“Yes, ma’am, he did, but his uncle seems to be staying on the fourth floor. I took him down not twenty minutes ago. I thought perhaps you still had business with Mr. Ruger or his uncle.”
I chewed my lip for a moment. “No, my business with either of them is almost finished. I’ll be checking out first thing in the morning. Could you arrange to have a bellboy fetch my bags at around 7:00?”
He nodded. “Of course. I’m sorry you’re leaving, ma’am.”
“You’re a sweetheart, Mikey.” I tipped him a buck. “Do me a favor, don’t mention to Ruger’s uncle that I’m staying here. It might hamper my business with him.”
Mikey nodded, a tiny, knowing grin on his face. “Certainly ma’am. Anything you want.” He gave me a wink as he sank down the elevator shaft.
I dragged the bag down the hall, unlocked my room door, and shoved the Gladstone inside. Once I’d locked the door, I spat out a luxurious sigh and threw myself into a chair. I smoked two Camels before I finally opened the bag. The folding green inside it came in thousand-dollar bundles. I stacked them up as I counted. Ten thousand, twenty-thousand, thirty-thousand, forty-thousand, fifty-thousand. It didn’t stop there; the piles grew until the count made it to five hundred thousand. “Half a million dollars. Half a million dollars.” The butterflies in my stomach took flight every time I said the number. “Half a million dollars.”
I counted each bundle again as I put it back into the Gladstone. Then I tallied up the dead. “Three Army couriers, Hirsch, Richter, Martingdale and Wexler. Seven dead men. How many more murders will this bag of money buy?”
Chapter Twenty-Two
The sun had risen, peaked, and started looking for someplace soft to land before I got out of bed. I felt like someone had beaten me with a sackful of bricks, but I consoled myself by counting the little bundles of green paper a few times. I had just stashed the money in the bedroom closet when the door to the suite opened. I snatched the .38 off the nightstand and cocked the hammer. Two thumps sounded, and then I could hear footsteps coming toward me. Someone had gotten into the suite.
“Kissy?” Paolo’s voice.
I exhaled a breath I didn’t know I was holding and uncocked the revolver’s hammer. “Paolo. You scared me half to death.” I stood up just as he opened the bedroom door. He saw the gun and took a step back.
“How about putting the gun down, Kissy? I’m on your side.”
I slipped it into my jacket pocket and carried the jacket with me into the sitting room. “How are you here? Mason said you’d been nabbed.”
He nodded. “Yeah, I was. By Tanner. He needed to talk to me. What happened to your face?”
“I ran into a door.”
“A door?”
“We’ll talk about it later. You weren’t arrested?”
He chuckled. “Not really. Just brought in for ‘questioning,’ but Tanner did more answering than asking. He finally got some information out of the Bureau. He had to go above Director Brightman’s head, but he has a friend in Washington that gave him some answers.”
“Let me guess … we’ve had it all wrong?”
He sighed. “I wish we did, but we got most of it right. Except the part about Greene.”
“What about Greene?” I leaned forward and snuffed out my smoke in the overflowing ashtray on the coffee table.
Paolo took off his jacket and loosed his tie. “Greene’s job involved feeding false information to the Nazis through the Bund. He’d pass on wildly inaccurate troop numbers, manufacturing capability and other such info through Martingdale to the Bund, and through them to Germany.”
I sighed. “We already knew who was in the chain.”
“I know, but we thought Greene was a traitor. He really isn’t. Neither was Martingdale; they both worked for Army Intelligence.”
“Fine. What went wrong?”
He shook his head. “Do you know what an oxymoron is?”
I sat back in my chair and gave him a cold stare. “Yes. I’m not completely brainless.”
He held up his hands in surrender. “Well, ‘Army Intelligence’ might just be the most moronic of all oxymorons. They classified the entire mess ‘Top Secret’ and left the Feds out of the loop. But for some reason, Hirsch had an attack of guilt and spilled what he knew about the exchange of information between the Army and the Bund to the Bureau, and they thought the same thing we did: that Greene was a traitor.”
That made me laugh. “Typical governmental efficiency. Nobody ever connects the dots.”
“Things started to break down about three weeks ago when Richter came to town. He found the leak and plugged it up with a bullet. Only after Hirsch got shot did the Army and the Feds have a sit-down. That’s why Brightman gave the Colonel free reign.”
“All right, but Tanner said Greene’s got Feds running all over town doing a whole lot of nothing.”
Paolo nodded. “Yeah, he’s still trying to convince the Bund he’s working with them.”
“Think it’ll work?”
He shrugged. “It might, but I doubt it.”
I pulled another Camel out of the pack. “Why don’t they just arrest all the guys in the Bund and get it over with?”
“Because they’re desperate to find some sort of list.”
“List?”
“Yeah, a bunch of names on a list.”
“Whose names?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Tanner’s friend didn’t know, and Greene’s not gonna tell us. This is all such a mess. I’m absolutely lost.”
I huffed out a lungful of smoke. “I’m not. I think I know whose names are on that list.” I filled him in on my trip to Wexler’s house and about the German saboteurs making their way to America.
Paolo started pacing around the room. “Saboteurs? Here in Cincinnati?”
“No.” I shook my head. “Wexler just said they were coming to America.”
“Did he say how?”
I hissed out a deep breath. “Braun perforated him before I got the whole story, but the saboteurs’ names must be on the list. Do we know who has the list?”
“We know Hirsch had it at one point, but we don’t know who has it now.”
The cogs in my brain spun and I almost heard them click. “Hirsch had the list when he died?”
“Yeah, as far as we know. He died before he could pass it to the Feds.”
“Where would someone keep something that valuable?”
Paolo threw up his hands. “I don’t know. In a bank vault? Maybe a safe.” His pacing halted and he turned to look at me. “The list was in Hirsch’s safe!”
“Yeah.” I mashed out my snipe. “And Braun and Gottlieb bought the safe, so they had the list.”
“What do you mean ‘had’? Wouldn’t they still have it?”
“I don’t think so. I know Gottlieb has suddenly come into a great deal of money. I think he and Braun sold the list to somebody and split the money between them.”
Paolo frowned. “Who’d want to buy the list? It’s only valuable to Greene, and he hasn’t found it yet.”
“I know who we can ask.”
“Do tell.” He tilted his head and gave me a funny look.
“Gottlieb.”
He laughed. “You had me going, Kissy.”
“I’m serious.”
“Why would Gottlieb talk to you?”
“Because I have his money.”
Paolo’s jaw swung open and he stared, speechless.
“Better shut your jaws before flies start breeding on your tongue.” I pointed to my battered face. “Remember that door I told you about?”
He nodded.
“It’s named Heloise Kendall.” I sketched out the salient points of my visit to the Trinidad Hotel and my confrontation with the woman I was paid to find.
He just stared at me as I spun out the story, and I stared right back, sinking into the warm, familiar depths of his painfully blue eyes. When I finished, he offered me a wry smile. “It’s nothing short of a miracle that you haven’t been killed.
I leave you alone for a few hours and you get shot at, beat up and steal a fortune.”
“I also crashed a truck into the Ohio River.”
“What!”
“Never mind. The bag of sawbucks is what matters.”
He scratched his head. “How much did you get?”
“Three hundred thousand.” I didn’t even blink as I lied to him.
He whistled. “That’s a lot of money.”
“Yeah, and I’d bet every cent of it that Gottlieb wants it back. He’ll talk to me.”
“All right. We need to know who bought the list, make sure he tells you that.”
I sat at the desk and pulled the telephone close to me. I took a deep breath and made the call. The bell only rang once before someone answered.
“Ja?”
“Gottlieb? It’s me.”
“Fräulein Lisbon. You are quite a thorn in my side. You haff my money. I vant it back.”
“I know you do. I’ll give it back to you. First things first though. I know you had a list, the one you found in Hirsch’s safe. A list of Nazi saboteurs sent to America.”
A long pause. “Ja. The list vas in the safe. You are a remarkably vell informed young lady, Fräulein.”
“Who did you sell it to?”
“Vhy does that matter?”
“Was it Colonel Greene?”
Another pause, followed by a long sigh. “No, fräulein, it vas John Martingdale.”
“Martingdale?” I looked up at Paolo’s frowning face. “Gottlieb, Martingdale is dead.”
I heard a quick intake of breath on his end of the line. “Truly so, Fräulein?”
“Yeah. He came down with a bad case of murder. Shot in the head.”
“Mein Gott. That vas not supposed to happen. He vas a good man. A good friend.”
“Why did Martingdale want the list? Did he tell you?”
“Nein. I had only haff of the list. Herr Braun has the other haff.”
“Martingdale didn’t buy Braun’s half of the list?”
“Nein. That vas supposed to happen tonight.”
“Where?”
“Vhy vould that matter now? Martingdale is dead, ja?”
“Yeah, but whoever shot him probably did it to get the list. That means they’ll still want Braun’s half of it too. I’m betting he’ll Shanghai Braun like he did Martingdale, so he’ll keep Martingdale’s appointment with Braun.”
“Vhat is your interest in the buyer, fräulein? Vhy do you care?”
“Maybe I’m just a patriot, Gottlieb.”
I heard him snort out a laugh. “Yes, perhaps you are, but I think that is not the reason.”
“No, it’s not.” I tightened my grip on the receiver until I could hear its parts squeaking in protest. “Someone shot my friend in the guts. He’s barely alive, and I think the bum that shot him is the same bum that shot Martingdale. I mean to fit him for a Chicago overcoat and plant him in a cow pasture. That’s my interest in your buyer, Gottlieb.”
Gottlieb cleared his throat. “Fräulein, you are a woman of a quality I hadn’t imagined.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “You fascinate me.”
“I’m flattered. Now, where is Braun meeting the buyer?” I scribbled an address on a notepad. “Yeah, I got it. Eleven o’clock tonight.” I wrote the words ‘Elsinore Tower’ on the notepad as Paolo looked over my shoulder.
“Now, Fräulein, vhat about my money?”
“Give me an hour to stash it in a place where you can pick it up. I’ll call you when I’ve got it ready to be picked up.”
“You are a cautious one, ja?”
“People have a tendency to die around you Bund types.”
He laughed. “Truly so, but I haff left the Bund. I vill take my money und retire.”
“I’ll call you in an hour.” I hung up the phone and took a deep breath. “How’d I do?”
Paolo grinned. “You did fine. You’d make an excellent cop.”
I gave him a dirty look. “Hey, don’t be insulting, copper.”
He tore the address off the notepad. “Okay, I need to make some arrangements. I’ll need to have someone waiting to pick Gottlieb up when he tries to get the money. We’ll also want as many guys around Elsinore Tower as we can manage to hide. Cincinnati Police will pick up Braun and his buyer.” He almost bounced around the room as he spoke.
I snagged a cigarette out of the pack and lit it. “So, just like that, you’re a cop again?”
He gave me a look that I couldn’t decipher. “Kissy, I never stopped being a cop.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Can’t you understand that? It’s what I am.”
I shrugged his hand away from me. “Go on then. Be a cop. Just like you’ve always done.”
“Cassandra. Please, I don’t want ...”
“Just go, Paolo.” I didn’t look at him. “I’ll tell Gottlieb to pick up the money at the Union Terminal luggage claim office. I assume you can do the rest?”
He spoke softly. “Yes.”
“Good. Now get the hell out of here.”
“I’ll need to take the money. It’s evidence.”
“It’s in the bedroom closet. Take it and go.” I wrapped my arms around my knees and watched him fetch the Gladstone bag.
He opened the door, but paused before he left the suite. “I want you to know, I still feel the same about you now as I did back then. Nothing has changed.”
I looked up at him and huffed a jet of smoke in his direction. “I don’t care.”
He winced. “Goodbye, Cassandra.”
I didn’t say anything, and he eventually pulled the door shut behind him. I stood up and pulled on my jacket, padded over to the window and looked down on the street below. I saw him flag down a cab and ride around the corner and out of sight. I touched the glass with my fingertips, covering the spot where I’d last seen him. “Goodbye Paolo.”
I’d call Gottlieb like I said I would, but after that I had a long night planned. Paolo and his cronies would spend that long night hiding in the bushes around Elsinore Tower, but I’d be meeting Braun’s buyer all the way across town, at the Fritz Brothers’ Trucking Company down by the river.
Chapter Twenty-Three
I seated my hat carefully on my head and looked at myself in the mirror. The bruises on my face had blossomed into a riot of black and blue blotches. I frowned at my reflection. “At least you’ll make the undertaker earn his money, Kissy old girl.” I stepped into the sitting room and dropped the .38 into one jacket pocket, and the .22 Colt into the other one. My pockets bulged a little, but not so much that anybody would notice unless they were specifically looking for bulging pockets.
I left the room and locked the door behind me. On the off chance that I lived through the night, I figured I’d want to find my things where I’d left them. I rang for the elevator, which clattered its way up the shaft. Mikey opened the gate and threw me a polite smile. “Good evening, Miss Lisbon.”
“Hello, Mikey.”
We fell past a floor or two before I had the nerve to ask him for the favor I needed. “I was wondering if you could help me out, Mikey.”
“Of course, Miss Lisbon.”
“We’re friends now, you can call me Kissy.”
He smiled up at me. “All right. What can I do for you, Miss Kissy?”
I handed him a note with the Fritz Brothers’ Trucking Company address written on it. “Remember the fella I was with earlier?”
He nodded. “Tall guy, curly blond hair. Moved like a cop.”
“You really don’t miss much, do you? He’s a cop; his name is Belvedere. In a few hours he’s gonna come here looking for me, and I think he’s gonna be in a bad mood when he does. Just give him that note and tell him that, one way or another, he’ll find me at that address tonight.” I took a deep, ragged breath, and exhaled slowly, just glad to have finally gotten all the words out.
He studied the note for a few seconds. “I have to ask. Are you in some kind of trouble, Miss Kissy?”
&n
bsp; “Oh yeah.” I grinned. “You have no idea how much trouble I’m in. Just give that note to Belvedere when he gets here.”
“How do you know he’ll come looking for you?”
“He’s a cop, methodical and completely predictable. He’ll be here, believe me.”
Mikey slipped the paper into his pocket. “I’ll make sure he gets it.” The elevator landed in the lobby, and Mikey stuck out his hand. “Good luck, Miss Kissy.”
“Thanks.” I shook his hand, then crossed the lobby on rubber legs. I piled into my car and pulled the rye bottle out of the glove box and took a mighty tug on it. Once the fire in my guts got to roaring about right, I turned the key and the engine shuddered itself awake. I took another bite of whiskey before shutting the bottle back up in the glove box and pulling away from the curb.
I made it halfway to Christ Hospital before the skies opened and dropped a deluge on the city. The fat raindrops hit the windshield hard, making a crackling sound. Within a few minutes I felt like I sat behind the wheel of a tugboat instead of an automobile. The splashing river of water on the street reminded me of the flood that drowned Cincinnati five years earlier, in 1937. Those memories always led to Mary though, so I did what I always did when bad memories surfaced: I lit a cigarette.
I parked as close as I could get to the hospital’s front door, but I still felt liked a drowned rat before I found a roof to hide under. I pressed through the doors and a candy-striper, a little wisp of a redhead, started to tell me that visiting hours were over. Then she saw my face, and gave me directions to the emergency room. I squelched my way down the hall wondering if I really looked that bad. The redhead seemed to think so.
This time, I took the elevator to the sixth floor and passed the nurses’ station on my way to Norman’s room. They didn’t stop me, but I could hear them whispering behind me. I spun around to face them, but instead of saying anything I just smiled and mashed out my smoke in a sand-filled ashtray, then strode down the hall into Norman’s room.
A tiny lamp on the windowsill struggled to illuminate the space. I pulled up a chair and sat next to Norman, who didn’t move or open his eyes. I wondered if he could. I took his hand, which felt cool to the touch.
Big Shots and Bullet Holes Page 16