Lon Chaney had learned to “speak” so eloquently in silent films by growing up with deaf-mute parents, and then died speechless of throat cancer.
Creighton Chaney had rejected the father who’d deprived a young boy of his mother, but fate had turned him to walk in the same career shoes.
Speaking of shoes, I left the Gehenna with a couple months’ salary, a satisfyingly “happy” ending for two icons of film history, and a kicky new pair of leopard-pattern flats with full-blown roses on the toes in honor of poor, deluded, but talented Cleva Creighton.
“Need a lift back to the Inferno party?” a voice asked as its owner fell into step with me as I strode through the din-filled Gehenna lobby.
“I’ve had enough unwanted transportation today, thanks,” I told Sansouci. “I think I’ll walk.”
The daylight vampire might claim to feel no regrets for his centuries of survival on other people, but I guessed he had more in common with tormented Larry Talbot than a mobster like Cesar Cicereau would ever perceive … or believe.
Alone, I pushed open an entry door and walked out of the intense hotel-casino air-conditioning to mingle with the throng of tourists heading like lemmings for the Strip under the hot-syrup warmth of the Nevada sun pouring down.
Something was snuffling at my new shoes.
I stopped, looked down, and spotted a big black wet nose.
Quicksilver, my ever-shadowing wolfhound-wolf guard dog, was grinning up at me with fangs and panting tongue on equal parade display.
“All’s well that ends swell, boy. We can head home to the Enchanted Cottage and the DVD player now. How’d you like to settle in with an Awesome Gnawsome chew stick, some jalape?o popcorn, and a couple of really prime vintage monster movies? The Wolf Man is a must, but, after that, do you go for heroic bell ringers or demonic organ players?”
His sharp, short bark indicated he was ready to eat up anything.
WANTED: DEAD OR ALIVE
L. A. Banks
Tanya took a deep breath, collecting her thoughts as best she could before speaking into the small, handheld digital recorder.
“Being dead sucks, especially if it happened on the job. Okay, true, I’m not what you technically call dead, but the fact is, I don’t have a heartbeat. I’m this in-between kind of being, sorta the way I’ve lived my whole life: Really smart but couldn’t conform to school. Really sexy, if I do say so myself, but hated that guys couldn’t get past my rack to look me straight in my eyes. Stood up for justice at every turn and broke the so-called law every chance I got. Yeah, all right, I admit it, I’m complicated. And so what? Why would I think dying would be a straightforward two shots in the back of the head in a parking lot or something?”
Tanya clicked off the tiny digital recorder she held in her slender palm and then tossed it on her desk. “This is bullshit.” Tears momentarily filled her eyes and then burned away as she stared out of her office window at the new moon. “What was I thinking? A book? Stop dreaming.”
Leaving a legacy had never been her plan. Until last month, Live fast, die young, and leave a good-looking corpse had been her motto. That had been the original plan.
By twenty-nine, she was one of the best bounty hunters, and sometimes hit woman, in the biz. She’d always thought that one day someone would get to her before she got to them, if she got sloppy. But she’d also felt that, if she did manage to live long enough to get old and sloppy, then having a faster gun put her out of her misery wouldn’t be a totally bad thing.