Season of the Witch (17 page)

As Harry climbed into the passenger’s side of the Buick, a black sedan that I’d taken a reluctant ride in just days before came out of nowhere and screeched to a halt behind us. Francis and a younger man piled out, guns out and looking all business.

“All right, keep those hands where we can see ’em.”

Francis kept me covered while the kid came over and took the .38 from my pocket.

“Careful, he’s got a .45, too.”

The kid dutifully reached into my coat and recovered that, too. I cursed silently.

“Now get the punk out of the car.” Francis moved in closer so he could cover both Harry and me.

“Okay, gimp,” the kid spat as he opened the door. “Get out of the car.”

Harry got out, looking wildly at me, and the two hoods. Francis grabbed him and shoved him over toward the sedan. The kid kept me covered, and moved around behind me as I followed Francis and Harry toward the car.

“There’s no need for this. I’ll go with you,” I said.

“Afraid not. You ain’t really no good to us. Thanks for offering. By the way, I can’t let you muck this up.”

His gun lashed out, and caught me on my already bashed-in temple, and the world vanished in a blinding flash of pain. I was instantly on my hands and knees on the pavement. A sharp kick caught me in the ribs. I dimly heard tires screeching. I must have momentarily blacked out. Breathing was out of the question.

The world slowly faded into darkness.

Chapter 15

After about a million years, I managed to inhale again. The air filled my lungs, and I began to actually consider moving. I grabbed the bumper of the Buick and tried to pull myself up onto the trunk. The world was spinning uncontrollably. Twice I collapsed, falling back against the car. I managed to steady myself after a couple of minutes.

Get it together, man.

A light drizzle began to fall, and I held up my face and let the icy water slide over it. I didn’t know how long I’d been out. My vision slowly returned, though spotty. Across the street, about a thousand miles away, was a pay phone.

I staggered over to the phone, and began to dial, my hand was shaking. It rang forever. A young female voice finally answered.

“Desk Sergeant Hopkins.”

“Get me Detective Broom.”

There was a burst of chatter on the other end, but I cut her off. I could barely concentrate enough to speak. I was reminded of the rookie who had died.

“Tell him it’s Roland Longville, and I’ve found what we’re looking for.”

* * *

I screeched to a halt outside the main doors, and dodged through the people outside, wet crowds of tourists were coming from the baggage check, in from the rain that was pelting down outside. I was running toward the baggage claim area when I spotted three familiar figures headed toward the bank of lockers.

“Harry!” I yelled at the top of my voice. He almost certainly heard me. Francis was walking very close behind him, more than likely with a gun to Harry’s back. Both knew where they were headed, that much was certain—to wherever Eve was headed. There was no sign of the kid. I bit back a curse when at last I saw the whole game that had been played out, with me as chief flunky.

I tried to keep them in my sight, but Francis noticed me on the concourse. He threw me a flippant wave over the heads of the crowd and vanished into the throng. I tried to fight my way through the press of people at the foot of the escalator. I needed to get to the lockers where Harry was headed.

It was then that I saw her. Eve was standing next to the lockers, in a long coat; the kid was standing nearby. So, Francis had sent him on ahead. They were staring intently at each other. I saw that in one hand she held a flight bag, which looked quite full; her other hand was in her pocket and I was betting that one was full, too.

Come on, Les, come on. Where are the cops?

Francis drew up, both hands in front of him, as though trying to calm her. But behind her I saw the kid circling her, creeping stealthily closer. She eased backwards, almost flat against the lockers in a vain attempt to keep her eyes on both men. Harry stood beside Francis, looking dazed.

Eve slowly drew her hand from her pocket, revealing a sizable piece of hardware. She looked like she knew how to use it.

Then things began to get out of hand.

“Nobody move!” I heard someone close behind me growl. It was Longshot Lonnie.

I turned slowly. Lonnie and his hatchet men had their guns drawn, covering Harry, and Ganato’s men. Lonnie was trembling from rage and . . . something else.

“Why, Eve? Why? Didn’t I give you everything?”

Eve looked at Lonnie with the most contemptuous look I have ever seen on a human face. “I don’t belong to you,” she hissed.

Lonnie sighed, deeply and profoundly. He turned to me and was serenely calm. “Eve doesn’t know what she’s saying. Gumshoe, it looks like I owe you again. Now, let’s all go home happy. Be a pal and reach over there really carefully.” He gestured with his gun. “Get that case and hand it to me. I got bills to pay.”

“Don’t do it, Roland.” Eve now pointed her gun at me. Her gaze was blank and pitiless as the sun. “Don’t make me shoot you.”

“That’s Don Ganato’s money!” Francis snarled indignantly.

Lonnie laughed in response.

Then several things happened at once.

I heard people shouting. I turned to look and saw police streaming down the escalator.

The kid made a sudden lunge for the case that Eve was holding.

Then there was a tornado of gunfire.

I went down, because that was the only place to go.

I heard someone run past me. When I looked up, Francis was trying to struggle to his feet; there was a neat bullet hole in the middle of his left hand.
 

The Kid lay quite still near the lockers. One of Lonnie’s men lay gasping next to me, a gaping hole in his chest.
 

The others were gone, the cops running after them. I got up and scrambled out the door, past people clawing insanely for cover, though the shooting was over.

Through the din, I saw Harry running toward the doors, into the rain, limping frantically, stumbling over abandoned luggage and prone travelers.
 

* * *

Outside, I spotted Eve getting into a small blue car. She still had the bag, and was apparently unhurt. I started running, my head pounding and the world tilting, first one way, then the other as I ran.

Eve was making a dash for the gate, but she drove only about a hundred yards in that direction when a red Lincoln flashed out of the parking deck, nailing the front of her car against the railing with considerable force. I knew that it was Longshot’s Lincoln.

They were both stunned. The door of the blue car opened slowly and Eve got out, reeling. Blood trickled down her forehead. She wiped it contemptuously away with the back of her left hand. Lonnie emerged from the other, reeling a bit but a look of intense determination on his face.

“Eve! What are you doing, let’s get out of here!” Harry was yelling. He grabbed her and she tried to wrestle away from him. They both fell against the smashed automobiles.

“Why can’t you all just leave me alone?” she screamed to no one in particular. She pushed away from Harry and struggled to her feet, weaving slightly. Lonnie reeled after her while I tried to close. It was almost comical, four wounded people trying to grab each other, a sack race from a nightmare. I noticed that Eve still clutched the gun and the bag.

It started raining like hell.

I was still running, slipping in the rain, holding onto consciousness somehow. I was almost upon them now. I reached the place where Eve’s car had struck the barrier, where she was standing cornered by Harry, her gun pointed at him. Longshot was suddenly between them and me, a look in his eyes that I’d never seen before.

“Stay out of this!” he yelled, as he stuck out at me. I tried to dodge, but we both slipped and the blow only brushed me. My dizziness and the wetness made me fall hard against the pavement. Longshot regained his bearings and began to run after the two stricken figures. It looked like Eve was inching toward the parking deck. She would never get there, because the police suddenly were everywhere. Several rushed past me towards Eve, Harry and Longshot.

Eve was cornered. Longshot was near her, as was Harry, plaintively begging to be included. Apparently, Longshot was through being reasonable. Oblivious to the policemen all around him, he made a grab for the bag. Eve snatched it back away from him, but he still held one of its double handles. The bag burst open and money spilled everywhere.

Harry had been standing by, gaping. Suddenly, he dove for Eve’s gun.

Those violet eyes turned black and empty as the heart of a hungry shark. “You—stupid bastard!” Eve screamed at Harry, as she turned to one side to escape his clumsy lunge. “You ruined everything!” The rain soaked her long blond hair; her eyes glowered from beneath it, an animal hiding in the vines.

“You whore! You tried to double cross me!” Tears ran down Harry’s cheeks.

With an animal snarl of pure rage, Eve shot Harry in the chest. He fell, a bullet hole leaking black blood. He lay there staring up at her, uncomprehending.

Keeler arrived with his gun out, pointed at Lonnie, but he was pointing his gun at the wrong person. “Put it down, Longshot!”
 

Longshot spat, but dropped his gun. He raised his hands slowly, a demonic smile on his face.

Eve immediately shot Keeler twice in the stomach. He spun, and slowly slumped to the ground, looking vaguely confused. Eve then turned her gun on Lonnie. “You son of a bitch! I hate you!” she screamed.

The police finally opened fire. I saw Longshot wince and go down. Eve stood blazing away, and calmly ejected her clip and started to reload. A round sliced through her throat, another found her hip. Others shattered the windows of the car she had tried to escape in. Her hand opened and the gun fell from her grasp. She bowed down to the pavement and fell over on her side. Her wet hair spilled over the bloody banknotes. I heard more shouts from behind me as the police surrounded Francis. He smiled bitterly at me.
You win some; you lose some,
that smile seemed to say. Then he dropped his gun and slowly raised both hands. Blood streamed down his arm from the bullet hole in his hand.

Lonnie crawled past Harry’s body, over to where Eve lay. Police were still arriving, running through the barricades.
 

I staggered over to Keeler. The pain in my head was incredible, but probably nothing compared to his. He was sitting against the fender of the car Eve had driven on her kamikaze dash for the gate . . . and he was dying.

“Jake, can you hear me?”

His eyes opened a little. “I think it’s bad, Roland.”

Thick black blood was oozing from the hole in his gut. Liver shot. A 40mm had made that hole. The other one had gotten him in a lung. His breath was a ghastly snoring sound. We both knew what that meant.

“Just take it easy. You took a couple of rounds, but you’ll be okay.”

“Aw, bullshit, Roland. You know I’ve had it.”

Broom came running up, yelling into a radio. Various other police in blue jumpers arrived on the scene.

Broom bent over Keeler and me. “You okay, buddy?” he said to me.

“I am, but the kid’s hit bad.”

Broom gave Keeler a cursory look. “Aw, shit.” And with that he dashed away, shouting orders.

I looked down at young Jake Keeler. To my astonishment, he was smiling.
 

“Jesus, she was some tough dame, huh, Roland?” His breathing slowed, then finally stopped. His eyes glassed over, and he was gone.

Welcome to the Magic City.

I carefully picked my way over the human wreckage to where Longshot slumped, Eve’s head cradled in his arms. There was a bullet hole in his shoulder, and another in his side. Blood ran down his arm and mingled with Don Ganato’s bloody money. Longshot was weeping, bitterly and openly. Hundred dollar bills washed by us in the red tinged water on their way to nowhere.

And it rained.

Chapter 16

The rain had almost stopped a half hour later as Broom, McMahon and I watched the last ambulance pull out of sight, Eve and Harry’s bodies side by side in the back. Wreckers were already towing the demolished cars away, and Longshot and Francis had been taken to an ER somewhere.

McMahon’s cell phone rang. He answered, then paused for a moment. “Christ,” he whispered, and looked first at Broom, then me. “He’s right here,” he said, and handed me the phone.

I was filled with a feeling of dread; this was one call I didn’t want to take.
 

It was Chief Detective Magnuson on the other end. “Longville . . . I think you better get over here.”

* * *

It was one of those dirty places where people always seem to die, just a narrow alley between two overgrown back lots. The alley was piled high with trash, and smelled of rats. At the moment it was also inhabited by several frowning policemen from the West Precinct.