The vampire files volume.., p.38
The Vampire Files, Volume Five, page 38
part #11 of The Vampire Files Series
He froze in place, genuinely alarmed, palms spread. “Easy there, it’s me.”
As if that was reassuring.
Kroun wore only socks, skivvies, and had dragged on his bloodied shirt in lieu of a bathrobe. He frowned at the man on the floor. “Cripes.”
“Friend of yours?” I asked.
“Unfortunately for you, yes.”
I put the gun on the table, within easy reach. “He was shooting up the place. I had to clock him.”
Kroun took that in along with the holes in the wall. “Well, you both made a good job of it.” There was no longer a rasp in his voice. The day’s rest must have fixed that, but he didn’t look happy. “Is he broken?”
“Not permanently. Now what?”
“‘Now what’ what?”
“He’s after me because of you. I’d have to kill him to stop him and then someone else will follow and someone else, and I’ve got enough goddamned dead guys on my hands.”
He gave me a funny look. “You all right?”
“No, I’m—” I shut down, getting control. I still felt the gun’s muzzle kissing the back of my head and couldn’t believe I’d found that a comforting thing, even for a second. Shoving away the memory, the anger at myself and the circumstances, and taking a breath, I began again. “I am not all right. I got mugs like him breaking into my place to kill me. There’s at least one other waiting somewhere else for his chance, and I’m damned sick of it. If you’ve got any influence over these bastards, get rid of them. I want them off my back for good.”
He just looked at me, pupils dilated and unreadable, but his mouth went tight. He didn’t like being ordered around, but then who does? “I can’t do that,” he said.
“You’re the only one who can.”
“I—” He bit off the reply, then looked at the fallen man again. “If I do that, they’ll know I’m alive. I don’t want them to know I’m alive.”
“Hypnotize them not to remember you.”
“It won’t last.”
“Long enough to buy you a head start.”
“Hell, kid, you’re not asking much. You know what I went through to get dead?”
“Yeah, actually I do.”
That got me a double take.
“Welcome to the club,” I added.
“Cripes,” he muttered again. “All that for nothing?”
“It’s how the world works.”
His next remark was back-alley foul.
“You’ll be a hero for surviving it—and you can tell them who’s really responsible. That lets Gordy off the hook.”
“And you, too.”
“What’s the big deal? Fix this mess, then take a vacation. Retire if that’s what you want.”
Kroun stared like I’d gone around the bend. Retirement in his line of work nearly always involved a funeral.
“You’ll have to do the fixing anyway,” I went on. “Odds are they’re already wise to there being no body in that car, and they’ve been asking questions. My way they go home alive. Your way, they either get killed or kill other people, making an even bigger mess, and—”
He held a hand up, forestalling further persuasion. “Yeah-yeah, okay, enough already. I’ll put the fix in. But you are going to owe me.”
I worked hard not to show too much relief. He’d made a choice I could live with. I’d worry about the debt later.
“But not like this,” he added.
“Like what?”
He gestured at himself. “Looks are everything in this game.”
What?
“You want me to play? Get me cleaned up first.”
He had to be kidding.
“Use your noodle. I’m not going anywhere fast looking like a train wreck.”
I got my mental gearbox shifted. Finally. He did look pretty ridiculous. He must have clothes back at his hotel or wherever he’d stayed before the explosion. We could go there and pick them up.
“What about him?” I pointed to Handsome Hank on the floor.
“You got rope, don’t you?” Kroun turned and went upstairs.
3
I had rope, or rather Escott did, stowed in the basement. I helped myself to the whole coil and trussed up the guy after searching him. He had a wallet filled with twenties, a pocketknife, a fountain pen, three money clips holding wads of cash I didn’t bother to count, wire-rimmed glasses in a hard leather case, keys, and a map of Chicago with the locations of this house and my club neatly circled. No identification, though, not surprising for his sort.
In another case, larger than the one for his glasses, I found a clean syringe and four small, unlabeled vials. Their dark amber glass effectively hid the color of the liquid contents.
I gave the guy a second glance. So, did he go in for morphine or cocaine? Maybe he had diabetes; he didn’t look like a doper, but some people were good at hiding their secrets. I should know. The lack of a label on the vials gave me the idea that the stuff hadn’t come from any corner drugstore.
Everything went on the kitchen table next to my hat. I blindfolded and gagged him with a couple of the dish towels and dragged him into the hall. In case he felt frisky when he woke, I tied him fast to the newel post at the foot of the stairs.
In the parlor, I edged open the front curtain and saw an unfamiliar Studebaker parked where I usually left my Buick. Some people have a lot of nerve.
The street seemed clear, but that didn’t mean anything; might as well see if he’d brought friends. I unlocked the front and got the mail and papers, tossing things on the hall floor, then went outside to look at the car, offering an easily bushwhacked target. No one took the bait. Damn. I still had plenty of rope left, too.
The car’s registration was to a rental garage by the train station. The paperwork bore an illegible signature. My prisoner and his absent pal must have been confident about getting in and out of town without trouble. Had they planned to disappear my body or just didn’t think the cops were up to tracing a connection between us? Probably the latter. A lot of these guys were either stupid or brazen depending on how smart they thought they were. Unless someone in Gordy’s mob squawked—and no one would—they’d do their job and walk away clean, simple as that. Maybe New York expected Gordy to do the mopping up for them. He’d have done so; those were the rules.
I phoned Derner, who picked up halfway through the first ring. He sounded a whole lot more tense.
“It’s me,” I said. “Everything’s okay, and I’ll be in later tonight.”
“You sure? What’s going on?”
Jeez, he was going to make me think he cared. Maybe he did. If I dropped out of sight, then he’d have to run things. “Expect me when you see me. Business as usual until then.”
“Right, okay.” Not a lot of confidence there, for which I couldn’t blame him. “The cops have been by—it’s about Alan Caine. They want to talk to you.”
This was tricky. The lines were likely tapped, and Derner knew it. He was a smart man, so this could be a way of feeding the cops misleading information. Fine by me; I could play with the best of them. “They’ll have to wait, I’ve got things to do tonight.”
“They’re wondering about Jewel Caine, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“The way they were going on, she didn’t kill herself like the papers said.”
“She didn’t?”
“Which means someone did her in as well.”
“Maybe the same guy who bumped Caine?”
“Whoever that is,” he said.
Oh, Derner was doing genius stuff tonight. “My money’s on Hoyle. He’s crazy. Didn’t Caine owe him money?”
“I wouldn’t know, but I wouldn’t be surprised.”
“Okay, see if any of the boys have seen Hoyle. I wanna know what he’s been up to lately. If he’s the one, we send him over. I don’t want no trouble with the coppers.”
“Right, Boss.”
I hoped someone was listening in. “Another thing—see about making arrangements for Jewel Caine.”
“What?” He sounded surprised.
“Arrangements—a funeral. Anyone claimed her? She got family?”
“Uh—”
“Look into it. She was a good egg, we can do right by her.”
“Well…uh…” Derner hesitated. He’d be thinking about the money it would cost. The night’s takings from just one of the slot machines in the Nightcrawler’s back room would pay for a nice service. If necessary, I’d point that out to him. “What about Alan Caine?”
“See if he’s got family, then ship him out. Jewel wouldn’t want to share the billing.”
I hung up, then dialed a number I’d scribbled in pencil on my shirt cuff the night before. There was a delay as I negotiated with a hotel switchboard operator, then Bobbi’s voice came on.
“It’s me,” I said again, but my tone was a lot warmer. “You okay?”
“Are you?” she countered.
“I am now, sweetheart.”
“Anything wrong?”
“All the time,” I said cheerfully. “But I’m taking care of it.”
Bobbi required a lot more convincing than Derner, and such convincing would require us to be in the same room so I could give her a hands-on demonstration. Hands, lips, skin to skin, I was more than ready to show her exactly how well I was doing. I was a little nervous about it, but it beat the previous mind-freezing terror I’d felt before. Escott’s version of a pep talk had sorted out a lot of things.
I owed him, all right.
And…Bobbi didn’t know about the fight yet, or she’d have—
“I’m glad you’re better,” she said shortly. “Now what the hell happened to Charles?”
Oh.
Damn.
Damn, damn, damn, damn.
Given a choice, I’d rather have Coldfield come back and make me into a sparring dummy for a few hours instead of trying to explain things to her. “Uh, we had a disagreement that got out of hand.”
“Disagreement?” Bobbi rarely shouted. As a singer, she thought it might damage her vocal cords, but this was an unequivocal shriek.
I winced. “Look, it’s just something we got into, and it’s over now. We’re friends again.”
“You put him in the HOSPITAL!”
“I know that, but—”
“You could have KILLED him!”
“Yeah, but—”
Bobbi made more loud and shrill observations about Escott’s condition and my responsibility for it. I tried a placating tone when I could get a word in, then noticed Kroun had put his head around the corner. He’d shaved and resumed his damaged clothes and had his palms over his ears, letting me know he could hear her end all too well. I refused to be embarrassed about it.
“Let-her-talk,” he whispered, exaggerating each word so I could read his lips.
I didn’t have any better ideas, and it was obvious that Bobbi had been boiling for some time, so I shut up. She was staying at the same hotel with Gordy and his girlfriend, being watched over by Shoe Coldfield. He must have let her know a thing or three.
As before, I stood there and took it, and in some ways it hurt more than a physical beating. When she asked for the why of the matter, I fell back on the disagreement excuse.
“Why won’t you tell me?” she demanded.
“Because it’s not important anymore, and I know that sounds like a load of bull, but it’s over now, it really is. I’ve apologized to him, and we’re copacetic again.”
She made a low growling noise, thick with dissatisfaction. Her protective soft spot for Escott was the size of the Grand Canyon. Perhaps he could persuade her to calm down. It struck me then that everyone had assumed I was the bad guy in the matter. Granted, I was still on my feet and a lot faster and stronger than Escott, but he did throw the first punch. A lot of them. But I’d thrown the last and most effective, so I was the bully. Those were the hard-cheese rules; I’d just have to live with them.
Kroun moved to the table to check the stuff I’d taken off his friend. He opened the cases, didn’t seem surprised by the syringe, looked in the wallet, and tossed it back. He went through the contents of the money clips. Each had five twenties on top, and the rest were fifties and C-notes. I lost track as he counted through them, but at least nine or ten grand was there. He pocketed the fortune without a blink.
“Listen, Bobbi,” I said, “we’ll talk to Charles, and he’ll let you know he’s all right. We can visit Roland at the same time—and how is he doing?”
That subject change got me another earful, but not nearly as harsh. She knew I wasn’t to blame for Roland’s wounding. Not too much, anyway.
Kroun picked up the car keys, tossing them high and catching them one-handed, showing impatience. Nice to know that he was so well recovered, but I still had more peacemaking to conduct with Bobbi and put my back to him. She’d cooled down somewhat, hopefully to the point where she wouldn’t take my block off when we did get together. Kroun cleared his throat, coughed, and spat something into the sink. He ran water.
“What’s that?” Bobbi asked.
“My guest from the party you threw last night.”
“I thought he’d be gone.”
“We still have some loose ends to tie up. It’s going to take a while.”
“The last visiting hour at the hospital starts at eight. I’ll be there, then coming back to this hotel again.”
“I’ll go as fast as I can, but you know how it is.”
“Yes, I certainly do.” Dry tone from her, very dry. Ouch.
There was no way to end this one on her good side, so I offered a weak bye-I’ll-see-you-soon and hung up. I waited to see if the phone rang with a fresh emergency, but it kept quiet.
“You ready?” Kroun asked. He’d wandered into the hall. He watched the prisoner, who still seemed to be out.
“Not yet. I need a new shirt.”
“Make it quick, I need one more than you do.”
A hot bath and shave would have been great, but the most I had time for was a fast swipe with a wet towel, then jump into a fresh suit. Not my best one, nor the worst, but it went with the thickening chin stubble. Maniac killers lurking in dark alleys might think twice about taking a swing at me; I was less sure about the mugs at the Nightcrawler Club.
When I came downstairs, the man was no longer tied to the banister post, and rope ends lay on the floor. What the…?
Kroun was in the parlor, feet on the low table, reading a paper. “Don’t worry,” he said, not looking up. “I just put him in the car is all.”
“You—?”
“Carried him out the door in front of God and everyone, yes, that’s what I did. No one’s made a commotion about it. You ready?”
I couldn’t wait to get rid of him. Them.
I went to the hall closet, shrugged on one of my old overcoats, then to the kitchen to get my hat, a spare house key from one of the drawers, and the gun from Escott’s coat. The roscoe the intruder brought was gone, so it figured that Kroun was armed, too. Double-armed, since he’d had a gun last night. He’d left the other effects on the table. I scooped them into a pocket, noting the bullet holes in the wall above the phone. Those would have to be patched before Escott came home.
It hardly seemed worth the effort to lock the house, but I went through the motions. Kroun handed over the car keys and got in on the passenger side. After the barest hesitation, he slammed the door shut. I slipped behind the wheel, adjusting the mirror.
“Where is he?” I asked. The backseat was empty of mobster.
“Trunk,” said Kroun.
“He’ll freeze.”
“Only if we keep sitting here.”
Taking the hint, I started the motor. I’d driven a Studebaker once before when working on a case, and afterward read magazine ads with close interest. The car was supposed to have a setup so that when stopped on a hill you didn’t have to dance with the clutch, gas, and brake pedals to keep from rolling backward before it went into gear. As we were in a flat area, there was no opportunity to test things, but it was a sweet ride all the same. I hoped the guy in the trunk had air and not exhaust fumes to eat.
“Which hotel?” I asked Kroun.
“Hotel?”
“Where your stuff is.”
“Skip that, take me to a men’s store. A good one.”
What the hell? “You’re going buy stuff? It’ll take all night.”
“Not if it’s a good store.”
“Longer than getting the stuff at your hotel.”
“Just find a place and give me ten minutes.”
Son of a bitch. I wasn’t interested in arguing, though, so I drove a few miles and pulled up to a clear stretch of curb. There were plenty to spare for a change since this part of the Loop didn’t do much evening business.
Kroun got out, moving easily. During the day his bum leg had healed. He reached the store’s door just as some guy inside locked it. Fine, like it or not, we would swing by his hotel instead.
When Kroun rapped the glass, the man shook his head and made an exaggerated shrug of apology. He probably didn’t like the looks of this scruffy customer. He suddenly froze in place. For a second I thought Kroun had done an evil-eye whammy. The guy glanced over his shoulder then stared at Kroun or rather at something in his hand. Not a gun. Kroun had pulled out one of the money clips and waved several of the C-notes temptingly back and forth. A second guy joined the first and also froze, but only for a moment. The power of raw cash galvanized them, God bless America.
The door magically unlocked, and Kroun walked in like he owned the place. For all intents and purposes, he did. I marked the time to see if he’d make his ten minutes, then quit the car, going around to the trunk. The other key on the ring opened it.
There weren’t a lot of pedestrians, and they were in a hurry to get out of the cold wind whipping around the buildings. Privacy secured, I lifted the trunk lid to check on the guy. He was curled on his side facing away from me, hands tied behind him, not looking any too comfortable. He stirred a little, his movements groggy and uncertain.
