by P. N. Elrod
The waiter gave in to whatever Evie wanted, leading her up the long, carpeted stairs. He couldn’t have known I was here and must have decided to turn the problem over to Escott.
Who must have got that, too. “For what we are about to receive…” Escott muttered out the side of his mouth.
“May we be truly thankful,” I also muttered, completing the blasphemous old battle prayer.
5
THE waiter reached the booth. “Uh, Mr. Escott, this lady wants to see—oh.” He spotted me. “Didn’t know you were here, Mr. Fleming.”
Escott and I stood as the little lady trotted up the last steps.
Her big-eyed gaze fell on me. “Jack Fleming?”
“Yeah. Something wrong?” I signed for the waiter to retreat.
She waited until he was out of earshot, then nodded vigorously.
“What?”
“They’re going to kill Alan Caine,” she blurted in her Betty Boop voice. Apparently it wasn’t an affectation after all.
“Who?”
“Those men.”
“What, they’re back?”
“Not yet, but they will be. His life is in danger!”
“As in later tonight, but not just this minute?”
“Please, this isn’t a joke! He needs help!”
Escott cleared his throat, giving me a look, the kind with a raised eyebrow in it.
“Just checking the urgency of the situation,” I told him, then turned back to her. “You’re Evie…ah…?”
“Montana. I’m Evie Montana, just like the state, it’s my name.”
“Charles Escott,” he volunteered, taking her hand and adding in one of his polite little bows.
“Pleased, I’m sure,” she said, cute as a Kewpie doll.
“If the emergency is not immediate, perhaps you will sit and tell us all about it,” he suggested, motioning her into the booth.
She cocked her head. “You’re English, aren’t you, just like in England?”
“Once upon a time. Please…?”
She took the hint and slipped in. Released from our gentlemanly duty, we sat opposite her. I leaned back in the middle of the half circle; Escott clasped his hands on the table in his best listening posture. “What is the problem, Miss Montana?”
“Well, Alan Caine is just the greatest singer ever, better than Caruso even, and he’s just really too artistic and innocent and people take advantage of him and he gets into jams and he’s in a jam now and these guys are gonna kill him if he doesn’t pay what he owes and they really mean business.”
“I see,” he said. “And who are they exactly?”
“They’re muscle for the Nightcrawler Club. They got gambling there and these cardsharps took advantage of Alan and he ran up a marker and they’re gonna kill him if he doesn’t pay off.”
“The cardsharps?”
“No, the muscle. They want him to pay the club.”
“So the money he owes is to the Nightcrawler, not Hoyle?” I asked.
“Who’s Hoyle?” She turned her big eyes on me, blinking.
“That guy you jumped on earlier tonight.”
“He’s the muscle trying to collect the marker,” she said, as though I should know already. “They got dozens of guys just like him, and they’re all gonna kill Alan tonight if he doesn’t pay off.”
“I get that. You’re sure he doesn’t owe personally to Hoyle?”
“He owes the club and that goon is their muscle and—”
“Okay-okay. I get that, too. So why’d you come to me?”
“Because you helped us earlier and because some of the other girls said you were all right because you dated one of the singers there once and they said you were all right because she was all right.”
“Not because you think I’m running things?”
“You’re running things? What things? They said this was your club. If you’re running things at the Nightcrawler…” She started to get up, but Escott caught her hand.
“It’s all right,” he assured. “I’m sure Mr. Fleming can sort this out for you.”
I said, “Shouldn’t be a problem. If he owes money, he has to pay the marker, but no one’s going to kill him for it.”
“But that big goon was hitting him!”
“The big goon won’t be back. I’ll make a call and put in the fix for you. If Caine’s dead, he can’t pay off his marker, so he’s safe enough.”
“It’s not just them, it’s that witch of an ex-wife, too. She keeps calling him and threatening him and it gets him all upset and then he goes into the casino to try to win what he owes her and then they take advantage of him and then—” Her voice rose shrill, threatening to compete with the band.
I put my hand up like a traffic cop. “Slow down, Evie.”
She stopped altogether, looking like I’d just slapped her. She made a peculiar sup-sup noise, then her face suddenly screwed up. She plowed blindly in her handbag and pulled out a handkerchief just in time for the waterworks.
Escott was better at holding hands and saying “there-there” than I was, so I gritted my teeth and sat out the next few minutes until he got her calmed. Sympathy came easier to him; he’d never met Alan Caine.
“Don’t you believe me?” she asked. “He’s in real danger. I thought you might help. I thought you could make them leave him alone.”
“I said I’d fix it.”
“But I heard them and they were saying awful things about him and they got no right to do that. They’re all just so mean.”
Likely they were blowing off steam about Caine and his singular lack of personal charm. “I’ll make a call and take care of it. Caine will be fine, just keep him sober and—”
“Oh, but he never drinks! He just gargles with a little brandy and hot water to keep his vocal cords loose.”
From what he’d been breathing on me earlier tonight he kept them loose enough to flap on a windless day.
“It prevents colds, too,” she brightly added.
“Aren’t you supposed to be dancing in the show?”
“This was more important, because he doesn’t know just how much danger he’s in, and I could lose my job, but I thought you could help him because…”
After repeating everything in full she eventually ran down. No wonder Caine drank.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “You can go back to the club and don’t worry about anything.”
“You will? You really, really will?”
Escott stood so I could get out. “Babysit?” I muttered.
He gave a good-sport smile and nodded.
I made my way down, going to my office in the usual manner, no vanishing. A few regulars noticed and waved, inviting me over to their various tables. I smiled automatically, mimed a mock-helpless shrug to show I was busy, and moved on. Given a choice I would rather go with Strome to face Kroun down again than pretend to be jovial to the customers.
A quick call to the Nightcrawler’s office soon put me in touch with Derner.
“Back at the desk again?” I asked him.
“Pretty much. Anything wrong?” Derner was a man who expected phone calls to have trouble on the other end of the line.
I ascertained that Evie Montana had the basic facts correct and got how much Alan Caine owed the club. It was a lot, but nothing he couldn’t afford on what they had to be paying him. I found out how much that was, too.
“Okay, ban him from the casino and let him know what he owes is coming out of his wages.”
Derner laughed once. “He ain’t gonna like that much.”
“Tell him it’s pay up this way or get another working-over.”
“He won’t like that much, either, but I’ll make him listen.”
“Who booked him in, anyway?”
“His agency. They never mentioned he was walking sandpaper, though. He’s outta New York like Kroun.”
“They hooked up in some way?”
“You kiddin’? Kroun wouldn’t stand for that kinda crap
. By the way, congrats on getting out alive.”
“Thanks. Where’s Kroun now?”
“He left not long back, with Strome driving. Gordy said treat him good, so he gets the fancy car till he goes home.”
Having Strome playing chauffeur was also a good way to keep tabs on Kroun. “When will that be?”
There was a shrug in Derner’s tone. “Who knows. He’s the big boss. Comes and goes, it’s his business an’ no one else’s. He can’t stay away from New York for too long, though. Has to be busy like the rest of us.”
“Did Strome tell you about our run-in with Hoyle?”
“Yeah. Congrats on that, too. None of those guys has showed here.”
“If they do, they’re on the outs. Especially Hoyle and Ruzzo.”
“No loss with that bunch.”
“Did Gordy go home, I hope?”
“Yeah. He left after he got word you were still walking. Lowrey took him home.”
“Great. If he calls tomorrow, fill him in on Hoyle, but don’t bother him tonight.”
“No problem.”
If it would only continue to be so, I thought, hanging up. The mob’s idea of no problems and mine were usually two different animals.
And it looked like a new one just strolled in my front door. As I came down the stairs a threesome in dark overcoats entered the lobby. One of the men removed his hat and ran a hand through iron gray hair with a distinctive streak of silver-white on the left side.
Ah, shit. Now what?
Whitey Kroun spotted me almost in the same instant and sketched a wave and smile. Mitchell and Strome were with him but in an odd way were almost invisible. Kroun seemed to fill the room as though he was the only one with a right to be there and telegraphed it clear to the corners. Some of the people lingering at the bar for the next show glanced up from conversations as if he’d called them by name.
I wiped off what must have been a “Hell, what are they doing here?” look and assumed my friendly host face, coming the rest of the way down the stairs.
“Good evening again, Mr. Kroun.” I managed to sound sincerely welcoming, but there was something about the man that set the skin to rippling on the back of my neck.
Kroun took in the chrome-trimmed, black-and-white marble lobby, impressed. “Fleming,” he said as a greeting. “You look like hell. How’s the damage?”
“My doc says I’m still healing.”
“And after just a couple hours. That’s pretty good.”
Had he heard about my fun and games with Hoyle? I couldn’t tell from Strome’s expression whether or not he’d mentioned the incident. Not that any of it mattered, but Kroun’s curiosity reminded me that I was supposed to be walking wounded. I’d better act accordingly.
“Quite a place you got here,” Kroun said, very approving.
“Thank you.” It could be a mixed blessing when a guy in the mobs liked something of yours. They were in a position to take it from you. “May I offer you a table?”
“Sure.”
The hatcheck girl hovered within view, but none of them handed over their coats. Maybe they wouldn’t stay long, then. So far the lights held steady, indication that Myrna—if she was around—didn’t see trouble ahead. She messed with them when she got upset about something.
Mitchell did a double take on the display easel for Bobbi, fairly gaping.
It hit me smack between the eyes that he’d remember her from when he worked for Morelli. I felt a cold twisting inside again. Bobbi did not need to stroll down memory lane to the bad old days without first getting a fair warning, but I didn’t know how to tip her off without broadcasting it to these guys. Play it by ear and hope for the best, then.
I led the way through the short, curving passage to the main room and a second-tier table looked after by the most experienced waiter. He appeared out of nowhere, took orders, vanished, and returned with a trayful almost before my guests were settled in. He’d correctly read the discreet signal I’d given. There would be no check for this party.
Glancing up, I noticed Escott watching us with interest. He knew Strome and would identify Kroun easily enough. That white streak was hard to miss. But beyond that, Escott had a hell of a memory for names and faces, especially the ones in the mobs. I suspected there was more in his head about the Chicago wiseguys than the FBI files.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “excuse me a sec—club business.” I withdrew as the waiter handed out glasses, and went up to the third tier, remembering to move slow and stiff.
“Anything afoot?” Escott asked.
“I don’t think so. Kroun probably just wants to check me out some more. We’re friends now, after all.” I was starting to regret that suggestion.
“Did ya put in the fix for Alan?” asked Evie, anxious. “Did ya?”
“All done. So long as Caine pays his marker, no one gets hurt.”
She let out a little squeal and jumped up to hug me, planting a kiss on my jawline, which was as high as she could reach without a footstool and me helping. “Thank you! Thank you!”
Well, this was nice, but attracting attention. I was supposed to be feeling tender around the middle and with difficulty gradually unpeeled her. “Glad to help, but maybe you should get back to the Nightcrawler while you still have a job there.”
“I won’t make it in time for the second show. The El doesn’t run—”
“You certainly will,” said Escott. “I’ll give you a lift.”
I almost raised an eyebrow, but didn’t quite have the trick of it the way he did.
He still caught it, though. “Just being polite, old man,” he said dryly.
That was good to hear. After Vivian, Evie didn’t seem to be his type, though she was cute. He guided her downstairs, and I went back to take a seat at Kroun’s table, him on my left, Strome on my right, Mitchell opposite. The band went on break just then, marking the end of the first show. Some of the patrons got up to leave, a few new ones trickled in to replace them, and the rest stayed put, which was good.
I looked around for Bobbi, but when performing she tended to stay backstage even when on break, seeing to God-knows-what details and her own costume changes. I wanted her busy with that tonight.
Kroun had finished his small whiskey, Mitchell was still working on his, and Strome sipped a short beer.
“Quite a place,” repeated Kroun. “What’s she pull for you?”
There is a certain level of business where such inquiries are not considered offensive. “Last night, sixty-three dollars.”
That got me a stony look, then comprehension as he realized I was talking net, not gross. “I mean outside of the booze sales.”
“That’s it.”
“He don’t have tables, Mr. Kroun,” Strome explained.
“No tables? What about slots?”
“Nope.”
“That’s crazy.” He turned on me. “You could pull in a hundred times that a night in a back room. You got the space for it.”
“I do,” I agreed. “But Gordy’s better at keeping track of those kind of earnings than me. I thought it’d be best for everyone just not to compete.”
Kroun’s eyes narrowed with additional understanding. “Smart operator.”
I didn’t correct his assumption that I wanted to avoid cutting into Gordy’s profits. It sounded better than the real reason, a desire to avoid legal trouble. To guys like Kroun the law was only a minor nuisance, not a major threat. He’d think I was chicken, too, but there is also a certain level and kind of business where such an assessment of character can contribute to one’s survival. I’d gotten along pretty well in the past when people underestimated me.
Mitchell nodded toward the entry where Escott and Evie had gone. “Wasn’t that the little trick you got in a fight over at the Nightcrawler?”
“I just kept her out of harm’s way is all.” A change of subject would be good about now. I decided to play the card Strome had given me earlier. “You used to work here in town, didn’t you, Mitchel
l?”
His eyes hardly gave a flicker. “A while ago, yeah.”
“Why’d you leave?”
“The weather stinks.”
“Stinks just as bad in New York.”
“Oh, yeah? I never noticed.”
Kroun made a snorting noise. “Mitchell likes to work easy and get paid well for it. He found that in New York.”
“Why you interested?” Mitchell asked.
I was chancing a fall on my face, but thought the risk would pay off. “Because you remember me from before you left.”
He hooked a small smile. “Guess I do.”
Bingo.
“What do you remember?” asked Kroun.
Mitchell’s smile edged close to contempt. “That Fleming was some kind of half-assed threadbare reporter sniffing around Slick Morelli’s operation, looking into stuff he shouldn’t. Next thing you know Fred Sanderson’s dead, Georgie Reamer’s in jail for it, then Morelli’s dead, Lebredo’s dead, Frank Paco’s in the booby hatch, Gordy’s in charge—and this guy who was in the middle of it comes up smelling like a rose.”
Kroun held silent for a moment. “That’s pretty interesting. What about it, Fleming?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know nothing about any of it. I was looking for a newspaper job here and heard there was some war brewing between those guys. Checked into it, thinking I could land a sweet place with the Trib if I wrote a good piece on it. That’s how I met Gordy, but he steered me out of the way before it went rough. When things settled down after the ruckus I did a couple of favors to help Gordy, and that’s all. We been friends since.”
“Must have been some kind of favors to be able to afford this kind of club.”
“I earned the club on my own. I got lucky at the track and hauled in a pile of cash. Gordy helped me with finding a good location and getting set up with suppliers, but that’s all. He’s been a good friend and stand-up. I’m returning the favor by helping him out now.”
“And you don’t expect anything out of it?”
“I’m getting plenty: a nice quiet town to run my business. We can all use some of that.”
Kroun murmured agreement. “Quiet is what we want. Things are always changing, though.”
“Oh yeah?”
