Murder in Store (18 page)

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At first i thought I was dead, and eternity must be a sensory deprivation tank—the joke at the end of the universe. Then it occurred to me that I shouldn’t be smelling grease and that whatever was jabbing me in my right shoulder didn’t belong in a vacuum. Besides, I hurt too much to be dead.

A tequila hangover was the only thing I could think of that might inflict this kind of pain, but I didn’t remember drinking myself into this state. In fact, I didn’t remember anything. I rubbed the back of my head where the pain seemed to originate. There was hardness and swelling that hadn’t come from the contents of a bottle, but maybe from the bottle itself. Was that it?

The garage, the noise behind me, the light and then the dark—sounds like you got clubbed, Quint. Now the hard part. Where was I? I was beginning to recognize the odors and the movement. New carpet and car smells combined with greasy rags. A car trunk. We were moving, and my guess was, from the consistent speed, that we were on the open road. Even with a garbled head, I knew I’d have been better off with the tequila hangover.

Whose car was this? Griffin’s? My head was clearing a little, but not much. I wasn’t tied up. Maybe I was supposed to have been hit harder. Maybe I was supposed to be dead. I felt for the object that was jabbing me. It might be something I could use for a weapon. Jumper cables. Great. If he held still long enough, I could wire him up and cause his

batteries to implode. I took one of the clamps in my hand and hefted the metal. These were the heavy-duty kind. Maybe I could use them after all. Maybe he’d figure I was still out and wouldn’t expect me to come out swinging when the trunk opened.

Right. Just like Gene Autry. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t do anything real stupid until my options were depleted. Maybe all this frantic scheming was a wasted effort. Maybe I wasn’t ever going to get out of this trunk at all. He was going to sink both me and the car in some desolate scummy pool of water in the middle of northern Illinois. They’d find what was left of me months later, when the sun had dried up some of the water and the stench was so bad that even the frogs refused to sit on the car and croak. Maybe.

It was cold in the trunk; yet, despite the fact that I wasn’t wearing a jacket, I was sweating. Curled up like a fetus with my legs cramping and my head throbbing, it occurred to me that being locked inside a small trunk was probably a lot like being buried alive. I swallowed a lump of nausea, forcing myself to think, but that was difficult and hardly mattered anyway. There was no way in hell I could plan what I was going to do next.

I had to believe that the trunk would eventually be opened. That was the only way I had a future. And wasn’t that logical? Otherwise, why didn’t he just finish me off in the garage? Why go to the trouble of hauling me off this way if he didn’t want some information out of me? And, if it was Griffin, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what he’d want to know before eliminating me for good.

The car slowed and after a sharp right turn, the ride became bumpy. Were we getting close to our destination? I felt around for something other than jumper cables, but the trunk was clean. I thought of my pigeon knife back on Elaine’s coffee table. Elaine. Somehow the thought of

never seeing her again bothered me more than anything, and let’s face it, Quint. Someone didn’t dump you in a trunk, transport you to God-knows-where only to chat for a few minutes, then drop you at State and Madison with a quarter for a phone call.

The car stopped. I estimated we had traveled about a mile on this road. A door slammed shut and I heard footsteps crunching in the snow. It had to be Griffin. I grabbed the jumper cables. You never know. A key slid into the lock and I gripped the cables harder. The key turned and the lid opened. My eyes adjusted quickly to the fading afternoon sun, and I released my grip on the cables. The man towering over me, holding what looked like a .357 Magnum, was not Griffin. He was too tall, too massive, and too black.

He grabbed me by the collar and jerked me out of the trunk. My feet hit the ground and I had to grab onto the edge of the bumper. I felt dizzy and slightly nauseous, while the big man continued to hold onto my collar. He towered over me by at least six inches and seemed to be waiting for instructions. I glanced quickly at my surroundings. We were on a small dirt road that ended in the middle of nowhere in the middle of a heavily wooded area. My head cleared a little as another car door opened and shut. This time I recognized the voice.

“Well, well, Quintus. Not quite the meeting you had planned, eh?” Griffin stepped into my line of vision. “Doesn’t say much for the head of security to let himself fall into a mess like this, does it? Thinking about the little woman? Let your mind wander? Or are you simply too inept to realize how high the stakes are here?”

He studied me for a moment, sizing me up, nodding to himself. Then he turned to the big guy with the gun. “Take him away from the car, Deke.” Deke wrapped a huge fist around my arm and dragged me toward the trees. When we

had gone about twenty feet, Griffin said, “This will be fine.”

The big man threw me down in the snow at the base of one of the trees. The snow had started to melt, and the cold wetness revived me a little. Meanwhile, Griffin watched, hands in the pockets of his camel’s hair coat, smiling his approval. The day was fading fast and I could barely see the car from my position.

Griffin walked up to me, smugness smeared across his face. His associate stood next to me, gun pointed at my head. He appeared to be a man of few words and, I hoped, even fewer brains.

“You should know by now,” Griffin began, “that I do not tolerate blackmail.” He paused, maybe hoping that I would start pumping him with questions. The captive audience. I shifted in the snow and rubbed the back of my neck.

“Art Judson was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?” I think we both knew he wasn’t changing the subject.

I shrugged. “Yeah, sure.”

He smiled. “He was also a loyal Hauser employee, wasn’t he?” “That’s the way it seemed.”

“Would it surprise you to know that he was also in my employ? That he was a man who could be purchased with limited funds?”

“Is that how you buy loyalty, Griffin? A bullet in the chest?” I glanced up at the man holding a gun to me. “You listening, Deke?” The big man shifted slightly.

Griffin laughed, apparently enjoying himself. “I reward loyalty generously. I punish betrayal quickly.”

“Judson was blackmailing you,” I said. Enough of this waltzing.

He nodded. “And Ray Keller.” He paused, apparently allowing that to sink in. “No one, and I mean no one puts the screws to me.”

I wasn’t at all flattered by Griffin’s sudden urge to confide in me. It didn’t say much for my life expectancy, but I wanted to keep him talking. The longer he talked the longer I lived and the longer I had to come up with a way out of this mess. Besides, I figured I’d earned the right to know.

“Why did you kill Melinda Reichart?”

“Because she was an oversexed little tramp who didn’t know her own place.” He removed a pair of black leather gloves from his pocket and put them on, slowly easing each finger into place, all the while continuing his speech. “Imagine a woman like that even thinking we had a future together. Thinking I would cave in to her material desires by threatening to tell my wife about our affair.” He paused and considered his last statement. “It wasn’t the threat of blackmail. I couldn’t care less if my wife knew about that affair. Theresa knows enough to look the other way.” He smiled. “She’s had a lot of practice. It’s amazing how much people will tolerate in order to retain the status quo. You see, what Melinda did was to assume that she could intimidate me into leaving my wife. No one intimidates me.”

“That’s not the way I hear it,” I said.

Griffin raised his eyebrows.

“In fact, I’ll bet you killed her because she told you to get lost, and the only thing you handle worse than intimidation is rejection.”

Griffin approached me and crouched down so we were eye level with each other. “You’re wrong,” he said, staring into my face like he was trying to read something there. Then he stood up, walked away, did an abrupt about-face, and said, “The end is near, Quint. Very near. I wouldn’t make any groundless accusations if I were you. They might tend to hasten your demise. And you’re still hopeful you’re going to get out of this alive, aren’t you?” He was smiling again. “One never knows.”

It was getting colder, but I was still sweating. I didn’t pay much attention to that, however. I was too busy trying to figure a way out and wondering if this was when I should request a cigarette and blindfold. But even though my brain was working, it wasn’t producing.

“What about Keller?” I asked, still stalling. “My guess is you had Keller killed because he ID’d the girl in the photo after she wound up dead. He added up two and two and decided to supplement his income.”

Griffin shook his head as he recalled the late detective. “Dim-witted gumshoe. I decided that if he was smart enough to put it all together after Melinda’s death, then just about anyone could. But he was way out of his league. Judson too. He should have been content with the money I was paying him to spy on Hauser.”

That made sense. Hauser knows about Griffin, so Griffin has him killed. Art needs another source of income. He pushes his luck with Griffin so Griffin has Art killed.

I recalled Art’s gambling debt. The controversial shipping contract Griffin had arranged. “Were you fronting for the mob?”

Griffin smiled. “No. My connection with the mob is only peripheral. We occasionally exchange favors.” He gestured toward the gunman. “Deke here is on loan from them.”

I acknowledged Deke’s credentials with a nod. “Is it safe to assume that you finished off Carl Bonkowsky?”

His smile was deceptively pleasant. “He was mostly gone. Not much worth saving.”

“Enough about us,” Griffin interrupted. “Let’s talk about you. Who besides that little friend of yours has seen my file and the photograph?”

“Detective O’Henry,” I lied. He knew about them, but I hadn’t shown them to him.

“Not likely,” Griffin said. He began pacing back and

forth in front of me, using the space like a stage as he explained my simplemindedness to me. “I had you followed after Hauser’s service today. You entered the White Hart without the file.” He stopped pacing long enough to pull a manila folder out of his coat. “This file.” He smiled. “We removed it from your trunk while depositing you in our trunk.”

In addition to enlightening me, Griffin was doing something else for me. He was giving me resolve. I had no idea how I was going to get out of this, but I was sure of one thing. There was no way I was going to die at the hands of this pompous asshole.

He pulled a photograph from the file. “This is what’s causing all the trouble, isn’t it?” He showed it to me so I would be sure to realize it was the real one, then he tore it into quarters and stuffed them into his pocket.

“I feel confident that once I eliminate you, my troubles are over. There is the matter of your little friend, but I’m having her taken care of, too.” He smiled. “She’s in for a big surprise when she returns home.” I looked from the big man pointing the big gun at me to Griffin gauging my reaction with his hands deep in his pockets. “I have to tie up all the loose ends,” Griffin continued. “You understand, I’m sure. I don’t know what method my employee intends to use. I like to leave that sort of thing to his imagination. It never pays to stifle creativity, and he’s very good. Elaine may take an unfortunate tumble down a flight of stairs, or perhaps she’ll be the victim of a staged mugging with a fatal blow to the head.” He paused and stared at me for several seconds. “Or maybe a murder-rape.” He nodded to himself. “Yes, I bet that will be it.”

I felt something inside me go numb and come alive again at the same time. Using the tree as a support, I pushed myself up. Griffin watched my slow progress, smiling. I felt dizzy at first and grabbed a small branch. It cracked and broke under my weight. I started to go down and Deke

reached with his empty hand to grab me. I reacted without thinking. Before Deke got hold of my arm, I brought the small branch up with both hands, scraping it across his face. He uttered more a cry of surprise than pain but lurched back a step and I lunged for his legs, trying to topple him. He landed next to me. I spotted the gun he’d dropped a moment before he did. I gripped the barrel with my left hand and he jumped on top of me, reaching for my wrist. A gunshot froze the scene, and Deke’s body went limp.

“I’d release that gun if I were you.” Griffin didn’t even sound perturbed. “Now Quint, that wasn’t a very smart thing to do, was it? But then you weren’t smart enough to keep your nose out of this affair. Why should I expect any other kind of behavior out of you? This is a minor inconvenience for me, but I have about all the information from you that I need.” He cleared his throat. “Let me reiterate. Let go of the gun or you’re going to die this very instant.”

I wondered if Deke was big enough to make an effective shield. Then I realized that an essential part of my anatomy—my head—was a clear shot for Griffin. I let go of the gun and, with considerable effort, shoved Deke’s body away so he lay between Griffin and me. I got to my feet slowly. No more than four feet separated me from Griffin. I hadn’t figured him for the type to carry a gun. I was wrong.

I looked from Griffin to Deke, then back again. “You missed,” I said.

Griffin shrugged like he had just missed the bus. “Perhaps that is simply my way of rewarding incompetence. My employees either function correctly or they are eliminated. Deke here reacted without considering the consequences. Not a good trait for a man in his profession.” He cleared his throat and changed the subject. “Your usefulness has come to an end. It’s time to start thinking that last great thought, but then you’re probably wondering about your

girlfriend’s fate. No time for philosophical musings when the little woman is in jeopardy.”

He began to laugh softly and shook his head like he knew a terrific joke only he was privy to. Then one of his chuckles was punctuated with a surprised cry and he lurched back a step. I glanced at the ground and saw Deke’s big hand wrapped around Griffin’s ankle. The shelter of the trees seemed miles away, but I didn’t stop to think about that as I lit out for them. I heard two gunshots and assumed he’d finished off Deke.