Chapter 20

Sherlock's was a small club on the second floor of the building where Chasing History's Monsters was housed. The clientele were dedicated mystery enthusiasts. Book covers and movie posters decorated the walls.

Lights at the booths ranged from mock Victorian lamps that conjured images of the great detective and his faithful Watson to green shaded desk lamps that would have looked at home on Philip Marlowe's desk to stained glass ones bearing beer slogans that would have made Mike Hammer proud.

Annja got there before the afternoon rush and managed to get the Thin Man table. Beneath the poster of William Powell and Myrna Loy, she opened her notebook computer. Taking the mini-satellite receiver from her backpack, she logged on and checked the Web sites where she'd left messages.

The first reply was from NorseGoddess@hallsofvalhalla.net.

Hey, Hammer Hunter, Good luck with your project! Sounds interesting. I've been a fan of Norse mythology since third grade. Seems like everybody likes it. Comic books. Movies. Star Gate. Jim Carrey's movie, The Mask, even said the mask he wore was made for Loki, Thor's evil half brother. There was even a Lost in Space episode where Billy Mumy found Thor's hammer and gloves. I'll look around and see what I can find.

 

MiredInMidgard@asgardbound.com wrote, "Cool quest! Can I play?"

 

Annja straightened for a moment to work the kinks out of her back. She was a little stiff and sore from the physical confrontations yesterday.

Sherlock's began to fill up around her as office workers stopped in to get a drink before heading to the subways to go home. Spirited conversations over books and movies began, and Annja found them slightly distracting. Book people were passionate about what they read, and she loved the conversations.

It sounded a lot like when archaeologists got together to compare, argue and recommend. She took a look around for Doug, glanced at her watch and realized that not much time had passed, and resolved to return her attention to the message boards.

Before she did, though, she noticed that a nerdy guy in glasses sitting across the bar was watching her. Fortyish and lean, he had a notebook computer open in front of him. He wore an ill-fitting suit and had a beanie pulled down to his ears.

When she looked directly at him, he glanced away, obviously embarrassed.

You're paranoid, Annja told herself. He's not a threat.

Loremaster@norsearchives.org sent:

 

Fascinating subject. Latvia, as you probably know, has a tumultuous history. Everybody that was anybody has walked all over that country. The Vikings. The Germans. The Russians. The people living there must have felt like they'd lived in the path of a steamroller for hundreds of years.

I've been doing some research into that subject. I was on summer break last year and went to Riga with my archaeology prof. He was there doing research on the indigenous tribes that lived in Latvia prior to the twelfth century. While we were there, we visited a bar in one of the small, virtually nameless villages outside Riga proper. That evening we happened on an old man who knew we were with a university.

I suppose he thought we might be generous enough to buy him a few beers. We were. And he told us this fascinating story that he said just wouldn't die. Apparently Thor washed up on the shores of one of the Curonian villages – if you can imagine that – and decided to stay. While Thor was there, he fought off Vikings and amassed a great fortune that he supposedly hid. That's all I know. I can't tell you any more. Except there seem to be a few people interested in the subject. It's weird how these things keep getting out but you can't find anything to back them up.

We stayed a few weeks, visited some of the churches and read the archives left by monks and historians, and did a little work at one of the Crusader castles to gather information for the prof's book. But it was really more like one long beer run. The book met the prof's publish-or-perish requirement and he got tenure. But I really don't think anyone ever read it.

Good hunting!

 

And from valkyriedream@meetyourmate.biz:

 

If you're looking for tall Nordic women, we have them! They're waiting just to meet you! Hot and ready! Just sign up at www.meetyourmate.biz today!

 

You gotta love spam, Annja thought. She took a moment to write a reply to loremaster.

 

Thanks for the info! This sounds promising. If you don't mind, could I ask you to dig a little deeper? Do you have any maps of the area where you were? Narrow down the village where you heard that story?

 

"I'd be interested in a tall Nordic woman."

Looking up, Annja saw Doug Morrell gazing over her shoulder. "Didn't your mother ever tell you it was impolite to read over someone's shoulder?" Annja asked.

"She was just happy I learned to read." Doug was twenty-two, younger than Annja, but bright and brash. Except for the whole vampire fetish he insisted on clinging to.

Doug sat across the booth from her and flagged down a female server with a smile. As busy as Sherlock's was, anyone else would have had to use a police whistle. Annja had seen Doug use that smile at night in a forlorn part of Manhattan and seemingly pull a cab out of thin air.

"What are you having?" Doug asked.

"Hot chocolate." Annja closed the notebook computer.

Doug gave her a raspberry.

"It's cold outside," Annja protested. "Alcohol thins your blood. You get colder faster."

"You should consider thinning it to the point you go numb," he replied. Then he ordered another hot chocolate for her and one for himself.

Annja raised an eyebrow. "Not drinking?" Doug wasn't a big drinker, but he didn't have to be. One or two drinks usually made him pliable. And she wanted him pliable.

The producer shrugged. "Coming in here makes me want to act like one of those tough-guy detectives. You know, give me a shot in a dirty glass."

"I think that's generally what evil gunslingers say in bad Western movies."

"Whatever. I'm not into detectives or cowboys. I'm all about monsters, serial killers and deviants."

A table of elderly women who'd been comparing the merits of Agatha Christie to some of the crop of cozy writers pinned Doug with their sharp gazes.

But Doug smiled at them and they stopped just short of reaching over to pinch his cheeks. They shifted their looks of disapproval to Annja.

Great. I attract the fallout. Annja ignored them and took her hot chocolate as the server returned. There were, of course, people who had placed orders ahead of Doug, but after Doug smiled at the server, they'd been forgotten.

Annja shook her head.

"What?" Doug asked.

"You."

"What about me?"

"You don't even realize how lucky you are?"

"What? Just because I can get hot chocolate really quick?"

"Everything comes easy to you."

Doug spooned up his whipped cream and sucked down a dollop. He looked pleased. "You don't come easy to me."

Annja looked at him.

"I meant that in a totally non-sexually-threatening way," he said quickly.

Be nice, Annja thought. And normally she was. She often saw Doug for dinner, drinks or a movie. The attraction wasn't there, as it was with Bart, so things were simpler.

Except for the work part.

Doug just couldn't help being Doug.

"Because I don't want you to kick my butt," Doug added.

"I'm not going to."

"Good." Doug looked relieved. "Because that would be sooooo embarrassing."

"Business," Annja said.

"Sure."

"Before you say no, I want you to hear me out."

"Okay."

"I want to go to Venice – "

"No."

Annja looked at him. "That was hearing me out?"

"Yep. Everything after the 'I want to go to Venice' part doesn't matter."

"It might matter."

"No, it won't. We don't have the money in the travel budget to get you to Venice."

Annja took a deep breath and decided to play hardball. "Doug – "

He rolled his eyes.

"Don't roll your eyes like that," she admonished.

"I don't know any other way."

"You owe me for that stupid phantom shark in the Calusa Indian piece."

"No. That wasn't the Calusa Indian piece. That was the phantom-shark piece. And now, thanks to my connections, we not only got a price break, but we got a good-looking fake shark, too."

Annja leaned back in the booth and crossed her arms. She noticed that the geeky-looking guy across the room was watching her again. When he saw that she was aware of him, he looked away.

"Don't go all passive-aggressive on me," Doug said. "You know I hate that."

"The annual schmooze-fest is coming up," Annja said. Every year Annja and the network's other show hosts were expected to attend a dog and pony show for the advertisers. Annja detested every second of every event.

"I know."

"I've been invited to a dig that same weekend. There could be a conflict."

"Annja," Doug whined, "don't do this."

"The dig is in El Salvador," Annja went on. "It's warm this time of year."

"The corporate event is only one day. The dig can live without you for one day."

"I'd lose two other days flying back and forth. All of a sudden we're up to three days."

Doug sighed. "Do you realize you're probably the only person in the world who doesn't give in to me?"

Annja didn't say anything.

"Why," he protested, "did I have to end up working with you?"

"Everybody has to have an Achilles heel."

"Don't get all sports medicine on me."

Annja started to explain.

Doug held up a hand. "Hold on, professor. I was just kidding. I know what an Achilles heel is. I saw Brad Pitt in Troy."

"I want to go to Venice," Annja said.

A serious expression filled Doug's face. "I'm sorry. There's no budget for this."

"What happened to the budget? I certainly didn't spend it down in Florida. I stayed with the professor at the dig. There wasn't even a hotel bill."

"I know, and I appreciate that." Doug shook his head. "I hate having to explain Kristie's expenses."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Annja said. "All you'd have to do is unfurl one of those posters she's done and flash her – "

The ladies at the Agatha Christie table were staring at her with full disdain.

Annja sighed.

Doug took a notepad out of his jacket pocket and wrote quickly. "I gotta try that poster thing. Could be offensive with the women in the room, but that pretty much sums up what we're selling with her, and why the advertisers pay so much for time during her segments."

That took Annja aback. "There's a difference in the advertising charges?"

Frowning, Doug said, "You weren't supposed to know that."

"I do now."

Doug drummed his fingers on the table. The server thought he wanted attention and came over immediately. He waved her off.

"Okay," he said, "tell me what you have in Venice and let's see if I can sell it. Vampires?"

"No," Annja said.

"Too bad. We can always push vampire material. Serial killer?"

"No."

"Mass murderer?"

"No."

"Mythological monster?"

"No."

Sighing, Doug asked, "What do you have?"

"Ghosts."

Doug shook his head and looked at her in disbelief. "I can't have heard you right. "Did you just say ghosts?"

"Ghosts can be monstrous," Annja said defensively. "Poltergeists are destructive."

"You don't believe in ghosts."

"I don't have to believe in them. Just hunt them. People love a good ghost hunt."

"What if you find a ghost?"

"I won't find a ghost. Ghosts don't exist."

Doug frowned.

"Okay, if I find a ghost I'll interview it or trap it. How does that sound?"

"Annja," Doug said patiently, "everybody does ghosts. We try to offer something a little different. You know, more sophisticated."

"More sophisticated?" Annja shot Doug a look of pure disgust. "My Calusa Indian piece now has a phantom shark in it."

"It's a very sophisticated phantom shark."

"Do you want to tell me how a phantom shark is different than a ghost?"

"Sure. It's a phantom, not a ghost. Phantom sounds much creepier than ghost. And it's a shark. People have a serious fear of sharks. That's why they do shark week on the Discovery Channel. Either a phantom or a shark would be enough to guarantee an audience. We've got both."

"I want to do this story, Doug. It would be easier to do it with the show's backing." Annja knew she could probably put the finances together to make the trip, but there was something magic about telling people that their story was going to be on television that opened a lot of doors. She could lie about it, of course, but once she started doing that and letting people down, word would get around.

"I wish I could help you." Doug looked uncomfortable.

Annja let Doug stew a little. At least she tried to. Doug, so far, appeared to be impervious to guilt. But there had to be a breaking point.

She gazed around the bar, hoping for inspiration. She saw the geeky guy was watching again. Probably listening in on our conversation, she thought.

Four men filed through the bar's front door. They wore long coats and Annja didn't recognize them. By the time that she did, it was too late.

Dieter Humbrecht dropped into the booth beside her and jammed a pistol into her ribs. "Hello again, Miss Creed."

Another man sat next to Doug.

"Wait a minute," Doug protested. "Nobody asked you to – " His face went white. His hands came up as if he were a victim in a bank holdup.

"Put your hands down," Dieter ordered. "You look like a moose."

Doug put his hands down. He looked worriedly at Annja and whispered, "He's got a gun in my ribs."

The man shoved hard, causing Doug to wince and jerk in pain. "Okay, okay," Doug said. "No talking. I get that."

With a quick movement, the man beside Doug lifted a quick elbow into Doug's nose and bashed his head back against the high booth seat. He yelped in surprise and pain.

"Okay," Dieter said. "Now we're going to get out of here. Miss Creed, you and I will go together. My friend will bring your friend. If you decide to be difficult, I'm going to have my friend shoot your friend in the head. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Annja said.

"Good." Dieter showed her a cold smile. "Now, let's go, shall we?"