by P. N. Elrod
That’s why it was important to bring one of them back for him to work over in turn; getting news about Sullivan had only been the second thing on my mind when I made the grab. I’d done it for Coldfield.
Kicking unconscious men doesn’t give you the same kind of satisfaction as taking out someone who can hit you back. By giving that man to Coldfield, I’d also returned his self-respect to him. Neither of us said anything about it directly, but after he was finished with the fists and questions and the man was taking his turn at lying bloody, beaten, and gasping on the ground, Coldfield looked up and nodded his thanks to me. Only then was he ready to let himself be helped into the car and driven away.
I found the right street, the right alley, and pulled in, easy does it. Lights showed in the kitchen windows, and as I set the brake the back door opened up. The big man named Sal came out.
I waved at him. “Miss Coldfield’s brother is hurt and needs help. Go find her, would you?”
He leaned down to peer in. He shot a look at me I couldn’t read, then nodded and went inside. I went around to help Coldfield and we staggered toward the door like a couple of drunks.
Trudence hurried into the kitchen and paused just as I eased Coldfield onto a chair. Her face went pinched like she wanted to yell at him, but she swallowed it back and went to work, issuing orders. People jumped to obey.
I got myself a corner out of the hubbub and settled against the wall to look on. It gave me the chance to check myself over. The bloodstains were alarming, but nothing was leaking out now and most of it didn’t belong to me, anyway. Had holes through my shirtfront and back where the bullet had gone through, but they weren’t too noticeable if I buttoned the jacket. My clothes were a lot less than clean and sported some tears, but I didn’t look too bad for a guy who had done what I’d done.
It was bad enough for Trudence. She caught clear sight of me and came over.
“What’s the damage?” she demanded.
“I’m just a little bruised up, Shoe got the brunt of it. Worry about him.”
“I do. Too much. What happened?”
“A few guys with fists bigger than their brains. They won’t be coming back.”
Her dark eyes were hard. The look in them could make a stone wince. “You kill any of ’em?”
“Not that I know of.” The last man had been breathing when we’d left, so he had a better than even chance of crawling his way to the emergency entrance if he wanted. The others I wasn’t quite as sure about, but maybe someone would find them and drag them in for treatment before dawn. The street wasn’t all that isolated. “You won’t be getting any trouble from this, I promise.”
“I appreciate your promise, but there’s always trouble. Always.”
“This wasn’t his fault,” I said. “He was just trying to help me and got stuck in the middle.”
She whisked away to see to her brother.
They’d eased some of his clothes off and went to work cleaning him up. From the practiced way they went about it, I wondered how often this sort of thing happened here, of hurt people turning up at the back door and being taken in without question. Probably far too often.
I left my corner long enough to wash off at the sink, scrubbing hard at the stubborn dried blood clinging to my fists. I didn’t know how much, if any, was on my face or where. The sink was big enough, I put my whole head under the faucet flow and hoped for the best. Sal threw me a towel when I’d finished. I puffed a dripping thanks at him.
Someone put broken ice in another towel and gave it to Coldfield to hold on his swelling shiners and got hot water to wash away the gore from the eye cut. Trudence did the stitching herself. She must have been mad as hell from her set-in-stone expression, but her hands were steady as she worked. He wouldn’t have much of a scar.
When things slowed down he thanked her and said he’d go off to the Shoe Box to get out of her way.
She glared down, a look of disdain mixed with triumph on her face. “I don’t think so, brother of mine. You have a bill to pay.”
“Well, sure, how much?” He made to reach for his wallet.
“Oh, it won’t be in money.”
“Come on, Tru—”
“The price is you stay here for the night.”
That surprised him. “But I thought you didn’t—”
“I don’t, but I’m not having you slip out before I get the chance to say ‘I told you so’ to you a few hundred times. I’m thinking I’ll sing you to sleep with it.”
He choked and looked at me, a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Fleming?”
I gave an open-handed shrug. “It was your idea to come here instead of the hospital. Sounds to me like you’re getting off easy.”
“You gotta take me away.”
“And look ungrateful? Besides, this strikes me as being a family matter, and I try to stay clear of those.”
“You son of a—”
“Clarence!” she snapped. “You owe me.”
He started to bristle back, but it must have hurt too much, for he subsided pretty quick. “Okay. But will you at least hear my side of it?”
She gave that one some thought. “Maybe. But only if you drink all your hot milk.”
He groaned.
With Sal to steady him he was just able to go upstairs on his own feet. Trudence got the cleaning up started and turned to me again. “Your turn.”
“I’m fine, really. I just need to go home for a wash and change.”
“You look like you’ve been through a meat grinder.”
“It’s all from your brother and the other guys. I was moving too fast for them to touch me. I just got a couple of bruises, don’t even need an aspirin.”
“This is on top of what you had the other night.”
“I was just cold then. I’m all better now.”
A long study from her. “Well, I’d like to call you a liar, Mr. Fleming, but you do seem okay.”
“I am. I also want to apologize for leaving so fast then. I had some things to do that couldn’t wait.”
“Must have been important to drag you out of here while you were still thawing.”
“Yeah, pretty important, enough so I forgot my manners. I want to thank you for what you did. Could I make a contribution? Shoe said you—”
“I don’t take mob money.”
“This ain’t mob. I worked for and earned every penny.” And I had, too, helping Escott out on past cases. Before we left the house I’d grabbed some bills out of my half of the basement safe and stuffed them in my wallet. They weren’t part of the stash I’d taken from the roadhouse, so I was telling her the absolute truth. I counted all of them, a hundred and ten dollars, into her hand. It didn’t seem like a lot. I could send more later.
Her eyes popped. “This is too much!”
“You gonna say that the next time a woman comes in here with a hungry kid?”
Now her eyes flashed on me hot enough to scorch, then settled. “You know how to fight dirty, don’t you?”
“On some things. Don’t be too hard on Shoe, okay? He really was trying to fight on the side of the angels tonight, but there were just too many of the bad guys against him.”
“What was it about?”
“It had to do with me, and he got stuck in the middle. I should have been the one there, not him.”
“Where’s Charles?”
“He’s safe.” Probably pretty annoyed with me, but safe out of the way.
“It’s not over for you, is it?”
“No, but it will be soon.”
“More beatings?”
“I don’t think so. A little talk with a man I know should clear most of this up tonight.”
A skeptical look, but she let it go. “You need a ride away from here?”
“I can find a cab.”
“Not in this neighborhood and not without money you won’t. I’ll have Sal take you in Clarence’s car.”
“Thanks. That’s kind of you.”
“Uh-uh. K
ind is you bringing Clarence here, giving me a chance to talk some sense into him before he gets himself killed doing what he does.”
I wished her a silent good luck for that one.
SAL dropped me off at the corner nearest the house, and I quickly covered the rest of the way on my own power. Time was passing and I had to change and get my Buick on the road before Sullivan took it into his head to move again. His boys would have turned up by now with their tails between their legs and no doubt a weird story about fighting a ghost man. Whether he believed it or not, he might get nervous and decide to take another hike to safer pastures. And if he had a pet cop on watch at the hospital, he’d be wondering what the hell was going on now that Maxwell was with Adkins. That would make him more than nervous.
But I knew where he was for the moment, however long that moment lasted. No need to call Gordy for help, either.
Sullivan was with him at the Nightcrawler Club.
Should have figured it earlier. Gordy said he did what New York told him, and if one of their top boys turned up on the doormat asking for a room, like it or not, he’d have to take him in. If Sullivan had any suspicion about Gordy being behind the hotel hit, he’d have plenty of time to talk to him about it.
And then there was Opal. She’d be there with them.
She was alive. Thank God. The thug knew that much. One less anvil sitting on my head. Before another hour passed I hoped to shake another one loose by straightening things with Sullivan and then getting her out of there.
Trotted up my front steps. Dark night, and no lights left on in the house, the place looked haunted-house gloomy. Escott wanted it to seem like no one was home yet. I was tempted to just vanish and sieve inside, but spotted a couple of my neighbors coming along the sidewalk with groceries in their arms. We exchanged nods and said hello, and I used my keys like anyone else.
Just as well, for about five seconds later it eased a lot of potential complications.
I was aware of them the instant I shut the door. Froze in my tracks. The lights were out, but I saw all of them, all their guns. All pointed at me.
Slowly raised my hand and flicked on the hall light. No point in pretending the place was empty now. I had a houseful what with Angela and her friends making themselves so cozy.
Oddly enough, they seemed a lot more surprised to see me than the other way around. If I’d wanted to I could have shot out of there while they were still flat-footed with their jaws dragging on the floor, but this looked to be very interesting, so I stayed.
Doc was the first to speak. “Well, good night and little fishes, if you don’t have more lives than a cat.”
“You told me he was dead,” said Angela, sounding accusatory. She was button cute in a red-and-blue striped hat that perched sideways on her head like a bird about to fly away. She really didn’t need that .45 in her hand to stop traffic.
“He was dead! I know dead, and he was it!” Doc tried to look at both of us at once and it made him a little wall-eyed.
“That’s what you said before they rolled me in the carpet with the weights,” I put in. “But I forgive you.”
That got me a long funny stare from him. “There’s something not right about you, boy.”
“I know, but no matter what, my mother still loves me.”
“Knock it off,” said Angela. “Newton, frisk him.”
Newton stepped forward. He’d been one of the men who’d helped wrap me in the rug with the intention of dumping me into Lake Michigan. He liked milk, cookies, and reading The Shadow magazine. As he cautiously slapped me down I wondered if he’d had a chance to get the latest issue or if they’d all been too busy running.
He picked a gun out of my jacket pocket and put it in his own for the time being. That was okay, I’d taken it from Chick the other night when that group had invaded the house, so it was no big loss. I made a mental note to talk to Escott about getting better locks put in. Maybe it would slow down the next army for a few minutes before they marched through.
Newton pronounced me clean—of weaponry, that is—and Angela had him back away.
“He was dead,” Doc muttered.
“Well, he doesn’t look much better now,” she added. “What happened, someone drag you backward through a dog kennel?”
Doc continued, sparing me from thinking up an answer for her. “That little weasel friend of Sullivan’s jabbed him with poison and I watched him die. It wasn’t pretty, and he was dead.”
Angela frowned at him.
“It was some kind of drug,” I said, finally deciding to let him off the hook. “Knocked me colder than mackerel . . . but I’m much better now.”
He sneered contempt, not wanting to buy that one, kept shaking his head. Couldn’t blame him, it was a lousy story.
Before he could make an additional comment, Angela stepped in. “At least we know now why Escott didn’t call the cops when he came and found them, why he’d move a dead body instead and keep quiet. We couldn’t figure it, but you being alive explains all that. So where is he?”
“Someplace else. Why do you want him?” I kept the worry from my tone. It should have been too soon for my suggestion about her calling off the hit on Escott to have faded yet.
“We don’t want him, it’s Sullivan’s secretary. He’ll know where Sullivan went with Opal.”
“You’re too late, for Maxwell at least,” I said, spreading my hands.
“What? Did you kill him?”
“No, though Sullivan will wish I had.”
“What do you mean?”
“Maxie’s singing up a storm with Merrill Adkins about now. Maybe you’ve heard of him.”
That got me a truckload of shocked disbelief from them all as his name hit home; they’d been keeping up with the newsreels.
“You’re lying.” said Angela.
I shrugged. “Suit yourself.”
“How is it you know someone like Merrill Adkins?”
“Doesn’t matter, but you’ll have the proof of it soon enough. It’ll be in the papers for sure.” Adkins would probably see to that detail himself. “The federal boys will soon start busting up all the hidden businesses in this town, not just Sullivan’s, but the ones he was going to take over.”
Her businesses. “Wh-what are you saying?”
“That it’s all over any way you look at it, sweetheart. Armistice has been declared. Once Maxwell is finished giving his life story to Adkins and his friends, Sullivan won’t have anything in this town to run, and neither will you. What’s left won’t be worth having. So you won’t need the books anymore.” Or a bookkeeper.
I half expected her to put the .45 in my face and pull the trigger, but she just stood and stared, lips parted, eyes stricken. She’d get no apologies from me, though. After the load of grief she and her pop had dumped on yours truly, I figured she was coming out damned well on the deal, especially if she still had that carful of money. Of course, I planned to talk her into sharing some of it with me.
“Where’s Opal?” she demanded after a moment; her voice sounded thin, shaken.
“Still with Sullivan the last I heard. She’s alive, no thanks to the hit on the hotel—”
“I didn’t do that!”
“’S okay, I believe you, lady.” Thousands wouldn’t, but mine was a front-row seat and she was getting me convinced.
The phone rang in the kitchen. No one moved, they all seemed to hold their breath. I followed their lead and kept shut, figuring they wouldn’t let me answer anyway. It rang a dozen times before stopping, then they relaxed.
“Who’d be calling you?” asked Newton.
“Could be anyone.” Escott, Coldfield, Bobbi, even Gordy, or maybe someone else entirely.
“They must want to talk real bad. It’s been doing that every ten minutes since we got here.”
Which meant there was some problem. Escott and Coldfield knew where I might be found. If there was an emergency with Bobbi, Gordy would send people out to look for me, starting with this place
.
“Let me get it next time and I’ll let you know.”
That made him laugh. I should have known better.
“Angela! You should have had someone catch the phone.”
Frank Paco’s voice. From the front parlor.
“Another time, Daddy,” she called in reply. “It wasn’t for us.”
“You don’t know till you answer.”
He sounded pretty lucid. My reaction must have been plain on my face. Angela gave me a smug look.
“Those head doctors had it wrong keeping him quiet. All the running around has done him good. Perked right up after the raid. Almost like he was before.”
I didn’t care for the sound of that. The last thing I needed was Angela thinking Frank was on his way to a full recovery. It’d give her a reason to stay in town. “May I?” I asked, gesturing toward the parlor. She stood out of the way and I walked in slow, mindful of all the guns centered on my back.
Frank Paco was on the sofa, listening to the radio, his hollowed-out face looking only slightly more animated than the last time I’d seen him. He’d been cleaned up, combed, shaved, and was in a decent suit, one cut to reflect the weight he’d lost since last August when I’d shattered his world. As I walked in I wondered if he’d know me and remember what had happened.
He glanced up once, eyes as empty as ever, and I felt a familiar chill on my neck. He was more walking dead than I’d ever be.
One glance, then he ignored me, staring with vast concentration at the lighted dial on the set as if trying to recall how to work it. Static came through the speaker.
My apprehension eased. He was in no shape to take over the running of a windup train set, much less what was left of his old organization. I took my usual chair opposite the sofa, getting comfortable. Angela, still holding her gun on me, sat next to her father, who didn’t seem aware of her.
“‘Almost’ doesn’t cut it in his business,” I said to her. “Look at him—he’s nowhere close to being what he was and you know it.”
