by P. N. Elrod
The kitchen door of the Satchel opened and the bouncer stuck his head out, investigating the noise. Curtains in the side window twitched and faces full of speculation peered at us. Opal appeared in the alley entrance and stared, one gloved hand to her mouth.
Kyler saw them and hesitated. They were part of his organization to one degree or another, but witnesses all the same.
There was a subtle shift in his posture and I knew hell was not going to break loose—at least for the time being.
“Chaven… get him out of here.”
With Opal’s nervous and clucking help, Chaven helped Hodge limp to his Caddy out front. Kyler kept us pinned the whole time with his gun and his gaze. I don’t think he blinked even once.
Escott’s expression had since assumed more serious lines, which was what Kyler must have wanted in the first place. Once Hodge was out of the way he walked over to get one more good look at us. No one was smiling.
“No changes,” he said. “Escott, you stay out of my way. Fleming, I don’t ever want to see you again. You can leave town or you can die, it doesn’t matter to me. You have until tomorrow.”
I focused onto his eyes, memorizing them, trying once more to break through their stone-hard surface to get at the mind beneath.
Nothing.
Chaven circled around to the other side of the car and opened the rear driver’s door. He bent over some task for a moment. I heard a soft thud and thump against the road surface.
Kyler heard it, too, and started backing away until he reached the car. He opened the passenger door and slipped inside. Chaven was already in the driver’s seat and had the motor running. The big Caddy glided off in near silence. Its twin, driven by Opal, followed a moment later. Hodge was in the rear seat and struggled up to the window for one last glare at me.
Good riddance.
Escott had nerves after all, and released the pent-up sigh he’d been saving. “You know,” he said irritably, “that rat-faced fellow still has my Webley.”
I had to swallow down a laugh that was trying to bubble up. If it got away from me now, I might not be able to stop. As a distraction, I checked to see what all our lifeguards at the Satchel were doing. Even as I turned, the bouncer withdrew and locked the door. The faces in the window disappeared. The lights still glowed, but the shades and curtains were in place again. With men like Kyler, curiosity was a shortcut to bad luck.
“You wanna go home?” I asked.
“That’s an excellent idea.”
Escott’s stride was a little stiff. He absently rubbed his sore back as we quit the alley.
In the road before us lay a large, immobile bundle. I couldn’t make it out at first; not until we walked closer, and saw that it had arms and legs.
A man’s body.
Kyler had left behind his rubbish for us to clean up.
Escott cautiously turned him over. I caught the bloodsmell, sharp in the cold, damp air. The man had been put through the grinder. Twice.
His face was covered with blood, puffed, badly marked and recognizable.
“Jesus,” I said. “It’s Harry Summers.”
9
ESCOTT’S hand dipped and held still. “He’s got a pulse.” When he tried to peel back an eyelid, Summers flinched.
“G’way,” he moaned.
“Easy now, Mr. Summers, we’re friends. I’m Charles Escort, we met yesterday—”
“Lemme ’lone.”
“Harry,” I said. “It’s me, Fleming. Remember from last night? At the Top Hat?”
“G’ta hell.”
“Never mind that, just tell us where it hurts.”
“All goddamn over.”
We spent a few minutes checking him for broken bones and bullet holes. Summers’s answers to questions concerning his health were brief and grudging. The only time he showed any energy was when Escort stated his intent to take him to the hospital.
“Uh-uh. I’m not hurt that bad.”
“You could have internal injuries, Mr. Summers.”
“I’ve been in fights before. I know when to go in. I don’t need to go in.”
Escort decided not to press things. “Are you able to walk?”
“What’s the rush?”
“We’re all rather visible here. Besides, my car is infinitely more com fortable than the street.”
The offer of a better place to rest penetrated Summers’s somewhat dented skull and he allowed us to stand him up for the short walk to the Nash. We put him in with more care than Chaven had taken hauling him out, not that he was in any condition to appreciate our efforts. Once installed in the backseat, he heeled over on his side to hug his gut.
“You sure about not taking him to the hospital?” I asked.
“Humoring him will be much less difficult at this point. I’d also like to avoid official scrutiny until we find out how and why he ended up in Kyler’s company.”
“Okay, but if he starts looking really bad, he’s going in.”
“Absolutely.”
Escott drove home and made good time getting us there. He parked out front for a change; the steps were broader and safer than the ones to the back door. I was thankful to see that he’d had my own car picked up and returned from the Boswell. I had a depressing idea that I might need it later.
Summers was reluctant to move, but we somehow got him out and into the house. Rscott started the hot water running in the kitchen sink, then went upstairs for medical supplies while I settled our reluctant guest at the table. I made a quick raid on the liquor cabinet in the dining room. Summers needed no persuasion to drink down the triple I offered him.
“What happened?” I asked.
He snorted once as though I was a complete idiot and shook his head. He noticed the sleeve of my coat. “What about you?”
“I trimmed my nails and the scissors slipped. Why’d Kyler do this to you?”
He stared into his drink.
“What do you know about McAlister’s death?”
“.G’ta hell.”
“What about Marian’s bracelet?”
He stared at the table.
Escott had returned with an armful of stuff and was watching quietly from the hall doorway. He raised a questioning eyebrow. I shrugged. He walked in and dropped a load of towels, bandaging, and iodine on the table.
The water was running hot now, and Summers eschewed further help as he staggered to the sink to clean himself up. I ducked back to the dining room to find him another drink. Escott followed.
“Want one?” I asked.
“Please. The usual, but leave out the tonic this time.”
I opened the gin bottle and poured generously, feeling a strong tug of regret that I couldn’t join him. Physically, I could no longer tolerate the stuff, but the emotional need was still there; it’d been a hell of a night and I wanted to get drunk. I handed Escott his glass and tried not to watch as he took his first sip.
He looked past the dining room door at Summers, who was sluggishly washing his face. “He’s not going to be especially cooperative,” he said.
“I’ve already noticed that.”
“You may have to nudge him along.”
Occupied with Summers, he didn’t notice my hesitation. “F think we’ll get more from him if he works up to talking on his own.”
“Unless it takes him all night.”
“You in a hurry?”
“Possibly. It’s Kyler that I’m concerned about.”
“Because of Harry?”
He took another sip. “Consider this: Kyler could have dropped him at any point in the city he wished. Why, then, should he leave him with us?”
“It’s a spit in the eye. He’s sure he’s got us pinned. We’re all supposed to be too scared now to go running to the cops.”
“And are we?”
He was serious, so I gave him a serious answer. “I’m still thinking it over.”
“Are you, now? What about the ultimatum for you to leave town?”
“Or die. Don’t forget that.”
“Doesn’t give one much of a choice, does it?”
“Yeah, and they’re both lousy. Kyler must have been scared himself when I went out like that.”
“Not that I can blame you for your action. Hodge’s last assault was motivation enough for any desperate measure, and you certainly looked desperate. I must compliment you on your decision to pay him back in kind.”
“Thanks, I spent hours thinking it over.”
“Hodge might well be doing the same thing,” he said with meaning.
“You’re just full of encouragement, Charles. Hodge I can handle. I know his type: he’s garbage, which means he’s nothing—it’s Kyler that’s got me worried.”
“Indeed?”
“I’d be a dunce not to be.”
“Buy why? What have you to really worry about?”
He’d sliced right into it and wasn’t going to be fobbed off with a light excuse this time. Mindful of Summers in the next room, I lowered my voice. “Last night I started showing off and pulled a couple of fast ones with Leadfoot Sam. Mostly I scared the shit out of him, because he didn’t know what he was seeing—or wasn’t seeing. All he wanted was to get away from me and stay there because he couldn’t handle any of it.”
“And Kyler is of a different sort than Leadfoot?”
“He’s either smarter or dumber, depending how you want to look at things. Smarter because he knows I’m different and could be a threat, dumber because he hasn’t the sense to leave it alone. You were standing right there, you saw what was going on.”
“Then you did try to hypnotize him?”
“Three times. Nothing happened. I was going up against a brick wall and bouncing right off. The ball drops away and the wall just sits there and doesn’t notice a thing.”
“The only time that’s ever happened to you was with—”
“Yeah, another vampire. I know.”
“Is Kyler… ?”
“No,” I said with much relief. “That’s one of the first things I thought of, so you can bet your ass that I checked. He’s got a nice, steady heartbeat.”
“There’s one other possibility—also a rather unpleasant one.”
“You’ve got my attention already.”
“It concerns Kyler’s mental state. Do you recall the problem you had with Evan Robley a few months back?”
I did, and the memory of the experience was still uncomfortably clear.
“You tried to break through to the man and could not.”
“Only because the poor guy went over the edge without a rope. I see what you’re getting at, but aren’t the situations just too different? Evan was going through a horrible emotional shock and had lost control; Kyler’s his exact opposite. I never met anyone who was so totally sure of himself.”
“Yes, each an extreme opposite to one another—but both able to resist your influence. It’s probably not a conscious resistance either. Mr. Robley was so affected by his grief that for a time he was simply unaware of your presence.”
“But that changed later,” I pointed out.
“Because Mr. Robley was nearly recovered from his shock. He went over the edge, but managed to climb back. By contrast, Kyler is in a similar mental state, but able to function as though he were normal.”
It sank in. Deep. And I didn’t want it.
“I hasten to add that whatever is wrong with Kyler need not claim a severe emotional shock as its source, as in the case of Mr. Robley. Some people are born that way, or so it would seem.”
“Charles, any way you look at it, Kyler’s loony-bin material.”
“Possibly. For now, all we may do is speculate, basing our speculations upon a single piece of negative evidence.”
“What? That I can’t influence him, so he has to be nuts? It sounds good to me.”
“But there’s also your personal reaction to the man, as well as my own. Earlier tonight you compared him to a snake. Having met him, I’m inclined to heartily agree with your assessment.” He rubbed the spot on his back where he’d been punched.
“Which isn’t exactly the kind of hard evidence you like.”
“Ah, but I do set much store in instinctual reaction. We may have no conscious reason why certain individuals repel us but it is generally a good idea to give such inner reactions sober consideration. Time and again I have relied upon it and have thus far suffered no regrets.”
Like the time he’d followed an amnesiac vampire around to see what made him tick. “Okay, no arguments from me there.”
He finished off his gin. “No arguments, indeed. But you may yet end up having to do something to protect yourself from him.”
“Are you trying to talk me into taking on Kyler?”
“I’m attempting to set out all the options in my own mind. Verbalizing them sometimes helps. As for having another direct confrontation with Kyler, that is your decision entirely.”
I wasn’t so sure about that. “I wouldn’t even know where to find him.”
“To quote our abbreviated friend Pony Jones, ’maybe he’ll find you.’ “
“Yeah,” I said glumly. Which was what I was really afraid of, and anyone standing next to me could get caught in the cross fire.
In the kitchen, Summers had shut off the water and was gingerly dabbing his face with a towel. I finished pouring out a second drink for him and we went in.
Once all the blood had been washed away, the damage looked only slightly less alarming. One eye was swollen shut; the other had a cut over the brow. The rest of his inventory included various bruises in tender spots, a split lip, and a broken nose.
“If you are still adverse to the idea of a hospital, I know of a doctor you may see,” Escott offered. He put down his used glass and stepped over to the refrigerator, pulling out an ice tray.
“I’ll be all right,” Summers insisted, dropping back into his seat at the table. “What d’you want, anyway?”
“You may recall that I was engaged by Mr. Pierce to locate his daughter’s missing bracelet. Have you seen it, by any chance?”
Summers gave him a go-to-hell look. Escott ignored it and took the tray to the sink. He produced an ice pick from a drawer and began chopping. “Two people have died over this business so far, Mr. Summers. Vaughn Kyler is involved and I believe you know to what extent and why. We want you to tell us—”
“And get another going-over? No, thanks.”
Escott scraped the shards of ice onto a towel, bundled it up, and offered the makeshift ice bag to Summers. He accepted with some suspicion, then cautiously held it to his closed eye.
“I’ve no wish,” said Escott, “to involve the police just yet…”
“You leave them outta this, it’s none of their business.”
“If not, then it is most certainly mine, since Kyler was kind enough to drop you into my hands. He would not have done so if he were at all worried over the information you can give us.”
“I don’t know anything.”
“Then you are at no risk in telling us about it. Why did Kyler do this to you? What did he want from you?”
Summers said nothing.
“Very well, then let’s try it this way: Kyler was most interested in locating a friend of Stan McAlister’s, and so, apparently, was someone else. That friend was shot today, Kyler claims he did not do it. Perhaps you did.”
“I dunno what you’re talking about.”
Escott’s lips thinned and we exchanged a look. Summers was a poor liar. “You know enough to have tried to keep it to yourself; otherwise he wouldn’t have expended so much effort upon you. And whatever it is, it’s quite important, or you wouldn’t have put up so much resistance.”
Summers fiddled with the towel to pack the ice into a smaller bundle. The crunch and click were loud in the quiet kitchen.
“What did you tell him?”
“I didn’t say anything, not to him and not to you.”
“I see. So Kyler did not get the information h
e needed; that or he knew it already and only wanted you to confirm it for him, which you did in some way or he would not have released you.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“There are forms of silence that may speak volumes to the right observer, and I’ve no doubt that Kyler is an observant man. What did he ask of you?”
“Nothing.”
Escott raised one brow at me to let me know it was my turn. The tension that had turned my hands into fists now traveled up my arms and down my back. I was expected to give Summers the works, to put him under, and then steal from his mind. That had been our pattern in the past and I’d followed it freely enough and with little thought. A fast suggestion or a brief question for a simple answer wouldn’t be good enough this time. Refusal would only prompt Escott to question me, and I’d either have to not answer or lie to him, and I didn’t want to do either.
“If you’re done, then I want to go home,” Summers rumbled.
“Yeah, we’re done,” I told him.
Both of them looked surprised.
“We don’t need him, Charles, any more than Kyler did.”
Escott frowned for a long moment.
“Think about it,” I said. “Kyler doesn’t care who killed Stan McAl-istei or if Kitty gets the blame for it, that’s not his business. All he seems to want is the bracelet. He puts out word that he wants to meet Stan’s triend, who probably has it. He guarantees their safety and promises money at the end of things. But someone beat him to the meeting and the triend is shot. It makes him look bad, as though he went back on his word. He doesn’t like looking bad. The bracelet’s nothing to him now, IK’S going after the person who crossed him up. He can’t get to Kitty, Pierce, or Marian; they’re too well protected, so he picks up Harry to get some answers. It’s easy enough to figure out just what Harry knows.”
Summers’s bruised face got darker.
“Which takes us back to Stan McAlister. You could have killed him, Harry. You once took a swing at him for looking at Marian the wrong way.”
“How did—” He clamped his mouth shut. He’d assumed, inaccurately, that Marian had told me all about it.