The Vampire Files - Song in the Dark Part 15

"The more people in a room talking business, the longer it takes to finish."

That bordered on the genius. "Yeah, okay. But have someone tell me when they're done. I want a word with Gordy, too."

"Sure."

"Anything new on Hoyle?" "He ain't left town yet. Donno why."

"Where is he?"

"Donno that, either. Dropped outta my sight, but some of the other boys have seen him."

"Doing what?"

He lifted his hands. "Sayin' good-bye?"

"See if you can find out more. I'm getting so I don't like that guy."

Strome's face almost twitched, and he moved on toward the back exit, presumably heading for the office to watch for the meeting to break up.

I found a phone and called Crymsyn's lobby to check in.

Instead of Wilton, Bobbi answered. "You're not backstage?" I asked.

She sounded a little breathless. "I just came down with the cash tills. Something told me that was your ring. You need to put a phone behind the bar."

The place already had one official phone in my office; I didn't see why we needed more, but this wasn't the time to discuss it. "I should be there to help, but I got sidetracked."

"I know, 'business.' We're fine here, Jack, there's no need to worry. Take a vacation why don't you?"

"At another nightclub?"

"Sure, see different faces for a change. Charles is helping me open, everyone's in on time. We're fine here."

"Okay." I tried not to read anything into so much insistence. "Listen, you remember a mug in Gordy's mob named Hoyle? Used to be a boxer."

"I know him by sight. What's going on?"

"Just keep an eye out for him if you can. He's got a grudge on for me, and I don't want you or anyone else getting in the middle."

"How big a grudge?"

"Enough so I'm sending some muscle over to play bouncer in case he shows, but-"

"Jack... ?"

"But-I think I'm overdoing it. Look, I know I've been edgy lately and this will make me feel better. The muscle is only insurance; if they're there, chances are they won't be needed."

"For this I'll want to know the whole story."

"Right now?" Not something I wanted to talk about over the phone, especially with Nightcrawler staff within hearing. There were enough rumors about me floating around.

"You kidding? I've got a show to get ready for, you'll tell me later."

"Deal. And one more thing, totally different subject: you know a torch singer called Jewel Caine?"

"Sure, she's not been around much, though. Used to be good until the booze got to her. Why?"

"She needs a break. I told her to come by to see you tomorrow at three if that's okay. Can you work a short set for her into the show?"

"I think so, but are you sure?"

"She's trying to sober up and needs rent money."

"Oh, Jack." Her tone wasn't reproach for being a soft touch, quite the opposite. If Bobbi had been here, she'd have kissed me. I wanted that. Almost. Another part was glad she was miles away. I fought off a s.h.i.+ver inside my coat.

"What about a guy named Alan Caine?"

"That's Jewel's ex-husband. I don't like him, but he can sing. You going to hire him, too? He's trouble."

"I know. I met him last night, forgot to tell you."

"How'd you meet him?" "He's working at Gordy's club." Though Bobbi usually kept up with who was playing where in Chicago, she'd lately not had much time to read papers or talk with others in the business. My fault.

"Poor Gordy," she said. "He's all grabbing hands-Alan Caine, that is. I've done some shows with him way back when. He's one of those jerks who thinks he owns a place, lock, stock, and chorus line. The awful thing is most of them go along with it because he's so handsome."

"Except you."

"Back then I was wi... well, never mind." Slick Morelli. I recognized the avoidance. That mention of him still made her uncomfortable after all this time told me I'd done the right thing not bringing up Mitch.e.l.l's name. "But even before I wouldn't have gone near Caine. He's a big jacka.s.s, and-did you just laugh?"

I'd not been doing much of it lately. I had to be careful or my face would break. "Sounded like it. I think you must be psychic, Miss Smythe. I thought the same about him myself. He won't be playing at Crymsyn. He mouthed off to the wrong guy. Jewel seems okay, but she's had it rough from him. She's sober, but kinda fragile." I should talk.

"I'll look after her, don't worry. We're out of dressing rooms, though."

Huh? Oh. It took me a second to get it. Roland and Faustine weren't the top billing act-that was Bobbi's spot. But he'd had some minor leading-man work in Hollywood and British stage, and Faustine was a full-blown Russian- trained ballerina. The Depression and life in general had not been kind, but they were still higher up the status ladder than Bobbi. As a diplomatic gesture we a.s.signed them side-by-side dressing rooms one and two. Besides, being a couple, they didn't mind sharing the shower and toilet in between. For some reason I'd not been able to figure out, Faustine's wardrobe filled up the whole s.p.a.ce.

Bobbi had the number three dressing room; Teddy Parris had number four. I suggested b.u.mping him out.

"Jewel deserves a higher number than four."

"This is nuts, you know."

"Well, I can't put her in the bas.e.m.e.nt with the musicians."

Additional downstairs dressing areas had been roughed out months back, but so far there'd been little need to finish things. It resembled a locker room with coat hooks along one wall, a standing mirror, and a couple of long benches. I didn't go down there if I could help it. Some years back someone had died in that bas.e.m.e.nt, and it would take more than a coat of paint and lights to blot out that horror.

"We can rig a curtain across one of the corners..."

"Impossible. I couldn't put her there no matter what."

"Hah?"

"Jack, she used to be a big star around here, it'd be terribly insulting to foist her off in a cellar like some has-been."

s...o...b..z. I was still getting used to the s.h.i.+fting rules of its pecking order. "Well, just don't use my office."

"Actually, that room next to your office will do for me. If she signs on, I'll move my stuff up there, and she can have my dressing room. There, that's all worked out."

Bobbi did have a flair for problem-solving. Concerning club stuff. Not for me so much. Which was no one's fault but my own.

"You know," she said thoughtfully, "maybe you should think about turning that upstairs washroom into a real bath. You could put in a shower easy enough."

"Hey, I'm still paying for the other ones. Let's turn some more profit first before redecorating."

"All right."

Sounding cheerful, she gave in a little too easy. I knew d.a.m.n well now that she'd gotten the idea it would be executed into reality sooner or later.

And... I suddenly realized we were talking normally again. I even felt normal-until I realized it, and that spoiled the moment.

d.a.m.nation. If I could just quit when I was ahead and not overthink, I might have drawn that feeling out for whole minutes instead of just a few seconds. "Jack?"

"Yeah?"

"I have to go get ready for the show. You okay?"

"I'm fine." G.o.d, I hated lying to her, but over the phone she might not be able to pick up on it. "I'll see you when I get there. Break a leg." I didn't know if civilians to the stage were allowed to wish good luck to the talent with that phrase, but what the h.e.l.l. She thanked me and hung up. I stood very much by myself next to the casino bar and fought off another s.h.i.+ver. All the cold in the city was outside these fancy walls; why was it that I had to be picked out to carry a piece of it around in my flayed skin?

Distraction. I called over one of the bouncers and made arrangements with him to send some guys to watch things at Lady Crymsyn. They all had to know Hoyle, which wasn't a problem. The story about Hoyle's interrupted batting practice with me had gotten out and made the rounds. Surprisingly, his reputation was in a hole and mine was on the rise. Just when I was getting used to being unpopular. Everyone's favorite part was my breaking the revolver in his face. I hoped they wouldn't ask for an encore as a party trick.

No sign of Strome yet. Thinking I could fill the waiting time with a few hands of blackjack, I went through to the private area of the club where everyone in Chicago with money to lose was made welcome. I'd played more than a few hands here, picking up extra cash when I wanted. Thinking he might open early for me, I looked around for my favorite dealer, the one who always gave away when he had a good hand. Instead, I saw Adelle Taylor coming decisively toward me, threading between the tables. She showed off her elegant figure in a clingy dark dress with a matching hat and purse that were clearly worth more than a few months' rent in Jewel Caine's neighborhood. Adelle seemed to be a woman on a mission; she moved more quickly than usual, but didn't broadcast any sign that an emergency was on. However, her eyes were strangely fixed.

When Adelle got close enough, I saw how it was for her, figured what to do fast, and led her to one of the semiprivate gaming alcoves, one with a curtain. Soon as we were inside I swept the curtain shut then put my arms around her so she could collapse and soak my overcoat shoulder.

Chapter 7

Crying women are not my favorite thing, but sometimes you have to come through for them and weather it out. It's not too bad. Adelle wasn't one to casually lose control of herself, either, so it had to be something important to get her into this state. Most likely to do with Gordy.

She didn't make much noise, but it was a strong and violent cras.h.i.+ng down of her protective walls. I'd never seen her like this. Adelle was always cool-headed and even in the face of surprise, quick to land on her feet. Like the night of the shooting. Once she got through the initial shock and terror of seeing Gordy drop, she'd pulled together to help out as though she'd trained on a battlefield.

That restraint was nearly gone; the only remnant was how hard she worked to smother her sobs. I could tell she really wanted to let go completely and howl. That would have drawn attention, maybe prompted the curious to come in and interrupt. She needed release, not talk, but a suppressed breakdown was better than none at all.

Adelle knew nothing about what I'd been through with Hog Bristow, and for some reason that helped me to be stronger for her. I felt better for the giving, like my old self, and it lasted longer than a few seconds. I held her tight and murmured the often useless but frequently comforting, "It's okay, everything's going to be all right" at the top of her head.

d.a.m.ned if it didn't work. After a while, she pulled away. Makeup running, eyes puffed, her whole face seemed bruised. She sat on one of the cus.h.i.+oned chairs and scrounged in her purse for a handkerchief-no d.i.n.ky lace thing, but a large practical one-and blew and dabbed and swiped. I sat across from her, waiting to listen. d.a.m.n, the things I do for friends.

"Most men," she said, her voice deeper, more husky than normal, "go into a dithering panic when a woman cries.

They either want to run for the hills or instantly fix the problem so she stops. Or they try to kiss her or slap her. I'm glad you're the sensible type."

"Nah, I'm a fake. I couldn't make up my mind which would work."

She unexpectedly giggled while trying to blow her nose again and made a real mess of it, requiring another handkerchief.

I sat next to her. "If I ran, the mugs here would shoot me out of reflex. I can't fix the problem, not knowing what it is, so that wasn't the right road. If I tried kissing or hitting, I'd risk a sock in the chops from you, being shot by Gordy when he found out, being shot by Bobbi when she found out, or all three."

Addle put a hand over her mouth to stifle the laugh. "G.o.d, I wish you could stay with us. I need the change."

"Maybe I can swing by later." Gordy had been staying at her place I'd heard.

"It's all right. I know you're busy with... the business. There's no one I can talk to. Gordy's men are polite, but they're not... well..."

"You can't let 'em see you cry."

"No. You're different from them. You've got a heart. To you I'm a friend, not just the boss's piece."

"Hey, you're not-"

She waved it away. "I overhear their talk, but it doesn't matter. They can only define me by the limits of their world."

"You lemme know which ones are being disrespectful, and I'll widen their experience. Now, what's the big problem?"

"Gordy."

"What? He not treating you right?" No way. For all his rough side with the mob, he was always a gentleman with her, emphasis on "gentle."

"It's not that. Oh, Jack, he's ill." "Ill? Pneumonia? Measles? What?" G.o.d, if he caught anything while he was still shaky from the bullets...

"Not that kind. He's pus.h.i.+ng himself and he's up too soon and he's exhausting everything in him and I can't make him listen to reason."

She'd work herself into another bout of tears in another second. I made calming motions. "Take it easy, I was going to talk to him about it anyway. Strome told me he was here tonight, and I couldn't believe he was outta bed again."

"Gordy thinks if he doesn't show a strong face, it'll undermine his authority over his men."

"He's got a point, but if he falls on his duff, it'll undermine worse."

"It's more than that. I'm afraid it's killing him. He's so gray, and he hides it, but I know he's weak. He barely made it from the car into here, then Kroun came in, and he went upstairs like nothing was wrong. It's all a front and-"

"I get the picture."

"You'll talk to him? Make him rest?"

"You bet your sweet... ah... tonsils I'll do that."