Preparation would last all day, and the execution and the aftermath might well take most of the night. Shaw would be expecting him, and when he didn’t show up, she would fear the worst. Besides that, she’d be unprotected. The outrage regarding Daniel Knecht in general and Kamp’s attempt to save him in particular appeared to have died down. And the flow of gawkers to the Bauer house had slowed to a trickle. Nevertheless, he intuited that more trouble was coming their way. At the same time, he sensed that following the path he was on would be the only way to put an end to the trouble for good. He just needed to make sure that his family would be safe until he got home.
Kamp knew E. Wyles started work each morning before dawn and that the drugstore would be open by the time he got there. It was already after nine o’clock. He took a deep breath and marched in the door of her shop. She stood at her counter with her back to him.
“Emma.”
She said, “Can’t talk.”
“I need a favor.”
“That’s the refrain, isn’t it?”
“Just one more, and you won’t need to worry about me anymore.”
“It’s not you I’m worried about. It’s your wife.”
“She’s not my wife.”
“You understand my point, Kamp.”
“Yah, well, it’s a favor for her then.” He took off his hat and rubbed his temples with his thumb and index finger.
“I’m mixing a compound. I’m working.”
“I need you to go to the house today. I can’t get back there, and someone has to be with them. Emma, I need you to check on them.”
She turned to face him and brushed a few strands of hair from her forehead with the back of her hand. “Believe it or not, there are people who need me besides you.”
“Remember when we were kids, Emma? Remember what it was like? How we could go outside, go up to the woods, make up stories and adventures. That wall way up there we’d sit on. And how we’d go down and splash around in the creek and get freezing cold and then try to get warm in the sun. Remember that?”
“I do.”
“It’s been a long time since things were like that.”
“Things change."
Kamp said, “That’s what it felt like to be free.”
“So what?”
“So, now it’s different. I realize that. We all have people we have to look out for, not just ourselves. I understand.”
“What do you need me to do?”
“Go to the house tonight, and let Shaw know I’ll be back tomorrow morning. Find my rifle. It’s in the kitchen. And make sure it’s loaded.”
BY THE TIME HE THOUGHT about getting a gun for himself, the sun had already begun its retreat behind the stacks of Native Iron. He didn’t know whether Druckenmiller would still be at the police station, and Kamp hoped he wouldn’t. When he walked in the station, though, there was the High Constable at his desk, feet up, smoking a cigar and reading a newspaper. He lowered the paper just enough to see that it was Kamp and then went back to reading.
“Sam, I need to borrow a gun.” Druckenmiller ruffled the newspaper and said nothing. “Where do you keep the guns, Sam?”
Druckenmiller lowered the newspaper. “Oh, I’m sorry, beg your pardon?”
“Knock it off.”
“I thought you didn’t trust me. Unless you need something, I guess.”
Kamp saw a locked cabinet against the far wall. “Where’s the key?”
“Looks like you’re scheiss outta glück. Go home and get your own.”
“I don’t have time. Believe me, Sam, this is just about the last—”
“You think you can just get people to do whatever you want, just by talking. Ain’t that so?”
“This is serious,” Kamp said.
“All right, well, in that case, what do you need it for?”
“Business. Official business.”
“Police business? Oh, boy. Sounds exciting.” Druckenmiller took a nip from the flask, his eyes shining.
“Sam, you can break my balls from dawn till dusk tomorrow, but right now, I just need a gun.”
“Tell me what for.”
“No.”
“I’ll make it simple. I’ll give you what you want, and you don’t have to tell me nussing.”
“Good.”
“You just have to take me with you.”
“Forget it.”
Druckenmiller let out a sigh and raised the newspaper again. Kamp looked out the window and saw that it was dark. Crow would be waiting for him, and soon they’d need to be set up.
“All right, all right, Sam. Come on, let’s go.”
Druckenmiller set the paper aside and smiled at him. “Well, why din’tcha say so?” He took off a necklace that had been hidden by his shirt. On it, there was a small brass key. He got up and went to the cabinet. “Whaddya need, pistol, shotgun?”
“Let me see what’s there.”
Druckenmiller swung open the doors of the cabinet to reveal a large assortment of firearms.
Kamp said, “Getting ready for war?” He scanned the two rows of weapons and quickly settled on a cut-down shotgun with a shoulder strap.
Druckenmiller said, “8-gauge. Make sure you know who it is you’re shooting before you pull the trigger. You might not be able to tell afterward.”
He took the gun from the cabinet, and Druckenmiller handed him a box of shells. On his way out the door, Druckenmiller reached for his shepherd’s crook.
Kamp said, “Leave it.”
The two men made their way down Fourth Street and stopped a few blocks short of the intersection with Iroquois Street, the appointed meeting place with Philander Crow. The district attorney stepped silently from between two buildings when he saw them approaching.
Under his breath, Crow said, “What is he doing here?”
“We’ll need him.”
“You’re responsible for him, Kamp.”
Druckenmiller cut in, “Listen, Crow, I’m the High Constable. You have no authority to do this. You shouldn’t even be–say now, what are we doing here?”
Crow said, “You have a point. Our intention is to put a stop to a crime, and since you’re the High Constable, you can be instrumental.”
Druckenmiller raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. He said, “What crime?”
Crow said soberly, “Prostitution.”
Druckenmiller said, “Oh, Jesus Christ, Kamp, don’t tell me you’re going along with this!”
People passing by on foot had to sidestep the men, and some craned their necks to look.
Crow hissed, “Keep your voice down.”
“You’re telling me you want me to arrest people for, for schtupping?” Crow winced, as Druckenmiller continued, “I might as well arrest myself.”
Kamp said, “It’s more complicated than that.”
“How so?”
“Trust me.”
“You are a sworn officer of the law,” Crow said. “It’s your duty to uphold it. Failure to do so may result in your dismissal.”
“Oh, go screw.”
Kamp said, “He’s coming with me. Sam, we’re going up the fire escape, and in through a window. And, Crow, you’re going through the front door.”
Crow said, “Correct. We will get into position, and exactly one hour from now, we’ll go in.”
KAMP AND DRUCKENMILLER PEERED down the alley behind the building at 31 Iroquois Street. It was black, except for the intermittent glow of the cherry of a cigarette. They could smell the smoke.
Druckenmiller said, “Oh, well, there’s someone down there. Let’s turn back.”
“Why do you think there’d be someone standing right there?”
“Guys smoke. Who cares? Let’s go.”
“You got handcuffs, right?”
Druckenmiller grabbed Kamp by the lapel of his coat. “Listen, up till now, you’ve asked a lot of questions, and you’ve made a lot of people angry. But you haven’t…you haven’t—”
“Haven’t what?”
“Crossed the line.”
“Sam, what do you know that I don’t?”
“I’m saying, you do this, no one’s gonna be looking out for you no more.”
Kamp said, “We’re walking side by side, like we’re just strolling through. I’ll talk.”
They started down the alleyway, their footfalls echoing loud off the buildings. When they reached the man, Kamp noticed he was standing directly beneath the fire escape they intended to climb. The man threw his cigarette to the ground as they approached.
Kamp said, “Evening, friend.”
The man grunted, “Ev’ning.”
“Got any matches?”
“’Fraid not.”
As he said it, Kamp raised the shotgun and pressed it to the man’s forehead. With his free hand, he lifted a pistol from the man’s holster.
“How about now?”
“Jacket pocket.”
“Get ’em, Sam.”
“Kamp, I don’t—”
“Do it.”
Druckenmiller pulled the matches from the man’s pocket.
“Hold it up so we can see who we’re talking to.” Druckenmiller struck one on the wall and held it a few inches from the man’s nose.
Kamp said, “I recognize you. You’re that guy that came to my house and threatened me. You’re the right-behind-you guy. And now you’re here. What’s your name?” The man stood motionless and said nothing. “And what are you doing back here?”
“Smoking a cigarette.”
“Turn around. Face the wall.”
“What for?”
Kamp hit the man in the jaw with the butt of the shotgun. The force of the blow knocked him against the wall of the building, and he crumpled to the ground.
“Sam, put the handcuffs on him. Lock him to the downpipe. Right there.”
Druckenmiller snapped the cuffs into place. “Kamp, you daresn’t hit a man for no—”
“What do you think he’s doing here? We need to get up there. Now.”
Druckenmiller said, “It’s wrong. What you’re doing is wrong.”
Kamp wheeled around, eyes blazing, and faced Druckenmiller. “Why, Sam! Why is it wrong? Tell me!”
“You gotta calm down. You ain’t seeing this right.”
Kamp slung the 8-gauge over his shoulder, grabbed the fire escape ladder, pulled it down and began to climb. Without looking back, he said, “I’m going to need your help, Sam. Move.”
Druckenmiller looked one way down the alley, then the other. He looked at the man on the ground, still not moving. He muttered, “Jesus boom,” and he began going up the ladder himself. Kamp kept going until he reached the fourth floor, where he could see a dim light coming from one of the windows. The rest of the windows in the building were dark. Kamp took his watch from his pocket. 10:47. They’d agreed that Crow would knock on the apartment door at exactly eleven o’clock. Druckenmiller came up the ladder a few minutes after Kamp, cursing and trying to catch his breath.
When he reached the landing, Druckenmiller whispered, “Now tell me again what’s so goddamned necessary about this.”
Kamp leaned toward the window. The curtains were drawn, but he could see most of the room where they parted. He saw bodies, none of them clothed, all in motion. Most were on the floor, some standing, in a variety of sexual positions. He couldn’t make out anyone’s face.
Druckenmiller said, “Can you see anything? What’s going on in there?”
“See for yourself.” He moved so that Druckenmiller could peer in.
“Well, that settles it.”
Kamp said, “How so?”
“It’s just people having a good time.”
“Just having a good time?”
“Yah, a party. We shouldn’t bother them.”
Kamp noticed that the window was also slightly open. He could feel warm air escaping, and he heard women moaning.
“Sam, for the last time—”
They heard a sharp knock on the apartment door. The orgy continued unabated, as the knocking grew louder. At the same time, they felt the fire escape move and heard it creaking.
Druckenmiller said, “He must’ve gotten out of the cuffs. He’s coming up.”
They heard a muffled voice, Crow’s, “Open the door. Police!”
Kamp saw a man wearing what looked like a burlap sack over his head with cut-out eyeholes cross the room to the door. The man was fully clothed and carrying a shotgun.
Kamp threw open the window and shouted, “Crow!”
The man with the shotgun raised it and fired it into the door. Women screamed, and all the partygoers scrambled into other rooms. Kamp jumped through the window and reached for his gun. The man with the shotgun fired at the door again, extracted the spent shell and reloaded. Kamp pointed the 8-gauge at the man and fired. The man’s arm splattered against the wall, shotgun clattering to the floor. The revelers, most still naked, some now half-clothed ran for the door, streaming past the man, who held the stump of his upper arm, groaning. Kamp trained the shotgun on the man and walked past him to where Philander Crow lay bleeding on the floor just outside the door.
Crow clutched his chest, which had been torn open. He took short breaths, and blood gurgled from his mouth. When he saw Kamp, he said, “Talk to Kunkle.”
Kamp felt a sharp pain at the back of his head. In the instant before he lost consciousness, he saw himself and Philander Crow floating into Daniel Knecht’s grave.
NINETEEN
EMMA WYLES HAD ALREADY BEEN WORKING for the better part of three hours when the bells above the door jingled and Kamp had appeared in the drugstore that morning. She’d started working early that day, in part due to him and the needs of his family. It wasn’t unusual for her to spend significant time with a new mother in the days after the delivery, and given Shaw’s fragile health during the pregnancy, Wyles considered it time well spent. It was also not in Wyles’ nature to question or judge the character of the people whose needs she was committed to meeting. Nevertheless, his irresponsibility, which to Wyles bordered on neglect, meant that she’d had to jump in the breach at times when he should have been there. Wyles had even begun to wonder whether he was intentionally disregarding her admonitions.
She knew that when he walked in that morning, it could only be to ask for another favor, and she assumed correctly that it entailed her going, yet again, to look after Shaw. Initially, she’d refused. She resolved to let him handle his own matters regarding his work and his family, and she hoped that his warning to find the rifle was just anxiety, or manipulation. Still, the anxiety worked its way into her, and by the time her normal workday ended, she’d decided she’d have to ride out there just as soon as she was finished. For Shaw, not for Kamp. Wyles simply couldn’t see why she should have to suffer for his shortcomings. But the prescriptions had piled up on her counter during the past two weeks, and by the time she’d mixed the last compound, she’d lost track of the time. When Wyles looked out the window, the streets were empty, the last gaslight put out. She felt a pang of remorse, then distress.
Wyles locked the front door of the drugstore, put on her coat and went out the back door to where the horse was tied. Once on the road, she said, “Ya,” gave the horse a sharp kick and took off across the New Street Bridge. She couldn’t locate the source of her unease, and panic was a feeling unfamiliar to her. As she covered the miles under the black sky, though, the worry magnified, and by the time she turned the horse onto the path to Kamp’s house, Wyles’ heart was pounding. She tied up her horse, bounded up the stairs to the front door and tried the knob. Locked. Wyles banged the door with her fist.
“Shaw! It’s Emma Wyles. Open the door, please. Shaw!” She turned to look out over the property, and she tried to listen for whatever noises might have been out there. But darkness hid the night creatures, and the thumping of blood at her temples covered the sounds. Wyles turned back to the door.
“Shaw!”
The door swung open, and Shaw stood in the doorw
ay, holding a candle and looking half-asleep. “Where is he?”
“Shaw, may I come in, please? Kamp asked me to come.” Shaw stepped aside so that Wyles could enter. Wyles scanned the front room and found nothing unusual.
Shaw said, “What’s the matter?”
“How are you? Is everything all right?”
“Yes, yes. I fell asleep. We were sleeping.”
Wyles walked into the kitchen and lit a lantern. She called to Shaw, “Do you know where he keeps his rifle? Oh never mind, I found it.” She walked back into the front room carrying the Sharps.
“What happened to him?”
“He’s fine.” She set down the rifle, grabbed the Judge’s gift box of bullets from the mantle. As she took out a cartridge and loaded the Sharps, Wyles said, “I’m sure Kamp was just worrying about you.”
The first shot came whistling through one of the front windows of the house and lodged in the wall over Wyles’ head.
“Shaw, lie flat on the floor!” Before Wyles herself could get down, the next bullet slammed into her thigh. Another shot hit the side of the house, and the fourth one smashed the kerosene lantern. Shaw and Wyles lay down, listening. Silence outside. Wyles took the rifle and crawled toward the window. She pushed herself up just high enough to peer over the window sill, and she saw shapes advancing toward the house.
“They’re coming.”
Upstairs the baby began to wail, and Shaw jumped to her feet and ran for the stairs. Her motion brought a volley of gunfire, the bullets splintering the stairs a step behind Shaw. Wyles aimed and fired. She saw a body fall twenty feet from the front door. She scrambled back across the floor to get the box and reload. Bullets kept zinging through the window. Wyles waited for a lull, raised up, fired again and sat back down with her back to the wall. She could hear men’s voices outside, talking to each other. She ran her fingers over the wound in her leg, assessing the damage.
Ax & Spade: A Thriller (Raven Trilogy Book 1) Page 16