‘I’ll leave you in Florence Nightingale’s hands. I got to get some air.’
But Herman was holding him back, pulling at his arm with unexpected strength. ‘I suppose, now you say it, Mr Collins, they didn’t look much like Feds. The one in charge, he was real roughhouse. I know they took in war veterans in the bureau, so many come back from Europe. And this guy, he could handle himself. But I don’t see how he could perform all his duties. Not with that injury. No way could he chase down no bootlegger on the run.’
‘What’re you saying, Herman?’
But Tom knew exactly what Herman was saying, and his gut had already wrung itself into a knot, his mind emptied out of anything but fear for Fay.
Now he needed air like a dope fiend needs the needle. He stumbled out on to the sidewalk, bent over, hands fixed on his thighs, heaving in lungfuls of night air, trying to fight the shake that had taken hold of him head to toe, desperate to get the memory of Devlin ogling Fay’s photograph to release its grip on his gut.
Between each gulp of air he cursed out loud. Cursed his own stupidity and his loser’s bad luck. He ought to have known Devlin would check the photograph again. Ought to have known he would send Ross. Soon as he got away, he should have telephoned Fay and warned her to make herself scarce. Instead, all he’d done was waste time taking care of himself. If he’d called her, she might have got away.
The Mercer sat like an accusation by the curbside, mocking its own effortless speed minutes before. He wanted to get in it, race off to the rescue, be the dashing hero. But where to dash to now? He knew already what Sullivan would say when he arrived: ‘Give yourself up, lad. Leave it to us. She’ll be fine. Ross won’t get far.’ Every pointless reassurance in the book.
The thought of Fay in Ross’s clutches sent waves of anxiety and anger crashing in upon him. Jesus, how could he have been so dumb? He bent his head again to rub his aching temples. If he hadn’t, he would never have seen it coming. Would never have caught the flash of movement reflected in the Mercer’s gleaming coachwork, or gained the split second that allowed him raise his shoulder and deflect the blow that came rushing out of nowhere at his head.
The bat glanced off the muscle of his upper arm, wrong-footing the attacker swinging at him wildly from the darkness behind. Only instinct made him twist and lash out, putting his weight on one leg as he swiveled round and smashed blindly up and back with his elbow. He felt the hardness of bone connecting with a smack against a face, followed by an agonized gasp. But even as he twisted round to see his attacker, and saw him stagger back clawing at a ruined nose, another came at him, a lead-filled sap hurtling straight at his face.
It caught Tom like a hammer square above his left eye. He could have sworn he felt his brain hit the back of his skull as he went down. Somehow he had sense enough left to pull in his shoulders and roll, saving his head from hitting the sidewalk, and arch away again – just enough for the boot that came after to whistle past his face.
Now he was on his back and his knee was up, and through the blur of pain he sighted how to do most damage. As the figure looming above drew his boot back for another stamp, Tom slammed the heel of his brogue up into the undefended arc between his legs. And amid the heaving and retching that followed. Tom rolled away again, trying to see where the first assailant was and whether he was coming back for more.
Scrambling to his feet, he heard a squeal of brakes and he saw a shadow duck into the alleyway behind, the thud of shoe leather echoing as he ran. A second later Sullivan was on the sidewalk beside him helping him up, pushing him back, getting between him and the goon writhing on the ground.
‘Are you trying to take on the whole town now? What the hell’s the matter with you, Tom?’
Unable to see straight out of his left eye, Tom was peering and pointing into the alleyway. ‘There’s another one down there. Get after him, will you! They jumped me. They got Fay as well, for God’s sake.’
Sullivan cursed and ran. Tom turned his attention back to the one on the ground, now attempting to crawl away on all fours. Tom sank a heel hard into the back of the guy’s thigh and he went down again, moaning and exposing his belly to the kick that Tom walloped into it next. He doubled up like a baby, wheezing and hacking, barely able to draw breath. Tom stepped round him, predatory, unsure of what to kick next, so spoiled was he for choice. Instead, he spotted the fallen bat, its owner long gone, and picked it up.
‘You’re no Fed,’ he said, poking it into the man’s gut. ‘Who the hell are you? Who sent you? What have you done with Fay?’
The guy was yelping with each jab, but not ready to open up yet. Tom was raising the bat to strike when Sullivan emerged from the alley, palms up.
‘You sure there was another one?’ he said, striding over and pushing him back from the man on the ground and plucking the bat neatly from Tom’s shaking grasp. ‘C’mon now. You don’t want to go killing anyone for real. Get your breath back. Tell me what’s this about Mrs Parker.’
Tom told him.
Sullivan, cursing low and mean, began twirling the heavy bat in his hand with the ease of a drum major. ‘And you’re sure these guys aren’t Feds? You got a badge on you, show it to me now,’ Sullivan said, taking a poke at the guy. He only shook his head, in too much pain to care.
‘He ain’t no cop.’ It came as a blurt from behind them, a voice high and angry. Colleen, standing in the club doorway, was staring wide-eyed at the man on the ground. How long she’d been there watching, there was no knowing. But her face was white as a corpse, her gaze tracking from the blood on Tom’s face to the guy cringing on the ground. Her words a tangle as she struggled to explain. ‘That’s … I mean, he’s—’
‘He’s one of the guys who took Fay, right?’ Tom asked.
She shied back, he barked it so sharply. ‘I came to tell you. I didn’t say before cos I couldn’t be sure when I saw them go past, inside. It happened so quick, I took fright, I had to hide. But now I see him again.’
‘You saying you know this man, sweetheart?’ Sullivan asked.
She nodded, crossed her arms and drew her shoulders in protectively, clutching at the collar of her shirtwaist as though she’d caught a sudden chill. When her answer came, it wasn’t addressed to Sullivan but to Tom alone.
‘At the house on the hill,’ she said. ‘They were the ones brought the dope in. I seen them – him, too, opening the packages, parceling it out.’
It took Tom a moment to get his head round it. How long had she been up there, to see all that?
‘This guy was in charge?’
She shook her head. ‘I only seen them come and go.’
Tom reckoned she was lying about that, but it was not his concern now. ‘He hurt you?’
She lowered her head, the shame returning in a whisper. ‘Not like that.’
‘And you’re certain they were the same guys?’
‘You think I could mistake them?’
FORTY-THREE
They sent Colleen back inside and dragged the goon round into the alley, taking it in turns encouraging him to talk. He was a big guy and didn’t give easily. If they hadn’t been so worked up, they might even have admired him for holding out so long. But they did what they had to and at last he coughed out a name along with a snarl of submission.
‘Ross – he’s the boss, he got us out here.’
Tom glanced across at Sullivan, his eyes a glare of I-told-you-so. But any sense of triumph was undercut by the certainty that Fay was now in the worst danger she could be in. And it was his fault, no one else’s. His response was fierce enough to ensure the goon spilled the rest. He and the boys were playing cards when Ross got a call and they all piled into the Packard and raced out here; supposed to make it look like a liquor raid and have a good smash-up for themselves.
‘Ross was only after this guy.’ He nodded towards Tom. ‘Got us out quick when there was no sign. Lady wasn’t giving nothing away but she got in his face about some protection she pays the sheriff, and h
e said he’d have her for bait. Told Joey and me to hang back, see if Collins here would take it.’
‘What were you supposed to do when you got me?’
‘Take you back. Mikey told Joey – the other guy, who ran – not me. I don’t know what the plan was.’ The goon’s glance bounced nervously between them, not wanting to say any more, his fear of Ross returning to the fore.
‘Back where?’ Tom growled at him. ‘Where in hell did he take her? Was it to that goddamn fun palace on the hill?’
The goon’s eye’s narrowed, but he was beyond the point of lying. ‘No, not there. Too much going on. But not far. Mikey’s got a place he takes marks to work ’em. A construction site. Nobody else there. Nothing but half-built houses since the owner went bust. It’s quiet. Good place for that line of work.’
‘Where?’
‘It’s not like it has an address. He only ever takes us there when he needs the muscle.’
Another couple of slaps jogged his memory, and eventually he described a spot out the east end of Franklin, on the edge of Griffith Park.
Tom had an idea where it was and glanced over at Sullivan who nodded.
‘I know it.’
‘OK, let’s get him in the Mercer. I’ve got to run back in and—’
But Sullivan had a hand up, blocking him. ‘No, hold on now, Tom. I know you’re worried about your girl, and rightly so. But remember what he said. She’s bait. What Devlin wants is you. He won’t let Ross touch her. Not yet. We’ll sort this out together, right? Let’s at least get this one off our hands first. There’s a Gamewell down the block. I’ll go call someone out to pick him up.’
‘No way. What if he’s lying about where they’re at? We’ll have nothing.’
‘He’s not lying, Tom. He’s told us what he knows. What you got to think is how many more of them are out there. We’re going to need help. Do you think Mikey Ross is dumb enough to let us just come in and take her?’
He gave that idea short shrift. No way was he being taken out of the picture by calling out Sullivan’s pals from the detective squad.
‘Dumb is what Ross does best, Thad. You know what he’s like. He won’t keep his hands off Fay, not if he thinks she has anything to do with me. He’s going to hurt her. And I’m not sitting here letting that happen. We have to move now. Stick this guy in the roadster and we’ll take him with us. At least he can point out the right place.’
Sullivan had to admit he was right about Ross. Together, they dragged the goon over to the Mercer. Stared at the pair of neat little bucket seats, and the bulk of Sullivan and their captive.
‘That’s not going to work,’ Sullivan said. ‘C’mon, we’ll have to take mine.’
Tom didn’t so much as glance at Sullivan’s flivver. No way was he going in that – he’d be quicker running.
‘You go ahead in yours, Thad. Cuff Bozo to the door or something. I gotta run in and ask Herman something. I’ll catch you up in no time.’
Ignoring Sullivan’s scowl of displeasure, he ran back into the club.
Colleen was already on her way up with two glasses brimming with bourbon. He knocked one back, then took the other and had that too, laughing grimly as she drew breath at the torn and bloody knuckles on his hand. He told her was going to get Fay and not to worry but to lock up after him and stay safe with Herman, giving her a key to Fay’s apartment above, telling her to stay there until he got back. He didn’t wait for her answer, but went straight into the back office and shut the door.
He didn’t want to think too long about it, but he knew for sure that Ross would be armed, and there was no way now, even if he lost this battle, that he was prepared to lose the war. He dug his wallet from his pocket and slid out a business card and laid it beside the telephone on the desk. Then he opened the second drawer down, removed a rosewood box, tipped the contents out. A small, flat pocket automatic lay in the bottom, two full clips besides. He took all three, slapping one of the clips in with the heel of his hand and slipping the spare into his pocket. The gun he stuck in his waistband at the back. No point upsetting Sullivan. Then he rested his hip against the desk edge, running his fingers through his hair, before he made his decision.
He picked up the telephone receiver, clicked for the operator and asked to be connected to the Santa Monica number on the card. A voice answered with a gruff ‘Yeah?’
‘Is Cornero there?’ A request met with rebuff and denial. ‘I don’t have time for this,’ Tom said at last. ‘He’s the one gave me his card. You go get him, bud, tell him Tom Collins wants to talk, and it’s now or never.’
FORTY-FOUR
Tom hit the gas pedal as if wildfire was scorching his bootstraps, hitting seventy as he hurtled down a deserted Hollywood Boulevard, up Los Feliz and out past the Mount Hollywood turnoff where the paving ran out. A heavy bank of cloud drifted across the sky, diminishing the moonlight to a hazy glow. But even at full tilt on the ungraded road, the Mercer’s huge headlamps cut yellow through the night, the featherlight suspension gobbling every bump in the roadway, churning up a billowing tail of grit and dust in its wake.
Tom was beginning to think Sullivan must have made it to the rendezvous ahead of him when his lights picked out the dusty old Ford pulled in at the roadside ahead. The goon was sitting in front, cuffed to the canopy strut, Sullivan standing at a telegraph pole by what had to be the last police box out this side of the city, receiver pressed to his ear, tapping on the cradle. Tom braked hard and drew up, cutting the engine. A gap in the cloud cover leaked enough light to reveal a track climbing to the left, then disappearing over a rise.
‘That’s it?’
The goon nodded, glum, defeated.
‘So tell me, how far?’ Tom growled at him. ‘What’s there?’
‘Like I said, it’s a construction site. Just beyond that rise. Nine or ten houses, half built. Only one’s got a roof on – older, been there a while, I reckon. That’s the one you want, off to the right.’
‘Who else is there?’
The goon shrugged. ‘We were four before. Who knows? Depends if they went looking for you, I guess.’
They were interrupted by a string of imprecations from Sullivan, tapping furiously on the Gamewell. He gave up, put the receiver back in the box and locked it. ‘Something’s broke on this one. I’m not sure they even heard me,’ he said, coming around and stepping up on the footplate.
‘I’m not waiting,’ Tom said.
Sullivan wasn’t happy with that. ‘Hang on, man. We can’t take the machines any closer. We’ll sound like a cavalry charge heading their way.’
‘So we go on foot.’ Tom jumped down and squinted at the track up ahead. ‘Way I see it, there’s not much point doing much else until we know the lay of the land. Ross might not be there. Maybe he has a small army with him. And if he hasn’t got Fay, what’s the point of calling in help? Best thing is you stay put with bozo here, while I go scout the place.’
Sullivan began to protest, but Tom cut him off. ‘Look, it’s the only way. You stay here; he won’t try anything. I’ll run up the trail, check it out. Fifteen minutes at most, I’ll be back and between us we can make a plan, a good one. If I’m not, or if you hear anything bad up there, you come get me. Gallop on up in the auto if you like; that’ll give them something to worry about.’
‘OK, but no heroics, Tom. You have enough black marks against you, you can’t afford any more. Me neither if anyone questions why I came out here instead of taking you in. So you be careful and come right back.’
Tom set off at a trot. Another break in the cloud showed the twisting track a ghostly white in moonlight, the rolling landscape a sea of dry, windblown grass with little in the way of cover. He felt no fear, the thought of Fay being hurt or scared spurring him on. Cresting the hill, he saw the cluster of half-built houses below him, looking out over what must be a bend in the Los Angeles River, though he couldn’t see that far beyond. What he did see was that amid the half-built lot of A-frames that snaked down the
falling ground, only one off to the right had a shingled roof. A glimmer of light seeped from its windows. But he could see no auto outside. He would have to get closer.
He covered the remaining distance hunkered down, using his hands to steady himself against the slope, skirting piles of discarded lumber, stacks of shingles and flooring, making for the rear of the house. Close up, he could see it had been there a while, now in disrepair. A smoking, black iron chimney pipe poking out through the gable looked like an afterthought. Tense as he was, he couldn’t help wondering what catastrophe had befallen the owner to leave the lot in such disorder.
Two windows looked out from the back of the house, by which he approached, a dim glow emanating from each, though the one closest to the chimney was brighter. He sidled up to glimpse inside. A bleak living room, its gloom punctuated by a scattering of storm lanterns. His heart thumped loud enough to wake the dead when he saw Fay, his view partly obscured by a cast-iron stove with a coffee pot on top. She was sitting in a straightback chair beside a heavy hewn table, her hair mussed, but otherwise she looked unruffled, defiant, incongruous in a shimmering jade evening gown, one hand in her lap. His anger flared up seeing the other handcuffed to the table. But so did hope, seeing no sign of Ross or anyone else inside. Had they gone back into town?
He didn’t dare signal her. Instead, he crept towards the second, smaller window and peered in. A bedroom, empty but for a couple of grimy mattresses on the floor, heaped with rumpled blankets. Slowly, he inched forward to peer around the corner, and froze when he saw a dark Packard parked hard up against the front of the house. How had he not seen it before? But that shock was as nothing to the chill of ice-cold fear that shot through him at the touch of cold gunmetal to the nape of his neck.
‘Don’t move a muscle, not even the one in your lip.’
Tom complied, heard the ratcheting click of a revolver being cocked.
‘You oughta get silencers for those feet of yours.’ Mikey Ross’s rasping voice was unmistakable. ‘I heard you comin’ a mile off. Here to rescue your lady love, are you? Well, I’m not sure she’s worth it. No tits, and a mouth like a boxcar slut on her, if you ask me.’
The Long Silence Page 25
