“Oh, probably because of the toxic waste dumped out there. I try to bury it deep, but sometimes the containers leak.” He shrugged. “And then what are you going to do?”
I sensed there was more to the story, but wasn’t sure I wanted to know the answer. Mel lowered his voice, kneeling down so that he could keep scratching the three giant rats that jostled around him for attention like eager puppies. “Every private citizen who comes here pays a dumping fee. I get all sorts of people and all sorts of trash. You never know what you’ll find. Manna from heaven, or just garbage from the city.”
The big zombie picked up a broken pipe from the ground, cocked back his arm, and flung it twirling out into the mounds of garbage. “Fetch!”
The three huge rats bounded after the pipe, scampering up the piled trash bags.
He took a seat in one of the wobbly lawn chairs in front of his trailer. “This is a place where people dispose of things, whatever they want to hide. Including bodies. And if somebody slips me an extra ‘discretionary fee,’ then I’ll make sure no one ever finds whatever they want to get rid of.”
I took a seat in the other bent folding chair. “I’m trying to track down something that was delivered here a little while before I was killed. Do you know Harvey Jekyll? Big corporate exec who runs Jekyll Lifestyle Products and Necroceuticals.”
“Oh, yeah!” Mel beamed, showing crooked brown teeth. “A big shot from the factory in the city. He’s been here. An uptight fellow, doesn’t seem to like being around zombies. Now that I think of it . . .” Mel scratched his head a little too vigorously and a clump of dark hair came off on his fingernail. “I can’t picture him being comfortable around anyone.”
“So you’ve seen him come out here?”
“Sure, bud. It’s just business . . . but none of my business, if you know what I mean.”
I perked up, leaned closer, not sure the rickety lawn chair would support me. “What does he drop off? Can you show me where it is?”
Mel looked very sad. “You know I love you, bud, but he pays me to hide ’em, not share ’em.”
I reached in my pocket, felt around for my wallet. “Maybe I could pay you more.”
“I doubt it, but that wouldn’t be fair or honest anyway. It upsets karma. If I break a trust like that, then who else can trust me?”
I decided to use the guilt card, embalming-fluid brothers and all. “Come on, Mel—who found you sleeping in an alley and brought you back to your family? Who put you in touch with Mrs. Saldana?”
His shoulders slumped. “You did, bud. And I guess I owe you.”
“I can’t even say for sure if this is important,” I said. “But I’ve got to know. I’ll leave your name out of it.”
Mel gazed off into the garbage ridges around the trailer. “Okay, every once in a while Mr. Jekyll delivers a drum or two of toxic chemicals, experimental mixtures from his factory. Needs to get rid of the junk, but doesn’t want to fill out all the paperwork. It all smells like perfume to me.” He sniffed under his arms. “I put on JLPN deodorant every day. He gave me a lifetime supply. Want some?”
“Never use the stuff.” Now I understood why Jekyll would come all the way out here, by himself, late at night. “Thanks for the conversation, Mel. You’ve helped me fill in a few blanks.”
“Anytime, bud. Care to come inside for a non-drink?”
“Not this time. Other things to do.” I wanted to go back to Sheldon Fennerman’s apartment, talk to the landlord about the missing vampires, keep an eye on his place. “I’ve got a stakeout to set up before sunset.”
“Suit yourself. You know where to find me.” He shook my hand, then settled back into the folding chair.
I climbed into the rusty Pro Bono Mobile and started the engine (after two tries). The tires crunched as I executed a perfect three-point Y-turn—the DMV test instructor would have been impressed—and drove away from the dump.
Chapter 17
Here in the Unnatural Quarter, the best time for a stakeout (and suspicious human activity) is the lazy middle of an afternoon, in the hours before sunset—when the night dwellers haven’t yet begun to stir and when daytimers are still at their jobs. If Straight Edge was going to do something stupid at Sheldon Fennerman’s place, this was the likeliest time of day for it.
I arrived at the brownstone, knowing the skittish vampire should have been sound asleep inside. I made sure his front door was locked, checked the bars in place over the windows. As I guessed, the place was plugged up tighter than a constipated yak. Safe enough.
I walked around the block with a slow shuffling gait. In this neighborhood, an aimless zombie was by no means unusual, and I wasn’t going to attract any attention. I passed through the garbage-strewn side alley, saw the clumsy spray-painted letters—Eat Wood and Feel My Shaft. I still wasn’t convinced they were meant as threats against vampires.
I exited the alley, turned left on a connecting street, and went back up the block until I came back around to Sheldon’s front door again. Still quiet, nothing happening. Time to talk to the landlord.
I knocked on the door of the adjacent brownstone. A lumpy, troll-like man answered the door, or maybe he was actually a troll; he lived in a shadowy apartment, the closest thing to an underground lair that a one-bedroom flat could be. When I flashed my PI credentials and asked about his previous vampire tenants, he shrugged his knobby shoulders. “Gone. No notice, no forwarding address.”
“Did they actually move away, or did they just disappear?”
“Don’t know.” His yellow eyes shone like flashlights with weak batteries. “The tenants left a few things, not worth much. Nothing I could sell, nothing I could eat.”
“Fly-by-nights? Did they owe you any back rent?”
“No. Vampires are good tenants, always pay on time. They left me their security deposits. Just moved out, I think.”
In the back room of the flat, behind a closed door, I could hear a whimper, muffled screams, the sounds of a struggle. The troll shot an annoyed look over his shoulder. “Gotta go now. I’m fixing dinner.” He tried to close the door in my face, but I got my shoe in the crack first.
I pushed with enough force to knock the troll backward and barged into the apartment. He yelped, “Hey, you can’t come in here unless you’ve got a warrant!”
I swiveled my head down. “Do I look like I’m official law enforcement?” Seeing my expression, the troll scuttled away from me. He looked like a reject from a gargoyle-figurine factory.