The Vampire Files - Song in the Dark Part 5

"Which boss? Gordy or Fleming?"

"The boss what's in charge. The boss who will see you here next if you cross him." He nodded toward the group in general.

Hoyle and some others snorted. "Fleming, then. We don't take orders from that punk b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

Strome went patient, reverting to ingrained habit. "Gordy put him in charge. Every one of you knows that. Ain't for us to argue with Gordy."

"Yeah-yeah. If we can believe that it was Gordy who said so. All we know is what you and Derner let drop, and you guys got plenty reason not to rock the boat."

"So do you. You mess up on this-"

"Aw, screw it. You wanna run errands for that punk creep, fine, but we got regular business to do, an' it's gonna get done. Gordy'll agree with me on this, and the h.e.l.l with Fleming."

They'd formed a rough half circle around Strome, but it was ragged, with four of the guys having drifted outward.

Their collective attention was on him. I hoped he was deadpan enough to not react as I stepped clear of the barn.

If he did, I got too busy to notice, swiftly coming up behind the nearest man holding a baseball bat. I pulled it casually from his hand, slammed a left into his jaw as he turned, then swung the bat smartly into the next guy's gut.

Both men dropped just that fast, and I rounded on another, giving him a low and mean bunt just under his rib cage. Half the opposition now lay on the snow, either unconscious or gasping for air. Hoyle had been alert for trouble, though, and spun with his gun raised. A joyous sneer lit up his narrow mug as he recognized me. I had a perfect view directly up the short barrel of his gun. At ten feet it was a cannon.

He immediately fired, point-blank. Three shots as quick as he could pull the trigger.

He had good aim, holding the muzzle steady on my unmoving form, the sound sharp yet toylike under the wide sky. The smoke was swept away by the icy wind, and for a few crucial seconds I had to fight its force to keep from being carried off as well. I'd surrendered just enough solidity so the bullets pa.s.sed right through my near-ghostly body, spanging hollow into the barn's tin walls behind. Being just outside the nimbus of the light, I gambled that I could get away with such a risky stunt in front of witnesses.

Strome belatedly grabbed Hoyle's arm, and they wrestled and danced, cursing. The remaining two guys, Ruzzo, stared at me, probably because I should have been falling down and wasn't. Instead, I charged them, yelling and swinging the bat and moving a h.e.l.l of a lot faster than anything they'd ever remotely experienced. Then they were also on the ground with their friends, not being any further problem.

I stepped into Strome and Hoyle's rumba and plucked the gun clear before Hoyle could shoot either of them. That didn't stop his fighting. My cracking one of his legs with the bat did. He broke off fast with a high scream, clutching his s.h.i.+n. It wasn't broken, but the bone would be bruised. I'd felt the impact through the length of the bat and judged he'd be limping for a week. Good payback for the knock he must have landed on me earlier.

"You summab.i.t.c.h, you busted-ah, Jesus G.o.d!"

He went on like that for a while, loudly expressing pain and outrage. Strome, huffing to get his breath back, kept an eye on him while I made the rounds of the others. One of them was recovered enough to fumble for his gun, but I whacked his wrist with the bat, then tapped him lightly on the forehead. Lightly for me, anyway. He hit the snow and stayed there. It was obvious they were in no condition for a counterattack.

I shoved Hoyle's gun into my belt. The barrel was hot. It struck me then just how quick he'd been to shoot.

There'd been no hesitation, no thought of the consequences to hold him back from killing me. He either had a grudge on that was beyond restraint or must have done his thinking beforehand and made up his mind then what to do if we ever crossed. I barely knew the guy, so it was disturbing to have inspired such a reaction in a stranger, but not unexpected given this kind of work.

Hoyle sat flat in the snow, clutching his leg, still cursing, but in a lower, more dangerous voice. Having pa.s.sed through the initial agony, his invective was for me, not his pain. His threats were basic and brutal and nothing I'd not heard before from other guys. He was a rangy, long-boned specimen whose loose-jointed manner of walking might be mistaken for clumsiness, but he was one of the rare ones who could instantly pull himself in quick and tight to surprise an overconfident opponent. I'd heard from Gordy that Hoyle had been in the ring about ten years back, but got thrown out because of a betting scandal. It left him soured on boxing, but he'd never forgotten his training and still looked fit and granite-solid. Strome had taken a h.e.l.l of a chance mixing with him.

I looked down at Hoyle. He shot pure hatred right back. I grabbed hunks of his overcoat and hauled him up. He piled an iron fist into me. It was a short swing; he didn't have enough room to really get behind it, but sheer muscle made the blow sufficiently powerful to send anyone else reeling. I took the impact like a heavy workout bag, swaying a little, but not really moved. Before he could go for a second punch I lifted him right off his feet and thumped him bodily against the truck. Several times. I'm tall, but on the lean side. I don't look to have the kind of muscle to deal so easily with a 200-pound man. It stole the fight out of him and, once he shook his head clear, had obviously surprised him.

Apparently Hoyle wasn't used to being thrown around.

He smothered his shock with glowering resentment but didn't attempt any more punches.

"You," I said, holding him upright, "are annoying me. Which means you are annoying Gordy."

"Go ahead and tell 'em, I ain't afraid of Gordy."

"Then you d.a.m.n well better be afraid of me." I emphasized my words by smacking the side of his head with the flat of my hand. It must have made his ears ring, for his eyes went dull for a few seconds. I waited until he was able to pay attention again. "Gordy put me in charge for a reason. He knew I'd be able to squash bugs like you with no problem if there's a good enough excuse. You've given me a h.e.l.l of an excuse with this stunt."

"You are s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up business! That singer s.h.i.+t owes me money!"

"So beating him to death will get it for you?" "It's to learn others!"

I cracked him again. "School's out. Gordy put me in charge to hold things, and I am holding things until he's back full-time. Everyone else is clear on that except you and these gutter b.u.ms. Your second mistake was going after me. You got one chance to stay alive. Get clear of town by morning."

"Or what?"

"Or I take you and all your apes apart like a Sunday chicken, only slower, and they'll be finding your bones over these fields from now until next year's harvest."

He held to a snarling expression, but his eyes flickered. He must have picked up from my voice that I was being literal.

"You got lucky, Hoyle. You didn't kill anyone, so I don't have to kill you. But I am annoyed. If I get even a hint that you're only just thinking about being stupid again, you will be walking on stumps. Now pick these saps off the mat and stay outta my way."

"Or what, you tell Gordy?" He'd reduced serious business down to schoolyard-level snitching.

Logic would never work on him, only pain. I knew a lot about pain. I hit him again, plowing tough into the hard sh.e.l.l of his middle. A strike from a bare fist is different from the boxing gloves he'd been used to; the force is more concentrated. Some men hold back to spare their hands. That wasn't anything I needed to worry about. I stopped short of rupturing his insides, but only just.

"Or," I said, talking quietly right into his ear, "I will kill you, Hoyle."

He was doubled down, and when he managed to suck in air, it came out again as profanity. Weak-sounding, though. No breath for it.

Couldn't let him get away with even that much. I dragged him up again and pulled his gun from my belt. He favored a revolver. I clapped it against the side of his skull to get his attention, then shoved the muzzle into his nose.

"I will kill you, Hoyle. Same as you just tried on me-only I won't miss."

To drive the point home, I threw him on the ground and quick-fired close to his head, using up the remaining three bullets. The gun didn't seem to make any sound at all, but for Hoyle it must have been a h.e.l.l of a roar. Arms up, he convulsed away from where the lead struck snow inches from his face, then held still, staring at the gun, not me. He must have known it was empty, but a jolt like that is not easily shrugged off.

"What will I do, Hoyle?"

Trembling, he looked up blankly.

"What will I do?"

"Y-you'll kill me," he whispered.

"You're gonna remember that every time you think of me, every time you say my name, every time you hear my name, that's what you will remember. I will kill you."

I broke the gun open, tipping the cylinder clear. Sh.e.l.l casings rained out. Grasping it in one hand and the frame in the other I gave them each an opposing twist that hurt even my hands, but it was worth it. The metal held for a second, then abruptly snapped. I dropped both pieces on either side of the astonished Hoyle. "Every time."

I slouched across the Caddy's backseat for the return trip to Chicago, a strange reprise of how the evening had started, just a different mood. Playing tough was getting easier the more I did it, but afterward the reaction would set in, leaving me surly and almost as torn up inside as the people I'd leaned on. Of course, I couldn't show any of that to Strome. My breaking the gun in two had breached even his expressionless reserve, and I didn't want to lose what awed respect had been gained. Not that I didn't already have it in spades.

I wanted Gordy on his feet again real soon. Some number of the boys in the gang were like Hoyle, resenting an outsider giving them orders, but they'd behaved themselves out of respect for Gordy. That Hoyle had a grudge against me for taking the big chair wasn't news, but he'd given no hint till now about making an open challenge. It wasn't only against me but Gordy as well, which was a few miles past stupid, but brains were in short supply for some of them. Hoyle had thrown down the glove, mob style, and I'd beaten him silly with it. Would that and my promise of death be enough to hold him in place? "Is Hoyle going to be smart?" I asked Strome, interrupting the long silence of the drive.

Strome didn't answer right off, which boded ill. He thought it over a while. "He might."

"But... ?"

"He might not." He gave a minimal shrug, which reminded me a lot of Gordy. "He could get over his scare and try something else. You shoulda scragged him. Or at least sent him onna vacation like you done others."

I had a reputation for persuading stubborn people to do very unlikely things, like suddenly running off to Havana.

None was aware they'd been forcibly hypnotized. It was part of my edge. I used it to get out of troublesome situations, like earlier tonight with Kroun. But after that head-busting agony I wasn't about to try anything fancy so soon. Hoyle wasn't worth the pain. I'd broken the gun to keep from breaking him. Which I could have done all too easily. It's a frightening thing to find out what one is capable of when the restraints are gone. Hog Bristow taught me that.

"Keep an eye on Hoyle," I said. "See to it he leaves town and have someone keep tabs where he goes and what he does when he arrives. If you think he'll step out of line, I wanna know before he does. The same for his goons. You tell me, and we'll take it from there. If I'm not available, use your best judgment and take care of 'em yourself."

"Right, Boss."

"And don't get caught."

"Right, Boss."

It was just that easy to put a death sentence on people. G.o.d, what had they twisted me into? I wasn't supposed to be like this. I was a normal guy with parents in Cincinnati, friends, a girlfriend, my own business. I liked flashy clothes, reading dime magazines, and was trying to turn myself into a writer one of these nights. So what that I was also a vampire? Killing people wasn't part and parcel with the condition. h.e.l.l, I didn't even have to kill to eat, just drain a little blood from cattle that could spare it...

Bad line of thought, that. Head it off. Quick.

"Strome. What happened back at the club? How'd you know where to go?"

"One of 'em clobbered me from behind, only he didn't make a good job of it. Knocked me down but not out. I saw them toss you in the back of the truck, then some piled into a car with Hoyle and took off. Good thing it was Ruzzo driving the truck, too."

"Why's that?"

"They got into a fight over who'd drive. By the time they figured it out I was able to get up and into Gordy's car.

Then I just followed."

"You did good, Strome. Thanks."

"No problem."

"Your head bad?"

"I'll live. How'd you get outta the truck?"

I stole the idea from him. "With Ruzzo driving? I just let myself out when we stopped. I kept low. They didn't see a thing."

Thankfully, he accepted it. He nodded. "Before all that, I was gonna say something to ya about Mitch.e.l.l. That you should look out for him."

"Oh, yeah?"

"He didn't like what Kroun did. Letting you off."

Mitch.e.l.l had been poker-faced and then some through the whole session. The only time he showed anything was when I refused to display my war wounds. Such as they weren't. "How could you tell?"

"Used to see him around. Here. Back when Slick Morelli ran the business."

I did my d.a.m.nedest not to react. Morelli had been one of the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds who helped murder me. "How far back was that?"

"Couple years. When Gordy took over, Mitch.e.l.l left for New York. He didn't mind being third fiddle when Slick was in charge, but he wouldn't stand for being second fiddle to Gordy." Strome was revealing new depths. I never thought the man was so musically inclined. "He was that high up? Third in line?"

"He was in there, but mostly in his own head."

"Was Mitch.e.l.l ever up for Slick's job?"

"Not that I heard. There was a h.e.l.l of a mess with Slick and Lebredo suddenly both gone, but Gordy stepped in and kept things smooth, and that's what the big bosses wanted. No waves. Mitch didn't like how it turned out, so he moved to greener pastures."

So there was a very good possibility that Mitch.e.l.l remembered me from then, which might better explain his initial reaction. It wasn't my looking young, but that I was the same Fleming who'd been around when Slick Morelli and Lucky Lebredo killed each other.

That's how we made it look, anyway.

I didn't specifically remember Mitch.e.l.l from my encounter with Morelli's gang. Aside from Gordy, who was too big to ignore, I hadn't paid much attention to the muscle. The most I could say now was that Mitch.e.l.l probably hadn't been one of the guys who actually crowded me at the time, though he might have been on the fringes looking on.

"Gordy can tell you plenty on him," said Strome. "More than me. He knows the real dirt."

Gordy could have mentioned something when we'd been talking in the casino. On the other hand he hadn't been feeling so well. He couldn't think of everything, and when Mitch.e.l.l arrived it'd been too late to give me a heads up.

Then again, Gordy might have held back so my attention would be on Kroun, not his lieutenant and bad memories about my own murder.

"So I should keep an eye on Mitch.e.l.l?"

"I was just sayin' he didn't like what happened up there. Don't see what diff it should make to him. It's just something to know."

"You talk like Gordy."

He took it as a big compliment, nodding. "Thanks. You worked it okay with Kroun. I didn't think you'd get out alive."

"Neither did I."

"Sure you did. You knew before going in you'd walk clear. I could tell. I thought you was wrong, but you knew."

"The power of positive thinking."

"Maybe. But you got Kroun on your side pretty fast. He's seen men hurt before. Looking at what Bristow did to you ain't gonna bring a guy like him out in hearts and flowers. How'd you do it?"

I gave a minimal shrug like I'd seen Gordy do a hundred times. "There was stuff going on under the talk. I could see Kroun didn't want me killed. That would create more problems he didn't want to bother with. He just needed a reasonable way out and took the one I offered."

"Who'da thought it?"

Me. Just now.

"Radio," I said, not wanting more questions. "Put it on."

"Got it."

Strome turned the k.n.o.b and fiddled the tuning until I said stop when he found a comedy. We listened to the remaining ten minutes of Jack Benny. The stuff was funny enough that Strome actually smiled once. I thought his skin would buckle and crack under the strain.