by P. N. Elrod
I heard his steps retreating down the hall. While he was out I eased the door shut and locked it. Going to the desk, I gathered all the cards up into a neat pile, which I left in the exact center of the blotter, faceup. The top card was the ace of spades. I opened the hinged picture again, shutting it and vanishing just as the door was unlocked.
He wasn’t the first inside; he left that to Gordy, whom I recognized by his sheer bulk. Morelli was upset, but too proud to show it in front of his men, or to explain why he’d called them back so urgently. They went over the room inch by inch, testing the safe out again with negative results. I spent the time wrapped around Morelli to stay out of everyone’s way and to wear his nerves down some more. He was gritting his teeth to keep them from chattering.
Then he noticed the cards on the desk.
“Which one of you did that?” he demanded.
They were all innocent and said so. He shut up, probably brooding on the significance of the top card. In the end, he pitched all of them out, except Gordy. The chair went out as well and another was brought in. He left the door open and had Gordy stand in the hall to watch the stairs.
He fidgeted awhile, getting up and patrolling the room, then dropping behind the desk in disgust. He had no further use for the cards and just sat there, fully alert and listening. I decided to fulfill his expectations.
I appeared quite suddenly on the floor, recreating the position I’d been in when he saw me dead on the sidewalk last night.
It was a real sensation.
He shot to his feet, sending his chair over with a crash that brought Gordy in just too late to see me.
This time Morelli had him stay in the room.
He ordered up some more coffee and lit a cigar; just the thing for his nerves, as far as I was concerned. I waited patiently.
Gordy’s suggestion for a game of pinochle was ignored. Neither man spoke much. Small wonder.
The coffee came and went. Morelli got up and said he’d be back in a minute. After all that liquid and the chills, I knew where he was headed.
He chose to go to the big tiled one in his own room. In his absence, I gently put Gordy to sleep and turned out the room lights. After making sure it was clear, I shut off the hall lights and then waited for Morelli to come out. When he did, he got very cold again. He hesitated in the fan of light from his bedroom, not wanting to venture into the dark hall.
“Gordy?” His voice was not normal, nor very loud. He had to repeat himself several times before Gordy responded. The office light came on.
“Yeah . . . Slick? Why are the lights off?”
“What the hell were you doing sitting in the dark?”
“I dunno, I looked up and they were out.”
“Did you put ’em out?”
“No, boss!” He sounded hurt. “Maybe one of the boys is playing a joke.”
“Then you go find ’em and tell ’em it ain’t funny.”
“Sure. Now?”
“Yes, now!”
Gordy trundled off, stopping at the other occupied rooms to talk with the boys. Morelli’s teeth were chattering, so I gave him a break and preceded him into the office. He opened a desk drawer and brought something out that clunked heavily when he put it on the desk. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was. Well, if it gave him a sense of security, fine. I’d just have to undermine it.
I partially materialized in front of him, my hands reaching out. He blanched, brought the gun up—it was a police .38—and let fly with all six chambers. In this halfway state I felt the bullets tickle through. They made sensation, but no pain. Nevertheless, I rocked back as though hit, and vanished. The room was full of smoke as his men charged in looking for something to shoot at, and they all asked questions, even the quiet Gordy. Morelli declined to answer and just said the gun went off by accident.
“Six times?”
For a gangster he was a lousy liar. “Shut the hell up and get out!”
They got out.
I hung around until four A.M. By then the club and casino were long closed, and the money counted and locked away behind the picture of the boat. Prior to opening the safe, Morelli had pressed a button under his desk, which I understood deactivated the circuit of the burglar alarm. At the time, everyone was out of the office while he twirled the combination lock open. No one was there to see me peering over his shoulder and getting all the numbers.
He was feeling better after shooting at me, and I’d been quiet for some time, which restored some of his confidence. All the same, he left two men in the office with the door open and strict instructions to keep their eyes in the same condition. Then he went to bed.
Twenty minutes passed, and things were quiet. I put the men to sleep, found the button, and turned off the alarm. It took another quarter hour of twisting the damned dial around before getting the combination right. I’d been off on the last number and had to experiment. It was frustrating work and bad on my nerves because I had to keep half an ear cocked on the hallway, ready to vanish if I heard someone coming. In retrospect, I’m sure the time spent was pretty good for a complete novice. It certainly was profitable.
I was an honest thief, taking only my fifty-eight hundred bucks in smaller, used bills, though there was considerably more inside. I shut things up again and put the alarm back on. They’d have a fine time trying to figure out how the money got lifted.
I wanted to make a final grand call on Slick before leaving and more than that, look in on Bobbi, but the clock said it was late and I had to allow for car trouble or unexpected delays of some sort on the journey home. Playing it safe, I left, but promised myself and Morelli another performance.
9
THE next night Escott came by a little after sunset. He’d found a year-old dark blue Buick and said the dealer guaranteed it for at least a week. The interior was clean, the engine sounded good, and the outside only had a few dimples on the metal to show that it was no virgin.
“I had a devil of a time with the paperwork,” he told me. “The dealer wanted you there to sign things before I could have the car.”
“How did you get it, then?”
“I didn’t. It was your cash up front that persuaded him. That, and the veiled threat of finding another dealer who was less particular. Just sign here.”
I signed here. He gave me the keys and I gave him my thanks.
“It was nothing at all. Have you a driving license?”
“A New York one. I had to sell my old wreck to get me out here. Why?”
“I was curious if you planned to acquire one for Illinois.”
“Good question. I would if I could.”
“I could do something about that as well. We resemble each other a bit in build and features, I could work at forging your signature and just go in for you.”
He seemed wistfully eager to break the law on my behalf and I said as much to him.
“Well, this is a unique opportunity for a new experience—is there something amusing in this? I am serious, the law does not look lightly upon forgery.”
“I know, but you don’t have to do this.”
“I don’t mind a bit. To me, this is rather like going to a speak during Prohibition—have fun, but don’t get caught. Now, depending on the expiration date of your old one, sooner or later you will need a new driving license, or would you prefer to have the police ticketing you for want of one?”
“I doubt if I’d let things go that far, but I see your point.”
“Good. Of course, you know your best cover is to remain anonymous. The less people notice you, the safer you are.”
“You talk like I’m some kind of Bolshevik spy or something.”
“They’re called Communists now, or is it Socialists? But you have the right idea. Prior to your—shall we say—conversion those years ago, what was your attitude toward vampires?”
“I generally thought about Theda Bara if I thought about it at all, but other than that I didn’t believe in them except as a myth.”
&nbs
p; “What better shield could one ask for?”
He had something there. We returned to my room, and while I told him about last night’s show, he made my face up again.
“Suck your cheeks in.... All right . . . raise your brows. . . .”
“Wish I could see this stuff.”
“Yes, I can do a very effective job, if I do say so. You’re looking a bit more gruesome tonight, I’m allowing for decomposition.”
“How thoughtful.”
“I knew you’d appreciate it. I could bring a camera next time. It would be interesting to see if your image can be recorded on film.”
“I have wondered about that.”
“There.” He made one last touch-up and I relaxed my stiff neck. “Now, as we say, ‘break a leg.’ ”
“Hopefully Morelli’s.”
“Have you taken into consideration he’s probably checked up on you by now? He might be wondering why the papers carried no account of a body being found on that street the morning you were ‘killed.’ ”
“Well, this is Chicago and that kind of thing does happen.”
“Not that often, but all too true at times. He’s bound to have friends in the police and other departments who are in a position to find things out for him.”
“I’ll be careful, but as far as he’s concerned, I’m a ghost and he’s not about to tell anyone he’s being haunted.”
He chuckled. “Then have your fun—”
“But don’t get caught.”
I parked my car in a new location, locked it, and walked a quick two blocks to the club. The place was busier, if that was possible, and there were more men out front. They loitered around, the lines of their monkey suits spoiled by the bulge from various pieces of lethal hardware, and checked the face of each new arrival. Morelli must have really been impressed last night, but I couldn’t figure how he thought posting extra guards could protect him from supernatural forces. I gave them all a miss and vanished while still across the street in the cover of a doorway. There was always some disorientation, but I was improving, especially when it came to moving in straight lines. The street was a wide-open space, that could easily be crossed, and when I came to the outside wall of the club, I went up like an elevator. Feeling around for an open window, I seeped in and materialized in Morelli’s bathroom.
Its door was ajar. I edged an eye around the jamb and saw Morelli fixing his tie in front of a big mirror, getting ready for the evening ahead. It would be a memorable one for him.
I started things off by turning the taps on in the tub and flushing the toilet. He came quickly to investigate, probably without thinking, and stopped short when he saw the empty room. With slow cautious movements he shut off the water and looked around. It didn’t take long, but by then I was in the bedroom, easing open all the drawers of his bureau.
From under the bed I followed his progress by watching his feet tour the room. He angrily slammed one of the drawers shut, charged the hall door, gave it a jerk, and glared outside. No one was there to receive it, so he closed the door and began checking the closet, Bobbi’s room, her closet, and under the beds, drawing a blank each time. He then made a circuit of the walls, tapping on them with something hard. This was puzzling until I realized he was looking for secret panels. While he was busy inside the closet, I floated back to the bath and flushed the toilet again.
He was there in a shot, standing on the threshold, trying to keep one eye on the bath and the other on the bedroom. He rattled the flush lever uncertainly, took the top off and peered at the mysteries within. Out in the bedroom I flicked the lights off.
He noticed immediately. The switch was by the hall door. He’d have to cross a large dark space to get to it. If he waited long enough, his eyes would get used to the dark and he could cross with ease. He didn’t. With more steadiness than I would have had, he left the comfort of the bright bathroom and crossed over. His heart was pounding, but he forced himself to walk at a normal pace. After all, there was nothing there in the dark that wasn’t there in the light. Personally, I’d always found small comfort in that bit of logic. His sedate pace gave me plenty of time to materialize at his feet and trip him.
He went down hard, stifling a cry and throwing appearances to the wind. Scrambling to his feet, he was clawing frantically for the light switch while still a good ten feet away from it.
I wanted to use Escott’s makeup job while it was still fresh, so when the lights came on I was practically nose to nose with Morelli.
At that point I think anyone coming into the room would have scared the hell out of him, but the fact that I was only inches away and not looking too healthy to boot could explain his reaction. He couldn’t bolt out the door, I was in the way, but by now he was beyond coherent thought. He fell back from me with a scream and fainted away like some fragile heroine from a silent movie.
I couldn’t pause to laugh, that kind of yell would bring his bully boys. I moved fast, pulling drawers onto the floor, ripping the bedclothes out of place, and then ducking into the closet. I used the last few seconds to relieve the hanging rod of a fine collection of suits and coats before disappearing.
Gordy yanked open the closet door; I knew it was him from his size and the quick way he moved. He surveyed the wreckage, made sure no one was hiding under the mess, then backed out. In the room there was quite a commotion as attempts were made to revive Morelli. His body was searched for an extraneous bullet or knife holes, and the other rooms were combed for intruders. None were found, and when Morelli did wake up he had no good explanation for his blackout or the tumbled condition of the room.
His patience ran out quickly, as well as his temper, and having been found in such an embarrassing state didn’t improve things. He kicked all of them out except Gordy, who didn’t talk much.
“Find out if anyone new came in tonight,” Morelli told him. “Use this phone.”
It took only a minute. “Six of them, boss,” he reported. “They came in with a bunch of regulars and have been in the bar all evening.”
Morelli growled and kicked one of the drawers. “Some jerk is playing jokes on us.” I noticed the plural. He wanted to include everyone in his haunting to keep from being too isolated by the ghost. Otherwise it might mean the ghost had a legitimate grievance against him; which I did.
“I’ll check up on all the boys.” Gordy was keeping his tone carefully neutral. Perhaps the thought that Morelli was going nuts had crossed his mind.
“I want you to check up on Fleming.”
“Sure, boss, which one?”
“Both, but especially the kid brother. Find out what you can, when he got into town, who claimed the body and where they are. Wake up people if you have to, I want to know tonight.”
“Sure, boss.”
They left the room together, stopping off at the kitchen to send someone upstairs to clean the mess I’d made. There was no point in troubling the hired help and I stuck with Morelli, literally. He was feeling cold again. Gordy went off to get his information, leaving Morelli to restlessly pace the club and casino while I hung around him like a pilot fish. He stood this for half an hour, then headed for the back exit. His car was ordered up and he left a message that he’d return at closing time. I enjoyed a short ride, albeit a blind one, and had no idea where he was going. He parked and got out, and I remained behind and materialized for a look around. We were at the waterfront, the car resting on a concrete pier that jutted out like a breakwater. It must have been a solid piece of construction going down to the bottom from the land, or I’d have felt the pressure I always experienced being over water.
Morelli was just disappearing over the edge of the pier, where steps went down to the water. I left the car and quietly followed. He was easing into a small boat. I pulled back before he could see me. Out on the lake, serenely anchored in deeper water was the Elvira. All by itself, my left hand twitched and clenched.
Morelli rowed clear of the pier. I was standing under a light so he couldn’t help but
spot me. He broke off rowing and gaped, the current slowly taking his boat off course. I kept still, a scarecrow figure in stained and tattered clothes, watching him. Gradually I faded to nothing. Limited though my acting experience was, I knew how to make a good exit.
I moved back beyond the light and reformed. Morelli was rowing quickly toward the Elvira where three crew members were standing by to help him aboard. Chances were they’d been watching him and hadn’t noticed me, which was fine, I planned to be his exclusive ghost for the time being.
It took ten minutes to walk back to the Nightcrawler. I strolled slowly to give things time to settle, and went in by way of the bath again. The cleaning crew was efficient; the place was back to normal after my rampage. Next door, someone was talking in Morelli’s office, Gordy from the sound of it. I lounged against the wall and eavesdropped; it was better than radio because I was the star.
Gordy was on the phone, vainly trying to get information on my nonexistent kid brother. He seemed an expert at delegating tasks, for he was calling people up, giving them the name of Gerald Fleming, and telling them to get a line on him. Almost as an afterthought, he threw in my real name. Some of the calls were to New York, and I wondered if I should start sweating. No mutually familiar names were mentioned and his tone indicated he was long used to dealing with the people on the other end. Somewhere out there was a very large network of eyes, ears, and busy little pencils. He hung up and we both waited.
In ten minutes the first incoming calls started. Locally, the police department never got a report of a body fitting Gerald Fleming’s description, dead or otherwise. No area hospital had me with a gun wound lurking in any of their beds. When the hotels began reporting in I was glad for registering under another name. He received a single call from New York that stated I was an out-of-work journalist who’d left to look for greener pastures in Chicago. It was depressing to hear it put that way, but for once it was good to have a thoroughly undistinguished career.
The office door opened and someone else puffed into the room. The voice was naggingly familiar, but I just couldn’t place it.