Conned: A Bureau Story (The Bureau Book 6)

by Kim Fielding

  But when he turned around, Abe was leaning on the frame of the front door, his arm tight against his belly and his complexion gray. “Abe?” Thomas rushed to him.

  Abe had a ghastly smile. “I caught the bullet.”

  Shells were screaming and men were shrieking as the reek of mud nearly smothered Thomas. He struggled to keep his breathing steady. “I’ll ring an ambulance. Where’s your phone?”

  “No hospitals.”

  “You’ll die if you don’t—”

  “Won’t survive a hospital anyway.” A trickle of blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. His body slid slowly down, leaving a streak of bright crimson on the door. “Was it Crespo?” he rasped.

  “Munroe.” Thomas fell to his knees, helpless.

  Abe’s laugh was a terrible gurgle, and a blood bubble popped on his lips. “Oh. My bank account… if you can… get it to Rosie. My house….” He gasped and shuddered but opened his eyes again. “Yours.”

  “Don’t…. Abe, don’t….”

  “’S okay.” Abe grasped Thomas’s arm with his free hand, as if Thomas were the one who needed comforting. But his hand fell away when he shuddered again. The flames in his eyes had dimmed to coals and would soon be nothing but ashes.

  “Birdie!” Thomas shouted. He didn’t know whether Birdie was there or if he could hear him, but Christ, what else could he do? “Birdie! Help him if you can. Goddamn it, Albert, make yourself useful!”

  “Thomas,” Abe whispered. He chanted a few broken phrases in what Thomas thought was probably Hebrew.

  “Let him in. If he can help you, let him in.” And then more loudly. “Let him in!”

  “Igen.” A third shudder and a gout of wine-red blood came from Abe’s mouth. Thomas was sure he was gone, and his own breath caught in his throat, choking him. His tears blurred the view of Abe’s face, and—

  No. It wasn’t tears. For a fraction of a second, Birdie stared back at him. Then it was Abe’s face again, although the eyes remained blue.

  “Getting shot hurts,” Birdie said.

  Oh God. Thomas sat on his heels. “Is he— Can you—”

  “Give me a minute, old man. I can only work so much magic at once.” Color was returning to Abe’s skin, and blood stopped issuing from his mouth. He took a few shaky breaths, then deeper ones before holding out his hand. “Could use some help up.”

  Thomas’s legs were incredibly shaky, but he managed to get to his feet and help lift Birdie, who stood hunched, a hand to his belly. He jerked his chin toward the end of the hall. “That’s a right mess, innit?”

  A horrible thought struck Thomas. “Is his spirit—”

  “That bloke’s gone. Dunno where, but we’re rid of him for good. Get us somewhere safe, Tommy.”

  Somewhere safe. As far as Thomas knew, no such place existed. He went off in search of the telephone anyway, and when he returned, Birdie had dropped the bloodstained overcoat onto the floor and put on a considerably more expensive one. “Your boy knows how to dress, Tommy,” he said as he buttoned it up.

  “He’s not—”

  “Don’t. No time for arguments now. Besides, I’ve been watching you two, haven’t I? You need him.” Birdie bent to retrieve Abe’s hat, which had fallen off at some point, but then he groaned and nearly toppled. Thomas lurched forward and steadied him.

  “You should go to hospital,” he said, knowing it was useless.

  “We’ll mend on our own, if nobody shoots us again first. But Avi’s wide open now, love. No defenses at all. Put him near loads of spirits and I won’t be the only one in here. That would destroy both of us.”

  Thomas wanted to bandage him up and grab fresh clothes, but there was no telling whether Munroe had friends nearby or if a neighbor might have heard the gunshots and rung the cops. They made their way out of the house with arms around each other, Birdie moaning as they descended the steps. The taxi pulled up just as they arrived at the curb, and the driver gave them a skeptical look. “Taking him to sober up,” Thomas explained and handed the driver a five. It was the second time in recent days that he’d needed to bribe a cabbie. And then because he figured there was no point being stingy right now, he said, “St. Francis Hotel.”

  Four blocks away, several police cars zoomed past in the opposite direction, sirens wailing. The cab driver seemed to think it signaled an opportunity to chat. “You want my opinion, you oughtta stay at the Francis Drake. St. Francis is nice and all, but the Drake’s only been open for two weeks, and you ain’t gonna find a fancier place nowhere. They got a golf course indoors! And if your pal sobers up and wants more, they got a secret way of delivering booze to your room.”

  “The St. Francis will do nicely.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Thomas had been in the St. Francis two or three times, mainly out of curiosity. This time, with Birdie hanging on him, he ignored the marble columns, crystal chandeliers, ornate ceilings, and enormous grandfather clock. Instead he settled Birdie in an upholstered chair near the reception desk.

  “A room, please.” He used his poshest accent.

  The clerk cast a doubtful glance in Birdie’s direction. “Sir, perhaps—”

  “He had a bit too much to eat and drink today. Tourists, you know. Some sleep and he’ll be right as rain.” A little stack of money stopped any further complaint, and soon the clerk handed him a key to room 812. A minute later the lift operator frowned at Birdie, slumped and looking disreputable.

  “Know where he can get some hair of the dog?” Thomas flashed a five to help make his point.

  The operator grinned and took the bill. “I’ll have something brought to you right away, sir.”

  The room was suitably opulent, with windows overlooking Union Square. Not that Thomas cared about the view. He helped Birdie to the bed and then efficiently stripped him naked. He had a small round wound in his stomach—already scabbed over, surprisingly—and a larger one on his back, oozing blood. Thomas groaned.

  Birdie responded, “Clean us up and fetch some bandages. We’ll be all right.”

  Thomas pushed aside the unsettling plural to concentrate on a problem he’d become well acquainted with during the war. “Infection. Peritonitis.”

  “I’ve taken care of it.”

  It wasn’t clear how Birdie had done so, but since Abe was still alive, Thomas had to trust Birdie’s capabilities. Still, he hovered uncertainly until Birdie sighed. “Love, I can’t stay here much longer.”

  “Because you’ll be stuck if you do.”

  “Yeah.”

  Thomas stared at him hopelessly. Anything he asked for would be a betrayal.

  Birdie shifted slightly and gave him a sad smile. “You’d lose us both. The result—well, it wouldn’t be me and it wouldn’t be him. Wouldn’t even be entirely human.”

  A soft knock came at the door. Thomas hastily draped a blanket over Birdie before going to answer. A grinning boy stood there with a large paper bag in hand. “Mr. Dixon? I have your medicine.” Thomas snorted and handed the kid a five. He was giving them out like candy.

  After closing the door, Thomas threw away the bag and brought the bottle to the bedside. “Want a glass?”

  “I’ll wait until you get back with the bandages. I don’t want to leave Abe alone.”

  Thomas felt a pang in his heart. Birdie had been the type to worry about stray dogs in a war zone, and now, a decade after his death, he cared about Abe. After a long look at the figure on the bed, Thomas left the room.

  He had to hurry several blocks down Market to find a late-night pharmacy, but he was fortunate that it also stocked sundries. Recognizing grimly that the wound in Abe’s back needed stitching, he bought a needle and thread in addition to bandages. He also purchased an assortment of basic toiletries—enough for two men—and a small bag to keep them in. He and Abe were going to need clothing as well, but that would have to wait for morning, when the shops were open.

  Thomas’s rush back to the hotel made passersby stare.

 
; Birdie was exactly where Thomas had left him, smiling from beneath the blankets. “It’s too bad we’re in no condition to take advantage of this lovely bed,” he said.

  “You’re still interested in fucking?”

  “I wasn’t, but being inside a body again… maybe. Anyway, Avi is. Not now, but when he’s well again.”

  “Is he…. Can he hear me now?”

  “No. It’s bad enough to have both of us in here at once, but two minds trying to manage the same sensory information? I think that might drive us insane. I can speak to him if you like.”

  “Is he all right?”

  Birdie gave a small shrug. “No more damaged than when you met him. But he will be if I don’t get out of him. Good—”

  “Wait!” Thomas had so many things to say to Birdie, but here he stood with the pharmacy bag in his hands and not a single word came out.

  “I’m not leaving you, Tommy.” Birdie sighed. “Couldn’t if I wanted to now—I can’t even find the veil. But that’s all right. I love you. And Avi’s right. You’re a mensch.”

  Before Thomas could ask—again—what that meant, Birdie emitted a long sigh and the blue eyes were replaced by warm brown ones. When Abe gasped, Thomas ran to his side, uncapped the gin that the boy had brought, and held it to Abe’s mouth. He gulped it like water.

  “Are you in pain?” Thomas set the bottle aside.

  Abe’s weak reply was touched with humor. “I’ve been better. But… a bi gezunt.”

  “What’s that?”

  “‘As long as you have your health.’ Something my bubbe used to say after someone complained or worried.”

  Thomas, who wasn’t in the mood for a Yiddish lesson, went to the bathroom and dampened several towels. He’d have to ring housekeeping for more, but he had enough for the moment. “How badly are you hurt?” he asked when he returned to the bed. “Birdie said you’d mend and infection wasn’t an issue, but—”

  “I’ll be okay. Thank you for saving my life.”

  “That was Birdie, not me.” Thomas pulled away the blankets and took a moment to assess. He decided to deal with Abe’s front side first, since that would be quick. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, he used a towel to dab gingerly at the dried blood on Abe’s skin. Abe winced only a bit, so that was good. But cleaning Abe turned out to be…. Erotic wasn’t the right word; Thomas wasn’t aroused. But he did feel a dizzying mix of emotions, many of them unfamiliar. Tenderness, regret, concern, relief. A visceral connection to a man he’d met only a few days before.

  “I’m sorry,” Abe said, his eyes fixed on Thomas’s face.

  “For what?”

  “I can’t give you Birdie. I would, you know. Let him take over for good. But it doesn’t work that way.”

  Thomas’s throat tightened, and he concentrated on a stubborn spot of dried blood near Abe’s navel. “Birdie’s dead. I accepted that ten years ago.”

  “I know. But if I could—”

  “I wouldn’t trade you for him!”

  It was unclear which of them was more shocked by Thomas’s outburst. Abe blinked, and Thomas felt unaccustomed heat in his cheeks. He ducked his head and returned to cleaning an area that was already clean enough. Then he stuck a self-adhesive bandage over the small wound. Oddly, his hands didn’t shake; and although he remembered the times he’d helped medics apply field dressings, those memories weren’t intrusive or overwhelmingly distressing.

  With Thomas’s help and a few whimpers, Abe settled on his stomach with his head turned sideways and cradled on pillows. Under these circumstances, Thomas should not have been reminded of what a very fine arse Abe had, even though the arse in question was beautifully uninjured and temptingly within reach.

  “I wasn’t with Birdie when he died.” This topic was certainly one way to reset his thinking. “I’d been sent to a CCS—a Casualty Clearing Station. Birdie’d reported me to our sergeant and said I had trench foot, but he knew that wasn’t the real problem. It was shell shock.” He’d never admitted this to anyone. But if you couldn’t be honest with a man you’d fucked several times and almost died with, a man who was now patiently withstanding your clumsy doctoring… well, you’d never be honest with anyone.

  Abe was gazing at him without condemnation or disgust. “What did they do for you at the CCS?”

  “Nothing. I rested for a few days.” Lying on a cot, staring at the canvas ceiling, sleeping for hours and hours, hearing nothing that anyone said to him. An impenetrable fog had engulfed him, consumed him. Sometimes he cried without knowing why. Without feeling any sorrow. Sometimes he’d forgotten where he was. The only thing that kept him from sinking into the fog forever was the urge to reunite with Birdie.

  “When I returned to the front, Birdie had been evacuated. Influenza. He died alone in a field hospital.”

  “He died loving you and hoping you hadn’t caught the flu too.”

  This was a gift, really. How many people had lost a loved one without knowing their final thoughts, without having the chance to say how they felt? But Thomas did know now, and moreover, he could tell Birdie what was in his heart.

  “I loved him,” Thomas said.

  Abe smiled. “He knows. But I’m sure he doesn’t mind hearing you say it.”

  “Is he here right now?”

  “He’s always going to be here,” Abe said sadly. “He was already fairly solidly on this side of the veil, and now….”

  “He said that as well. Is it painful for him?”

  “No.” Abe patted Thomas’s knee comfortingly, which was silly since Abe was the one with the bullet holes. “It’s a little frustrating and lonely. But you know what that’s like.”

  Silently, Thomas finished cleaning Abe’s back. The exit wound wasn’t as ugly as he’d feared, and the bleeding had stopped some time ago, but any movement on Abe’s part was likely to reopen it. “I’ll need to suture this.”

  “Okay.”

  “It’ll hurt.”

  Abe chuckled. “Of course it will.” He didn’t squirm at all as the needle pierced him, and he didn’t utter a sound. Maybe his training gave him excellent control over his body. As the sewing continued, though, his gaze went vague and far away, and finally his eyelids closed. Thomas could only imagine how exhausted he must be. In less than twenty-four hours, Abe had discovered his assistant dead, conversed with a federal agent, had sex with Thomas, gotten shot and nearly died, and been possessed.

  “Sleep now,” Thomas whispered as he stuck a bandage over the wound. Upon inspecting the bedding, he found only a few small bloodstains, not enough to disturb Abe by putting on fresh sheets. Thomas carefully covered the resting body, gathered the detritus of his doctoring, and shuffled to the bathroom to wash up. He was fairly well done in himself.

  The St. Francis Hotel had wonderful showers, with plenty of hot water and a rose-scented cake of soap. Thomas felt infinitely better afterward. He couldn’t face putting his soiled clothing back on, so he was nude when he slipped into bed beside Abe, his gun on the nightstand.

  “That detective wanted to kill me,” Abe said in the dark room.

  “Munroe. Yes.”

  “If you hadn’t been with me he would have succeeded.”

  “He nearly did anyway.”

  “But he didn’t. He’s dead now and I’m alive, in bed with you.”

  Thomas made an affirmative noise. He felt the slight tension in Abe’s body even though they weren’t touching. “You fancy more gin?”

  “Did Townsend send Munroe after me?”

  “Undoubtedly.”

  “Why?”

  Thomas wanted to tell him to stop asking questions and go to sleep, but he knew that was pointless. “He’s angry over what you and Birdie did to him.”

  “I don’t blame him. But your employer, he’s not a good man.”

  “I know.”

  “Migulgl zol er vern in a henglayhter, by tog zol er hengen, un bay nakht zol er brenen.” Abe chuckled. “Another of my bubbe’s sayings. ‘He should be
come a chandelier to hang by day and burn by night.’”

  Thomas snorted inelegant laughter. “I like that.”

  “Nobody expected you to come home with me tonight. Do you think they’ve figured out you were there?”

  “And that I shot Munroe? Maybe. Or maybe they assume you did it. Although based on all the blood near the front door, I’m sure they could tell that Munroe wasn’t the only one hurt.”

  A long sigh. “So at the very least, Townsend and the cops are after me. And possibly after you too.”

  “Yes.”

  “We could leave town,” Abe said. “I have a little money left.”

  “You should leave as soon as you can travel. I’m staying here.”

  Abe was silent for a few moments. “Why stay?”

  “I have a job to finish. Five people are dead because of that talisman. You were almost the sixth.”

  “Almost.” Abe shifted on the mattress, moving slightly closer but not touching. He lay on his side facing away from Thomas. “I’m staying with you. If you don’t mind.”

  Thomas scowled at the way Abe’s announcement made his heart leap. “Why?”

  “There’s nowhere else I want to be.”

  “Okay then. I don’t mind.” Thomas lightly settled a hand on Abe’s hip, feeling his soft skin, greedily absorbing his heat.

  “I’m trained in escaping things,” Abe said through a yawn. “Maybe we’ll wiggle our way out of this cage.”

  In the morning light, Abe was pale and drawn, but he said he was more tired than in pain. His wounds showed no sign of infection, at least, and he ate the eggs and toast that Thomas ordered from room service. He finished up the bottle of gin, gulping it down as easily as Thomas drank orange juice.

  “It would be best if we moved somewhere else,” Thomas mused. “Are you up for it?”

  “Depends how far.”

  Thomas thought for a moment. “The Palace Hotel.”

  “Fugitive luxury.”

  “Better hotels have better security.” Which wouldn’t keep the cops from getting to them, but it also wouldn’t hurt.