The Vampire Files - Song in the Dark Part 10

"My doc says I'm still healing."

"And after just a couple hours. That's pretty good." Had he heard about my fun and games with Hoyle? I couldn't tell from Strome's expression whether or not he'd mentioned the incident. Not that any of it mattered, but Kroun's curiosity reminded me that I was supposed to be walking wounded. I'd better act accordingly.

"Quite a place you got here," Kroun said, very approving.

"Thank you." It could be a mixed blessing when a guy in the mobs liked something of yours. They were in a position to take it from you. "May I offer you a table?"

"Sure."

The hatcheck girl hovered within view, but none of them handed over their coats. Maybe they wouldn't stay long, then. So far the lights held steady, indication that Myrna-if she was around-didn't see trouble ahead. She messed with them when she got upset about something.

Mitch.e.l.l did a double take on the display easel for Bobbi, fairly gaping.

It hit me smack between the eyes that he'd remember her from when he worked for Morelli. I felt a cold twisting inside again. Bobbi did not need to stroll down memory lane to the bad old days without first getting a fair warning, but I didn't know how to tip her off without broadcasting it to these guys. Play it by ear and hope for the best, then.

I led the way through the short, curving pa.s.sage to the main room and a second-tier table looked after by the most experienced waiter. He appeared out of nowhere, took orders, vanished, and returned with a trayful almost before my guests were settled in. He'd correctly read the discreet signal I'd given. There would be no check for this party.

Glancing up, I noticed Escott watching us with interest. He knew Strome and would identify Kroun easily enough.

That white streak was hard to miss. But beyond that, Escott had a h.e.l.l of a memory for names and faces, especially the ones in the mobs. I suspected there was more in his head about the Chicago wiseguys than the FBI files.

"Gentlemen," I said, "Excuse me a sec-club business." I withdrew as the waiter handed out gla.s.ses, and went up to the third tier, remembering to move slow and stiff.

"Anything afoot?" Escott asked.

"I don't think so. Kroun probably just wants to check me out some more. We're friends now, after all." I was starting to regret that suggestion.

"Did ya put in the fix for Alan?" asked Evie, anxious. "Did ya?"

"All done. So long as Caine pays his marker, no one gets hurt."

She let out a little squeal and jumped up to hug me, planting a kiss on my jawline, which was as high as she could reach without a footstool and me helping. "Thank you! Thank you!"

Well, this was nice, but attracting attention. I was supposed to be feeling tender around the middle and with difficulty gradually unpeeled her. "Glad to help, but maybe you should get back to the Nightcrawler while you still have a job there."

"I won't make it in time for the second show. The El doesn't run-"

"You certainly will," said Escott. "I'll give you a lift."

I almost raised an eyebrow, but didn't quite have the trick of it the way he did.

He still caught it, though. "Just being polite, old man," he said dryly.

That was good to hear. After Vivian, Evie didn't seem to be his type, though she was cute. He guided her downstairs, and I went back to take a seat at Kroun's table, him on my left, Strome on my right, Mitch.e.l.l opposite. The band went on break just then, marking the end of the first show. Some of the patrons got up to leave, a few new ones trickled in to replace them, and the rest stayed put, which was good.

I looked around for Bobbi, but when performing she tended to stay backstage even when on break, seeing to G.o.d- knows-what details and her own costume changes. I wanted her busy with that tonight.

Kroun had finished his small whiskey, Mitch.e.l.l was still working on his, and Strome sipped a short beer.

"Quite a place," repeated Kroun. "What's she pull for you?"

There is a certain level of business where such inquiries are not considered offensive. "Last night, sixty-three dollars." That got me a stony look, then comprehension as he realized I was talking net, not gross. "I mean outside of the booze sales."

"That's it."

"He don't have tables, Mr. Kroun," Strome explained.

"No tables? What about slots?"

"Nope."

"That's crazy." He turned on me. "You could pull in a hundred times that a night in a back room. You got the s.p.a.ce for it."

"I do," I agreed. "But Gordy's better at keeping track of those kind of earnings than me. I thought it'd be best for everyone just not to compete."

Kroun's eyes narrowed with additional understanding. "Smart operator."

I didn't correct his a.s.sumption that I wanted to avoid cutting into Gordy's profits. It sounded better than the real reason, a desire to avoid legal trouble. To guys like Kroun the law was only a minor nuisance, not a major threat. He'd think I was chicken, too, but there is also a certain level and kind of business where such an a.s.sessment of character can contribute to one's survival. I'd gotten along pretty well in the past when people underestimated me.

Mitch.e.l.l nodded toward the entry where Escott and Evie had gone. "Wasn't that the little trick you got in a fight over at the Nightcrawler?"

"I just kept her out of harm's way is all." A change of subject would be good about now. I decided to play the card Strome had given me earlier. "You used to work here in town, didn't you, Mitch.e.l.l?"

His eyes hardly gave a flicker. "A while ago, yeah."

"Why'd you leave?"

"The weather stinks."

"Stinks just as bad in New York."

"Oh, yeah? I never noticed."

Kroun made a snorting noise. "Mitch.e.l.l likes to work easy and get paid well for it. He found that in New York."

"Why you interested?" Mitch.e.l.l asked.

I was chancing a fall on my face, but thought the risk would pay off. "Because you remember me from before you left."

He hooked a small smile. "Guess I do."

Bingo.

"What do you remember?" asked Kroun.

Mitch.e.l.l's smile edged close to contempt. "That Fleming was some kind of half-a.s.sed threadbare reporter sniffing around Slick Morelli's operation, looking into stuff he shouldn't. Next thing you know Fred Sanderson's dead, Georgie Reamer's in jail for it, then Morelli's dead, Lebredo's dead, Frank Paco's in the b.o.o.by hatch, Gordy's in charge-and this guy who was in the middle of it comes up smelling like a rose."

Kroun held silent for a moment. "That's pretty interesting. What about it, Fleming?"

I shook my head. "I don't know nothing about any of it. I was looking for a newspaper job here and heard there was some war brewing between those guys. Checked into it, thinking I could land a sweet place with the Trib if I wrote a good piece on it. That's how I met Gordy, but he steered me out of the way before it went rough. When things settled down after the ruckus I did a couple of favors to help Gordy, and that's all. We been friends since."

"Must have been some kind of favors to be able to afford this kind of club."

"I earned the club on my own. I got lucky at the track and hauled in a pile of cash. Gordy helped me with finding a good location and getting set up with suppliers, but that's all. He's been a good friend and stand-up. I'm returning the favor by helping him out now."

"And you don't expect anything out of it?" "I'm getting plenty: a nice quiet town to run my business. We can all use some of that."

Kroun murmured agreement. "Quiet is what we want. Things are always changing, though."

"Oh yeah?"

"You gotta expect change. It's the way things are. Lot of the guys thought it was the end of the world when we had Repeal-Bristow was one of 'em-but it was just temporary. There's still plenty of tax-free booze being delivered.

We're keeping an eye open all the time for new stuff to do. As soon as they make a vice illegal, we find a way to get rich by supplying it."

"Yeah, but those government guys are getting smarter at stopping up the c.h.i.n.ks."

"It won't last. There's always a way to get around the rules. Like right now. Couple guys I know practically got the FBI in their pocket, or J. Edgar Hoover, anyway. They think they own the world, but it won't last."

"Why, is he onto 'em?"

"Nothing like that. He can't sneeze without they give him the say-so, and they think it's great, but they're going to have problems soon. The guy's forty-two, has ulcers, and is crazy-obsessed about commies. If the Russians don't b.u.mp him, he'll do himself in chasing his own tail and trying to nab headlines about it. I don't give him more than another year at the job before he drops stone dead. Then I'll start to worry. That d.a.m.n FDR will put in some stand-up guy who knows what he's doing and can keep his nose clean. When that happens we'll have to start running for cover."

"How do they have Hoover in their pocket?"

Kroun shook his head, amused. "You don't wanna know. The key to owning anyone is knowing what a man wants most and knowing what he most wants to keep hidden. A man with small wants who doesn't give a d.a.m.n what people think of him is usually free. Of course, that guy is not generally in a position where we need to own him, but there's a few out there. They're the ones to look out for."

And what secrets do you want most hidden? I thought. G.o.d knows I didn't want people hearing about mine, especially the current ones that were eating holes in my brain like acid.

"That canary out front in the pictures," said Mitch.e.l.l, whose mind was clearly on other things, "when does she sing?"

"You mean Miss Smythe?" I asked.

"That's the one. Bobbi."

I didn't like the way he said her name. "Later. The second show."

"We're old friends. I'd like to go back and say h.e.l.lo to her."

He got a long look from me, and I didn't blink.

"What?" he asked, coming up with a puzzled front like he wasn't getting my message. "She don't take visitors?"

"That's right."

"C'mon, she won't mind a friend."

I didn't like the way he said that, either. Oily and unpleasant, yet with the smile. I wanted to knock it from his mug along with his front teeth. On this, I knew I could absolutely trust my instincts. "She'll mind."

"You go ask her, give her my name. She'll tell you different." He waited.

I still wasn't blinking. And had gone corpse-quiet.

He chose to ignore it. "What's your problem?"

"Mitch," said Kroun, who watched the exchange. "Lay off. She's just a skirt. There's plenty more back on Broadway you can say h.e.l.lo to instead."

Mitch.e.l.l seemed to verge on a reply, thought better of it, and subsided. There was a "We'll see about this later" glint in his eye for me, though. I wasn't worried. They'd be on their way back to New York soon, end of problem. Maybe I wouldn't have to burden Bobbi with this ghost from her past.

Strome, who'd been silent all this time, let out a soft sigh that only I heard. I interpreted it as relief. I got the impression he was worried I'd do something stupid. It had been close. My second choice after punching Mitch.e.l.l's face to pulp would have been hypnosis, but that would have risked another skull-splitter for me. After talking with Escott I'd gotten the firm idea that this suddenly excessive head pain was also connected to Bristow's torture, and it seemed pretty sound. I could hope the symptoms would go away after a while, but for now was stuck without one of my edges.

On the other hand, this was my club with my rules running. I had a right to refuse service to anyone, which included allowing undesirable types to bother my girlfriend.

When I started paying attention again, I noticed Kroun studying me, his own face unreadable. "Another drink, Mr.

Kroun?"

He made no reply, just looked around again at the people, the band, even the lights above. "Quite a place." he echoed his comment yet again. "I like the chairs."

"Chairs?" I hoped he wasn't trying to drive a point home, because I was missing it.

"Yes. These are really nice chairs. Some places never get that right, but when it comes down to it, you have to offer people a place to park themselves. Really nice chairs. Nice. Chairs."

Maybe he was drunk. Mine might not be the first whiskey he'd had tonight. "Thanks. Took a lot of hard work to haul together."

Mitch.e.l.l flashed an interesting expression. Made me think he thought his boss was being an idiot. It only lasted an instant.

"But all these chairs and no gaming tables," Kroun continued, unaware. "Seems like too much effort for no real payoff."

"It's plenty for me. I keep my vices simple."

"Like not drinking yourself?"

For social cover I had a gla.s.s of ice water in front of me, my usual, and all the waiters knew it. I'd not sipped any.

"Well, you know how it is, the boss has gotta stay awake. You guys enjoy yourselves, though."

Mitch.e.l.l smirked. "He wants to get us drunk like Gordy did with Bristow. Thinks we'll talk." His tone was meant to bait. Kroun would know what he was up to and be watching my reaction.

Strome s.h.i.+fted in place, antic.i.p.ating trouble.

I pretended amus.e.m.e.nt and confided to Kroun, "That's a cute kid you got there. Lemme know when he's outta short pants, and I'll find him a job."

Mitch.e.l.l didn't take it well. If his boss hadn't laughed, he might have tried a swing at me. He'd get just the one shot.

"Relax, Mitch, we're off the clock," said Kroun. "Let the man run his bar. We'll be going now."

"But we ain't seen the show," said Mitch.e.l.l.