A Place of Fog and Murder, page 23
The cigar bounced at his lips anxiously, and I counted the inhales increasing. Skates gripped the stinker nearly to the point of crushing it.
But Skates wasn’t stupid, so I had to make sure the parts of the story fit. My problem was I was putting the puzzle together while talking. “Before, though, he used you to set up Valentini from the inside and banked on playing it either way — whether he got Valentini himself or you did. He expected you’d be too greedy to let a chance to take over all of Valentini’s businesses slip by. He calculated how far you’d go, and he played you.”
That would piss off Skates, but I still had his attention, which was all I wanted. I got the clear impression he was a user who didn’t like being used. Imagine that.
“And, yeah there’s more, the cork in the Genie's bottle's pulled out. An innocent man is going to turn up dead, with signs of you littered all over the crime scene, leaving you holding the bag on two murders which Somerset will accuse you of committing.” I didn’t expect him to care.
“Innocent man? Right. How about, I don’t care.”
Nope, he didn’t, and I didn’t expect him to.
“Besides,” Skates added, sounding so very pleased he was outwitting me, “no crime scene here.”
"Not here. Back in my Market Street office. Why do you think Somerset had you come pick me up there? So you would be seen, leave prints, or ..." I let Skates fill in the blanks.
"You ain’t dead — yet — and I don’t have some poor Schmoe in here to whack, so nobody’s got nuthin’ on me.”
“'Yet.' But that man is good at his job. He knows how to set up a crime scene, how to leave clues, how to say the right thing. He'll have you set up before the day is out."
"It'll be our word against his."
I tried not to laugh. "Somerset is a long-time cop, in good standing with his community. I'm new. But you guys?” I let him boil that for a minute.
“How do you savvy he ain't on the take, and I ain't the one controlling him?”
Nice try. My eyes narrowed. “Somerset? On the take?”
“Yeah. Once. Something small-fry. Rumor had him looking the other way for a bag o' silver.” He began to frown. “Other than that, no.”
“Looking the other way is a far cry from being a gangster’s right-hand man." I slowed my speech and made him lean forward to keep eye contact with me. "He’s obsessed beyond obsession with your boss.”
“That’s putting it mildly,” a Bruno from the corner said too loud.
“Assume Frannie doesn’t control Valentini’s empire as his wife or widow, because she’s, oh, I don’t know, dead? And Valentini, himself, is out of the way — in prison, perhaps? Or dead. Ever wonder what happens once Valentini is gone and you — as his second in command — are the only one left with all that lovely money and business? You think Somerset's obsession with Valentini ends after this? No, Skates, he'll find someone new to obsess over.”
Tightening his jaw and squinting his eyes, Skates repeated, “I don’t care. It ain’t like that. Me and the cop, I pay a little, he protects a little. See? I don’t care what theories you got.”
“So, Somerset told you he’d keep looking the other way. Only, he won’t. You’ll give him cash and he’ll save it as evidence. You’ll just become the Valentini substitute he hates now and obsesses over, and he might as well arrest you for murder and bribery, sooner rather than later.”
“Cops,” he snarled.
“If your hands are clean, you’ve got wiggle room. But kill me, or blamed for another murder about to happen, then you become Somerset’s perfect Patsy. Oh, and you have another problem.”
“I don’t care.” Oh, but he did care.
“Maybe not, until I turn up dead at your hands and the War Department asks why." I didn't know eyes could grow that big, especially on a rat-faced bastard like Skates. "You’ll care a lot, because Somerset can’t and won’t protect you from them. Sweetie, it’s all tied together. On top of everything else, you pissed in the War Department’s cereal bowl and that’s gonna’ cost you.”
Oh yeah, that got his attention. I was snaking around the explanation but appreciated where the fang-end was and how to use it.
I kept going. “The guy you bounced tonight, thinking he was a nobody? Cheap hat and coat. He wears them as a disguise, and it worked. Sure fooled you boys. Cheap-hat-and-coat-guy is a federal agent whose been assigned to follow me. I’m pretty sure you couldn’t care less about some G-man, but the War Department? If I go missing or turn up dead, Somerset will point his finger at you, and you’ll go from an annoying, second-rate thug trying to grab his boss’s dough to a top tier, anti-American, war criminal and potential traitor. You can handle some territory disputes and local power grabs, but are you prepared to take on the whole U.S. War Department — all by your little ‘ole self? Not quite what you had in mind, is it?”
He was following my logic. He waved off the Brunos who were taking too much of an interest in what I was saying, and in a move, I doubted was truly gracious, offered me a cigarette. Maybe to stop me talking for a minute.
I declined, politely. Yeah, even in the worst situations, I’m still Mrs. Collington-Tanner’s daughter, and she didn’t raise a simpleton. Leaning, painfully, over toward his desk, I pulled my coat closer to me and took out my own case. When he lifted an eyebrow, I explained I didn’t like what might be in his tobacco and besides, I smoked a better brand anyway.
Skates was trying to be cool, but I could hear the strain in his voice. “Why is the War Department following you?”
“Something happened last year, and important people want me to be aware they’re worried about me.”
All the color in Skate’s skin faded to terrified white.
“Welcome to the War Department’s cross hairs,” I noted. I let him light my cigarette. God, it felt good to take a deep drag. At least it also kept my hands busy, so I could hide the fact they were shaking. Hell, I had no idea if any of this was working. I didn’t care if this made sense all the way through to the end, but I had to go with it. There was nothing else I could do.
“Hey, sit back and enjoy the scenery for a moment. You need the front-end details. I first met Francis Coventry, the future Mrs. Valentini and step-daughter of Elliott Lockwood, the night I did a little errand for Treasury. Don’t ask.”
“About her ...” he started, but I waved him off.
“Look, Skates, before you tell me you couldn’t care less about the Coventry murder, let me finish the story and show you why you should.”
“I didn’t whack her.”
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“I do indeed.”
He leaned forward, listening, like his life might depend on it — and it did.
My Scheherazade Maneuver had no guarantee of success, but I wasn’t getting beaten or killed without solving this case. It was my first true case and damn it, if this was all the time I had, I would finish it.
Go slow, Lou. Don’t stumble on your own tongue.
“I didn’t know who Frannie was at the time I bumped into her. I thought she was some gal in trouble. She was being followed by a man with a knife. A big knife. He hadn’t cut her up. So, I saw to her safety and I wrote it off as another crazy incident in the City.”
“What's that got to do with me?”
“Don’t get ahead of things.” My brain was slipping on its rail and more steam wasn’t making it work any better. Slow and easy. Just like Daddy and Joe always taught me. “Frannie was blackmailing some former lovers who didn’t want it known they’d been diddling an underage girl. Turns out, her mother set it up.”
“Yeah, Irenie. What a piece of work.”
“Don’t you know it? Well, turns out Frannie got introduced to a big name in the racket business. You savvy this part of the story, don’t you? They went and did the unthinkable. They fell in love. Both of them were ready to skip town, ditch their old lives, and go live happily-ever-after. This didn’t sit so well with you, as Valentini would then sell off or trade off the clubs and you’d lose out. Frannie had to go.”
“I told you, I didn’t —”
“Slow down, I’m not saying you offed Frannie. The man with the knife had the real reason to kill her. So, first he tried to catch her the night I met her, then he tried to cut her up the next night — but she got away both times. It took two murderers to put her down.”
“It wasn’t me or my boys,” he protested.
“No, it wasn’t. You’re clear on that point. Nobody is saying otherwise. Not even Somerset. He’s laying it on Elliott Lockwood, since he couldn’t prove Valentini killed her.”
“Ha!” Skates barked and started laughing. “That cop is gonna’ find Lockwood has too many friends over at the Pointe to do anything to him. The Militia and he are tight.”
My heart sank, dragging chills down my skin with it. I hate it when I’m right.
“Skates, you could help me here, and I promise, I won’t forget it. You know parts of this story I don’t. Look, if you help me, I will explain everything I’ve found ...”
I also hate it when the universe plays with me.
My luck was something spectacular. Cab Proctor died before he told me who killed Frannie but managed to shield me from a hail of bullets. Elliott and I kept being interrupted and allowing me to use my brain and see what I was dealing with.
And now?
Spectacular luck!
The door flew open and in walked Green-eyed G-Man, Hayes. Badge out, hat on, and ticked-off expression burning up his face.
The Brunos had no idea what was happening.
Damn, my luck was on a roll.
“This is private property,” Skates protested.
“Private? Sure. That would make bringing this woman here against her will and without a warrant an act of kidnapping. A federal crime. Kinda' thing that gets a guy the Chair.”
“You got a warrant?”
Good question by Skates.
“Don’t need one. The victim is sitting right here.”
Touché. Though, I didn’t like him referring to me as a victim. And where the hell was Hayes’s back up? Oh, no — he wasn’t trying to do this alone?
I shook my head and drew in on the last of my cigarette.
“Maybe she came here on her own.” Skates tried. “Maybe she wants to be here. Maybe she’s helping my boss and we’re chatting like old friends?” He was pretty proud of himself. “You don’t know the dame or me. You don’t got nuthin’. Maybe I’m being a good guy and helping her with —”
“Uh, Skates,” I interrupted, “I don’t want to ruin your perfect set of maybe’s, but I’d like to introduce you to the man you tossed around tonight.”
Skates sneered at Hayes, the revelation creeping up his already creepy features.
Green-eyes moved his coat aside, showing a nice piece — a Westinghouse 4-21 Lightning Gun. Never saw one for real before. Murmurs from the other side of the room said the Brunos were impressed. Frankly, I was impressed. The electric gun was slick, big, and from rumors, able to fire more rounds than your average six-shooter. Oh — that was why he wasn’t worried about coming in here without back up. It was still a stupid, but courageous, move.
“Ask her,” Skates blurted out, giving me a look I couldn’t decide was warning or if he was begging me for help.
Okay, now that the boys remembered I was here and able to speak for myself, I decided to run a risky gambit. I put my cigarette out in the ashtray. “Now, gentlemen, this whole thing can be resolved if you, Skates, are willing to own up the dirt you gave me on Somerset’s crusade against Valentini, only if necessary, then I’ll tell Agent Hayes here I came of my own free will to discuss things ...”
I thought for a moment Green-eyes was about to have kittens.
“... and we'll leave it right there, since we’re working on a more pressing issue. No kidnapping, no threats, no slapping me around and Skates here just owes me later.”
Skates wasn’t done with me yet. “Maybe my boys over there don’t like the idea of my owing nobody. Hey, G-man, you can count, right? You can count more of us than you?”
“So can I,” I shot back before Hayes could answer. “I count three smart fellows who are smarter than to challenge the War Department.”
The Brunos exchanged looks and appeared to be less enthusiastic about getting into a brawl.
“Good. Now, I need to go. I’d like to see if I can still save my client’s life. You might want me to go too, if for no other reason than I can keep you from becoming an accessory to murder, at least a murder you don't want to be accused of. I might be able to keep you out of the papers. Isn't it worth a little gossip and a get-out-of-jail-free card?”
Skates opened his mouth, thought better of saying anything on the spur of the moment and shut up. He said nothing as I collected my overcoat and Uncle Joe’s hat.
They had my heater.
Damn. My brain was swimming in the ocean. Whatever they used to KO me was still slopping around my grey matter. I was higher than a proverbial kite and scared my plan was a failure. I had to escape. We had to escape. I gripped Hayes’s arm. Correction, I used the G-man as a crutch. I hurt like hell. I wasn’t walking straight, and every move reminded me I’d been worked over by a Louisville Slugger.
After giving Skates, and Brunos, a glare that should have reduced all of them to ashes, Green-eyes lead me out of the office.
I think the last fifty yards were the longest I’ve ever walked. I took the available time to give Hayes my hypothesis on the Coventry Murder. I think he turned a little greener than his eyes and moved along a lot faster.
“Sweetheart, you’re in over your head. Let me drag us out of here before we both drown.
Chapter TWENTY-SEVEN
Try to stay alive ... if you can ...
THE RADIO SQUAWKED, and the strength of the signal — and clarity — surprised me. Seemed no one else was trying to use the same frequencies. The War Department had all the dough, and they were putting it to their own good use. People were starving in the streets, but hey, at least we had the latest way to kill our enemies. No, I couldn’t be that shrill. The same War Department just saved my life.
And my brain was still not working right. All I could focus on was the Coventry murder, Valentini, and my client.
We were in a warehouse section but I didn't recognize it. The joint was dirty, boxed in, and spooky. Scrap, containers, and debris piled up along the sides of the window-less buildings. Cars, I assumed belonged to Skates and his boys, were neatly parked in a row.
We climbed into Green-eyes’ car, smooth leather seats and the bouquet of a recent oil change greeting us. Hey, and Olds.
Hayes ripped a personal radio off his neck and shoulder and flung it into the backseat. I guess they do have enough coin to make superior toys and then toss them around.
I promised myself I wouldn't complain. Besides, weren't we in a rush? Every second was time enough for Skates to change his mind about letting me go — logic be damned.
Hayes gunned the engine and grabbed a shaft protruding from the steering wheel column. Wrenching the shaft upward, he twisted his body to look out the back window. We jolted in reverse until he aligned the vehicle to make a quick exit out the front gate.
I started noticing more than I should. Rule number one of being afraid was you stop noticing details. It's all about the big picture show. But rule one gets tossed when your head was still fighting off a knock-out dope of undetermined origin.
The riveted grill of his Oldsmobile immediately reminded me of those re-enforced Pony-trucks on the front of locomotives. Leftovers from the days of having cow catchers. Hayes jammed the shaft downward and I tensed to the grinding gears. Gear shift? There wasn't a shaft or knob sticking out of the floorboard. His gear shift was on the steering column? I leaned forward to look, because I’m a nosy little thing and still slightly high, and I feared he had only one forward gear to run the engine on.
“Relax, Sweetheart, this is a little love gift from General Motors. A Hydro-Matic transmission ...”
A pair of Brunos, not the fellows from inside, stepped into the road in front of us. Hayes swerved around them. We hit a canister, I think, then veered back onto the asphalt. He floored it and I flew back into the seat.
“We need to go faster than first gear,” I shouted over the roar of the engine. V-8 if ever I heard one, but more, much more power. This was no average automobile.
All Hayes did was grin. His foot didn’t let up from the accelerator pedal, even when the car shifted gears on its own.
I want one.
After we're out of here. After we find Somerset, Rollins, and my client.
"I want one."
The Oldsmobile streaked toward the open entry gate. Lights turned on us from in front. Someone shouted into a bullhorn. If Hayes didn’t care, neither did I. More Brunos, stationed at the gate, prepared for us. If they got between us and the gate, we were dead. “Why aren’t they letting us go?” I shook my head, I needed the dope to clear out.
“Better to kill us for trespassing. Then it’s legitimate. Hold on!”
The gate itself was closing.
“It’ll be easier if we hit it while it’s still partially open!” I shouted.
“I'm already aware”
Wait a minute. The 'Brunos' at the gate weren't Brunos. They were in uniforms. "We're at the Pointe?"
"Smart girl."
"We're at the Pointe!"
"Tada! The problem, in a nutshell."
“Then drive faster! My grandmother did better than this with two horses and a buggy. Change gears.”
“Not how this works, Sweetheart.”
The gate was getting closer.
Loud clangs hit the side of the car.
I didn’t scream as much as I shouted furious, frightened curses. “You didn't tell me its bullet proof?”
