The Laughing Corpse - Laurell K. Hamilton [69]
I closed the drapes and left a wake-up call for noon. Irving would just have to wait for his file. I had unintentionally given him the interview with the new Master of the City. Surely that cut me a little slack. If not, to hell with it. I was going to bed.
The last thing I did before going to bed was call Peter Burke’s house. I figured that John would be staying there. It rang five times before the machine kicked on. “This is Anita Blake, I may have some information for John Burke on a matter we discussed Thursday.” The message was a little vague, but I didn’t want to leave a message saying, “Call me about your brother’s murder.” It would have seemed melodramatic and cruel.
I left the hotel’s number as well as my own. Just in case. They probably had the ringers turned off. I would. The story had been front page because Peter was, had been, an animator. Animators don’t get murdered much in the run-of-the-mill muggings. It’s usually something more unusual.
I would drop off Gaynor’s file on the way home. I wanted to drop it off at the receptionist desk. I didn’t feel like talking to Irving about his big interview. I didn’t want to hear that Jean-Claude was charming or had great plans for the city. He’d be very careful what he told a reporter. It would look good in print. But I knew the truth. Vampires are as much a monster as any zombie, maybe worse. Vamps usually volunteer for the process, zombies don’t.
Just like Irving volunteered to go off with Jean-Claude. Of course, if Irving hadn’t been with me the Master would have left him alone. Probably. So it was my fault, even if it had been his choice. I was achingly tired, but I knew I’d never be able to sleep until I heard Irving’s voice. I could pretend I’d called to tell him I was dropping the file off late.
I wasn’t sure if Irving would be on his way to work or not. I tried home first. He answered on the first ring.
“Hello.”
Something tight in my stomach relaxed. “Hi, Irving, it’s me.”
“Ms. Blake, to what do I owe this early morning pleasure?” His voice sounded so ordinary.
“I had a bit of excitement at my apartment last night. I was hoping I could drop the file off later in the day.”
“What sort of excitement?” His voice had that “tell me” lilt to it.
“The kind that’s police business and not yours,” I said.
“I thought you’d say that,” he said. “You just getting to bed?”
“Yeah.”
“I guess I can let a hardworking animator sleep in a little. My sister reporter may even understand.”
“Thanks, Irving.”
“You alright, Anita?”
No, I wanted to say, but I didn’t. I ignored the question. “Did Jean-Claude behave himself?”
“He was great!” Irving’s enthusiasm was genuine, all bubbly excitement. “He’s a great interview.” He was quiet for a moment. “Hey, you called to check up on me. To make sure I was okay.”
“Did not,” I said.
“Thanks, Anita, that means a lot. But really, he was very civilized.”
“Great. I’ll let you go then. Have a good day.”
“Oh, I will, my editor is doing cartwheels about the exclusive interview with the Master of the City.”
I had to laugh at the way he rolled the title off his tongue. “Good night, Irving.”
“Get some sleep, Blake. I’ll be calling you in a day or two about those zombie articles.”
“Talk to you then,” I said. We hung up.
Irving was fine. I should worry more about myself and less about everyone else.
I turned off the lights and cuddled under the sheets. My penguin was cradled in my arms. The Browning Hi-Power was under my pillow. It wasn’t as easy to get to as the bed holster at home, but it was better than nothing.
I wasn’t sure which was more comforting, the penguin or the gun. I guess both were equally comforting, for very different reasons.
I said my prayers like a good little girl. I asked very sincerely that I not dream.
19
THE CLEANING CREW