The Devil's Only Friend (27 page)

“I know, Pete. I know how it is. I'm trying to be a friend to you. I'm trying to help you out.”

“I'm not worth helping out,” I said weakly. The wind had been crushed out of me.

“Don't you believe it,” Federle said. “I've been to whores. Ain't we all been? That's one time too many for you, that's all.”

He knew I had not been in my room that night. Of course he knew. He knew how it shamed me. Federle had the human sense to see why I hadn't wanted to admit it to myself, and he was trying to see me through it. Though I hadn't ever told him, he could guess that the thugs had just picked me up on the street, drunk and filthy as I was from being with the girl.

“I'm no good,” I said. “That much is true.”

“Don't say that, Pete. Don't say it. Somebody in this world has to be good.” I thought he would climb into the backseat with me. “I'm counting on you to be good, Pete.”

It made me look over to Walker.

“That girl up there at Lloyd's house, Ray, that's the one I've been going to see.”

Federle didn't show much of a reaction. His face was slack and rubbery. He swabbed the water from his face with the meat at the base of his thumb.

“You might have told me that, Detective,” said Walker soberly.

“So I knew all three of those women. Or at least I can draw the connection, you see?”

Walker said, “And Chew as well.”

“As far as I know, Chew is still walking around. They never found the rest of him.”

Beneath the sleeves of his cheap jacket, I could see how Federle's arms writhed. He kept his lips pressed tight together. Walker tapped the wheel with his wedding band and stared out through the windshield.

It took the wind out of me, and it sapped me of my natural strength. I felt like I had been sick for a long time, like I was empty of nourishment. But I was glad that Federle had forced me out into the open. I wondered what Walker thought of it. It seemed doubtful that he had ever contracted a loose woman, steadfast as he was. But after all, he was a man, and there is something in nature that makes men do bad things.

Thoughts of Eileen pressed at the edge of my mind. I wanted badly to be able to talk to her, and I wondered how I could keep her safe at all. Whoever had killed Chew and placed his wing knew what scared me. It was clear, too, that the whore had been killed to show me something; it might as easily have been Eileen, and maybe the next time … My heart quailed in my chest, and I wondered if it was too much feeling or the tremor of a heart attack. I wasn't in any condition even to help myself, much less Eileen or Jasper Lloyd.

“Is that gun still in the car, Pete?”

“It's in the back.”

“Maybe we'd better just head over to the plant.”

“We'll try to find the Old Man. What do you think, Walker?”

Walker had his eyes on a small truck moving toward us at a leisurely pace. As it drew closer, we all watched. I pulled myself forward to crane over the seat, and Walker and Federle leaned toward the windshield. Junction was not such a wide avenue, and the truck had to pass close to us. I gripped the seat and let out a snort because—despite my poor vision—I could spot the truck's twenty-year-old design from some distance.

We all watched as the truck passed us by like a vivid ghost from another time. Whitcomb Lloyd's pale eyes looked back at us calmly as we felt the rumble of the old truck's engine. Though he showed no reaction, it was clear that he could not have failed to recognize us.

Walker smoothly turned the key in the ignition and started up the Chrysler. He squealed the tires and made the Chrysler buck as he turned us around. The coffee slid hard to the right on the dash and splattered on the windshield and the vent and on Federle's lap.

“Go after him, Walker. Go after him!”

Walker veered wildly as he tried to complete the U-turn. He managed to get the car pretty quickly off the sidewalk and back onto the street.

Lloyd had opened up some distance, but there wasn't anywhere he could go. It was a part of town I had known since my boyhood days, and there wasn't any way to run such an old truck faster than our little coupe.

“Jesus, Pete,” Federle said, “what's he doing? Why would he be driving a truck down here?”

“We'll ask him,” I said.

Walker muttered, “I don't want to lose my license over this.” He yanked the gear stick in and out as he closed on the truck, knocking me around on the big backseat.

“He'll have to turn up ahead where the tracks come in,” I said. “And then he'll have to turn again.”

“Why is he running from us?” Federle was bracing himself against the dash and the seat.

“Push down on the horn, Walker, so I can get the gun.”

“Mr. Caudill,” Walker said.

“He'll flip that truck if he doesn't slow down,” Federle said. He slithered over the seat and into the back with me, kicking me in the head as he went.

Lloyd saw how the road was going, and the truck wavered and slid in front of us as it slowed for the turn. Walker had closed up the distance and now held half a block back. Because of the time and the day of the week, there wasn't much traffic, but it was clear that soon enough someone's luck would run out.

“Just let him go, Walker, before we kill someone,” I said.

As we made the turn at the railroad tracks, we saw Lloyd struggle to make the sharp turn at the next street. He had to swing wide to keep from slowing too much, and this brought the big tire of the truck right over the front end of a motorcycle angled out from the curb. The box end of the truck bucked up and back down, and Lloyd could only drive straight into the brick front of the printing shop along Campbell. The front wheels jounced up over the curb and came down, and the rear end of the crashing truck went slowly up, hung in the air, and then came down with some finality.

Walker stopped the car and hopped out. He went out ahead of me loping heavily toward the crash. I spilled out of the backseat and started after him, wanting to shout at him to stop. But I saw the driver of the truck come down from the passenger side of the vehicle and run off to the east in a flash. He threw a sheaf of white papers into the air, and they fluttered down to the pavement and swept off down the street.
Chew's notes,
I thought.
Chew's precious papers.
Lloyd—if it was Lloyd—moved remarkably well for a man pushing fifty. Out of the three of us, Walker had to be the fastest, but there wasn't any chance of him catching Lloyd if he could move like that.

Walker and I got to the truck first.

“Don't put your hands on anything,” I said.

“He's gone,” said Walker.

“Did you see him?”

“I saw him run.”

“I mean—it was Lloyd, wasn't it?” I glanced over the truck to make sure I wasn't mistaken: It was the same Lloyd Cargo Van I had seen in the garage at the big house. By this time I had worked my way around the truck to the open door of the passenger side. Walker looked through at me from the driver's side window with a somber expression.

“Listen, Walker,” I said quietly. “We were just passing through, right? We didn't know who it was.”

Walker nodded.

I looked back to see Federle closing the car door. In plain view he held the pistol in his other hand. When the motorcycle cop stepped out of the building ahead of him, Federle whirled around and stashed the gun somewhere in his baggy clothes.

The cop saw his wrecked cycle and spread his gloved hands in dismay. Then his eyes followed the trail up the street to the smashed truck and he saw us. Even though his helmet was on, I could recognize the lanky figure of Johnson as he moved toward us. It was clear that he recognized us, too, or at least he knew my unlucky mug. From the way he held his palm over the holster on his belt, I could see that he was thinking he ought to pull his weapon free.

Federle walked toward us, buttoning up his jacket, careful not to come too close to Johnson.

“Listen, Walker,” I said, “this guy ran us off the road. We're just on our way to the Lloyd plant.”

“I don't think that's the way to work it,” he said.

Johnson was too close for me to make an answer for Walker.

“For God's sake, Pete! Is anyone hurt?”

“The driver's gone,” I said.

“What's in the back?” Johnson asked, working around me to peek inside the green door.

“Who knows?” For all I knew, the truck was rigged with a bomb. My inclination was to step away.

“Did you see what happened?”

“Sure. It was a crash.”

“Is that Walker? Did you see what happened, Walker?”

“I sure did.”

“We're working on a security detail for Jasper Lloyd,” I said. “We're on our way over to the plant.”

Johnson pulled off his helmet and scratched his sweaty scalp furiously. By this time the whole street had come out to view the ruckus. Even the folks in the print shop stepped timidly through their door. The truck had not been moving fast enough to cause much damage, but the sight of it on the sidewalk made a spectacle.

Walker made his way around to us. “We ought to tell him who the driver looked like.”

He was right, of course, and so I took Johnson by the elbow and drew him toward the back of the truck.

“What else are the police good for?” said Walker.

I got close enough to put my words to Johnson only. “I want to say it was Whitcomb Lloyd driving that rig.”

Johnson's eyes went out of focus, staring down at the pavement while he thought.

“You were following him, then?”

“We were stopped at the lunch counter back there. He came up the street and I spotted him.”

“I got the coffee on my pants to prove it,” said Federle, who stood with us now.

“You're sure it was him?” Johnson said.

“I'm not so sure. But he ran that truck away like fire. I think he spotted Federle.”

“How can I call this in if I'm not sure? What kind of stink will it make?”

“You can be casual, can't you? I bet some witness in the rabble here saw something. Tell the boys to roll up nice and easy.”

“You'll swear it was him,” Johnson said.

I looked warily at all the faces in our little huddle. “We're leaving,” I said.

Johnson said, “No, no, no.”

I turned away, and Walker and Federle fell in with me.

“Pete!”

“Give me the key, Walker. I better drive.”

“It's in the ignition, I think.”

“Jesus, Pete,” said Federle.

We kept walking tight together toward the Chrysler.

“Halt!” barked Johnson. “I order you to halt!”

Just as we reached the car, we all flinched as a shot cracked behind us. Johnson had fired his service revolver into the air.

“Get in,” I said.

Federle muttered, “Jesus, Jesus,” as he ducked into the backseat.

I looked long and hard at Johnson before I sat down behind the wheel. He had dropped his helmet and held his weapon at his side.

“We'll all get arrested for this,” Walker said.

I fired up the engine and squealed back out of there.

“That's a bad spot to leave Johnson in,” said Walker. “It's not right.”

“He'll figure something out,” I said, but I was only hoping.

CHAPTER 26

Federle was ghostly white in the backseat.

“What's wrong with Lloyd?” Walker said.

“I think plenty.”

“He couldn't kill those girls,” said Federle. “How could he?”

“You talked to him, didn't you?” I said.

Walker kept still on the seat beside me. He almost looked sleepy.

“Why would he? Lloyd's got everything. Why would he? Those Hardiman boys—”

“So far, we don't know,” I said. “We don't know anything. But if the coppers find something on that truck, will it be enough for you to lay off the Hardiman boys?”

“S-sure.”

He was fairly trembling. I couldn't tell what was shaking him up. Maybe it had been the first gunshot he had heard since he had been home from the islands.

“Put that gun away in the cubbyhole,” I said. “And get hold of yourself.”

We hadn't ever talked too much about it, but I thought his combat jitters might be coming over him. He had seen some real action down in the Solomons, and it wasn't only hula girls. He was almost lying across the backseat.

“Johnson will set the police after us,” Walker said. “They'll round us all up and sort things out their own way.”

“He won't set for that kind of trouble until he needs to. So far we ain't done anything to hang for,” I said. “We saw somebody crack up a truck, but we didn't hang around. So what?”

“He fired his weapon.”

I had to smile. “I bet that's the first time he ever had to do that outside the range.”

“If it was Mr. Lloyd we saw there,” Walker asked, “what can we do now?”

“He'll be long gone,” said Federle weakly. “He's got the dough to go anywhere.”

There were two places, or three or four, that he'd be likely to go. The bottom dropped out of my belly when I thought of Eileen. Now that Whit Lloyd's game had come open, maybe he'd go after her to get to me.
She wouldn't be home.
She'd be at work, and that plant was on the far east side, down along the river off Jefferson. If Lloyd knew where she worked—Eileen was too smart, and had been through too much. It was too far for Lloyd to think of sneaking to.

He could go to his big house, but that was as far to the east as you could go without falling into Lake St. Clair. It would take an hour to get there. And of course he could expect that the coppers there might want a word with him.

Now I regretted that I had put so much in Johnson's lap. He might well decide to dodge trouble by keeping quiet, reporting the crash as a possible drunk or a stolen vehicle. We hadn't said anything to Johnson about what we suspected Lloyd had done with the girls. What a dope I'd become! Why would Johnson risk so much heat by reporting what I'd said to him?