by P. N. Elrod
Michael got over enough of his shock to speak. “What the hell happened to you?”
Kroun leaned against one end of the lobby bar, Broder anchored himself solidly at the other, and Michael stood slightly distanced, able to see them both. Occasionally, his gaze cut to me, but without hostility, just including me in the proceedings. He didn’t have to bother; this was their business, not mine.
While Kroun related his escape from the jaws of death, I eased past Broder and checked behind the bar. Everything was normal, not a bottle out of place. Despite the unlocked front door, no one had burgled the joint, and I didn’t think it was just good luck. Maybe I needed to thank Myrna for looking after things. She was quite a good guardian angel.
I noticed I stood on the permanently stained tile that marked the spot where she’d bled to death. No matter that the tile had been replaced several times, the stain just kept reappearing. I moved off it.
Broder watched me as though I might plan to slip arsenic into the gin and offer him the bottle.
“Like anything?” I asked.
“No.”
That earthquake-deep growl would take getting used to, and I’d had more than my share of experience at dealing with intimidating types. He shifted his attention back to Kroun, and though his face was impassive, Broder’s body was tense. From the look in his eyes, I got the idea that he actively hated the man.
“Mitch?” said Michael, all stunned disbelief. His reaction looked and sounded sincere, which meant he’d not believed anything I’d said back at the house. “But Mitch was—why the hell would he take the chance?”
Kroun did more explaining about his homicidal henchman. I wondered when he’d get around to hypnotizing them so they’d go on their merry way. I had to get to the hospital before visiting hours ended.
“Why didn’t you call me, send a telegram?” Michael wanted to know.
Kroun explained that as well. He’d shrugged from his coat, placing it and the new fedora carefully on the bar, and eased onto one of the stools as though we had all night. I concentrated on being invisible without actually disappearing. The other two remained in place, sponging up his every word. He made it sound plausible. Hell, I knew the real story, and he had me believing the eyewash.
But Michael didn’t like what he heard. “We came all the way out here, nearly killed him”—he jerked a thumb at me—“and that’s it?”
“It’s enough,” said Kroun. “Don’t go blaming Fleming, either. I told him to keep shut until I knew the score.”
Told, I thought. Nicely chosen, having it seem like I was one of the boys following orders the same as any other soldier in their line of work. Fine, whatever it took to get rid of these two.
Counting Kroun, make that three.
He continued. “Fleming’s off the hook for my murder and whatever else you can think up. Call Derner, tell him everything’s squared, and take the next train back, we’re done.”
“They still made a try for you. I can’t let that pass.”
“There is no ‘they.’ Mitch was my man, and Hoyle was already on the outs here. No one else is responsible for their shenanigans. I know that, the question is why you can’t get it through your thick skull.”
Michael’s eyes sparked and narrowed. Broder shifted.
Kroun didn’t seem to notice. “C’mon, Mike. If it’ll make you feel better, sock Fleming in the jaw a few times, call it payback, and have done already.”
It wouldn’t have hurt me much, but that wasn’t going to happen this side of hell. Michael didn’t bother looking my way, just shook his head at Kroun.
“Okay,” he said. “I get it. Mitch was a bad apple, he’s gone—and you’re ready to forgive and forget?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s not like you.”
“What can I say? People change.”
“Sure they do. See it all the time.”
I’d long picked up on a deeper tension between them. Though Kroun was one of Michael’s people, he behaved like the man in control. Michael made him work for it, though. Come to think of it, Michael could have been disappointed about Kroun’s surviving.
“Maybe good old Mitch was acting on his orders,” I said to Kroun. Not smart of me to provoke a fight, but I wanted him to start convincing these guys to leave.
He turned my way. “Ya think? What about it, Michael? You want my job?”
“Go to hell.” Michael’s reaction was instant, right on the surface. He made no effort to mask his disgust.
Kroun’s relaxed expression remained the same, but he went utterly still. His friend had crossed a line. Maybe they both had. Oh, crap. Kroun was armed. If his eyes got empty again, I’d have to try and stop him. This was my place, and it had seen enough blood.
Myrna must have agreed. All the lights suddenly flickered, dimming, but not quite going out. This went on for maybe ten long seconds, then they steadied up normal again. It successfully broke the mood, creating a new one.
Michael snapped around at me, suspicious.
“Electrical short,” I explained.
“Who else is here?”
“Nobody but us chickens.”
He didn’t believe me. “Broder.”
Broder nodded, pulled out a revolver big enough to stop a charging rhino with one shot, and headed toward the main room. The curving hall leading into it was dark.
“Wait,” I said.
He paused.
“You might need this.” I tossed him a flashlight. There were a dozen of them scattered throughout the club, Myrna was that playful. He caught it one-handed, neat and solid. “But it’s just a short. Electric panel’s over there.” I pointed to a spot on the wall next to the lobby phone booth. The utility was hidden by a red velvet curtain. Michael crossed to check on it, then motioned for Broder to continue. His footsteps faded.
It got quiet enough that I could hear Michael’s heartbeat. A little fast. He shouldn’t be so nervous.
“Drink?” I suggested.
“No, thank you.”
“At least a short beer.” I drew one and put it on the bar. “You gotta be thirsty after that trunk business, which I’m sorry about, by the way.”
His focus shifted from Kroun, finally, and he came over for the beer. “You got some nerve.”
“That part was my doing,” said Kroun.
Damn. I wanted him to shut up so I could keep his pal’s attention divided. Kroun seemed hell-bent on thinking up new ways to be fatally irritating.
Michael downed half the beer. Booze would have been better for such a cold night, but he didn’t strike me as one who went for the hard stuff. I’d hung out in my share of dives and had learned a little about other drinkers.
“I got your stuff,” I said. I pulled out the spoils I’d taken from him, spreading them on the counter.
He went first for the glasses case, opened it, and put them on. The gold wire-rims reflected the lights, making it harder to see his eyes. He looked less like a film star and more like the kind of brainy guy who lived in the college library. Neither image was in keeping with the reality that he was a big wheel in the New York mob.
He checked the wallet, put it away, then gave me a hard stare, mitigated quite a lot by the specs. It was difficult to take him seriously while he had those on.
“What?” I asked.
“The money,” he said with a pronounced frown.
Money? Oh.
“I’ve got it,” said Kroun, casually. He was messing with his handkerchief, his attention wholly on it. He shook open and refolded it so four points spilled over the top of his breast pocket like a tired flower.
“Hand it back,” said Michael.
“Hm…” Kroun pretended to think, then shook his head. “No.”
“That’s my money, dammit.”
“You found where I hid it in my hotel room. I recognize the clips. Next time I’ll trust it to a safe.”
“I thought you were—”
“Dead? That’s a good reason to take
it. I forgive you.”
“One of those is mine.”
“Huh. You’re right.” Kroun searched, produced the cash, and removed the money, tossing the empty clip to Michael.
He caught it reflexively, scowling. “Funny.”
“You can spare it. You must own a bank or three by now. I bet you’ve made more in the last ten minutes than most guys see in a lifetime.”
Glowering, Michael finished his beer and turned down my offer for a second. I washed the mug, stacking it with the others under the counter, just your friendly neighborhood barkeep.
We all jumped when something big crashed in the next room. I recognized the sound: chairs clattering, hitting the floor, lots of them. Kroun’s hand went to his pocket, but he glanced at me. I shook my head to signal “don’t worry” and he eased off, doubtful.
Michael was just to the curved entry hall when Broder appeared, nearly running into him. For a big guy he had speed, but he hauled up short, as though he’d been caught in an embarrassing act.
“What is it?” Michael demanded.
Broder scowled. He was good at that. “Nothing.”
No one bought it.
“The lights were out,” he went on. “I bumped a table in the dark. Knocked things over. The batteries are dead.” He threw the flashlight. I caught it less neatly than he had earlier but spared the bottles behind me from breakage.
Under the counter, I clicked the light’s button. The thing worked just fine now. It would be unwise to point that out to anyone, so I quietly put it away. Myrna was expanding her activities. What a gal.
“Find anything?” asked Michael.
Broder holstered his cannon. “A lot of dark. Heat’s off back there. Cold as hell.” For all that, he was sweating, a sheen covered his broad face, and beads gathered at his temples. The heating was the same throughout the building. I’d not turned it down. He had a tan similar to Michael’s, but under it, his skin had gone muddy. When he approached the bar, I tried catching a whiff of his scent and was rewarded with the unmistakable tang of fear.
Looked like Myrna had found a new playmate for the evening. What had she done? Maybe it was better not to know. I poured Broder a whiskey without being asked, and this time he accepted, downing it quick.
“You okay?” I asked.
That got me a suspicious look; he knew I knew something about what had spooked him. “I am fine.”
“Are we done here?” Kroun asked.
“Yes,” Michael said shortly. “There’s a late train back to New York tonight—”
“Enjoy the trip.”
Michael visibly steamed. “You’re coming, too.”
“Uh-uh. I’ve got unfinished business.”
What the hell? The three of us glared at him, waiting for the rest. Kroun spread the handkerchief out flat, refolded it, and tucked it back so two neat triangles showed over the pocket.
“Which one’s better?” he asked. “This or the other way?”
“Like that,” I said. “What unfinished business?”
“Don’t get your feelings hurt, but I had other things to do out here besides bumping you off.” He flicked at his pocket with one finger. “You sure? I liked the other way.”
“So do floorwalkers. What other things?”
“A floorwalker? Nah…not in this suit.”
“Whitey,” said Michael. “We’re going back to New York. You don’t have any more business here.”
“Actually, I do. It’s none of your business, and it’s going to take a while, so don’t expect me back any too soon.”
Michael’s tanned face went muddy like Broder’s. “No. We’re all leaving. Don’t cross me on this.”
“Come on, Mike. I nearly got blown to perdition and back, then had to put Mitch down like a rabid dog. I’m taking a rest. You’ve got guys who can fill in for me.”
“No.”
“I’ll hang around here, see a few shows, maybe do some fishing—”
“No!” There was angry force behind that, far more than the situation warranted. Not knowing Michael, I couldn’t tell for sure, but his anger was covering up something else.
It was…fear. No such vulnerability showed on his face, but I could smell it. I remembered a moment when, with no small shock, I realized that Gordy was afraid of Kroun. Gordy didn’t know about the vampire angle; it had been fear of the man himself. He and Michael had that in common. So, why were they afraid of him, and should I be worried?
Kroun’s eyes were darker than before. His voice remained low and level and deadly patient. This was Whitey Kroun, not the more affable Gabe. “I’m not getting on that train. If I go back to New York, who’s to say the next guy I run into won’t try to finish what Mitch started? No, thanks. I’m staying here until you’ve done some housecleaning.”
Michael recovered his self-control. Quickly. Throwing his weight around wouldn’t work. His tone shifted, became the reasonable one of a man willing to compromise. “Okay…come and help me, then. Only you know who you’ve pissed off lately.”
Kroun barked a short laugh. “That would be everyone.”
“I’ll make sure you’re protected. No one’s getting another chance at you. I guarantee that.”
“Thanks very much, but I’m staying—until further notice.”
Michael’s hand twitched, reminding me of the gun no longer under his coat. Broder didn’t make a move, just watched and listened. Apparently he’d seen this kind of thing before. I tried to read him for a clue as to how it might end, but would have had better luck with a brick wall.
“It’s the old bastard, isn’t it?” Michael asked. “You’re here to see him.”
“Yeah,” Kroun admitted, after a moment.
“It’s no good, he’s crazy, you’ll only stir him up. Stay away from him.”
Kroun made no reply. Making an effort, I kept my yap shut, wanting to know more.
Michael glanced at Broder, who did not react.
Kroun poked at the handkerchief, pulling it out again. A quick refold and he put it back, this time showing a razor-thin edge of white. He looked at me for an opinion. I gave a thumbs-up.
“I’m gonna look up an old friend or two,” he said. “No one you’d know.”
“And do what?”
“None of your damn business, kid. I’m not repeating myself.”
“Whitey—”
“Mike.” Kroun raised one hand in a sharp “back off” gesture and met his gaze square and granite-hard. “Enough.”
Silence stretched, but not to a breaking point, and the lights remained steady. Michael continued, body tense, but his voice was calm. “All right, fine. But since you’re worried about people taking potshots, you’ll have to have a bodyguard. Someone who will be the first person I hold responsible if anything goes wrong.”
“Not him,” Kroun nodded at Broder, who again did not react.
“No problem.” Michael looked at me. “He’ll do.”
“Forget it,” I said instantly.
“I can take care of myself,” Kroun said.
Michael’s mouth tightened, not in a smile. “You’ve got a point about being a target. Anything happens to you again, and I break this town like an egg—and Fleming knows it. You’ve vouched for him plenty tonight. He’ll bust heads to keep you safe.”
I’d also be motivated to get Kroun to leave as soon as possible. That might not be in keeping with his plan to retire from the business. I threw him an expectant look. Now was the time to put them both under and make them leave.
“Cripes,” Kroun muttered.
“It’s him, or Broder and I tag along.”
“Go ahead,” I put in. “I don’t want the job.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Kroun.
“You can get out of this,” I reminded him, knowing he’d catch the meaning.
He shook his head once, surprising me.
“Come on…”
“No. Drop it.”
Damn him. The crazy son of a gun wasn’t going to do i
t. I snorted, turning to Michael, framing an appeal. “Look—”
Kroun broke in. “Won’t work, Fleming. He’s made up his mind. I know what that means, you might as well learn it now.”
I already did and didn’t like it. He could force a change in Michael’s views, but it wouldn’t stick. Depending on how strongly a person felt, the hypnosis might last for weeks or just a day or so. It was worth the effort to me, though. However difficult to influence, once Michael and Broder were on their way out of town, they might think twice about coming back again.
Yeah, sure.
I’m often a victim of my own optimism.
“It’s just for a couple days,” Kroun went on. To him I was hands down the lesser of two evils, giving him good reason to cave in so fast. “This place is closed, what else have you got to do?”
“Plenty,” I said.
If I’d been asked instead of appointed, it would have been different. I’d been my own boss too long to go back to being pushed around by a bunch of murdering bastards. Yes, I was one myself by now, but…they all looked at me, hostility, assured expectation, and cynical resignation parceled out between them.
Oh, what the hell. I wanted to keep an eye on Kroun anyway.
He read my face easily enough. “That’s settled. When’s that train leaving?”
“Never mind the train.” Michael held his glasses up to the light. He rubbed at a lens with the end of his tie. “Broder and I are staying in town.”
“Why?”
“None of your damn business.”
“You want to see how it turns out with the old bastard.”
“Among other things.”
God, were they going to start up all over again?
“Fleming watches you, Broder and I watch Fleming. Everyone’s happy.”
Except Fleming, I thought.
“You—” Michael pointed at me, then gestured me over to the side.
I hated being ordered around by anyone, especially in my own place, but put up with it in the interest of getting them out more quickly. From the signs, Michael wanted an off-the-record talk. He couldn’t know that Kroun would be able to hear it from across the room.