“I don’t believe that, not for a second.”
Anthony laughs again; his voice is dark. “You will, detective.”
He makes a rude gesture with his fingers and walks into the house. I run to a payphone and dial the number for Liddell’s precinct.
“Liddell?’ I ask.
“Yes?”
“It’s Detective Baxter. I need you to send a protection detail on a witness. Her brother said the two of them were going to die, and I’m not about to allow that to happen.”
“Whoa, slow down,” Sergeant Liddell says. “Start from the beginning. What happened?”
***
I wait for Genevieve to make it back to the office. Baucus Publishing would have let out an hour ago. If Howard didn’t have too far to walk, Genevieve would likely follow for maybe half an hour before finding where the second Howard lives. From there, she’d have to come back to the office.
I pour a drink and sit at my desk, waiting and writing out the past few days' events along with theories I have about how doubles of people seem to be popping up.
My mind wanders, and I start to remember Rocco mentioning how people have been disappearing. Did that have anything to do with the doubles? My gut says they’re connected, but my noggin keeps telling me the two cancel each other out. If doubles are showing up, how can the same force cause people to disappear? It doesn’t make any sense.
The telephone rings, and I crack my neck as I stand to answer it. “Hello?”
“Thomas?” Genevieve’s voice says. “I was spotted; people with guns are after me. Howard spotted me, and I’m in too deep now. Please help me.” Her last few words come through heavy terrified sobs.
Blood pounds through my veins, hot and angry. If anything happens to Genevieve, there won’t be a copper or mobster in town who can stop me from enacting vengeance.
“Where are you?”
“I’m by Baucus Publishing. I ran back there.”
“I’m on my way.”
I slam the blower down and run out of the office as fast as my getaway sticks will carry me. I rush out the door and chase down a taxi until he stops. I flash my buzzer and get in.
“Take me to Baucus Publishing. Now.”
“Baucus? The place is closed. What do you want to go there for?”
“Now, or I’ll have you under arrest for stifling an investigation.”
The driver puts the car into drive and pulls out onto the road. “All right, all right already. I’m going.”
“Step on it.”
The driver shrugs. “If I get pulled over, you’re paying the ticket.”
I don’t reply. Images flash through my head of Howard Sutton pulling the trigger and Genevieve lying in a pool of blood. My heart nearly stops at the idea. My hand rests on my heater; I’m fully expecting to use it tonight. I’ll explain to Liddell why I shot Howard Sutton tomorrow, and while I stand the chance of losing my licence, Genevieve might still live to see the sunrise.
Fair trade in my book.
The taxi rolls up at Baucus Publishing and as I expected, the gate is locked. But the fresh set of tracks shows that a few have jumped the fence and were in a hurry.
I pay the cabby and don’t bother watching as he drives away. My eyes are focused on finding Genevieve.
I climb the fence and land softly in a pile of snow. I pull my piece from the holster and follow the tracks into the Publishing House. The door is unlocked — a bad sign. Someone expected Genevieve to run here, or maybe she was led here. The number of tracks to the factory corroborate that there were enough people to guide a panicked woman to go where they wanted.
I watch my steps carefully; the last thing I need is to step on something and tip them off to my presence. I even manage to close the door softly enough to not make a sound.
My breathing slows as I ready my Enfield No. 2, placing a finger on the trigger. I hear laughter coming from the printing room. Did they catch her? Is she all right? I push my fury down; I don’t want to lose my head and risk getting Genevieve or myself hurt from being careless.
“What do you think, Howard? What should we do?” a man’s voice says.
“Baxter would know almost immediately if we send him the wrong woman,” a man who sounds exactly like Howard Sutton says. “We’re going to send her back safe and unharmed. Besides, it’s not her we’re after anyway.”
“The detective is already on to us,” a woman’s voice says. I’m convinced it’s Helen O’Reilly.
I hear sniffing, and Howard says, “You’re right. He’s already here.”
“Baxter is?” Helen asks.
“Yes, you go; I’ll take care of him.”
I kick in the door, and Howard Sutton stands over an unconscious but still alive Genevieve. I point my heater at his head and narrow my eyes.
“I’d hoped to question you under more friendly circumstances,” I say, my throat dry and raspy.
“Yes, I saw you yesterday following me. Pretty clever of you, waiting for me in that café to stay out of the cold. But it wasn’t the time to speak with you, and it’s not the time right now either. I’m sorry, but I’m not going to be answering questions right now.”
My lips tighten, and I exhale lightly through my nose.
“No,” I mutter. “You’re going to answer my questions here and now. You’re going to tell me what’s going on and how the hell you’re alive. I’ve seen your corpse. I’ve seen your lungs laid out on a tray.”
Howard raises his hands and smiles. “You have questions, I get it. And I will answer all of them, just not right now. Soon though.”
“I get you behind bars; I’ll make sure you talk.”
Howard snickers. “You see, that’s where you’re mistaken. I’m not going behind bars. You’re going to let me go.”
“What makes you think I’ll do that?”
All amusement vanishes from Howard’s face. I watch as his eyes dart around the room. “This is a big factory, Detective Baxter. How many hiding places do you think there are, just in this vicinity alone? How many rifles do you think I have aimed at Genevieve right now?”
I don’t see anyone around, but I can’t take that chance. “You’re bluffing,” I say.
“It’s not worth the risk,” Howard says, taking a step back. I pull the hammer back on my heater, and I ready myself to fire. “Don’t do it. I really don’t want this woman’s blood on either of our hands. But I’m not afraid to give the order if you push me.”
“You shoot her, you're not leaving this factory outside a body bag.”
“So, what do you want to do?” Howard asks. I hear the strain in his voice and can see the veins in his temple. He’s getting frustrated. “Let me go or shoot me. I’m not answering questions tonight, and that’s final. Tell you what, I have an idea.” He looks to his right. “Number Four, fire your rifle into the air. Let Detective Baxter know you’re here.”
The boom of rifle fire makes me widen my eyes and damn near drop my piece. He’s not bluffing and Genevieve’s life is hanging in the balance. I lower my gun and stare directly into Howard’s eyes.
“Next time we meet, you’re answering questions.”
Howard’s features soften as he backs away. “You have my word on that.”
I don’t move until I’m sure Howard is gone, kicking myself the whole time. They expected me and I fell for it. I look down at Genevieve and shake my head. There’s a double of Howard and of Helen. The woman lying on the floor may be a double of Genevieve.
I sigh and pick her up. Double or not, she’s still my receptionist, my friend, and one of the brightest people I’ve ever known. She deserves more than to be left on the cold floor just on the off chance she’s not who she claims to be.
I swear under my breath as I hear Genevieve mutter, “Language.”
I smile and walk toward the exit. I have the real Genevieve.
***
I make sure Genevieve gets to her front door safely before letting the taxi pull away. I can’t face Art
hur, not after putting his wife in the line of fire. I chide myself as a coward and slump into the seat.
“Lovely night tonight,” the driver says in a poorly timed attempt at conversation.
“I suppose,” I reply, not looking out the window.
We don’t speak the rest of the way back to my office. I pay the man and walk to the front door of my building. I don’t notice Roscoe as he sneaks from behind the door until he saps me, making everything go black.
Chapter 11
The Club
There’s fabric over my face and my head feels several times larger than it has any right to. Rope burns my wrist and binds my ankles to chair legs. The same rope stretches up and around my torso, keeping me fixed in place. It’s a sloppy tie job, but it does the trick well enough. Worse yet, the room is hot. I feel sweat beading on my forehead and rolling down my back.
I didn’t see the man who hit me, but I have a pretty good idea of who it was. With that in mind, I have a pretty good idea as to where I am as well.
My suspicions are confirmed when I start to hear the sounds of a doghouse, gobble-pipe, licorice stick and skin ticklers through the walls. The sound of a canary joins in, and I know I’m in Renault’s Gin Joint. The voice I hear sounds nothing like Dorothy.
“You out there, Moe?” I ask.
The bag is removed from my face, and the light from the room stings my eyes. As I adjust to the sudden brightness, I make out Moses’s dour grimace and greasy black hair.
“Mister Baxter,” he says, his voice kinder than I’d have expected possible from him.
“Detective,” I correct.
“Detective Baxter,” Moses says. “It’s good to see you.”
“Not that I had a choice,” I say with a sneer. “I’d have come willingly. But you seem to doubt my willingness to solve my case; otherwise, you wouldn’t have gotten one of your goons to bash me.”
I can’t see them, but I can feel Rocco and Roscoe standing behind me. I imagine the rage on their faces and the heat of their breath on the back of my neck.
“You think you’re here because of your case?” Moses asks.
“Why else would I be here? My only other reason to come to your overpriced clip joint walked out on me the other day.” My eyes narrow as my brow furrows. “Which reminds me, you and I are going to have some words right quick.”
“You talking about Dorothy?”
My glare is enough of an indicator; I don’t need to say a word.
“What do you want to know?”
“Everything,” I say. “I want to know why you fired her. I want to know why you told her you’re closing down when you’re quite clearly still in business, and from the sound of that canary, you’re planning to keep running for quite some time.” I pull on the ropes behind my back, straining to get them loose. “I want to know why you chased her out of town. I want to know why you told her where I can find Howard Sutton. I want to know why you got your goon to sap me. And most of all, I want to know what the goddamn hell is going on.”
Moses’s eyes widen at my expletive. I’m not known to use strong language. I may be a Private Detective, but I have a reputation to uphold and a major corporation to represent. But in the heat of the moment and my growing frustration, the word slips out and I don’t regret it in the least.
“Well?” I say, the ropes beginning to loosen. “What’s wrong, Moses? Don’t have an answer?”
“I didn’t fire Dorothy,” Moses says. “It would have been foolish to fire her; she’s what brought people in this past couple of years. No, she quit on me.”
“Why would she quit? She loved this job.”
“She saw something she shouldn’t have, and I didn’t have the guts to do what needed to be done.” Strands of hair fall in front of Moses’s face. He runs his fingers through the strands and straightens his appearance. “I considered getting Rocco or Roscoe to take care of her, but I couldn’t do it.”
“So what? You decide to scare her out of town?”
“It was easy enough,” Moses says. “After what she saw, she knew I meant business and that if I chose, she wouldn’t see another sunrise. But her relationship to you complicated things. If she vanished, you wouldn’t stop until you found her and her killer, and the city would suffer for it. Hell, I would have suffered for it. I couldn’t have that.”
“What did she see?”
Moses snickers and pulls out a cigarette from my pack. He lights it and shakes his head. “There are some things you’re going to have to figure out for yourself, detective. But believe me when I tell you that when you do see what she witnessed, you’re going to wish you hadn’t.”
I grit my teeth and scowl. “Enough with the games, Moses. Tell me what I need to know.”
“You’re not in a position to be making demands.”
“Call off your goons and untie me; we’ll see just how tough you are.”
Moses snickers again. “I’m well aware of my cowardice. But those who are aware of it are also aware of my wealth, and I compensate through it.” He takes the last few puffs from his cigarette and snuffs it out in a glass ashtray on his desk. “I have no illusions about who I am, Detective Baxter. It’s a shame you can’t say the same.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Isn’t it obvious? No, of course, it isn’t.” He turns and looks directly into my eyes. He’s enraged, but for the life of me, I can’t imagine why. Moses is unhinged, incapable of holding a single emotion. “You play the hero, detective. You believe yourself to be a good man, a man of the people who goes out of his way to protect them. You find their lost loved ones, discover their infidelities, and even manage to solve a murder case here and there. It’s not hard to see why you believe yourself to be a hero. But you’re so much darker than any hero.”
This time I laugh. I don’t give a polite snicker or merely give Moses a smirk; I laugh in his face. “Is that what you read from me? A hero? That’s the dumbest thing you’ve said all day.” I take in a breath and calm my fiery nerves. “You claim to be self-aware, and that’s fine and dandy. But don’t claim you know me. You know my tin, and that’s all.”
“How would you describe yourself?”
“A man living the life he has. Neither happy with where he is nor angry, which is better than what most joes out there get. I’m a man who was disillusioned at a young age and came to terms with it at the end of a bottle and the butt of a pistol.” I’m not surprised to feel my heater is missing. “Which I would like back when we’re done here.”
The look on Moses’s face nearly has me in stitches. Oddly, I still don’t hear Rocco or Roscoe behind me. I know they’re there, but the lack of any tangible evidence unnerves me. I don’t turn my head to look for them; I can’t give Moses the satisfaction of seeing my fear of his brunos.
“If we can continue,” I say. “You haven’t finished answering my questions. I assume she made up the story of your joint closing, knowing that by the time I got to looking into you, she would be long gone. Am I correct?”
“You are.”
“Then tell me why you told her where to find Howard Sutton.”
Moses shook his head. “I didn’t tell her; she overheard it before seeing what she saw. Her telling you is a problem, but nothing we can’t deal with.”
“We?”
“Yes, we,” Moses says. “There’s something at play you could never guess at. If I’m being honest, if it were up to me, you wouldn’t even be here; you’d be dead in a ditch. Another body upon foundations, a crime nobody can solve.”
“Then what’s stopping you?” I ask.
Moses sighs. “It’s not my decision. For some reason, you’re important to the leaders. So you’re not allowed to die. At least not until you’ve finished your purpose.”
“And what’s my purpose?”
Moses shakes his head and turns away. “That’s something you’re going to have to discover for yourself. I can’t tell you, not that you’d believe me if I did. I’d have
to give up a whole lot of secrets that I’m not allowed to give up.”
“Awfully convenient if you ask me.”
Moses rushes me, his fist closed and cocked, ready to knock me in the jaw. He pauses, looks at his fist and straightens himself out. “I don’t have to justify myself to you, detective.”
“If that’s the case, let me out of here,” I say. “You never did tell me why you brought me here or why your goon had to sap me in the first place.”
“I got Roscoe to bring you here so we could have a little heart to heart, but I think that’s not going to happen now. Dorothy had to go see you before skipping town and make a real mess of things.”
“Tell me why you brought me here,” I say. “If not, let me go. I have work to do and not a lot of time to finish it.”
“Oh, believe you me, detective. You have all the time in the world to figure this out.”
Moses grabs another cigarette from my pouch and lights it.
“If you’re going to smoke all my snipes, you can at least give me one as well.”
Moses laughs and pulls out another cigarette. He places it in my mouth and lights it. I puff on the end, watching the smoke rise. I inhale deeply and breathe out a plume of light grey smoke.
“Better?” Moses asks.
“Only way I would be better is if I had your scruff in one hand and your blood on my knuckles.”
Moses frowns. “Threats won’t get you out any faster.”
“Maybe not,” I say, “but it seems like you’re looking to waste both our time. Get to the point or let me go.”
Moses leans against his desk and straightens his hair again. “I have a job for you. You’re not going to like it, but I’m afraid you’re not going to have a choice in the matter.”
“What makes you think I’ll take a job from you?”
Rocco and Roscoe move from my behind and stand on either side of Moses. “Because you’re not going to have a choice. That receptionist of yours is a pretty little thing, and Dorothy isn’t so bad either.”
Dead Man Walking Page 10
