A Song In The Dark (32 page)

More prosaically, a pile of blankets lay on an aged army cot, and close to it stood an electric heater, the source of the
humming sound. Home sweet hideout. Evie Montana, still wearing Alan Caine's tan coat, was tied up on the cot, a rag stuffed in her mouth, a blindfold on. Her body was tensed head to toe, listening.

I paused in the middle, feeling the ceiling pressing hard, and started to face him.

“No, you stay just like that.” Hoyle was close behind, but not too close. I could still spin and take the gun away much faster than he could react, but he'd talk more if he thought he was the boss.

“Okay, you got me. Gonna bash my brains in like you did for Ruzzo?” That was one danger that was real for me, I was exceptionally vulnerable to any weapon made from wood. So long as he had only a gun, I was fairly safe.

“What do you know about it?” he snarled.

“I found what you left of them not long back. Then I talked with some guys, and they said where you kept your heap. Just call me Sherlock Junior. Why'd you do it?”

“Maybe they had it coming.”

“That's all?”

“An' they knew some things they shouldn't.”

“Like about the bomb Mitchell had you put on Gordy's car?”

“Who told you that?”

“I figured it out. You're going to have to buy Gordy a new car, you know.”

“Stupid punk. Think you're so damned funny, think the sun rises and sets on your ass?”

“Not quite.” No point sharing the irony of that with him.

“Well, there's some of us who know how things really work around here, and punks like you don't know squat.”

“Why don't you tell me, then?”

He fired the gun. The bang was deafening.

I flinched, but was unharmed. The bullet bit a hole in the wall in front of me, above and to the right. I'd fired three into the ground next to his head, this was just returning the favor. We were lucky the mortar was soft and the bricks crumbly. A ricochet would have made this room a hell of a lot smaller, fast.

“How do
you
like it?” he asked.

“I'm gonna faint in a few days if there's much more excitement.”

Another shot. I'd expected it, so I didn't flinch as much. My ears rang. I swallowed, trying to clear them.

“And that?”

“Hoyle, this wall's getting pretty boring. Even looking at your mug would make a change.” I started to turn, but he told me to stay put again, his voice going up. Bad sign. He was the boss of the room, but he was nervous. “What's the matter? You think I can still follow through on what I said about killing you the other night?
You've
got the gun.”

“I know how you work. I heard the boys talk. They say you can just look at someone and get them to do what you want.”

“That's right. That's how I grew up to be president of these United States. I talked everyone into voting for me.”

“Shuddup!”

Quiet now. Creepy to hear his breathing so near. Surprising it was that I could hear anything after the gunfire boom. I waited until he seemed more settled. “You got me. Now what?”

“I kill you.”

“Not a good idea. Gordy's on the mend—”

“Gordy's on the outs! You can't hide behind him no more.”

“I never did. I was only saying that you bumping Ruzzo is one thing, but bumping me . . . very bad idea. Too many people will go after you for that one.”

“Yeah, and if I don't take you out, you'll still be after me.”

“Not necessarily. Depends on what information you can give about Mitchell's plans.”

“I don't know nothing.”

“He told you plenty. That's how he was able to talk you into the bomb. He wanted Kroun removed and thought you'd be the best bet. Am I right? Then he sees to it you're protected from payback . . .” A new thought popped into my head. “Of course this place ain't his idea—it's yours. You're hiding from him.”

No response.

“An' the only reason you'd wanna hide from him is if
he'd
killed Ruzzo. It's a double cross. Am I right?”

“Maybe.”

“Come on, help me out here and help yourself. What happened with Ruzzo?”

“I went there and found 'em like that. It wasn't me.”

“But you emptied their wallets, didn't you?”

“What if I did? They weren't needin' it.”

“You were hiding with them?”

“At first. Then Mitch came over, an' we got to talkin'. He knew me from when he worked for Morelli. I tol' him how you was screwing things up, so we went off private for a drink and made some plans.”

The plans being to send Kroun and me in pieces to kingdom come. “You make your bomb here?”

“In his hotel room; I was hiding with him for a day. I'd moved outta Ruzzo's place, but left some things, an' when I went back . . .”

“Must have been a shock.” From which he quickly recovered and was able to coolly pick their pockets for spare cash. Nice guy. “Where's Mitchell?”

Silence.

“Why have you got the girl here?”

“Why do you think?”

He was just egging me. There were still bullets left. I make a move and boom. He'd want that. “You got the girl because Mitchell wanted her. Now why in the middle of all this malarkey does he want a date?”

“You tell me.”

I couldn't see Hoyle's hands, couldn't see if they were scratched up or not, but the fact that he'd not killed Evie sparked a new line of thought about Caine's and Jewel's murders. “Because she knows something she shouldn't. Because he's afraid of her.”

“Mitchell afraid of a twist.” Contempt in his tone.

“Because he thinks she saw him kill Alan Caine.”

More silence.

“But you worked that out already, didn't you? So why did Mitchell kill Alan Caine?”

“Damn you . . .”

“Come on, Hoyle. Bump me, and Gordy feeds you to the fish. You can definitely count on Mitchell disappearing you—you know too much. But ease off, and you get out alive.”

“Mitch won't kill me.”

“The hell he won't. He has to give New York a corpse for killing Kroun, and you're it. But I've got people waiting to grab him. If we walk into Gordy's office and say the same thing, he's toast. You can say he asked you to make a bomb, only he didn't say for what. I
can
get you clear.”

“Why should you?”

“Because I'm just really tired of people getting killed. Kroun took me down a notch tonight because of that. Almost the last thing he said was I didn't have it in me to order people killed, and he was right. I'll look after myself and my own, but I don't mark through names on a page.”

“No guts.”

“That's right. But I can get you clear. Evie can back us up, too.”

“You kiddin'? She's an idiot. That's how I got her so easy. She was dumb enough to go back home to pick up an extra pair of socks, then take a ride from a stranger. But what a mouth for saying a whole lot of nothing.”

I could imagine that's why he'd gagged her, so he wouldn't have to listen to her talk. He'd likely questioned her, though, and figured out why Mitchell wanted her. “You wanna get out of this breathing? What d'ya say?”

He didn't say anything while I stared at the wall.

“C'mon, Hoyle.” I must have cut close to the bone, given him too much to think about. Counted a slow ten, then said, “If we don't do what Mitchell expects, don't kill each other . . . then we can both go after him. We win, he loses.”

A very long silence. Cautiously, I tried turning again. He let me get all the way around.

He looked bad. Unsteady on his feet, having to brace with one hand on the ceiling, unshaved, and eyelids twitching. He was scared. Of me. I understood now. My threat to kill him, with or without eye whammy, was something he'd taken to heart.

“Where's Mitchell?” I gently asked.

“I donno. If I did, he'd be dead.”

“We need him alive to take the whole blame.”

“None of that matters,” he said.

I recognized the finality of his tone. Scared or not, he'd
made up his mind. “I get ya. It's how it's supposed to be. You can come clean with me, I won't be walking out with anything you say. Why did he kill Caine?”

Hoyle made a slow smile. On his broken, rawboned face it was a very unpleasant sight. “You'll never guess.” He centered the aim of the gun. “And you'll never know . . .”

Even as I rushed forward and grabbed—

—another gun went off and Hoyle's right eye exploded in a puff of red that splattered hot on my face. Bone and brain hit a fraction behind that, and Hoyle dropped heavily on me.

I reeled under his sudden weight, dizzy from the abrupt change, struck the wall, and felt my legs go. Couldn't do anything but fall over with his body on me, my wet face against the freezing concrete floor, arms loose, hands spasming. Too much like that other place where Bristow had . . .

No . . . please, God, no not again . . .

The stuff within unsympathetically took over, set me to groaning and shivering as though from malaria. I was cold inside and out and empty and lost in the dark forever; it would never let go its grip. I might as well declare a surrender and vanish.

But I couldn't. A dim part of me was aware I had a witness who'd already seen too much.

“Boss? Hey, Boss? Fleming? What is it?” Strome's voice cut into my fog. There was a concern in his tone that told all I needed to know about what he saw at the freak show.

The weight lifted as he dragged Hoyle's body off me.

“You're okay,” Strome insisted. “I got him. It's over! Hey! It's over!”

Oh, God . . .

I pulled my arms in tight, tried to suppress the shaking. Locked my jaw, refused to let any more sound escape.

Nothing to do but wait for it to fade. I hated him seeing me like this. God, I felt sick.

The humiliation finally played itself out.

Strome knelt on one knee next to me, gun in hand, his stone face showing worry. “Jeez, I dint know you were so bad off. Thought for a second he shot you. You okay, now? You need a doctor or somethin'?”

“I told you to say put,” I rasped. A change of topic. Anything so long as it wasn't about me.

“Seemed like I waited there long enough. Thought I should check on you. Good thing you left that key in the lock on the outside. Heard you guys, saw he had the drop on you. Jeez, you ain't mad 'cause I killed him, are ya?”

Shook my head. I felt a lot of things, but mad wasn't one of them. I was too tired and ashamed of my weakness to feel anything else.

“I'll back up whatever you wanna say about this,” Strome added.

“I don't wanna say squat. Ever. If we work this right, Mitchell gets the heat for it.”

“Sounds good. You need help?”

I was making ready to stand, and let him take some of my weight as I struggled up.

“You find out where Mitchell is?” he asked.

“No.” I paced a little to make sure my legs weren't just fooling, making a point not to look at Hoyle's long form huddled on the floor. My face was still wet with his blood. I went to the hanging blanket and tried to wipe away the evidence. It'd take an all-day dip in that damned lake to clean this kind of stuff from my soul.

“Who's the twist?” He noticed Evie Montana. She lay so still I thought she'd been shot, too, but it was an animal's defense. Stillness meant you could be overlooked.

I went to Evie and told her who I was and to relax, she was going home. I said this before removing her gag and blindfold. Her eyes were crazy; I thought she might be in shock. She wasn't talking any. I found my folding knife and cut off the bonds, massaging her wrists, told her everything was going to be all right.

She must have been chilled through, but her flesh felt very warm to me, very soft and warm. I liked the feel of it too much. She looked up into my eyes, blanched, and launched clumsily off the cot toward Strome. She fit right under one of his arms. He looked surprised that anyone would come to him for protection.

“Take her up to the car, drive her where she wants,” I said.

“What about you?”

Ignored him. “Tell Derner everything. Mitchell killed Alan Caine and Jewel Caine, God knows why. He's running loose, I want him landed. I'll look through this mess in case there's a lead to him. Now get out.”

He got out, taking the strangely silent Evie with him.

I waited until they were quite gone, until the only sounds were caused by the heater and the wind playing on the tin roof. I waited, and if my heart had been working, it would have been going faster than any drum.

My brain was frozen, but the rest of me moved just fine.

My hands shook as I turned Hoyle so he was faceup. I pulled on his coat and shirt, opening them, freeing his neck.

Hovered over him, wavering, feeling the press of appetite. A part of me that stood outside myself looked down on at the dangerous, crazy man crouched on the floor next to a body so freshly dead it was still twitching. Hoyle was gone—there was nothing left in his eyes—but that shot in the brain hadn't stopped everything yet. I heard that after
death the brain could still send out messages, and the flesh, not knowing the futility of it, would try to respond.

My corner teeth were out.

And here was my food.

I dug into his exposed neck with the same force I used on the Stockyards cattle, ripping the skin to open the big vein. When I was with Bobbi I never went so deep. The smaller veins close to the surface were sufficient. If I went in like this, tearing into her carotid, she would die, bleeding to death in seconds.

Didn't have to worry about that with Hoyle.

I fastened my mouth on the flesh and drew on the blood. Even without a heart to pump there was plenty for me. Death was in that first taste, not life. Dark, heavy, fascinating, and final.