The Vampire Files, Volume Five, page 48
part #11 of The Vampire Files Series
A large man in an orderly’s white shirt and pants unlocked the door for us, locking up again. He gestured toward a reception desk in a small lobby where a nurse sat. She was busy with a stack of papers, but left them to deal with Kroun. He took off his hat, switched on his formidable personal charm, aimed it right at her, and damned if it didn’t work. She warmed up, acting like he was an old friend she’d not seen lately, and conducted us down a hall and up some stairs to one of the rooms. The big orderly followed.
He had the keys and opened doors along the way.
It was that kind of hospital, all right, where the patients are shut inside for their own good and everyone else’s. Who the hell did Kroun know here?
I kept my yap shut.
The orderly unlocked the last door and stood back.
The nurse gave Kroun a sympathetic smile, told him to check in at the desk before leaving, then went off.
Kroun cut the charm soon as she was gone. Face grim, he put his fedora on a small table just outside the door. He paused—hesitated more like—before reaching for the handle. I’d never seen him unsure of himself.
“Be careful,” said the orderly.
“Hm?” Kroun looked at him.
“We cut his nails today. They’re gonna have sharp edges.”
Kroun nodded, then went in. He didn’t tell me to stay out, so I followed. Quietly. The orderly hung by the open door.
Pale green paint on the brick walls, a cage over the overhead light, and the tile floor was layered with newspapers. Most lay open with uneven holes torn from the middle of their pages as though someone wanted to save an article. The biggest thing in the room was a hospital bed. It had thick leather restraint cuffs at the corners. Next to it was a reading chair, which looked out of place, so it must have belonged to the room’s occupant, who was in it.
He was a big-boned, lean old devil, seemed to be in his eighties, and ignored us as we came in. He had a newspaper spread over his knees, peering at it through double-thick horn-rimmed glasses. The lenses must not have been strong enough; he hunched low to read. He had things open to a department store’s full-page advertisement for an undergarments sale. Drawings of female figures in girdles and brassieres had his full attention. Carefully, he worked a hole into the sheet, his ink-stained fingertips and recently cut nails outlining an illustration.
On the bed next to him were a number of torn-out pictures, some like the one he was working on, others were photographs. All women. No portraits, he preferred them full length, matrons at charity events, debutantes, mannequins modeling the latest fashions. Painstakingly trimmed of their backgrounds, they lay in uneven piles, limp and ragged paper dolls.
Kroun took it in, his expression unreadable. “Hello, Sonny.”
The old man grunted and continued his task. When he had the drawing torn free, he studied it under the harsh overhead light, then added it to one of the stacks on the bed. He had large hands, once powerful, but his fingers were twisted with arthritis, reduced to knobby joints and tendons. He had to work slowly to get them to do the job.
“Sonny.”
He looked up. His mouth was a wide straight cut with hardly any lip, and he had the big nose and ears that come with age. His skin was flushed a patchy red, mottled by liver spots. White hair on the sides, a shock of gray on top, it needed cutting.
The glasses magnified his blue eyes to larger than normal. They were blank for several moments, then sharpened as an ugly smile gradually surfaced.
Something inside me writhed; it was the kind of instinctive warning that says run like hell even when you don’t see the threat. This old man couldn’t possibly hurt me, but the feeling was there and damned strong.
“What d’you want?” he asked Kroun in a gravelly voice full of venom.
Kroun pulled an institutional wood chair—sturdy with a lot of dents—from a corner and sat almost knee to knee with him. He held up the box of cigars.
“Give,” said the man, quickly shoving papers from his lap. He was in faded striped pajamas and shapeless slippers.
Kroun opened the box. “They’re all for you, Sonny.”
“My birt’day or som’tin’?”
“You want a smoke or not?”
Sonny grabbed a cigar, biting one end off, spitting it to one side. “You forget a light? G’damn jackets here won’ lemme have no matches.”
Kroun produced a lighter, a new silver one he must have gotten when he bought his clothes. He helped Sonny get the cigar going. I was glad I didn’t have to breathe.
“Now that’s a smoke.” Sonny puffed, eyes narrowed to slits by satisfaction. “Who’re you again?”
Kroun didn’t show it, but he seemed thrown by the question. “Don’t you remember?”
“I see lots of people. Which one are you?”
“Look at me. You’ll know.”
Sonny puffed and stared, but no recognition sparked in his distorted eyes. “What’s wit’ the hair?” He pointed the cigar at Kroun’s white streak.
“Accident at my job, nothing much.”
He nodded my way. “Who’s the creep inna corner?”
“Just my driver.”
“Fancy-schmancy, you gettin’ all the drivers in town. Come here to high-hat me?”
“Thought I’d see how you were doing.”
Sonny snorted and blew smoke into Kroun’s face. “That’s how I’m doin’, you g’damn bastard. Locked in like a dead dog waitin’ to be shoveled inna ground. You know how they treat me? No respect! You get me outta here!”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
“Liar. Everyone lies to me here.”
“When you get out, where would you go?”
A slow, evil grin spread over Sonny’s face. “You know.”
“The fishing cabin?”
Sonny chuckled. At length. He sat back in the chair, his spine not quite straightening. The hunched-over posture was permanent. “Yeah…fishin’. I had some good times there. When you listened to me, you had a good time. You goin’ up?”
“I don’t know how to get there.”
A scowl replaced the grin. “You’re stupid, you know that? G’damn stupid. The g’damn place is still in g’damn ’Sconsin ’less some g’damn bastard moved it.”
“Probably not,” Kroun allowed. “I’m just not sure where in Wisconsin.”
“Jus’ over the state line, y’stupid dummy.”
“And then where?”
“Hah?”
“It was a long while ago, Sonny.”
“You’re g’damn stupid. They got me shut in, treat me like shit, but I know how long, so don’ go pissin’ on me wit’ that. You was here two mont’s back—”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You was! Lying li’l shit! Sat right there jus’ like now, an’ y’ had ’nother bastard like him out inna hall an’ you had her over where that bastard’s standin’. Nice li’l twist, but you can afford ’em to be nice, can’t ya? Brought her in, then went off and never come back. You were gonna come back and you din’. ’Stead you show up two mont’s late in a fancy coat and nothin’ to say but a lotta g’damn lies!”
Kroun held himself still as a statue as Sonny’s voice beat against the painted brick walls. “Guess I lost track of things at that.”
“Puh!” Sonny drew on his cigar, threw me a murderous glare, then seemed to relax. “So…how’d it go wit’ her?”
“How do you think?”
The ugly snigger was back. “I bet. Picked a good ’un. She was a real humdinger.” He drew out the word.
Kroun went dead white.
Sonny leaned forward. “Well? How’d it go? Tell me, g’dammit!”
Kroun swallowed and continued to hold very still. His tone was conversational but tighter than before. “Remind me how to get there, and I’ll show you. I’ll spring you from this dump, and we can both go fishing again.”
Sonny laughed out loud, then stopped, his gears abruptly shifting. “You liar. No sharin’ wit’ you. Y’ too good to have me along. Too good! Now y’ won’ even tell me nuthin’.”
“Wouldn’t you rather I show you?”
“Puh! Teach yer granny to suck eggs, g’damn li’l bastard. There’s still things I can show you.”
“Sounds good. I want that, Sonny. We can do it again. Wouldn’t you like one more trip?”
The old man’s eyes blazed. One of his big hands dropped to his crotch. He chuckled and rubbed himself. “I still got juice in me. What d’you think?”
Kroun nodded. “Yeah, sounds real good. You tell my driver how to get there. We’ll sit in the backseat and smoke cigars like a couple of big shots while he does the work.”
Sonny abruptly rattled off directions fast as a machine gun. Belatedly I found a pencil and scribbled on my shirt cuff. He thought that was funny and took pains to repeat everything. His cigar died. Kroun got the lighter working and held it out again.
His hand shook.
Sonny noticed. He relit the cigar, puffed blue smoke in the air, and smirked. “Got you excited, huh? Jus’ thinkin’ about it?”
“Yeah, Sonny. Just thinking about it.” Kroun snapped the lighter shut and pocketed it. He rested his trembling hand on one knee. His other hand gripped the chair arm hard, his knuckles white.
Then Sonny shifted gears again and glared. “You ain’t springin’ me! I see that. You ’n’ your fancy ways. Think you’re too good, huh?”
Quick as a striking snake, Sonny threw an open-handed slap at Kroun’s face. The impact of palm on flesh cracked loud. Another crack—Sonny connected again, backhanded.
Kroun didn’t try to duck or block, just sat there and took it.
Sonny’s mouth worked, and he spat. It hit Kroun’s chin, then dripped to his coat.
Kroun still didn’t move. He stared at Sonny. Stared long enough that Sonny’s gears shifted once more. He pressed back in the chair and showed teeth. “You stay away from me. The jacket out there ain’t gonna let you touch me, tha’s his job, so you get out.”
When Kroun stood and turned my way, I understood the old man’s reaction. Kroun’s eyes had gone blank, all pupil and no iris. Hell pits. When they leveled in my direction, I again felt like running, but he blinked and was himself. I was no more superstitious than the next guy, but this…it made my skin crawl.
The normal-seeming man that I now saw jerked his head toward the hall. Time to leave.
I got out. Sonny’s curses and threats poisoned the air until the orderly closed and locked the door. It did a lot to mitigate the noise.
“You okay?” he asked Kroun. “He nick you?”
Kroun felt his cheek, checking for blood. “I’m fine.” He got his handkerchief and wiped spittle from his chin and coat, then collected his hat, putting it on. He wasn’t shaking as badly as before but was still ghost white. “The nurse wanted to see me.” His voice was calm, soft.
We followed the orderly downstairs. Kroun had to deal with some paperwork, sign a couple of things. I stood by the exit next to the orderly, ready to leave as soon as possible.
“Crazy old guy,” I muttered.
“Yeah,” the big man agreed. “Those cigars helped. Got him in a good mood. He’s usually a lot worse with visitors. Not that he gets any.”
“No one else comes?”
He shrugged. “Just two guys that I know of. Haven’t seen the other for a long time, but I’m night shift.”
“What’s he look like?”
“Like a doctor. The bills get paid.”
“Know anything about this fishing cabin?”
“If I listened to their baloney, I’d be locked in one of those rooms myself, so no I don’t. That bird’s right out of his head most of the time. Nothing he says is gonna be up-front. You point at a horse, he’ll call it a dog.”
Kroun put the charm on again with the nurse, but from my vantage it seemed brittle. He glanced my way once, indicating he’d heard my questions and the orderly’s replies. The somber and sympathetic nurse pointed at something on a clipboard, and Kroun signed it.
When the time came, the orderly let us out of the booby hatch. The clean, cold winter air was sweet. Kroun and I breathed deeply, then headed for the electric gate. Someone must have been on the lookout; it opened as we approached.
Kroun paused on the sidewalk, watching the gate roll shut as though to make sure it locked properly. Only then did some of the tension leach from the set of his shoulders.
“You got those directions clear?” he asked.
“Yeah.”
“I remember most of it, but put ’em on paper for me, would ya?”
“No problem.” What did he want with that fishing cabin? I had an idea and it wasn’t pleasant.
“Leave it with Derner. I’ll be by the Nightcrawler tonight.”
“Where you going?”
“Gotta take a walk, clear my head. I’ll cab over later.”
“Gabe, I’m supposed to stick with you. If that guy was the old bastard that Michael—”
“Yes. Yes, he was. You heard some stuff.”
“And I’m wondering why I heard it. You didn’t have me in there just to take down directions.”
“Actually, I did. But I figured if I had you wait in the car, you’d go invisible and sneak in anyway to listen.”
“You figured right. What was he talking about?”
Kroun closed his eyes briefly and shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets. “Nothing I want to discuss. He’s nuts. Didn’t know me, my name. Lot of stuff comes from him that doesn’t make sense.”
“Made sense to you.”
He turned away. “I’m going to get some air and think.”
“Gabe—”
He snapped around. “And forget the goddamned watchdogging for a couple hours! If Michael calls you on it, say I gave you the slip. He’ll believe it.”
“Okay, but—”
“What?”
“Who’s the crazy guy?”
That got me a scorching glare. “Mike will tell you.”
“Uh-uh. You.”
More glaring, then his anger suddenly faded. His shoulders didn’t ease down so much as shrink. He seemed older. He took the handkerchief from his pocket where he’d absently stuffed it after wiping off the spit. Kroun studied the crumpled fabric a moment, then threw it away. The wind caught the white square, swept it a few yards, then it nose-dived into a snow-clogged gutter, merging with the trash already there.
“Gabe?”
“Yeah, sure. Why not?” He lifted his fedora, rubbed a palm along his streak of white hair, then resettled the hat again. “The son of a bitch is my father. Now ain’t that a kick in the head?”
He walked away, moving fast.
KROUN had his thinking to do, and so did I, but mulling things on my own wouldn’t do the job this time; I needed to see Gordy. Working hard to avoid going over what I’d seen and learned, I drove straight to the Bronze Belt, not quite crossing into the territory, and parked a couple blocks away. It didn’t take long to leg the remaining distance to the residence hotel where Shoe Coldfield had obligingly given safe shelter to Gordy and just about everyone else I knew.
I took it for granted that one of the countless lookouts in the area had spotted me, but with my collar up and hat low, they might not know me from any other lost white guy. Soon as I had the building in view, I vanished and floated the last hundred yards—not easy with the wind—and sieved through an upstairs window.
Damned if I didn’t get it right the first time. I partially materialized on the third floor, or so the door numbers declared once I was solid enough to see. The place was pretty active; I went invisible again and bumbled down the hall, careful not to brush close to anyone. Coldfield knew that an inexplicable chill might mean I was hanging around.
I passed rooms where people talked and radios played. Gordy was somewhere halfway down on the left, so I drifted from door to door, hoping to hear his voice. No such luck, but I did catch one that surprised me. I slipped under the threshold crack and hovered out of the way in a ceiling corner.
Michael, and presumably his tough friend Broder, were there.
“I don’t like this guy you picked,” Michael said. “He doesn’t have what it takes.”
It was Gordy’s room, and his response sounded confident. “He does when it’s needed. The boys are used to him. The trouble’s over. I’ll be back soon enough.”
If I’d had ears, they’d have been burning.
“There shouldn’t have been trouble in the first place. Your kid put his foot right into it with Bristow.”
“That was me. I’m the one who took Bristow to the kid’s club. It wasn’t his fault Hog didn’t like his face and decided to go buckwheats on him. That was out of my hands. Besides, Hog jumped the gun. He put me here. And that’s your fault. You’re the one who sent him.”
I could almost hear the steam coming out of Michael’s ears.
Gordy continued, “But the trouble’s over. The kid’s got things running smooth. That’s all that matters.”
Michael gave him the point. “All right. I get you. If he screws up again, it’s on you both. You got that?”
“Yeah. No problem.”
“We’ll see. Next is Whitey. I want him on a train back to New York.”
“He’s your man. You make him leave.”
This resulted in a long silence. It was Michael’s night to paint himself into a corner. “You know he could be more trouble.”
“It’s part of the business. You said you got Fleming watching him. Nothing’s going to happen.”
“You sound very certain about that, why?”
“The kid has a way with people.”
“Like he did with Bristow?”
“Bristow was nuts. If you’re saying that Whitey would—”
“No, not the same thing. But he’s dangerous.”
Gordy sighed. “Still your problem. You ordered him home, and he wouldn’t listen. Right?”
Michael made no reply.
“If he won’t listen to you, what chance have I got? I’m thinking he’ll leave when he’s good and ready. You want him out faster, offer to help him do what he wants done.”
Another long silence. Then, “C’mon, Broder.”
Footsteps passed close below me, then the door shut. I waited. If anyone else was in the room with Gordy, they would say something, but it continued quiet. Drifting down, I slowly took on form.
