by P. N. Elrod
“That sounds right,” said Escott.
“It is right. Blowing off the back of a guy’s skull is her specialty. I’ve seen her do it and not even blink.”
“Sullivan could also do it just as easily.”
“Why should he shoot his own men, burn down his own place?”
He shrugged. “It seemed worth mentioning as an alternative. You did express suspicion that he was himself behind the hit at the hotel, for reasons yet unknown. I also have doubts on why she would attempt an attack on Sullivan knowing he has Opal as a hostage.”
“She knows he doesn’t dare hurt Opal since he needs her, too.”
“I’m just surprised she’d chance coming here.”
“She’s crazy like her old man.”
“But not foolish, it’s more likely to assume he wouldn’t be here. Knowing that you’d freed Doc, he might expect trouble to seek him out and not wish to linger. As with the clinic, he’d make certain to be very much elsewhere.”
“Okay, if that’s true, then why should his pet cops loiter here being targets?”
Another shrug. “As decoys? Distractions? But we’ve not enough information to do more than speculate. We might be completely wrong. Sullivan and his companions could all be back there in that.” He jerked a thumb in the direction of the roadhouse, now well behind us.
I hated the idea, for it meant that Opal could be there as well.
“But we need solid information. I would suggest making further inquiries with our reluctant guest in the trunk is in order.”
“Yeah, but not just yet.”
Coldfield grunted. “Gunshot wounds, Charles. The doctors are gonna bring in the police. Then when they see this is another cop . . . ”
“Yes, you don’t want to be hanging about when they start asking awkward questions.”
“It’s my life’s ambition.”
“Right, well, you’ll just have to leave me at the hospital to deal with this bother and you two carry on. Jack also cannot afford to have too much official attention focused on him.”
“How you gonna explain how you got him there? Or even why you happened to be at the roadhouse in the first place? You can lose your license over this. I say you just dump him and we drive like hell away from there.”
“I’ll stay and help,” I said, before Escott could answer. “I can keep the cops from getting too curious.”
Escott shook his head. “Thank you. While both your suggestions are worthy of consideration, I’ve already decided on my own solution to the dilemma.”
“Which is?”
“I call Adkins. His name, authority, and hero status should be able to smooth over any rough spots with the police. Besides, we can use the opportunity to present our other passenger to him.”
“He didn’t strike me as the type to do anyone favors,” I said.
“Then you should be available to persuade him to make an effort.”
The idea of wiping Adkins’s face clean of all expression appealed to me enormously. “Sure, count me in.”
I checked on Calloway. He was still breathing, barely, which was a miracle. How he could even be alive with a bullet in the head was past my knowing, though I’d heard of such flukes happening.
If Angela had done it—and I was sure she had—it was going to raise one hell of a stink with the New York bosses. They’d be out two valuable assets with Baker and Calloway gone, along with all the future revenue from the roadhouse, which looked to mostly be a legitimate business. They liked having those kinds of places, it was a great way to clean up their money from other, more dubious, sources.
But Angela wouldn’t care about such details. She’d want to get back at Sullivan, and this was fast, direct, and brutal—her way of making a strong point. Just too bad for the dead men. I said as much aloud.
It wasn’t the kind of thing to concern Escott. “Doubtless it will work against her in the sense that two undesirable elements in the police force have been removed. One may hope it will improve the overall standard.”
“Two more heads lopped off the Hydra?”
“Exactly.”
His cold attitude was understandable. He’d not spent any time with the men; they weren’t much more than abstractions to him. Not that I’d liked them either, they’d both been bastards, but maybe they hadn’t always been so. I’d seen enough of life to be cured of most forms of idealism, but not to the point of losing all hope for a person, any person—at least when I was in control enough to think about it—even Calloway, who had wanted to kill me. With that in mind I’d tried to open a door for them, to give them a way clear of the darkness. It looked like they hadn’t ducked through in time. Someone had taken even that slim chance for redemption away from them.
As for Escott, I could see that Bobbi was right. One of these nights I just might try taking Coldfield’s suggestion about him: get him stinking drunk and maybe then find out what dark thing had eaten away at his soul. Of course, I could just hypnotize it out of him . . . but that wouldn’t be right. Better to do it the old-fashioned way.
Sudden bright lights in a bleak neighborhood. Coldfield pulled up to the hospital’s emergency entry, and I hauled myself clear to go for help.
COLDFIELD opened the trunk and kept a lookout while I pulled Maxwell free and carried him fireman-style around to the front seat. The back might have been safer, but I didn’t want to sit there. With the little overhead light on so I could work, I said Maxwell’s name three times and clapped. He came out of it fast enough, and I put him under just as fast before he could do much more than widen his eyes in shock.
“Okay, Max, we’ve been looking for Sullivan, and he’s not at the clinic or the roadhouse. Where else would he go?”
He struggled with that one for a while, then finally gave up. I knew better, or thought I did, and kept at him while Coldfield silently looked on.
Nothing. I started asking about the muscle from the roadhouse, trying to get at least one useful name, one place to search. I got a few of each, writing them down, but had a lot of doubts on whether any would prove useful. His best tip pointed back toward New York, with the name of one of the bosses there who Sullivan might call to ask for help if he needed it. Just the name, though, Maxwell didn’t have the number in his head; Sullivan was always the one to deal with the big boys. Maybe Escott could find a way to turn one up, but not anytime soon, and I wasn’t too excited at the prospect of getting myself noticed by that crew, either. It seemed best to keep things local.
“Doesn’t sound like much,” said Coldfield, looking at my list.
“I’ll have to make the rounds of the town, try to hook up with anyone who could pass the message to Sullivan that I want to talk to him.”
“That’ll take time.”
“It’s the only game left.” Well, not quite, but I didn’t want him aware of the real ace I was holding back.
“You be careful. You thumbed your nose in a big way at Sullivan, he’s gonna figure you helped Angela with the fire and killings and be on the defensive. That generally makes a man a lot meaner.”
“I’m not expecting him to be any too reasonable, so don’t worry, I’ll watch my back.”
“Good, ’cause scraping you off the sidewalk is a lousy way to spend an evening.”
He sounded like he wasn’t intending to come along on the hunt, which suited me. I’d already decided he and Escott were going to stay out of the line of fire if I had to hog-tie them. One down, one to go.
Not that I was actually going to make the rounds looking up the names I’d gotten. They were useful, but mostly as decoys to keep Coldfield and Escott busy should they decide to trail after me. I didn’t want them to know where I was really going.
A few more questions for Maxwell, just so it looked like I was working hard. When my head started hurting, I backed off, telling him to take another nap.
“Now, that is a handy talent to have,” said Coldfield.
“Handy like a dull knife,” I muttered, rubbing my temp
les.
“How is it you can do that?”
Gave a shrug. “I just can, is all. It’s sort of built in with the condition, like the teeth being able to slide back when they’re not needed. I figure it’s for keeping things quiet when I’m feeding.” This was assuming Escott had mentioned to him how I usually take straight from the vein.
“Things—as in people? But Charles said—”
“Things as in animals. Charles told you right.”
“What? Like rats, or maybe cats and dogs?”
I shot him an appalled look. “Not on your life. I like dogs!”
“Hey, no offense.”
Waved a dismissal. “Forget it. The condition’s gotten some bad press because of that movie.”
“So it’s cattle for you?”
“Cattle, sometimes horses. It needs to be something large to stand the blood loss without being harmed. I talk to ’em and get ’em calmed down using whatever this is. It acts on people like hypnosis.”
He shook his head. “Damnedest thing I ever seen.”
I stretched a bit in place, getting the kinks out of my neck and shoulders. “I guess I’d better find out how Calloway’s doing and take this one in for Charles to toss to his federal friend.”
“Keep him out of trouble, okay?”
“Charles? No problem.”
It wasn’t as bad as we’d anticipated, the part about having to deal with the police, anyway. No one had fallen over themselves to question me or Escott once we’d gotten Calloway checked in, so Escott took the opportunity to call Merrill Adkins and explain the situation. Adkins promised to come right over. Coldfield chose to wait in his car through it all, parking well away from the hubbub near the hospital. I kept him company for part of the time, me and Maxwell, though he’d not been aware of any of it.
A little break to give my head a rest, then I had one last session with him, this time issuing simple orders instead of making questions. When Adkins took him into custody, he would find him to be a remarkably helpful and talkative prisoner. Sure, my suggestions would eventually wear off, but by then it would be too late. Maxwell would have turned stoolie and have to keep at it to stay alive.
Leaving Coldfield behind—he was content to slouch low in the front seat and listen to the radio—Maxwell and I marched up to the front entrance of the hospital, and if his face was a bit blank and he seemed disinterested in his surroundings, no one bothered to comment.
I led the way to the emergency area, where I’d last seen Escott in a waiting room. He was still there and so was Adkins, who stood up as soon as he caught sight of me in the doorway.
“Fleming—I want to talk to you.”
That made a change from the last time. “Sure, just a minute.”
That got me a stern look, but I was way past the point of being intimidated by assholes. “How’s Calloway?” I asked Escott.
“No news yet. They’re still working on him.”
“What about the cops, they come yet?”
“An officer did wish to talk to me, but Mr. Adkins here was most discouraging to him.”
I’ll bet he was. “Charles, Max here was wondering if there was any coffee in this joint.”
“I’m sure I can find some. How is he feeling?”
“Oh, very quiet, a little sleepy, but otherwise just fine.”
Escott offered a ghost of a smile, his eyes glinting with suppressed humor. He knew what I’d done to achieve that. “I’m glad to hear it.”
Maxwell now received a close once-over from Adkins. His thin face was made for poker, but I got the impression he was curious. He’d find out soon enough.
The waiting room was small and four other people were there, a young couple huddled against each other in their chairs in one corner and two men in work clothes, one seated, the other pacing and looking out into the hall every few minutes, perhaps hoping to catch sight of a doctor with news. I noted them all and didn’t try to meet their eyes. They all looked miserable, all very worried over their own troubles. I would have liked another place for Adkins to interview me, but this was as good as any.
Adkins wore the same clothes as the other night, short jacket, striped scarf hanging from his neck. The work gloves were off, but he kept the newsboy cap on indoors. Either his head was cold or he was starting to go bald and was shy about letting people know about it. His jacket was open, and when he sat down I caught a glimpse of a leather shoulder harness and the butt of the pistol he packed under his left arm.
“So how is it you and Escott came to find that cop?” he asked without preamble.
But Escott and I had already worked that story out. “It’s connected to our earlier business with you.”
One of the men paused in his latest trip to the door, obviously listening in on us. That’s when I recognized him; he belonged with Adkins, as did the other. Great, I was surrounded.
“With those three you turned over? How?”
“I don’t know how. Charles and I are trying to figure it. He wanted to find out why they were trying to ace him, so we did a little digging. We got a tip in a bar about the roadhouse, that the guys were connected with the management there, so we drove out for a look-see tonight. The place was cooking when we arrived and we found the cop we brought in and his friend, who was dead. They were both in the parking area behind the building with no other cars around. I saw some shell casings but left’em behind. You probably won’t get any footprints or tire marks, it’s all gravel.”
“Very neat,” he said, watching me. He had pale eyes under those heavy lids, like ice under snow clouds. “Tell me about the cop. You know him.”
“I got his name from his wallet for the nurse. Found his badge at the same time. Hard luck for him.”
“They said he should be dead.”
“Maybe he’ll fool all of them. I’ve seen stranger things.”
“Tell me about the hotel shooting last night.”
“What about it?”
“You were there.”
“I was?”
“Witnesses said there was a tall man at the scene with a short woman who’d been hit.”
“This burg’s full of tall men.”
“They went off in a Cadillac with four men—three cops in uniform and a man in regular clothes. Why were you with them?”
“I wasn’t.”
“You’re lying to me, Fleming. I don’t like liars.”
Big deal, I thought. “Escott and I were out checking a lot of places last night and didn’t get back until—jeez, it was close to dawn. Don’t know about him, but I slept the day through. I wouldn’t even know about the shooting if he hadn’t mentioned it. He’s a nut when it comes to keeping tabs on city crimes.”
He looked at me a very long time with those icy eyes, probably trying to unnerve me, but I’d faced worse and survived and looked right back. “You’re lying,” he finally said. It was a careful statement, spoken in such a way as to make an honest man want to take a pop at him. “You hear me, Fleming? You are a stinking liar.”
He kept his voice low, but the feeling he packed into it was enough to carry to the others in the room. They were all noticing us, now, even the sad couple. It’s what he wanted, I supposed. Maybe he was hoping I’d sock him in front of witnesses.
I matched him stare for stare again. Not long back someone like him might have intimidated me, now it was like throwing a bucket of water onto a rock. All it did was stream off, not really affecting the rock at all. “Everyone’s entitled to an opinion,” I said evenly. “I don’t think I can help you anymore on this.”
“We’ll talk later.” He made it sound like a threat.
“Great, if we’re done for now—” I made to rise. He didn’t object, so I stood up. His men still eyed me, tense; from their combined looks they wanted to pulp me. They’d have to get in line behind their boss. “Gonna keep watch here on Calloway?”
“Maybe.”
“What about the other men you took away? They helping you any in the gan
g-busting business?”
His full down-your-nose aloofness reasserted itself just then. “They’re nothing you need to worry about.”
I debated kicking his butt then making him forget, but decided it wasn’t worth the trouble. “Let’s go find Escott. We’ve got another one for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“The guy with the specks I came in with is the secretary to the man who replaced Vaughn Kyler. He’s in a confessing mood. You interested?”
“How’d you get him?”
Better not to answer that one directly. “He’s a volunteer. He’s had it with the mob and wants to help you nail them, so be polite.”
That got me a sharp glare, but I was already turning away into the hall, forcing him to follow.
“Think you’re smart?” he asked, coming up behind me.
“I know I am. I just hope you’re smart enough to take advantage of a prime gift horse when it comes your way. Maxwell knows all the dirt. Treat him right and you’ll be the big name in all the headlines for the next year.”
“Headlines?”
I thought he’d like that idea. “You’ll be getting marriage proposals, honorary degrees, invitations to all the best parties.”
“I don’t care about that crap.”
“Suit yourself, but it’d be a shame to pass up now that it’s legal to drink the booze again.”
“I don’t drink.”
Again with the contemptuous challenge in the tone. I forgot about trying small talk with this one. On the same side or not, he didn’t like me, and I had better things to do than try to change his mood. Like getting away from him as fast as possible.
Escott and Maxwell were in a badly lighted eating area that stank of old coffee and carbolic. It was even money which liquid was in their coffee mugs. Escott bounced a questioning eyebrow at me and I winked so he’d know everything was fine.
“Mr. Adkins,” I said, pausing before their table. “This is Maxwell. I think you two will have a lot to talk about over the next few days.”
Maxwell stood up and politely put out his hand. Adkins didn’t respond in kind. No big surprise there.
Escott also stood, excused himself, and without further word we hiked out of there, heading back to the waiting room. A young doctor with an old face trudged past us toward the dining area. I caught a whiff of bloodsmell coming from the surgical gown he still wore, though there were no stains to see. The whole place reeked of bloodsmell, carbolic, and things less tangible, but more potent: fear, sorrow, and death. I thought of Opal again. Worried.