Hard Case Crime: Fifty to One (20 page)

While she splashed some cold water on her face and gargled a mouthful of Listerine in the little bathroom across the hall, Tricia tried to decide whether getting ninety minutes of sleep was a blessing or a curse. She felt less sore but more groggy. Take your pick.

“If anyone asks, Mike,” Charley was saying when she returned from the bathroom, “you haven’t seen us. That’s for your sake, not ours. Well, not just ours, anyway.”

“That’s okay,” Mike said. “You know me. I never see anything. It’s how I stay in business.”

“Good man.”

“How do you know him?” Tricia asked, when they were down on the sidewalk again.

“Who? Mike? He’s an old, old friend. Known him longer than...well, probably longer than anyone. We were in reform school together.”

“Reform school?”

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Charley said. “Bet you never would’ve guessed I was in reform school.”

“No, actually I would have guessed that,” Tricia said. “I just wouldn’t have guessed you had any old friends.”

“Ouch,” Charley said. “You’d think you’d be nicer to me after we spent the night together.”

“We didn’t spend the night, we spent ninety minutes.”

“Still and all,” Charley said. He reached into his pocket, pulled out an apple and something wrapped in a napkin. He held the apple out to her. “A present from Mike.” She took it. He unwrapped the last remaining bites of his sandwich. “So, where are we meeting this friend of yours?”

Through a mouthful of Granny Smith she said, “The Stars Club.”

“That’s funny,” Charley said, “it almost sounded like you said ‘The Stars Club.’ ”

She swallowed. “I did. Heaven will meet us there after the last match ends. She works there nights.”

Charley stopped walking. “Are you out of your mind? Tricia, we can’t go there. Nicolazzo owns the place. He could
be
there, for all we know. And even if he’s not, he’s certainly got people there, they know what you look like, they’ll recognize you as soon as you walk up to the front door.”

“So we won’t go to the front door,” Tricia said, thinking of Erin saying,
There have got to be at least three exits from this building, maybe more.
Three ways out meant three ways in.

She walked on for a few steps, saw Charley still standing where she’d left him. “You coming? Or are you leaving me to do it alone? Because I will. Come or don’t, it’s up to you, but I’m going.” She didn’t wait for an answer, just walked off, and it took half a block before Charley caught up with her.

“Damn it, Tricia, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

“You mean you don’t want
you
to get hurt,” Tricia said.

“That, too.”

“Well, I don’t see that we have a choice, Charley. We need to get Coral and Erin, and we need weapons to do that, and the one person who can give us what we need is at the Stars Club. So that’s where we’re going.”

They walked the rest of the way in silence. Charley threw out the napkin when he’d finished his sandwich and Tricia did the same with the apple core a block later. Empty-handed, they made their way to the rear of the building the Stars Club was located in. They searched along the unlighted brick wall for the outlines of a service entrance and did find one metal door, but it was locked. There were two narrow windows, but both were covered with formidable iron grillwork so that even if opening them had been possible it would have been no use.

Rounding the corner, they saw a side door swing open and ducked back into the shadows as a group of people spilled out. At least two of them looked like fighters, taller and bulkier than the rest and muscular even under their coats. The rest looked like trainers, managers, miscellaneous hangers-on. There was lots of laughter and high-spirited talk about what after-hours bar would still be serving at
2AM,
and then some about how it wasn’t really
2AM
yet, was it, and how no, it wasn’t, but it would be by the time they made it to the nearest bar. As the last of them exited the building, the door slowly began to swing shut.

“We’ve got to—” Tricia started to say, then realized she wasn’t saying it to anyone, since Charley wasn’t beside her any longer.

She saw him, then, darting out into the midst of the little crowd. “Gents! Gents! Coming through!” He patted one of the big men on the back. “Hey, nice work tonight. Nice work. Give it to him, right?” He caught the closing door with one hand before it could shut. “Is Barney in there? Never mind, I’ll find him.” And before anyone could say anything he was inside and had pulled the door closed behind him.

“Barney?” one of the men asked. “Who’s Barney?” Another shrugged and a third stepped out into the empty street with an arm upraised to hail a cab. When none came, the lot of them shuffled in a group toward the corner where Tricia was standing. She backed up into an alcove, hoping the shadow would cover her.

“Hey, look what we’ve got here,” one of the fighters said and pointed toward her as they passed. “Looking for company, honey?”

“Come on, bruiser,” one of the smaller types said, and Tricia realized with a start that it was the janitor, the one with the squint. “Keep it in your pants.” She pressed her back hard against the wall, her chin against her chest. He looked right at her, tipped his hat in her direction. “Sorry, sister, he didn’t mean nothing.”

Thank god for myopia, she thought.

When the last of them had gone and the sound of their loud conversation had dwindled in the distance, Tricia ducked out of the alcove and sprinted to the side door where Charley had gone in. She knocked. “Open up,” she said, “it’s—”

The door opened and Charley pulled her inside, a finger to his lips. They were at the top of a staircase and Charley led her down to its foot.

From somewhere not too far away, she heard a punch land and the sound of a tired crowd that could barely rouse itself from its torpor to cheer. Another punch landed, and another, and then came a heavier sound, a body hitting the canvas. “Huh-
one!
Aaa-
two!
Thuh-
ree!
” the ref counted, but he got no further than the ‘F’ in “Four” before the felled fighter apparently righted himself. The crowd mumbled a desultory blend of approval and disdain. Then a bell rang and there were scattered groans from people in the audience who wanted the fight to be over, already.

Charley pulled Tricia down the long, T-shaped corridor. Though all but one of the ceiling lights were off now, she recognized it from before: they were behind the arena, near the changing rooms. She had to figure the cleaning crew would be based somewhere around here. But it was a big place. Hell, there were other floors entirely. Maybe they stashed the cleaning crew on one of those.

“So?” Charley whispered in her ear. “Where’s your friend?”

Then he stiffened and stepped away from her slowly, his arms rising, palms out. “Hold on,” he said, “don’t shoot, I’m not armed.”

“Of course you’re not,” Heaven said, stepping out of the shadows. She had a gun pressed between Charley’s shoulderblades and she held it there while she steered him over to face the wall. “That’s why you’re here. Is this the person helping you?” she asked Tricia.

“Yes,” Tricia said.

“You might want to reconsider,” Heaven said, “just how much help he’s likely to be.”

“You think you could put the gun down now?” Charley said, but she didn’t. Tricia saw it was the Luger, the gun that had killed Mitch.

“If I could get the drop on you so easily, the people who have Colleen will, too. They’re professionals. I’m just someone who knows how to take care of myself.” She finally took the gun away from Charley’s spine, lowered it. “You don’t seem to be either.”

“We’ve done okay so far,” Charley said, bristling.

“Heaven,” Tricia said, “thank you for coming. Did you bring both of them?”

Heaven nodded and took the other gun out from the pocket of the windbreaker she was wearing. She handed both guns to Tricia. They were heavier than Tricia expected.

“They’re fully loaded,” Heaven said. “But when they’re done, they’re done. That’s all the bullets I had.”

“Thank you,” Tricia said. “I can’t tell you—”

“Don’t tell me. Just go. I can’t be seen with you.”

“Who’s with Artie now?” Tricia said.

“Malwa. A Ukrainian girl. He’ll be fine. Now, go.”

“No,” said a deep voice from further down the corridor, “you stay right where you are.” A hulking shape moved toward them. The gun held in one of his hands came into view before his face did, but eventually his face followed.

“Bruno,” Tricia said.

“Drop the guns,” Bruno said. “The boss said to bring you in alive if I can, but I can shoot you if I need to.”

“Kill him,” Heaven said. “That’s what they’re for—use them!”

“Quiet,” Bruno said, and his rumbling bass voice made the word sound like a commandment. “Now put the guns down.”

“You, too, son,” said a nasal voice from the other end of the corridor, where (Tricia saw, turning) several men were clattering down the stairs she and Charley had used just minutes before. “Drop it. You too, Borden. You’re all under arrest.”

And as this new figure stepped from darkness into light Tricia saw it was O’Malley, his nose bandaged and his face bruised. He had his police service revolver outstretched and two patrolmen behind him had theirs out, too.

“I don’t even have a gun,” Charley said.

“Well, put down whatever you’ve got, all of you.”

Tricia lowered her hands and bent to put the guns on the floor. Bruno seemed to be weighing his options.

From the other side of the wall, then, the bell sounded and a second later a massive punch connected. The crowd, roused from its stupor, roared; you could hear chairs tip over as people rose to their feet.

And Tricia took the opportunity to raise one of the guns she’d been about to put down and, aiming well over everyone’s heads, fired it.

She’d only meant it as a distraction, a warning shot, a ploy out of sheer desperation; she couldn’t have hit the ceiling light if she’d aimed at it, not in a million years. But she hadn’t aimed at it and now it winked out with a tinkle of shattering glass.

Hearing the gunshot, the audience screamed and stampeded; from the ring came the sound of the bell being rung repeatedly in a futile effort to restore order.

From somewhere in the darkness, O’Malley shouted, “Nobody move!”

Someone grabbed Tricia’s arm and in the chaos she didn’t know if it was friend or foe until Charley said, his breath warm in her ear, “This way.”

She ran beside him down what she guessed was the middle branch of the ‘T’, one gun in each fist, her legs aching and her breath short.

“Do you know where we’re going?” she gasped.

“Nope,” Charley said.

This arm of the corridor dead-ended at a doorway and, barreling through it, they almost toppled down the stairway just inside. They were in the basement, but apparently the place had a sub-basement, since the barely illuminated steps were inviting them further down.

Charley slammed the door behind them and locked it. Instants later, they heard the knob rattle and a fist pound against the door’s surface. Charley held out his hand for one of the guns and Tricia passed him the Luger. He fired a round into the door below the knob, scaring off the person on the other side at least for a moment and maybe—Tricia hoped—jamming the lock mechanism in the bargain.

Of course, while that might keep their pursuers out it also left them only one way to go, since this room was where the stairs began. There was no up—only down. Which struck Tricia as an apt metaphor for their entire situation.

Side by side, guns held tightly in their sweating fists, they started to descend.

The stairs turned twice at little square landings, but there were no doors at either, no way to go but further down. The only light came from low-wattage bulbs hanging overhead in metal cages, and few enough of them that there were stretches where Tricia couldn’t see a thing. In an act of what she first thought of as unaccountable bravery Charley led the way, walking in front of her into the unknown; but then she thought about the known they were walking away from and his eagerness made more sense.

“Do you see anything?” she said.

“Sh,” he said.

In the faintest whisper she could manage she said, “Well? Do you?”

“No.”

“Be careful,” she said.

“That’s good advice,” he muttered. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

He stopped suddenly and she collided with his back. The gun fortunately didn’t go off.

“Door,” he whispered.

“Can you open it?”

She heard a knob turn. Charley leaned into the door with his shoulder, gently eased it open.

Past it, the light was slightly better, but only slightly. A long tunnel extended perhaps twenty yards before curving out of sight. It looked a little like a subway tunnel except for the absence of rails along the bottom. Instead the ground looked to be dirt—hard-packed earth, uneven and pitted, as though dug by hand.

They stepped inside, closed the door behind them, and Charley swung a metal bar down to latch it shut.

“What is this?” Tricia said. “An old bootlegging tunnel? Some sort of secret escape tunnel?”

“You know something,” Charley said, “you read too many books.”

“Well what do
you
think it is?”

“Oh, I’m not saying you’re wrong. I’m just saying you read too many books.” He started off down the tunnel and she followed.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He crept cautiously through the tunnel’s curve, gun held high, finger tight on the trigger. They came out into another straight stretch. There was no one in sight, but he didn’t lower the gun. “You say ‘bootlegging tunnel’ like it’s something romantic. It’s not romantic. It’s ugly. It’s people stealing from each other, cutting each other’s throats. There are probably people buried down here, you know—nice romantic bootleggers who fell out of favor with Uncle Nick.” He kicked at the dirt underfoot. “We’re probably walking on their graves.”

“That’s horrible.”