by P. N. Elrod
“Dear God,” Escott murmured. He took it back, carefully unfolding the pieces. “Nothing written on them—in green ink or any other color.”
“The coffin’s enough to make his point. He’s not through with me yet.”
“What more could he possibly want? The wise thing is to stay as far away from you as possible.”
“He’s plenty wise, just not sensible.”
I told Marie to forget all about our visit. She agreed and let us out, and we rode the elevator down.
“Despite this little warning,” Escott said, refolding the coffin pieces, “That went rather well. A pity Dugan wasn’t there.”
I privately thought it was a good thing. I didn’t want Bobbi looking on while I killed him.
DERNER and Strome were next.
Bobbi must have sensed something, for she twice asked if we couldn’t wait until I’d rested more.
“It’s okay,” I said lightly, watching the street. It was narrow and deserted. Shoe Coldfield had had Gordy’s men disarmed and taken to an anonymous car repair shop, where they were confined to an empty garage. Escott had gone in ahead of me. I waited on the sidewalk; Bobbi stayed in the car. She had the window rolled down to talk with me, and the accumulated warmth from the Nash’s heater soon dispersed.
“But you’re not okay, Jack. For God’s sake, look at me.”
It was difficult, but I managed a smile for her.
“Whatever happened, I’m right here. I’m here whenever you need me. You can talk to me. You can touch me.”
Instinct told me just saying “thanks” to that would have hurt her, so I nodded.
“I said you can touch me.”
So she had noticed. She held her hand out to me. I hesitated. The more I waited, the more upset she’d be. Finally took her hand. Couldn’t feel it. Told myself it was her gloves being in the way. I didn’t have any on; my fingers must be numb from the cold.
Comforting little lies.
Escott showed himself from the low brick building and said it was time. I broke away from Bobbi and went inside.
Dark. I froze in an entry that smelled of motor oil. Dark all around. Faint gleam of yellow at the end of a long hall. I hurried to catch up with Escott.
Light. Had to stifle showing my relief. On the right, an opening led to the garage. Coldfield wasn’t there, busy with his own nightclub and watching over Gordy, but a few of his well-armed men stood guard on Derner and Strome. They were down in the grease pit and looked dirty and pretty pissed. Until they saw me; then they looked thunderstruck.
“Jesus H. Christ,” said Strome, eyes popping.
“Wait a second, he was—” Derner lost the thread of whatever he wanted to say as I crouched on the edge of the pit.
“’Lo, boys,” I said evenly. My voice sounded lower than usual, more hoarse. Maybe my vocal cords had been scarred from the screaming. They should have healed.
Strome finally spoke. “Fleming. You okay?”
I thought that one over. “What do you think?”
“That was you I saw. You was . . . was . . . I mean—”
“Yeah. Bristow gave me a bad night. I owe you one for taking care of him and his goons. You might have stuck around a little longer and cut me down, though.”
“Christ, but we thought you was dead!”
Derner nodded agreement. “If we’d known, we’d have—”
“Yeah, yeah. Never mind. I got other things for you to do, now.”
“You mean, you’re—”
“I’m still in charge until Gordy’s on his feet. We straight on that?”
Both nodded in fearful agreement.
“Good. You can come outta there.” I glanced at the guards, jerked my chin toward the door. They slowly moved off. Escott remained in place off to the side, watchful. Whether for me or these two birds, I couldn’t tell. Derner and Strome took the steep steps up out of the pit, futilely dusting themselves. The grease stuck with them.
“You guys are gonna talk, and then you’re gonna listen,” I said.
“Yes, Mr. Fleming,” said Derner.
I asked the questions that needed asking. Hypnosis was not necessary. They were too spooked to lie. Each searched my face for some sign of what I’d been through. I let them keep whatever they found. I’d earned it.
When they were done answering, I said, “I’ll fix things with New York later. For now, you’re gonna do me a favor. There’s a man I want you to find. You know that society kidnap guy? Dugan? Picture’s in all the papers?”
“We saw,” said Strome, guardedly.
“I want him. Alive. He’s got ten grand in cash and a head start, but you are gonna track him down and bring him back to me. Whatever it takes. Whoever finds him keeps the ten Gs. The faster he’s found the more money he’ll have left.”
I had their full attention.
“You use the organization any way you have to to find Dugan. He has to be alive or the deal’s off. I’ll give you a grand each to get you started. Use it for bribe money, whatever it takes. You two are gonna be stand-up with me on this or I will skin you alive. And I know how to do that, now.”
Their color drained away under their face dirt.
“LEARN anything?” Bobbi asked when Escott and I got back in the car.
“Just the refining of a few points,” said Escott.
She took my hand again as I eased into the seat. I didn’t pull away because she told me I could touch her. I could touch, just not feel. Not like before. “What points?”
He started the car and fed it gas. “That Derner and Strome made a decision last night to stick by Gordy and brave the consequences, if any, from the New York bosses. Bristow committed a breach of protocol by shooting Gordy, thus showing himself to be untrustworthy.”
“Took them long enough,” she grumbled.
“Gang politics are often a complicated matter. Those two men had a good deal of thinking to do, and they’re not too terribly good at it. Jack had a positive influence on Derner, though. Seems he posed the obvious question: Who would you rather have in charge? That simplified things.”
“It seems pretty simple to me.”
“But not to Mr. Derner. He had to take into account the dynamic of Gordy not surviving to return. In which case he decided the next logical man in line for the post should be Jack, not Bristow.”
“Jack? Running Gordy’s operation? He’d hate it.”
“But Derner knew he’d be good at the job. Bristow would not.”
A memory from last night—not one of the bad ones—dredged up. I said, “Derner argued with me all the way, though. I’d give an order, he’d argue.”
“Exactly,” said Escott. “Which is why he’d want you over Bristow. You let him have his say. Bristow would have killed him for it. Derner eventually figured that out.”
“What about Strome?” she asked.
“Well, apparently last night Jack sent him packing home for a long nap to keep him out of trouble, which was interrupted by Bristow. He had approached Strome days earlier about betraying Gordy and was now in a perfect position to obtain information crucial to completing the assassination. By this time, Strome had done some thinking of his own. He agreed to Bristow’s terms, promised to first set things up, then to rendezvous with them at the meat locker. Once on his own, he went to Derner to plan out how to eliminate Bristow. Neither of them knew Jack was going to be there.”
If they had, would they have arrived sooner? Tried to help me?
“But when they found out?”
“By then they thought he was dead. I’m not clear about the exact circumstances, but they must have been fairly grim.”
“Dugan was there, too. How could they have missed him?”
“They didn’t know about him at all. He might have been tied up out of sight or hiding. I’m sure when Jack’s ready, he’ll fill in the picture.”
She squeezed my hand again. I tried not to wince. Her touch didn’t hurt; it was all the feelings behind the touch. Though w
arm and soft, they hit like spear points. I couldn’t respond to them, didn’t dare. Inside I was scraped out and hollow, as though Bristow had stripped my guts and heart away along with my skin.
Escott settled a few more details for her, winding us back toward his office. But he passed it by, heading toward the Stockyards, turning onto a particular street. One I never wanted to see again.
“No,” I whispered. I’d forgotten to breathe in, so they didn’t hear.
He stopped before a high, flat, windowless building full of darkness and unthinkable agony. I felt clammy sweat popping out along my newly healed flanks.
Bobbi saw the look in my eyes. “Charles, what are you doing?”
“That which is necessary.”
“This can wait.”
“No, it can’t. Strome and Derner are even now making arrangements to clean everything up before the mess is discovered. And I think it will be better for Jack to get this over with as soon as may be.” Escott cut the motor. He came around, opened my side. “It will be all right, Jack. I promise.”
No it won’t. Nothing’s all right.
The place was nearly the same. The front door had been shoved back into place, held there by new hinges and a large, shiny padlock. He went up to it, unlocked it, then returned for me. Held the car door expectantly, waiting for me to move.
“You can do this,” he told me. “If you survived what happened here, you can survive this.”
Dear God, I don’t want to go in. I knew why he was doing this to me. I understood that it was necessary. What awaited in there was harmless to me now. I just had to see it for myself. He wouldn’t force me. No way he could. He’d wait for me to do it myself.
Standing firm in the cold he waited long enough. I inched out. Bobbi slid across the seat, taking my arm like I was an invalid. I let them lead me up and in.
Balked in the office. “It’s dark,” I whispered, staring straight ahead. There was a ball of ice in my belly, heavy, weighing me down too much to move.
Escott hastily found the lights.
It was colder than it should have been. The door to the freezer was only propped in place, held there by a length of two-by-four angled against it. Escott removed that and with difficulty shifted the warped slab of a door over enough to allow entry.
Bloodsmell swelled at me like a tide. The stuff was old, stale, decaying, yet I felt the strong tug of my corner teeth trying to emerge. Maybe I wanted to forget what was in there, what I’d done, but my body remembered and anticipated a return to the revel.
Escott put the lights on in there, too. From where I stood I could see the bodies, with Bristow hanging exactly as I’d left him. There was some irony in that, him ending up dead the way he’d planned for me, but I couldn’t appreciate it. His face was bone white where it should have been purple with discoloration. I’d drained him dry, preventing that. His eyes were open and dulled, yet strangely less empty than when he’d been working on me.
“Jack.” Escott held his hand through the opening.
I was expected to follow him in.
Bobbi looked anxiously at us. She couldn’t see what lay beyond. I dredged up a memory of kindness and said, “You need to stay out here.”
She shook her head, going stubborn. Couldn’t remember her ever giving me a look like that. “You and me both, brother,” she said.
I hesitated. Part of me understood the why of this; all of me didn’t want to go through with it.
Escott’s voice was soothing, persuasive, almost like mine when I hypnotized people. “Jack, whatever happened in there, whatever you did, it was to survive. There’s nothing shameful in that.”
“But I . . .” He didn’t know, could not know what I had done, how I’d gloried in it. If he did, then neither of them would be here trying to help me.
A ghost of a smile. It was sad with knowledge. “Jack, believe me when I say I also know what it’s like in hell. We go mad for a while . . . and then we get better. Don’t we?”
Faces tight, they waited for my answer.
I felt it choking my throat. Shook my head. “There’s more to it. What they did to me . . . what I did. I don’t know if I can . . . if I can get well from that.”
“Do you want to?” Bobbi asked.
“Yes . . . but . . .” God, it hurt to say it. “I don’t know how.”
She touched my face. “We’ll help you find out how.”
I didn’t flinch away. Caught her hand. She wore black gloves; her rose scent was all over them. They were made of suede, very soft. Could feel their texture.
I could feel.
Closed my eyes and held her fingers against my face. They were warm, felt that even through the leather.
“Jack, what is it?” Escott asked.
I gave one involuntary shudder, like a sleeper reluctantly waking, then looked him in the eye. Looked at her. Straightened my spine. That made my back twinge, of course, but the pain would go away soon enough. It would take longer for other agonies to depart, and I accepted that still others might always remain.
If I let them.
“We can leave now,” I finally said. “I don’t have to go in there anymore.”
“You’re sure?” He seemed dubious about my sudden recovery.
I sketched a very brief smile. Didn’t know if I meant it, but it was something they needed to see. “Yeah. I still have a saloon to run, don’t I?”
“Yes, you do,” said Bobbi, barely above a whisper. Couldn’t tell if she was buying this or not. “But—”
“I’ll be fine. I promise. Let’s go take care of business. Okay?”
They exchanged quick glances. I didn’t give them time to voice additional worries or think up objections as I led the way out, not looking back.
Once on the open street, I breathed out the last of the slaughterhouse stink, emptying my dormant lungs. The thin vapor plumed up and vanished in the icy night sky.
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Ace Titles by P. N. Elrod
The Vampire Files
BLOODLIST
LIFEBLOOD
BLOODCIRCLE
ART IN THE BLOOD
FIRE IN THE BLOOD
BLOOD ON THE WATER
A CHILL IN THE BLOOD
THE DARK SLEEP
LADY CRYMSYN
COLD STREETS
SONG IN THE DARK
DARK ROAD RISING
THE VAMPIRE FILES: VOLUME ONE
THE VAMPIRE FILES: VOLUME TWO
THE VAMPIRE FILES: VOLUME THREE
THE VAMPIRE FILES: VOLUME FOUR
RED DEATH
DEATH AND THE MAIDEN
DEATH MASQUE
DANCE OF DEATH
Ace Anthologies Edited by P. N. Elrod
DRACULA IN LONDON
