Prohibition (22 page)

was shaking worse than ever. “What do you want with me?”

Doyle’s grin dimmed. “You’re pretty cocky for guy with a price on his head. A lot of people want you dead for what you done tonight. Bad enough you won. You have ta kill him in the bargain?”

“You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”

Doyle smiled. “You threw away a good pay day in there tonight. You could’ve let Kowalski beat you like they wanted, collect on the payoff, then fight him for the championship for an even bigger payoff next year and win. Why’d you throw all that away?” “What’s it to you?”

Augie hushed him. “Go easy, Terry.”

Doyle answered him anyway. “Because I don’t think you even know why you did it. I’ve watched you fight, kid, plenty of times. I like your style both in and outside the ring. You’ve got character, real character and brains to boot.”

“You ought to put that on my headstone.”

Doyle laughed. “And cool under pressure, too. I like that. What you

don’t know about me is that I’m goin’ places, see? And I’m gonna need good men to help me get there. Men like you.” He put the cigar back in his mouth. “I want you to join up with me. Tonight.”

Quinn’s hands ached. The taste of blood was in his mouth. Blood that wasn’t his own. “I’m a fighter, not a gangster.”

“You ain’t a fighter anymore, kid. That ended the second you killed a man. The commission would’ve forgiven you most times, but The Boys are sore over all the money you cost them by not diving like you was supposed to. They’ll want their pound of flesh. Hell, they’ve probably got a bunch of goons waitin’ outside to finish you off the second you leave here. You’re tough, but nobody’s tougher than a bullet, kid.”

Quinn spat and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand. “You paint a pretty bleak picture, mister.”

“I’m honest,” Doyle continued. “Or as honest as a louse like me can be. But, if you join up with me, I’ll put you square with The Boys. All your problems disappear,” he snapped his thick fingers, “just like that.”

“A
RCHIE!”
Q
UINN
heard himself yell.

Pain brought Quinn back. His eyes sprang open and he quickly closed them. He didn’t want to let the pain in. But in that split second, he knew he was sitting upright on a hospital stretcher. Feet dangling over the side. A nurse finished wrapping bandages around his ribs. He lolled his head around to get some feeling back in it. He kept his eyes closed. He knew that the light would start his head hurting.

“How ya feelin’, champ?” he heard Halloran say.

Quinn’s tongue felt dry and swollen. His head was starting to ache even though he’d kept his eyes closed. “What the hell happened to me?” “You’ve been shot,” the nurse said. “The bullet went clean through your right side. It didn’t hit anything vital but you have bruised ribs and you smacked your head off the pavement when you collapsed. The doctor believes you have a concussion.”

He heard Halloran speak close to his ear. “Probably happened while you was playing cowboys and injuns in the warehouse.”

Quinn didn’t remember feeling the impact of a bullet in the warehouse.

That bastard in the catwalk must’ve clipped him after all. But that wasn’t important.

“Where’s Archie?” Then he remembered telling Baker to take him to Doc Brownell’s. He hoped he hadn’t babbled anything to Halloran and Doherty while he was out.

“That’s what we’d like to know.”

That meant they hadn’t grabbed him yet. He hoped Baker had gotten

Archie to Doc Brownell’s in time. He hoped the doc was sober enough to stop the bleeding.

Quinn jumped when the nurse pulled his bandages tighter. “Looks like you’re going to live, big fella,” she smiled. “But go straight home and go to bed after you leave here. You’ve lost a lot of blood and I wouldn’t want you to pass out again if you were...”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Halloran’s voice cut her off. “He’s got the idea, sister. Quit the yapping and shove off so my partner and me can get down to cases?”

“Drop dead,” the nurse cursed and Quinn heard the door open and close. His closed eyes trick was working, but barely. He wondered if he could keep this up, maybe he could make Halloran disappear.

Then he caught the strong smell of garlic mixed with cheap rum. No such luck. “You can open your eyes, princess. It’s just us girls now.”

Quinn slowly cracked open his eyes. Halloran’s big florid mug was there to greet him. Bloodshot eyes. Flat nose. Lantern jaw.

“Welcome back,” Halloran greeted. “We’ve got a lot to talk about and time’s wasting.”

Doherty was leaning against the wall, toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. He looked even more tired than normal, which was saying something. “We were plenty worried about you for a while, champ, seeing you hit the deck like that.”

Quinn’s throat was dry from the smoke he’d inhaled, but he’d be damned if he’d ask either of these bastards for water. “What did you find out when you tailed Wallace last night?”

Halloran shook his large head. “You first, smart guy. What happened on Twelfth Street today?”

“People died. Or haven’t you figured that part out yet?”

Halloran gave him an open-handed slap across the temple that echoed in the small room.

Quinn lunged at him off the stretcher. The pain from the hole in his side roared and he collapsed to his knees.

Doherty pushed himself from the wall and helped Quinn back up on the stretcher. “See what happens when you buck the system? The more you help us, the more we help you.”

Quinn bit off the pain coursing through his body and the humiliation burning in his gut.

“Somebody tried to blow up Archie’s clubhouse,” Quinn relented through clenched teeth, “and a bunch of my men got killed. A bunch of the shooters, too. Christ, even Halloran could figure that out.”

The big detective stepped in for another shot at Quinn, but Doherty pushed him back. “Who stormed the warehouse? How many were there?” Quinn’s instinct cut through the pain. All the cops had were a burnt out building and a lot of dead shooters from Kansas City. Quinn wouldn’t give them any more than that. Not until he had time to figure all of this out for himself.

“I didn’t see anything and I didn’t get a chance to find out what had happened because you people came along and scared everyone off.”

Halloran took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “Oh, boy, I’m gonna enjoy prying the truth out of this one. I’ve waited a long time to get a piece of you, smart boy, and tonight I’m gonna get it.”

“The only thing you’re gonna get is dick ‘cause that’s all I know.” Halloran went for him, but Doherty dove between them again. When Doherty had his partner back against the door, he turned back to Quinn. “I can’t hold him off forever, Terry, so for Christ’s sake be reasonable. We found five Thompsons, but only four shooters. We found some blood on the roof and we need to know if someone got away or if any of them talked before they died.”

Doherty left Halloran against the door and came closer to Quinn.

“We’re on your side, remember? This thing is all over the news and that gimp bastard in Albany is going to use this as an excuse to tear Walker apart. None of us wants that, do we? Just tell us what happened and we can help.”

Quinn might figure out who was behind this or why. But he needed to know more about Wallace first. “You can help by telling me where Wallace flopped last night.”

Doherty shook his head. “You first. We’ve got witnesses who saw Howard Rothman come by for a sit-down with Archie, then leave before the shooting started. Chief Carmichael thinks Rothman’s behind the whole thing and he wants us to pick him up. That way, Mayor Walker gets the credit and Roosevelt backs off.” Doherty put a hand on Quinn’s shoulder. “Neither you or Archie can do much right now anyway. Tell us what you know and let us handle it from here.”

Quinn was feeling dizzy again, so he kept it simple. “If you want to know if Rothman’s behind this, go ask him.”

Halloran laughed from the doorway. “Gee, Charlie. Why didn’t we think of that?”

Quinn looked at him. “Because you’re a fucking dim wit.”

“Rothman’s disappeared,” Doherty announced. “Crawled into a hole somewhere and no one knows where he is. Looks like you’re the last person to see him.”

Quinn saw the dilemma, but Doherty spelled it out for him. “A lot of people in Albany think you’ve grabbed Rothman. Or worse, that you already killed him on account of what happened at the clubhouse. So, where’d you stash him, Terry?”

“I didn’t have time to grab him even if I wanted to,” Quinn replied. “Rothman probably heard about what happened to Archie and took a powder.”

Halloran took a step closer and crouched down, putting his hands on his knees. “You wouldn’t be dumb enough to lie to us, would you?” Quinn found the smile he reserved just for Halloran. “Would you be smart enough to know the difference?”

Halloran drew back left hand to smack Quinn again. Quinn grabbed Halloran’s wrist and belted him with a hard right cross to the jaw. Halloran tumbled backwards, knocking over steel medicine trays off the counter.

Pain spiked in Quinn’s side again. Deeper pain unlike anything he’d ever known. He fell back on the stretcher, bent him in half. He couldn’t even find enough wind to scream.

The door of the examining room burst open. The nurse who’d patched him up rushed in. A doctor and Alice Mulgrew were right behind her. Alice pushed her way past the two cops to Quinn. She began kissing him and stroking his head.

“What the hell is going on in here?” the doctor yelled at Doherty and Halloran. “This is a hospital, not one of your goddamned rubber hose rooms in the precinct house. Get the hell out of here before I call your captain and tell him what you’ve been up to.”

Doherty grabbed Halloran’s coat from the back of the door and helped his woozy partner out into the hallway. “We’ll talk later, champ. You can count on that.”

But Quinn was too busy biting off his screams to answer.

T
HE MORPHINE
pushed the pain way, way back.

Quinn’s brain started working again. He knew Alice and Jimmy Cain had walked him to a car. He knew his head was on Alice’s lap in the backseat. She was stroking his head, telling him he’d be okay. He felt his shoulder holster and the .45 hanging under it. It gave him comfort.

He remembered Doyle.

“Where’s Archie?” he heard himself ask.

Alice was looking down at him. She was smiling, but her eyes were red. Her cheeks were wet from tears.

“Where’s Archie?”

“He’s fine,” Jimmy Cain called back from the passenger’s seat. “You’re in worse shape than he is. You just rest and don’t worry about him none.” Alice kept stroking his head. “But I’m here, baby and I’m not going anywhere,” she caressed him. The tears started up again. She kissed him. “You just rest easy and let mama take care of everything.”

If Cain said Archie was okay, it must be true. The morphine made him feel calm and hollow. He didn’t it. “How long was I out?”

“The doctor said he gave you enough morphine to put you out for about five or six hours,” Alice answered. “That was twenty minutes ago and you’re still awake. You’re one stubborn bastard.”

He tried to sit up, but car felt like it was spinning. He let his head slip back to Alice’s lap where it was soft and warm. “Where are we headed?”