Already Dead

Couple years back I had some kid Van Helsing come at me with a cross and holy water. A Rogue in jersey had wasted his sister and the kid had seen it all from the bedroom closet. Now he was on a campaign to slay the undead. I don't know how he got onto me, I think he was just hanging around the East Village because there are so many vampire-looking freaks down here. Somehow he locked in on me. In any case he stalked me for a few days and decided I was an evil hell spawn. One night outside Doc Holiday's, he comes charging across the street with this crucifix and a spray bottle full of holy water. I let him chase me down the block a little to get away from the crowds on A, then I took the cross from him and asked him to stop spraying me with water. He freaked, called me Satan's pawn and stuff like that. I acted dumb, drank the holy water and kissed the cross and settled him down. He was pretty embarrassed, ended up crying on my shoulder. I gave him a pat on the butt, told him to see a doctor or something and sent him on his way. Then I followed him to his flop, broke into his room after he was asleep, bled him dry in the bathtub and made it look like a suicide. Guys like that kid are dangerous and you can't let them run around causing trouble.

But I don't blame him, I blame the movies. That's obviously where he got his ideas and dialogue. Maybe if he had never seen Horror of Dracula he would have just mourned his sister and never went looking for trouble. But Evie likes them, the horror movies. I mean for real. So that's OK, we watch them together and every now and then I sneak in some Howard Hawks or Billy Wilder on her.

Around three the phone finally rings and I talk to the woman Predo told me about.

They say the King Cole room at the St. Regis is one of the most beautiful bars in New York. They're right. All that oak and those high-price hotel hookers and that Maxfield Parrish mural behind the bar, it almost makes it worth having to come uptown for the second time in two days. At least this time it's at night so I can leave the burnoose behind. The hostess at the door asks me if I'd like a table and I tell her I'm meeting someone. She smiles and indicates that I should take a look around. I step into the room and spot her right away. She's sitting in a corner of the room at one of the small cocktail tables. She's the only person sitting alone. She rises as I walk over.

– Mr. Pitt?

– Joe, you can call me Joe.

– Joseph. How lovely to meet you.

– Yeah.

She blushes just slightly.

– Oh, yes, you still don't know my name.

– Nope.

She starts to sit and releases a very genuine and slightly embarrassed laugh.

– Sorry, I'm Marilee Ann Horde.

My jaw clenches. Marilee Ann Horde. Thank you very fucking much Dexter fucking Predo. She watches me standing there.

– Perhaps you'd like to sit and have a drink.

I sit.

– You must tell me, Joseph.

– Yeah?

– Whatever happened to your face?

The conversation on the phone was brief. She told me she was uncomfortable speaking in detail over the open line and asked if we could meet. I said sure, but it would have to be that evening. She suggested six and I countered with nine-thirty. She said the Cole and I said sure.

On the way up to 55th I made a plan for myself. Get the woman's story and lay off whatever errand she needs run until next week. Get the hell back downtown, go to the school and pick up where I left off last night before I got waylaid. See if I can pick up that musky sex scent the girl zombie had and find it anywhere else in the building or the streets nearby. That's not a dime-a-dozen scent. And all the while keep my eyes peeled for whoever the Coalition has creeping around. And if all else fails pick up Philip again. Nice plan, should have got me somewhere. Then I found out I was meeting with Marilee Ann Horde.

She's drinking ridiculously expensive designer vodka on the rocks. I accept a glass of the same. -You come highly recommended, Joseph.

– I get the job done. But I'm surprised Mr. Predo would recommend me to you.

She smiles just a bit.

– And yet.

– Uh-huh. Look, Ms. Horde.

– Marilee.

– This isn't really my kind of job.

– What kind of job is that?

– The kind that takes place in your neck of the woods.

– And what is my neck of the woods, Joseph?

I look at her sitting there. Coy and quiet, a stylish thirty-three-year-old beauty. She's wearing a tailored summer suit in a subtle rose shade and a crisp linen blouse, her only jewelry the engagement ring and wedding band on her left hand. The stone in the engagement ring not the usual Upper East Side two-carat-plus rock, but a tastefully sized blue-while in a deco platinum setting. Her hair appears to be naturally golden, and she has its length twirled up and pinned neatly to the back of her head, just three perfect strands dangling to frame her face and accent her ivory neck. Her ivory neck. I take a large swallow from my drink and lean back in my chair.

– Have you taken a look in the mirror lately, Ms. Horde?

– I said you should call me Marilee.

– Yes you did. Have you taken a look in the mirror lately, Ms. Horde?

– Yes.

– What would you say is your neck of the woods?

I look down at myself, the old suit, rumpled shirt and scuffed shoes that I dug up for the occasion.

– And what would you say was mine? And would you say, based on this, that I am the man for your kind of job?

She puts her drink down on the table.

– Actually, I would say this is exactly why you are the man for my job, Joseph. You see, my daughter has run away again, and I believe she is to be found in your neck of the woods.

She leans in, close to me.

– As you put it.

The cocktail waitress comes by and Marilee orders us another round.

This is taking too long. I figured blackmail. I figured drugs. I figured this woman would have some nasty little problem that needed to be swept up. I never figured missing children. I never figured Marilee Ann Horde.

The Hordes are one of New York's original families, one of the few dozen that make up Manhattan's true society. Their money came from the usual sources, oil, timber, and rail, but these days they're better known for their biotechnology holdings and HCN, the Horde Cable Network. Marilee Ann Dempsey's family was more than a few steps down the food chain, quite a bit more I gather. But she apparently made up for it with style enough to draw the attention of Dr. Dale Edward Horde, the only son and heir to the house of Horde, as well as founder and CEO/ Chairman of Horde Bio Tech Inc. They've been married for fourteen or fifteen years and are one of those Manhattan couples who get plenty of publicity, but all skillfully crafted and honed. No Page Six blurbs for the Hordes. What it all means for me is that I can't shine this on. I have to find the damn kid, which means I have to sit here and listen to the whole story instead of being out looking for the carrier. So our second round shows up and I try not to be too fidgety while I listen to her.

She's leaning back now, holding her drink in her lap with her right hand, occasionally stirring the ice with her index finger.

– Amanda has done this before. As a small child, she's only fourteen now, but as a very small child she frequently hid in closets or in the garden until someone found her. A way of getting attention. Not that she lacked, but she enjoyed scaring us. She would do it in public places as well, museums, stores; just disappear. At first we would panic and search high and low. When we realized it was a game to her, we resolved to wait her out, wait