Ill-Fame (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 2) (26 page)

“I’m not certain, but I think someone may be planning something devious today,” he said. “You need to be alert, boys.”

“But sir,” one of the policemen replied, “we were told that the threat was over. Didn’t you capture the anarchist behind the note?”

“No,” he said, gritting his teeth. “I don’t believe I did. How many of you have been stationed?”

“Only six of us. There were meant to be more, but the colonel canceled the extra details.”

“Where is the colonel?”

“I don’t know, sir.”

Damn it, he thought. Any single one of the six thousand in attendance could be armed and ready to storm the stage, and there would be little he could do.

He walked back into the auditorium, and jostled himself through the aisles, under mutters from those he bumped and prodded. The prayer was over, and one of the regents approached the rostrum to make an introduction.

Queen scanned the balconies, looking for anything strange or out of place. Most of the faces were shadowed, however, and too many to sort. It seemed like such a monumental task, but he continued his search, feeling desperation in his throat, even as he heard Mayor Albert Alonzo Ames’ name, and a thunderous round of applause.

The mayor’s familiar, booming voice belted out through the auditorium. “This splendid institution is the product of democracy; it is the implement of the purest democracy on earth for its security and its advance...”

Then suddenly he sensed a movement, just above him. He looked at the billowing bunting, tied to beams that crisscrossed the ceiling. And he saw the glint of metal. He watched it for a moment, and it disappeared. He rubbed his eyes and looked again, and then saw what he could have sworn was an eye blinking back at him.
It was a man, suspended on the beam, and the man was holding a rifle. He was certain of it. And the man had seen him, in return.

Queen didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t shout out the danger. It would cause mass panic, and hundreds might be hurt or even killed in a mad dash for the doors. He knew he couldn’t climb up there himself. The beam was narrower than his width, and even if he didn’t lose his balance and plummet to the floor, crushing people below, what the hell would happen if he reached the man, who could simply twist back and shoot him dead? He looked again, but fortunately the decision was made for him. The man had seen him, and also seemed to have lost his nerve, as he scurried over the beam like a rat and back into the darkness.

A rat.

A
rat
.

He quickly racked his brain. Who in this world reminded him of a rat?

Holy hell, Queen thought. Could it be Pock?

He barged his way to the rear exit, stumbling over bodies and stepping on feet, and burst through into the foyer, just in time to see Pock bolt down a side stairway, rifle in hand, and straight to the front door.

“Pock!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “Pock! You’ll never get away!”

Pock was nothing but skin, bone and lean muscle. He flew down the steps and towards the drill ground, pumping his arms and legs through the rain like a well-oiled mechanical toy. Queen could barely catch his breath as he made it outside, and watched the man dash away, far faster than he could ever hope to.

And then he watched Pock fall.

It had been the rifle, and it had caught between his legs. The little man tumbled three or four times and then splattered on the soggy ground, arms and legs sprawled at his side.

Queen motioned to the two officers, and they sprinted out to collect him. They dragged Pock back, and he collapsed at Queen’s feet.

“It’s not what you think,” he moaned. “It’s not what you think.”

Pock’s eye patch was missing, probably from the fall, and his dead, milky eye stared to the right, as if guarding his flank from an enemy.

The detective kneeled down and grabbed him by his filthy collar.

“Did you really think you’d get away with this?”

He shook his head, and moaned again. “I ain’t no anarchist, Queen. I ain’t no anarchist.”

“Could have fooled me. You and this goddamn rifle. First you shoot a girl off of a fence, and now you try for the mayor of the city.”

Pock’s head snapped up, and his good eye hammered into Queen’s.

“You don’t understand. I wasn’t gonna shoot him. I was gonna protect him.”

“Protect him from who? Who were you aiming at?” He snatched Pock’s necktie and wrapped it around his hand. “Tell me, or I’m gonna cinch this so tight your peeper’s gonna pop like a whip cracker.”

Pock tried to shimmy away from Queen, but he took a handful of coat buttons and yanked him back.

“Spill, Pock.
Spill.
”

The man shrugged his bony little shoulders. “No one in particular, Queen. Ever vigilant, that’s me. Like an eagle from the sky.”

Queen stood up, and gave Pock a kick in his side. “Take the little shit to Central Station. Tell Colonel Ames we’ve got our man.”

Moonlight rose when Doc’s long-winded speech neared its end. Maisy knew it because she saw President Northrup in the wing, looking sternly at his watch.

“Go now,” he whispered, and gave her an orange-scented kiss on the cheek. “I won’t be long.”

She watched him get up and move into the shadows of the stage’s wing. Doc wiped a bit of spittle from his cheek, and finally stopped talking. The crowd applauded in rousing fashion. The mayor lit a grin under his bushy white mustache, and gave a brief bow. Maisy felt a great wave of relief envelop her. No one had made any attempt on his life. It had been a vile jest, and nothing more.

And then she felt a tap on her shoulder, and Chris Norbeck plopped into Moonlight’s seat.

“Ain’t this majestic?” he asked her with a wink. “All these chirpy bookworms wigglin’ their tails in unison.”

“Detective Norbeck...”

“Ah, call me Chris. All my sorry excuses for friends do. Care for a nip o’ the necessary?” He pulled out a flask, and offered it to her.

“No, no thank you. I was just about to go...”

“But yer fella’s about to talk!”

“Yes, but I need to visit the washroom.”

“Hoots! Look at this,” he said, ignoring her, and proudly held out a copy of the program. “I got yer beau’s autograph. And he even wrote me a personal note. What a crack swell he is!”

She wanted to push it away, but he looked so genuinely earnest that she took it and read it out of pity.

Hello Chris

Glad to know you. Hope to meet you one day for a smoke-stick and a glass of bubbles.

Yours,

Moonlight

“I figure he means champagne by that,” Norbeck said, looking thrilled at the prospect of an evening of drinking with a football star. “I prefer whiskey, but I’ll fumble through the fizz for him.”

Maisy’s heart exploded in her chest. She opened her bag and tore out the envelope, ripping it open and yanking out the letter. Queen hadn’t asked for it back, and she took advantage of his carelessness to hold the letter next to the program with shaking hands.

They were from the same writer, it was easy to see. She couldn’t even begin to fathom it. She slid back into her chair, feeling utter repulsion in her realization of what had happened, or what was going to.

And then a huge cheer echoed through the auditorium as Moonlight Dick Darling strode to the lectern, a football under one arm and his diploma in the other. His lopsided grin took in the adulation, and then he looked at her and his smile grew bigger.

Did he see the shock in her face, she wondered? How could he not?

“Mayor Ames, would you mind stepping back out here for a moment?” Moonlight asked, and Doc strode out, beaming. They shook each other’s hands and the football player spoke again.

“I know that this is highly irregular,” Moonlight continued. “But I wanted to say how grateful I am to my professors for all of their encouragement. While I knew some thought me incorrigible...” The crowd bathed the room in laughter.

Maisy fumbled for the clasp on her handbag, trying to snap it open. Her hands were wet with sweat, and she wiped them on her dress.

“...they had faith in me, and showed me how hard, dedicated work can bring success.”

Is this why he wouldn’t write to me, she wondered? Had he been covering his tracks, on some outside chance she’d discover his plan? She pulled out her grandfather’s pistol, gripping it hard.

She lifted the weapon, and looked at Dick’s stunned face, his jaw dropping as his eyes met hers. Her mind screamed with confusion, and her heart screamed with despair.

It couldn’t be him.

Yet it had to be.

Her thumb pulled back the hammer in an instant, frozen in fear that she was wrong.

But she wasn’t.

Dick reached into the seam of the football under his arm, and she caught the glimpse of an ivory handle. It was the matching pistol to the one she now held. She stared at the movement of his thumb, and how it moved towards a glimmer of metal buried in the football’s stuffing.

And then she felt a stab of pain, as Chris Norbeck’s hand came down on her arm, and the pistol clanked to the floor.

It was a blur to Queen as he watched it unfold. He was too far away to get to the stage, and he knew a clear shot was impossible.

And he’d forgotten, in his panic, about Doc’s burly bodyguard, Fred Connor.

Connor leaped from the wings and before Moonlight could use his own weapon, he’d tackled him to the floor.

It was a sensational tackle, one that Moonlight, he was sure, hadn’t seen in four years of dodging linemen and dashing for touchdowns. Connor pulled back his fist, the ruthless boxer inside him primed to throw the knockout punch, but the kid had already thrown up his hands. The gun in the football suddenly went off, sending bits of leather onto the stage. The crowd stood motionless, stunned.

Queen dropped his arm, gun in hand, to his side, watching the drama end as quickly as it began. No one had been hurt by the gunshot, thank the Lord above.

“What the deuce?” he muttered, and bent over to get his breath.

He looked up to see Doc’s face, pallid with fear and befuddlement. Queen took advantage of the hush in the auditorium to make his presence known.

“Please, do not panic. I am Detective Harm Queen of the Minneapolis Police, and the danger is over,” he shouted, raising up his badge and maneuvering his way to the stage. He shot up the stairs and strode to the lectern. I hope to Christ everyone keeps calm, he thought.

He watched Fred Connor yank Moonlight up onto his feet, and he saw him whisper something to the kid. Moonlight nodded weakly, and hung his head as Connor led him off stage. Queen looked at Doc to make sure he hadn’t been harmed, but the old man was just shaking his head, still dazed.

Then he looked in the front row, and his eyes locked with Maisy’s. Her lovely blue eyes were wet with tears, and he felt sickened at her anguish. Norbeck was still restraining her, but Queen shook his head at the detective, who released her arm.

Queen didn’t know what to say. He looked to both sides of the stage, relieved to see President Northrup finally walk out to address the crowd.
I need to get Doc out of here
, he realized, and took the old man by the arm and led him out of view.

CHAPTER 34

Queen and Connor exchanged grim nods. Moonlight sat cuffed, on an upturned mop pail, his head between his legs.

“Is Doc all right?”

“He’s lying down. There are two men with him, to make sure he isn’t disturbed.”

“Good,” Queen replied. He thumped Connor between the shoulders. “Christ, he’s lucky to have you, Fred.”

“First bit of action I’ve had in a while.” The bodyguard ran his hand over his hair, looking slightly amused. “What just happened?”

“I’ll find out, soon enough.” People were beginning to gather around. Curious, Queen knew, about their school’s most famous student and his stage show. “Let’s find a private place to question him,” he said.

Queen lifted Moonlight by the arm and they led him from the darkened wing, past the onlookers, and into a room just off of a hallway. It appeared to be a makeshift greenroom, and Queen immediately shoved Moonlight down into one of the chairs as Connor closed the door.

“What were you thinking?” Queen growled, pushing Moonlight’s head in frustration.

The kid looked up, a glint of anger hiding under glassed-over eyes.

“I-I-I’m not saying anything.”

“You’re not saying anything,” Queen repeated, kicking the air in disgust. “That doesn’t cut any ice with me. I know you were gunning for the mayor, you idiot.”

Moonlight gave a low growl, pulled back his saliva, and spit a wad of cheesy mucus onto Queen’s boot.

“You want to hear the truth? He’s an oppressor. A despot. All of you are, who carry badges or wield authority like battering rams, running willy-nilly through the city without the fear of retribution. Imposing your will on the defenseless.”

“Doc Ames, an oppressor?” Queen gave a bitter little laugh, shrugging off, momentarily, the shock of Moonlight’s animosity towards him. “Of all the people with any modicum of power in this state, Doc is the least oppressive of any of them. Kid, he gives free medical care to anyone who asks. Can’t turn a soul down, especially someone hard on their luck. He hands out hot meals and buys rounds after funerals!” The detective sat on the armrest of the chair next to Moonlight’s. “This makes no goddamn sense. He offered you a job just yesterday, and you took it! What the hell gives?”

“He needed to be knocked off of his high and mighty horse. Brought down a few pegs, so he might realize what he’s done.”

“Listen, Moonlight. You’re not in any way like your dad. You’re not a murderer. I think you’ve been dunned.”

The lad cringed, and Queen glanced at Connor, who winked back.

“Seaver Loftus put you up to this. Didn’t he? Your father’s thug?”

Moonlight closed his eyes and shook his head.