by K. W. Jeter
* * *
The Lincoln was already parked, right in front of its destination, when Curt pulled up. Nobody had kept a space roped off for him, so he had to park on the other side of the street. Slamming the driver’s side door shut, he carefully scanned the area, looking down the blocks in either direction, before he started across.
A place like this, there wasn’t some crappy sizzling neon over the door. Just a discreet sign, elegant letters embossed into brutalist steel plate, reading Lido. Curt exchanged a nod with the doorman before he followed the rest of the group inside.
With Falcon at their center, the other men walked through the restaurant lobby. They’d all done this sort of thing so many times before that they took their assigned positions without needing any direction from Curt. Heinz and Earl were in front of Falcon, with Foley and Elton bringing up the rear. From the steps just inside the front door, Curt watched as another figure rushed up to the group.
“Everything’s ready, Mr. Falcone –”
Heinz and Earl had stepped slightly to either side, so the restaurant owner could speak to their boss.
“It’s Falcon.” He spoke with gentle patience. “Remember?”
“Yes, of course –” The other man went all flustered. “My apologies –”
Falcon waved him off. “Has Mr. Karsh arrived already?”
“One of his assistants called. They’re on their way.” The restaurant’s owner looked around at the knot of bodyguards. “Perhaps you gentlemen would care for a cocktail while you wait?”
They all gazed silently back at him, without smiles. Which only made the man more nervous.
“Well, then –”
He turned away from them. The two gunshots that came from the far side of the restaurant struck him in the chest, the force of their impact slamming his shoulders into Falcon behind him. Falcon took an involuntary step backward as the other man’s body collapsed to the floor.
The bodyguards were already in motion.
These guys were professionals. In a job like theirs, you don’t get that old unless you’re good at it. I wish I could’ve seen them at work, instead of just hearing about it afterward.
Earl and Heinz grabbed their boss and dove flat with Falcon between them. Foley and Elton had pulled their guns from inside their jackets and sprinted to either side of the room, as Curt drew back to the side of the doorway, scanning through the sights of his revolver toward the far end of the restaurant.
Earl crawled to the nearest table, toppled it over, and dragged it back toward Heinz and Falcon as a shield. Another shot from the unseen attacker slammed into the tabletop as he got it into position. Above his head, a volley of shots from the other bodyguards rang out.
For a moment, everything was quiet inside the restaurant, as the overlapping echoes of the gunshots died away.
Spine plastered against the side of the doorway, Curt directed the others with hand gestures. Foley and Elton covered each other, each taking a shot toward the attacker so the other could race toward the restaurant bar and dive behind it.
More shots hammered the overturned table, spraying splinters from its underside across Falcon and the other bodyguards. Earl and Heinz leaned out from around its sides and fired back. Curt took advantage of the exchange, ducking down and running until he was behind the tabletop shield as well.
He looked around at Earl and Heinz. “Whoever this sonuvabitch is, he’s got himself dug in over there. Gonna be hard to get a clear shot at him.” He looked over his shoulder at his boss behind him. “We gotta get you out of here.”
Curt could see over to where Elton had taken up a position behind one corner of the bar. He caught Elton’s eye and signaled with a nod toward the attacker. Elton cautiously raised his head and scoped out the angle toward the restaurant kitchen – that was where the shots seemed to have come from. With the kitchen’s overhead lights out, there was no way the attacker could be seen in the darkened area. There were plenty of positions behind the stoves and counters where he could fire from.
A well-aimed shot drove Elton back behind the corner of the bar. With a shake of his head, Elton signaled across to Curt that he didn’t have an angle on the attacker.
Behind the overturned table, Curt turned toward Heinz. “Get the car ready,” instructed Curt. “Soon as we’ve got Mr. Falcon in, hit the gas. Don’t wait for the rest of us.”
“No problem,” said Heinz. “Long as you’ve got us covered.”
“Give me your gun.”
Heinz handed over his weapon. Curt bent farther down and sighted along the restaurant’s floor toward the bar – there was a narrow but open line through the chairs and other tables. He set Heinz’s gun down flat on the floor, pulled his arm back, then sent the gun spinning across the room. The gun hit the bottom of the bar, close to the corner. Elton cautiously reached around and picked up the gun. Now he had a weapon in each hand.
Behind the bar, Elton looked toward Foley crouching down at its other end. “You wanna do this? Or do you want me to?”
Foley shrugged. “Why don’t you go ahead? You’re a lot younger. And my back’s been killing me lately.”
“You got it, grandpa. Ready?”
“Roll it out –”
That was all they had to say to each other.
Foley stood up behind the bar and started firing into the unlit doorway of the kitchen. At the same time, Elton launched himself head-first into the middle of the chairs and tables, firing with both guns as he dove to the floor. The attacker got off a pair of wild shots, but was driven back by the bodyguards’ coordinated fire.
Behind the overturned table, Curt shoved against Heinz’s shoulders. “Go!”
Hunched over, Heinz sprinted from the table’s shield and toward the restaurant exit. A shot from the kitchen splintered the wall near his shoulder, but he made it to the doorway and out of the attacker’s line of fire.
Back in the center of the restaurant, Elton landed on his side, left leg tangled in one of the chairs. Still laying down a cover of gunshots, Foley ran out from behind the bar, reached down with his free hand, and grabbed Elton’s arm, pulling him up to his feet. One behind the other, both men pressed their spines close to the wall, a few feet from the edge of the kitchen doorway.
A tense silence – the kind you get when there’s been a lot of gunfire in a few seconds – filled the restaurant. At one side, Foley and Elton quickly reloaded their guns. From behind the overturned table, Curt couldn’t see them; he had no way of knowing if they had made it past the shots from the kitchen doorway. Crouching down behind Earl and Falcon, he listened for a signal. It finally came – when Foley finished reloading, he loudly rapped three times on the wall behind him.
That was the cue for all the bodyguards to get ready. Lifting himself a bit from where he knelt, Earl got a grip on the table’s top and bottom edges. Curt wrapped an arm around Falcon’s shoulders. With his free hand, he rapped with his knuckles on the floor. Once . . . twice . . .
Three. The crew erupted into action. Foley and Elton pushed themselves away from the side wall and began pouring gunfire into the kitchen doorway. At the same time, Earl lunged forward with the table shield, using it as a battering ram, scattering the chairs and other tables in front of it as he charged toward the kitchen.
Covered by Foley and Elton’s gunfire, plus Earl’s rushing forward with the overturned table, Curt pulled Falcon to his feet. He raced with the other man, both hunched over, toward the restaurant entrance.
Curt shoved his boss to safety in front of himself, then turned and saw Foley and Elton still out in the open, firing into the darkened kitchen. Below their line of fire, Earl had gotten the table shield within a couple of feet of the kitchen doorway. He crouched behind it, leaning out to the side and getting off a few more shots.
From the restaurant doorway, Curt could see that there were no flashes of answering gunfire from inside the kitchen. He shouted to the others: “Hold it! Hold it –”
The other bodyguards
looked over their shoulders at him. They stopped firing and lowered their weapons.
Curt looked around, intently listening. Gunfire could still be heard, but not inside the restaurant. The noise came from out front.
He pushed Falcon back against the entranceway wall, then yanked the door open. The gunfire had stopped. He rushed outside, his own gun raised in one hand. From behind him, he could hear the clatter of the other bodyguards pushing their way through the restaurant tables and chairs as they followed after him.
Curt saw immediately what the target of the gunfire had been. A plume of carbon monoxide came from the Lincoln’s exhaust pipes, its engine running. The passenger’s side door was open. Inside, Heinz’s bloodied corpse sprawled against the steering wheel.
The other bodyguards formed a close knot around Curt, all four men quickly scanning the street. No one . . .
Earl covered Curt, turning slowly from side to side with his upraised gun, as the other man reached inside the Lincoln and pulled Heinz – what was left of him – back against the seat.
Foley and Elton split up, each running toward either side of the restaurant.
The alleyway just beyond the building was lined with trash dumpsters. Foley edged his way along them, all the way to the brick wall at the end, but found nothing. Except the door into the restaurant kitchen, still standing open.
He looked over as Elton came running up to him.
“Anything?”
Shaking his head, he pointed to the doorway. “Sonuvabitch had already gotten out, while we were still firing at him. When he ran out to the street, he saw Heinz with the car ready. And took care of him.”
“Damn.” Elton looked toward the mouth of the alley. “That sucks.”
Both men trudged back to the restaurant entrance. Guns lowered, they stopped in their tracks. Along with Earl, they watched as Curt held Heinz up against his chest, as though trying to shake him back to life.
THREE
When you have that kind of job – bodyguard for somebody like Falcon – maybe you don’t change your shirt when it’s covered in blood, because you want everybody to know. That you’re right there when things get tight.
Or maybe Curt wasn’t even aware that his shirt was soaked red. He was deep in thought as he sat in the chair outside the door of Karsh’s office. At least, that’s how it was described to me. And not the kind of thoughts with words and possibilities and decisions in them. Maybe pictures, things he remembered seeing. Things that had happened, some of them from a long way in the past. He leaned forward in the chair, his arms laid across his knees, his eyes focused on something a million miles away.
He and Heinz had been friends for a long time. Maybe that was why he didn’t change his shirt.
There were two other bodyguards in the office lobby. Not part of Curt’s crew. Younger guys, hard-faced, leaning back against the wall. Watching him and not saying anything. Hadn’t even asked about the blood, just as if they couldn’t have cared less about it. They worked for Karsh.
The office door opened. Curt turned and looked around to it. His boss and the other bodyguards’ boss had just finished up their meeting. That had originally been planned for the restaurant.
“Okay, but remember –” Karsh laid a hand on Falcon’s shoulder. He was a little younger than Falcon, maybe right around Curt’s age. Smartly tailored, sleekly groomed – even more so than his friend and business associate Falcon. “If there’s anything I can do, you call me. All right? Anything at all.”
“Don’t worry,” said Falcon. “And . . . you know . . . I’m sorry we couldn’t work out all the details on this today. I’m still . . . just a little rattled.”
“Hey, believe me, I understand. It’s okay.” Karsh exuded sympathy. “I’m amazed we were able to get together at all. After what happened. If we’d just taken a rain check on the meeting, that would’ve been perfectly acceptable with me.” He lowered his head, peering closer at Falcon. “Sure you’re all right?”
“I’m fine.” Falcon gave a slight nod. “My people took good care of me.”
“So I hear.” Karsh looked over at the figure in the chair. “Curt – I want you to know I’m sorry.”
Curt looked up at him. “What about?”
“Well . . .” Karsh spread his manicured hands wide. “If I’d known there was going to be trouble, I wouldn’t have suggested a location like that for our meeting. I thought those days were over. I mean . . . when things like that could happen.”
The bodyguard shrugged and looked away from him.
“Heinz was a good man,” continued Karsh. “You know, back then – back when we were having our little differences – I was more afraid of him than the rest of you put together.” He paused for a moment. “Did he have any family?”
“I think he had a sister in Pittsburgh.”
“I’ll send her a check.”
“Don’t bother,” said Curt. “She hated his guts.”
Karsh glanced over at his own bodyguards. “Come on. Let’s go.”
They pushed themselves away from the wall. They gave Curt one more hard scrutiny before they followed their boss out of the office lobby. Falcon watched them go, then turned to Curt.
“We need to talk.” Falcon nodded toward the office that he’d just stepped out of. “In here.”
He closed the door behind Curt, then pointed to the chair in front of the desk. “Have a seat.”
Instead of taking the high-backed chair behind the desk, Falcon walked over to the window and looked out through the blinds. “You know,” he said, “I would’ve liked it if you’d been a little more polite with Mr. Karsh.”
“Sorry.” Curt kept his hands flat against his legs. “I wasn’t . . . really thinking about him.”
“That would be the problem, all right.” Falcon turned away from the window. If he and I are going to be partners – if this whole merger thing is going to go through – then everybody’s going to have to get along together. Top to bottom.”
Curt nodded.
“I don’t care how things were before.” Falcon stepped behind the desk and sat down. “That was then. This is now. There are new ways of doing things.”
Curt stayed silent.
“You understand that, don’t you?”
“Yeah, sure.” Curt gave another nod. “I guess.”
Falcon shook his head as he swiveled the chair away from the desk. “I wonder if you do . . .”
Curt waited for the rest.
“This couldn’t come at a worse time.” Falcon gazed toward the office window. “Why now? Why does something like this have to pop up right now, for Christ’s sake?”
“I don’t know, Mr. Falcon.”
“Got any leads on who’d want to go after me? Right now, I mean?”
“No –” Curt shook his head. “Haven’t had a chance to start asking around.”
“Probably . . .” Falcon sunk into his own thoughts. “Somebody who’s not happy about this merger. Between me and Karsh. Think about it. It’s not only going to put us on top of the whole city. It’ll do a lot more than that. Right?”
“Sure.”
“It’ll make us legitimate,” said Falcon. “Both of us. Me and Karsh. Nobody will be able to lay a finger on us then. That’s worth killing somebody over.”
“We’ll find ’em,” said Curt. “We’ll take care of it.”
“Really?” Falcon looked over his shoulder at him. “You think you can do that? You’re down a man. On the crew. There’s a hole now, with Heinz missing. A big one.”
Curt shrugged. “We can work around it.”
“Maybe. Or maybe you need a new man.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” The shake of Curt’s head was emphatic. “Not now. There’s somebody out there gunning for you. And we don’t know who it is. We just know they’ll probably try again. That’s not a good time to be breaking in a new member of the crew.”
“Really?” Falcon smiled. “And when would be a good time?”
“Look,” said Falcon. “I know how you feel. You and the rest of the guys – you’re tight. And you’ve always done a great job for me. Hey, I’m alive, right? That’s why I keep you around. But any time a change comes along . . .” The smile faded. “You get your backs up. You all do. Like you did when Elton came aboard.”
“Elton?” A frown showed on Curt’s face. “I was the one who wanted Elton on the crew.”
“Whatever. The other guys gave you plenty of crap about it.”
“They got over it.”
“Did they?” Falcon leaned back in the high-backed chair. “I don’t know about that. Let’s just say they got over it enough. That’s all. But that’s not the point I’m making here. You guys are just resistant to change. That’s all. And people just can’t be that way anymore. Things are different now. And they’re going to keep getting different. We have to keep up.”
“Look –” Curt raised a skeptical eyebrow. “I’ve been with you longer than anybody.”
“That’s kind of what I’m saying, Curt.”
“You want to make some changes, bring a new guy on the crew, whatever – that’s fine with me. But not now. We got a job to do. We gotta keep you alive.”
“Exactly,” said Falcon. “That’s what I’m talking about. That’s what I’m worried about.”
“What do you mean?”
“That’s your job, all right. And you came pretty close to screwing it up today. That’s how Heinz got killed. Something like that wouldn’t have happened before.
Curt lowered his head, spreading his hands apart.
“We’ll do the job,” he said. “You know we will. We always have.”
“I can’t count on that anymore. I think the crew needs some new blood.”
“I just don’t know –”
“I’ve made my decision.” Falcon’s gaze narrowed on him. “I’m the one that somebody out there wants to kill.”
“Okay –” Curt sighed in defeat. “So who do you want to bring on? Somebody from Karsh’s organization? I sure hope not – those punks he walks around with are just about useless.”