The Vampire Files - Song in the Dark Part 37

We crossed the street, looking both ways a lot.

No watchman seemed to be on duty; the place was purely to park a car under shelter and good luck to you if it was still there in the morning. Actually, they just might be very safe there. Organized thieves would know better than to go after anything belonging to the mobs, and wiseguy stink was all over this block.

Nothing much to see, about twenty cars parked nose to the wall, ten to a side, all berths full. No lights. There was a string of bulbs hanging from a wire running down the middle length of the building, but a thrifty landlord had switched off the juice.

The racket from the stage-thunder tin roof was first nerve-racking, then annoying. The pops and bangs were irregular, and if anything else made a noise, I might not hear it.

The far end wall had been likewise cut open for a wide entry, but one of the berths was empty. I thought that might have been Hoyle's s.p.a.ce and he'd long cleared out, but there was his car right next to it. I remembered the color from when he'd run the shooting gallery in front of my club. Good news at last. I hoped he'd be close to his transportation.

Right against the wall next to the entry were cement stairs leading down. The steel door at the bottom had a serious-looking bolt-type lock. Strome said Hoyle might be hiding out down there. I don't know how Strome thought he'd be able to talk his way in. When I gently tried the k.n.o.b, it turned, but the door remained fast shut.

Strome produced a skeleton key and got the lock open, then shot me a sideways look. "Better let me go in first."

"I'm boss. It's my job. You watch my back and come if I yell. Get up top and keep your eyes open, he might not be in, and I don't want him surprising me."

He didn't much like that, but went up the stairs. As soon as he was out of sight, so was I. The gap at the bottom of the door was more than wide enough, sparing me from having to sieve through the bricks. I hated that.

I very slowly re-formed on the other side.

The pessimist in me expected to find pitch-darkness, but light there was, electric, its source at the other end of a cellar that was as wide and long as the building above. It strongly reminded me of Lady Crymsyn's bas.e.m.e.nt before we changed everything. This one didn't look like any amount of new paint and lights would ever chase away the shadows.

The rough ceiling was low and, from where I stood, only a bare inch above my head. A long pa.s.sage flanked by walls and support columns led the way to what might be a part.i.tioned-off room; there was a blanket hanging across the opening. I breathed to get a scent of the place; the thin vapor hung miserably in the air. Cozy. The smell was of damp cement, oil, gasoline, with a strong hint of urine and sewer stink.

No bloodsmell. Encouraging. Quite a huge relief, too. I'd been mentally sweating about what might be down there.

Breathe in, sort out the flavors...

And there... very faint... human sweat.

It acquires a truly distinctive tang after reaching a certain age. This sample wasn't quite to the level of workhouse b.u.m, that would take another couple weeks; so someone else was using the place for shelter. A dump like this was for emergencies only. Hoyle's circ.u.mstances must have qualified.

I also picked up cigarette smoke and... perfume?

The crazy thought that Hoyle had gotten lonely and hired some company to help pa.s.s the time danced through my head. Then a far more insane idea cropped up: Evie Montana.

If he'd killed Alan Caine, too..., oh, h.e.l.l. Had to get down to the end, see if she was still alive.

I'd been right about the noisy tin ceiling; it almost covered a humming sound coming from the direction of the light. Partially transparent, I moved cautiously forward for several yards, floating silent over the uneven floor. Coming to rest just short of the source of the light, I went solid, hugging the wall, and listened.

And son of a b.i.t.c.h, he was behind me.

Began to turn, began going transparent again.

"Hold it!" Hoyle's voice boomed in the confined s.p.a.ce.

I halted the turn and the change. If he shot me, it wouldn't kill, but it'd hurt like h.e.l.l. Hoyle thought he was in charge, but that could be a valuable advantage.

Half-turned, I glimpsed his revolver aimed square on me, and the muzzle was for at least a .32. Of course, from my angle it gave the illusion of being much larger. He was ten or twelve feet away. He could hit me if he wanted to, and he was right on the edge for it.

"Hands up! Stay right like that."

No problem. I raised my arms up and out, mostly out.

"How the h.e.l.l did you get in?" he asked.

I thought his first question would be how the h.e.l.l had I made myself float around half-invisible. The light was pretty bad in the alcove, though. He'd seen me come in, but perhaps only as a shape in the darkness, and could have missed the real fun. He might not even know it was me. One way to find out.

"I bought tickets. There's a bunch more of us on the way to take in the show."

"Fleming?"

"Yeah." I went semi again, expecting him to shoot. Counted to five. Nothing. Wanted to see his face. Solidified, I turned a little more.

"I said hold still!"

I cooperated.

"Out there. March."

I a.s.sumed he meant go to the end of the line where the light was and ducked under the hanging blanket. Since he didn't fire when I did that, I must have called it right.

He had more s.p.a.ce than my walled-up sanctuary, but that was all the nice you could say about it. A mechanic's light hung from a nail, casting harsh shadows. There were bits of debris on the floor, empty tin cans, a lot of beer bottles. In one far area were some relatively clean boxes with warning and danger signs painted all over them. Next to those, spools of wire and less identifiable things, and tools. I knew just enough about bomb-making to be uneasy.

More prosaically, a pile of blankets lay on an aged army cot, and close to it stood an electric heater, the source of the humming sound. Home sweet hideout. Evie Montana, still wearing Alan Caine's tan coat, was tied up on the cot, a rag stuffed in her mouth, a blindfold on. Her body was tensed head to toe, listening.

I paused in the middle, feeling the ceiling pressing hard, and started to face him. "No, you stay just like that." Hoyle was close behind, but not too close. I could still spin and take the gun away much faster than he could react, but he'd talk more if he thought he was the boss.

"Okay, you got me. Gonna bash my brains in like you did for Ruzzo?" That was one danger that was real for me, I was exceptionally vulnerable to any weapon made from wood. So long as he had only a gun, I was fairly safe.

"What do you know about it?" he snarled.

"I found what you left of them not long back. Then I talked with some guys, and they said where you kept your heap. Just call me Sherlock Junior. Why'd you do it?"

"Maybe they had it coming."

"That's all?"

"An' they knew some things they shouldn't."

"Like about the bomb Mitch.e.l.l had you put on Gordy's car?"

"Who told you that?"

"I figured it out. You're going to have to buy Gordy a new car, you know."

"Stupid punk. Think you're so d.a.m.ned funny, think the sun rises and sets on your a.s.s?"

"Not quite." No point sharing the irony of that with him.

"Well, there's some of us who know how things really work around here, and punks like you don't know squat."

"Why don't you tell me, then?"

He fired the gun. The bang was deafening.

I flinched, but was unharmed. The bullet bit a hole in the wall in front of me, above and to the right. I'd fired three into the ground next to his head, this was just returning the favor. We were lucky the mortar was soft and the bricks crumbly. A ricochet would have made this room a h.e.l.l of a lot smaller, fast.

"How do you like it?" he asked.

"I'm gonna faint in a few days if there's much more excitement."

Another shot. I'd expected it, so I didn't flinch as much. My ears rang. I swallowed, trying to clear them.

"And that?"

"Hoyle, this wall's getting pretty boring. Even looking at your mug would make a change." I started to turn, but he told me to stay put again, his voice going up. Bad sign. He was the boss of the room, but he was nervous. "What's the matter? You think I can still follow through on what I said about killing you the other night? You've got the gun."

"I know how you work. I heard the boys talk. They say you can just look at someone and get them to do what you want."

"That's right. That's how I grew up to be president of these United States. I talked everyone into voting for me."

"Shuddup!"

Quiet now. Creepy to hear his breathing so near. Surprising it was that I could hear anything after the gunfire boom. I waited until he seemed more settled. "You got me. Now what?"

"I kill you."

"Not a good idea. Gordy's on the mend-"

"Gordy's on the outs! You can't hide behind him no more."

"I never did. I was only saying that you b.u.mping Ruzzo is one thing, but b.u.mping me... very bad idea. Too many people will go after you for that one."

"Yeah, and if I don't take you out, you'll still be after me."

"Not necessarily. Depends on what information you can give about Mitch.e.l.l's plans."

"I don't know nothing."

"He told you plenty. That's how he was able to talk you into the bomb. He wanted Kroun removed and thought you'd be the best bet. Am I right? Then he sees to it you're protected from payback..." A new thought popped into my head. "Of course this place ain't his idea-it's yours. You're hiding from him."

No response.

"An' the only reason you'd wanna hide from him is if he'd killed Ruzzo. It's a double cross. Am I right?"

"Maybe."

"Come on, help me out here and help yourself. What happened with Ruzzo?"

"I went there and found 'em like that. It wasn't me."

"But you emptied their wallets, didn't you?"

"What if I did? They weren't needin' it."

"You were hiding with them?"

"At first. Then Mitch came over, an' we got to talkin'. He knew me from when he worked for Morelli. I tol' him how you was s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g things up, so we went off private for a drink and made some plans."

The plans being to send Kroun and me in pieces to kingdom come. "You make your bomb here?"

"In his hotel room; I was hiding with him for a day. I'd moved outta Ruzzo's place, but left some things, an' when I went back..."

"Must have been a shock." From which he quickly recovered and was able to coolly pick their pockets for spare cash. Nice guy. "Where's Mitch.e.l.l?"

Silence.

"Why have you got the girl here?"

"Why do you think?"

He was just egging me. There were still bullets left. I make a move and boom. He'd want that. "You got the girl because Mitch.e.l.l wanted her. Now why in the middle of all this malarkey does he want a date?"

"You tell me."

I couldn't see Hoyle's hands, couldn't see if they were scratched up or not, but the fact that he'd not killed Evie sparked a new line of thought about Caine's and Jewel's murders. "Because she knows something she shouldn't.

Because he's afraid of her."

"Mitch.e.l.l afraid of a twist." Contempt in his tone.

"Because he thinks she saw him kill Alan Caine."

More silence.

"But you worked that out already, didn't you? So why did Mitch.e.l.l kill Alan Caine?"

"d.a.m.n you..."

"Come on, Hoyle. b.u.mp me, and Gordy feeds you to the fish. You can definitely count on Mitch.e.l.l disappearing you-you know too much. But ease off, and you get out alive."

"Mitch won't kill me."

"The h.e.l.l he won't. He has to give New York a corpse for killing Kroun, and you're it. But I've got people waiting to grab him. If we walk into Gordy's office and say the same thing, he's toast. You can say he asked you to make a bomb, only he didn't say for what. I can get you clear."

"Why should you?"

"Because I'm just really tired of people getting killed. Kroun took me down a notch tonight because of that. Almost the last thing he said was I didn't have it in me to order people killed, and he was right. I'll look after myself and my own, but I don't mark through names on a page."