Guilty Pleasures - Laurell K. Hamilton [50]
Brownie point for him. Most people would have lied. “Then I’d rather you didn’t come.”
“How are you going to convince Rebecca you work for the master vampire of this city? The Executioner working for vampires?”
It sounded ridiculous even to me. “I don’t know.”
He smiled. “Then it’s settled. I’ll come along and help calm the waters.”
“I didn’t agree to that.”
“You didn’t say no, either.”
He had a point. I sipped my Coke and looked at his smug face for perhaps a minute. He said nothing, only stared back. His face was neutral, no challenge to it. There was no contest of egos as with Bert. “Let’s go,” I said.
We stood. I left a tip. We went off in search of clues.
20
REBECCA MILES LIVED in South City’s Dogtown. The streets were all named for states: Texas, Mississippi, Indiana. The building was blind, most of the windows boarded up. The grass was tall as an elephant’s eye, but not half so beautiful. A block over were expensive rehabs full of yuppies and politicians. There were no yuppies on Rebecca’s block.
Her apartment was on a long, narrow corridor. There was no air conditioning in the hallway, and the heat was like chest-high fur, thick and warm. One dim light bulb gleamed over the threadbare carpeting. In places the off-green walls were patched with white plaster, but it was clean. The smell of pine-scented Lysol was thick and almost nauseating in the small, dark hallway. You could probably have eaten off the carpeting if you had wanted to, but you would have gotten fuzzies in your mouth. No amount of Lysol would get rid of carpet fuzzies.
As we had discussed in the car, Phillip knocked on the door. The idea was that he would calm any misgivings she might have about The Executioner coming into her humble abode. It took fifteen minutes of knocking and waiting before we heard someone moving around behind the door.
The door opened as far as the chain would allow. I couldn’t see who answered the door. A woman’s voice, thick with sleep, said, “Phillip, what are you doing here?”
“Can I come in for a few minutes?” he asked. I couldn’t see his face, but I would have bet everything I owned that he was flashing her one of his infamous smiles.
“Sure; sorry, you woke me up.” The door closed, and the chain rattled. The door reopened, wide. I still couldn’t see around Phillip. So I guess Rebecca didn’t see me either.
Phillip walked in, and I followed behind him before the door could close. The apartment was ovenlike, a gasping, stranded-fish heat. The darkness should have made it cooler, but instead made it claustrophobic. Sweat trickled down my face.
Rebecca Miles stood holding onto the door. She was thin, with lifeless dark hair falling straight to her shoulders. High cheekbones clung to the skin of her face. She was nearly overwhelmed by the white robe she wore. Delicate was the phrase, fragile. Small, dark eyes blinked at me. It was dim in the apartment, thick drapes cutting out the light. She had only seen me once, shortly after Maurice’s death.
“Did you bring a friend?” she asked. She shut the door, and we were in near darkness.
“Yes,” Phillip said. “This is Anita Blake . . .”
Her voice came out small and choked. “The Executioner?”
“Yes, but . . .”
She opened her small mouth and shrieked. She threw herself at me, hands clawing and slapping. I braced and covered my face with my forearms. She fought like a girl, all open-handed slaps, scratches, and flailing arms. I grabbed her wrist and used her own momentum to pull her past me. She stumbled to her knees with a little help. I had her right arm in a joint lock. It puts pressure on the elbow, it hurts, and a little extra push will snap the arm. Most people don’t fight well after you break their arm at the elbow.
I didn’t want to break the woman’s arm. I didn’t want to hurt her at all. There were two bloody scratches on my arm where she had gotten me. I guess I was lucky she hadn’t had a gun.
She tried to move, and I pressed on the arm. I felt her tremble. Her breath was coming in huge gasps. “You can’t kill him! You can’t! Please, please don’t.” She