Read Online The Stein & Candle Detective Agency, Vol. 1: American Nightmares (The Stein & Candle Detective Agency #1) by Michael Panush - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Michael Panush
Tags: Fantasy, Mystery, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, Hard-Boiled, supernatural, Paranormal & Urban
Ads: Link
on it. It wanted us to follow.
Weatherby looked down the beach as the zombie started lurching along the sand. “Should we follow it?” he wondered.
I shrugged. “Why not? The living don’t seem to lead us anywhere good. Maybe the dead man will be a change of pace.”
I holstered my automatic and we followed the zombie down the beach.
After a few minutes of keeping pace with the zombie’s shambling excuse for a run, we arrived at a small wooden hut built on the upper beach and overlooking the sea. A metal cylinder of a smokestack poked into the sky and more zombies stood around the hut, their lips sewn shut to prevent their moaning. A few charms swung down on fishing line from the roof, ranging from the heads of chickens and shark teeth to small pouches of gris-gris. Our zombie guide stopped walking and sank down to his haunches. I think he was grateful to be at the journey’s end. I wasn’t.
I drew out my automatics and motioned for Weatherby to stay back. “Hello?” I asked. “Anyone home?”
The door opened and a little boy stepped out. He wore a white suit and a thin bowtie, stained with sea water and rumpled, as well as white trousers and dress shoes. He had a black eye, but otherwise didn’t look too banged around. As he pushed his spectacles up his nose, I recognized the kid. This was Henry Wallace Baum.
“Easy, son,” I said, lowering my cannons. “I’m Morton Candle and this is my pal Weatherby Stein. Your old man sent us to get you back. Is there anyone else in there with you?”
He nodded. “Papa sent you? I mean, my father, he sent you? Is he all right?” He called back into the hut. “It’s okay, Mrs. Le Croix! My father sent them. They’re friends.”
A fat round Negro woman stepped outside and stood behind the boy. She was built like a walrus with a weight problem, and wrapped round in a white strapless dress. A white turban covered her hair, and a necklace and bracelets laden with charms clanked with her every movement. She carried a large walking stick topped with a snake’s head and used that to approach us. He stepped in front of Henry Wallace, almost like she was shielding him.
“Are they, child?” she asked. “Or maybe they have come to get another piece of the action?”
Weatherby stepped forward, and bowed his head. “My good woman, rest assured that we have no ill intentions concerning Henry Wallace. We merely seek to return him to the loving arms of his father.” He stood on his tiptoes, trying to look past the Black woman at Henry Wallace. “Your father is quite well, though sick with worry about you. But we’ll take you home, and he will be overjoyed.”
I still looked at Henry Wallace’s captor. I recognized her, from the seedy back alleys and dingy curio shops of New Orleans. “Mama Le Croix,” I said. “You’re a long way from home. What are you doing here? And how the hell are you mixed up in this?” Mama Le Croix was a Voodoo mambo, a priestess who dabbled in black and white arts equally. She practically ruled the Gothic Quarter of New Orleans, and after the war, when I was drinking myself into a stupor in the countless saloons of the Big Easy, I had made her acquaintance.
“We should tell them, Mrs. Le Croix,” Henry Wallace suggested. He stepped away from her and walked over to Weatherby. “That’s a really cool suit, Mr. Stein. Are you some kind of world traveling adventurer? I’d imagine only one of those would wear something like that.”
Weatherby’s face reddened. “Well, I do travel the world, and I suppose I do have adventures. But it pleases me to no end that you have excellent taste in clothes. My father kept these clothes, inherited from his father, and going all the way back to the Stein line. In our great castle, deep in the Black Forest of Germany—”
“You grew up in a castle? Holy cow!” Henry Wallace was clearly impressed.
“Indeed, it was a fine place for a growing boy. I’ll tell you about it presently.” It was
Weatherby looked down the beach as the zombie started lurching along the sand. “Should we follow it?” he wondered.
I shrugged. “Why not? The living don’t seem to lead us anywhere good. Maybe the dead man will be a change of pace.”
I holstered my automatic and we followed the zombie down the beach.
After a few minutes of keeping pace with the zombie’s shambling excuse for a run, we arrived at a small wooden hut built on the upper beach and overlooking the sea. A metal cylinder of a smokestack poked into the sky and more zombies stood around the hut, their lips sewn shut to prevent their moaning. A few charms swung down on fishing line from the roof, ranging from the heads of chickens and shark teeth to small pouches of gris-gris. Our zombie guide stopped walking and sank down to his haunches. I think he was grateful to be at the journey’s end. I wasn’t.
I drew out my automatics and motioned for Weatherby to stay back. “Hello?” I asked. “Anyone home?”
The door opened and a little boy stepped out. He wore a white suit and a thin bowtie, stained with sea water and rumpled, as well as white trousers and dress shoes. He had a black eye, but otherwise didn’t look too banged around. As he pushed his spectacles up his nose, I recognized the kid. This was Henry Wallace Baum.
“Easy, son,” I said, lowering my cannons. “I’m Morton Candle and this is my pal Weatherby Stein. Your old man sent us to get you back. Is there anyone else in there with you?”
He nodded. “Papa sent you? I mean, my father, he sent you? Is he all right?” He called back into the hut. “It’s okay, Mrs. Le Croix! My father sent them. They’re friends.”
A fat round Negro woman stepped outside and stood behind the boy. She was built like a walrus with a weight problem, and wrapped round in a white strapless dress. A white turban covered her hair, and a necklace and bracelets laden with charms clanked with her every movement. She carried a large walking stick topped with a snake’s head and used that to approach us. He stepped in front of Henry Wallace, almost like she was shielding him.
“Are they, child?” she asked. “Or maybe they have come to get another piece of the action?”
Weatherby stepped forward, and bowed his head. “My good woman, rest assured that we have no ill intentions concerning Henry Wallace. We merely seek to return him to the loving arms of his father.” He stood on his tiptoes, trying to look past the Black woman at Henry Wallace. “Your father is quite well, though sick with worry about you. But we’ll take you home, and he will be overjoyed.”
I still looked at Henry Wallace’s captor. I recognized her, from the seedy back alleys and dingy curio shops of New Orleans. “Mama Le Croix,” I said. “You’re a long way from home. What are you doing here? And how the hell are you mixed up in this?” Mama Le Croix was a Voodoo mambo, a priestess who dabbled in black and white arts equally. She practically ruled the Gothic Quarter of New Orleans, and after the war, when I was drinking myself into a stupor in the countless saloons of the Big Easy, I had made her acquaintance.
“We should tell them, Mrs. Le Croix,” Henry Wallace suggested. He stepped away from her and walked over to Weatherby. “That’s a really cool suit, Mr. Stein. Are you some kind of world traveling adventurer? I’d imagine only one of those would wear something like that.”
Weatherby’s face reddened. “Well, I do travel the world, and I suppose I do have adventures. But it pleases me to no end that you have excellent taste in clothes. My father kept these clothes, inherited from his father, and going all the way back to the Stein line. In our great castle, deep in the Black Forest of Germany—”
“You grew up in a castle? Holy cow!” Henry Wallace was clearly impressed.
“Indeed, it was a fine place for a growing boy. I’ll tell you about it presently.” It was
Similar Books
