by Kirk Dougal
“This Sammy, he was your partner on the job?” I waited until he nodded. “Big C’s men are going to find you and what they’re going to do to you won’t be pretty.”
“I’ll keep my head low.”
“It took me a day to find you.” I tapped the table again for emphasis. “Really just a morning. And if they hired me, they sure as hell hired more people like me.” I hooked a thumb at the others. “Sure, Eddie moved out of the Jorgenson but he’s still working the same area. They will find him and then they’ll find you.”
No one spoke. I smelled the closeness in the thick air, a touch of Jennie’s perfume and the sweat of the three men. Somewhere down the hall a woman yelled and a door slammed in reply.
“What are you going to do?” Hull asked.
“I’m going to get you out of here.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized what I was saying. But they felt right when they crossed my tongue.
“Why?” Eddie asked. “You don’t know Voice. You don’t know any of us.”
I turned to Eddie and stared. Jennie sucked in a breath and he leaned back in his chair, trying to put more distance between us.
“You’re right. I don’t know him from Adam and I sure as hell don’t owe him anything.” I looked back at Hull. “But they tried to play me and they need to pay for that. So if they want you, I’ll sure as hell see that they can’t find you.”
The man by the window cleared his throat. He continued staring out the dirty glass but now gripped the frame on both sides. “Are you working alone?” he asked.
“Yes.” I was afraid of what I would hear but I needed to know anyway. “Why?”
“Because two car loads of men just pulled up out front and they don’t belong in this neighborhood.”
I stepped beside him and looked out. When I leaned to the side, I saw the end of the alley and a Lincoln parked on the street, its suicide doors still open with a man behind the wheel.
“I only see one.”
“There was two. The other pulled forward too far to see.”
I turned back to Eddie. “Is there another way out of here?”
“There’s stairway at the back of the building. But it comes out in the alley.”
I nodded. “Let’s move, Hull. Or do you want to be on your own?”
Voice looked at Eddie and then shook his head. “No, I don’t want them wrapped up in this twist.”
I went to the door and peeked down the hallway. The area was still clear but I heard men’s voices floating up the staircase. I glanced back at the other three grifters. “Lock the door when we’re gone and go find some place else to flop for a while.” One more look in the hall. “Okay, let’s go.”
“Wait.”
I turned and watched Eddie walk into the side room. He emerged a few seconds later with a worn carpetbag which he tossed to Hull. “I don’t want that here if they find us.” He nodded his head. “Good luck, Voice.”
“Come on,” I said. The hallway was still clear but I heard the sound of footsteps approaching up the front staircase. We moved quickly in the other direction, my gun leading the way. At the end of the hall I paused to look out the dirty window, the glass cracked along one corner so what little sunlight made it through split into two pieces. What I saw of the alley from this angle showed a clear run.
I whirled around as a voice, terse words carrying the weight of commands, carried over the worn carpet. I pushed open the door beside us and pulled Hull with me as I hustled into the stairwell. I was sure my last glance down the hall had revealed the tops of fedoras as several men breached the stairs.
“Who…?”
I put my hand over Hull’s mouth and glared at him. We needed to move fast but the narrow stairway offered no place to run if we were caught in its confines. I listened for the sounds of men below us but I heard only the pounding of my own heart.
“Quiet,” I whispered.
I led the way down, cringing every time a riser creaked. After two floors we stopped and I risked cracking open the door into the hallway. I heard the muffled laugh of a woman from behind one of the closed doors but otherwise the space remained quiet. I was ready to step out and make a break for the front stairs when I heard the cough. A man hid somewhere down the hall, close enough to hear, but I could not see him. I eased the door shut and shook my head at Hull. His pale face shined with sweat but when Voice nodded, his chin was firm. Scared, but not terrified. The kid had guts.
We rounded the landing on the second floor when I heard the sound I had been dreading. The first floor stairwell door opened beneath us and squeaked into the stop. Shoes shuffled on the worn wooden floor but they did not start climbing the stairs.
I almost jumped out of my coat when Hull grabbed my shoulder. I glared up at him, two steps above me, but he only nodded and showed me the coin he had pinched between his fingers. He reached over the rail and dropped the nickel down the narrow opening.
My heart leaped into my throat and I held the gun tighter, the grip threatening to slip in the sweat on my palm. A second later the coin bounced and clattered on concrete in the basement, echoing up the stairwell like a shout through a megaphone.
The response was immediate. Heavy steps pounded down the stairs from the first floor, punctuated by the grunts of a running man.
As soon as the sounds started to fade, I moved. Down the steps to the next landing, a quick peek to see the next flight, and then on to the first floor. The door still stood open and I glanced out into the lobby. A handful of residents talked in small groups or walked through the area. At the far end near the front door, however, I saw three men in overcoats and fedoras watching everyone.
I heard the deep gasps for air at the same time Hull poked me in the ribs. I turned and saw a mountain of a man, about my height but at least twice as thick through the chest and rounding out even larger through his belly. He breathed hard as he made his way up the steps from the basement, his head down in fatigue as he climbed. I took him all in with one glance but my gaze lingered on his hand shoved deep into his coat pocket, the outline of a bigger lump under the cloth.
I did not wait to see what he had in his hand.
I took one step toward the stairs and kicked. The sound of my movements caused the big man to glance up in surprise and he opened his mouth to yell before my size ten caught him in the face, blood spraying on the wall as his nose crunched under the sole of my shoe. He tumbled over backwards, his head striking the last step before he crumpled in a mound of expensive suit and fat, his neck twisted at an impossible angle.
I turned to Hull. He wore an odd look on his face as he stared at the dead gunsel, one of fear and surprise mixed together in a jumble of open mouth and half-closed eyes.
“Come on,” I said, grabbing his arm to shake him out of the daze. “We’re not out of the woods yet.”
I stole another glance into the lobby to see if the sound of the big man falling had caught anyone’s attention. A young boy stared back at me as he held onto his mother’s hand. She was too busy talking with another woman to notice as we watched each other. He finally stuck his tongue out at me and looked away.
More importantly, the thugs at the other end of the lobby paid even less attention to the noise than the little boy’s mother. They were busy smoking and keeping an eye on the front door.
I stepped out, pulling Hull with me, and crossed the area in a few strides. A moment later we were in an alcove and I pushed open the back door of the Jorgenson, the rot of the garbage-strewn alley greeting me warmly. The stench smelled great.
“What do we do now?” Voice asked. “The alley is a dead end.”
I crept to the corner of the building and glanced in both directions. Hull was correct. The alley ended about fifty feet to my right, the backside of a brick wall looking back at me. To my left I saw the Lincoln I had spotted from Eddie’s window.
“Can we wait `em out?” he asked.
“No. They won’t leave a man behind so they’ll come looking for th
e big galoot on the stairs when he does not show up at the car.” I hesitated for a few seconds. “I’d rather try to get by them now when most of them are still inside the building.” I looked Hull in the face. “Once we start, just keep moving forward. Stay as close to me as you can.”
“What are you going to do?”
I checked my gun and eased around the corner into the alley. “Hell, I don’t know.”
I walked close to the wall, hugging the shadows and trying to use some old crates to stay out of sight as long as I could. The doors to the Lincoln were open and only the driver was in sight, still sitting behind the wheel. He stayed busy watching the street, constantly looking up and down at the approaching cars. With any luck, Hull and I could slip out of the alley and walk by without him knowing where we had come from.
That luck never appeared. We had moved around the crates, leaving us with about twenty feet of open alley to sneak through, when another overcoat and fedora walked into sight, turning with our movement. We stared each other in the eye for a three count, the seconds stretching out like a rubber band before they snapped back, slapping us both into action.
He ripped open his coat and reached for the shotgun hanging from a sling under his arm while I brought up the .45. He had a solid grip on his gun when my first bullet ripped into his chest, staggering him back into the door of the Lincoln. The second sent him to his knees before he fell face first to the sidewalk.
Another man ran into the alley opening, his gun already in his hands. His first shot hit the crates, sending a shower of splinters into the air. I moved to my right and missed with my answer. He pumped another round into the chamber and fired. I felt a jerk on the coat beneath my shooting arm but the pressure did not stop me from pulling the trigger again. This time I hit him high in the chest, nearly to his throat, and he dropped the shotgun as he fell back over the hood of the car.
I watched the driver scrambling to leave the Lincoln as I ran forward, trying to get a good shot before he disappeared out of sight behind the car. Suddenly, the rattling thunder of a Thompson echoed down the alley from behind me and I threw myself against the building wall, waiting for the cloud of lead to chew into my back.
The driver did the next best thing. He finally wiggled his belly away from the wheel and, with the echoes chasing him, took off on the best sprint he could manage down the street.
I turned to look for my executioner. Instead, all I saw was Hull, a folded piece of heavy paper in his hands and held up to his mouth. When he pulled them down, he smiled.
“Come on,” I growled.
Hull leaped into the back seat of the Lincoln and jerked the door shut while I slid across the front seat. The starter whined and grated before I realized the motor was still running and stopped, throwing the car into gear. The dead shooter on the hood slid off when the Lincoln roared away from the curb, plowing the open driver’s door off the identical one parked in front of it on the way by. As the Lincoln’s tires screeched through the turn onto the next street, I saw one man, his black fedora pulled low over his eyes so his face remained hidden in the shadow, standing on the corner.
He gave a two-finger salute as I drove away.
Chapter 21
I shut the office door behind me and Gretchen glanced up with a smirk on her face. “Look who decided to drag themselves into the office,” she said. “Did you have a rough one after I left last night?”
I kept on walking toward the inner office. “I found the kid.”
The scrape of the desk chair was followed by the quick clicks of her heels across the floor. “Ricky, that’s great! I can’t believe you found him so soon.”
I tossed my overcoat and hat onto the chair but did not stop moving until I had the glasses on my desk and whiskey pouring out of the bottle. I slugged back a good shot and poured more in the glass before I offered the other one to Gretchen.
“What’s wrong, Ricky? Was the kid dead when you found him?”
I looked out the window at the dreary afternoon sky. I was in a game. I knew I was in a game and my body lie in a bed in a nursing home with FBI agents guarding me around the clock. But killing those three goons had felt as genuine as if I had pulled my gun with Frank by my side in real life. The same sour feeling twisted my stomach and left my throat dry as I thought of the three bastards lying in pools of their own blood. Sure, they would have gunned me down if I had not killed them first and I would have needed to start the game over, gone through another opening sequence in order to move on to my true objective.
Sure, I knew all of that. I just needed the whiskey to help me forget.
“No, the kid’s safe. I got him holed up in a hotel.” I turned to look at her. “But we had to fight our way out.”
She glanced down at my coat and gasped. She pulled back the sleeve, holding it away from the body so she could see all the way through to the chair seat. The second shotgun blast had missed skin but the bullet ruined the coat and the thought of the close call threatened to make my stomach roil again.
“I see.” She let go of the coat and leaned back against the desk. “Should I be looking for marks on you?”
“Not today,” I said. I finished off the second drink and reached for my cigarettes.
“I’m glad, Ricky,” Gretchen said.
The way she said my name, the slight tilt of her head, and the smile playing at the corners of her mouth but not quite blossoming into a grin—everything about her in that moment made me think of Gwen. Before I knew what I was doing, I dropped the cigarettes and took two long steps to stand in front of her. I reached down and snaked one arm around her waist, yanking her body close to mine and crushed my lips to hers while I grabbed her hair. I would have worried about hurting her but she pulled at me with the same ferocity, holding me tight enough to make my ribs ache. When we broke apart, her eyes gleamed with hunger and her lips stayed open while she gasped for air.
“I thought for a minute we were going to give the neighbors a show,” she said without a hint of embarrassment if anyone watched or not.
“We still might,” I said as I moved in for another kiss.
The door in the outer office shut and a boy’s voice called out, “Telegram for Mr. Dowland.”
Gretchen stifled a giggle. “Just a minute,” she called out. She reached into my breast pocket and grabbed the handkerchief, wiping her lipstick from my lips. “You’ll need to give him the tip this time,” she said with a grin. “It will take me a lot longer to pull myself together than you.” She swiped across my mouth one more time. “Go on.”
I straightened my jacket as I walked out. A young man waited in the lobby but his grin faded when he saw me instead of Gretchen. I didn’t blame him.
“I’m Dowland.”
He handed me the delivery sheet and I signed my name while he pulled out an envelope from the pouch slung over his shoulders. He smiled and doffed his cap when I flipped a quarter into the air, grabbing the spinning silver and moving toward the door in one motion.
I had already pulled the message out of the envelope by the time I made it back into my office.
“Is it your answer from the home office?” Gretchen asked. She stood in my little alcove, doing her best to put her hair back into something resembling the style before I grabbed her. “I sent in your message as soon as I saw the note this morning.”
“Yes, it is,” I answered, my thoughts returning the paper.
Dowland STOP REM reports victim Reese had avatar named Ted Roberts STOP IP tag found inside jewelry STOP Watch or ring only removed when avatar dead STOP Dead players must start over STOP We are counting on you STOP Strick
“I recognize that look,” Gretchen said.
“What?” I glanced up.
“The look on your face means you just got some more information for a case.” Gretchen walked out of the alcove, her hair back in place and her blouse neatly tucked into her skirt. “That means another night at home with my roommate working on my knitting.” She walked out of my office
and shut the door behind her.
I could not imagine Gretchen with a knitting needle in her hand—unless she was preparing to stab somebody that made her mad.
Chapter 22
The next couple of hours flew by as I reread the telegrams from Strick, trying to make a connection with what we knew about the killer and what I could remember about Raven. I even spent some time trolling through the telephone book, as well, looking for clues on Coltin Reese’s alter ego. I found a couple of Ted Roberts, a slew of T. Roberts, and even one Theodore, but I remained just as lost about where to start my search when the call box on the corner of my desk buzzed.
“Ricky, Detective Hanlon is on the line. Do you want me to put him through?”
I thought back through all of the old film noir movies and detective novels I could recall. As a detective on the police force, Hanlon would either bust my balls because he hated private detectives or we would be friends from way back. “Do I owe him money?” I asked.
Gretchen laughed. “The way you two carry on you probably both owe each other money and have lost track of how much.”
Hanlon must be a friend. “Put him through, doll.”
A second later my telephone rang and I picked up the receiver. “Dowland.”
“Hello, RJ. It’s Dutch. You got time to grab a cup of coffee?”
“Sure, Dutch. Only coffee?”
A deep, rumbling laugh came through the line. “I’ll see you at Shaughnessey’s Diner in twenty minutes.”
*****
I crawled out of the Ford and walked into the diner. Only two blocks from the precinct house, blue uniforms filled most of the tables. A few of the policemen nodded and smiled while one or two sneered—about what a shamus could hope for at a cop eatery. I wondered if the reception would be as welcoming at any of the nearby bars after shift change.
