Quarry In The Middle Part 13

"Good. That's very good to hear. Now, I'm going to give your uncle a series of cognitive tests. Would you like to sit in?"

"No, no, doc-I think having me here might distract the old fella. You do your thing, and I'll just wait outside...So long, Uncle Gigi."

"So long, Dr. Leefer," he said.

I found my way out, the nurse giving me a glare (I'd clearly really exceeded the toilet time limit), moved through the waiting room where the bodyguard was holding his magazine sideways, and went out to my car.

No fast getaway necessary.

After I called from the bar downstairs, Cornell received me in his third-floor office. The Paddlewheel was open-it was around six-thirty-but business wasn't bustling yet, as this was not exactly a place where you went for the early bird special.

He emerged from the bedroom, tying a black rope belt around his maroon dressing gown; his legs were bare and as tanned as George Hamilton's neck and his feet were in slippers. He was lighting up a cigarette and his unblinking aqua-blue eyes narrowed, taking me in.

"What happened to you?" he asked, so concerned he flopped into the nearest overstuffed brown leather chair as he tossed a spent match in an ashtray.

I sat nearby on the matching couch. Cocaine ghosts haunted the gla.s.s coffee table.

I said, "Two of Jerry G's greeters took me out back and beat the f.u.c.k out of me."

His eyes tightened a little. "You all right?"

Was there an end to his compa.s.sion?

"I am, now. This happened Wednesday, or really Thursday morning, and I slept round the clock. Nothing broken. This is what that hazardous duty pay is for."

"Drink?"

I had trained him not to say drinky-poo.

"I could stand a Diet c.o.ke."

He called, "Chrissy!"

The bedroom door opened and the little babe with the big yellow perm emerged, painting her nails red. She had on black panties and half a white t-s.h.i.+rt, the underside of pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s showing.

"What?"

"Fix me up with a drink, and my friend with a Diet c.o.ke."

She zombie-walked over to the bar, painting her nails all the way, not blessing either of us with a glance. She was efficient, though, and only two minutes or so pa.s.sed before Cornell had a tumbler of Scotch and ice cubes and I had a cold can of Diet c.o.ke.

"Thanks," I said. "Things go better with c.o.ke, you know."

She said nothing, her lips almost forming a smirk but lacking the enthusiasm for that commitment. She padded into the bedroom, the perfect moons of her bottom exposed below the cut of the panties. She could have used a spanking. So could my d.i.c.k.

Alone again, my employer and I made a half-hearted toast, and he said, "Why don't you fill me in?"

"I don't do details. I can tell you've I've determined, to my satisfaction anyway, that the old man is out of it."

The tanned forehead formed white creases. "Out of...what?"

"It. Any contract on you, any aspect of running the Lucky Devil in particular and downtown Haydee's Port in general, anything greater than putting on his pants, wiping his bottom and warming up some cocoa."

He grinned, a white slash in the tan puss, but his forehead kept on frowning. "What is he, senile?"

"As good as. He's had a bunch of little strokes, and Jerry G is Chief Big s.h.i.+t now. Sonny Boy apparently hasn't advertised papa's delicate condition because the old reprobate has a big rep, and Jerry still needs to bask in it."

Cornell shook his head. "I hate to say it, but Jerry G has something of a reputation himself. That's one of the reasons why this Chicago conflict, between the Giardelli brothers, continues to just simmer, never boil over. The status quo is too appealing-me running the Paddlewheel effectively, and profitably...and Jerry G doing the same with his sleazeball operation downtown."

"I believe Jerry G does more than just run the Lucky Devil," I said. "I think some major drug-running is going on, and Christ knows what other contraband. We are are right on the river." right on the river."

"I've heard the scuttleb.u.t.t." He shrugged, swirled the liquid in its tumbler, studied it as if looking for tea leaves to read. "So-it's just Jerry G, then. Are you prepared to go forward?"

"With what?"

He frowned. "What the h.e.l.l do you think think, love? Handling the Jerry G problem."

"You want him gone, I'm fine with that. But I haven't got the goods on him."

The forehead creased again. "What goods are those?"

"Making sure Jerry G took out the hit. How do you know this didn't emanate straight from Chicago?"

He waved that off. "No. No, it's Jerry G. Has to be."

"d.i.c.kie bird, I think he knew I was working for you, when he had me taken out to the woodshed. He could have had them kill me, but he didn't. Why?"

His shrug was elaborate. "Perhaps Jerry G thought it would backfire on him-he'd get his a.s.s in a wringer with the Chicago family, killing one of my people."

"He'd fear that, but take you you out? Does that really make sense?" out? Does that really make sense?"

He smiled on half his face, his expression as patronizing as his tone. "Of course it does. One killing of a subordinate can lead to more such killings, which can lead to a battle here in Haydee's Port that could become an all-out war war in Chicago." in Chicago."

"Whereas removing you would be the kind of single stroke that could change everything all at once?"

"Right-o. That's how I see it, at least."

I sipped my Diet c.o.ke. Shrugged. "So the job is, take care of Jerry G?"

"Yes. Are we agreed as to price?"

"Considering the work I did eliminating the old man from the equation, let's call it thirty."

He considered that. Then he shrugged. "All right. For all the grief it'll save me, it's a G.o.dd.a.m.n b.l.o.o.d.y bargain."

Soon I was downstairs on the main floor, heading past the dining room toward the Paddlewheel exit when a husky female voice called from the bar: "Jack! Come say h.e.l.lo."

In a little black dress that exposed a nice amount of bosom, redheaded Angela was in her favorite booth, sitting with a yellow pad in front of her, smoking a cigarette as she made notes.

I joined her. "You go on this early?"

"No. This is just the closest thing I have to an office. Going over my set list. Making a few changes." She turned the wide-set green eyes loose on me, and they quickly tightened in concern, as she took in my colorful face. "My G.o.d! What happened to you you?"

"Couple of Jerry G's guys took me through the Jane Fonda workout. Do I look slimmer?"

She touched my hand. "You take awful chances, don't you? I thought...nothing."

"What?"

"I hoped to hear from you. I...the other day, morning I mean, at your room...rather sweet. On the...special side, I thought." side, I thought."

"A lot more pleasant workout, I'll grant you. Hey, I'm sorry, I really did get my a.s.s handed to me, and I've been recuperating."

She gave me a smirky kiss of a smile. "Then you weren't shacked up with some sweet young thing?"

"Yeah, right. I was cheating on you, s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g a twenty-year-old stripper."

That made her laugh. I love telling the truth; often the best way not to be believed...

"You wouldn't want to stop by and catch my last set? Maybe buy me breakfast?"

"I better take a rain check. I'm on the clock."

The green eyes widened. "On the clock, around around the clock?" the clock?"

"Right now I am."

Out that hallway, where the private elevator emptied, trotted Cornell's little squeeze, Chrissy, yellow permed curls held by a hot-pink sweatband, making her head look like a ginger ale bottle that fizzed over. She was in tight jeans and a hot-pink s.h.i.+rt tied in a big knot under her pert b.o.o.bs, and her feet were shod in sandals that showed off red toenails, to match the fingernails she'd been painting. All freshened up, pink lip gloss, blue eye shadow, and no white powder on her nose at all...

"What's the story on baby Madonna?" I asked.

"She's just the latest little lay on d.i.c.kie's roster," Angela said, light but with a bitter edge, letting smoke out her nose like a lovely dragon. "One little blow-up doll's pretty much like any other."

"Does she live with him out at the plantation? Or maybe up in his Hefner hideout upstairs?"

"No. She's from River Bluff. Another of these community college girls, if you can believe it."

I didn't, actually.

"Excuse me," I said, and smiled at her, and she gave me a curious look that I let hang.

When I got to the parking lot, Chrissy was pulling out in a red Firebird convertible with a crysee vanity plate-Illinois, not Iowa, where the community college was. I moved toward my lesser Pontiac, but didn't run or anything.

Pretty sure I knew where she was headed.

Chapter Ten.

At a quarter till eight or so, the Lucky Devil parking lot wasn't close to full. This was a Friday, and one of their big nights, but the Lucky was chiefly an after-hours joint, so Chrissy had no problem finding a parking spot near the building.

I took a s.p.a.ce in the row behind her, shut off the engine and sat in the dark watching her, trying to figure out what the f.u.c.k to do. Tailing Chrissy's Firebird to the Lucky hadn't allowed a stopover at the Wheelhouse motel to grab my spare nine millimeter.

So I didn't have a gun on me. And I didn't have a plan. All I had was my brute strength, and we've seen how well that had served me in this venue...

Well, maybe I had a vague vague plan. plan.

The Lucky Devil parking lot was about as handy as a pair of gloves with two lefts-the three doors facing the lot all were exit only: that one off the soundproofed private poker room, another off the casino, and one with FIRE EXIT ONLY FIRE EXIT ONLY written on it for the strip club. written on it for the strip club.

To gain entry, you had to cut over to the sidewalk and walk around the building, or cut through the alley where not long ago I'd had so much fun. I figured to watch Chrissy and follow her on whichever path she chose, and intercept her before she could go in, only f.u.c.k me sideways- f.u.c.k me sideways-she was heading for the casino exit!

And now she was knocking on the thing...

It must have taken a while for the bouncer to climb down off his perch and answer her insistent pounding. He was unfamiliar to me, a bushy-brown-bearded bruiser bursting his black Lucky Devil polo with both muscles and fat, and he was not happy to be disturbed.

Finally emerging from her self-absorbed stupor, Chrissy was animated, words and spittle flying out of her. The bearded guy scowled, nodded, but shut the door on her. She dug into her little pink purse and got out some cigarettes and was lighting up when I grabbed her.

"Let's talk," I said, and the cigarette hit the gravel as I pulled her by the arm toward my car. The night was unseasonably chill, and her nipples were erect under the t-s.h.i.+rt, but for some reason that just annoyed me. Her expression was a hissing cat's, but she was too thrown to do much about it.

Still, the parking lot was lighted, if half-heartedly, and my actions were right out there for the world to see. Several patrons, groups of guys, a couple of couples, some girl duos, were laughing and making their way toward the Lucky from their various cars, but n.o.body thought twice about some jacka.s.s dragging a protesting girl along. Again, just that kind of town...

"You f.u.c.ker! f.u.c.ker!" she said, her upper lip curling back. "You're in trouble! trouble!"

We were to the car now, and she started to scream, and I slapped her. The sound rang in the open air like a gunshot. She gave me a look that wondered how I could be such a brute to a beautiful girl like her.

"Shut up," I told her. "I'd rather kill you than f.u.c.k you."

She had a hand to her red-blossoming cheek, but that statement crinkled her forehead as her brain tried to process it.

I had her wrist in one hand and used my other to work the key in the trunk. The lid opened and I nodded toward the yawning s.p.a.ce.

"Get in," I said.

"f.u.c.k you," she said. But quietly.

"We need to talk, but here is not good. I won't hurt you if you behave. Get in."

By the way, I'd driven the Sunbird over to River Bluff on Wednesday, to give it a thorough cleaning, not that it would have fooled any forensics experts. But at least it wasn't blood-crustedly awful in there. I'm not that big a monster.

Anyway, she was crawling in, frowning, but more confused than afraid, when a hand grabbed my arm, and it was the bearded bouncer.

"That's not nice," he said, and head-b.u.t.ted me. not nice," he said, and head-b.u.t.ted me.

If I'd had the time for a thought, it would have been:This is what happens, going around unarmed.