by P. N. Elrod
“He looks real enough,” he said, trying to generate some courage. His eyes dropped to my chest. “It can’t be the kid, this guy’s never been shot.”
I beg to differ.
“Or there was a mistake on the street,” said Gordy. “Joe never hit him, after all, the kid faked it.”
“Then what about the other stuff?”
“Some kind of trick, like you said. He could have drugged the boys and robbed the safe. See, I got him red-handed just now.”
Morelli looked past me. “Where are the papers?”
“In his pockets.”
“Empty ’em,” he told me. It was the first time I’d been addressed directly. I didn’t move. If he wanted his papers he could damn well get them himself. He ordered me again, lost his patience, and came for them. As exasperated as he was, he approached me like a ticking bomb, giving Gordy plenty of target area in case I tried something. He threw all the stuff on the table and checked for other things. My wallet came out, my old one. I should have left it at home, but one can’t think of everything. He looked at the papers inside.
The shock was almost physical. The wallet he held was supposed to be on a weighted body at the bottom of the lake, not in his own shaking hands. He dropped it and if possible, his eyes were bulging more than when he’d first walked in the room.
Gordy sensed the change. “What’s the matter? Slick?”
Morelli’s thoughts flashed over his face. He was trying to understand, trying to put reality right again and failing.
I smiled.
He broke. “Shoot him, Gordy! Shoot him now!”
The gun was already level with my chest. Instinct made me throw myself to one side. The bullet caused a brief bright flash as it crashed through my skull, leaving behind white-hot pain. The force of the shot and momentum of my dive carried me forward, out of control, and my head connected with a solid crack on the sharp corner of the wood table, with all my weight adding to the force. By comparison, the bullet had been a pinprick. I lay stunned and still by the sheer agony that enveloped me.
My body was turned over. My eyes stared at the light, unable to shut out the glare.
“Must have just glanced him,” said Gordy. “There’s a wound, but no hole. I coulda swore I hit him square.”
“Is he dead?”
A heavy hand on my chest, then he shut my eyes. I couldn’t have moved if I wanted to. “He’s dead, see for yourself.”
Before he could, there were quick steps and the door was thrown open. “Slick?” It was Bobbi’s voice, frightened. “Oh, my God.”
“Get the hell out of here! No, wait—look at him, is he the one? Is he?”
“Yes,” Her throat was congested with tears. Grief for me or shock, I couldn’t tell.
“Shut up and get out!”
Yes, Bobbi, get out so you don’t have to see—
“I said get out!” The door slammed. She retreated down the passage, trying to stifle the sobs.
I’d been in such pain before and in this same cabin, lying helpless in the heat with voices and questions, the air thick with sweat and smoke, the stink of my own body burning my lungs.
I slipped into the nightmare, embracing the horror of memory like a lover.
Lover—Bobbi—
No, Maureen.
Maureen . . .
10
WE were laughing at some private joke. It was good to hear her laugh, she did it so seldom, but when I turned to look at her, she was gone and the smile within me died.
I woke from the cessation of motion as the train stopped. It was a familiar dream, I used to hate it, but not anymore because I needed the shadow memory of Maureen to know that I’d once loved her and felt alive. She might have been saying good-bye this time, though. New York was behind me now, good memories and bad, and I wanted to start fresh again. That was what I told myself while threading through the crowded train station with my two bags. It wasn’t much of a lie since I wasn’t much of a liar, but the best for the moment, it would have to do.
Chicago was not windy today, it was late summer and the humidity was up to lethal levels. The walk from the station was unpleasant, the bags dragged hard on my arms, and the sidewalk threw the heat up in my face as though it were my fault. I was getting punch drunk from it until a hotel with the right price on the sign invited me into the shade. It was cheap, though not quite a fleabag. Later, if the money got too low, I’d end up in one of those, but not today.
Unescorted, I trudged upstairs to look for the door that fit my key. In these days of the Depression the hotel couldn’t afford the luxury of a bellhop. The room was no worse than I expected, small and impersonal, with a sagging bed bolted to the floor, an ugly bureau and a chair to match, but it had a private bath and a phone and came with a fan, which I immediately turned on. I opened the window wide to let in the late-afternoon street exhaust and stripped out of my damp suit. I ran cold water in the tub and dropped in. Later on I’d hunt up a hamburger and read the papers to decide which one deserved to employ me.
The water was just rising past my chest when the phone rang.
I moaned and cursed, being one of those people who have to answer no matter what they’re doing. It had to be a wrong number, the only person I knew in Chicago was the clerk downstairs. Lurching out and leaving a wet trail, I picked up the earpiece and said hello.
“Jack Fleming?” It wasn’t a familiar voice.
“You got him, what is it?”
“Jack, this is Benny O’Hara from New York. You maybe remember at Rosie’s bar about a year ago—”
Benny O’Hara, a little guy with big ears who gave me a tip on an arson story in exchange for five bucks and a drink. I’d let the cops in on it, they caught the guys, and I got an exclusive for the paper with a by-line.
“Yeah, Fourth of July, make it look like fireworks did it, collect the insurance. I remember.”
“Listen, I saw you leave the train station and followed you. I thought you could help me—”
The same old story. He needed a soft touch, but I couldn’t afford it this time. “I’m sorry, Benny, but I was just on my way out—”
“No, wait, please, this is important!” He sounded desperate, I hung on out of curiosity. “You gotta listen. I’ve got something big for you, a hell of a story, believe me.”
“I’m listening.”
“Can you come down and meet me in the street? I can’t tell it all on the phone. Please, Jack?”
“What’ll it cost me?”
“You mean what’ll it give you? This one is red hot.”
“Arson again?” I joked.
“Please, Jack!” He was in no mood for humor.
“All right, I’ll be out in a minute.”
“Just walk outside, turn right, and keep walking. I’ll catch up with you.”
It seemed overly dramatic, maybe he did have something important. If I came to an editor with a hotshot story ready to roll, so much the better my chances of getting a job, and with better pay. It was worth a try. I told Benny to hold tight and hung up, trying not to sound too eager.
Dried and dressed, I left the hotel, following his directions, scanning the faces around me for his. About a block later he appeared at my elbow.
“Don’t look at me, for Chrissake!” he said in a low voice.
The glimpse I’d gotten was not reassuring. He always looked to be just this side of starvation, that was normal, but now he was haggard and twitching at the edges. I wondered when he’d last slept.
“Just keep walking and I’ll tell you everything.”
“For how much?”
“I’ll tell you. When I’m finished you can take it or leave it.”
Now, that was out of character. If I hadn’t been on guard before, I was now. “Who’s following you?”
“Nobody yet, I think, but we can’t take chances. Just keep walking.”
I kept walking.
“Ever hear of Lucky Lebredo?”
“No.”
&n
bsp; “He’s a local gambler, owns part of the Nightcrawler.”
“He owns a worm?” I said blankly.
“It’s a nightclub,” he said, pained. “Used to be a big speak, then it went in heavy on the gambling when he got part of it.”
“Illegal, of course.”
“Is LaGuardia Italian? Anyway, he’s a name here to some people, but keeps a low profile and stays out of the way of the gangs, so not many people know him or his piece of the club.”
“So what’s this about, Benny?”
“Did Rosie tell you what I do for a living?”
“She said you were a locksmith,” I replied with a straight face.
“Rosie’s a swell gal.”
“Benny—”
“Okay! I’m getting to it. I have to take advantage of an opportunity when it comes up ’cause there ain’t that many of them these days for locksmiths. I gotta flop with this friend of mine, and every Wednesday he has room in his place for a big-time poker game. These guys use thousand-dollar bills like other people use matchsticks. Sometimes the game goes on for days. It’s usually out-of-town guys lookin’ for some fun, and there’s different ones every week, but Lucky never misses a game. He’s a real crazy when it comes to poker and he always wins.”
“I’ve heard of people like that.”
“You gotta see to believe this guy. I swear, one week he went home eighty thousand dollars ahead. You gotta figure he don’t declare that on his income tax.”
“How is it they let you in on this game?”
“I don’t play. My friend tells ’em I’m a bodyguard. He lends me a gat for the duration and I hang around and look tough. Some of these rubes even believe it, they treat me like Capone himself, and they tip good to boot. Anyway, I keep my eyes open and one night I decide to follow Lucky home, just to protect him, you understand.”
“I understand.”
“Well, he goes on into this house, and for a guy with that much money it ain’t much of a house, so I figure he must have piles of it lying around unspent and unprotected. Maybe he might like to hire someone to guard it for him when he’s out.”
“And you decided to apply for the job?”
“Naturally, but the next night when I went back he was gone, maybe off to the club, but I tried the door, anyway, and imagine my surprise when it just opened right up. I thought maybe something might be wrong inside, so I had a good look around to make sure there wasn’t no burglars.”
“Go on.”
“Thank goodness there wasn’t and a good thing, too, because—I swear this is the truth—he walked out the door and left the safe wide open. I mean, how careless can you get?”
“Tsk-tsk. Very careless.”
“Now, I thought it would be a shame if all that cash were to disappear into the wrong hands, so maybe I should take care of it for him.”
“Very thoughtful of you.”
“I thought so, too. There were a lot of large bills there and I don’t have nothing to carry them in, so I pull out this big envelope from the safe that looks empty. There’s only two sheets of paper inside, they don’t take up any room, so I start stuffin’ money into it and the whole kit and kaboodle leaves with me. When I get back to my flop I count things out and that’s when I get a good look at those sheets of paper.”
“What was on them?”
“They look like some kid was playing with a typewriter. Both sheets are covered with a lot of punctuating junk and numbers top to bottom, both sides of the pages. I figure right away it’s some kind of codes, and I like puzzles, so I try to solve it.”
“And?”
“And it wasn’t so easy, but I did it, and the stuff on those pages is enough to blow this state wide open.”
“What is it, then?”
“A blackmail list. The names are big ones, ones you wouldn’t expect to be there. It gives the names, where they live, the location of the stuff that’s against them, everything. I checked.”
“Oh come on, Benny.”
“I swear! I got it with me and now I gotta get rid of it.”
“Why? And why me?”
“ ’Cause you’re not on the list, ’cause you’re new in town and none of these mugs know you.”
“What mugs?”
“One of Lucky’s boys and others. They’re with the Paco gang, they’ve been after me for days, I can’t get outta town. They’ve got the stations covered. I can’t buy a car, boat, or bicycle without them finding out.”
“And you want to foist this off on me? Turn it in to the cops.”
“Don’t you see anything? There’s cops on the list—judges, lawyers, newspaper people—anybody with something to hide is on it. They’d bury it and me, too, if I went to them. I tried. But you’re clean, you can do something with it, you can make a story out of it.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Just some help getting out of the city. I can take care of myself from there.”
I’d always been an idiot when it came to thinking out the long-term consequences of snap decisions. “What have you got planned?”
“You’re a square guy, so I can trust you. I give you a couple of notes and you go buy a car for me, but in your name, then all we gotta do is drive outta town. You drop me in some burg in the next state, then I’m on my own and can lam it from there. For that, you keep the car and the list. Lucky and his boys don’t know you from whosis, so you’ll be safe, too.”
“That sounds okay to me. When?”
“Right now. I gotta get out today before my nerves go. Take a turn into that alley ahead and wait for me. If things are clear, I’ll be there in a minute.”
I went into the alley, walking half its length before stopping and turning around. It was dim and quiet. I took off my hat and wiped at the sweatband with a handkerchief. My only company was a one-eared cat picking through the garbage. Down the middle of the alley ran a trickle of water, and overhead someone’s laundry hung dejectedly in the still air. I hoped Benny would hurry.
Long before I thought of leaving, his scrawny figure appeared at the other entrance. His gait was a peculiar hopping walk, as though he were about to break into a run and always changed his mind at the last second. He hitched up close, puffing with his eyes darting all over in nervous jerks. He was looking down at the heels for all the dough he claimed to be holding and had the calm demeanor of a chain-smoker who’d just run out of cigs.
“Now we gotta be careful,” he warned me, and gave me a thousand-dollar bill.
“Is this for real?” I’d never seen one before.
“Like Sally Rand’s feathers. You might want to change it for smaller bills, but you can get a really good car with it. I can’t cash ’em myself on account of I don’t look that respectable enough, but for you it’d be easy.”
Not that easy, but maybe if I changed into my better suit I could pass muster at any bank. “Okay, now where’s the list?”
“Right here and welcome to it.” He pulled out two sheets of paper folded double and gave them to me. I opened them up. As described, they were solid with typed symbols and numbers.
“How do I read this stuff?”
“It’s easy, just substitution—”
Someone coughed off to the left. It was an oddly regular cough, coming three times very close together. Benny’s small body jerked and three large red holes appeared in his head, chest, and stomach. He fell into the dirty little stream on his side and lay oblivious in the water, pop-eyed and forever surprised.
I won’t defend my reaction, if it was cowardice or self-preservation, but I hurtled out of that alley and into the street as though my ass were on fire.
Terror is a great stimulant. Three long blocks later I was still pelting down the sidewalk at full steam, leaving a trail of disturbance and sometimes destruction as I negotiated obstacles in my path. I never looked back. The temptation was there, but it would have cost me speed and headway. I just couldn’t take the risk. Heat and lack of endurance took their toll, thoug
h, and I was forced to slow down; my passage through the afternoon rush was too noticeable, anyway. I ducked into a big department store and tried to collect myself while still moving.
The list and the thousand-dollar bill were still in my hands. I tucked both away into my wallet and thought about calling for a cop. That might be a bad idea, though, since as a witness I was no good. I had, God help me, seen Benny die, but hadn’t even glimpsed his killer. There could be more than one, from his talk. What story could I give, anyway? That I had accepted money from a thief to help him out? The truth wouldn’t do at all, and from experience I knew I was a lousy liar. I kept moving, hoping to come up with some plan before somebody aced me.
I was just starting to feel safe and looked around. Even as a stranger to the city I had no trouble recognizing them. I’d seen the type in lineups in New York. They could look like anyone physically, but there was a hard-to-define attitude that set them apart from ordinary people. A predator’s hardness, perhaps, but I had no time to analyze the quality because they were coming after me.
I located the back exits, tore through the stockrooms, upsetting employees, and burst outside onto a narrow street where freight trucks made their deliveries. The street ran into a larger one, with more people and hopefully safety. I heard feet pounding behind me and dived into the crowds.
We played this game for nearly an hour. There were five of them, three on foot and two in a dark green Ford that followed me after I jumped into a taxi. They were smart and certainly professionals. I was a stranger in their territory and really didn’t stand much chance of getting away, but had to keep trying to avoid Benny’s fate.
I thought of dropping the stuff in plain sight. Perhaps that was all they were after, and I was too unimportant to bother about. It seemed right, but there was absolutely no indication they would be so cooperative. I kept going.
I was getting very tired. The taxi dropped me on Michigan Avenue, though it had given me a small respite, I’d have to go to ground soon. I needed time to rest and think and a safe place to do it in. That’s when I looked up and saw the massive limestone structure of the Chicago Public Library. Libraries had often been quiet sanctuaries for me, so I went in.
