Part 35 (1/2)
”Seems to me you should be keeping your head a lot lower. I give you a talking-to, then bang-boom, there you are on the d.a.m.n sidewalk being another d.a.m.n mess.”
”Thanks for pulling me clear.”
”Thought you were a goner when that hit. Isham, who the h.e.l.l got close enough to the car to rig that thing?”
”No one, Shoe. We watched it good.”
”It didn't happen here,” I said. ”Someone had to have done it earlier. The guys know Gordy's car and that Kroun and I have been using it. Anyone could have wired it up at any time.”
”Why didn't it go off sooner, then?”
”The trigger might have been on the pa.s.senger door. Kroun didn't get in on that side when we left. It was pure chance. It was supposed to take me and Kroun out together.” I'd survived a h.e.l.l of a lot, but being blown to pieces might have done the trick for real.
”So who did it?”
”Mitch.e.l.l. Kroun's lieutenant.”
”You sure?”
I spread my hands. ”If that was meant just for me, then I'd have other names to give you. But if Kroun was supposed to go, too... the pa.s.senger door trigger changes things. A lot of people might know I'd be driving him and that he'd probably sit in the front. Mitch.e.l.l's the only one I can think of who'd stand to gain by Kroun's death. He might be set to take over Kroun's job if anything happens to his boss. With Kroun getting killed here, the Chicago outfit gets the blame, and Mitch.e.l.l is clear to walk in. He wouldn't be the first mug in the world trying to improve himself by knocking off his boss.”
”It worked great for Ca.s.sius. Didn't last. He bought it later.”
”Hah?”
”In Julius Caesar? Ca.s.sius got a bunch of other guys to go in with him for the hit on Caesar. Dropping you at the Nightcrawler strikes me as being a really stupid thing to do. You don't know who could be on Mitch.e.l.l's side.”
”I got an edge.”
”Yeah. Sure was helpful against that bomb.”
Actually it had kept me alive and had certainly cured a couple of busted eardrums if not more, but Coldfield needed to grouse and grumble and get it out of his system. He was shaken by the business, and this was his way of handling it.
When he ran down, I said, ”I still have to go there and deal with him. I can't let Gordy catch h.e.l.l for something I didn't do.”
Coldfield managed not to heave a huge sigh, just most of one. ”All right. Isham, drive this guy to the lion's den.”
”Thanks,” I said.
”Uh-uh, I'm not taking the responsibility.”
”No problem.”
”You're certain Mitch.e.l.l's the guy?”
”At this point he's the likeliest, but there might be stuff going on I've missed or never knew about. I wasn't exactly tailor-made for these kinds of fun and games.”
”The h.e.l.l you're not.” He gave me a look that was meant to include my supernatural condition.
”Maybe now, yeah, but I never wanted this job. That's why I don't get all the stuff happening. Too d.a.m.ned trusting. Soon as Gordy's better I step clear.”
”Amen, brother. This s.h.i.+t's bad for business.”
”The cops are going to be all over that wreck once it's cooled down. They'll eventually trace it to Gordy and want to question him. You got the name of his lawyer so he can run interference?”
”Yeah, Adelle's had to deal with him. That's covered.”
”You sure about this trip to the den?”
”I'll go very carefully.” I checked my watch, but the crystal was cracked right across, the time stopped at the moment I'd been flung backward. It could probably be fixed, even the damaged innards, but I would replace it, buy something with a different face to it so it wouldn't be constantly reminding me. ”You wanna do me a real favor, you and Isham run over to Crymsyn and help Charles stay out of trouble. They might target there next.”
”I told him to get out, go to my club, and I'd put him up, but he said he was staying put.”
”Playing lieutenant,” I said, saying it with an ”f.”
Isham dropped me a block from the Nightcrawler and drove off. I ghosted the rest of the way in, brus.h.i.+ng quick between pedestrians on the walks, giving them a brief, intense chill that had nothing to do with the weather. When I encountered the uncompromising solidity of a building, I rose high, found a window shape, and sieved in. Men were in the room and a radio was on, tuned to some fights, but they didn't pay much attention, talking over the commentator.
I identified a couple of the voices as being regulars who worked the gaming tables below. They were expecting some local politicos tonight, and the pickings would be good except for one guy who was to ”win” his weekly payoff. There was a discussion going on over the best way to make it seem like a genuine game.
s.h.i.+fted from that room to the hall and floated along, counting doors until reaching Gordy's office. I eased through to the other side and listened, handicapped by this form's cottonlike m.u.f.fling. No one seemed to be in. That wasn't too likely. I pushed on, finally going solid in the bathroom. I kept quiet and waited. Derner was on the phone, and he was p.i.s.sed.
”Oh, yeah? Well, you get your a.s.s moving and find him! The boss is raising h.e.l.l over this. If we don't find Hoyle tonight, tomorrow there's gonna be fresh food in the lake for the d.a.m.n fish.”
Since the phone was probably tapped I hoped he meant that threat for effect and wasn't planning to carry it through. On the other hand, the FBI would like nothing better than for the wiseguys to knock each other off. Less work for them.
Derner hung up. I peered around the door. He was consulting a book for the next number. He dialed, let it ring a long time, then hung up in disgust. Before he could find another to try the phone rang.
”Yeah?” He sounded impatient. There was a gla.s.s of water on the desk and a toppled-over bottle of aspirin. He'd been busy. And frustrated.
Silence as he listened. So did I. I could almost make out the speaker's words on the other end of the line.
”What? What'd you say?” His voice lost its decisive force, like the air had been sucked right from his lungs.
The caller repeated, his tones emphatic.
”Th-that's impossible. I was just on the phone with him tonight. You sure?” Now he sounded uneasy. I could guess what the bad news must be. ”Both of 'em? Where? You sure? Are you? Okay. Stick around, keep an eye on what the cops do. Call me again. I know it's been busy, you just keep calling!” He slammed the receiver down, staring at the opposite wall with its pastoral painting and probably not seeing it.
After a moment, with elbows on the desk, he slumped until his head was between the heels of his hands. He let out a long low groan, gently rubbing his temples.
”Ahh, jeez. This is too much,” he whispered, eyes shut.
I went semitransparent, floating noiselessly over the floor. Stood right in front of him, going solid. Waited.
He must have had a really bad headache; he didn't look up. He gave a sluggish jump when the phone rang and muttered a curse.
Then he straightened to answer, saw me, and froze. After the first yelp, no cursing, no nothing, just pure shock on his face. Couldn't tell if it was from dismay or guilt, then it slipped suddenly into genuine relief.
”You-you're okay!”