Unfallen Read Online Free PDF Page B

friend.”
    “No, Brucie. I’m going to finish my drink and call the police.”
    “No police, Izzie. Please.”
    “I could lose my license over this, Brucie. A PI scrip doesn’t cover dead vampires on my hallway floor.” I hauled myself up and stamped across the kitchen. A search of my cupboards revealed one slice of moldy bread and an abandoned packet of ketchup from McWendy King. The fridge held one chunk of green cheese and an empty bottle of mayonnaise, two soda crackers, and a bottle of Schiltzo Light Malt Almost-Beer. I eyed the pile of dirty dishes. No help there.
    I opened the cabinet over the micron. A venomous-green bottle of synthabsinthe glowed next to an empty vodka bottle. The Scotch was all I had left, and I’d already demolished it.
    I took another pull off the bottle and turned back to Bruce.
    “Where did you say that heart was?”
     
    * * *
     
    6:42 PM
    “That’s it,” Bruce said. “You’re really saving my life, Izzie.”
    I jammed my sunglasses back up on my nose and shifted uncomfortably on the car’s pleather seat. The dusty-colored Church of the Holy Redeemer crouched under the haze of afternoon heat, the graveyard to one side throbbing green. I blinked and scratched at my forehead, yawned.
    Bruce had insisted that the body needed to be left somewhere dark, so it was propped in my hall closet between the golf clubs and the ancient vacuum cleaner left over from the last tenant. He was a nice-looking guy, or would have been if he’d had a pulse. He was even dressed well, in a blue-black Fez Harmani suit. The suit jacket, shirt, and his broad chest were a mess of hamburger; and he was starting to smell. Nice dark hair, nice high cheekbones, and a powerful stink.
    Just like a man to ruin everything with one flaw.
    “Why did they steal the heart, Brucie?”
    “They’re holding it for ransom.”
    “Why?”
    “Goddamn union. They want better pay, a health plan, all that shit.”
    “Union?”
    “Werewolves. Best help for a vampire nowadays, since the Fair Labor Act went through.”
    I closed my eyes, leaned my head back into the seat. My sunglasses did nothing to stop the sun from pounding spikes right through my head. I needed another bottle of Scotch. I wasn’t carrying any silver bullets—I didn’t do paranormal cases anymore. “One day I’m gonna kill you, Brucie. Come on.”
    “I can’t.” Bruce tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. “They’ll be sleeping anyway; lupins sleep from midafternoon to past dusk. Just get in, get the heart, and get out. That’s all.”
    I pulled my sunglasses down and examined his pasty, sweating face. The shiner was really starting to puff up and turn a nice deep purple. “Why can’t you come in?”
    He pulled his bright orange polyester collar away from his throat. This close, I could see two scabbed-over pinpricks right over the jugular.
    He’d been bitten, but not drained. My old pal Brucie was a human servant. My skin crackled with gooseflesh. He really couldn’t go into the church. Werewolves might not notice me, but they would definitely notice a human servant bursting into flame in the vestry.
    “Oh, Christ,” I said, and Brucie winced. I doubted it would do anything—I was an atheist. Pretty much every reasonable PI these days is. “One of these days, Bruce. Okay. Stay here.”
    I got out of the car.
     
    * * *
     
    6:50 PM
    The church door was unlocked, and a powerful zoolike stink wafted out. I wrinkled my nose. Last time I tangled with a werewolf, I’d lost a chunk out of my right thigh and had to take a loss on the job.
    It’s generally bad form for a private eye to kill the person she’s sent to find.
    I eased into the dark frowsty cave of the church. There was a susurrus—I pushed my sunglasses up on my head and crossed the vestibule, tried the double doors that would lead into the nave. They were unlocked. I eased one open, nearly choking as the smell blazed out. It was worse than that bar over on Seventh Street,