by P. N. Elrod
Izzy abruptly stopped. She gave my hand a squeeze. I cautiously tested things. The rope was still tied, but the loops on my wrists were loose enough to slip right off.
What a gal.
She stirred a little, apparently stretching cramped muscles, and her right arm was back in the coat sleeve again. She rubbed her nose and dove back into the folds of wool.
“Hey, Thorp,” I said. “Where we headed?”
He made no answer.
“Then what about our smelly bundle? Who brought that in from Long Island? Was it you?”
“Nah,” said one of the diggers, the chatty one who had shared the “benny-fit” of his experience with Swann. “That was some other guys.”
“Yeah? How did that happen?” I expected Thorp to tell him to shut up, but he continued silent, holding his gun on Izzy.
“How do you think? Someone called someone else and he called another someone else.”
I smiled at him and got a companionable grin in return. He seemed pretty cheerful. “So the first someone might have been Stannard construction tipping off someone at Brogan Trucking? Then someone there calls Brogan?”
“Yeah, but Swanny answers the phone these days. He sent a couple guys to eyeball the situation, one of them being my cousin Wendell who tells me about it when they get back.”
“Does Wendell play with machine guns?”
“Hey, you know him?”
“Not directly, no.”
“You’d like him. He’s a load of laughs.”
“I bet. So Wendell and his friend brought stinky here back to the city?”
“He didn’t much like it, lemme tell ya.”
Which he proceeded to do. It was more than enough to guarantee that Izzy and I would have to be killed to keep us quiet.
“What happened is some no-luck mug and his pal found and dug up the body—”
That would have been myself and Barrett.
“—and they had to be put down, which was tough, but when your number’s up, it’s up.”
A lot you know, I thought.
“Wendell and his pal mopped things, but Swanny told them Brogan wants that corpuscle at the Pendlebury Hotel, for reasons not so very clear to anyone. Then I get this call from Wendell. Brogan needs someone to bury the corpuscle in the hotel basement. It’s crazy, but I ain’t paid to express opinions. You shoulda seen the look on Swanny’s face when he came in tonight and figured out that wasn’t gonna work.”
Actually, I had, and to some extent could share in the hilarity.
“I guess he worked it out with the boss, ’cause now we’re on our way to bury the corpuscle in some other place. Don’t ask me where, ’cause I don’t know.”
“And you don’t wanna know?”
He barked a laugh. “You got it.”
“You know who he is?”
“Nah. Don’t wanna know that either. One corpuscle’s the same as any other: dead.”
We shared a chuckle over that one, though there was a different reason prompting my reaction. “You like this kind of work?”
He gave a little shrug. “Eh, it’s a living.”
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
I was thoroughly lost, and the uneven motion as we bounced over various road surfaces had me fighting off carsickness. It was that, or I was feeling tired from so much vanishing. Fading out and staying that way for awhile is one thing, but I’d been doing a hellish amount of fancy footwork to stay on top, which was draining.
From where I sat the only view in the front square window was of the truck cab’s ceiling. The pale glow from streetlights came and went with some regularity, then tapered off and ceased. We’d been cooped up for about half an hour, though it seemed longer. I wanted out and a few moments with their attention off me so I could put Thorp away. The longer I looked at him, the less I liked. Swann lacked that extra something with no name—he had other people to do his killing—but Thorp possessed plenty to spare. He’d shoot Izzy out of casual spite.
Of course, he’d shoot both of us no matter what. That’s just how this evening was going to end.
We made a left turn, then another left, slowing and stopping. The heavy motor rumble ceased, but I still felt as though we were moving. The driver and passenger doors clicked open, but were not slammed shut, indicating loud noises were to be avoided.
A moment later Swann helped the driver open the back of the truck. Cold, fresh air blew in, putrid air tainted with corpse rot flowed out. Swann made a disgusted face and stood back.
Barrett’s body had slipped over on its side, no one had straightened him.
Still out or playing possum.
Or dead.
I hoped not dead.
There was no sign of the shaking Izzy had reported. He looked bad, but a big point in his favor was that he’d not shrunken in on himself with sudden desiccation.
That happens to our kind when there’s a massive blood loss, like getting a stake in the heart.
But in this case, Barrett had his skull smashed, and he’d not lost much blood. For all I knew he might truly be gone and the signs wouldn’t be evident for some while yet.
During the ride I’d taken pains not to think about whether he was dead for real. It hadn’t been that long since we’d been at the club, about an hour, perhaps. He might need the rest of the night and a day on his home earth before he woke up.
Kaiser dragged him over and hoisted him on top of one massive shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
The grinning guy took charge of Izzy. No one ordered him to, he’d volunteered himself. I stood up as he pulled her to her feet, but Thorp snarled at me to stay put. Instead of holding his gun on me, he kept it on her. They got her out, then I was allowed to follow, urged by the cheerful digger.
I managed to land on and keep my feet, no small achievement with my hands behind me. I’d hooked one thumb through the loops so the rope still appeared secure.
Izzy swayed. She looked green.
“I’m gonna be sick,” she announced in a tight voice.
“Huh,” said the grinner in a matter-of-fact tone, and hauled her over, pointing her away from him.
A practical man, no panicking.
He held her up until she was finished, then took her a few steps to the side, pointing to a patch of clean snow. She got the idea, scooped some, and used it to clean her mouth inside and out, finishing with an unexpectedly ladylike spit. He found that amusing.
We were on a narrow paved road. It looked like a private driveway, but with no house in sight. A tall hedge blocked the view on one side, the other had widely scattered bare trees and unbroken snow. There was a country silence about the place, but we hadn’t driven far enough to be clear of New York. There are pockets of carefully hoarded land within twenty-five miles of Times Square that are as isolated as the North Pole, if greener. Barrett’s estate was a good example. This might be another.
Swann managed Kaiser, pointing up the drive. “Stay on the pavement. There’s a break in the hedge, go right until you reach the fence. Fifty yards on the other side should be enough. We’ll meet you.”
Kaiser trundled off with his burden. I nearly shouted Barrett’s name, hoping for a reaction.
I had the idea that one hole would be dug for Endicott, and another for their three uninvited guests. It was easier to let me and Izzy walk to that grave than carry our bodies. Once there. . .
On the other hand, with Kaiser elsewhere, the odds against me were trimmed down to more favorable numbers.
The two diggers pulled the tarp and its contents from the truck and followed Kaiser. They set a good pace. The driver grabbed two shovels and two picks and went after them.
Swann, Thorp, and the grinner remained. Thorp took charge of Izzy, keeping one arm atop her shoulders and pressing the gun muzzle into her side. She shoved her hands deep in my coat’s pockets and threw a defiant smile my way.
“What’s this about, Swann?” I asked. “Where are we?”
He paused,
as though thinking over whether to answer or not. “We’re close to the Pelham Country Club, next to the golf course.”
Miles past the Bronx, then. I tried to remember its place on the map, but could only recall it was somewhere near Mt. Vernon but not as far as Larchmont.
“You’ve heard of it,” Swann said to Izzy.
Damn. She’d kept quiet, but he was too observant for comfort.
She shrugged, the movement comically exaggerated by my coat. “So have lots of people.”
“But it means something to you.”
“Mister, I don’t know what any of this is about—”
“Please don’t embarrass yourself, Miss DeLeon, I know who you are and what paper you work for.”
Which made no sense. He’d been set to toss her and Barrett out the window of a place where one of Brogan’s enemies had bought the farm. That was the worst thing he could do for his boss. The association would bring in all kinds of heat, especially from the press.
“And you know who I am and who I work with,” I said, putting myself forward.
“Indeed, Mr. Fleming. You apparently did a decent job of standing in for Northside Gordy earlier this year. That’s quite a task for a young man to take on. There were wagers made on whether you’d survive the experience, and others on whether you’d hand the reins back when the time came. Apparently you did both.”
“It put me in solid with certain people.”
“Of course it would.”
“It can be arranged that you could also be put in solid with certain people.”
“Such things are always possible.”
“How about a truce?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“The lady and I pretend this night never happened. We leave and don’t come back. We were never here; none of us ever met. I don’t give a tinker’s damn for what you’re doing. That guy your big gorilla carried off is nothing to me.”
“Who is he?”
“Someone I was told to look up when I hit town. All I wanted was a night out with Izzy, but he horned in, got us to the club, and told me I was to get him in to meet Brogan. He doesn’t say why, just to mention Long Island, machine guns, and burying something. I did my job, and then this happens.”
Swann had a good-natured smile.
I was getting used to him, correctly interpreting it: he didn’t believe me.
“Mr. Fleming, I rather hoped you would respect my intelligence and speak the truth. Mr. Remke, if you would escort the young lady—”
“All right, hold your horses,” I said. orses,“I had to make an effort.”
“The truth, please.”
I gave him a short version: that Barrett and I had found a body, had ducked in time to avoid getting killed when cousin Wendell and his pal started shooting, and had tried to figure things out by checking at a newspaper where I used to work. Only one lie in the mix, I hoped Swann missed it.
“They know it’s Endicott,” said Thorp. “He doesn’t know why we took the body.”
What the hell. . . ?
He shouldn’t have been able to eavesdrop on me and Izzy during the ride over. I’d kept my voice low and the truck had been noisy.
Thorp tapped one of his boxing-scarred ears. “I don’t hear so much anymore, but I read lips good. Swanny, he thinks you could be a reasonable man.”
“What a perceptive assessment. I am that, Mr. Fleming. You can see how reasonable it is for me to secure your silence in a reliable manner.”
“Not so fast,” I said. “Gordy knows I’m in New York, and it will get back to him that I was in Brogan’s club. You’ve got so many men involved with this safari there’s no way it’ll stay quiet. Gordy will know who to go after should I disappear.”
“Yes.” Swann’s smile was quite winning. “I’m counting on that sort of reaction.”
Not the reply I wanted. “What? You want to get killed?”
“It won’t be me. The consequences of this night’s endeavor will fall squarely on Mr. Brogan.”
My own words to Barrett floated back to me.
Guys like Brogan always have enemies. Sometimes you don’t have to look very far to find them.
I’d had the idea that any mayhem we dished out to Brogan could be blamed on one of his business rivals. That his worst rival was apparently a trusted lieutenant. . .
Crap. “You pulled together a small army on purpose, knowing word would get out?”
“It’s only human nature,” said Swann. “So far as they know, I’m following orders from Mr. Brogan. For reasons best known to himself, he requires a body to be moved and reburied. I thought the Pendlebury would be a good spot, since it has a history linked to him, but that proved impractical.”
“They don’t know it’s Endicott.”
“Neither did I at first, but I made a good guess. No one knew exactly how or where Brogan disposed of the body, but Long Island has always figured strongly in the general speculation. For all I know it might not be Endicott, but circumstances favor it.”
“And you’re gonna plant him at the Pelham Country Club golf course?”
“No, though it would be amusing.”
“Then what?”
“Miss DeLeon has a clue.”
I looked at her. “Yeah?”
Izzy shook her head at him. “It won’t work.”
“It will,” he said with certainty.
“What will?” I asked.
She jerked her chin in the direction Kaiser had gone. “Graft Endicott was a member of the country club.”
“So?”
“His house backs up to the golf course.”
“So . . . ?”
“Mrs. Endicott still lives there. They want to plant the body on her property. Sooner or later it will be found—this guy will make sure—in which case she gets the blame, not Brogan.”
“Brogan will have his share,” said Swann.
“I don’t see how.”
“No.” His eyes were stone cold. That extra something with no name was there now. “I expect you never will, either. Mr. Remke, Mr. Thorp. . .”
Thorp had never once dropped his guard, keeping his gun’s muzzle pressed against Izzy’s ribs the whole time. Remke, the grinner, took charge of me, and we followed Swann up the drive and through the break in the hedge.
* * * * * * *
* * * * * * *
I had more questions, but they could wait. I had to get Izzy out of this.
Once through the hedge we were within spitting distance of the golf course. I never played the game when I was alive and couldn’t play now, since they were closed at night. But then I wasn’t that interested in the first place, otherwise I could sneak in for a midnight round. My night vision was that good.