by P. N. Elrod
It was well that I did. I was all but nose to nose with Tinny. He’d found another gun and it was ready in his hand. The mutual surprise froze us both for a second. Possibly as a distraction from the unpleasantness, I found myself noticing every detail of his plain face. Sometime tonight since the scuffle on the stairs at home, he’d acquired a road map of fresh scrapes. One of them was still oozing and I caught a whiff of the bloodsmell.
“Jack… ?” Bobbi couldn’t see anything, but had picked up that something was wrong.
Tinny jammed the gun under my jaw. I decided not to move. He shifted a little, caught sight of Bobbi, and grinned. “Hold it there, cutie, or I make a mess.”
Bobbi gasped once and held it, doing what she was told.
“Go get her, Chick,” he ordered.
His big partner, who had been standing well behind him, nodded. “Three birds with one trip,” he said. I wondered what the hell he meant by that, then put it together with Tinny’s scrapes and immediately understood what had happened.
Chick started to shoulder his way past us to the hall. It wasn’t deserted, but no one had noticed that anything was off, yet. Just as Chick came level with us, I snapped my left hand up and grabbed for the gun.
Tinny might have been expecting something like that, but couldn’t have anticipated my speed. As I moved faster than their eyes could follow, their own movements seemed to break down for me. It was like watching a movie with the projector running the film a frame at a time.
Chick saw what was coming and had just enough instinct to duck back into the room. My hand closed over Tinny’s and smashed it against the doorjamb. He grunted out a pain-filled objection, but didn’t drop the gun. My other hand was still on the doorknob; all I had to do was pull on it. Fast. The edge of the door caught him sharply on the back of the head. The whites of his eyes flashed and down he went.
He was in the way as I forced the door open to get at Chick. The delay provided him a moment to do some reacting of his own. By the time I was through, he’d hauled out a blackjack as thick as a baseball bat and was all set to use it. He raised his arm for a short, vicious swing, then nearly lost his balance in his effort to stop. He let the blackjack fall and raised his arms high. The sound he made had no words, but somehow he was able to express surrender and a plea for mercy in one inarticulate, horrified gurgle.
I looked where he was looking. Bobbi had plucked the gun from Tinny’s slack hand and was aiming it steadily at Chick’s crotch. Her teeth were showing, and it was not a smile.
“Back,” she growled.
I knew she was on my side, but found myself backing up a step myself.
She came forward enough so no one in the hall could see what she was doing. “Jack, pull this lug inside.”
I carefully kept out of her line of fire and got a grip on one of Tinny’s ankles. Bobbi followed him in without taking her eyes from Chick or altering the direction of the gun’s muzzle. She shut the door, giving us some very necessary privacy.
Chick started to babble out an idiotic explanation, reminding me of the gorilla from the dance number. I told him to can it. My attention was entirely focused on Escort’s inert form. They’d dumped him onto the chaise longue at the far end of the tiny room and had him trussed up like a leftover Christmas package. While Bobbi kept Chick sweating, I crossed to Escott in two fast steps and checked for a pulse, drawing in and releasing a vast sigh of relief when I found one. He was groggy, but breathing regularly and didn’t seem to be bleeding anywhere.
I nodded an all’s well to Bobbi, then fastened a look on Chick. “You got lucky,” I said to him. “Now I don’t have to break your neck.”
3
HE went white at the lips. Despite my assurance, he saw something in me that frightened him more than the threat of Bobbi’s gun. He started to bolt for the door, but I was on him too fast. I caught his collar and swung him against the wall, rubbing his face in it.
“Be careful, Jack,” Bobbi warned. She wasn’t worried about either of us getting hurt, but that Chick might see more than what was good for him. The mirror over her dressing table reflected all this side of the room.
I locked my gaze onto his. He had defenses up that he was unaware of, but those quickly crumbled beneath the tidal force of my own anger and fear. His pupils shrank to pinpoints and his mouth sagged as I began to tear into his mind.
“Jack?” Bobbi’s voice was troubled with the first hint of alarm.
Part of me knew what I was doing to him and that I should stop, but it was easier for that part to simply get out of the way and let the terrors within rush free.
“What are you doing? Jack?” She touched my shoulder, then shook it, trying to reach me.
His legs started to go.
”Jack?”
It was the dust-dry scent of her fear that finally broke through and saved him. I shut everything down, pulling back before it was too late, pulling back and turning away from her until I had myself under control.
“What is it? What’s wrong?”
Three nights now of uncertainties, frustrations, deaths, and near death, and no end in sight; Bobbi’s presence had only eased the darkness, not removed it.
“You all right now?” She ran her cool fingers lightly over my forehead. I caught her hand and pressed it against my cheek.
“Yeah, I’m all right.” For the moment, but it was enough. I flushed out my lungs with a cleansing breath and felt the stuff ebb away, leaving behind only a faint shadow on my soul. It could return or not. The choice was mine.
“Then what…?”
It was safe to look up. Chick was still conscious, but confused. I told him to close his eyes and go to sleep. He did and I let him slide to the floor.
She watched him go, biting the inside of her lip. “This is part of that kind of hypnosis you do?”
I nodded. “When I’m upset it can get away from me.” I tried to say more, to explain it somehow, and couldn’t.
“It scares you,” she said.
“Yeah.”
She left the borrowed gun on a table and came over to hold me, which was exactly what I needed. It didn’t last long, because we had to see to Escott, but it helped. She gave me a final squeeze, then found a towel somewhere and wet it down at a tiny sink in the corner. I fished out my pocketknife to cut away the bindings on Escott’s wrists.
“What is this stuff, anyway?” I complained, sawing through the fabric with some difficulty.
Bobbi tried unknotting Escott’s gag. “It used to be one of my stockings. If they’re this tough, how come they get runs so easily?”
“Don’t know, but at least they did him up in style. You okay, Charles?”
He made a glottal noise that sounded like an affirmative, but wasn’t all that convincing. One of his eyes was starting to puff up and his knuckles were scraped. He winced as Bobbi finally tugged the knot loose.
“Looks like you’ve been to the war, buddy.” I broke through the last si rands of silk.
“Several, I think,” he muttered thickly, working his sore jaw.
“You want a doctor?”
He shook his head. Cautiously. “I’ll be fine.” Bobbi dabbed his face with the towel and he was content to lie back and let her fuss over him.
“What happened?” I asked when he looked up to answering.
“I’d come backstage for a quick look round and discovered Tinny waiting here, ready to accost Miss Smythe at the first opportune moment. I’d almost settled things in my favor when the other fellow turned up. After that…” He shrugged and touched the back of his skull, wincing again.
I looked at the discarded blackjack and figured that Escott had got-ten off very lightly. “We’re going to have to get out of here. Are you up to it?”
“You’ve got to be kidding,” objected Bobbi.
“Don’t I wish, but those other two mugs I got rid of could be back at any time with reinforcements, and they’re going to be pretty sore. There’s no law that says Kyler’s going to
be busy all night making excuses to I ieutcnant Blair. If he and his crowd turn up, I don’t want you or Charles caught in the cross fire.”
“Fine with me, I don’t like this kind of roughhouse, but Charles is still—”
“Capable of moving if necessity calls for it,” he told her. “The sooner the better, if you please.”
She gave him a look of mixed exasperation and affection, then got a bag and began stuffing her street clothes into it.
“It won’t bother your boss that you’re leaving early?” I asked.
“We just did the last show of the evening when you came in.” She paused. “I can’t go home, can I?”
“Not tonight. We’ll find a hotel somewhere.”
She considered the two of us with a raised eyebrow. ”That should be cozy.”
Escott sat up, rubbing his wrists. “Might I suggest a safer haven for all of us?”
“Suggest away,” she said, sweeping some odds and ends from her makeup table.
“The Nightcrawler Club.”
She stopped packing. That place had a lot of memories for her and the bad ones were still fresh.
Escott was well aware of them. “This is something of an emergency.”
“I guess so,” she admitted. “But for how long?”
Neither of us had an answer to that.
“And my job here?” She correctly read our faces. “Forget I asked.”
“Sorry,” I said.
She shrugged. “Don’t be. It’s better than being with Tinny and Chick. Staying there is a very good idea, I’m thinking maybe Gordy can help us out. If anyone in this town knows about Vaughn Kyler… but what do we do with these two clowns? We can’t leave them here for the janitor to find.”
“We could try questioning them,” said Escott.
My recent loss of control had spooked me so much that the last thing I wanted to do was get involved in a hypnotic version of twenty questions. Besides, I’d made a private promise to myself about avoiding that particular mental trap. Now was not the time to inform Escott of my decision or the reason behind it.
I shook my head decisively. “Uh-uh. We’ve got to get out of here before their friends come looking for them. We’ll pass them off as a couple of drunks who tried to get Bobbi’s autograph. Where’s the club bouncer?”
Bobbi had completed her impromptu packing and pulled on a coat. “I’ll take care of it.” She whisked out, her boot heels making no-nonsense clacks against the floor.
“As I’ve said before, what a very remarkable girl,” Escott murmured.
“One in a million… and I just let her out of my sight.” I hastily started after her, but she hadn’t gone far. At the other end of the hall she was explaining things to the stage manager, jabbing a thumb in my direction to emphasize a point. He nodded with a grim but satisfied smile and quickly moved off.
Bobbi returned, looking smug. “He’ll be back in a minute with Udo and Jüurgens.”
“Udo and Jüurgens?”
“Busboys.”
The stage manager soon reappeared with a couple of large young men who were enough alike to be twins. The seams of their white work coats were strained to the limit and I could have sworn that some of their arm hair was sticking out of the gaps. “What do they clear away, real buses?”
”Shh, they’re really very sweet.”
The trio lumbered past to stop only a moment at her dressing room. When they returned, Tinny and Chick were each dangling bonelessly from a massive shoulder. The stage manager brought up the rear, carrying their fallen hats.
“Drunken bums,” he muttered. “We’ll dump ’em outside, Bobbi. They won’t be bothering you anymore.”
The twins laughed and I was suddenly very glad not to be one of their parcels.
In the dressing room, Escott was on his feet again and working a dent from his hat. “This establishment certainly employs an effective cleanup crew. Those two fellows reminded me of the giants that built Valhalla.”
“In Das Rheingoldr asked Bobbi.
“Why, yes. Do you enjoy opera, Miss Smythe?”
“If it’s done right. Back in school I was in some Gilbert and Sullivan—”
“Are we ready to leave?” I interrupted.
“Wait a second.” Bobbi got her bag of clothes and paused long enough to stuff Tinny’s gun and Chick’s blackjack into her purse. “You never know when one of these might come in handy,” she informed us, then led the way to a side exit.
Once out of the building, my feeling of vulnerability became more pronounced with the abrupt slap of cold air. We hustled to Escott’s car, crowding together on the front seat. Despite his protest that he was fit, I insisted on driving and told him to keep his eyes peeled for tails. Our route north was an indirect one and in the end I was satisfied that we hadn’t been followed.
I stopped in the service alley that ran behind the Nighlcrawler Club, cut the motor, and waited. The back door soon opened and a couple of mugs emerged to check on us. Escott rolled down his window and Bobbi leaned over to hail one of the men.
“Ernie? How you doing?”
The shorter man relaxed when he recognized her. “Hey, it’s Bobbi. What’re you do in’ here, babe?”
“Come to visit Gordy.”
“He’s busy now, but he’ll see you.” Ernie made a point of noticing me and Escott.
“These are some friends,” Bobbi explained. “They’re okay.”
He squinted, doubtful.” ’F you say.”
“Can we park the car here?”
“Yeah, but not for all night.”
“Good enough.” At that, we piled out and Ernie escorted us into the building.
The kitchen was more or less familiar to me, as were the stairs and upper hall. About six months ago Slick Morelli’s goons had dragged me over the same ground for a little rough questioning and the memory of the event was still strong. The circumstances were happily different this time, but I had a shiver of discomfort to suppress all the same.
Gordy, Morelli’s lieutenant, had taken over the operation of the club and whatever else his New York bosses had an interest in; the Night-crawler was only part of the iceberg. Most of the businesses were entirely illegal, but like any other, in need of good management in these hard times. He ran the operation efficiently, profitably, and with a minimum of trouble, exactly as required.
We were ushered right up to the office with its pastoral landscapes and comfortable leather furniture. Gordy loomed over a desk piled high with stacks of loose cash and canvas money bags: that evening’s casino take. A huge, phlegmatic man, his eyes crinkled when he saw Bobbi, his version of a delighted grin. He nodded a greeting to me and Escott, then gave us all a second look, taking in Bobbi’s flashy costume and bag as she removed her coat, my informal working clothes, and Escott’s by now obvious battering.
“What’s the problem?” he asked.
“Vaughn Kyler,” said Bobbi.
Behind us, Ernie muttered something unintelligible, Gordy fastened his small eyes on him and jerked his head. Frowning, Ernie shut the door, his steps retreating down the stairs. Gordy gestured for us to take seats. Bobbi and I huddled together on the couch, Escott sank into its matching chair. Gordy came around the desk and leaned one hip on it, ignoring the bundles of cash as though they were so much confetti.
“Give,” he said, never one to wait on ceremony.
By silent consent, I was elected storyteller. Maybe my past journalism experience had something to do with it. I went through all of it, starting with the original job Escott had taken on to recover the stolen bracelet, and ending with the disposal of Tinny and Chick.
“Right now, what we need is to drop out of sight for a while until we can figure out how to settle things with Kyler,” I concluded.
“Don’t see how you can do it. Kyler’s gotten pretty big in this town. I can help some, but not that much. I don’t want to risk a war and neither will my bosses.”
“Can you at least offer Miss Smythe a pla
ce of safety?” asked Escott.
“No problem on that, same for you if you want it. Kyler’s real target is Fleming and I can tell you he won’t give up.”
Bobbi didn’t like his answer. “But what about Jack? You can’t just toss him in the street to get run over.”
“Gordy’s saying that he doesn’t have much of a choice,” 1 told her. “If Kyler catches on to where I am—”
“Who’s going to tell him?”
“Nobody,” said Gordy. “He’s able to figure it out for himself.”
Bobbi read him right. “You mean he’s already…?”
“He called me about ten minutes ago.”
Escott leaned forward. “Has he now? What was his purpose?”
“He wanted to know everything I could tell him about Fleming. I said I didn’t know much, but he wouldn’t have bought that. From what’s been happening, I’m thinking he’s got other places to go for news.”
“And what has been happening?”
“You remember the Elvira?”
Slick Morelli’s yacht. The scene of my murder. I remembered. Too well.
“When it went up for sale, Kyler bought it.”
We all exchanged uneasy looks. “Why?” I whispered.
Gordy gave a minimal, but eloquent shrug. “He’s after you, kid. That’s all you need to know.”
Bobbi wrapped her hands around one of mine. “Are we so positive that Kyler wants to kill Jack?”
When I’d summarized things for Gordy, I’d mentioned the death of Kyler’s lieutenant, Hodge, but had been circumspect about the details. “Sorry, baby, but I’m stuck with it. He had a chance to call it all off tonight and didn’t, and the proof is the easy fifteen grand he gave up in the trying.”
“Then what will you do?”
Good question.
“Perhaps a little information gathering of our own is in order,” Escott suggested thoughtfully. “Does Kyler still make his home at the Travis Hotel?”
“He’s got the top floor all to himself,” said Gordy. “If you’re thinking on a visit, think again. He’s turned the place into a regular bank vault.”
“What may one expect to find?”
“Steel shutters on the windows, bulletproof glass, and an army of guys just looking for trouble to come their way.”
