“I would say that the Dead-eyes did it to hide the evidence,” McGuigan answered. “When they’re on drugs, they can think and they are very clever about hiding themselves. They could be watching us right now.” He looked around, his pathetic Maltese at the ready.
“What about the bodies?” Phillips asked. “They didn’t take them, did they?”
Cole knew in his gut that they had, but still he had to know for sure. He started down the tunnel again, moving faster than was smart, and ended upending part of a desk and crashing down into a pile of blackened air ducts. He had to be lifted out by two of the policemen. The scene of the battle wasn’t far from there.
Only blood and brass remained.
It was obvious where the bodies had been dragged to the edge of the tilted platform and shoved over. Cole slid down to the spot and squinted into the dark. A second later Hamilton slid down next to him and shone the light into the junk. There was a little blood, but no bodies. “Uncuff me and give me a gun,” Cole demanded. “I can get them back. They wouldn’t have dragged them far.”
“Uncuff you and give you a gun?” Hamilton shook his head. “How about, hell no? This is so you. God, you fuck up everything.” He pushed himself up and stood tall over Cole and for a moment Cole thought he was going to throw him into the debris. Hamilton certainly wanted to but then who would Fantucci take out his anger on? He heaved out a long sigh, feeling as though he had matured in some way by not caving in Cole’s skull.
Cole scrambled up. “Let me fix this. I need a gun, a radio and a flashlight. They would only move the bodies so far. If we all go down there…”
“You can count me out,” McGuigan quickly said. “That is completely their element. They’d be able to come at us from any direction and all the armor in the world won’t do anything but slow you down. You’ll be…”
Hamilton interrupted, putting out a hand. “No one’s going down there. Cole isn’t, that’s for sure. The only person more fucked than me in all this is you, Cole. If I gave you a gun, the first thing you’d do is turn it on me. It’s what I would do.” High up on the slanted floor, Sergeant Phillips was busy nodding in agreement. He didn’t bother to hide his relief that he wouldn’t have to leave the meager safety of the path.
“We can test the blood,” Cole said, beginning to feel desperate. He pushed past Hamilton and bent forward into the tilt to get to McGuigan. Cole knew that he was well and truly fucked if he couldn’t produce any evidence that Dead-eyes were at Krupp. “A blood test will prove that they were Dead-eyes and we can do a genetic marker test to show how many there were. This should be enough to satisfy…” He almost said Fantucci’s name but bit it back at the last second. “It should be enough to satisfy the authorities.”
“Oh, I believe you completely,” McGuigan said. “But that’s not the point. A blood test won’t stand up in court, not against the sort of lawyers someone like Monica Turner can wield. And honestly, they wouldn’t help you one way or the other. I’m sorry, Cole. When I said the governor was looking for something to hold over Turner’s head, that didn’t include a bounty hunter who could be induced to change his story.”
Hamilton chuckled and rubbed his face with a red, raw hand. “Fuckin’ politicians.”
“Soooo, what are you saying?” Cole asked.
McGuigan shrugged, palms up, which made Hamilton’s chuckle evolve into a full-throated laugh. Only when it had run its course did he put a friendly arm across Cole’s shoulders, saying, “Your boss is saying that he was using you to get in good with his boss. Even if we had found bodies, you would’ve still ended up dangling from a rope. Am I right?” McGuigan shrugged again and started back up the path. Hamilton spat in his direction. “Fuckin’ politicians. Tell me Cole, are you happy you gave up the brotherhood to work with these shits? At least we protect our own.”
“You shot me twice!” Cole raged, straining uselessly against the handcuffs.
“Well, come on. I only shot you that second time because you didn’t get the hint after the first. All that’s water under the bridge, I guess.” He sighed again and started back toward the tunnel.
Cole ran up after him. “So, what would you have done if we had found the bodies? Would you have shot me a final time?”
“No. As far as I know that wasn’t part of the deal.” He lowered his voice to a whisper, “The mob ain’t like politicians. For the most part, they keep their word. Sure, sometimes they’ll take a guy out if they think it’s convenient, but with this it was supposed to be news, you know? That’s why I had the reporters. If you make a big enough splash, then killing you isn’t worth the negative press.”
This sounded true and yet people associated with the mob had accidents all the time. Fatal accidents. Still, if he could keep himself alive long enough to cash a check, he might be able to skip town before he “slipped” in his bathtub or “accidentally” fell down the stairs and broke his neck. “In that case, I might have something stashed.” Cole glanced up to where McGuigan waited, peering back along the tunnel with his gun pointed. “Earlier, I brought one of the heads into the factory and hid it, just in case.”
“Hmmm, is just a head good enough?” Hamilton asked quietly, leaning in close to Cole. “People might think it’s like off a normal person.”
“Not this head. Trust me, it’s horrible. It’s in the service area of the garage near the back in the cab of a wheeled crane. The crane’s got a red sticker on the windshield. You’ll want to find a bag or something because this thing is just about as contaminated as anything I’ve ever seen.”
Hamilton’s pouty lips drew back in disgust. “A head, hmmm. I guess it’s our best shot. I’ll send you up to the admin section with McGuigan and a couple of my men. Wait there. Make excuses, whatever, just don’t let McGuigan leave. I need him on camera saying it’s a zombie head, got it? Jeeze, you better be right about this. If not, there’s nothing I can do for you. Not that I really want to do anything for you one way or the other.” This was his idea of a joke and he smacked Cole on the back with a meaty SWAP!
They went the rest of the way up the tilted floor and then back along the odd, ungainly tunnel. Cole found the ancient electric oven that he had hidden the second head in. It was lying on its back with its door flung open just as he had found it earlier. He hadn’t left it that way, however and he knew right away that the second head was missing as well.
Glumly, he looked in and saw that it was as empty as the filing cabinet had been.
Now everything hinged on Hamilton finding the head in the garage. Dreary pessimism nagged Cole as he trudged up through the factory, which was humming along as if there hadn’t been a harrowing battle fought deep beneath it. The night shift was getting into gear and the furnaces were being stoked. There was even life in the admin section. A third of the desks were manned by a strange assortment of men and women.
The women were strange in that they were pretty, or at least prettier than the average found at Krupp. Cole was sure they had been rounded up and brought there simply as a facade to whitewash the generally unhappy people found at Krupp. The men sitting uncomfortably at the desks were newly scrubbed and wearing their ill-fitting white overalls like they were made from the skin of babies. They seemed afraid to move and sat with props in front of them. Some typed endlessly on Marko Electric typewriters without putting together words unless by accident. Others held phones to their ears and had stilted one-sided conversations that wouldn’t have made a lick of sense if anyone had been listening.
They were not dressed-up slags, they were security personnel and with Monica’s bodyguards, they outnumbered the police ten to one.
Monica herself stood at the top of the stairs above the open room. She had changed her outfit from the severe black to a flowing dress of softer robin’s egg blue, and now looked even more like her beautiful cousin. Surrounding her were her bodyguards. They glared and bunched their muscles. Lower down on the stairs was a group of men and women in wrinkled office garb. The men wore
tired suits and the women wore blouses buttoned to their throats and skirts that went to just below the knee.
Right away Cole saw that they didn’t belong in the metalworks factory. They were neither managers nor secretaries, and they certainly weren’t lawyers—these were spiffily dressed white men who lurked behind the bodyguards, ready to dart forward with advice or points of orders.
McGuigan eyed the small knot of men and women on the stairs with distaste. “They’re reporters,” he said, speaking out of the side of his mouth. “Don’t say a word to them.”
“What could I possibly say?” Cole asked innocently. “I wouldn’t want to make any waves for the man who plans on sitting back and doing nothing while I’m executed.”
His boss had just affixed a smile to his face; it now grew hard and somewhat twisted as if it was a strain to keep it in place. “Your execution has nothing to do with me. That was all on you.”
Cole glared into his eyes. “Are you sure?”
“Am I sure about what? Your guilt? Yes, I’m very sure the judge found you guilty and sentenced you to death for your crimes.”
“No. I want to know if you’re really sure you want to fuck me over, because there will be repercussions, I fucking guarantee it.”
McGuigan blew out tiredly and turned to the nearest police officer. “Hold him back here. Don’t give me that look, taxman. I answer directly to the office of the Governor so trust me when I say that I outrank your lieutenant.” It was only then that McGuigan realized that Hamilton had slipped away. “Chickenshit bastard,” he muttered, straightening his tie and doing his best to wipe away the grime he had picked up down in the pit.
Then he advanced up the stairs his steps dignified and overflowing with pomposity. He knew the reporters were watching him and he wanted to make the most of his moment in the sun. He stopped below Monica and paused for effect.
Like some sort of goddess, she gazed down at him through half-lidded eyes. She showed not the least concern and Cole guessed she hadn’t relied on the Dead-eyes to clean up. More than likely, she had sent men down into the Pit to make sure nothing would be found. And nothing had, at least in the Pit.
“Miss Turner, my name is Shamus McGuigan. On behalf of the governor, I wanted to thank you for your patience while we wrapped up our investigation. You’ll be happy to know that we have captured the man who murdered your guards and have ascertained that he’s been working alone.” He gestured at Cole, who looked the part of a murderer. Forgetting their supposed objectivity, the press glowered. After the pause, McGuigan went on, “Your people are safe to continue the important work of furnishing the city with metal products.” It was a somewhat stiff performance, but McGuigan thought it was good enough to smooth things over. He knew what was expected. When there were cameras involved, the only expression a middling bureaucrat like him was permitted was one that conveyed optimistic competence.
Monica knew the game as well, and a smile edged up the side of her full lips. “So, the governor has managed to protect us from one of his own men? That is Cole Younger.” For the sake of the reporters, she pointed at Cole. “He’s a licensed bounty hunter and a convicted murderer.” She put out a hand and one of her lawyers hurried forward and placed a piece of paper in her hand. “Apparently, someone in the Governor’s office signed a temporary stay of execution and released him, and then…” She let the broken sentence sit on the still air. “And then sent him here.”
The reporters gasped as if they were trained seals.
“I’m sure there was only a paperwork snafu in regard to the release,” McGuigan said, a sheen of new sweat breaking out on his lip. “But to suggest that the governor sent this man here personally is a gross innuendo. He cannot possibly oversee all of the thousands of licensed professionals that are employed by the city. This man came here of his own accord.”
“That’s not true,” Cole said. McGuigan turned and shot daggers at him, shaking his head minutely. “I came here hunting, well, that.” He gestured to Hamilton who was just pushing through the crowd. In his outstretched hands was a bag. He was holding it as far away from him as he could.
“Is it…?” McGuigan asked. He seemed caught in between expressions of furious anger and wild hope.
“Step back,” Hamilton ordered in a strangled voice.
Now Monica showed emotion. Her eyes were at slits and her fists were like trembling rocks. If the press hadn’t been there, she probably would’ve ordered her guards to open fire. She turned to one of her lawyers and snapped a command. In turn, he hissed out his own commands to the other lawyers.
As the lawyers scrambled around, one of the younger ones marched brusquely past the guards and snapped his fingers at Hamilton. “You have no authority here, taxman. Krupp Metalworks operates independently from outside interference. This had been codified through an agreement with the city. So, take your riffraff and…”
Hamilton dumped the head onto the floor. With its black scales and its terrible black eyes, it looked as though it had been pulled from a fire. Only the trickling black blood suggested otherwise. At first, the press recoiled from the head, but then one of the braver souls took a step forward and squinted at it.
“That…that’s not a human head, is it? Or is it…” He looked around, afraid to say something foolish. “Or is it the head from a Dead-eye?”
The word had been spoken and now half the press corps moved further away, while the other half edged closer. In horror, they whispered and pointed until one asked, “What does it mean?”
“Ask her,” Cole said, pointing at Monica. “I killed this and others like it, deep down in the Infinity Pit. She knows. She knows everything.”
Obediently, the press turned to Monica, however the young lawyer stepped between them. “Let me assure you that Krupp only employs hard-working New Yorkers. But I have to say, that if that head is from one of them, then simply dumping it on the floor in a crowded room is criminal endangerment.” He then went on to cite, by heart, the laws governing the handling of possibly infectious substances within the city boundaries.
When one of the journalists tried to ask a question, he snapped, “Excuse me! I’m talking here,” and went on, pointing at Cole. “He is the one that should be arrested and executed. All he has are words and a head, but what do his actions demonstrate? His murderous actions, I should say. How many laws has he broken just tonight? Trespassing, murder, assault, lying to authorities, extortion, bribery. The list goes on and on, but we don’t have the time or the inclination to bother with them at this moment. I think it’s best if we clear the room and…”
Another of the lawyers hissed, “Hold on. We have videotape.”
Shock ran through Cole before he could collect himself. It took time to doctor a videotape, he told himself. Whatever they had would vindicate him and he waited stoically as a monitor and a bulky video machine were produced. For the moment the head was forgotten as everyone stared at the monitor’s blue screen. When the picture came on, only Cole stepped back.
It showed a tiny person carrying a bundled jacket through a dim section of the garage. It was impossible to tell if it was a girl or a boy, and nor could anyone make out what was carried. They did see her put it in the cab of a truck and leave. There was a break in the video and when it came back on it showed Hamilton walk straight to the truck, climb up and retrieve the bundle, which he then put in a bag—the very same bag he had brought into the admin section.
That was all there was to the video and it was enough. The lawyer shook his head like a father might just before he slid his belt from around his waist. “Without a shadow of a doubt, this shows that Mr. Younger coordinated with the police to frame my client. We will be making a citizen’s arrest at this time.”
Hamilton went for his gun, only to stop as the giant bodyguards beat him to the draw, while around them the fake office workers suddenly pulled weapons from drawers and beneath their jackets. They were surrounded and outgunned, ten to one.
Chapter 22
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br /> Cole floated through the next few hours trying to keep the smirk off his face. He had been re-arrested and faced five or six new charges, each of which carried the death penalty; and he didn’t give a rat’s ass. He was already a walking dead man. His stay of execution was due to run out at any minute and even if the prison burned down and he was the only one to walk out alive, he’d still be on Monica’s hit list…and Ashley’s for that matter, and Fantuccis, and the governor’s or so he figured.
Everyone was out to get him, and he was resigned to the fact that he would be dead by morning. This had a strange effect on him. He was facing death again and yet he was completely relaxed.
A squad of policemen from an uptown precinct arrested Cole, Hamilton, McGuigan, Sergeant Phillips and another officer named Frank Brunker. Hamilton and the other two cops accepted their arrest in furious indignation, vowing revenge on anyone associated with Krupp and that included the uptown cops. McGuigan wore a glaze of sweat and reminded every officer that came near that he worked for the governor and that he was technically one of them. “An officer of the law just like you,” he explained at their quizzical looks.
“Psh, my ass you are,” one said with a sneer. “You look more like a used underwear salesman than a cop.”
Cole laughed, “Underwear salesman! That’s hilarious.” He nudged McGuigan with his shoulder. “Come on, that was funny. You’re acting like this is your first time on death row.”
“Fuck you, Cole. This is your fault.”
“Yeah, I’m starting to think it is. I’m sorry, I truly am. Hey, maybe I should go first before the judge. I’ll tell him that all of this is my fault and that you and the others had nothing to do with it.”
McGuigan’s dark eyes flared bright with hope. “You’d do that?”
Dead Eye Hunt (Book 2): Into The Rad Lands Page 21
