A Song In The Dark (34 page)

His look was steady and burning. “After what happened to my friends in Canada, those murders . . . they were my whole
family
for God's sake! Dead in one night. I couldn't sleep for months. Kept waking up screaming. Drank myself unconscious, and I still kept waking up. Nothing I ever faced in the War was that awful. It was Shoe who finally helped me realize I had to get control of myself or . . .”

“What?”

“Or he'd beat the hell out of me again.” He paused, his gaze inward for a moment. Then, “
I
had to climb out of that pit. You're stronger now than I ever was then. And you're not alone. You are still
needed
here. This isn't your time.”

I wanted to believe him.

“And however you think you could hurt Bobbi, it couldn't possibly be worse than taking yourself away. Don't put her through that, Jack. You're her rock. Don't crumble under her.”

“She's strong.”

“Because
you're
here! Stay! Stay for her sake. Or I swear I
will
beat the hell out of you again.”

The white-jackets came with a stretcher and for a couple of guys who had to have seen everything, they gave us a double take.

“You can't ride in with us,” one of them told me. I figured he wasn't chancing my taking another shot at Escott.

“I'll follow then.”

He didn't seem to like that idea. They carted Escott downstairs and were gone in a minute. I looked for my coat,
couldn't find it, and borrowed Escott's instead. A very neat and organized man, he'd left it lying on the floor like old laundry. Must have had it draped over one arm when he'd walked in and seen the inert, bloodied mess on the couch. He'd have stood frozen in the doorway a moment, the coat slipping away . . .

The office phone rang, jolting me.

It was Bobbi.

This wasn't a good time to talk, but Escott would kill me if I brushed her off. “Hello, sweetheart. How are you?” I hoped nothing to tip her off was in my voice.

“Just
fine
,” she said, sounding very cheerful and awake. Quite a change from the last call. Certainly she was unaware of what I'd tried to do. “When you coming over, Sweetie?”

Huh?
“I can't right away, I've got to—”

“Oh,
Jacky
, you've been busy
every
night this week.” Her voice went sharp, shrewish, petulant.

What the hell . . . ?
I went cold. Deathly cold. “Well, Roberta, I got things to do.”

She was pouty now, and completely ignored my use of her given name. “Oh, come on. I'll make it worth your while. Come on, you can spare a girl ten lousy minutes. Just come over and
do
it.”

Sickness bloomed in my gut. “Well, maybe I could . . .”

“When you see what I'm
not
wearing, you'll wanna stay longer.” She giggled seductively.

“Okay, but I gotta to do something first. I'll call again in an hour and let you know if I can get away. You'll have to hold your horses until then.”

“You'll call in an hour?”

“And you better answer, sweetheart, or just forget about having any fun tonight.”

“I'll be here. Make it a
fast
hour.” She hung up.

Before I was aware of having moved I was down the stairs, heart in my throat.

But an apparition stood square in the middle of the lobby, blocking my way. I was in such a panic that the out-of-place presence didn't register. I nearly collided, then halted at the last second, backing in confusion from a snub-nosed revolver shoved hard into my belly.

Looked down at the gun, bewildered, backed another step, then truly
focused
on the man holding it:
Whitey Kroun
.

He was worse for wear, eyebrows gone and some hair singed off. There were cuts on his burn-reddened face, and his left hand was crudely bandaged. His torn and bloodied clothes stank of smoke and sweat, but he was standing, solid, and very much alive.

“Surprised?” he asked, his voice whisper-hoarse.

My lack of reply was answer enough.

“Thought you'd be.” His dark eyes blazed. “All right, you son-of-a-bitch punk, you tell me why you tried to kill me.”

“What?”
I didn't have time for this.

“You set me up, but for the life of me I can't think why you would. What's your game, Fleming?”

“No game. It wasn't me.”

“I had the car, so I had to be the target. Was it some kind of deal with Gordy?”

“Kroun, listen to me—”

“Why?”
His arm straightened to fire. He would shoot to wound. Killing would come later.

“It was
Mitchell
, dammit! I got half of Chicago looking for him!”

Kroun hesitated. “Mitchell. No . . . I don't think so.”

“Why the hell not?”

He made no reply.

“Listen, dammit—he got with one of his old pals from
here and
they
cooked up the bomb. I donno if he wants to take over your spot in New York or Gordy's spot here like he wanted before, but you gotta believe me,
he's
the one who did it! Now put that damn thing away—I know where he's hiding!”

“Uh-huh. The hell you do.” He swung the muzzle up toward my chest.

I moved faster than he could fire. Snagged the gun from his hand and gave him a push. He spun around, but without his heater he was in no shape to take me. On second look he was banged up pretty bad. I couldn't see how he was able to walk. He should have been in the ambulance with Escott.

I started for the door, then thought better of it. “You're comin' with me,” I told him.

“Where?”

“Mitchell's got my girlfriend. You want proof? Come on.” I hauled him out the door, pulling it closed behind, and going left. “Into that Nash.”

Kroun was limping, his left trouser leg was crusted brown from dried blood. He wheezed badly. I gunned the motor, shifted, and shot us away.

“What's with you?” I asked.

“Got some smoke. Coughed most of it out by now, but jeez.”

“What else?”

“Some burns, the concussion from the boom was the worst. Like someone hit me all over with a building.”

“How the hell did you survive?”

“Gordy's car.”

“What about it?”

“The damned thing's built like a safe. There's so much metal in it I'm guessing most of the blast went down and sideways, not up and out. The bomb was bad, but not
enough to get around all that armor. It bought me a few seconds. I didn't know what I was doing, only that I was doing it. The whole thing was smoke inside, and I couldn't see, but I found the door handle and rolled clear and kept rolling. My eyes were watering, but there was another boom, and I just kept going. There were some trash cans on the street, and I hid behind them. They were full and didn't go flying like everything else, so I stayed there.”

“And you didn't show yourself thinking I'd done that?”

“I was too damned hurt to think much of anything. The whole street was fulla stinkin' smoke, so I just got out of there before something else dropped on me.”

“Where did you go?”

“Found an empty building. Picked the lock, went in, and coughed my guts out for a few hours.”

“You couldn't call anyone? Even New York?”

“I was thinking again by then, and it didn't seem like such a good idea. With my looks I'd be too easy to spot walking around, and I don't know who's who in this town, so I sat tight and rested up. I thought I'd give it a day, then go after you for answers, but your goddamned club was closed.”

“Yet you came in.”

“I saw you and the guys with the ambulance. What the hell was that?”

“Me being stupid. Forget about it.”

“How do you know Mitch is with your girl?”

“I think he made her phone me to get me to her place.”

“She that singer, the blond?”

“Yeah. She tipped me off something was wrong, but I gotta get there fast in case she didn't get away with it.”

“God, I hate this business,” said Kroun, between clenched teeth.

I parked on the side of the hotel opposite Bobbi's flat. Mitchell could be watching from her windows and even from that high up might recognize me walking in. If he saw Kroun, it would be a disaster.

We went in through a smaller entry that led to the lobby and the elevators. There was still an operator on duty; I gave him the floor just above Bobbi's. He stared at Kroun, got a red-eyed stare in return then focused on his job. When he opened the doors again I waited until he descended before heading for the stairs at the end of the hall.

“What's this?” Kroun asked. He was gray of face as we hurried along.

“I don't want Mitchell hearing the elevator stop on her floor.” At the service door, I listened, then cautiously opened it. The hall, identical to the one we'd left, was empty. “Okay, here's the deal: There's a servants entrance to her flat, and I've got the key. I can sneak in that way, but I need you to knock on the front door to get his attention.”

“Then what?”

“Just knock. He might think it's me, so do it from the side in case he shoots through the door.”

“Yeah, okay. Hand me back my piece.”

“You won't need it.”

“I sure as hell will. Don't worry, I'll only shoot him, not your girl.”

I didn't want to trust him on that.

“I get my gun or you get no help. Come on.”

Dammit. I gave it over. “But no shooting. You won't need to, anyway. I just need you to distract his attention. Stay here, count to a hundred, then knock loud.”

He went into “one, two, three, four,” and I counted along
with him to match his pace. Kept counting softly as I slipped out, vanished, and sped forward, going solid just long enough to find Bobbi's door. Gone again, I sieved under it and listened as best I could in the grayness.

No one talking. Damn.

Nineteen, twenty . . .

Made a sweep of the front room and didn't encounter anyone. Tried the small kitchen. No one here, either. Decided to risk going solid.

Lights out, except for some spill from the living room. More than enough to see by. Listened. Would have held my breath if I'd had any.

Twenty-nine, thirty . . .

It took a few seconds to get it, like tuning in to a hard-to-find radio station. Vague movements, a heartbeat. More than one . . .

Invisible again, I floated toward her bedroom. Very much on purpose I wasn't thinking about certain things. If he'd touched her I would rip him apart. Literally.

No sound in this room. My muffled hearing worked against me. Swept through, located one person sitting on the bed, the second in a chair next to the telephone table. Another extravagant convenience of her very modern apartment was having two phones, one in the living room, the other just steps away, next to the bed. She usually kept that one in the bath so she could talk while soaking in the tub. Were they waiting for my call? And who was who? I could tell general shapes in this form, but nothing more specific. If one of them would just make a noise, I'd know who to tackle.

I drifted close to the one on the bed, brushing as light as I dared.

Unbelievable relief when Bobbi shivered and went
brrrrr.

“What's the matter?” Mitchell asked from his seat by the phone.

“I'm cold. Can't I turn up the heat?”

“No. Pull on a blanket. Why is it you dames are always so damn cold all the time?”

Apparently recognizing a rhetorical question, she didn't reply.

Where the hell was Kroun? He should be knocking by now. Had he mistakenly gone to the other end of the hall? I could go solid and jump Mitchell, but I wanted Bobbi in the clear. He'd be armed and too many things could go wrong. I wanted them both—especially her—alive and safe.

“I know a way to warm you up,” he said. “We got time.”

Of course,
he
didn't absolutely have to be undamaged.

“Oh,
puh-lease
.” A tone of voice like that always went with a rolling of the eyes.

“You turned into a real snot, didn't you? Slick had the right idea keeping you on a leash. You weren't too good for me then. You were plenty hot for me. I remember.”

“I'd have been hot for a baboon if he coulda gotten me out of there.”

“Well, you got a close second with Fleming. When the hell did he get to be such a big noise?”

“Just happened.”

“I'll bet. You smelled the money and—What's that clicking?” he snapped.

Clicking? Then I remembered Kroun was an expert with picklocks. He wasn't going to wait or follow instructions . . .

Mitchell left the room. I went solid.

Bobbi suppressed her gasp of surprise, but it was enough to alert the nervous Mitchell. He stood in the living room facing the front door, but swung his gun at me.

“Fleming?” He was flat-footed for only an instant, then
squared up the gun. Bobbi came forward; I shoved her back hard so she fell across the bed, then I started toward him. “Freeze!” he yelled.

I froze in the bedroom doorway, arms out. The .45 he carried would put holes through walls, and Bobbi was very much still in range. No shooting. Please.

The front door swung open. Kroun didn't show himself.

“Who is it?” Mitchell asked me.

I was within tackling distance, but wanted him distracted from me. “Your boss. It's payback time.”

“What d'ya mean?”

“You missed with the bomb. Kroun's alive.”

Mitchell laughed once. “No way. He's dead meat. Hoyle said—”

“Yeah, he did. He's dead, too, by the way.”

“You're lying.”

“Thought you'd be happy about it. You bumped Ruzzo, so of course you had to bump Hoyle. Can't leave witnesses to screw up you taking over Kroun's spot. That's what you're after, right? With Gordy still alive, you might never get a chance at this town, but there's no reason why you can't take Kroun's job if he's gone—only he ain't.”