by P. N. Elrod
If you last that long. “Hey, you put me in charge, right? Let me do my job and run interference. You’ve impressed everyone already. Take some time off. Go home and rest.”
“Can’t. Kroun.” He licked his lips, seemed about to say more, then clammed up again.
It hit me with a nauseating certainty that Gordy was afraid of Kroun. Impossible. Gordy was a rock. People were afraid of him, not the other way around. But Kroun had that personal electricity going, maybe it was enough to affect Gordy. “So what? I got him all behaved and put in the word for you while I was at it. This is still your organization when you’re better, but first you have to get better. Even Kroun will see that.”
“There’s other things going on you don’t know. Only I can deal with ’em.”
“You worried about being a target to some up-and-comer if you don’t keep showing yourself?” That was the way of the mobs, one sign of weakness, and you got cut down, quick as thought.
“Like Hoyle? Derner told me about your tires.”
I made a brief scowl. “The guys are looking for him. Anything else happen?” Being out for the day, I could have missed all kinds of grief.
“Nope. He’s no problem.”
“All right, then. But for now, you need a quiet spot, away from the yapping dogs. Someplace outside your normal haunts.”
“Maybe.”
That’s all I needed, a “maybe.” It would slant things in my and—eventually—his favor. An opening.
Of course, this was smack in the middle of doing something for another guy’s own good whether he liked it or not. I didn’t have the right to impose this, the ultimate manipulation, on him. On the other hand I wasn’t about to go back and look Adelle in the eye and tell her I turned chicken.
“Kroun and me did some talking. About you,” he said.
“Oh, yeah?” I must have gone too far in giving Kroun the idea we were friends, should have told him to go back to New York instead. Kroun had had plenty of opportunity to talk with Gordy about all kinds of interesting details relating to myself and how things were running in Chicago. Not that I could blame him. If Kroun asked, Gordy would have to answer. Given the circumstances and the chance, I’d do the same. Knowledge is power, especially with this bunch.
“He wants to know if you’ll be taking over for good.”
“Of course not—”
“Lemme finish. Taking over…if I don’t make it after all.”
I couldn’t believe he’d said that. Gordy dying was just not in the cards. He was my friend—in a very cockeyed way considering his work—and he had to go on breathing. “What the hell?”
“You have to think about these things,” he continued. “If you don’t want the operation, it goes to Mitchell.”
“Screw that.”
“It’s him or you, kid.”
I almost objected again, then shut it down. It would be less upsetting to him if I went along with this line of talk. He had to get it out of his system. I hated that he’d been mulling this stuff over.
“But you don’t want it. Derner, then. With you helping him, like with me. Like you’re doing now.”
“Uh-uh, you got my exclusive. Nobody else. So you have to get better.”
Before he could respond, I moved in, going as soft and easy as I’d ever done on anyone before with my evil eye. My head immediately began to hurt from even this minimal effort, but I continued, careful as a brain surgeon, speaking low and with infinite confidence. “You’re going to heal up just fine, Gordy. You listen to me, you’re going to fight this and get well. There’s a pretty gal waiting for you. Can’t disappoint her. You hear me?”
A low murmur. It sounded like a yes. Good thing he wasn’t doped with painkillers just now. I could use some, though. I’d barely started when the thunderstorm behind my eyes began building at record speed. I pressed through it. In the War I’d seen a lot of guys talk themselves into a recovery while others just sat there and got worse. I had to get Gordy to talk himself into getting well.
“This is something that’s just going to happen. You’re going to listen to Adelle and listen to your doctor and to me and you will rest. That rest will make you stronger and better with each passing hour, with each day. You will get well.”
The pain rolled in harsh as a fury; I winced and couldn’t maintain eye contact, had to brace against the big desk to keep my balance.
“I-I want you to go stay with Shoe Coldfield. You two get along, and he won’t mind doing you a favor. You’re going stay with him in some nice, quiet place until you’re well again. You understand?”
Couldn’t hear any reply. The worst migraine in the world was pounding my brain to mush, which was trying to leak out through my ears. Had to ignore it. Gordy was more important than…
“You’ll do this. You hear me? You’ll do this and get well.”
Too much. It sliced into my eyes like twin axe blades. For a second I thought someone actually had come up to slam razor edges squarely home into my skull. The rising agony shot to a screaming zenith.
I’d really done it. Overdone it. What was supposed to have been a light touch turned into a hammerblow that bounced back in my face. The cold that had bothered me all evening clawed and grabbed hard as death.
Lurching up, I tried to reach the couch, but banged solidly to the floor, doubling in, knees drawing to my chest, arms around my exploding head, trying to cushion the worst and failing.
So cold.
Trembling…limbs twitching…oh, God, not another one…
Before the seizure peaked I went invisible.
The grayness was peace and comfort and free from pain. No jittering spasms, no betrayal of mind and body or hidden terrors surfacing to rip me or anyone else apart.
What had set it off? I’d not been thinking of Bristow. Just trying to help Gordy. The hypnosis? Why was that hurting? It didn’t use to, not this badly—
Stupid questions. I didn’t want to think them up, didn’t want to find the answers. If I could just stay like this. Without a solid body to feed and care for, I had no anchor to what had become an increasingly ugly world. So long as I was chained to flesh, I was stuck with its memories, disappointments, responsibilities, and pain. Lots of pain. I wanted to float in this sweet respite forever.
Floating. Invisible. Almost a ghost. But ghosts were sad, weren’t they? Or angry or scared. I didn’t want any feelings at all.
On the old home farm we had a big spring-fed stock pond, and one rare summer day I had it to myself. Without a mob of older brothers and sisters to spoil the stillness I’d stretched out in the middle, shut my eyes against the noon sun, spread my arms to embrace it, and let the water buoy me up. Baking heat above, chill water cooling below, I drifted, gently rising and falling, each intake of breath like a small tide, and thought it was the best thing ever. Until then I’d never realized how good it was to have that kind of absolute, yet utterly serene solitude.
Soon enough I grew bored and moved on, and I never got to swim there alone again. I should have stayed longer. When you’re a kid you know things will always be there for you. Growing up teaches you different.
With twenty-five years between me and that perfect childhood moment I came back to solidity in Gordy’s office, standing upright, shaken, but at least not shaking. An improvement. This fit hadn’t lasted long; my muscles weren’t twitching from exhaustion.
Still cold, though. I wanted to turn up the heat, but it wouldn’t help. My usual immunity was gone. Perhaps at long last I was finally feeling the chill of the grave. Why, after this long a stretch since my death, was it trying to catch up with me?
What had triggered the fit? A run-of-the-mill suggestion, the kind I’d done hundreds of times before? It didn’t seem possible that so ordinary a thing—for me—could be to blame. Maybe my subconscious had been saving this one up, waiting to drop it on me at the first opportunity.
The moment I’d let my guard down? I had to do that to focus on Gordy. And it left me vulnerable…t
o things in my head, buried things…
Great. If that was true, then to prevent further attacks I only had to go through the rest of life with my shoulders bunched around my ears and never look anyone in the eye ever again. Why hadn’t I thought of that sooner?
I waited to be sure the attack was truly over, pacing the room a few times, and making a point not to look out the damn windows. Nothing untoward stirred within, so it seemed safe enough to wake Gordy. No more attempts to influence him or anyone else, at least for now.
Thankfully, I didn’t have to try for a second whammy to do that part. Just a hand on his shoulder, an easy-does-it shake.
He must have nodded off for real. He woke with a start, one hand automatically reaching for the inside of his coat where he wore his gun.
“Fleming? Jack?” He never called me Jack. Always Fleming. God, but he sounded tired. About the same as I felt. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Ain’t it time you took Adelle home?”
He thought it over. “I guess so. But not to her place. After Derner told me what Hoyle and Ruzzo pulled on you I should find some spot they won’t look. Keep her clear of this.”
“You’re worried about them?”
“You should be, too. They might not be the only ones wanting to take over, given a chance. I know Hoyle. He’ll spout that he’s steady for me, but he’d as soon cut my throat if it could get him in charge. Derner’s nervous, too.”
This was interesting. “And here I thought I was his least favorite.”
“You think Coldfield would mind helping me get scarce so I can rest?”
I smiled. The evil-eye whammy had dangled me headfirst in hell, but it had worked. One of its influences on others was making it seem to them that they’d thought up my suggestions on their own.
“I’ll call him right now,” I said. “Why don’t you stretch out on the couch while I arrange it?”
“Good idea. I need the rest.”
I stood by ready to help, but he left his chair unassisted and made the journey across the room. It hurt to look at him, because he was trying not to shuffle like an old man.
SHOE Coldfield was a little surprised by being asked to play host to Northside Gordy. He’d helped keep Gordy safe before, and didn’t mind doing the favor again. Coldfield gave me an address and said he’d be there in person to look after things. I knew the street. It was one of the borderline areas. One side was Bronze Belt, the other side white. Gordy and Adelle showing up there wouldn’t raise as much notice than if Shoe put them in the next block over. And day or night, it would certainly be the last place where mugs like Hoyle and Ruzzo would hang around.
Plans fixed, I made a sedate and slow trip downstairs, cautious about setting off another fit. The internal chill clung to me, not as bad as before, but noticeable.
Music played in the Nightcrawler’s main room. That helped take my mind off the constant annoyance. Tonight’s show had been going full swing for some while now. Alan Caine’s voice rolled rich and strong even through the intervening walls. It was really too bad I’d met him, else I’d have enjoyed the sound. He was singing for free for the time being, since a large piece of his pay was going elsewhere. I’d have to ask Derner how that had gone over when he’d broken the news.
I found Strome just off the backstage area and told him he’d be driving Gordy and where to take him. Strome was evidently familiar with the street, too, since his distaste for the idea was obvious. He didn’t like colored people, but happily for everyone he wouldn’t have to remain there. His partner Lowrey had no such problems and would stay on to play watchdog as usual.
Adelle was at the same table, still holding her own with Kroun. During a pause in the music, I heard him talking, and almost didn’t know his voice. It had gone low and pleasantly seductive. He said, “It’s a great place, I can get you top billing and an unlimited run, and you can pick anything you want to do, singing, acting, dancing, radio, the works…”
“That’s very kind of you, Whitey—”
I walked up just then, delaying her reply. “All done,” I said. “Sweetheart, you get a vacation until you say different.”
She immediately understood what that meant. Visibly relieved and beaming, she stood. I put my arms around her because she looked like she needed it, and just held her a minute. She sagged so mightily, I thought I was holding her whole weight, and for a second she seemed about to cut loose and sob, but being in public must have stopped that. But the holding seemed to help. Felt good to me, as well. At times that’s what we need, a simple sharing of body presence, just that and no more, then you let go and move on. I patted her, told her everything was going to be fine, and when she seemed ready, stood her square again. She pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and blew her nose.
I looked her up and down. “Doll face, you’re always tricked out better than a million bucks, but you should get some sleep tonight. You don’t want to give the doctor a second patient, do you?”
“But I—”
Tapping my ear, I shook my head. “Oops, sorry, I suddenly can’t hear anything. Happens at the darnedest times, but comes in handy. It means no one can argue with me and win.”
That raised a crooked smile from her. “All right, Jack. I’ll get him home and turn in. I feel like a zombie.”
“Strange, you felt like all-girl to me.”
“So that’s why Bobbi keeps you around. Good night and thank you!” She pecked my cheek and shot away, perhaps worried that Gordy might change his mind if she didn’t hurry. He would let her know where they were headed. I didn’t think she’d care where they stayed so long as he got better.
Kroun stared after her, then at me, questions all over his craggy face. “What’s the deal? Are you an’ she…?”
“We’re just friends.”
“Friends with a dame? You funny or something?”
I let that one pass, still feeling good about being helpful. That hug made all the pain worth it.
Watching her leave, Kroun sprouted a smile of unabashed pleasure that lingered while she was in sight. “I heard Gordy was dating a looker, but didn’t know she was Adelle Taylor. What a woman. She just made this whole trip worth it.”
We apparently had some things in common. Maybe I should be worried.
He suddenly snapped his fingers. “Damn! I shoulda got her autograph and had the camera girl here to take a picture. Think you could get her back?”
“She won’t be in the mood for it. Another time.”
“What a woman,” he repeated, like a prayer. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. “Lissen, Fleming…”
I sat at the table the better to hear. He’d lowered his tone, and Caine and the band were going loud. “Yeah?”
“Seeing’s how you’re such good friends with her, you think…you think she’d go out with me if I asked? Asked nice?”
I pulled back, gaping, and was tempted to poke him one in the eye. Kroun held to an utterly serious face, waiting. Then he blinked, head cocked, eyebrows high and innocent, and I finally realized he was pulling my leg. An unexpected laugh popped out of me, lasting a whole two seconds. It sparked an equally brief one from him in turn.
“You’re a pip,” I said, thinking a little late that that might be getting too chummy with the big boss, but he didn’t seem to mind. Against all sense and good judgment I was starting to like him. That suggestion I’d slapped on him about us being friends was working fine, but had it become a two-way street with me not knowing? With the nervy stuff going on inside my head, I could believe it.
“What was that about, anyway?” he asked. “Something with Gordy?”
“She said you were working him too much. I talked him into some time off.”
Kroun shrugged. “I don’t twist his arm about needing to do business, but it wouldn’t hurt him if he hit the mattress.”
There were two ways of taking that statement. When a gang war was on, the mob boys dragged their mattresses onto the floor to be out of the line of
fire from through-the-window shooters. The other way meant just getting some sleep. Kroun’s relaxed attitude led me to figure he meant the second definition.
Good. Real good. I had enough worries. “She hugged you pretty hard,” he said. “Didn’t that hurt?”
He was too observant for my own good. “I got a pain shot earlier.”
“What kinda shot? Morphine?”
I was far too alert to be on morphine. Best to be vague. “Donno. Stuff works okay.”
“It sure must.” He held my gaze for a moment, his dark eyes nearly all pupil in the low light, then nodded at the stage. “You like this singer?”
Alan Caine had a spotlight song going. It made me wonder how Jewel Caine might have done the same number with her dark, husky voice.
“He sings okay. Don’t like him much,” I said.
“Not a lot of people do, only the ones who haven’t met him.”
“You met him?”
“I’ve managed to avoid the honor.”
“Probably for the best. He’s like sandpaper on a burn. Wouldn’t know it to see him.”
Caine, flashing perfect teeth, drifted along the edge of the dance floor, stirring up the women as he sang to them. He skillfully kept just out of reach while giving the impression he wanted to move closer. It was all a sham, but they ate it up and grinned for more.
“Quite a gift he’s got,” Kroun added. “Wish I could get women to fall on me like that. Well, actually they do, but only ’cause of who I am. Don’t matter to them what a guy looks like if he’s got money and power. I mean, look at Capone, for cryin’ out loud. Face like a nightmare and built like a whale, but the women were all over him. You think it’d have been the same for him if he worked in a butcher shop like some regular guy? Not for a minute.”
From the stories I got from Gordy and others, Capone actually had been something of a butcher, but he also knew how to have a good time. That wasn’t an observation I felt like sharing, though. I wondered if Gordy was downstairs yet, on his way to Coldfield’s neck of the woods. Coldfield was supposed to phone Crymsyn when his guests were settled. If Strome came right back to drive me over, there was a chance I could catch the call.