traveling companies sing bright musicals. Keep driving down Washington to the west edge of downtown St. Louis and you will come to the resurrected carcass of the Tenderloin.

The night streets are neon-coated, sparkling, flashing, pulsing-colors. It looks like some sort of pornographic carnival. All it needs is a Ferris wheel in one of the empty lots. They could sell cotton candy shaped like naked people. The kiddies could play while Daddy went to get his jollies. Mom would never have to know.

Jean-Claude sat beside me in the car. He had been utterly silent on the drive over. I had had to glance at him a time or two just to make sure he was still there. People make noise. I don’t mean talking or belching or anything overt. But people, as a rule, can’t just sit without making noise. They fidget, the sound of cloth rubbing against the seats; they breathe, the soft intake of air; they wet their lips, wet, quiet, but noise. Jean-Claude didn’t do any of these things as we drove. I couldn’t even swear he blinked. The living dead, yippee.

I can take silence as good as the next guy, better than most women and a lot of men. Now, I needed to fill the silence. Talk just for the noise. A waste of energy, but I needed it.

“Are you in there, Jean-Claude?”

His neck turned, bringing his head with it. His eyes glittered, reflecting the neon signs like dark glass. Shit.

“You can play human, Jean-Claude, better than almost any vampire I’ve ever met. What’s all this supernatural crap?”

“Crap?” he said, voice soft.

“Yeah, why are you going all spooky on me?”

“Spooky?” he asked, and the sound filled the car. As if the word meant something else entirely.

“Stop that,” I said.

“Stop what?”

“Answering every question with a question.”

He blinked once. “So sorry, ma petite, but I can feel the street.”

“Feel the street? What does that mean?”

He settled back against the upholstery, leaning his head and neck into the seat. His hand clasped over his stomach. “There is a great deal of life here.”

“Life?” He had me doing it now.

“Yes,” he said, “I can feel them ru

“You don’t come to a prostitute for love. You come for sex.”

He rolled his head so his dark eyes stared at me. “Many people confuse the two.”

I stared at the road. The hairs at the back of my neck were standing at attention. “You haven’t fed yet tonight, have you?”

“You are the vampire expert. Can you not tell?” His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. Hoarse and thick.