A Song In The Dark (16 page)

“That's just not right. They should have you starring in all kinds of things. I've already said you're terrific, now I have to let you know you're wonderful.”

Mitchell stopped glaring at me long enough to spare a look at his boss and did a restrained rolling of eyes. I might have done the same, but for picking up that Kroun's high regard for Adelle was absolutely sincere. He seemed to be
utterly smitten, but not pushy about it. He held the personal charm note perfectly, drawing it out.

“I'll be around, Mr. Kroun,” Mitchell said, and drifted away without waiting for a reply. Good thing, since he didn't get one.

Adelle agreed with Kroun about Hollywood's lack of judgment in regard to her career. They had plenty of common ground: his veneration for her and her agreeing with him about it. I wasn't going to leave her alone with him, but she turned her big eyes on me. “Jack, would you mind doing that little favor I asked?”

“You sure?” This didn't seem to be the best time, but Gordy would be free. She'd keep Kroun well distracted, too.

“Certainly.”

I took that to mean she knew how to deal with him, and she had to like the flattery. Who wouldn't? “I'll be back shortly, then,” I said, leaving. My money was on Adelle, that she'd learn more about Kroun in five minutes than I would in a week. I was glad she and I were on the same side.

Upstairs I bumped into Derner in the hall. “Gordy wants to see you,” he said.

“Mutual, I'm sure.” I went past him, not breaking stride. Evidently this would be a private meeting, since Derner went on to clatter down the stairs. Suited me. I pushed open the office door and found Gordy sitting the same as ever in his big chair at the desk. What was unusual was him apparently being asleep. His eyes were fast shut, his head down on his chest. He didn't look so good.

As I drew closer I chanced to take in a whiff of air. In this place with the familiar chrome furnishings and pastoral paintings I was startled to pick up a very out-of-place hospital taint. Heavy, sweet, but with an odd acidic tang to it. Certain smells will trigger memories. This one stripped
away half a lifetime and hauled me back to the casualty wards from when I'd been in the War. I'd lost too many friends there.

My heart sank. Adelle's assessment about Gordy being bad off were all too right.

In addition to the sickroom miasma—it wasn't that strong, just enough that only I could have noticed—I picked up bloodsmell. His wounds must be seeping. If it triggered another damn bout of shaking . . . Gordy wasn't the only one who had to limit the number of people seeing him vulnerable. He didn't need my troubles on top of his own, either.

Going to a window, I eased it open, lifting high. The curtains immediately billowed as icy air swept in. We were high enough off the street for it to be fresh. After a minute the place was freezing, but much of the smell dissipated. Because I'd been chilled through since waking, this cold got to me more than it should. I fought off increasingly violent shivers until it hurt. Enough was too much. I lowered the window, leaving it short a couple inches, and turned toward the desk, trying to rub warmth into my arms. Wasn't working. That was for people with circulating blood, and mine . . . well, mine just didn't work that way.

“ 'Lo, Fleming.”

If my ears hadn't been so sensitive, I might not have heard him.

Gordy's eyelids cracked, and he took a deep breath. “That's good. I tell 'em to leave a window open, but Derner's afraid of pneumonia.” He sounded worse than last night and whatever rest he'd had failed to clear away the circles under his eyes and the weary droop around his mouth. He looked a lot older and more tired than he had any right to be. His large body took up just as much space, but
seemed oddly hollow, as though all the strength had been scraped out.

My heart went into my throat, and I hoped Gordy didn't see the fear. I made a thumbs-up sign to him and felt like a complete ass for its inadequacy.

“You need anything?” I asked, taking a chair by him.

“Have it. Forgot what air's like. Adelle keeps me wrapped like a mummy when we go out.”

“How you doing?”

Gordy shut his eyes and opened them, slow. He looked steadily at one of the landscapes on the opposite wall. It was a good one and must have been his favorite since it faced his desk. I wondered what he liked best about it. “Doc Clarson says the holes are healing clean. No fever. I'm fine. Getting better every day.”

Yeah, sure you are.
God, but he looked tired.

“He kept me pretty doped at first. I say I want to lay off except at night so I can sleep. I seen what too much of that stuff does to mugs. I'm better. Something wrong? Kroun givin' you grief?”

“Not really.” Gordy was throwing out distractions. I knew all about that angle. “You're the problem. You've got Adelle scared half out of her mind.”

“What d'ya mean?”

I tapped my shoulder where Adelle had cried. “This ain't rainwater making a damp spot on my coat. The woman's on the ragged edge because of you not taking care of yourself.”

“I can do that after Kroun leaves town.”

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 effect 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 . . . to 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.