by Kirk Dougal
“First, I’d like to know more about your business situation with Mrs. Borget. Just to ensure we do not have a conflict of interest, of course.”
“Of course.” I reached for a cigarette. Big C had not taken the bait about Voice and that worried me. “My arrangements with all of my clients are kept under the strictest of confidentiality so I’m afraid I can’t discuss that with you.” I let out a trail of smoke. “I can tell you, however, that I do not have a formal contract with Mrs. Borget.”
“So your business with her is more of a personal nature?”
I clenched my muscles at the look of hunger in Big C’s eyes. “Yes,” I answered once I had control of the desire to put my hands around his fat throat. “You could say that.”
He raised his glass. “I salute you, Mr. Dowland. She is a lovely woman.” He took a sip before continuing. “But I’m not sure I believe you. As you probably know, she has had a tragic past she irrationally blames on me.”
“I don’t give a rat’s ass if you believe me or not.” Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Color take a step forward. Another one and he would be close enough for me to reach if I moved fast so I twisted the stick. “If you want a drink, Jimmy, there’s water in the kitchen.”
Big C gestured with a hand and the man stepped back. My chance faded.
“Be that as it may,” he said, “I feel it’s in my best interest to ensure I have your full attention on my case.”
“I do things for people they are unable or unwilling to do for themselves. Sometimes that means finding lost items.” I took a drink. “It would take a lot for me to walk away from that responsibility.”
“An admirable trait, Mr. Dowland, attached to good business sense. Everything has its price. I am willing pay a great deal, perhaps even as much as all of the package I lost. But I insist upon meeting the person who intercepted my messenger.”
The breath caught in my throat at the realization they had not found Voice. “I’ll accept a reasonable finder’s fee. Do you care how the package is returned?”
Big C laughed as he stood up. “No, not really. In a box is fine but breathing would be better.” He walked to the door. “Either way, it will be interesting to do business with you, Mr. Dowland.”
I glanced at Color. He stared back, his eyes unblinking as he removed the magazine from my gun and slowly thumbed out the bullets. When the .45 was empty, he placed the gun on the mantle and tossed the holder across the room. “I’ll check in from time to time to see how you’re doing,” he said. “Don’t make me come back here or the next time I may need to pay special attention to your dog.”
I smiled, another mystery solved. “Don’t let the gate hit you on the backside on the way out.”
Color backed out of the room and the apartment door slammed a second later. I counted to twenty before I followed him, turning the bolt and sliding the chain on the door. “They’re gone, Voice,” I said as I returned to the living room.
The bedroom door eased open. I picked up the bullets before I noticed he stood in the doorway, the .38 revolver from my night stand in his hand. “What’s the angle, kid?”
“I heard everything you said. I see the twist now.”
I laughed. The first belly shaker I could remember letting loose for a long time. “Wise up. If I wanted to turn you over, I would have told them I didn’t own a dog and that was you growling through the door.” I walked to the table and filled two glasses, gesturing to the second one for him. “Listen, if I tip my mitt and spout off about not working with him or telling him I’ll never turn you over, then Big C will know for a fact I’ve got you stashed somewhere. I wouldn’t be able to breathe without having a couple of his goons on my back. Now, he thinks I’m a greedy son-of-a-bitch who can be bought. Sometimes it’s good to let the other team think you will sell to the highest bidder, makes them think they know what makes you go and what you will do. That gives me the advantage.” I gestured to the drink again and Voice walked forward.
“So, it was all just a trip for biscuits?” he asked.
I nodded. “How’d you know it was them and not me coming through the door?”
“There’s only so much you can do in an apartment before you start to wonder what’s going on outside,” he said. “I had the lights off so I could smoke by the window and watch the people walk by. I saw them drive up and figured they were coming here.” He glanced at the roscoe in his hand and held it out to me.
“No, you keep it. I won’t be here all the time to watch out for you and you might need it.” I plopped down in my chair, the day weighing on my shoulders. “By the way, I told Detective Dutch Hanlon that you’re working for me. Remember the name. He and I go way back and he’ll make sure you can fade if something happens to me.”
Voice sat down in the opposite chair, furrows on his forehead deepening in the shadows. “What do you mean?”
“This other case I’m working ain’t eggs in your coffee. I got a feeling metal’s gonna fly before it’s over and you never know who’s going to catch it.”
“So what’s your next move?”
I pulled on the cigarette, the cherry flaring bright in the dark room. “I don’t know, kid,” I said around the smoke. “But I’m working on it.”
Chapter 37
Gretchen looked up as I walked into the office, her mouth dropping open in surprise before she walked over and gave me a quick hug. “Ricky, I didn’t know you were out of the doc shop.”
“Those two mugs gave it their best shot,” I said. Gretchen had been staring at a paper in her hand when I entered and it caught my eye. “What’ve you got there?”
“It’s a telegram from the home office.” She held it out for me. “It’s not good.”
I looked her in the eye for some kind of hint before I glanced down at the paper in my hands. Time stopped as I read the handful of lines.
Rick STOP Strick dead STOP Killed by Raven STOP I am now in charge of investigation STOP Stay put STOP Keep Gretchen informed about all movements STOP Will contact you through her STOP Gwen STOP
“Is this all there was?” I asked through a clenched jaw.
“That’s it.”
I pushed open my office door and let it bang against the wall, stomping my way to the desk. I glanced down at the paper again before wadding and flinging it across the room. “Dammit!” I said. Gretchen followed me inside and tried to put a calming hand on my arm but I turned away, not wanting to be touched by the avatar twin to Gwen. “What the hell am I supposed to do now? Sit here like a lap dog, waiting for a command? Go twiddle toes with you?”
“That wouldn’t be all bad,” Gretchen purred but the twinkle left her eye when I glared in response. “There’s more bad news, Rick. Voice is gone. I checked on him while you were inside the hospital but last night when I went to the apartment, it was empty.”
I opened my mouth but anger snapped it shut again. I had been ordered to keep Gretchen up to date with everything I did in the Raven case but she never mentioned Voice. Right now I was pissed off at not knowing, pissed off at sitting and waiting. “He probably got nervous and faded,” I said. “I’ll worry about him later.” It was childish to lie to Gretchen, but sticking it to her was the only satisfaction I would get. She nodded and left my office, closing the door behind her.
I walked to the window and pulled out a Lucky. The skyline spread out behind the building across the street. Peaks of stone and metal rose into sight, each one giving only a hint of what lay below, no indication of the scurrying action in the streets. I blew smoke at the window and it swirled off the glass, fogging my view and skewing the true picture of the city.
The scene reminded me of the case, each building just the tip of all the activity below. The top floors were the murders, extortions, gambling, drugs, and prostitution. Confusion and a lack of facts made the people hard to see through the fog. But each floor led a trail down to the men behind the crimes. Some paths ended with faceless men and women, others led to Big C, Rose, and all the ot
hers that wanted to be like them.
Evelyn was wrong. Big C was a greedy bastard who swam through a river of blood, but the murders were not his work. The trails I worried about wound their way to Rose’s doorstep. Rose was Gardener and Gardener was Raven. I wanted him.
I leaned against the window frame for a long time, working my way through what I knew and what I suspected. Eventually my thoughts returned to Evelyn and I realized I had plenty to do while I waited for a chance to take down Rose.
I nestled the fedora on my head as I walked into the outer office. “I’m gonna grab a blue plate,” I told Gretchen as I walked through, “then I’m headed to the Ashford to see if Chance has any news on Voice. You can relay that to my boss.”
The lie did not bother me a bit.
*****
The waitress delivered a wink as she cleared away the plate. “Can I interest you in anything for dessert?”
I smiled while I dropped enough lettuce for a good tip. “Sorry, doll. I’ve got to get to work.”
The afternoon crowd kept the sidewalk busy, but not too packed to move as I walked toward the corner lot where I left my flivver. I picked up the pace when a raindrop landed on my hat. People scattered, some turning into shops to avoid the approaching downpour while others hopped into cars and fled. I had just stepped into the lot when I heard a voice behind me.
“Newspaper, mister?”
I turned to stare at a skinny kid in his early teens, rain dripping off his soft cap onto freckle-covered cheeks. “Jesus, kid. Now?”
The newsie stepped closer. “Rick? It’s me. Gonzalez.”
A streak of lightning tore across the sky, turning the dark afternoon bright. Less than a second later thunder followed and I shivered. I told myself the chill was because of the storm. “Get in the car.”
We ran across the pavement, steaming rising around us as cold rain splashed on the remains of the heat in the asphalt. The last few steps happened under the opening onslaught from Mother Nature. I slammed the door behind me and ran a hand over my face, flicking off the rainwater. The newsie took off his cap and wrung it out before glancing up at me. “I picked a helluva time to drop in.”
“What are you doing here, Gonzalez?”
“It’s all going to hell on the outside, Rick. Do you have any idea what’s happened?”
I nodded and tossed my fedora on the dashboard. “Yeah, I heard Raven murdered Strick.”
“Did you hear how?” Gonzalez closed his eyes and leaned back. “Strick was beat over the head with some sort of club and then had his throat cut.” He opened his eyes and stared at me. “But that’s not all. Then Raven tossed him out of a hotel window in Philadelphia. There was barely enough left to identify after he splattered on the sidewalk.”
I swallowed. I was glad Gwen had not told me. I needed to take back some of those names I had called her in my mind since the telegram arrived. It sounded like she was wading through her own shit storm. “Dupin.”
“Huh?”
“C. Auguste Dupin, a Parisian detective in Poe’s ‘The Murders in the Rue Morgue.’ In the story, the police chase after a murderer who killed two people and Dupin discovers they arrested the wrong person. Madame L’Espanaye was one of the victims. She was beaten and had her throat slit before being tossed from a window.”
“Talbot said Strick was definitely a Raven kill. Now I know why. Guess I should have paid closer attention in lit class in high school.” Gonzalez fidgeted on the seat. “Strick was killed while following up on a lead about your old partner, Gardener. The agents said you pointed a finger at him as the killer and REM came through with a tip where he was sleeping.”
“Makes sense,” I said with a nod. Strick must have gotten at least one of my telegrams. “Gardener had family in Philly when we were partners. He’s one of the two big crime bosses inside The City. I think he’s the Raven. Did they find him?”
“No, they missed. They found where Gardener had been sleeping but he was long gone. Probably for months. Talbot went off to check on a lead and Raven killed Strick before she made it back.” He hesitated. “The FBI put Talbot in charge of the investigation.”
“I know. She sent a message inside this morning and told me. But she didn’t say anything about you joining me. Why are you here, Gonzalez?”
He stared out the windshield for a long time, his smooth-skinned face and freckles looking nothing like his bearded, Hispanic face in the real world. He finally turned back to me. “She doesn’t know I’m here. No one does except for Jim.”
I tried to swallow but my mouth had gone dry. “Go on.”
“Jim says something stinks but he’s not sure what it is. He doesn’t trust the FBI. He thinks you’re being set up for a fall.”
I didn’t feel any better knowing my gut call about being abandoned might be correct. “With Gwen in charge, that should change.”
Gonzalez shrugged. “Jim didn’t want to take the chance.” He reached inside the canvas bag beside him and pulled out a doubled-rolled newspaper. “Look inside.”
I opened the newspaper and found a folded piece of paper with four sets of names. The first pair was easy to recognize with Coltin Reese followed on the line by Ted Roberts. The last set of names made the breath catch in my throat: Robert Tuttle – Tom Wheeler. My partner in the game, Wheeler, had been one of the people murdered by Raven. Knowing that information gave me a good idea about one of the other names as well.
“How did you get this?” My voice cracked over the words.
“Jim saw the list after REM dropped it by the office. He had a feeling you were flying blind so he made me memorize the names so I could write them down for you after I landed inside The City.”
I rubbed my temples with both hands, wondering if it was physically possible to have a migraine inside the games. Jim had risked everything to send me what I had asked Strick for days ago. “What did he want me to do?”
Gonzalez smiled and, for a moment, a little bit of the real man shined through the boy avatar on the car seat. “He made me memorize that, too. ‘Swing away, Slugger. Catch the bastard.’”
I let Jim’s words sink in for a few seconds. “Where are you at, I mean, out there?”
“In my apartment. I’m still on desk duty so I went home early to find you. Jim’s covering for me.”
“Thanks for coming inside to help. This can’t have been easy since Jackson was killed.”
The rain had stopped so Gonzalez opened the Ford’s door and stepped outside. “Just get this guy, Rick.” He adjusted the newspaper bag on his shoulder. “I’ll keep coming back inside to bring you information or take out messages. The newsstand owner knows me as Card.” He turned and walked away.
Chapter 38
My head still swirled with Gonzalez’s revelations as I stepped into the lobby at the Ashford Hotel. Unlike the last time I visited, I didn’t waste any time looking at the people living in their own little world of money. I headed straight for Chance’s office.
The smell of lilacs washed over me when I walked in the door. Miss Thistlewood flashed a broad smile when she saw me, the light shining off her blonde hair. I could not help but notice that, although she appeared happy to see me, only one of her hands sat in view. The other remained strangely under the lap drawer of her desk.
“There’s no need for Mr. Colt with me, Miss Thistlewood,” I said, matching her smile. “I’m just here to bump gums with Chance.”
If possible, her grin grew wider. A metallic click sounded and she pulled a sawed-off, double-barrel shotgun from the under the desk and lay it on the blotter. “I left the hammerless at home today. You’d have been spitting lead peas out of your gut for a while with this.”
I held up my hands in mock surrender. “What do you do for fun, Miss Thistlewood? Go to the shooting range?”
“I can’t help it if I like big guns, Mr. Dowland. Do you carry a big gun?”
Just like the first time I met her, being in the same room with the platinum blonde secretary sent
the temperature up several degrees until sweat trickled down my neck. “Call me Rick. Is Chance in?”
“He’s handling a security issue on the sixth floor. I’ll send someone up for him right away.” She picked up the phone before continuing. “You can wait in his office if you like.”
I walked away as she talked into the telephone. I stood by the window in the quiet of Chance’s office for a couple of minutes before the memory of why I made the trip overrode the excitement of talking to Miss Thistlewood. I leaned over the desk and picked up the telephone. A few seconds later I listened to a familiar voice.
“Detective Hanlon.”
“Hello, Dutch. Have you got a minute?”
“For you, RJ, I’ve got two minutes. How ya feeling?”
“It only hurts when I breathe.” I hesitated for a moment. “Wheeler’s dead.”
The line buzzed as Dutch went quiet. “Sweet Jesus,” he finally said. “I guess it’s what I expected but I’m still sorry, RJ. How’d you find out?”
“The home office told me. I want to throw out two names to you: Phil Marquitz and Louise Anders. Some people used to call Marquitz, ‘Stick.’”
“Hmmm. Yeah, I know him. Big place on the south side, lots of dough and not afraid to show it. Blew in on the money scene in a hurry with not a lot of background. He took the dirt nap about a year ago. A real bloody mess, if I remember right. She went missing at about the same time and we blamed her for the kill until she showed up ready for the bone yard, too.”
I felt myself nodding even though I stood alone in Chance’s office. “Check your list of the people murdered without watches. I’ll bet they’re on it.”
I heard papers shuffling through the receiver and then Dutch whistled. “You got it, RJ. They’re both on here.”
“I think Stick was the third mob boss.”
Silence lingered again from the police detective for a ten count. “The date for Marquitz’s murder is pretty close to when we stopped hearing about the mystery boss. Do you think he and Wheeler tangled?”
