by P. N. Elrod
there?" I asked.
"There's two of us, pal. "
I jumped. The reply hadn't come from the phone, but from directly behind me. A stranger's soft voice. Something, probably a gun, prodded my lower spine, forestalling further motion on my part. People who interrupted calls in this manner always had guns. How long had he been here? Not long enough to have searched as far as the guest bedroom. Or maybe he had-and discovered what appeared to be Kroun's dead body. Oh, hell.
"Say you'll call him back. " The man's tone was almost conversational and very confident.
"Boss. . . ?" Derner sounded odd. He must have heard.
"I'll call you back," I said and dropped the receiver onto its hook.
The man said, "Good boy. Put your hands on the wall. High up. "
I did so, and he frisked me, making a fast, efficient job of it, finding nothing threatening. My gun was in the overcoat hanging over the kitchen chair, well out of reach.
"You Jack Fleming?' he asked.
"Yeah. You one of Whitey Kroun's people?"
"No. Whitey was one of my people. "
Oh, hell, again. Kroun's boss. Not that this should be a surprise. He sounded calm, but I sensed otherwise. Some of them could do that, hold a relaxed front, yet be flushed with rage. I was better at dealing with the ones who lost control and gave in to their emotions. This steadier type was a lot more unpredictable.
He went on. "Mitchell was also one of my people. So was Hog Bristow. They're dead, and you're not. You understand why I'm here?"
"You gonna buckwheats me?" I asked. My mouth went dry, just like that, at the word.
It was how the mob dealt with some of their enemies. Buckwheats meant a slow, hideous death, lots of blood, lots of screaming. I'd been through it and would not suffer again. I would kill to avoid it, no matter the consequences. Despite this internal promise, cold sweat flared over my skin, over the lines of scars Bristow had carved into me. My gut gave the kind of fast light flutter that presages vomiting. I leaned hard on my hands and took a deep breath, trying to stifle the nausea.
"That was Bristow's hobby," said the man. "I heard he did some knife work on you. "
"Yeah. He did. " The long icy threads left by his blade pulled tight on my flesh.
"And somehow you're still walking? Whitey said as much, but I didn't believe him. " The man spoke quickly yet with careful, educated articulation. He wasn't any jumped-up street mug.
"He told you right. " God, I was sick. Dizzy sick. A wave of it went over me, cold as gutter slush. If I fell into one of those damned fits. . . no. Absolutely not. Too humiliating. Swallowing dry, I let out my breath and sucked air, tasting my fear. "Whitey decided I'd paid enough. "
"I get that. It's paid. Whitey let you off for Bristow, but I can't let you off for Whitey. How did you arrange the bomb?"
"Not me. Mitchell. He was behind it. "
"You got Mitchell to-"
"No, he was on his own!" My voice was high and harsh. I pulled it down, fighting my not-unreasonable panic. Jeez, when had I started trembling? "I didn't know or I'd have stopped him. He wanted Kroun's job. If it'd worked right, I'd have gone up as well. Mitchell got his for it. "
"So you say. " The pressure of the gun muzzle increased and I couldn't help but flinch. "All the same, Whitey got blown to hell, and you didn't, and that's what matters to me. "
This bird had not searched the place thoroughly, else he'd have found Kroun upstairs, dead to the world, and this would be a different conversation. Where the hell was Kroun, anyway? If he'd just walk in. . . "You know I didn't kill him. It was-"
"Not my concern. "
Screw it. I wasn't going to beg for a chance to explain.
"I came to do a job," he said. "That's all. "
I stared hard at the black phone. "One thing," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Who else is on your list?"
"Why do you ask?"
"I don't want others to pay for what you think I've done. " The muzzle shifted and now rested hard against the back of my head. It felt good. It's a bad night in hell when the prospect of a bullet in the skull seems to be the easy way to get clear of problems. No bullet, lead or even wood, could slow me for long, but I did think about that kind of total oblivion for a few seconds. I wouldn't go there, though. Not ever again. I'd play the cards I'd been dealt and see the game through. . . with a moderate amount of cheating. "So when you're finished here-"
"You're it, pal," said the man. "No one else. "
But I couldn't trust him.
I let myself vanish. I'd been fighting the urge to do so, and now I went out like a light, but only for the barest second, long enough to shift and return with death's own grasp on his arm. The gun went off. Twice. Right next to my ear. I barely noticed, twisting and slugging hard, anger blurring my senses. He grunted and sagged but got a strong left in with his free hand. Tough guy. But my second punch took him out, and he suddenly weighed a ton. I let him drop, dragging the gun clear of his grip, and stifling the itch to kick him for good measure.
He said there were two of them. I vanished again before the second guy could come running. My hearing was diminished, but I'd know if anyone was close. Nothing stirred. I rushed through the downstairs quicker than wind-no one else around-then went solid to check on the fallen.
He was taller than average, with a hard-packed build under the expensive coat. Considering his high level of confidence, he was younger than I'd expected, not far into his thirties. Despite the winter, his skin was tanned and healthy, and he might have given Roland Lambert a good run for his money for film-star looks. Jobs in the gangs tended to age a man, but this bird seemed immune. Myself, I felt about a hundred years old, give or take a week.
The back door was unlocked. Damnation. I'd brick the thing over, but the bastards would probably just drop down the chimney like Santa. I turned the bolt (for all the good that would do) as Kroun came in, but I saw him as a corner-of-the-eye movement. I was startled enough to swing the gun on him.
He froze in place, genuinely alarmed, palms spread. "Easy there, it's me. "
As if that was reassuring.
Kroun wore only socks, skivvies, and had dragged on his bloodied shirt in lieu of a bathrobe. He frowned at the man on the floor. "Cripes. "
"Friend of yours?" I asked.
"Unfortunately for you, yes. "
I put the gun on the table, within easy reach. "He was shooting up the place. I had to clock him. "
Kroun took that in along with the holes in the wall. "Well, you both made a good job of it. " There was no longer a rasp in his voice. The day's rest must have fixed that, but he didn't look happy. "Is he broken?"
"Not permanently. Now what?"
" 'Now what' what?"
"He's after me because of you. I'd have to kill him to stop him and then someone else will follow and someone else, and I've got enough goddamned dead guys on my hands. "
He gave me a funny look. "You all right?"
"No, I'm-" I shut down, getting control. I still felt the gun's muzzle kissing the back of my head and couldn't believe I'd found that a comforting thing, even for a second. Shoving away the memory, the anger at myself and the circumstances, and taking a breath, I began again. "I am not all right. I got mugs like him breaking into my place to kill me. There's at least one other waiting somewhere else for his chance, and I'm damned sick of it. If you've got any influence over these bastards, get rid of them. I want them off my back for good. "
He just looked at me, pupils dilated and unreadable, but his mouth went tight. He didn't like being ordered around, but then who does? "I can't do that," he said.
"You're the only one who can. "
"I-" He bit off the reply, then looked at the fallen man again. "If I do that, they'll know I'm alive. I don't want them to know I'm alive. "
"Hypnotize them not to remember you. "
"It won't last. "
"Long enough
to buy you a head start. "
"Hell, kid, you're not asking much. You know what I went through to get dead?"
"Yeah, actually I do. "
That got me double take.
"Welcome to the club," I added.
"Cripes," he muttered again. "All that for nothing?"
"It's how the world works. "
His next remark was back-alley foul.
"You'll be a hero for surviving it-and you can tell them who's really responsible. That lets Gordy off the hook.
