by Butcher, Jim
Priscilla shuddered and bowed her head. “Oh. Oh, no. Oh, Anna.”
“I need to know, ladies,” I said quietly. “Why didn’t you do as we instructed? Why did you leave the hotel?”
“It…” Abby began. Tears overflowed her cheeks. “It was…was…”
“She said,” Priscilla said in a quiet, dull voice. “Said that she had to leave. That she had to go to work.”
Son of a bitch. I knew it.
Elaine was half a beat behind me. “Who?”
“H-Helen,” Abby sobbed. “It was Helen.”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
I stood there fuming while Elaine coaxed the rest of the story out of Abby and Priscilla.
“It was only an hour or so after you left,” Abby told Elaine. “Helen got a call on her cell phone.”
“Cell phone?” I perked up. “She had one that worked?”
“She doesn’t have a lot of talent that way,” Abby said. “None of us do, really. Even my cell phone works most of the time.”
I grunted. “Means she wasn’t hiding a bigger talent, then. That’s worth something.”
“Harry,” Elaine said quietly. It was a rebuke. “Please go on, Abby.”
I zipped my mouth shut.
“She got a call, and she went into the bathroom to talk. I couldn’t hear what she said, but when she came out, she said she had to go to work. That she was leaving.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “That’s quite a job, if she’s risking exposure to a killer to show up for the shift.”
“That’s what I said,” Priscilla said, her voice even more bitter, if such a thing was possible. “It was stupid. I never even thought to be suspicious of it.”
“Anna argued with her,” Abby went on, “but Helen refused to stay. So Anna wanted us all to take her there together.”
“Helen wouldn’t have any of it, of course,” Priscilla said. “At the time, I thought she might just be ashamed of us seeing her working some nothing little job at a fast-food restaurant or something.”
“We never really knew what she did,” Abby said, her tone numb and apologetic. “She never wanted to talk about it. We always assumed it was an issue of pride.” She petted the little dog in her arms idly. “She said something about keeping us separate from the rest of her life…in any case, Anna put her into a cab and made her promise to keep in touch with us. Calling in on the phone until she was safely around other people.”
“You just let her walk?” I broke in.
“She’s a sister of the Ordo,” Priscilla said. “Not a criminal to be distrusted and watched.”
“In point of fact,” I said, “she is a criminal to be distrusted and watched. Ask her freaking parole officer.”
Elaine frowned at me. “Dammit, Harry. This isn’t helping.”
I muttered under my breath, folded my arms again, and crouched down to give Mouse’s ears and neck a good scratching. Maybe it would help me keep my mouth shut. There’s a first time for everything.
“Helen called me about twenty minutes later,” Priscilla said. “She said that she had been followed from the hotel. That our location had become known. That we had to leave. We did, just as you told us. Helen said that she would meet us here.”
“I told you to head for somewhere public—” I began, snarling.
“Harry,” Elaine said, her voice sharp.
I subsided again.
There was a moment of awkward silence. “Um. So we went,” Abby said. “But when we got there, Helen wasn’t around.”
“No,” Priscilla said, hugging her arms under her breasts, looking cold and miserable, even in the turtleneck. “She called again. Begged us to come to her apartment.”
“I stayed here with the dogs,” Abby said. Toto looked up at her as she said it, tilting his head and wagging his little tail.
“Once Anna and I picked her up,” Priscilla continued, “we headed back here—but Helen looked awful. She’d run out of insulin and hadn’t been able to go get it with all the trouble. Anna dropped me off and took her to the pharmacy. That was the last we saw of her.”
Abby fretted her lip and said to Priscilla, “It wasn’t your fault.”
Priscilla shrugged. “She’d never said anything about diabetes before. I should have known better. I should have seen….”
“Not your fault,” Abby insisted, compassion in her voice. “We believed in her. We all did. But she was pulling our strings the whole time. The killer was right here among us.” She shook her head. “We should have listened to you, Warden Dresden.”
“We should have,” Priscilla said quietly. “If we had, Anna would be alive right now.”
I couldn’t think of any response to that. Well. I had plenty of them, but they all were some variation on a theme of “I told you so.” I felt no need to pour salt into fresh wounds, so I kept my mouth shut.
Besides, I was processing what Abby and Priscilla had told us.
Elaine traded a look with me. “Do you think Helen is the Skavis we’ve heard about?”
I shrugged. “I doubt it, but technically it’s possible. White Court vamps can pass for human easily, if they want.”
“Then why doubt it?”
“Because that little creep Madrigal called the Skavis ‘he,’” I said. “Helen isn’t a he.”
“A shill?” Elaine asked.
“Looks like.”
Abby looked back and forth between us. “E-excuse me. But what is a shill?”
“Someone who works with a criminal while pretending to have nothing to do with him,” I said. “He helps the bad guy while pretending to be your buddy and making suggestions. Suggesting that you leave a safe hiding place and split up the group, for example.”
Silence. Toto let out a quiet, distressed whine.
“I can’t believe this,” Priscilla said, pressing her fingertips against her cheekbones and closing her eyes.
“But we’ve known her for years,” Abby said, her expression as unhappy and confused as a lost child’s. “How could she lie to us like that, for so long?”
I winced. I don’t like seeing anyone in pain, but it’s worse when a woman is suffering. That’s probably chauvinistic of me, and I don’t give a damn if it is.
“All right,” I said. “We’ve still got a lot more questions than answers, but at least we know where to start the barbecue.”
Elaine nodded. “Get these two to safety, then track down Helen.”
“Safety,” I said. “Thomas.”
“Yes.”
I glanced at Abby and Priscilla. “Ladies, we’re leaving.”
“Where?” Priscilla asked. I had expected a protest, or sneering sarcasm, or at least pure, contrary bitchiness. Her voice, though, was quietly frightened. “Where are we going?”
“To Olivia,” I told her. “And five or six of the other women my associate is protecting.”
“Do they need anything?” Abby asked.
“They have several kids with them,” I said. “Mostly toddlers.”
“I’ll pack some food and cereal,” Abby said, before I’d even finished talking. Priscilla just sat, sunken in her chair and hunched in on herself. Abby dumped half of her cupboard into a great big suitcase with those skate-wheel rollers on the bottom, zipped it shut, and clipped what looked like a little plastic birdcage onto the suitcase. She gestured at Toto and the little dog jumped up into the birdcage, turned around three times, and lay down with a happy little doggy smile. “Very well,” Abby said.
Mouse looked at Toto. Then he looked at me.
“You’ve got to be kidding,” I told him. “I’d have to clip a railroad car to the suitcase and hire the Hulk to move it around. You’re young and healthy. You walk.”
Mouse looked at Toto’s regal doggy palanquin and sighed. Then he took point as we went back down to the car, which had been ticketed despite the lateness of the hour. I stuck the ticket in my pocket. Think positive, Harry. At least they didn’t tow it.
Getting everyone into the Beetle
was an adventure, but we managed it, and returned to the shabby little south-side motel.
Maybe twenty seconds after we parked, Murphy’s Harley-Davidson motorcycle rumbled out of an alley across the street, where she must have been keeping an eye on the front of the motel from a spot where she could see the windows and doors to both rooms Thomas had rented. She was wearing jeans, a black tank top, and a loose black man’s shirt that had the sleeves rolled up about twenty times and draped over her like a trench coat while it hid the shoulder rig that held a Glock in one holster, a SIG in the other. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail, and the badge she usually wore on a chain around her neck in these sorts of situations was conspicuous by its absence.
She waited with a slightly bemused air while everyone scrambled out of the Beetle. Elaine got them moving toward the rooms, hurrying to get them out of sight.
“No clown car jokes,” I told Murphy. “Not one.”
“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Murphy said. “Jesus, Harry, what happened to you?”
“You heard anything about the harbor today?”
“Oh,” Murphy said. Mouse came over to greet her and she shook hands with him gravely. “Thomas wasn’t really forthcoming with explanations. He lit out of here in a hurry.”
“He was hungry,” I said.
Murphy frowned. “Yeah, so he said. Is he going to hurt anyone?”
I considered and then shook my head. “Ordinarily, I’d say he wouldn’t. Now…I’m not sure. It would really go against his character to do something like that. But he’s been acting out of character through this whole mess.”
Murphy folded her arms. “Mess is right. You want to tell me what’s going on?”
I gave Murphy the short version of what we’d learned since I’d seen her last.
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Murphy said. “Then it was Beckitt.”
“Looks like she was shilling for the Skavis, whoever he is. And Grey Cloak and that wussy cousin of Thomas’s added in a few killings of their own to get my attention.”
“That isn’t exactly in the best interests of the Skavis, if he was trying to avoid it.”
“I know. So?”
“So they’re all vampires, right?” Murphy shrugged. “I figured they’d be working together.”
“They’re White Court. They live for backstabbing. They like doing it through cat’s-paws. They probably figured I would find out about the killings, move in, and wipe out the Skavis for them. Then they’d congratulate themselves on how clever they were.”
Murphy nodded. “So now that you’ve got your clients safely tucked away, what comes next?”
“More wiping out than they counted on,” I said. “I’m going to find Beckitt and ask her nicely not to kill anyone else and to point me to the Skavis. Then I’ll have a polite conversation with him. Then I’ll settle up with Grey Cloak and Passenger Madrigal.”
“How do you find Beckitt?”
“Um,” I said, “I’m sure I’ll figure out something. This entire mess is still way too nebulous for me.”
“Yeah,” Murphy said. “All these killings. It still doesn’t make any sense.”
“It makes sense,” I said. “We just don’t know how, yet.” I grimaced. “We’re missing something.”
“Maybe not,” Murphy said.
I arched an eyebrow at her.
“Remember our odd corpse out?”
“Jessica Blanche,” I said. “The one Molly saw.”
“Right,” Murphy said. “I found out more about her.”
“She some kind of cultist or something?”
“Or something,” Murphy said. “According to a friend in Vice, she was an employee of the Velvet Room.”
“The Velvet Room? I thought I burned that plac—uh, that is, I thought some as-yet-unidentified perpetrator burned that place to the ground.”
“It’s reopened,” Murphy said. “Under new management.”
Click. Now some pieces were falling into place. “Marcone?” I asked.
“Marcone.”
Gentleman Johnnie Marcone was the biggest, scariest gangster in a city famous for its gangsters. Once the old famiglias had fallen to internal bickering, Marcone had done an impression of Alexander the Great and carved out one of the largest criminal empires in the world—assuming you didn’t count governments. Chicago’s violent crime rate had dropped as much because of Marcone’s draconian rule of the city’s rackets as because of the dedication of the city’s police force. The criminal economy had more than doubled, and Marcone’s power continued to steadily grow.
He was a smart, tough, dangerous man—and he was absolutely fearless. That is a deadly combination, and I avoided crossing paths with him whenever I could.
The way things were shaping up, though, this time I couldn’t.
“You happen to know where the new Velvet Room is?” I asked Murphy.
She gave me a look.
“Right, right. Sorry.” I blew out a breath. “Seems like it might be a good idea to speak to some of the girl’s coworkers. I’ll bet they’ll be willing to do a little talking to avoid trouble with the law.”
She showed me her teeth in a fierce grin. “They just might. And if not, Marcone might be willing to talk to you.”
“Marcone doesn’t like me,” I said. “And it’s mutual.”
“Marcone doesn’t like anybody,” Murphy replied. “But he respects you.”
“Like that says much for me.”
Murphy shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not. Marcone’s scum, but he’s no fool, and he does what he says he’ll do.”
“I’ll talk to Elaine once she’s got everyone settled,” I said. “Get her to stay here with Mouse and keep an eye on things.”
Murphy nodded. “Elaine, huh? The ex.”
“Yeah.”
“The one working against you last time she was in town.”
“Yeah.”
“You trust her?”
I looked down at Murphy for a minute, then up at the hotel room. “I want to.”
She exhaled slowly. “I have a feeling things are going to get hairy. You need someone who’s got your back.”
“Got that,” I said, holding up my fist. “You.”
Murphy rapped her knuckles gently against mine and snorted. “You’re going syrupy on me, Dredsen.”
“If it rains, I’ll melt,” I agreed.
“It’s to be expected,” she said. “What with how you’re gay and all now.”
“I’m wh…” I blinked. “Oh. Thomas’s apartment. Hell’s bells, you cops got a fast grapevine.”
“Yeah. Rawlins heard it at the coffee machine and he just had to call me up and tell me all about you and your boyfriend being in a fight. He asked me if he should get you the sound track to Les Miserables or Phantom of the Opera for Christmas this year. Varetti and Farrel got a deal on track lighting from Malone’s brother-in-law.”
“Don’t you people have lives?” I said. At her continued smile, I asked warily, “What are you getting me?”
She grinned, blue eyes sparkling. “Stallings and I found an autographed picture of Julie Newmar on eBay.”
“You guys are never going to let go of this one, are you?” I sighed.
“We’re cops,” Murphy said. “Of course not.”
We shared a smile that faded a moment later. Both of us turned to watch the street, alert for any unwanted company. We were silent for a while. Cars went by. City sounds of engine and horn. A car alarm a block over. Dark shadows where the streetlights didn’t touch. Distant sirens. Rotating, attention-getting spotlights lancing up to the dark summer night from the front of a theater.
“Hell’s bells,” I said, after a time. “Marcone.”
“Yeah,” Murphy said. “It changes things.”
Marcone was involved.
Matters had just become a great deal more dangerous.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
The new Velvet Room looked nothing like the old Velvet Room.
&nbs
p; “A health club?” I asked Murphy. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Murphy goosed her Harley right up next to the Beetle. There had been only one parking space open, but there was room for both of our rides in it, more or less. It wasn’t like I was worried about collecting a few more dents and dings in addition to the dozens already there.
“It’s progressive,” Murphy said. “You can get in shape, generate testosterone, and find an outlet for it all under one roof.”
I shook my head. A modest sign on the second floor over a row of smaller shops proclaimed, EXECUTIVE PRIORITY HEALTH. It lacked the wide-open, well-lit windows of most health clubs, and apparently occupied the whole of the second floor.
“Wait a minute,” I said. “Isn’t that the hotel where Tommy Tomm got murdered?”
“Mmmm,” Murphy said, nodding. “The Madison. A corporation that has absolutely no visible connection to John Marcone recently bought it and is renovating it.”
“You have to admit it was a little…overdone,” I said.
“It looked like the set of a burlesque show about an opium lord’s harem,” Murphy said.
“And now…it is one,” I said.
“But it won’t look like it,” Murphy said.
“They call that progress,” I said. “Think this bunch will give us any trouble?”
“They’ll be polite.”
“Marcone is the kind of guy who apologizes for the necessity just before his minions put a bullet in you.”
Murphy nodded. She’d rearranged her gun rig and put on a Kevlar vest before we left. The baggy man’s shirt was now buttoned up over it. “Like I said. Polite.”
“Seriously,” I said. “Think anything will start up?”
“Depends how big a beehive we’re about to kick,” she replied.
I blew out a breath. “Right. Let’s find out.”
We went inside. The doors opened onto a foyer, which was closed away from what had been the hotel’s lobby by a security door and a panel of buzzers. The buzzers on the lowest row were labeled with the names of the shops on the first floor. None of the others were marked.
Murphy flipped open her notepad, checked a page, and then punched a button in the middle of the top row. She held it down for a moment, then released it.