“Not with me, you haven’t.”
“You’ve got a lot of nerve. Let me remind you that you’re on General Electrics property, and extraterritoriality is in effect. I could have those men there toss you in a cell and throw away the key, and no one would be able to get to you.”
She was starting to piss me off. Every Upper City asshole was the same. “Whatever.”
“No, not whatever! You think because you’re the star of some radio show that you can call the shots? You’re nothing, Roche, nothing! I doubt those stories about you are even real. If you have a question, ask it right here, or it isn’t worth asking.”
Goddamn it. Always an uphill battle with these people. “Are you aware of a crime that occurred in the Upper East Side?”
“Some rowdy Mafia bastards shooting up other Mafia bastards?” she retorted irritably.
“Do you know where that happened?”
“In the Lower City. Does it matter?” She groaned. “Why are you wasting my time with such trivial questions?”
Time to bite the bullet. “I’m trying to find the Vierling Killer.”
“Who?”
“The asshole who shot up the Edison Hotel, among other things. You have the gun and the motive, but not much else, it seems.”
I’d never thought I’d see the day that Schafer laughed, but she did, and she continued for some time. It was an amused laugh, like she was watching a comedic play. “You’re serious? You’re accusing me of murder?”
“I’m not accusing, I’m asking if you did it.”
“No, no, I didn’t. Even if I had, I’d have said no. Who would ask such a stupid question of someone like me? You need a hard lesson in how the Upper City works, making accusations like that.”
“I think you need a hard lesson on who’s who down here in the Lower City. Agent Masters didn’t do his research, and he ain’t around anymore.”
The laughing stopped. “Excuse me?”
I moved closer to her — not quickly, and not too close, but enough to get a response. She stood her ground, unflinching, though she did take on a more aggressive stance. It wasn’t the stance a soldier or cop would take; her footing was off. No, she didn’t have combat training. I guessed she’d enrolled in the military for the stress and confrontation training. In any case, I wasn’t willing to get thrown into a cell for testing her further.
“You see those two guards over there?” I began. “They —”
“What, are you going to shoot up this place and make a ruckus just so we’ll think you’re a big deal? You’re a child, Roche, a child with a toy gun you think gets you anything you want. Am I correct in that analysis?”
I didn’t respond. I wasn’t really sure how I could.
“Now if you’ll excuse me,” she continued, “I need to get back to some real business, not just put on a song and dance for you. We’ve unfortunately made some poor investments, and we need to plug the hole in our profits before our situation becomes as dire as yours.”
She began walking back to the elevators.
“I know someone else who made some poor investments recently,” I called after her. “She’s not too happy about things, either.” Schafer stopped. Whether or not she was in cahoots with the Iron Hands, she could see that I knew more than I appeared to. “It seems I was correct: you aren’t the killer. Even so, you’re in a much worse situation than if you were.”
“What are you implying?”
“I might be implying two things.” I looked her over. “You seem keen on keeping your arm hidden. Is there a reason for that?”
She almost snarled. “Are you about done, Roche? Or do I need to have security beat some respect into you?”
Her facade was cracking. Not much, but enough for us to see eye to eye. I couldn’t tell if she was scared or angry or surprised. Either she was working for the same woman I did, or the two of them were closer than they appeared. Something to worry about later.
“Thank you for your time, Miss Schafer.”
She wasn’t a coward, I knew that much. That would make my life difficult if I ever needed to come back here. Well, more difficult than it already was.
Outside, Allen was still chatting with security. Spotting me, it got inside the vehicle. The guards called to the building as we backed away in the car, but it wasn’t like they could do much off of GE property.
“She ain’t the killer,” I told Allen.
“How do you know?”
“Something tells me she and I have similar allies, although that doesn’t mean we’re friends. She’s clean, unfortunately.”
“Who’s left?”
“We should try talking to Simone again.”
“What about the man you kept seeing?”
“He’s …” I paused. “A non-issue.”
“There’s something I forgot to tell you,” Allen said. “When I was at the library, a man made contact with me. He was desperate to meet with you. I think he left you a phone message a while back. I don’t know what it’s in regards to, and honestly it’s possible that he’s mentally unstable. But as we have little else to go on right now …”
“Let’s not take any chances,” I said. “There’s too much shit happening now to pick and choose which leads to follow. Find his address, and let’s get this done. After that, we’ll figure something out.”
CHAPTER 21
WE FOUND OURSELVES at the home of one Reginald Edwin Curio, famed novelist and pain in my ass. On checking my phone recorder, I discovered that he had been leaving messages asking to meet for weeks now. Allen said the guy was off his rocker, but harmless. Let’s see just how harmless he is.
The light coming from under the door meant he was home. He had a nice little house, one of the few shanty bungalows left within city limits, sitting on the corner of Grand Avenue and Allen Street. I’d pointed out the street name to Allen, who’d responded with a smirk. It was developing a funny bone. I liked that.
The neighbourhood was quiet this time of day, with most people either at work or shopping for the holidays. The bulbs were still on above us, but they’d be switched off in the next hour or so.
“Roche, I feel this is unnecessary.” Allen was standing awkwardly in a breaching position to the left of the door. I stood on the right, next to the hinges.
“You want to get to the bottom of this, don’t you?” It didn’t answer. I put fresh rounds into my Diamondback one at a time. “Besides, this bastard could be trying to lure me into a trap, testing to see if I’m that naive. I don’t even know who works for the Eye these days. Now, kick the door.”
“Roche …”
Allen was looking over my shoulder. An all too familiar woman in a white fur coat was walking toward the house. Simone. We both froze, though for different reasons. Allen was staring like a boy at the playground. Simone looked at us and glanced at Curio’s door, half frowning.
“I really hope I don’t find a body in there.” She was only half joking.
“We haven’t even kicked the door down. Even if we had, he’d be fine. How the hell do you know this nutjob?” I asked.
“He’s an external editor for WAR Radio, and he’s very good at his job. You should see some of the transcripts he puts out. Pulitzer-worthy.”
“We did want to talk to you, too, actually,” I said.
“Coincidence, it seems, smiles upon us both.” Simone grinned. “I’m having a little Christmas get-together later tonight, and I wanted to invite you two. Curio will be there, as well as my father and some friends from the station. No GE paper-pushers, I swear.”
I looked at Allen, who was practically chomping at the bit. What the hell, I was in a good mood today. “Sure.”
“Oh wow, I was expecting to have to do some verbal gymnastics to convince you. Fantastic. Eleven tonight. You know where I live, fifth floor. I should go in and invite Curio.”
On cue, the front door opened. All the conversation outside must have attracted the man’s attention. He was shocked to see the three of
us standing mere inches away. He looked relieved when he saw Simone, and when he recognized me, he lit up like a Christmas tree.
“Ah, Elias Roche! The N—”
“Don’t say it, or you get a bullet in the head,” I warned.
“The famous Elias Roche, yes, no other names,” he stammered, extending a hand to me. I noticed a pack of cigarettes in his breast pocket and reached out to grab one, ignoring the hand. “I’ve been trying to contact you,” he continued. “I spoke to your partner a few nights ago. I didn’t think you’d get back to me so promptly.”
I chuckled. “Well, necessity led us here. Or, rather, suspicion.” Curio nodded, pretending to understand. “I suppose I’ll see you tonight,” I said to him. “We can talk then.”
He was confused and, seeing that I was about to leave, opened his mouth to say something, but Simone breezed into the house, pulling him along with her.
“Don’t be late,” she said, flashing me and Allen a final smile.
“Never am.”
I returned to the Talbot with Allen.
I ran the engine for a few minutes to get heat flowing into the cab. Allen kept tapping its fingers on its knees, jittery with excitement. What was going on with the damn machine? A month ago it had been all hard codes and regulations; now it was bouncing off the walls like a child. I reminded myself that it was new to this whole world, all these experiences.
“What time is it, Al?” I asked.
“It is … six at night.”
“I say we grab some chow and head back to my place.”
“Do you ‘know a guy’ who can sort us out for food?”
“No.” I paused. “Okay, yeah, I do.”
I smiled, almost laughing to myself. Son of a bitch was getting quick, I had to admit.
Back at my apartment, it was already dark enough to need the lights on. Eva Greaves’s boot prints were still on my carpet, making my lip curl in annoyance. I ignored them for the moment, heading to my room to grab the wrapped package from my bedside table. I returned and handed it to Allen.
“Where did that come from?” it asked, perplexed.
“You’d be surprised what you miss when you’re panicking. I brought it in while you were being interrogated by Greaves. You didn’t even see it this morning.” I went to throw my coat on the rack. “Open it up.”
“But it’s Christmas Eve. I’m not too familiar with these rituals, but don’t people usually open presents on Christmas Day?”
“I’m Italian, I grew up opening presents on Christmas Eve. After all, baby Jesus was born at night, yeah?”
“I didn’t know that, either,” it said, almost guiltily. “I can’t accept this, Elias. I don’t deserve a present. Besides, what on earth would you get me? I can’t be an easy person to buy for.”
“I know. I thought of something useful. Open the goddamn thing, come on!” I grinned.
Having the possibility of being thrown in prison for life looming over my head was making me appreciative of moments like this.
Allen ripped the paper off to get to the box within. He placed it on the counter and lifted off the top. The Hi-Power pistol I had gotten from Moses sat on a small cushion, along with a few magazines of .40 Luger. Allen lifted it out, careful to investigate it without gripping it too tight.
“It’s new. A prototype, apparently. Fresh from the presses. It’s smaller than Robins’s 1911 and has tungsten-tipped rounds for dealing with Automatics or armour. I just thought, you know, if you’re going to be a real cop, you need a piece, and I’d rather you had something more your style. If you need more ammo, I can call some favours in, and —”
The air was squeezed out of me, leaving me unable to speak. Allen had wrapped its arms around me, giving me an uncomfortable yet heartwarming hug. I looked around to make sure no one could see us — I was in my apartment, who could see us? — and patted it on the back. It backed up after a few seconds, a smile plastered across its robotic face, and looked at the weapon again.
“This is the first gift I’ve ever gotten. Elias, I appreciate this. How can I ever repay you?”
“It’s a present, Allen, you don’t repay gifts. And I know you didn’t get me anything. Just get me back next year, deal?”
“Yes,” Allen said, retrieving Robins’s 1911 and placing it in my hand before refitting the Browning into the holster and taking up the spare magazines. I’d have to return Robins’s gun in the next few days. He wasn’t a fan of lending things out; I was surprised Allen had had his pistol for this long.
“Elias, why did you opt to question Curio and Miss Morane at the party, instead of earlier today?”
I was caught off guard by the question. “I have another two days of freedom before I’m going to be dragged away to the slammer. I think we can take some time for the little things. Speaking of which, I won’t have much time to read and relax while I’m breaking rocks with a pickaxe in prison. Mind if I go do that?”
Allen nodded. “By all means. I’ll hold down the fort, as it were.”
“Good man. Keep an ear out for Maranzano’s boys, will you? Last thing we need is a surprise.”
“Of course, Elias.”
Now it was time for a nice hot shower and some time alone. I needed to catch up on the few years of rest I might be about to lose.
CHAPTER 22
WHILE ROCHE WAS TAKING A much-needed rest, Allen was at a loss for how to pass the time before the party. He tried reading, but his mind was pulled away from the pages and into itself, engrossed in his infatuation. It was an agonizing new sensation, consuming almost to the point of madness. He felt a tinge of irritation that no one at Camp Theta had warned him that emotions such as this would appear — a severe oversight for everyone involved.
He sat on Roche’s couch and eventually gravitated toward the radio. If he had time, he might as well listen to the radio program that Roche had inspired. It was just after seven at night, prime broadcasting hour, when people were just getting back from their day jobs and sitting down to eat or relax.
He waited for the tubes to heat up, then spun the dial to tune in. The front plate of the radio jiggled a bit as he turned the dial. Strange, given Roche rarely used the radio, if at all. He stopped the dial at 980 AM, and crackling voices filled the room. The first voice was a young female playing a character who was much older than she sounded.
“What makes you so sure, sir? I can’t fathom what has become of my husband. Please, find him — or the body, if you must.”
“I won’t find a body, ma’am.” The voice of the Nightcaller was deep and gravelly, much more dramatic than Roche’s own voice. There was the sound of a lighter clicking and sparking. “You have no idea who your husband really is.”
“What are you talking about? My husband is an angel. He works at a soup kitchen, feeds the hungry, visits the orphanage, takes care of me as well as he can!”
“He isn’t all rose petals and sunshine, darling. Your husband is one of the biggest, baddest fellows on these mean streets. He’s merciless, kidnapping people from the street and doing God knows what with them. We call him Mr. Snatch, and I know where he is.”
“Oh, please, Mr. Nightcaller, you must save him! Even from himself!”
Allen rolled his eyes, on the verge of laughter. This was entertainment? Roche would have an aneurism hearing this.
“There isn’t any saving him from himself, ma’am. I’m here to dispense justice, not save a marriage.” The click of a hammer, the holstering of a gun, and footsteps on a creaking floor. “I’ll be back in a half hour. You can do me a favour while I’m gone.”
“Yes, anything!”
“Find yourself a new place to live. I’m sure your husband’s life insurance will cover the rent.” A door slammed, footsteps went down a set of stairs, a car door opened and closed. “She’s up in arms in there, had no idea her husband was Mr. Snatch. We don’t need to do anything else here. You sure you know where to find this guy, Karl?”
“Indubitably, Mr. Nightcall
er.”
“I don’t sound like that,” Allen said to himself, almost writhing in embarrassment at the exaggerated flanging of the voice.
“Good, drive us there. I got a present for our perp,” the fake Roche continued.
“And what might that gift be, sir?”
A gun was pulled and a hammer cocked. “A .38 to the head. Hit it!”
Tires screeched, and soft jazz music started, followed by an announcer’s voice.
“The Nightcaller Tales will return after a word from our sponsors.”
Allen turned the radio off, sitting in stunned silence for a moment. And then, laughter.
For the first time ever, uproarious laughter overtook him. He doubled over on the couch. It was so cheesy, so bad, so far from the truth that it was almost a caricature of what he and Roche did every night. His laughter was loud enough to rouse Roche out of his room with an expression halfway between concern and curiosity.
“Allen … you good?” he asked.
“Oh, oh, Elias! I’m a chauffeur!” Allen kept cackling. “And you, you’re a cheesy soap actor!”
“Read something funny in the paper?”
He sat up, putting his head in his hands, trying to catch his breath. “Elias, that show — never listen to it — you’d break the radio.”
“Oh, Christ.” Roche cringed but cracked a smile, too. “It took my fame to get you to laugh and enjoy yourself. Damn, this is the best surprise I’ve had in a while.”
“Agreed.” Allen gave his partner a thumbs-up. “I’m fine. I might listen to some more. I wonder who else is in the show.”
“Knowing Robins, he’d want to butt in there.” Roche turned. “I’m heading out to grab some toiletries. Need anything?”
“I’m fine.”
Roche walked out, locking the door. Brimming with curiosity, Allen turned the radio back on. The bulbs heated up faster than last time and the sound came crackling through once more.
“This is the place,” Roche’s gruff voice actor said. “This is going to be an uphill battle, just like the War. I’m counting on you to have my back if anything goes tits-up. Understood?”
Midnight Page 22
