by P. N. Elrod
“Are you a bad shot?”
“Not at all, but causing injury to your attacker was not needed. Do sit down.” He nodded toward the bar, which was clear of matchbooks. There was no telling if Escott or the supposed ghost had cleared them away. Myrna. What kind of a name was that for a spook?
A light was on behind the bar. It went out while he was looking at it. There was no popping noise from an expired filament; it dimmed and went dark just like the ones in theaters.
Escott was nowhere near a wall switch. He saw it, too. “Myrna? Perhaps you would rather wait in the office with the radio on. If Jack returns, he will go there first.” Again, he spoke with a completely straight face as though someone was there to hear him.
Wary, Gabe put his hat down and eased onto one of the stools, angling so he had the lobby door in sight. He decided to ignore Escott’s digression. “What the hell were you thinking taking off after them like that?”
“I wanted to see where they went.”
“Could have told you.”
“They might have changed their locale. As it was, I enjoyed a drive to an unremarkable hotel in Cicero.”
“Broder didn’t spot you?”
“Right away, as it happened—traffic was very light at that hour. I let him lose me, then resumed tailing at a more prudent distance. He’s a relative stranger here, whereas I know the streets quite well.”
“Good for you.”
“They seemed to settle themselves in for the night. I returned to find you long gone and the staff at the Nightcrawler considerably mystified about the contretemps in the alley.”
“You always talk like that?”
“Like what?”
“Never mind, go on.”
“I drove around and found you only a block away sitting on a curb like a vagrant. I tried to get you in the car, but you took a swing at me, used some foul language, then sat down again.”
Impossible.
Escott searched his face. “You don’t remember. Not any of it.”
“Because it didn’t happen.”
“Of course it did. One can hardly blame you for wishing it to not be so. It’s terribly disturbing to have a lapse like that.”
Much too disturbing, Gabe didn’t want to accept it. “What did Fleming tell you?”
“I’ve not heard from him since that message. What would he add, were he present?”
“He—” Gabe bit it off. No need to get started about the car wreck. He couldn’t deny that he’d lost some time afterward, same as last night. “You left me there?”
“You were in no temper to be helped. On my second attempt you drew a gun, threatened to shoot my nose off, made a crude observation about its size, damned me to hell, and sat down again to hold a snowball to your head.” He paused as though waiting for a reaction, then went on. “You did not recognize me at all.”
What’s he want, an apology?
“You have a serious problem, Mr. Kroun. It is most certainly to do with the bullet in your brain.”
“Ya think?” Gabe thought hypnotizing Escott into a lapse of his own might be worth the headache. But the man knew where Mike was staying and had a car.
On the other hand he doesn’t need to know about my business to play chauffeur.
Escott went behind the bar and built himself a short gin and tonic, heavy on the tonic. “Let’s put that aside for now. You’ve recovered and seem to be yourself again. Perhaps if you simply avoid further injury—especially to your head—you can get by without threatening bodily harm to others.”
Or shooting people in the woods. One minute the car’s leaving the road, the next I’m tied up and Fleming’s talking crazy. Gabe’s face felt warm.
“In regard to your visit to the sanitarium…” Escott paused again, but Gabe remained silent. “Why did you let Jack come along? You must have known there was a possibility he would learn things you would prefer to keep private.”
“It just happened. I’m not happy about it.”
“Please, Mr. Kroun, I respect your intelligence. If you needed to exclude him, you’d have found a way of doing so. You wanted someone to hear your father. Certain details about your previous visit—”
“The old man is nuts. It doesn’t matter what he says or who hears him.”
“Indeed? Then what occurred at that cabin two months ago?”
Good question. “I hired a girl to keep me company up there, that’s all. She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. I’m just trying to find out if she’s okay.”
“Then let me alleviate your worry. She’s well enough.”
“How do you know? Where is she?”
“I spent a portion of the day finding out things.”
“Such as?”
“The reason why Michael wants you dead.” Escott drank half the gin and tonic, then hauled his cannon of a revolver from its shoulder rig and aimed it at Gabe. “And I agree with him.”
Gabe took in the gun and the gray ice of Escott’s gaze and whatever expectations he might have planned against would never have included this. “Why is it you keep pulling a gun on me?”
“The first time was a mistake on my part.”
“So’s the second.”
“Be so kind as to remove my overcoat.”
“Don’t want bullet holes in it?”
“Certainly not, but I’d rather the weapon you have in the right-hand pocket remained in place. If I asked you to surrender it, you’d be fast enough to risk a shot at me. Neither of us would be pleased with the outcome. It’s best if you just put the coat on the bar.”
Gabe undid the buttons and shed the coat. He thought about throwing it as a distraction, but Escott would be wise to that one and shoot first. “What’s your game?”
“Justice, whenever possible. In this instance, justice for a young woman named Nelly Cabot.”
There was only one way he could know that name. “You talked to Michael.”
“Not easy, but I managed.”
Gabe snorted. “What’d he tell you?”
“Many things. Now I want to hear your version of events at the cabin.”
Well…he was the one with the gun, why not? “It’s just over the state line. I went up for a look the other night. There was blood and the body of a man named Ramsey, who’d been my driver.”
“That’s what you found. What happened?”
“Someone shot us both and buried us in the woods. Only I didn’t stay dead.”
Escott had a good poker face, but his eyes widened at that news. “So that’s when…you are new at this, aren’t you? Who shot you?”
He shook his head. “Ramsey, I think.”
“Don’t remember? Jack had a similar problem. Bit of amnesia about his death, but the memory came back after a week or so.”
Yes, Gordy had mentioned that. Fleming had thrown his weight around in a big way trying to find his killers. Not smart, but effective.
“Miss Cabot was the girl you hired?”
“Yeah. I think Ramsey was supposed to kill me, and she witnessed it.” Gabe’s mouth was dry.
“That sounds reasonable.”
“I’m sure Mike was at the cabin, too, but last night he started shooting before I could get him to talk.”
“He was in a calmer frame of mind today—as you will shortly see.”
Cripes. He palmed the ace right in front of me. “That call wasn’t to the Nightcrawler. Okay, I get it, fine.”
“He’ll be here soon.”
“Good.” It was last night all over again. Escott had his facts wrong and needed proof from a third party to straighten him out. Before it had only taken a call from Derner. This time…“Look, you want the truth here, the real truth, right? I can get it for you.”
“Via hypnosis?”
Sharp guy. “If you let me.”
“What do you propose?”
“I put Mike under, and you do the talking. Keep the gun on me the whole time and ask him anything you like.”
“I expect Mr.
Broder will be along.”
“You can tell Mike to order him to go outside. You’ll be in control. I won’t do anything.”
“That sounds…reasonable as well.”
“This is too easy,” Gabe muttered.
“It’s an excellent idea, Mr. Kroun. We’ll see how it works out. Before he arrives, perhaps you can clarify a point or two. If Mike was at the cabin, why did he allow Miss Cabot to leave?”
“He’s soft on dames.”
“And why was he not surprised to see you alive later?”
“He thought I’d gotten away.”
“But this was a clandestine excursion. How did he even know you were there?”
“Broder can track anyone, anything, without getting noticed.”
“Why would Mike want you dead?”
“You tell me.” Gabe nodded at the gun. “You said you agreed with him.”
Escott’s mouth thinned. “Yes. I do.”
“What’d he tell you?”
Outside, a car pulled up, the motor cut, and doors slammed. Gabe turned from Escott and toward the entry.
Broder barged in first, his gun out. He was hard to read at the best of times, but tonight was different. He looked ready to kill. Though used to Broder and his ways, a jolt of pure terror lanced through Gabe like an electric shock, leaving his fingers suddenly numb. Until now he’d always felt himself unquestioningly in control of everything. The look on Broder’s face told him otherwise.
So did the look on Mike’s face when he came in. The usual impatience, frustration, anger, apprehension, and all the shadings in between were gone, replaced by straightforward disgust. He stopped just inside, holding the door open.
A woman in a dark winter coat, a thick headscarf tied under her chin, reluctantly came in. Mrs. Cabot glared at Gabe with undiluted loathing.
“It’s okay,” she said. “They got him covered. He ain’t movin’.”
A younger, prettier version of her crept forward and paused on the threshold. She was paler than paint and visibly trembling head to toe. When she saw Gabe, she jerked and looked ready to run out again.
Can’t blame her, seeing a dead man back on his feet would shake anyone.
“Nelly?” said Gabe.
She made a little choking noise and tottered into her mother’s arms. She began sobbing.
Gabe closed his eyes. For an instant he was in his grave again, drifting in that brief moment of absolute peace and calm despite the sound of a woman weeping her heart out. He listened to the echoes in his tattered memory and matched them exactly to what he heard now.
“It’s all right,” he whispered. “It’s all right.”
When he opened his eyes, they all stared at him as though expecting him to say more.
Except Nelly, who continued to cry. Her mother opened a big black purse on her arm and groped for a wad of tissues. The girl soaked them through.
No one moved. Taking it slow, he reached toward his breast pocket for the silk handkerchief there. He held it out. The mother hissed and pulled back, dragging Nelly along.
“You don’t touch her!” she snarled.
“I’m just trying—”
“Shuddup!” Mike got between them and suddenly plowed in with a vicious sucker punch. Gabe caught it under the ribs and dropped back, surprised as hell. Mike loomed over him a moment, then turned away, angry, but keeping himself in check.
For once, Gabe decided to listen and made no comment. He glanced at Escott for some clue, but the man was coldly hostile.
Whatever it was had them acting crazy. Gabe wasn’t running things now, couldn’t order them to tell him what was going on. If he waited long enough, one of them might talk; but the tangible fury hanging in the air was just short of catching on fire.
Mike was the key. Gabe focused on him, putting effort into it to get him under, make him calm.
“Mike, I need you to listen to me…” Usually that was enough. Catch their attention, throw a hard look, and they got cooperative.
Instead, Mike faced the Cabot women. “You don’t talk, Whitey. Not another word.”
Gabe next tried Broder, who was staring right at him. It should have been easy, but nothing got through. As he suspected, the man was too focused, and that was better than armor.
As for Escott? No point in trying; he was little better than a bystander now.
“I didn’t think you’d bring the ladies along,” said Escott.
Mike gave a small shrug.
“My girl should see him,” Mrs. Cabot said. She made Nelly straighten up. “You look at him. You look at that son of a bitch and see how afraid he is.”
Gabe went still. He was indeed afraid. He’d stepped in something again, and there was no bluffing his way clear. He looked at the girl, but absolutely nothing sparked in his memory about her. Her face and form were unfamiliar, though he liked what he saw. She was dark-haired with a soft, rounded figure…but Lettie had described her as being blond. A trip to the beauty parlor would change her quick enough.
Lettie had mentioned other things, but Gabe had dismissed them.
She’s wrong. She has to be.
Only one person could set things straight.
He focused on Nelly, and it was nothing to break through to her. She was too vulnerable. She ceased crying and stared blankly back. Once he was sure she was hooked, he shot a glance at Escott.
“Ask her,” he said. “You want to know what happened, ask her.”
Escott looked startled.
“He’s already heard,” said Mike.
“Well, I haven’t. Nelly—tell them what happened at the cabin.”
Despite his influence, she was slow to speak. Mrs. Cabot stepped into the gap.
“No! You don’t put her through that again!”
Gabe moved forward, stopping when Broder shifted his bulk in the way. “Let her talk, dammit!”
“Mr. Kroun,” said Escott, “do not continue with this. She’s been through enough.”
“I got a right to hear what you have against me.”
The sound of his voice startled Nelly awake. She scrabbled one-handed at the black purse. Instead of tissues, she pulled out a revolver, the same one her mother had used the other night, swinging it around.
Gabe made himself a moving target, but there wasn’t space for it. He threw himself to the side away from Escott just as the gun roared. Something kicked his left arm, hard. His legs went out from under him, and he smashed back-first against the tile floor. Rattled, he tried to roll and get upright, but Nelly stood over him, the gun’s muzzle right in his face. She was shaking and crying too much to hold it steady.
He was fast enough to grab it away, but unable to move. The rage in her face stopped him.
What did I do to you?
The answer was there, and he could not accept it. It was impossible.
I’m not like that!
Not now, but two months ago he’d been a murdering bastard capable of doing anything. And what he’d done to Nelly…
No. That was wrong. That kind of horror just wasn’t inside him.
Broder yanked the gun from Nelly’s hand and bodily pushed her toward Mrs. Cabot. The woman grabbed her daughter, her own anger shifting to fear.
“You can’t hold that against her!” she yelled. “You know what he did!”
Michael went to her, and they held a short, intense exchange, which Gabe was too distracted to follow.
He was bleeding. It wasn’t like that chest wound, but by God it hurt, and he couldn’t afford the blood loss.
The bullet had torn a chunk from high in his left arm and out again, and even as he pressed a hand over the wound, it began to burn with hell’s own fire. He snarled and cursed and couldn’t see straight. The pain didn’t fade so much as he made himself ignore it. He forced himself to his feet, trying to get a look at Nelly, but Mrs. Cabot put herself in the way, protecting her.
Escott was still behind the bar. He seemed unfazed by the gunfire. He found a towel and slid it o
ver to Gabe. “Put some pressure on it.”
Nodding a silent thanks, Gabe did so. The least movement made it burn worse. His blood was all over the place. It was stupid, but he found himself annoyed about his ruined suit. That lasted two seconds, then Broder was dragging him over to a chair and shoving him down. His big paws lay heavy on top of Gabe’s shoulders, holding him in place.
Mike went from Mrs. Cabot to talk with Escott. “We have to keep this quiet.”
“I am no representative for the police in this. Punish him as you see fit, but take him elsewhere when you’re done. Mr. Fleming will be none too pleased to have his club so ill-used. I’ll clean up.”
“And keep quiet?”
“So far as I am concerned, this is a family matter between you and your half brother and none of my business. Once you leave, I shall do my best to forget this entire day.”
“What about Fleming? He was supposed to keep an eye on things.”
“As I said, he had some personal affairs to look after, but be assured, he will say nothing.”
“Gordy said he was stand-up.”
“You may have complete confidence in that assessment. What about the ladies?”
“The old girl said she wants to see it through. Thinks Nelly will sleep better at night, but there’s some things you just can’t make up for.”
“Indeed not.”
Mike came to stand before Gabe. “I didn’t think I could hate anyone as much as the old bastard, but you…you’re sick-crazy like him, and your kind of sick doesn’t get better. You’ve gone too far.”
“Doing what?” Gabe asked. “Say it.”
“You’re not worth the breath.” Mike reached into his overcoat’s inside pocket for a leather case, not the one he used for his glasses. He opened it, revealing a clean glass syringe and compact amber vials within, setting them out on a table.
What the hell? “Escott?”
But Escott put his back to him. He began cleaning blood from the bar top.
Mike loaded the syringe with the contents of all the vials.
“That’s too much,” said Gabe. “You’ll kill yourself.”
Mike ignored him. “Broder?”
Broder ripped away the towel and smashed his fist against Gabe’s wound three times with bone-breaking force. Blood went everywhere. The pain exploded into a white-hot firestorm, unbearable. He tried to bite off the scream and failed. He dropped from the chair, consumed by it, unable to move. Someone grabbed his right arm and pushed the sleeve up. He didn’t feel the sting as the needle went in; the other agony simply blotted it out.
