The Vampire Files Anthology

by P. N. Elrod

  About two years ago, when Slick Morelli had been the big boss, Gordy had helped get a man down into the Nightcrawler’s basement on a pretext, then held him in place. Kroun put a gun muzzle in the man’s mouth and took the top of his head off just that quick. The thick walls and the club band playing upstairs covered the noise. The whole process had taken less than half a minute. Kroun hadn’t cracked a sweat, hadn’t even blinked. Right afterward, he’d gone up to the club and danced with the chorus girls as though nothing had happened.

  No, not good to hear at all.

  I considered Gordy a friend, but that dark side of him was part of the package. When it was necessary, he could kill and not think anything of it. He didn’t like the killing, but he’d still do it.

  I found myself squirming inside, knowing I’d gotten that way myself, it just bothered me more. How long would that last if I stayed on this road?

  “What had the man done?” I asked.

  “Kroun never said. Just gave the orders, and we did what we did. He’s good at that kind of job. Those mugs never knew from Adam when their number was up. He pals with ’em until it’s time, does the job, then goes back and pals with their friends a few minutes later. Not a lot of guys are able to pull that off.”

  Michael had warned me. He’d said Kroun had no conscience. I’d met a few similar types, and you can usually tell there’s something wrong with them even if you don’t know exactly what it is. It’s enough to make you cautious. Being able to hide it so well made Kroun different from them, and a hell of a lot more dangerous.

  Gordy added, “When he came to town for you, I figured he’d do the same as always. Instead, he has you up to the office to hear you out. That never happened before.”

  “He always been called Whitey?”

  “Yeah. Used to wear a white hat, winter and summer. The streak of white hair is new. Says he got skull-creased by a jealous husband who was a bad shot.”

  “Where’d that happen?”

  He shook his head. “I heard it was in New York. But maybe that cabin?”

  “And what happened to the husband? To the wife?”

  A shrug. “You’d have to ask Kroun.”

  “I doubt he’d say.”

  “To you he might.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “You got plenty in common. He didn’t try to keep you out when he talked with the crazy guy. If Kroun didn’t want you to know this stuff, you wouldn’t.”

  “Carelessness in his old age?”

  “Don’t count on it. He’ll have a reason. And don’t trust him.”

  No. I would not do that. “But how did he get to be like me? You’d think he’d tell me of all people.”

  But Gordy had no answer to that, either. Instead, “Derner phoned today. Said you did a good job dousing the fire on Alan Caine and the rest of it.”

  I shrugged. I’d done what was needed but wasn’t proud of it. “That fire won’t be out until they find Mitchell, only they never will. Someone could still get burned.”

  “It’s the best you can expect, kid. The heat’s off our bunch, that’s what matters. Derner told me you didn’t like the fix job on your car.”

  I managed a short grin. “It’s okay. If I’m being the boss, I might as well have an armored car. The wheels—I just wanted them changed, not swapped for solid rubber.”

  “Rough ride?”

  “My eyeballs bounce so much I can’t see the road.”

  That amused him.

  “I’ll swap for pneumatics once Kroun’s gone home.”

  If he went home. He struck me as being sincere about getting away from the mobs. How would he do it, though? Fake his death again? That hadn’t worked too well for him.

  “Any idea where Coldfield went with Charles?” I asked.

  “Said something about checking his mail.”

  “Then they’ll be at Charles’s office. I’ll drive over and see. Maybe if Charles plays referee, he can calm Shoe down.”

  “Don’t count on it,” Gordy repeated.

  8

  KROUN

  THAT sick bastard should have kicked off years ago.

  Gabriel walked quickly despite the snowdrifts on the sidewalks, despite the ice hiding underneath. He wanted distance between himself and the venom-spitting monster locked away in that nuthouse.

  And Fleming with his damned questions.

  I should have had him wait in the car.

  Too late, he knew the worst of it now.

  “Not the worst,” Gabe muttered aloud.

  He missed a step, skidding on one heel before gaining his balance. Where had that come from? He glanced around, but the street was empty. No one had heard him. God, he should not be talking to himself, even when he was alone; he couldn’t take that chance. Only crazy people did that, and he wasn’t going to end up like Sonny.

  Before that happened…well, he didn’t know.

  Maybe I should back off on this.

  Tempting. He had money, easy enough to buy a cheap car and get clear of Chicago. He could disappear himself in Minnesota or Canada, find a place to live and…do what?

  He didn’t know that, either. But it would probably take care of itself.

  Fishing would be good, but after what Sonny had said…there was now a taint on that pleasure.

  Gabe couldn’t kid himself, he had to find the cabin and get things settled. The last time he’d been there—wherever it was—he’d gone up with a driver and some woman. Had she been the one weeping over his death? His driver back in November had been a mug named Ramsey, who’d dropped out of sight. If he’d been the one to put a bullet in Gabe’s skull, then making himself missing was the smartest thing to do.

  What had happened there? Even if Gabe found the cabin, he had no guarantee it would convey anything useful. Backing off now would leave him with unanswered questions, but he could live with those…

  No, he would not. Good or bad, bad or worse, he had to find out.

  The goings-on Sonny had implied made Gabe’s stomach turn. Those pictures so carefully torn from the papers…disgusting, sick. How could they allow that?

  The old bastard’s crazy, that’s why he’s locked up.

  One of the reasons why, anyway. Gabe didn’t want to think about the others and kept walking.

  The street, a nice one with big trees on either side, opened to a wider road with businesses and more traffic. A hotel took up a sizable portion of a block on his side. There were a couple cabs out front. He opened the door of the nearest and got in, giving the driver an address. The phone work he’d done in the Nightcrawler’s office had paid off, giving him two leads to check out. This second one promised to be considerably different.

  The driver was apparently familiar with the number. He smirked when Gabe paid him off.

  Gabe went up the steps of a large, prosperous-looking brick house similar to the other two-story houses along the street. Each had a small yard, some protected by iron-barred fences or painted wood pickets. Driveways had cars in them, walks were shoveled. The Depression seemed to have passed this area by, which could mean that mob money was all over the block. The big shots didn’t always hang out at the bars and pool parlors. Even Capone had parked his family in that sweet place over on South Prairie.

  No need to ring the bell. A bouncer on duty opened the door. His eyes flashed wide in recognition, then he shifted from surprise to stone-faced neutrality. His body tensed.

  Gabe was almost used to it. He took his hat off and waited with the bouncer in the small entry until a pleasant-faced woman wearing a soft print dress and a long rope of pearls came. She also underwent a not-so-subtle transformation of expression, going on guard.

  “Hello, Mr. Kroun,” she said.

  “You have anything for me?” he asked, radiating affability. He couldn’t remember her name, but so far as memory served, most madams were alike. He thought she’d been pretty once, but life had a way of eroding one’s assets.

  She hesitated. “We’re very busy tonigh
t. It will be hours before anyone’s available.”

  He looked past her into the parlor beyond where a radio played dance music. “Seems to be plenty available.”

  “I mean anyone suitable for you.”

  He was in strange waters now. Gabe knew in this area his appetite—there was a word as loaded as a set of crooked dice—had undergone a major change. He’d not availed himself of the services of the houses in New York, playing things safe. Out here in Chicago he felt better about indulging himself—except for the madam’s manner with him.

  He put on one of his best smiles. “Let me be the judge of that.”

  He started in, but she halted him with a hand on his arm. “Listen, Mr. Kroun, I got a business to run. You hurt my girls, and they can’t work, then you gotta pay extra.”

  Gabe didn’t know how to react to that so he went stone-faced, too. It clearly frightened the woman, but she stood solid. He put his hand over hers, patting lightly. “I’m not here to hurt anyone. Let’s go in.” He kept hold, taking her along.

  Several young women sat around the parlor, some in oriental-style silk robes, others in evening dress, one in a pale blue slip and nothing under it. They looked good; the place was high-class enough to have very presentable merchandise for the clients. None seemed too enthusiastic, though. A couple of the girls clearly recognized him. They whispered to the uninformed, who avoided his eye.

  The madam pulled free and pointed to a thin, angular girl by the radio. “That one,” she said. “She doesn’t mind your games.”

  He managed to not inquire just what those games might be and focused on the girl. Nice, but with an edge that had nothing to do with her lean frame. He’d slice himself up on those bones and suspected she used morphine. She wasn’t his type. He wasn’t sure what his type was, but she wasn’t it. He checked out the rest. A shorter, more rounded one caught his eye. She wore her dark hair almost like Adelle Taylor, though the face and figure were different. She’d been one of the girls who recognized him.

  He smiled and nodded. “She’ll do.”

  The madam opened her mouth, but he looked at her. No need to put any special weight behind it. Early on he’d come to understand that people were afraid of him. He made use of it. She backed down from voicing whatever objection she had.

  The girl flinched when called over and avoided his eye. He could get around that. What he could see of her arms showed clean of needle pocks. Good, he didn’t want a doper. He couldn’t understand why people did that to themselves. It had to hurt.

  However fancy the place, it was payment in advance. He settled with the madam, then went upstairs with the girl.

  Her room was much as he expected: a big bed, satin pillows, a few bottles of booze on the dresser, a curtain partway open to a closet full of clothes, heavy curtains over the window so she could sleep during the day. A small sink was in one corner, a lamp with a red silk scarf over it stood in another, imparting a rosy glow to things. She had a radio and a record player. Not too bad. The mirror on the dresser was thankfully tilted away from him.

  Soon as he shut the door she dropped to her knees and started unbuttoning his pants. Her hands shook.

  “Hey, slow down, sweetheart,” he said, catching her wrists. She flinched again, going pale. He drew her upright. “What’s the rush?”

  “No rush, but the others said you was a busy man.”

  Probably said a few more things besides. “Not that busy. How about we have a drink first?”

  “I’m not allowed. Mrs. Temple marks the bottles. It’s only for guests.” She stumbled over the word. He thought she’d nearly said “customers.”

  “How about you have one and I’ll say it was for me?”

  She thought a moment, then nodded. “Vodka. Straight.”

  A good choice, it wouldn’t leave much of a smell on her breath. He went to the dresser, poured a double. The damn stuff was strong, nearly made his eyes water. He took it over to her, but didn’t release the glass as she reached for it.

  “Look at me, honey,” he said.

  They were close, she had to raise her head up quite a bit.

  “Well, don’t you have beautiful eyes? How do you like mine?”

  She gave no opinion, but he had her full attention now.

  “What’s your name, honey?”

  “Lettie.”

  “Okay, Lettie, I don’t know what you’ve heard about me, but I’m not going to hurt you. I want you to relax and”—he recalled one of Fleming’s quirks—“just pretend we’re old friends. You like me a lot, and we’re going to have a good time, got that?”

  She nodded.

  He shut it off and gave her the drink. Her manner changed just that quick. She was suddenly at ease and even dug out a smile for him, a sweet one. Then again, he’d paid well for it.

  He looked at the bed, but wasn’t quite ready to start. It reminded him of the one in Sonny’s room. Fine thing to think of now.

  A soft creak from the hall froze him. Someone was coming up to their door, being stealthy, but like a herd of elephants to Gabe’s hearing. Either the madam or the bouncer was checking on things. What the hell had happened on his last visit?

  He opened the door. The bouncer loomed tall, solid, unapologetic.

  “We’re okay here,” said Gabe.

  The man remained.

  Goddammit, I can’t do anything with him listening. Gabe focused on him. “I said we’re okay. Go downstairs and don’t bother us again. Everything’s fine.”

  That worked. The man left. Gabe shut the door.

  “Lettie?”

  She’d quickly finished the vodka and even washed the glass in the little sink. She came up to him and put both hands on his waist in the front, fingers slipping inside his pants. Very friendly. Her robe was open. Under it she wore red satin step-ins with lace around the legs. Nothing else. Her breasts were nicely rounded, more than enough for…

  He cleared his throat, backed off a step, and put his hat on the dresser. His overcoat went on a chair next to it. The gun he’d taken from Michael weighed heavy in one of its pockets. He took care to not let it bump anything. “Uh, tell me, you know anything about cutting hair?”

  Her smile faltered. “W-what?”

  “Can you give me a haircut?” He rubbed a hand over his head so she’d know just where he wanted the trim.

  “You serious?”

  “Yes, I am. Another day, and I’m gonna look like one of those English sheepdogs. If not you, then one of the other girls…?”

  She laughed, a small one. “I used to cut my brother’s hair. He didn’t like it much, though.”

  “Hey, brothers are put on this earth to not like things.” He took off his suit coat, watchful for her reaction to the gun he wore in a shoulder rig. She made no comment, didn’t even seem to notice it. He slipped free of the leather straps, flexing his shoulders. “I bet you did a good job.”

  “You sure?”

  He undid his tie, then the buttons of his shirt collar. “Yeah. Where do you want me?”

  Bemused by now, Lettie took charge. She moved his overcoat to the bed, put some newspapers on the floor and the chair over the papers. Again, a reminder of Sonny’s room. That had to stop, or he wouldn’t enjoy any of this. He took his shirt and undershirt off next, but was strangely shy about his trousers. Damn fool way to be at his age, but he couldn’t help it.

  “Come on,” she said. “You don’t want to get hair on them; they’ll itch.”

  He let her talk him out of his pants, socks, and shoes, then sat, feeling vulnerable in just his skin and skivvies. The room was warm, but goose bumps whispered down his arms as she pushed his head forward and started work on the back of his neck with scissors.

  “You really needed a cut,” she said. Snip-snip-snip. “I’ll try to get it even, but you should have a barber with one of those electric-shaver things for this.”

  “Lettie, when I have a choice between you and some guy talking baseball, you’ll get the job every time.”
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  She snickered. “Short back and sides?”

  “Yes, please, and some off the top.”

  “Yeah, I know how to do that. I never had anyone want a haircut, lemme tell you. The others’ll think you’re crazy.”

  “You girls talk about us?”

  “Sure, not much else to do.”

  “Remember the last time I was here?” The snipping ceased, and he was acutely aware of a stranger standing behind him with something sharp in hand. He hoped his suggestion about being old friends was still strong. “It’s okay, Lettie. I want you to tell me everything. Who did I see then?”

  “Nelly Cabot.”

  He held off on further questions, letting the name sink in, waiting for something to come to him. Nothing. “She have dark hair like you?”

  “I guess. She went blond though. They get picked more often. She went blond. You know. All over. The men really like that.”

  Not the kind of information he sought, but interesting nonetheless. “And I liked it, too?”

  “You liked the things she…didn’t mind doing.”

  Gabe wasn’t ready to go into that just yet.

  Lettie resumed trimming. He kept quiet while she navigated the critical areas around his ears, then started working the top. She used a comb in some way that yanked at his scalp. No wonder her brother had complained. “What’s this white patch?” she asked. “You didn’t have it last time.”

  “Accident at my job, nothing much. Did I take Nelly out?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I tied one on that night. It’s fuzzy. I thought we went out.”

  “Yeah, you did. For the weekend. You made a deal with Mrs. Temple. Nelly put on her best dress, got a bag, and you went off in a big car.”

  “I had a driver?” Ramsey, perhaps?

  “Sure did. Other girls was jealous, but Mrs. Temple said to shut up and not talk about it.”

  “I made her nervous?”

  “She didn’t let on, but we could tell she was scared.”

  Yes. He did that to people. Some of them. “And then what?”

  “I donno.”

  “Yes, you do. Tell me, Lettie.” He stared straight ahead and would have held his breath had he a need to breathe.