An Apple for the Creature Page 10

  “When you get to watching him on a regular basis, you’ll notice he doesn’t drive. No DL. Walks or bicycles just about everywhere. We think he didn’t want to get a driver’s license because, one, it makes him give an ID. Two, you get stopped for some traffic stuff, that’s getting noticed. Ninety percent of all citizens’ only contact with law enforcement is through traffic incidents. That, and you get in a wreck, you might even get hurt. Not safe to go to an ER. Last thing it wants is to be rendered unconscious in a crash. Wake up in the ER and wonder just what tests they might have run.”

  They walked on.

  “Got him with four bank accounts, under four different identities, with four separate banks, two accounts a year, for two years. Then we lose the trail. None of the accounts are as large as we think his main account should be. You know how that goes. Launders stuff. I’m not into that, really, but that’s just what they tell me.”

  “Right.”

  “Most everything you hear about vampires isn’t true. They can go out in the light. They just don’t like to, because, apparently, when the natural end gets near, diseases start popping up, okay? And, like, with everything else they have to worry about then, skin cancer erupting like acne is something they’d rather not deal with.”

  “Sure.”

  “They can be killed just like anything else we’d get involved with. No stakes required. Nothing like that. Crucifixes don’t mean diddly. Holy water just gets ’em wet. Garlic has no effect whatsoever, except they can smell you a mile away. They don’t change into bats, and they can’t fly or anything like it. Although the one I shot jumped pretty good.”

  They were back at the car. “Look down there, to the bottom of the chem building . . . see that steel door? Near the corner.”

  She did.

  “That’s where he gets in. That’s where he comes out. About all we know at this point. You might want to check further into that.”

  She nodded. “Sure.”

  He glanced at his watch. “What say we go look at the art supply store, and then I’ll show you the house.”

  —

  The store, in an old, one-story building that looked like a corner grocery that had lost its usefulness, had “Ernesto’s Art Supply” painted in the window.

  “Ernesto?” she asked. “It’s Ernesto? Hell, I drive by this place every day.”

  “Ernesto Miska. That’s it. Ah, him.”

  “Well . . . shit. I’ve been in that store. A theft report, a couple of years back. Shit, I’ve met him.”

  “Know where he lives?” asked George as they drove by the store.

  “No. No reason to. I’m sure we’ve got his address. . . .”

  “Over here,” he said, turning left. “Right here . . . the light gray one.”

  He indicated a normal-looking, two-story, wood frame house, with a wide porch and a gabled roof indicating an attic space. There was a small one-car garage nestled on the side, with one of those old paved driveways that consisted of two narrow, parallel concrete tracks. There were old trees throughout the neighborhood. The house did not stand out at all.

  “There, huh?”

  “Yep.” He drove to the end of the long residential block, and turned around. “We’ll park here. Wait for him to come home. Just to let you get a look at him in case he’s changed his appearance since the burglary case.”

  “Thanks.”

  He reached back onto the floor of the backseat, and produced a nylon binocular case, which he handed to her.

  “Use these.”

  —

  After almost a minute’s silence, while Louise removed the binoculars, removed the lens caps, focused for the distance, and observed for a few moments, she said, “I’m gonna buy in to this. The more I think about it, the more sense this makes. Claire Bennington,” she said softly. “She really was an art major. That’s the key for me.”

  “Good.”

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked, still peering through the binoculars.

  “Gather intelligence,” he said. She could hear the smile in his voice.

  She put the binoculars in her lap. “I know that. How about something more here? A line of inquiry would be nice. Just a suggested one. To get me started.”

  “We’d kind of like you to get to know him. Can you draw?”

  “Not for shit,” she said. She drummed her fingers on the binoculars. “I suppose I could pose, or something. They always need a model.”

  “We were thinking more along the lines of shopping in his store,” said George. Although, thinking about it, he realized Louise would make a fine model. “Getting naked for somebody is always . . . chancy.” He chuckled.

  “Hey, I was ready to give my all,” she said. “Make a note of that.”

  “Consider it done.” He looked directly at her. “Do not, and I mean never, try to get somebody undercover. Not with this . . . whatever he is. You or anybody else. They seem to be pretty cop aware, most of the time. You get somebody to go under for you, you write ’em off. They get that venom crap in ’em, and they’re probably just plain done.”

  “Somebody inside the store, though?”

  “We’ve given up on that. These things are pretty slick. Pick up on it right away, probably. Keep him at arm’s length.”

  “Okay.”

  “You’ll be talking pretty regularly to one of us, probably Ben. If you think you want to do something like a snitch inside, don’t do it without permission from him.”

  “Sure. Okay. Yes, sir. Got it.”

  He shook his head ruefully.

  —

  Two figures came around the corner at the far end of the block. Even at that distance, and with his naked eye, George could discern that one was pushing a bicycle and the other was carrying a load of some sort.

  Louise put the binoculars to her eyes, and said, “It’s him. It’s Ernesto.” She paused, and then said, “And some girl. She’s a treat. Black hair with a purple streak. Tacky blue jeans with fake wear holes. Stupid black tennis shoes. Emo look, if I ever saw it. Art student, I’ll bet.”

  “Let me see,” said George.

  She handed him the binoculars. He looked closely. The “man” looked to be somewhere between thirty and forty, moustache, about six feet tall, with close-cropped dark hair. He, too, was wearing faded blue jeans but without the holes, tennis shoes, and a light blue, sleeveless hooded sweatshirt. “Yeah, it’s our target.” He shifted his gaze. The girl was slender, long-legged, with black and purple hair, just as Louise had described. A good five eight, she had rather dark eyes, and for a moment he thought she was wearing sunglasses. It must have been makeup, he thought. She was carrying quite a bit of stuff over her shoulder and under her left arm. A big, flat, thin, white object, which he thought might be a canvas; a backpack with one strap over her shoulder; and a contraption made of tubular steel. “Walking his bike, the girl’s carrying the load. A tripod?”

  “The chrome legs, right?”

  “Yep,” he said, passing the binoculars back.

  “Easel, I’d think.” Louise peered through the binoculars again. As the couple got closer, she said, “Oh, no way . . . she’s carrying groceries, too. Oh, cute. Two piercings in her lower lip. Snakebites. What a slut.”

  “Don’t judge,” said George, startled at the intensity of her remark.

  “Don’t mind me,” said Louise, as she continued to watch. “I just get tired of bailing those idiots out when they get in trouble.”

  The couple stopped in front of Ernesto’s house. “Oh no, shit,” said Louise, as the pair started up the front steps. “She’s going in with him. Easel, sketch pad and shoulder bag and all. Yep. See him let her go up the steps first? What a freaking gentleman; he’s just checking out her butt. And she knows it, I can tell you that. Shit.”

  “How old you think she is?” asked George.

  “Under twenty. There they go, right on in, honey. Just put your stuff down, and take off your clothes. I’ll be right with you. . . .” She lo
oked at George as the door closed behind Ernesto and his girl. “He’s gonna do her. I can tell just by the way she went up the steps, she’s good to go.”

  “You can?” That, he couldn’t help thinking, would be a very useful talent. “Maybe just, you know, she’s there for supper or something?”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “Tell ya what,” he said. “Let’s stick for a little while, okay? See if she comes out anytime soon.”

  “Hell, let’s just kick the door in and bust his ass,” said Louise ruefully. “Just kidding. Hey, I’m sorry I got so worked up. Won’t happen again.”

  “No problem,” said George, and he meant it.

  They waited. From their vantage point, they had a fair view into the house through what seemed to be a large bay window in a living room, and a well-glazed area they took to be a porch or dining room. They were unable to see much in either room because the ambient light was still much brighter than the interior of the house.

  “Maybe,” said Louise, “we could just call, and ask them to turn on a light?”

  “Give ’em time.”

  About thirty minutes later, a light came on in what they had taken for a dining room, and they saw that it was actually the kitchen.

  “Great kitchen,” said George.

  “Yeah.” Louise had grabbed the binoculars again. “He apparently cooks with his shirt off,” she said.

  “Saves on laundry, I guess.”

  “Oh, for shit’s sake,” she said. “She cooks topless, too! That asshole!”

  “Can I see? Just for verification.”

  She handed over the binoculars. He looked, and handed them back. “Nice.”

  She grabbed the binoculars, and as she brought them to her eyes, she said, “Nice what?”

  “Oh, just nice,” said George. “Like they say, wouldn’t toss her out of bed for eating crackers.”

  “Yeah, right . . .”

  “Check out the tattoos,” he said. “Anything you recognize?”

  “On her?”

  “Yeah, didn’t see any on him.”

  “Just a sec . . . just a floral thing on her right arm, upper. Oh, sure. Sure. Wouldn’t you just fuckin’ know, she’s got a red rose on her left boob. How daringly unique.”

  “Well, speaking personally,” said George, “I haven’t encountered all that many. . . .”

  “Oh, it’s that phony art-student look. They all do stuff like that. Especially the young ones. Nobody understands them. They’re just having such deep emotions. They’re going to be different, just like all the other girls with dyed hair, and snakebites, and rose tatts on their boobs. Different just like everybody else who’s unique and misunderstood, and oh so very creative. Give me a break.”

  “I take it you don’t have any tattoos,” said George.

  Louise put down the binoculars, took a deep breath, and handed them to him. “Just my badge number on my ass,” she said, with a laugh. “Sorry about the rant. You just gotta work in a university town for a few years, you get that way, that’s all. Same crap, always new to them.”

  George thought she’d recovered rather nicely. He put the binoculars to his eyes. “What’re they having for supper?”

  “Men.” She looked around her, deliberately avoiding Ernesto’s house. She reached out and he gave her the binoculars. “Hey . . . there’s a guy over here, in this house, and he’s got binoculars, too! He’s lookin’ right into the kitchen from his second floor. . . .”

  “Let me see,” said George. He looked, and then said, “Well, roses and boobs seem to attract an audience.” He grinned and handed the binoculars back to Louise.

  “Disgusting,” she said, and didn’t look back at the man in the house again.

  —

  The light was fading fast. “What say we head back to Des Moines?”

  Louise nodded. “Sure.”

  They pulled slowly away from Ernesto’s, and as soon as they had turned the corner, George said, “Not quite hungry yet. You?”

  “We just ate,” she said, deep in thought. After a moment, she asked a question.

  “I’m supposed to work this alone, right?”

  “For now. Low-key,” he said. “You need any assistance, you can call the task force member nearest you, and they’ll help out.”

  “What if I need help in a hurry?”

  “Make sure you don’t,” he said. “You’re just gathering information. But you need help really fast, call anybody you can. We can clean up the details later, if necessary. Don’t endanger yourself over this. Okay?”

  She nodded, and neither of them spoke for at least ten miles.

  “I better call my buds,” she said, “and tell them I’ll be late.” She pulled her cell phone from the front pocket of her blue jeans.

  George glanced over while she dialed, and noticed how the blue light from the phone made her look quite young.

  “Hi, it’s me,” she said. “I’m just headed back in to DM, so it’ll be a while. Yeah. No, I’ll probably catch up at Ho Jo’s.” There was a pause, then, “Oh, yeah. See you then.” She terminated the call.

  “How’d you manage to choose me?” she asked.

  “You were recommended.”

  “Who?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “Need-to-know only. I just got tapped for the briefing part.”

  “Oh.”

  “Glad I did,” he said. “Nice to know you. Nice to have you on board.”

  “Thanks,” she said.

  —

  Back in Des Moines, he let her off at the academy parking lot, where she’d left her car.

  “I’ll be in touch,” he said.

  “Yeah, okay.” As she reached her car, she turned and waved.

  Still in the lot, George called Ben. “Done. Where you want to meet?”

  —

  George found Ben and Norma at the Rock Bottom Restaurant and Brewery, just off University Avenue in West Des Moines.

  “How’d it go?” asked Ben.

  “Not bad,” said George. “Couple of surprises, but not bad overall. I think she’ll do.”

  “Tell her anything she didn’t already know?”

  “Twice, I think. I’m pretty damned sure she didn’t know we had captured one, and shipped him alive and well to CDC in Atlanta. Had to tell her that, to substantiate what we knew and how we got it. She asked about them being immortal. I told her about the one they blew away in Missouri. I think that surprised her.”

  “What about her and the target?” asked Norma. “How’d she handle that?”

  “Well,” said George, “about how you’d think. I’m not sure if she had any real idea what was going on with him, with the venom and that stuff. She almost blew her cover, though, I think. Just for a second. But,” he said, with some disappointment in his voice, “she seems like just about any other addict. Either denying the facts, or thinking she’s the one to beat it through willpower. Won’t get her, any way you cut it.” He shrugged. “What with that hypnotic crap, who knows? She probably won’t ever wake up to the real danger until she’s dead.” He reached for some Doritos. “Anyway . . . We did the general stuff, the case history, all that. Then I showed her that art supply store he runs, and she managed to be surprised. Said she’d handled a theft case there, ’bout two years ago.”

  “That’s what her boss told us,” said Ben.

  “Yeah. Sticking to the truth always helps. So, I asked her if she knew where his house was, she said she didn’t, so we went there, too. Drove by, then up to the end of the block, and parked so we could see the approach he’d take. She did just fine there, too.”

  Norma nodded, took a sip of her drink, and said, “Cool one, huh.”

  George nodded. “She’s good. But then he comes walkin’ his bike home, and he’s got this sweet young thing with him. She started to misfire right about then. Covered pretty good. Then him and the gal go on into the house, and she started to sound kind of pissy.”

  “Really?” Norma leaned forward. �
�Like, how?”

  “Well, Ernesto let the gal go up the porch stairs in front of him, Louise says something about how he was just checking out her backside.”

  “That’s it?” asked Ben.

  “Nope. Then she said the gal was pretty much beggin’ for it.” George took a sip of his beer. “Can women really tell that sort of thing?”

  “Why do you ask?” Norma had a sly smile on her face.

  “Be a handy thing to learn,” said George.

  “We can discuss that later. What else did she say?”

  “Well, we watched the place for a while, and she was right back to normal, and then the lovebirds show up naked in the kitchen window. At least topless. I mean,” he said, “as far down as we could see without gettin’ out of the car and standing on the roof.”

  “No shit?” Ben laughed.

  “Yeah. She got real upset about them being naked. The gal had a rose tattooed on her left breast, and that got Louise really testy.”

  Ben nodded. “Sure.”

  “Then, you know the surveillance we got goin’ on Ernesto next door? Damned if she didn’t spot our man upstairs, with binoculars. Better get that to him, and get his ass out of there. Ernesto finds that out, I wouldn’t want to be there.”

  “Crap, we better do that tonight,” said Ben, and took out his cell phone.

  “Already called it in,” said George. “I think I covered it pretty well, but I thought we shouldn’t take chances on this dude.”

  The food arrived, and the conversation changed to the weather for a minute or two.

  Alone again, Norma asked, “She made three cell calls, you want to know to who and when?”

  George nodded.

  “Around three ten,” said Norma, consulting her BlackBerry, “she called Ernesto at his store. Said she was in Iowa City, that she had a task force member with her, and that it looked like things were going well.”