by P. N. Elrod
“What about it?”
“The damned thing’s built like a safe. There’s so much metal in it I’m guessing most of the blast went down and sideways, not up and out. The bomb was bad, but not enough to get around all that armor. It bought me a few seconds. I didn’t know what I was doing, only that I was doing it. The whole thing was smoke inside, and I couldn’t see, but I found the door handle and rolled clear and kept rolling. My eyes were watering, but there was another boom, and I just kept going. There were some trash cans on the street, and I hid behind them. They were full and didn’t go flying like everything else, so I stayed there.”
“And you didn’t show yourself thinking I’d done that?”
“I was too damned hurt to think much of anything. The whole street was fulla stinkin’ smoke, so I just got out of there before something else dropped on me.”
“Where did you go?”
“Found an empty building. Picked the lock, went in, and coughed my guts out for a few hours.”
“You couldn’t call anyone? Even New York?”
“I was thinking again by then, and it didn’t seem like such a good idea. With my looks I’d be too easy to spot walking around, and I don’t know who’s who in this town, so I sat tight and rested up. I thought I’d give it a day, then go after you for answers, but your goddamned club was closed.”
“Yet you came in.”
“I saw you and the guys with the ambulance. What the hell was that?”
“Me being stupid. Forget about it.”
“How do you know Mitch is with your girl?”
“I think he made her phone me to get me to her place.”
“She that singer, the blond?”
“Yeah. She tipped me off something was wrong, but I gotta get there fast in case she didn’t get away with it.”
“God, I hate this business,” said Kroun, between clenched teeth.
I parked on the side of the hotel opposite Bobbi’s flat. Mitchell could be watching from her windows and even from that high up might recognize me walking in. If he saw Kroun, it would be a disaster.
We went in through a smaller entry that led to the lobby and the elevators. There was still an operator on duty; I gave him the floor just above Bobbi’s. He stared at Kroun, got a red-eyed stare in return then focused on his job. When he opened the doors again I waited until he descended before heading for the stairs at the end of the hall.
“What’s this?” Kroun asked. He was gray of face as we hurried along.
“I don’t want Mitchell hearing the elevator stop on her floor.” At the service door, I listened, then cautiously opened it. The hall, identical to the one we’d left, was empty. “Okay, here’s the deal: There’s a servants entrance to her flat, and I’ve got the key. I can sneak in that way, but I need you to knock on the front door to get his attention.”
“Then what?”
“Just knock. He might think it’s me, so do it from the side in case he shoots through the door.”
“Yeah, okay. Hand me back my piece.”
“You won’t need it.”
“I sure as hell will. Don’t worry, I’ll only shoot him, not your girl.”
I didn’t want to trust him on that.
“I get my gun or you get no help. Come on.”
Dammit. I gave it over. “But no shooting. You won’t need to, anyway. I just need you to distract his attention. Stay here, count to a hundred, then knock loud.”
He went into “one, two, three, four,” and I counted along with him to match his pace. Kept counting softly as I slipped out, vanished, and sped forward, going solid just long enough to find Bobbi’s door. Gone again, I sieved under it and listened as best I could in the grayness.
No one talking. Damn.
Nineteen, twenty…
Made a sweep of the front room and didn’t encounter anyone. Tried the small kitchen. No one here, either. Decided to risk going solid.
Lights out, except for some spill from the living room. More than enough to see by. Listened. Would have held my breath if I’d had any.
Twenty-nine, thirty…
It took a few seconds to get it, like tuning in to a hard-to-find radio station. Vague movements, a heartbeat. More than one…
Invisible again, I floated toward her bedroom. Very much on purpose I wasn’t thinking about certain things. If he’d touched her I would rip him apart. Literally.
No sound in this room. My muffled hearing worked against me. Swept through, located one person sitting on the bed, the second in a chair next to the telephone table. Another extravagant convenience of her very modern apartment was having two phones, one in the living room, the other just steps away, next to the bed. She usually kept that one in the bath so she could talk while soaking in the tub. Were they waiting for my call? And who was who? I could tell general shapes in this form, but nothing more specific. If one of them would just make a noise, I’d know who to tackle.
I drifted close to the one on the bed, brushing as light as I dared.
Unbelievable relief when Bobbi shivered and went brrrrr.
“What’s the matter?” Mitchell asked from his seat by the phone.
“I’m cold. Can’t I turn up the heat?”
“No. Pull on a blanket. Why is it you dames are always so damn cold all the time?”
Apparently recognizing a rhetorical question, she didn’t reply.
Where the hell was Kroun? He should be knocking by now. Had he mistakenly gone to the other end of the hall? I could go solid and jump Mitchell, but I wanted Bobbi in the clear. He’d be armed and too many things could go wrong. I wanted them both—especially her—alive and safe.
“I know a way to warm you up,” he said. “We got time.”
Of course, he didn’t absolutely have to be undamaged.
“Oh, puh-lease.” A tone of voice like that always went with a rolling of the eyes.
“You turned into a real snot, didn’t you? Slick had the right idea keeping you on a leash. You weren’t too good for me then. You were plenty hot for me. I remember.”
“I’d have been hot for a baboon if he coulda gotten me out of there.”
“Well, you got a close second with Fleming. When the hell did he get to be such a big noise?”
“Just happened.”
“I’ll bet. You smelled the money and—What’s that clicking?” he snapped.
Clicking? Then I remembered Kroun was an expert with picklocks. He wasn’t going to wait or follow instructions…
Mitchell left the room. I went solid.
Bobbi suppressed her gasp of surprise, but it was enough to alert the nervous Mitchell. He stood in the living room facing the front door, but swung his gun at me.
“Fleming?” He was flat-footed for only an instant, then squared up the gun. Bobbi came forward; I shoved her back hard so she fell across the bed, then I started toward him. “Freeze!” he yelled.
I froze in the bedroom doorway, arms out. The .45 he carried would put holes through walls, and Bobbi was very much still in range. No shooting. Please.
The front door swung open. Kroun didn’t show himself.
“Who is it?” Mitchell asked me.
I was within tackling distance, but wanted him distracted from me. “Your boss. It’s payback time.”
“What d’ya mean?”
“You missed with the bomb. Kroun’s alive.”
Mitchell laughed once. “No way. He’s dead meat. Hoyle said—”
“Yeah, he did. He’s dead, too, by the way.”
“You’re lying.”
“Thought you’d be happy about it. You bumped Ruzzo, so of course you had to bump Hoyle. Can’t leave witnesses to screw up you taking over Kroun’s spot. That’s what you’re after, right? With Gordy still alive, you might never get a chance at this town, but there’s no reason why you can’t take Kroun’s job if he’s gone—only he ain’t.”
“Kroun’s dead.”
“Not so much,” said Kroun. He eased around the front do
orway, gun in hand, aimed at Mitchell. “So what’s the story, Mitch? Anything to it?”
Mitchell didn’t know how to handle failure and just stood there blank-faced a moment. Then he slowly went a deep, ugly red. I didn’t read that as shame for what he’d done; this was sheer humiliation for having gotten caught. “How could you have…Hoyle said he’d—”
“Said what? Is that how it ran? You boys bump me to move up?”
“No! Hoyle was on his own. I didn’t have nothing to do with—” Mitchell choked. It had to be impossible for him to think straight with a dead man asking such questions.
“C’mon, Mitch. You can tell me.” Kroun’s eyes seemed darker than ever, bottomless and hell-black.
Mitchell shook his head, abruptly recovering his internal balance. He wouldn’t have time to aim the gun at Kroun, so he held fast on me. “Stand still, or I kill him,” he said.
Kroun shrugged. “Go ahead. He’s just another mug.”
“I thought he was your new best pal.”
“You would.”
Mitchell went dead white, then red again. “Shaddup.”
“With this in the picture some other stuff’s making sense.”
“What stuff?” I asked, drawing attention back to me. If we could keep him distracted enough…
“Alan Caine’s murder,” said Kroun. “Check Mitch’s hands.”
I’d seen. Gouges and scratching from Caine’s nails as he tried, in a very few seconds, to fight his killer off. “Heh. Guess you could call that ‘the mark of Caine.’”
Kroun wheezed a short, unpleasant laugh. “Ya think?”
Mitchell told us to shut up, face getting redder.
I didn’t listen. “So why did you do it? Did Caine overhear you and Hoyle? Did Jewel Caine see you running away?”
Sweat, lots of sweat pouring from him. The stink of cigarettes.
“I’ll tell you why,” Bobbi called. She’d rolled off the other side of the bed and was on the floor in the far corner against the wall. There was a full bookcase between her and harm. Sensible girl. “He had to shut Jewel up, too. Jewel would have guessed.”
“Guessed what?” Kroun asked, his thick voice still fighting against the smoke damage.
“What Mitchell—”
“Shaddup!” Mitchell practically screamed it. “Shaddup or your boyfriend gets it!”
But Bobbi could count on me being mostly bulletproof. “Mitch and Alan Caine got drunk one night. Real drunk. I heard it from Jewel. Alan bragged about it to her to hurt her, the bastard.”
“Shaddup, you lying bitch!”
“Alan liked women and men! Mitch was so drunk that—”
Mitchell fired through the wall, too high. I was on him, a full body tackle. He kept shooting.
Grabbed his gun hand and yanked at a bad angle for him. He yelped and bucked, trying to twist around, but kept a solid grip. He was mad out of his mind and stronger than he looked. I used my other hand to slam his head sharp against the floor and still he fought.
I tried to take the gun. Another shot. The bullet went through my palm, but I was too pissed to feel it. Gut-punched him, blood flying. He didn’t notice. Had gone crazy. We rolled and kicked and hit, and he fired again. How many goddamn bullets were in this thing?
His hand over my face, fingers digging in my eyes, I turned away…
And glimpsed Kroun, his arm out, his own gun ready, coldly and carefully choosing his moment. His face was blank, eyes gone black with that hell-pit look; he seemed a different man altogether. Fast as things were moving, I still felt a swift, icy jolt of panic. When a man’s soul isn’t there, you know, you just know it, and you don’t want to be anywhere near what it’s left behind.
Mitchell saw it, too, his own damnation staring down. He wrenched his gun around and up with that strange, desperate strength.
Two shots. Close. Deafening.
And it was over. Mitchell went inert, his body collapsing on top of me in a horrible reprise of Hoyle’s death. Bloodsmell, blood pouring onto me, warm and still vital…
I threw him violently off, scrabbled over the floor to get clear of the thing he’d become, terrified that another seizure would rip away what sanity remained in me.
Then Bobbi was there. I caught her up, maybe too hard, but she kept telling me everything would be all right, it was okay …Jack, it’s okay…
I waited, fighting it, waited, forcing down the shudder that tried to rise.
Fighting.
Her voice helped. A soft, melodious, songlike droning as she held me, reassured me.
I allowed myself a single, choking sob. There was more in me, eager for its turn to emerge from the darkness. I couldn’t think about it, about what it might do if it got out, what it might be. Another siezure, or would the mindless craving take me over? If that happened and I hurt Bobbi…
I made myself focus on her sweet voice, the feel of her arms around me. I held on to that distraction from the internal demons. She was real, but they were so…
You are in control, you are responsible. You’re stronger now than I ever was then.
Hard to believe. But Escott had never lied to me. He was right. I had a choice about being in charge or not. Of giving up and—
And however you think you could hurt Bobbi, it couldn’t possibly be worse than taking yourself away. Don’t put her through that, Jack. You’re her rock. Don’t crumble under her.
No. I wouldn’t do that to her. She deserved better. I had to try, to believe that I could beat this.
Don’t tell me you can’t. If I can do it, you can, too.
Hell of a tough act to follow.
Stay for her sake. Or I swear I will beat the hell out of you again.
Damn you, Escott…
Something brittle and sharp inside seemed to break up and fall away, suddenly allowing my soul to breathe again.
There were no words for what it was, I just understood that something had shifted and it was gone.
Over.
Past.
Done.
It had been heavy. So damned heavy. Only when the weight was no longer there did I understand how heavy it had been.
Then it was my turn to collapse. I sank to my knees, and Bobbi came with me, letting me lean on her. God, but I needed her.
And Escott said that I was her rock.
“Jack?”
After a moment, I dredged a smile for her. “Hey, baby. You okay?”
“How ’bout yourself?”
“Just peachy.” It felt so good, her holding me, but the hurt on my hand…it was knitting up, but damn, that burned. “’Scuse me a sec.”
I vanished, came back. Much better now. Much…
Kroun—he’d have seen—
Turned to look. He hadn’t seen anything. He’d caught a bullet.
He sprawled flat, a hole in his chest that bubbled air every time he moved. The pain had him helpless and gasping, and blood ran from his mouth. I knew the signs, he didn’t have a minute left.
I went to him. Knelt close.
“Fleming.” My name made more blood come out of him. He coughed and tried to suck air past the stuff clogging his throat. The smell filled the room, but now I was able to ignore it.
“I’m here, what can I do?” Hell, what can you do for a dying man? He looked like himself again, though. Whatever he had for a soul was back again, struggling hard to stay, but losing as his body failed.
“Mitch. Dead?”
Had to look. “He’s dead.”
“’Fraid I’d missed. Your girl?”
“She’s fine. You hold on, I’ll get a doctor.”
“Past that.” Coughed. “Damn stuff. First I burn my lungs, now this. Life ain’t fair.”
“No, it ain’t.”
“Promise…”
“Anything.”
“No fish food.”
What?
“No lake. No chopping. No oil drums. You bury me proper. No cremat…”
“I promise. Kroun? I promise. You
hear?”
Then the rattle. His last breath going out. The slack stillness that went on forever.
Oh, damn. Damn it all. He couldn’t have known about my nature. If he’d just held off I could have…
Feeling very old, I stood. Went to Bobbi. Had to hold her again, hold her and get and give comfort, quick before dread practicalities rose up.
“Your neighbors…the shots…” I finally said.
“We’ll bluff them out. I’ll say I was rehearsing a radio skit, a-a-and the fake gun was louder than it should be. I’ll make ’em believe it.”
“Just don’t let anyone in. You’re not staying here tonight, either.”
“Damn right I’m not.”
“I’ll get you over with Gordy and Adelle. Shoe can look out for you all until this is cleared.”
“God, Jack, what will you do?” She looked at the bodies. Any other girl might have fainted. Instead, she held on to me.
“I gotta call Derner, get some boys over here to clean up.”
“But how will you explain?”
“I’m not. I won’t have to with them, but no cops. We can’t. I’m not putting you through that kind of hell. Mitchell can be disappeared.”
She went pale, knowing what that meant. “And the other man? Kroun?”
“I made him a promise. You make a promise, you gotta be stand-up about it. Derner and I will figure something out, do the right thing.”
Bobbi nodded, held me again, then suddenly went rigid and shrieked.
With a groan, Kroun rolled on his side. There was pain all over his face, but he used one arm to push and was slowly sitting up.
I gasped. Had an insane thought that he’d worn a vest like Escott’s, but the blood was real, his absolute stillness, the wound…
Was closing.
He pressed his fist against it, wincing. “Ah, son of a bitch. That hurts!”
I gaped and couldn’t seem to come out of it.
He grunted, groaned, and snarled. Then glared at me. “What? You think you’re the only one?”
“Oh, my God, he’s like you,” Bobbi whispered.
Kroun’s mouth twisted with disgust. “Ain’t that the pip? And now you two know everything. I tried to not move, but damn…” He failed to suppress a cough.
I stared and recalled and wondered and realized. “You never told me,” I said, voice faint.
