The Vampire Files - The Dark Sleep Part 27

A few times in the past he'd pulled shenanigans like disguising himself, taking on completely different characters and acting them well enough to fool even Coldfield. This wasn't one of those times. Escott had gotten himself well and truly plastered, and there was no figuring the why of it until he woke up.

At least he wasn't having trouble with insomnia tonight.

I went downstairs and checked the street. He'd parked the Nash crooked, leaving the lights on. No surprise there, but I was astonished, not to mention thankful, that he'd not killed himself getting home. I just hoped he'd not killed anyone along the way. With the armor plating on that buggy, it'd be hard to tell if he'd run over some luckless pedestrian. The keys were still in it. I drove to the alley in back and put it in the garage, sieving into the house through the kitchen door. Going straight to the phone, I dialed Coldfield and told him what was going on. "He's drunk? What do you mean, drunk?" he demanded.

"Just that. He's a lot more than three sheets to the wind."

"You sure?"

"It's no act." I'd listened to the sound of Escott's heartbeat, something he couldn't fake, so I knew for certain he was genuinely unconscious. "He's pa.s.sed out in his room."

"Good G.o.d."

"He was babbling a lot. Kept calling me by your name and saying that he didn't do something, but he wouldn't say what. He said it was a bird named Raymond. What does that mean?"

There was a long silence on his end.

"Shoe? Who's Raymond?"

"It's-it's..."

"What?"

"Oh, sweet Jesus on the cross. I'm coming over."

"Then I'll-oh, h.e.l.l." Catching a movement out of the corner of my eye, I snapped my head around.

Shep Shepperd stood in the hall doorway, still wearing his slightly too large overcoat-and aiming a gun at my midsection. Because of my hypnotic help he'd forgotten all about our first encounter and wasn't the least bit afraid of me.

"Don't get funny," he said in a very soft voice so the phone wouldn't catch it. "Say good-bye and hang up."

"Jack? What is it?" Coldfield hadn't heard anything, but he sounded very alert to the fact that something was amiss.

"No, angel. Don't you worry your pretty little noggin about it."

"What'sa matter? You got company?"

"Yes, yes, I know, sweetheart," I said in a tender, understanding tone. "But I gotta take care of something. I'll be all right, I promise. You just look after yourself when you get there, and I'll see you as soon as I can."

"d.a.m.n right you will," he growled ominously as I dropped the receiver into place.

I turned to face Shep, thinking I'd been wrong about Dalhauser, and Escott had been wrong about the gunman's target. That, or this guy was here to finish off the one witness to the shooting.

"Who sent you?" I asked. "Ike LaCelle?"

He showed no obvious reaction. When he was in charge of things, Shep was quite a different man from the terrified goof who'd fled from me before.

"Or is it Gil Dalhauser?" I was already lining things up on how to take him, but he backed away a step and gestured with the gun.

"Get your coat," he said.

"Why?"

"Going for a ride."

"A ride to where?"

"To see someone."

"Who?"

"Get your coat and find out."

I could have given him the evil eye, but that might take time, and it was likely his prizefighter partner was waiting for us. Neither of them needed to find out about my helpless partner upstairs. The front door was open-I'd forgotten to lock it-and I could hear a car's engine chugging nearby. Weighing up the options-and there weren't many I wanted to bother with-I decided to go along with them. Coldfield was on his way and would keep a watch on Escott.

With any luck, I could deal with whoever was behind the shooting and find out the why of it.

I shrugged into my old topcoat, jammed on a hat, and let Shep usher me outside. He shut the door, doing a quick check of the street. No one was around, but he kept the gun close to his body so its outline was less visible. He made me get in the backseat. Ace, the prizefighter, was in the front pa.s.senger side of the Buick. He also had no memory of our initial encounter and, poker-faced, covered me with his own revolver while Shep drove. I wondered if Ace missed his machine gun very much.

Hunching down against the door so Shep wouldn't notice any problem with the rearview mirror, I paid attention to our route. They didn't seem worried about me seeing anything, giving me to think this might be one of those rides made famous by the Chicago gangs. If so, then the man behind it all had no fear of Gordy's edict.

If it was a man. For a fleeting moment I seriously considered Adelle Taylor as being the brain running things. I'd faced a h.e.l.lishly effective female gangster not so long back; I had a right to be paranoid about it. Additional thought cured me of my lunatic suspicions. Most of them, anyway. Adelle had no motive to kill Escott-at least none of which I was aware-so I dismissed her from the lineup. For the time being.

The drive was long, taking us into one of the city's many seedy sections. The road paralleled some train tracks, and with every mile the area around got more dismal and deserted. Closed factories, warehouses with broken windows, deserted businesses, it was an industrial zone with no industry; any that had been there had been sucked dry by the Depression, leaving only their bones behind as poor shelter for vagrants. There were few cars around, and all of them were going in the opposite direction from us.

Then even the buildings thinned out in the flat landscape, giving way to weed-choked empty lots protected by peeling no-trespa.s.s signs. Just one structure loomed ahead, a big three-story job protected by a tall, netted fence with barbed wire along the top attached to struts that slanted outward. The warning signs posted to tell people to keep out were many and large.

Shep took us around to the front entry, going unchallenged past a small gate kiosk and the guard inside it. His only acknowledgment was to wave once as we went by. As soon as we were in, he emerged to close the gate behind us.

On one end of the vast yard were oversized gas pumps, on the other a railroad siding where freight cars could be unloaded. In between, dozens of trucks were parked in orderly lines, patiently awaiting their drivers to return to take them on their rounds throughout the city. They were all coal trucks belonging to the business Gil Dalhauser supervised for the mob.

Shep drove to the big building, which was the repair garage. One of the huge doors yawned wide; he took us right in. Only a few service lights were on, leaving the rest of the cavernous interior thick with black shadows. Several trucks were in various stages of disa.s.sembly, their guts revealed, the stink of their greasy insides tainting the cold air.

We stopped and Shep cut the motor. Silence flooded in.

"Out," he said, opening his door.

I got out along with the fighter, and they guided me to some metal stairs.

"Up," Shep ordered.

Up I went, but they did not follow.

A tall man waited at the landing two flights above. Gil Dalhauser, with his hands in his pockets. I finished the climb and joined him on a metal catwalk where he stood by the rail, silhouetted against a wide bank of windows. He made a h.e.l.l of a vulnerable target, but that along with his hands being out of sight gave me to understand he wanted to talk, not shoot.

"Good evening, Fleming," he said. No lights were on up there, but you could see the whole of the garage and the most of the yard, depending which way you faced. He was in a position to cover both.

"Depends. What's this about?"

He made no reply, only looked out at the trucks standing in silence below, then turned toward the windows. The pale glow from the night sky washed color from his face and turned his blue eyes transparent.

"What a truly awful place this is," he murmured in a soft, hollow voice. It did not travel far past me. The dusty air around us seemed to swallow sound. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah, I see."

"I don't think so. Come over here and look at it. Just stop a moment and really study what's before you. It's completely different in the daytime. There's hundreds of men about, all the shouting and truck noise and phones ringing, but for a few hours in the night it's like this... utterly deserted. So dirty and dark, cold and quiet... like the grave. Now... do you see it?" He sounded like he'd made this observation before, and enjoyed saying it so he could watch how it affected his audience.

He was giving me the creeps. "Why'd you bring me here?"

"Because it's discreet, and you can see people from a distance when they approach." He stared unblinking out the windows. "And it serves to make a point."

"Which is?"

"You are quite alone, and vulnerable."

I didn't think he meant that in its more obvious sense. "What is it you want?"

"To tell you that you should take Escott's shooting as a serious warning."

"What do you know about it?

"Enough to say you should both leave town for good. Vanish."

I paused over that one.

He glanced at me. "Oh, yes, I know your friend somehow survived the shooting. He was seen today, quite hale and hearty, nosing around where he shouldn't. If you don't get him out tonight, he will be dead before dawn. That's a guarantee. They won't stop until he's dead. Until both of you are dead."

"Why both of us now and not last night?"

"I'm not sure. I think last night you weren't seen as a threat. If Escott hadn't survived, you'd probably be free and clear, but I suppose he thinks Escott's been talking to you."

"Who's after him, and why? Why kill us?"

He frowned. "Escott's not told you?"

"He doesn't know himself." Though from his condition when he'd come home, I could figure Escott may have found out.

Dalhauser chuckled softly in his throat. "Now, isn't that ironic?"

"Why is he a target?"

"I've no idea. I was hoping you'd be able to tell me."

"Come on."

He turned those expressionless eyes on me. "I really don't know why. I only know that he's been marked, and his adversary is determined past all limits of caution."

"Why the warning, then?"

"Self-interest. I'm doing what I can to comply with Gordy's order about you two."

"Why don't you tell Gordy what's going on? Have him step in and stop things."

"Because this goes beyond his influence. The mobs in this town leave you alone as a favor to him or because he controls them. But not everyone is under his control or cares about doing him any favors. Not everyone is smart enough to listen."

"Ike LaCelle, for instance?"

No surprise from him at my mention of the name.

"Ike's a flamboyant starstruck pimp, but don't underestimate him. Below the surface flas.h.i.+ness he's also a smart, tough, fast-thinking son of a b.i.t.c.h."

"But he can overstep himself?"

Dalhauser nodded agreeably. "If he thinks the risk is acceptable. Like that dose he slipped you last night."

"He told you about it?"

"He laughed for hours thinking he'd one-upped you. Only you didn't get as sick as he'd hoped. I've told him also not to underestimate you. And you may believe it or not, but I've tried talking him out of this course of action."

"Have you, now?" "For my own ends, of course. If he gets himself into real trouble, I'm going to feel it in the pocket sooner or later.

Gordy's hands-off is still in effect for me, though I'd not shed a tear if Escott got rubbed out. But I'm a cautious man; Ike is not."

"What's Ike's beef with Charles? You must have some idea."

"He didn't confide anything of it to me, and I have asked many times. What I know for certain is that he is determined to kill you both. While I won't actively partic.i.p.ate, I won't stop him, either. Outside of my business interests, none of this is really any matter to me, but when I see a train wreck about to take place, it seems only prudent to let the engineers know there's trouble ahead. There's no telling where the damage could go or how far before-"

"Does this have to do with Archy putting the moves on Bobbi?"

He looked puzzled.

"Because if that's it, then it's all over and done. Archy's not interested in her anymore."

"Yes, I heard, and I'd like to know how you managed that. But I think you're on the wrong track there."

"Where's LaCelle?"

"He could be anyplace. I'd tell you if I could."

"What's his plan? Another shooting?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. Only this time he will make sure of his target. So... are you going to be smart and leave or stay and die? I won't find out for some time. I'm taking a little trip to a card game in Cicero to have a solid alibi for the next few days."

"I'm staying."

His mouth tightened slightly at the corners. "You're really not afraid, are you?"

"Not for myself, no."