A Song In The Dark (4 page)

“Gordy put himself in front of a bullet so as to do all that?”

“He didn't
intend
to get shot; he'd have some alternative planned out, only Hog threw a wrench into the works, surprising everyone. Then I got into the middle of things—”

“Yeah-yeah, and he went buckwheats on you. Except you don't look hurt.”

“I'll be glad to show you my scars when the bandages come off. In the meantime, I get a cigar for hitting the bull's-eye.”

“Ya think?”

“I know.”

“It's a sweet story, kid, but that's not enough of an angle to get you off the hook. We wouldn't like any of it generally known, but blabbing it around won't help you.”

“ 'S nothing I wanna do. Your boy came out to take over this town, and him being stupid got himself and the others killed. Someone's supposed to pay for it. Gordy's in the clear, which is fine with me, so I'm the one who's elected. I get that.”

“What if Gordy was the one who set you up from the first to take the fall?”

I laughed out loud. I laughed long and heartily, right in his face. And damn, it felt
good
. “Oh, no. That was my
own
doing. Before I ever got involved, Bristow didn't like my looks, and things went bad from then on with us. If I'd been more on the ball, I might have sidestepped him, but it didn't work out that way, which was my own bad luck. Well, I took it on the chin good and hard, and what I am thinking is that I've
paid
for killing him and his boys. I've paid several times over. What he put me through has to count for something. I survived it; I've earned the right to live.”

“If he went buckwheats on you even halfway,” said Mitchell, bending close, “you wouldn't be sitting here. And you sure as hell wouldn't have done what you did downstairs.” I'd forgotten he was behind me. As if that mattered.

“What happened downstairs?” Kroun asked him.

“He punched out a guy who was getting rough with one of the chorus girls. Never saw anything move so quick.”

“
That
was adrenaline,” I said. “I paid for it afterward, which is why I was in the john for so long, or did you forget that part?”

Mitchell wasn't buying. “From what we heard Bristow skinned you alive. Even if you got through it, you should still be laid up in a hospital.”

“What d'ya want from me? I said I healed fast.”

“Prove it.”

“Okay. Seeing's believing.” I stood and shrugged carefully out of my overcoat as though I were in discomfort and stiff. “Mr. Kroun? In the washroom, if you don't mind. These mugs don't need to gape at the freak show.” Without waiting for a yea or nay, I moved slowly toward a door that led to the toilet. I went in, swatted the light on, and stood well out of their view. It was a big room, bright, black-and-white tile, a hefty tub. Gordy occasionally stayed over when work demanded, and he liked his comforts.

In the office the radio volume went up. Loud. Good. We'd have privacy from the boys listening in. Hopefully, they would stay out. All my worst scars were on the inside, but that wouldn't count with this bunch.

After a minute, Kroun came to the door and stepped through. He'd produced or borrowed a gun from someone and held it ready in one hand. Talk about being cautious. He waited, head tilted slightly, and holding very, very still. He didn't need a gun to fill the place with himself.

“Well?”

“No tricks,” I said wearily. “Just the truth.”

“Which is . . . ?”

“That Bristow chained me upside down from a meat hook and . . .” I stopped there, the words clogged in my throat. Weakness showing. Not something I intended. “Oh, jeez.”

“Just show.”

I had my suit coat open, but my hands hung straight at my sides as I looked steadily into his eyes. “I want you to
listen
to me, Mr. Kroun. Listen hard . . .”

He wasn't the only one with an effective stare.

It didn't work immediately. He might have had a drink earlier. He stared in puzzled annoyance for a moment as I focused hard on him and kept up the soothing drone that would put him under. Then he gave a small headshake and blinked once, twice, before his eyelids sagged to half-mast. I had him hooked, landed, gutted, cooked, and on the plate. His gun was pointed in the wrong direction, at me. I calmly told him to please put it away, and without fuss he shoved it into a pocket. His eyes were flat and dull. Perfect.

But inside my skull things began to thump badly, a building thunderstorm. I had to make this quick. Very fast and intense, I whispered some choice and vivid word
pictures about what damage my torso was supposed to have. Kroun's face went the same color as that white streak in his hair. For a moment I thought he might be sick, which meant I'd overdone it.

“Take it easy,” I murmured. “Nice and easy. We're friends now. You remember that. Remember that you look after your friends and help them. Watch out for me, I'll watch out for you. I just want out of this alive and no problems for Gordy, okay? None at all. He's been loyal.”

Though positive I could have ordinarily talked him out of killing me, this would speed the process. I was fed up having a death sentence hanging overhead. But the thunder in my brain was starting to boom. Insistent, distracting. I licked my lips and tried to concentrate.

Kroun nodded agreement to my suggestions, his eyes still empty.

I had plenty more to say to him, only it never came out. A pain like nothing I had ever known before blasted through my skull. For the briefest instant I thought I'd been shot, but no one else was with us. Kroun stood motionless and staring. That was the last glimpse I got before the agony doubled me down. I clutched my head with both hands, biting off a cry. They couldn't see me like this. God, what was
wrong?

The pain rose, tripled, tripled again. My head would explode from the pressure if I didn't—

Then peace, sudden as flicking a switch, plunging me into sweet gray nothingness.

I'd vanished.

Sometimes that happened to me involuntarily when I got too badly hurt to control the reflex. How I'd wished for it when Bristow had been skinning me, but a piece of ice pick buried deep in my back prevented that escape.

This was like heaven after hell. The pain went away, but not the memory or the fear that it might be waiting to fall on me again when I went solid.

I'd have to risk it, though. If the others got too curious and came for a look-see . . . I told myself it would be all right. Vanishing always healed me, bullets, paper cuts, even headaches went away. So it was now.

Melted back slowly. If Kroun was aware he didn't show it, continuing with the empty-eyed gaze into the distance. That was good. Hypnotizing people had always made my head hurt, but the pain had gone way out of hand now.
Why,
though?

Solid again, I moved away and sat on the edge of the tub, biting off the groans because I couldn't afford to give in. But for an awful second I actually felt on the edge of tears. My face twisted, and I rocked back and forth, arms wrapped tight around myself, resisting the urge.

My
body
was just fine. Healing had taken place. The head agony was gone, but inside I was a train wreck.

“God, I'm so tired.” I was unaware of speaking until the words were out. I hoped the overly loud radio covered it.

There would be no more evil-eye work for me tonight. Maybe I was too nerved up for it. Kroun would come out of the trance on his own in a few minutes. I'd better use what was left of them.

“Okay, Mr. Kroun. You know Bristow hurt me. I just want to go back to my job and forget any of this ever happened. Keep Gordy in charge and go on your way home and no harm done, okay?” I did not look too-directly at him.

He mouthed the word “okay.” That's all I needed. The suggestion would last for a few weeks—months, even—after that, if I was lucky, he'd have other things to concern him, shoving out any second thoughts over tonight's “decision.”

By the time he surfaced I was pretending to settle my coat and tie back into place. I walked past him into the office and slowly resumed my chair.

Kroun emerged from the washroom after a few moments, face still pretty pale. “He got the buckwheats treatment all right,” he announced.

Strome and Derner gave me bleak looks, the closest they could come to sympathy. Mitchell was clearly mystified and stepped in front of me.

“Lemme see.”

He got a glare instead. I was careful not to put any power into it.

“Come on.”

“No.” Absolutely, categorically.

“Boss.” He appealed to Kroun.

Kroun waved Mitchell down and sat behind the desk. “Lay off him. That's Hog's work for sure. You don't wanna see, trust me. Fleming, how the hell are you able to walk around like that?”

I eased carefully onto the chair. “I got a good doctor. Jabbed me full of some
great
medicine. It blunts things. It's no circus, but I can do my job. I'm about ready to go for another shot, so if you don't mind, let's wind this up.”

“How?”

“Like I said—I've paid for Hog Bristow's death. You can convince New York of that. Go back home, tell 'em I'll finish out my turn at watch nice and quiet. When Gordy's fully on his feet again I'll fade away and just pretend none of this happened. You guys forget about me; everything goes back to normal. Upheavals are bad for business. It's time this one blew itself out.”

He thought it over. The new attitude that I'd forced on him would hold firm, but he still had to work out how to
square it with whatever orders he'd have from his pals back home. “I should be able to do that.”

I hoped so. I didn't want to have to hypnotize every mobster in New York into leaving me alone. It'd kill me. “I would be very appreciative.”

“You'll get it. But there's other things I gotta straighten out.”

“Name 'em. I'll help if I can.”

“Where's Bristow? I need to know.”

I glanced at Strome.

“He and the rest are in the lake,” he answered.

“The lake.” Kroun frowned, and I got the idea he hated watery graves as much as I did. “That's not good. Bodies always float to the surface no matter how much weight you use.”

“Not these guys. We know how to do it here so that don't happen.”

“And how do you do it here?”

“You get a really big oil drum, bigger than you think you need. Put the guy in it and pour in cement good and tight, no air pockets. The trick is to make sure the cement weighs more than twice what the guy does. You punch a hole in the lid to let the gas escape, then take 'em way far outta sight of land and dump 'em.”

“That's the trick?”

“Yeah.”

“Huh.”

“It helps if you cut the body up and use two drums, three is even better . . .”

“Strome,” I said, correctly reading the look on Kroun's face. He'd had enough.

Strome shut it off.

I'd been told in only the most general terms of what he
and a couple of other carefully picked cleanup men had done to get rid of Bristow, and wanted to keep it that way. The bodies had been in a meat storage locker, and there must have been butchers' cutting equipment conveniently at hand . . . I gave a headshake to try to jostle that picture out of my mind, with indifferent success.

“Anything else?” I asked Kroun.

“I wanna know about this Dugan bird that you got it in for.”

He'd taken his time getting to that one. Hurley Gilbert Dugan, society swan, blackmailer, murderer, kidnapper, and all-round useless bag of poisonous air, held a unique place in my life. He was the one man on the whole planet I wanted dead. I wanted to kill him the way Bristow wanted to kill me. I'd put a bounty on him, and had every gangster in Chicago and beyond looking for him.

“No one's told you?” I would have thought Derner might have filled Kroun in.

“Only that you want him alive, and you'll pay ten grand to anyone bringing him in. That's as much as Hoover put up for Pretty Boy Floyd.”

“I didn't know that. The reward on Dugan could be a lot less than ten by now. He took off with that much cash on him. I let the boys know whoever brings him in alive gets to keep what's left, and I'll make up the difference out of my own pocket.”

“Why you want him?”

“Personal matter.”

“Details. Give.”

I pretended a sigh. “Maybe you didn't get word of the society kidnapping case we had here. Gilbert Dugan was the big mastermind, killed some innocent people that didn't need it. He's garbage. I tripped him, made an enemy. It was
because of him Hog Bristow was able to get me, so I owe him for that. When Bristow and the others died, Dugan was there. A witness. Neither of us needs him running loose. The cops are looking for him for the kidnap and murders. If they get him first, he could and would try making a deal that puts us all in the clink.”

“Dugan saw you kill Bristow?”

“And what they did to me before that. Everything. If you thought Bristow was a liability, then don't meet this guy. He's a thinker. He can talk his way out of just about anything given the chance. He's full of more shit than a goose, but smart. People
trust
him. Even ones who should know better.”

“You want him bad.”

“Just looking after the company's best interests.”

“Why you want him alive?”

“To prevent mistaken identity.”

“What do you mean?”

“If the boys found someone who only happened to look like Dugan and killed him . . . not good. I don't want accidents on my watch, so I'm making it worth their while to be careful.”

“How long's he been gone?”

“About a week. He could be anyplace.” Each night right after waking, my first phone call was to Derner for a report on whether Dugan had been found. So far, no good luck.