Picking Up, Moving On
Took me forever to nail this one. RL sucks.--Maer
From Irina DiSanti’s journal
Saturday, 06 Aug 2011
Devereaux-Shields House B&B
Natchez MS
1330hrs, local time
I found a note under my door. I opened it and read:
Irina,
I hope your migraine is better. I know it isn’t really possible right now, but you should figure out a way to relax or you’ll blow a blood vessel and that’s really dangerous in the current environment.
Anyway, I hate to ask a favor of you, but there’s some daylight business that needs doing and I don’t have anywhere else to turn. On the plus side, it should help remove the need for me bugging you like this in the future.
At Eliza’s rather insistent recommendation, I’ve acquired a couple of temps from the Pitney Agency, if you get my drift. There are a bunch of them at loose ends and as you can imagine those sorts of folks with that low a profile aren’t real safe around here these days. Frankly, being responsible for folks who ain’t me hasn’t been something I’ve been really good at in the past, but I’d rather help where I can than leave someone to an uncertain fate, even someone I don’t know all that well.
I got a deal on a house, 588 Union Street, a bit of a “Fix-er-up-er” but it should do for temporary digs. Furniture and stuff should be delivered today.
What I need you to do is pick the ladies up at the hotel and drive them over to the house. They’re at the Motel 6 off of Broadway, Room 132.
On the ladies, They’re sisters, Anastasia and Alona Morenko. Anastasia is the younger one and likely the one to cause trouble if there is any. She’s got the bigger ego and is convinced that she is one scheme away from ruling the world. Alona’s a bit of a hard luck case and traumatized by it all, but has been in the army. If there’s a fight (that Anastasia didn’t start) you could do worse than put a weapon in her hand.
One last thing, Eliza’s conditioned them a bit. If you need them to do anything or stay anywhere, say “Eliza says . . .” and then the command. It’ll only work once, but it should be effective. If you haven’t used it by the time you get to the house, use it then just to make sure ‘Stasi doesn’t decide to go for an unfortunate walk.
Many thanks, I owe you big,
Renny
***
I’d woken from a deep sleep, confused and blinking at the comforter that lay over my face. The hell—? I clawed it off me and found myself on top of the sheets fully clothed save for my boots and my gun. I took a deep breath and caught the stink of vomit, looked down and saw my shirt had caught a dribble of it.
Ice picks stabbing through my head to the strains of badly-sung karaoke ... asphalt under my hands as I lost my dinner to the parking lot … clawing my phone from my pocket and thrusting it at Renny as he drove me back to the B&B … losing consciousness as he carried me up the stairs …
The light slanting through my windows told me it was past noon. I checked my watch. 1330 hours. I’d slept ten hours straight.
Easy, DiSanti. Baby steps.
I knew the drill. I gave myself a moment before daring to sit up. The world spun and I lay back down. I closed my eyes to let things settle, then checked my watch. 1345. My head behaved itself when I sat up and the floor remained still when I stood up. My bathroom had a window and the light bouncing off the tiles and the fixtures was painful, but no more than any other morning before I washed the sleep off my face. I flipped the medicine cabinet open, pulled the Advil off the shelf, and swallowed two of the pills dry. Water from the tap followed, one slow sip at a time. The world steadied some more and my body resigned itself to staying upright. I stared at myself in the mirror.
Not too bad. Been better.
My migraine of August 1st had been a warning but I’d been too wrapped up in the case to heed it. The long hours digging through the Agency’s files, dealing with Sheriff Mayfield, Renny’s warning about the wraiths, Midnight’s visit, the hunt and my own moments of extreme doubt over it—all had taken their toll. The migraine should not have come as a surprise, but surprise me it did.
Clean up. Get dressed. Get moving.
The shower ran strong and hot. Soap and water got the stink off me. Shampoo followed. Lather, rinse, repeat. I turned off the taps and stepped out feeling human again. I’d just finished toweling off my hair when I spied the note and picked it up. I sat at the desk and frowned and read it again.
Renny, what the hell have you gotten yourself into?
Eli Pitney had been one of Doc Murphrey’s ghouls, bringing over East Europeans for the domestic service market. Apparently Natchez had a dearth of servants and there’d been enough of a demand to make it a profitable business. And the cynic in me knew that if a few undocumented workers disappeared to serve as a vampire’s next meal, no one would think overmuch about it. Or care. I made a note to look for any missing persons reports concerning any recently-hired domestics and sighed. One could hope Pitney had been careful about that sort of thing but one never knew. Nothing in Natchez was as it seemed.
Putting Renny’s note aside, I booted up my laptop and wrote an encounter report of last night’s new acquaintances and a short log of our activities. The way things were going, I’d need a score card to keep everything straight in my head. There was no telling if the migraines would start fucking with my memory and I didn’t want to discover the hard way they already had, not when the stakes were so high. Besides, paperwork was a discipline drilled into me from my time on the force and it wasn’t any less a necessity now that I was a PI. So I took care of business before I left to check on Renny’s ghouls.
At least, I hoped they were his ghouls. I didn’t relish having to explain to them what their fate would be or lying to them about it. Even so, a little bit of stage dressing wouldn’t hurt, along with a little protection. I slid my gun into the waistband holster at my back. A linen jacket over the matching slacks hid everything from view and a sleeveless rayon tank would keep me cool enough to keep the jacket on. I checked myself in the cheval mirror—professional and unencumbered. Just the way I liked it.
It was a measure of how preoccupied I was that I’d gotten all the way to the bottom of the stairs before I realized Renny had borrowed my car and that he still had it. A flash of red glimpsed through the foyer window forestalled a curse, however, and looking closer I could see my rental Honda waiting for me out front in its usual spot, backed in and ready to peel out. Once behind the wheel, I found the keys behind the visor along with the sunglasses I normally left on the dash.
Thanks, Renny. You’ve thought of everything.
The Motel 6 was only five blocks away on the waterfront. A straight shot down Madison should take me there. I slipped my sunglasses on and drove for the river.
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