by P. N. Elrod
Crazier.
WHEN we got back to Gordy’s office Derner was at the big desk, up to his eyeballs in paperwork, phone calls, and loose cash from the casino. Another guy at a nearby table thundered away at a calculation machine, punching in numbers as fast as he could read from a clipboard and pulling the lever. Derner looked on my return with too much relief. I knew I was in for it.
Over on the couch, with two of the tougher lugs standing guard, lay a man, gagged, blindfolded, and hands bound behind him.
“What the hell is this?” I demanded, and only my surprise kept me from roaring the walls down.
“We found him for ya, Boss,” said one of the lugs, grinning.
“Found who?”
Derner slammed the phone receiver and came around the desk. “These two brains ain’t listening to me—”
“Found who?” The guy didn’t look familiar.
“That kidnapper you want so bad, Boss,” said the lug.
I stared at the figure on the couch. He wasn’t moving much, but from what I could read off his posture he was scared shitless.
“The kidnapper?” said Kroun. Hands in pockets, he cocked his head, highly interested.
“Dugan?” I went closer. Gave what I could see of his face a good long look. Pulled the gag off. The mouth was all wrong, and so was the voice that went with it.
“PleaseforGodsakedontkillme! I don’t know nothing about anything! I swear! I got a wife and kids an—”
“Shuddup!” I snarled.
He shut up.
“Hey!” I said to Derner.
He approached. Cautiously. “Yeah, Boss?”
“Get rid of adding boy there, he’s giving me a headache.”
He stopped the man from punching more buttons and told him to take a short hike. The guy went, shutting the door. Except for faint band music that I could hear even through the soundproofed walls, it was very quiet.
“Okay,” I said, tiredly. “Let’s keep it short. You with the blindfold. What’s your name?”
“J-j-john C-c-c-oward, sir. I’m from W-waukegan and—”
“Stop.”
He stopped.
I found his wallet. Showed the driving license to the lugs. “Gentlemen, may I introduce you to Mr. John Coward of Waukegan?”
“Naw, he’s the guy! He’s just like the picture in the papers!”
“Yeah-yeah, just like an apple looks like an orange. You got the wrong man.”
“But—”
I didn’t need the evil eye to freeze him, I was that mad. He rocked back and put up a protesting hand. It cut no ice with me. “Get out of here before I ventilate the both of you. And spread the word that the hunt for Dugan is over.”
“But if you ain’t caught him yet…”
“Doesn’t matter,” I said through my teeth. “It’s over, called off, finished, finito, shelved in a box. Anything about that you didn’t understand?”
They shook their heads.
“Get out.”
They got.
“Derner?”
“Yeah, Boss?”
“Did you have any kind of a conversation with them or Mr. Coward?”
“Yeah, Boss. I tried to tell those two, but they wouldn’t listen. They said you’d tell it straight, so they parked here. They found this guy in a craps game, made him to be Dugan, and been carting him all over Chicago trying to find you, first at your club, then your house, then that gumshoe’s office…”
“Oh, my God.” I rubbed a hand over my face. “They’re dumber than Ruzzo.”
“Well, they kept him in the car trunk so no one would see. Ruzzo wouldn’t have done that…”
I snarled, and he corked it. Glanced at Kroun. He was doing his almighty best to not laugh. John Coward sat very still and trembled, his head high. He must have been able to see a little out the bottom of the blindfold. “Okay, I get the picture. Mr. Coward, I’m going to have someone take you back to wherever you belong.”
“N-not gonna kill me?”
“Not going to kill you. They thought you were someone else, and I apologize for that. If you’d like to forget about this mistake, we will, too. I’ll have to insist you keep the blindfold on for the time being. In this case what you don’t know can’t hurt you.”
“Anything, whatever you want, anything, please! I won’t say a word.”
“That’s good enough for me. I suggest you stay away from craps games in the future, hm?”
“Yes, whatever you want I’ll do it!”
I went to the desk, shuffled together five hundred bucks, folding it into Coward’s wallet. I put the wallet into his pocket. “Just remember: none of this happened.”
“Nothing, not anything.”
“If we see your face again, well, you wouldn’t be happy. Now we’ll get you back to the wife and kids where you belong. You just say where you want to go.”
Derner took his arm and stood him up, walking him slowly toward the door like an invalid. I didn’t relax until they were well down the hall.
“What a night.” I groaned and eased onto the couch.
Kroun finally cut loose. He didn’t quite bust a gut, that wasn’t his style, but his laughter was catching. I succumbed in a much more moderate way. Oddly, the chill inside lessened. Yeah, I was onto something there in regards to a cure. It didn’t last. It couldn’t. Not with Caine’s body still in the dressing room below and Jewel lying in her own blood and brains halfway across town. The cold came back, but I was able to ignore it better. Just had to stay busy, that’s all.
Kroun found a chair, sat, and put his feet up on Gordy’s desk. “You know what you should do?”
“Tell me.”
“Find yourself a quiet shore on one of these lakes, settle in, and see what you can do about decimating the local fish population.”
I’d have never suspected that he knew such big words. “I don’t eat fish.”
“That’s not the point.” He shook his head. “It’s not about eating fish. It’s about fishing. For fish. Just…just…fish.”
He had an idea there. It was right up there with Escott thinking I should take a vacation. Kroun angled his hat over his face and clasped his hands over his stomach. I got the impression that was how he did his fishing.
Derner returned. “The guy’s on his way home. Sorry about that, Boss.”
“Never mind. The other boys know the hunt’s canceled?”
“The word’s getting spread now. No one’s gonna be in a good mood over losing that ten Gs.”
As though some of them could resent me even more. “They’ll tough it out. You got the lowdown about the backstage people?”
“Yeah. A big fat nothing. They saw plenty of it.”
“Good trick,” said Kroun, from under his hat. “Seeing nothing.”
“Who was backstage?” I asked.
Derner parked his duff on the desk and crossed his arms. “That I know of: the dancers, eight of them, the stage manager, Caine, and Mrs. Caine. Seven of the dancers were having a break while Caine did his solo. They said Evie left to hang around just offstage, waiting for him. She usually did.”
“They all stayed in their dressing room?”
“Talking with Jewel Caine. She was happy about getting a job, wouldn’t say where, and they was just gabbing. You know. Hen-talk.”
“Yeah. I know.” My mouth went dry.
“Just before Caine’s number finished Jewel went out for a smoke. She said she didn’t want to bump into him when he came backstage. With all this talking the girls was running late and stayed in the dressing room to get ready for the next show. Next thing they know the stage manager shoves his snoot in and tells ’em to stay put, then locks the door. They were still plenty mad about that, saying if there was a fire they’d be cooked, but—”
“Where was the stage manager all that time?”
“Well, after he found Caine he stayed in the hall to keep watch, so if there was a fire, he coulda let them out easy enough. He called one of the busboys
over and sent him up to get me, then I ran into Strome on the way down. By then the manager got a couple more guys in to watch the other end of the hall. They didn’t see anyone.”
“What about before he found Caine?”
“He was up in the lighting booth. There was a problem with one of the spots, and he had to find a spare bulb. The lighting guy backed him. The manager didn’t leave the booth until after Caine was offstage.”
“So he had opportunity.”
“But no reason. He’s not big, either; you’ve seen him. Caine was near twice his size. He could have fought him off.”
“Ya think?” asked Kroun. “If Caine was taken by surprise…”
Derner shrugged. “Yeah, maybe. The manager’s been with us for years, and Caine was just another act to him. He cares more about this club’s staging than anything else. Even if he had a reason to bump Caine, he’d have done it some other place. He’s show people, and they’re all crazy that way.”
“Okay,” I said. “He’s off the suspect list until we get desperate. No one saw where Evie went?”
“The girls said she went with Caine into his dressing room. She was usually in there during his breaks. They thought they were being on the sly, but everyone knew.”
“So maybe Evie did do it,” said Kroun.
“When we find her we’ll ask her,” I said. “And Hoyle. And Ruzzo. And Mitchell.” All I needed was to check hands and arms for scratches. I thought about sharing that detail with Kroun, but held back. Mitchell was still his boy. Under his protection.
“Mitchell?” Derner was surprised and glanced uneasily at Kroun for his reaction, only there was none.
“Just covering the bases,” I added. “Mr. Kroun doesn’t mind.”
“It’s business,” Kroun put in with a snort. “Biz-iii-nessss.”
I got Derner’s attention back. “Have you seen Mitchell tonight?”
“Only earlier. I heard he left before the ruckus.”
“Find out for sure. See to it the guys are looking for all five of them and it’s only to talk. I want everyone alive and undamaged. Let the boys know when I say talk I mean only talk. No sparring sessions, no turkey shoots.”
“What if the ones they’re after shoot first?”
He got a look from me.
“Okay-okay!” He left to take care of things. After a minute of thinking about it, I moved to the desk and the phone there. Kroun still had his feet up on the edge.
“Nice shoes,” I said.
“Thanks.”
I dialed Lady Crymsyn’s lobby phone.
Wilton answered pretty fast this time. “Yes, Mr. Fleming?”
“How di—ahh, never mind. Everything going okay there?”
“No problems. We had a good night. Good shows, lotta people. You want I should get Mr. Escott?”
“Nah. Just tell him or Bobbi that I won’t be back, so they’ll have to close. It’s business.” They’d both understand. Wilton said he’d pass the message, and I hung up.
“Biz-iii-nessss,” Kroun drawled, then snorted again.
I checked the clock. “It’s pretty late. If you’re tired…”
“Just resting my eyes, kid. There’s still one more errand to run tonight.”
KROUN had surprised me about overseeing the transport job. I’d have thought he’d want to stay well clear of a potential disaster if anything went wrong. Instead, he sat in the front seat of Gordy’s Caddy with me on the passenger side. We were parked just up the street from Caine’s hotel. It was so late that only the deep-night creeps were out—which included us and a select few others.
A gray panel truck sat backed into the alley between the hotel and the next building over. I couldn’t see what was going on. That was good. None of us wanted the activity there to be visible to passing cars. I was mostly worried about cops. They would be the only others out at this hour. A sharp one might wonder why laundry was being delivered at this time of the morning.
Strome was one of the laundrymen. He’d turned up at the Nightcrawler with a couple of shut-mouthed goons, coverall uniforms, and the truck. An hour after the club was closed and the last straggling worker left, Strome helped the goons load in an exceptionally heavy laundry basket, then they drove off. Kroun and I followed at a distance.
Things went without a hitch. About five minutes after parking in the alley, Strome and his crew were out again and driving away. They must have used the service elevator instead of the fire escape stairs to get up to the right floor. No matter, so long as they weren’t caught. Kroun had supplied the key. Wiped clean, it was to be dropped on the desk in the room, just like he told the clerk earlier.
There would be a hell of a stink over this tomorrow. I felt sorry for the poor maid, who’d likely be the one to find the body. I also hoped the night clerk would be unhelpful about descriptions of Kroun and me. When it came down to it, we had a pretty lousy cover. Two mystery men go up to Caine’s room. Caine is found dead there the next day, but not seen to come in by the front entrance. Any halfway-good cop would tear into that pretty quick and backtrack to the Nightcrawler. The best I could expect from our interference was to confuse things, buy some time to find the killer. Then—if the hideous head pain would leave me alone for long enough—I could whammy him or her into marching into the D.A.’s office to dictate a complete confession. We’d all be off the hook.
Of course, that was the ideal way for this to turn out. I focused on thinking about it, rather than the countless ways it could go wrong.
Kroun had cut the motor for those five minutes. He started the car again, and the heater blasted air against my legs. I winced. “You still cold?” he asked.
“Yeah.” I’d been fighting off shivering again, vowing to buy a heavier coat.
“Go home then. Get some sleep.” He didn’t look remotely tired himself.
“I need to see to things.”
“What things? We’re finished here. Even those guys are flying back to their roost.” He gestured ahead, where the taillights of the panel truck made a turn and vanished. “Where’s home?”
“Just take me to my club.”
“You live there?”
“I flop in the office sometimes. When it’s a late night.”
“That’s what we have here, ladies and gentlemen. A late night. Which way?”
As before, I gave directions, and he drove. He seemed to enjoy hauling the big car around corners.
* * *
KROUN dropped me at the front of Crymsyn, and said he knew how to get back to his hotel from there.
“Why are your lights still on?” he asked. “Someone inside?”
“We leave ’em on to scare off burglars.” That was better than trying to explain about Myrna.
He tossed an easy good night at me and drove off, the well-tuned Caddy barely making a sound. I hurried to unlock Crymsyn’s front doors.
Kroun was right about this chill not being related to winter. I shook from it, but my teeth weren’t chattering.
Shut the door against the cold, cruel night, turned to check the lobby. The overhead lights glowed, as well as the one behind the bar, almost as though Myrna knew I’d be coming in and would need them.
I’d often been here before on my own, and each time noticed the silence. Of course, with my hearing I could pick up on every damn creak and pop, which was ignorable or twanged at my nerves depending on my mood. I was in a foul and fragile frame of mind for now. Something about Kroun bothered me. The way he’d been acting at some points was worry-making.
The uncomfortable suspicion rolled through my head that Kroun might be immune to my kind of hypnosis. If he was crazy and able to hide it, then just pretended to be under the other night…I didn’t want to believe it.
Distracted as I had been with the pain, he’d remained dead-eyed and not reacting the whole time—even when I’d vanished. No one could be that good at faking.
Unless he’d met another like me and knew what to do, what to expect. That might explain it
. I was one of a rare breed. If Kroun knew about vampires that would account for his changed manner. He might see me as a possible ally to cultivate. Make me a friend, then I cease to be a threat.
Or I was imagining stuff, and this was all a load of crap.
I could just about hear Escott agreeing with me, too. Whatever I was reading from Kroun was certainly colored by what I’d been through in the last week. There was no reason to trust any of it. I needed to take the advice I’d given to Gordy and get some rest.
Perhaps Kroun was just…I guess relaxed would be the word. He sure didn’t match up with the ill-tempered man I’d first talked to on the phone or the commanding mob boss who could clear a room with just a look. Gordy said Kroun was scary. I wasn’t seeing that anymore. Or feeling it. That must be what set off the doubts in my gut. Gordy wouldn’t have used that word without good reason.
Capone was known to be as charming as all get out when he was in the mood for it. He was still a killer.
Maybe that was the scare about Kroun. Lull a person with the charm, then bang-bang-you’re-dead.
Too late for me.
I went up to my office—lights were on there, too. The ledgers with Bobbi’s neat entries were with that night’s respectable take in the desk safe, meaning a bank run tomorrow. I put the money bag back, along with the .38 Detective Special I kept there. Sure, I was fairly bulletproof, but if I could head off trouble packing heat of my own, then why not?
Heat…
I turned up the radiator and hovered over it, hoping to thaw out.
It occurred to me that maybe I should have more blood inside my shuddering body.
Rotten thought.
I was not hungry, but the impulse strongly tugged to bring that living heat inside, to glut on it and drive away the death chill. In my mind I knew it would be futile, but the malicious darkness within urged otherwise.
Phone up a taxi, it said. There was time to squeeze in a trip to the Stockyards before dawn. Time to drink myself sick again.
