The Vampire Files, Volume Five, page 49
part #11 of The Vampire Files Series
Gordy was propped up in bed, and his eyes went wide. He was wise to my peculiar talents, but it didn’t make them any less alarming to witness. “That’s some cute gag you got, Fleming.”
“It’s handy. How are you?”
“Better. A lot better.”
He looked it. His color had improved since my last visit. The sickroom smell was gone. One of the windows was open an inch. He’d apparently convinced someone of the benefits of fresh air.
“Was Michael here for long? I just caught the tail end of things.”
“Couple minutes. He ain’t one to socialize with the help. You heard he don’t like you much?”
“I’m used to it. He’s right. I don’t have what it takes, but I’ll keep swinging at the ball until you say different.”
“Good enough. Have a seat.”
I pulled up a chair and took off my hat. “Where’s Bobbi and Adelle?”
“Down having supper. They’ll be a while. Dames. Always talking. Coldfield’s been looking after ’em good. Lookin’ after us all. I owe him.”
“Is he here?”
“Went off with Escott. Donno where. Heard your pal had a close one.”
“Yeah. He did.”
“Bobbi told me. What had you and him fighting?”
“Nothing important. But Coldfield’s blaming me for nearly killing Charles.”
“Bobbi told me that, too. She told me everything.” He let that hang.
My mouth dried out.
“Think Michael knows about Kroun being like you?” he asked.
Oh, crap. “Gordy, you’re not supposed to know that.”
He waved a large hand. “I’m not supposed to know a lot of things, but I do anyway. If Kroun’s got a problem with that, he can make me forget, can’t he?”
“He’ll have a problem with it all right. Bobbi shouldn’t have told you.”
“It wasn’t only her. Coldfield put in a few words.”
“Jeez, at this rate the whole city’ll have the headlines in the morning, and Kroun’s gonna blame me.”
“Nah. It stops here.”
“What about Adelle?”
“I won’t tell her if you won’t.”
“Deal.” I sat back in the chair but didn’t relax. Some part of me was alert for trouble. I heard the doorknob being worked. It was enough warning; I instantly vanished.
Hinges creaked. “You okay, Gordy?” It was one of the guards belonging to Coldfield’s hotel fortress.
After a pause Gordy said he was fine. My disappearance must have startled him.
A scraping sound as the man moved the chair. “Those two guys are gone. Didn’t say where.”
“No big deal. I’m gonna take a nap now.”
“Sure. Lights out?”
“Leave that one in the corner on.”
“Sure.”
A click, steps, then the door was closed.
I went solid. The room was much dimmer than before.
Gordy’s eyes remained wide. “Real good trick, kid,” he said, his voice low. “You don’t want no one knowin’ you’re here?”
“Coldfield’s that sore with me. It’s better I keep my head down for a while. You serious about that nap?”
“Nah. Siddown.”
I gently returned the chair to the bedside. “I won’t be long, just a couple questions. On Kroun.”
He nodded as though he’d expected as much. “You didn’t answer—does Michael know about him being like you?”
“Kroun said no, and he wants to keep it that way. Take that how you like. Whether he’s wise or not, Michael’s got a hell of a worry going about him.”
“Must have a reason.”
“Yeah. I may have the why behind that.”
I told about the visit to the nuthouse and Kroun’s talk with Sonny. I told about the newspapers and how Sonny tore out pictures of women from them. I told about the hospital bed and its heavy cuff restraints. I told about the things Sonny said and Kroun’s reaction to them.
Gordy didn’t reply, just looked at me a long while. I’d given him something he hadn’t known before. Something pretty big.
“Is that crazy old man really his father?” I asked, to break the silence.
“I can check into it and find out.”
“Without anyone else catching wind?”
“No. If I was on my feet, maybe. Not now.”
“Hold off then. I don’t want Kroun to know I’ve talked to you.”
“He’ll figure you will.”
“Yeah, and he won’t like it. Why did he let me in on it, though?”
“Donno.” Gordy’s face was always hard to read, but I could tell this had thrown him.
“What do you know about this cabin? The other night Michael pitched a fit when Kroun said he might do some fishing. Putting that with what the old man said…”
“Don’t sound so good, no. Sounds like he takes girls up there, gives ’em a rough time.”
“Maybe worse?”
He shrugged.
“You never heard anything?”
“If there was anything to hear, I’d have gotten it. Whitey comes over from New York now and then, does whatever business needs doing, has himself some fun, but I never got nothing on him visiting any old man, nothing on that cabin.”
“What do you know about Kroun’s past? Where’s he from?”
“He came out of nowhere, worked his way up in New York. Only got to be a big noise in the last few years. Lotta boys are like that. Nothing on them their whole life, then suddenly they’re running things. Happened to me.”
That happened because Gordy’s boss had been killed. Promotion in the mob was often the result of inheritance. “He knock off his boss to move up?”
“The guy before him was skimming off the top, then—for a guy who didn’t hunt—he went on a hunting trip and never came back. That’s the story I got. Whitey was in the right place at the right time and slipped into the empty spot. No one argued with him.”
They probably didn’t dare. “What about Michael?”
“He’s the one who figured out the skim. He’s got schooling, but keeps out of sight. He looks after the books, squares the deals, does the thinking. He runs stuff, keeps the money moving, but Whitey sometimes has the last word. For some it is the last word.”
I asked more questions and got everything Gordy had stored in his file cabinet of a brain. Such history was not easy to hear.
Kroun had ordered at least a dozen executions over the last few years; those did not count however many he’d personally carried out himself on the side. Gordy had been present at three, twice as a witness, once as a participant.
About two years ago, when Slick Morelli had been the big boss, Gordy had helped get a man down into the Nightcrawler’s basement on a pretext, then held him in place. Kroun put a gun muzzle in the man’s mouth and took the top of his head off just that quick. The thick walls and the club band playing upstairs covered the noise. The whole process had taken less than half a minute. Kroun hadn’t cracked a sweat, hadn’t even blinked. Right afterward, he’d gone up to the club and danced with the chorus girls as though nothing had happened.
No, not good to hear at all.
I considered Gordy a friend, but that dark side of him was part of the package. When it was necessary, he could kill and not think anything of it. He didn’t like the killing, but he’d still do it.
I found myself squirming inside, knowing I’d gotten that way myself, it just bothered me more. How long would that last if I stayed on this road?
“What had the man done?” I asked.
“Kroun never said. Just gave the orders, and we did what we did. He’s good at that kind of job. Those mugs never knew from Adam when their number was up. He pals with ’em until it’s time, does the job, then goes back and pals with their friends a few minutes later. Not a lot of guys are able to pull that off.”
Michael had warned me. He’d said Kroun had no conscience. I’d met a few similar types, and you can usually tell there’s something wrong with them even if you don’t know exactly what it is. It’s enough to make you cautious. Being able to hide it so well made Kroun different from them, and a hell of a lot more dangerous.
Gordy added, “When he came to town for you, I figured he’d do the same as always. Instead, he has you up to the office to hear you out. That never happened before.”
“He always been called Whitey?”
“Yeah. Used to wear a white hat, winter and summer. The streak of white hair is new. Says he got skull-creased by a jealous husband who was a bad shot.”
“Where’d that happen?”
He shook his head. “I heard it was in New York. But maybe that cabin?”
“And what happened to the husband? To the wife?”
A shrug. “You’d have to ask Kroun.”
“I doubt he’d say.”
“To you he might.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“You got plenty in common. He didn’t try to keep you out when he talked with the crazy guy. If Kroun didn’t want you to know this stuff, you wouldn’t.”
“Carelessness in his old age?”
“Don’t count on it. He’ll have a reason. And don’t trust him.”
No. I would not do that. “But how did he get to be like me? You’d think he’d tell me of all people.”
But Gordy had no answer to that, either. Instead, “Derner phoned today. Said you did a good job dousing the fire on Alan Caine and the rest of it.”
I shrugged. I’d done what was needed but wasn’t proud of it. “That fire won’t be out until they find Mitchell, only they never will. Someone could still get burned.”
“It’s the best you can expect, kid. The heat’s off our bunch, that’s what matters. Derner told me you didn’t like the fix job on your car.”
I managed a short grin. “It’s okay. If I’m being the boss, I might as well have an armored car. The wheels—I just wanted them changed, not swapped for solid rubber.”
“Rough ride?”
“My eyeballs bounce so much I can’t see the road.”
That amused him.
“I’ll swap for pneumatics once Kroun’s gone home.”
If he went home. He struck me as being sincere about getting away from the mobs. How would he do it, though? Fake his death again? That hadn’t worked too well for him.
“Any idea where Coldfield went with Charles?” I asked.
“Said something about checking his mail.”
“Then they’ll be at Charles’s office. I’ll drive over and see. Maybe if Charles plays referee, he can calm Shoe down.”
“Don’t count on it,” Gordy repeated.
8
KROUN
THAT sick bastard should have kicked off years ago.
Gabriel walked quickly despite the snowdrifts on the sidewalks, despite the ice hiding underneath. He wanted distance between himself and the venom-spitting monster locked away in that nuthouse.
And Fleming with his damned questions.
I should have had him wait in the car.
Too late, he knew the worst of it now.
“Not the worst,” Gabe muttered aloud.
He missed a step, skidding on one heel before gaining his balance. Where had that come from? He glanced around, but the street was empty. No one had heard him. God, he should not be talking to himself, even when he was alone; he couldn’t take that chance. Only crazy people did that, and he wasn’t going to end up like Sonny.
Before that happened…well, he didn’t know.
Maybe I should back off on this.
Tempting. He had money, easy enough to buy a cheap car and get clear of Chicago. He could disappear himself in Minnesota or Canada, find a place to live and…do what?
He didn’t know that, either. But it would probably take care of itself.
Fishing would be good, but after what Sonny had said…there was now a taint on that pleasure.
Gabe couldn’t kid himself, he had to find the cabin and get things settled. The last time he’d been there—wherever it was—he’d gone up with a driver and some woman. Had she been the one weeping over his death? His driver back in November had been a mug named Ramsey, who’d dropped out of sight. If he’d been the one to put a bullet in Gabe’s skull, then making himself missing was the smartest thing to do.
What had happened there? Even if Gabe found the cabin, he had no guarantee it would convey anything useful. Backing off now would leave him with unanswered questions, but he could live with those…
No, he would not. Good or bad, bad or worse, he had to find out.
The goings-on Sonny had implied made Gabe’s stomach turn. Those pictures so carefully torn from the papers…disgusting, sick. How could they allow that?
The old bastard’s crazy, that’s why he’s locked up.
One of the reasons why, anyway. Gabe didn’t want to think about the others and kept walking.
The street, a nice one with big trees on either side, opened to a wider road with businesses and more traffic. A hotel took up a sizable portion of a block on his side. There were a couple cabs out front. He opened the door of the nearest and got in, giving the driver an address. The phone work he’d done in the Nightcrawler’s office had paid off, giving him two leads to check out. This second one promised to be considerably different.
The driver was apparently familiar with the number. He smirked when Gabe paid him off.
Gabe went up the steps of a large, prosperous-looking brick house similar to the other two-story houses along the street. Each had a small yard, some protected by iron-barred fences or painted wood pickets. Driveways had cars in them, walks were shoveled. The Depression seemed to have passed this area by, which could mean that mob money was all over the block. The big shots didn’t always hang out at the bars and pool parlors. Even Capone had parked his family in that sweet place over on South Prairie.
No need to ring the bell. A bouncer on duty opened the door. His eyes flashed wide in recognition, then he shifted from surprise to stone-faced neutrality. His body tensed.
Gabe was almost used to it. He took his hat off and waited with the bouncer in the small entry until a pleasant-faced woman wearing a soft print dress and a long rope of pearls came. She also underwent a not-so-subtle transformation of expression, going on guard.
“Hello, Mr. Kroun,” she said.
“You have anything for me?” he asked, radiating affability. He couldn’t remember her name, but so far as memory served, most madams were alike. He thought she’d been pretty once, but life had a way of eroding one’s assets.
She hesitated. “We’re very busy tonight. It will be hours before anyone’s available.”
He looked past her into the parlor beyond where a radio played dance music. “Seems to be plenty available.”
“I mean anyone suitable for you.”
He was in strange waters now. Gabe knew in this area his appetite—there was a word as loaded as a set of crooked dice—had undergone a major change. He’d not availed himself of the services of the houses in New York, playing things safe. Out here in Chicago he felt better about indulging himself—except for the madam’s manner with him.
He put on one of his best smiles. “Let me be the judge of that.”
He started in, but she halted him with a hand on his arm. “Listen, Mr. Kroun, I got a business to run. You hurt my girls, and they can’t work, then you gotta pay extra.”
Gabe didn’t know how to react to that so he went stone-faced, too. It clearly frightened the woman, but she stood solid. He put his hand over hers, patting lightly. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. Let’s go in.” He kept hold, taking her along.
Several young women sat around the parlor, some in oriental-style silk robes, others in evening dress, one in a pale blue slip and nothing under it. They looked good; the place was high-class enough to have very presentable merchandise for the clients. None seemed too enthusiastic, though. A couple of the girls clearly recognized him. They whispered to the uninformed, who avoided his eye.
The madam pulled free and pointed to a thin, angular girl by the radio. “That one,” she said. “She doesn’t mind your games.”
He managed to not inquire just what those games might be and focused on the girl. Nice, but with an edge that had nothing to do with her lean frame. He’d slice himself up on those bones and suspected she used morphine. She wasn’t his type. He wasn’t sure what his type was, but she wasn’t it. He checked out the rest. A shorter, more rounded one caught his eye. She wore her dark hair almost like Adelle Taylor, though the face and figure were different. She’d been one of the girls who recognized him.
He smiled and nodded. “She’ll do.”
The madam opened her mouth, but he looked at her. No need to put any special weight behind it. Early on he’d come to understand that people were afraid of him. He made use of it. She backed down from voicing whatever objection she had.
The girl flinched when called over and avoided his eye. He could get around that. What he could see of her arms showed clean of needle pocks. Good, he didn’t want a doper. He couldn’t understand why people did that to themselves. It had to hurt.
However fancy the place, it was payment in advance. He settled with the madam, then went upstairs with the girl.
Her room was much as he expected: a big bed, satin pillows, a few bottles of booze on the dresser, a curtain partway open to a closet full of clothes, heavy curtains over the window so she could sleep during the day. A small sink was in one corner, a lamp with a red silk scarf over it stood in another, imparting a rosy glow to things. She had a radio and a record player. Not too bad. The mirror on the dresser was thankfully tilted away from him.
Soon as he shut the door she dropped to her knees and started unbuttoning his pants. Her hands shook.
“Hey, slow down, sweetheart,” he said, catching her wrists. She flinched again, going pale. He drew her upright. “What’s the rush?”
“No rush, but the others said you was a busy man.”
Probably said a few more things besides. “Not that busy. How about we have a drink first?”
