Read The Dragon Pool: The Dragon Pool for Free Online Page B

gaping mouths long enough to stand up and bolt from the pub.
    That was fine with Hellboy. He wasn't here for them.
    The bartender saw him. Eyes wide, the thick-mustached man bent to reach under the bar--probably for a club or ax handle or something that would hurt if it connected with his skull. Hellboy could see his own reflection in the mirror behind the man and tried to put on as stern a face as possible. His eyes gleamed yellow in the gloom. He figured the cigarette smoke had something to do with that.
    Hellboy didn't bother to raise his massive right hand, which held the vacuum cleaner. Instead, he used his gloved left hand to twitch back his trench coat to reveal the huge pistol holstered there. No way would he draw the gun with all of these people around, but all the bartender needed to do was keep his mouth shut for a few more seconds.
    A burst of ugly laughter came from the back of the pub. A row of booths ran along the wall at a weird angle so that you had to be almost right on top of their occupants before you could see who was sitting there. Privacy effort or bad floor plan, he'd never know. Despite the fact that the pub was packed, the booths were all empty, except for the last one, the farthest from the door, the one deepest in shadow and wreathed in smoke.
    The laughter came again, a deep, snorting, obnoxious amusement that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end and made him flex his left hand like he was getting ready to hit someone. Much as he'd like to, he was actually hoping to avoid beating the crap out of anyone tonight. Things would get broken. The Bureau might have to pay for that. And some innocent bystander was likely to get hurt.
    The vacuum cleaner would be much safer than the gun.
    Hellboy strode toward the booth, trying to be as stealthy as someone his size, and with hooves, could be. The snorting laughter continued, now punctuated by slurring voices.
    "S'got to be the sweetest score yet," said a gravelly voice. "Didja see the look on that one bloke's face?"
    The reply came in a reedy, high, old man's voice. "Silly sod, he was. But, look here, Vaughan, you really think we can get 20 million for them trinkets?"
    The low, rasping voice returned. "Oh, we'll get it, Burch. Count on it, mate."
    The laughter came again. Hellboy figured it had to belong to the one called Burch. No way was that insinuating giggle coming from the same throat as the deep rumble Vaughan spoke with.
    He paused just out of view from the booth and un-spooled the cord from the vacuum. The bartender had both hands on the bar, gripping it with white knuckles while he waited to see what was going to happen. Hellboy beckoned him over. The man paled. With his face so white and the sheen of sweat on him, he looked as though he'd eaten bad fish. Most of the regulars had remained silent, drinking their pints and whiskeys and watching him with open curiosity. Some conversation came from the students and curators, but that didn't surprise him. Certain kinds of people just couldn't stop talking. He didn't mind. The talking was good, white noise. Less chance Vaughan and his partner would notice the lull in the room. Not that they were likely to anyway, as drunk as they were.
    The bartender started slowly toward him, and Hellboy gave him an exasperated look. The man hurried. Hellboy handed him the end of the vacuum cord and pointed behind the bar.
    "Plug it in, will ya?" he asked, keeping his tone low and conversational.
    The man nodded. Hellboy waited until he'd done it, then unsnapped the vacuum hose, holding its suction head down by his side. Then he took the last few steps over to the booth, emerging from the fog of cigarette smoke to stand menacingly over the two laughing thieves.
    They stopped laughing.
    The skinny little old man on the right of the booth was called Blue Burches. He had a piggish snout and tiny upturned tusks that jutted up from his lower jaw. His blue jacket and bright blue trousers had spots on them from