Song in the Dark

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 crashing 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.



Damned 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 cushioned chairs and scrounged in her purse for a handkerchief-no dinky lace thing, but a large practical one-and blew and dabbed and swiped. I sat across from her, waiting to listen. Damn, 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. "God, 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?" God, if he caught anything while he was still shaky from the bullets...



"Not that kind. He's pushing 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."



"He looked awful yesterday and worse today. That Kroun's got him all stirred up. Gordy doesn't let on to me, but I hear stuff when he's on the phone or talking with Lowrey."



"What stuff?"



"One of the things I heard... the boys here said Kroun was going to kill you." She whispered the last part.



I took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "That's old news. We're copacetic now."



"You're sure?"



"Yeah. Guaranteed. Everything's fine there, or I wouldn't be here." Not strictly true. If all the guys in the gang liked me, I wouldn't have had slashed tires. Then I wouldn't have been around to help Jewel and Adelle. Instead I'd have been in my upper-tier booth of my club hiding in its shadows and probably feeling very sorry for myself. Funny how things can turn out.



"I wish you could make that Kroun go back to wherever he came from."



"Same here." Maybe I could, if I felt up to it. "Do you need anything?"



She blew her nose. "A new head on my shoulders?"



"I'm fresh out. What's wrong with this one?"



"Gordy makes me crazy."



That was my second time tonight to hear the same tune from a woman. Adelle made me wonder if I was driving Bobbi crazy in some way. The odds favored it.



"It's the life he's got that's doing this to me," she said. "It forces things like that shooting to happen. I've been able to ignore it until now. At first dating a gangster seemed very thrilling, but suddenly it turned different. He's not some kind of a misunderstood hero with a dark side, he's a man with a lot of insane, vicious enemies who will cut him down at the first chance."



"The hard part for you is that Gordy accepts that."



"One of the hard parts. There are a hundred other things."



"More like a couple thousand."



"To him it's just part of the job. You prepare as much as you can, then go on like you think it won't happen. But it does and it did."



"He's still here, Adelle."



"And for how long? Oh-no, I'm sorry, that was a stupid, filthy thing to say."



"You're scared, honey. No one blames you for that. But the fact is, whether he's a gangster or a streetcar conductor, it's all the same. Any one of us can die at any time; we don't get to pick and choose when or where, it's out of our hands."



"I know that. But Gordy's in a business where the chances are higher against him. It's one thing to know you could get accidentally run over by a truck; it's quite another to keep standing in the middle of the road."



"Touche and no arguments. But if he did any other kind of work, he wouldn't be Gordy. Don't kid yourself that you can change him."



She made a "ha" sound. "I gave that illusion up when I was married to Roland."



This was the first time she'd ever referred to him with me.



"I tried and tried, but I could not change that man, even when it was to save his life from the booze. Gordy's the same. I'm hoping he'll change for himself and quit the mob, like Roland when he decided to stop drinking. So many never do change, though."



"Almost never." I'd certainly done it, involuntarily, doing things now I'd have never dreamed about two years ago.



It was about then that I'd begun thinking about coming out to Chicago and starting my life over. My hope to find Maureen was nearly gone, and it seemed like every corner of New York reminded me of her. I did a lot of thinking and boozing and selling off or hocking stuff to save up the train fare. Hard to do when I kept drinking a substantial part of the gleanings. It took me all the way until August to finally save enough cash to leave New York... and find death in Chicago. A slow, hard, and ugly dying.



And if I had stayed in New York, what then? I'd be a thirty-seven-year-old reporter rapidly drinking my way to forty-seven, which was about when I could expect Bright's disease or some liver problem or a car crash to do me in, if not sooner.



Looking at it that way made it almost seem like I'd been a different man whose unfinished biography I had read a long time ago. A man who had indifferently squandered his all-too-finite life by spending it feeling sorry for himself.



"Jack?" Adelle touched my hand.



"Yeah?" I hauled myself back from the might-have-been wreckage.



"What is it?"



"I was thinking that once in a while life makes the change, not the man, but whether it's for good or bad is usually up to the man."



"Or woman."



"You got it. Listen, Angel: Gordy has to do the kind of tough dealings you never want to know about, but where you're concerned he's a good man and always will be."



"I've felt that. But I'm not enough. He's already talking about when he gets back to work, the things he's going to do... They're apart from the business, though. He says he wants to set me up at his club like you have with Bobbi. A regular headliner, the big star, Chicago's favorite. I like the life, but I don't know if I like it as much as I used to."



"What, you planning to move to the country, maybe buy a chicken farm?"



She laughed a little. "That sounds pretty good about now. But it would drive me quite rollicking mad."



"So long as you know."



"But I do wish... I just want a world that doesn't have this in it." She made a sideways gesture as though to take in gangland and all its grief.



I could wish the same.



With more waiting to do for the both of us, we left the casino for the outer bar. Adelle looked like she could use something to steady her down. I could watch while she drank it.



Jewel Caine was gone by now. I checked with her waitress. The lady had engulfed her meal and departed backstage.



I couldn't imagine why she'd talk to Caine unless she wanted to let him know part of his check would be going to her as alimony. Not smart. He'd raise a stink and could find a different club to sing in, cutting her off. I sent a bouncer to go find Jewel; he came back to say she was backstage visiting girlfriends in the chorus. She was nowhere near Caine, or there might have been a ruckus.



Adelle and I parked at the house's best table and watched the place gradually fill up. The band started earning their keep and couples made forays onto the dance floor. A few people came by to say hello, and a woman asked for Adelle's autograph, which lifted her mood.



Then Whitey Kroun emerged from the back, saw me, and came over. Mitchell was with him, still doing his glaring game. He would seriously bore me in a minute. Strome walked through, heading for the front entry. I wondered if he ever got tired of all the driving.



"You might want to leave," I told Adelle.



"Should I? This is my chance to meet the big boss."



"I thought you had."



"Gordy likes me gone when there's business to conduct."



"Why do you want to meet Kroun?"



"The face of the enemy," she murmured darkly. She was all charm when Kroun stopped at the table.



I stood up and started to introduce them, but Kroun beat me to it, taking her hand and looking deep into her eyes.



"Miss Adelle Taylor," he said, making a pleased announcement of it, as though to confirm it to himself. That personal wattage he had going went up a few thousand volts. Adelle actually blinked from his surprisingly warm smile. "This is an honor and a very great pleasure, Miss Taylor. I knew you were in Chicago, but never expected to meet you. Knock me over with a feather, I'm in heaven."



For a second I thought he'd kiss her hand, but he settled for holding it just long enough to make his first impression on her memorable, then released. Somehow, without being asked, he was sitting at our table. Thankfully, Mitchell remained standing, but on the other side. I wouldn't have wanted him looming over my shoulder.



"Mr. Kroun," Adelle said, in turn, graciously.



"Please, call me Whitey. You can see why." He brushed a hand through his hair, combining the gesture with an ironic but genial, invitation-to-intimacy smile. Special friends only.



She didn't fall for it, but did ask him about the white streak. "It's very striking."



"Well... I can't exactly take credit for it."



"Really? I thought it was natural."



"Anything but. I was shot there." His tone softened what should have been alarming news down to the level of amusing anecdote. "Some guy got too frisky and tried to take my head off, but he just missed. The bullet cut this into my thick skull. When the hair grew back... well, you can see what happened."



"How horrible for you."



"I didn't feel a thing."



"What happened to the man?"



"They're still trying to figure that one out," he said, which wasn't really an answer.



Adelle was savvy enough to know when to stop.



Kroun smoothly filled in the gap. "I just want to say I am a great admirer of yours. Soon as your movies hit town I'd watch three and four times in a row. Couldn't get enough of 'em. Why don't you make some more? You're terrific."



"Why, thank you!" She instantly warmed up. He'd struck one of her favorite chords. "Tell that to the producers in Hollywood. The casting is quite out of my hands."



"That's just not right. They should have you starring in all kinds of things. I've already said you're terrific, now I have to let you know you're wonderful."



Mitchell stopped glaring at me long enough to spare a look at his boss and did a restrained rolling of eyes. I might have done the same, but for picking up that Kroun's high regard for Adelle was absolutely sincere. He seemed to be utterly smitten, but not pushy about it. He held the personal charm note perfectly, drawing it out.



"I'll be around, Mr. Kroun," Mitchell said, and drifted away without waiting for a reply. Good thing, since he didn't get one.



Adelle agreed with Kroun about Hollywood's lack of judgment in regard to her career. They had plenty of common ground: his veneration for her and her agreeing with him about it. I wasn't going to leave her alone with him, but she turned her big eyes on me. "Jack, would you mind doing that little favor I asked?"



"You sure?" This didn't seem to be the best time, but Gordy would be free. She'd keep Kroun well distracted, too.



"Certainly."



I took that to mean she knew how to deal with him, and she had to like the flattery. Who wouldn't? "I'll be back shortly, then," I said, leaving. My money was on Adelle, that she'd learn more about Kroun in five minutes than I would in a week. I was glad she and I were on the same side.



Upstairs I bumped into Derner in the hall. "Gordy wants to see you," he said.



"Mutual, I'm sure." I went past him, not breaking stride. Evidently this would be a private meeting, since Derner went on to clatter down the stairs. Suited me. I pushed open the office door and found Gordy sitting the same as ever in his big chair at the desk. What was unusual was him apparently being asleep. His eyes were fast shut, his head down on his chest. He didn't look so good.



As I drew closer I chanced to take in a whiff of air. In this place with the familiar chrome furnishings and pastoral paintings I was startled to pick up a very out-of-place hospital taint. Heavy, sweet, but with an odd acidic tang to it.



Certain smells will trigger memories. This one stripped away half a lifetime and hauled me back to the casualty wards from when I'd been in the War. I'd lost too many friends there.



My heart sank. Adelle's assessment about Gordy being bad off were all too right.



In addition to the sickroom miasma-it wasn't that strong, just enough that only I could have noticed-I picked up bloodsmell. His wounds must be seeping. If it triggered another damn bout of shaking... Gordy wasn't the only one who had to limit the number of people seeing him vulnerable. He didn't need my troubles on top of his own, either.



Going to a window, I eased it open, lifting high. The curtains immediately billowed as icy air swept in. We were high enough off the street for it to be fresh. After a minute the place was freezing, but much of the smell dissipated.



Because I'd been chilled through since waking, this cold got to me more than it should. I fought off increasingly violent shivers until it hurt. Enough was too much. I lowered the window, leaving it short a couple inches, and turned toward the desk, trying to rub warmth into my arms. Wasn't working. That was for people with circulating blood, and mine... well, mine just didn't work that way.



" 'Lo, Fleming."



If my ears hadn't been so sensitive, I might not have heard him.



Gordy's eyelids cracked, and he took a deep breath. "That's good. I tell 'em to leave a window open, but Derner's afraid of pneumonia." He sounded worse than last night and whatever rest he'd had failed to clear away the circles under his eyes and the weary droop around his mouth. He looked a lot older and more tired than he had any right to be. His large body took up just as much space, but seemed oddly hollow, as though all the strength had been scraped out.



My heart went into my throat, and I hoped Gordy didn't see the fear. I made a thumbs-up sign to him and felt like a complete ass for its inadequacy.



"You need anything?" I asked, taking a chair by him.



"Have it. Forgot what air's like. Adelle keeps me wrapped like a mummy when we go out."



"How you doing?"



Gordy shut his eyes and opened them, slow. He looked steadily at one of the landscapes on the opposite wall. It was a good one and must have been his favorite since it faced his desk. I wondered what he liked best about it. "Doc Clarson says the holes are healing clean. No fever. I'm fine. Getting better every day."



Yeah, sure you are. God, but he looked tired.



"He kept me pretty doped at first. I say I want to lay off except at night so I can sleep. I seen what too much of that stuff does to mugs. I'm better. Something wrong? Kroun givin' you grief?"



"Not really." Gordy was throwing out distractions. I knew all about that angle. "You're the problem. You've got Adelle scared half out of her mind."



"What d'ya mean?"



I tapped my shoulder where Adelle had cried. "This ain't rainwater making a damp spot on my coat. The woman's on the ragged edge because of you not taking care of yourself."



"I can do that after Kroun leaves town."



If you last that long. "Hey, you put me in charge, right? Let me do my job and run interference. You've impressed everyone already. Take some time off. Go home and rest."



"Can't. Kroun." He licked his lips, seemed about to say more, then clammed up again.



It hit me with a nauseating certainty that Gordy was afraid of Kroun. Impossible. Gordy was a rock. People were afraid of him, not the other way around. But Kroun had that personal electricity going, maybe it was enough to effect Gordy. "So what? I got him all behaved and put in the word for you while I was at it. This is still your organization when you're better, but first you have to get better. Even Kroun will see that."



"There's other things going on you don't know. Only I can deal with 'em."



"You worried about being a target to some up-and-comer if you don't keep showing yourself?" That was the way of the mobs, one sign of weakness, and you got cut down, quick as thought.



"Like Hoyle? Derner told me about your tires."



I made a brief scowl. "The guys are looking for him. Anything else happen?" Being out for the day, I could have missed all kinds of grief.



"Nope. He's no problem."



"All right, then. But for now, you need a quiet spot, away from the yapping dogs. Someplace outside your normal haunts."



"Maybe."



That's all I needed, a "maybe." It would slant things in my and-eventually-his favor. An opening.



Of course, this was smack in the middle of doing something for another guy's own good whether he liked it or not.



I didn't have the right to impose this, the ultimate manipulation, on him. On the other hand I wasn't about to go back and look Adelle in the eye and tell her I turned chicken.



"Kroun and me did some talking. About you," he said.



"Oh, yeah?" I must have gone too far in giving Kroun the idea we were friends, should have told him to go back to New York instead. Kroun had had plenty of opportunity to talk with Gordy about all kinds of interesting details relating to myself and how things were running in Chicago. Not that I could blame him. If Kroun asked, Gordy would have to answer. Given the circumstances and the chance, I'd do the same. Knowledge is power, especially with this bunch.



"He wants to know if you'll be taking over for good."



"Of course not-"



"Lemme finish. Taking over... if I don't make it after all."



I couldn't believe he'd said that. Gordy dying was just not in the cards. He was my friend-in a very cockeyed way considering his work-and he had to go on breathing. "What the hell?"



"You have to think about these things," he continued. "If you don't want the operation, it goes to Mitchell."



"Screw that."



"It's him or you, kid."



I almost objected again, then shut it down. It would be less upsetting to him if I went along with this line of talk.



He had to get it out of his system. I hated that he'd been mulling this stuff over.



"But you don't want it. Derner, then. With you helping him, like with me. Like you're doing now."



"Uh-uh, you got my exclusive. Nobody else. So you have to get better."



Before he could respond, I moved in, going as soft and easy as I'd ever done on anyone before with my evil eye. My head immediately began to hurt from even this minimal effort, but I continued, careful as a brain surgeon, speaking low and with infinite confidence. "You're going to heal up just fine, Gordy. You listen to me, you're going to fight this and get well. There's a pretty gal waiting for you. Can't disappoint her. You hear me?"



A low murmur. It sounded like a yes. Good thing he wasn't doped with painkillers just now. I could use some, though. I'd barely started when the thunderstorm behind my eyes began building at record speed. I pressed through it.



In the War I'd seen a lot of guys talk themselves into a recovery while others just sat there and got worse. I had to get Gordy to talk himself into getting well.



"This is something that's just going to happen. You're going to listen to Adelle and listen to your doctor and to me and you will rest. That rest will make you stronger and better with each passing hour, with each day. You will get well."



The pain rolled in harsh as a fury; I winced and couldn't maintain eye contact, had to brace against the big desk to keep my balance.



"I-I want you to go stay with Shoe Coldfield. You two get along, and he won't mind doing you a favor. You're going stay with him in some nice, quiet place until you're well again. You understand?"



Couldn't hear any reply. The worst migraine in the world was pounding my brain to mush, which was trying to leak out through my ears. Had to ignore it. Gordy was more important than...



"You'll do this. You hear me? You'll do this and get well."



Too much. It sliced into my eyes like twin axe blades. For a second I thought someone actually had come up to slam razor edges squarely home into my skull. The rising agony shot to a screaming zenith.



I'd really done it. Overdone it. What was supposed to have been a light touch turned into a hammerblow that bounced back in my face. The cold that had bothered me all evening clawed and grabbed hard as death.



Lurching up, I tried to reach the couch, but banged solidly to the floor, doubling in, knees drawing to my chest, arms around my exploding head, trying to cushion the worst and failing.



So cold.



Trembling... limbs twitching... oh, God, not another one...



Before the seizure peaked I went invisible.



The grayness was peace and comfort and free from pain. No jittering spasms, no betrayal of mind and body or hidden terrors surfacing to rip me or anyone else apart.



What had set it off? I'd not been thinking of Bristow. Just trying to help Gordy. The hypnosis? Why was that hurting? It didn't use to, not this badly-



Stupid questions. I didn't want to think them up, didn't want to find the answers. If I could just stay like this.



Without a solid body to feed and care for, I had no anchor to what had become an increasingly ugly world. So long as I was chained to flesh, I was stuck with its memories, disappointments, responsibilities, and pain. Lots of pain. I wanted to float in this sweet respite forever.



Floating. Invisible. Almost a ghost. But ghosts were sad, weren't they? Or angry or scared. I didn't want any feelings at all.



On the old home farm we had a big spring-fed stock pond, and one rare summer day I had it to myself. Without a mob of older brothers and sisters to spoil the stillness I'd stretched out in the middle, shut my eyes against the noon sun, spread my arms to embrace it, and let the water buoy me up. Baking heat above, chill water cooling below, I drifted, gently rising and falling, each intake of breath like a small tide, and thought it was the best thing ever. Until then I'd never realized how good it was to have that kind of absolute, yet utterly serene solitude.



Soon enough I grew bored and moved on, and I never got to swim there alone again. I should have stayed longer.



When you're a kid you know things will always be there for you. Growing up teaches you different.



With twenty-five years between me and that perfect childhood moment I came back to solidity in Gordy's office, standing upright, shaken, but at least not shaking. An improvement. This fit hadn't lasted long; my muscles weren't twitching from exhaustion.



Still cold, though. I wanted to turn up the heat, but it wouldn't help. My usual immunity was gone. Perhaps at long last I was finally feeling the chill of the grave. Why, after this long a stretch since my death, was it trying to catch up with me?



What had triggered the fit? A run-of-the-mill suggestion, the kind I'd done hundreds of times before? It didn't seem possible that so ordinary a thing-for me-could be to blame. Maybe my subconscious had been saving this one up, waiting to drop it on me at the first opportunity.



The moment I'd let my guard down? I had to do that to focus on Gordy. And it left me vulnerable... to things in my head, buried things...



Great. If that was true, then to prevent further attacks I only had to go through the rest of life with my shoulders bunched around my ears and never look anyone in the eye ever again. Why hadn't I thought of that sooner?



I waited to be sure the attack was truly over, pacing the room a few times, and making a point not to look out the damn windows. Nothing untoward stirred within, so it seemed safe enough to wake Gordy. No more attempts to influence him or anyone else, at least for now.



Thankfully, I didn't have to try for a second whammy to do that part. Just a hand on his shoulder, an easy-does-it shake.



He must have nodded off for real. He woke with a start, one hand automatically reaching for the inside of his coat where he wore his gun.



"Fleming? Jack?" He never called me Jack. Always Fleming. God, but he sounded tired. About the same as I felt.



"What's wrong?"



"Nothing. Ain't it time you took Adelle home?"



He thought it over. "I guess so. But not to her place. After Derner told me what Hoyle and Ruzzo pulled on you I should find some spot they won't look. Keep her clear of this."



"You're worried about them?"



"You should be, too. They might not be the only ones wanting to take over, given a chance. I know Hoyle. He'll spout that he's steady for me, but he'd as soon cut my throat if it could get him in charge. Derner's nervous, too."



This was interesting. "And here I thought I was his least favorite."



"You think Coldfield would mind helping me get scarce so I can rest?"



I smiled. The evil-eye whammy had dangled me headfirst in hell, but it had worked. One of its influences on others was making it seem to them that they'd thought up my suggestions on their own.



"I'll call him right now," I said. "Why don't you stretch out on the couch while I arrange it?"



"Good idea. I need the rest."



I stood by ready to help, but he left his chair unassisted and made the journey across the room. It hurt to look at him, because he was trying not to shuffle like an old man.



Shoe Coldfield was a little surprised by being asked to play host to Northside Gordy. He'd helped keep Gordy safe before, and didn't mind doing the favor again. Coldfield gave me an address and said he'd be there in person to look after things. I knew the street. It was one of the borderline areas. One side was Bronze Belt, the other side white. Gordy and Adelle showing up there wouldn't raise as much notice than if Shoe put them in the next block over. And day or night, it would certainly be the last place where mugs like Hoyle and Ruzzo would hang around.



Plans fixed, I made a sedate and slow trip downstairs, cautious about setting off another fit. The internal chill clung to me, not as bad as before, but noticeable.



Music played in the Nightcrawler's main room. That helped take my mind off the constant annoyance. Tonight's show had been going full swing for some while now. Alan Caine's voice rolled rich and strong even through the intervening walls. It was really too bad I'd met him, else I'd have enjoyed the sound. He was singing for free for the time being, since a large piece of his pay was going elsewhere. I'd have to ask Derner how that had gone over when he'd broken the news.



I found Strome just off the backstage area and told him he'd be driving Gordy and where to take him. Strome was evidently familiar with the street, too, since his distaste for the idea was obvious. He didn't like colored people, but happily for everyone he wouldn't have to remain there. His partner Lowrey had no such problems and would stay on to play watchdog as usual.



Adelle was at the same table, still holding her own with Kroun. During a pause in the music, I heard him talking, and almost didn't know his voice. It had gone low and pleasantly seductive. He said, "It's a great place, I can get you top billing and an unlimited run, and you can pick anything you want to do, singing, acting, dancing, radio, the works..."



"That's very kind of you, Whitey-"



I walked up just then, delaying her reply. "All done," I said. "Sweetheart, you get a vacation until you say different."



She immediately understood what that meant. Visibly relieved and beaming, she stood. I put my arms around her because she looked like she needed it, and just held her a minute. She sagged so mightily, I thought I was holding her whole weight, and for a second she seemed about to cut loose and sob, but being in public must have stopped that. But the holding seemed to help. Felt good to me, as well. At times that's what we need, a simple sharing of body presence, just that and no more, then you let go and move on. I patted her, told her everything was going to be fine, and when she seemed ready, stood her square again. She pulled a handkerchief from somewhere and blew her nose.



I looked her up and down. "Doll face, you're always tricked out better than a million bucks, but you should get some sleep tonight. You don't want to give the doctor a second patient, do you?"



"But I-"



Tapping my ear, I shook my head. "Oops, sorry, I suddenly can't hear anything. Happens at the darnedest times, but comes in handy. It means no one can argue with me and win."



That raised a crooked smile from her. "All right, Jack. I'll get him home and turn in. I feel like a zombie."



"Strange, you felt like all-girl to me."



"So that's why Bobbi keeps you around. Good night and thank you!" She pecked my cheek and shot away, perhaps worried that Gordy might change his mind if she didn't hurry. He would let her know where they were headed. I didn't think she'd care where they stayed so long as he got better.



Kroun stared after her, then at me, questions all over his craggy face. "What's the deal? Are you an' she... ?"



"We're just friends."



"Friends with a dame? You funny or something?"



I let that one pass, still feeling good about being helpful. That hug made all the pain worth it.



Watching her leave, Kroun sprouted a smile of unabashed pleasure that lingered while she was in sight. "I heard Gordy was dating a looker, but didn't know she was Adelle Taylor. What a woman. She just made this whole trip worth it."



We apparently had some things in common. Maybe I should be worried.



He suddenly snapped his fingers. "Damn! I shoulda got her autograph and had the camera girl here to take a picture. Think you could get her back?"



"She won't be in the mood for it. Another time."



"What a woman," he repeated, like a prayer. He leaned forward, arms crossed on the table. "Lissen, Fleming..."



I sat at the table to better to hear. He'd lowered his tone, and Caine and the band were going loud. "Yeah?"



"Seeing's how you're such good friends with her, you think... you think she'd go out with me if I asked? Asked nice?"



I pulled back, gaping, and was tempted to poke him one in the eye. Kroun held to an utterly serious face, waiting.



Then he blinked, head cocked, eyebrows high and innocent, and I finally realized he was pulling my leg. An unexpected laugh popped out of me, lasting a whole two seconds. It sparked an equally brief one from him in turn.



"You're a pip," I said, thinking a little late that that might be getting too chummy with the big boss, but he didn't seem to mind. Against all sense and good judgment I was starting to like him. That suggestion I'd slapped on him about us being friends was working fine, but had it become a two-way street with me not knowing? With the nervy stuff going on inside my head, I could believe it.



"What was that about, anyway?" he asked. "Something with Gordy?"



"She said you were working him too much. I talked him into some time off."



Kroun shrugged. "I don't twist his arm about needing to do business, but it wouldn't hurt him if he hit the mattress."



There were two ways of taking that statement. When a gang war was on, the mob boys dragged their mattresses onto the floor to be out of the line of fire from through-the-window shooters. The other way meant just getting some sleep. Kroun's relaxed attitude led me to figure he meant the second definition.



Good. Real good. I had enough worries. "She hugged you pretty hard," he said. "Didn't that hurt?"



He was too observant for my own good. "I got a pain shot earlier."



"What kinda shot? Morphine?"



I was far too alert to be on morphine. Best to be vague. "Donno. Stuff works okay."



"It sure must." He held my gaze for a moment, his dark eyes nearly all pupil in the low light, then nodded at the stage. "You like this singer?"



Alan Caine had a spotlight song going. It made me wonder how Jewel Caine might have done the same number with her dark, husky voice.



"He sings okay. Don't like him much," I said.



"Not a lot of people do, only the ones who haven't met him."



"You met him?"



"I've managed to avoid the honor."



"Probably for the best. He's like sandpaper on a burn. Wouldn't know it to see him."



Caine, flashing perfect teeth, drifted along the edge of the dance floor, stirring up the women as he sang to them. He skillfully kept just out of reach while giving the impression he wanted to move closer. It was all a sham, but they ate it up and grinned for more.



"Quite a gift he's got," Kroun added. "Wish I could get women to fall on me like that. Well, actually they do, but only 'cause of who I am. Don't matter to them what a guy looks like if he's got money and power. I mean, look at Capone, for cryin' out loud. Face like a nightmare and built like a whale, but the women were all over him. You think it'd have been the same for him if he worked in a butcher shop like some regular guy? Not for a minute."



From the stories I got from Gordy and others, Capone actually had been something of a butcher, but he also knew how to have a good time. That wasn't an observation I felt like sharing, though. I wondered if Gordy was downstairs yet, on his way to Coldfield's neck of the woods. Coldfield was supposed to phone Crymsyn when his guests were settled. If Strome came right back to drive me over, there was a chance I could catch the call.



But... Escott or Bobbi or even Wilton could take care of that; I didn't have to be at Crymsyn. It just felt odd being someplace else.



"Don't you have a club to run?" Kroun asked, still watching Caine.



Damn, was he psychic or something? "Had to take a detour here. Car trouble. Strome's driving me over later."



A waitress came by. Kroun didn't want anything, still focused on the show. I waved her off and lighted a cigarette for something to do. Kroun glanced over.



"You smoke?" He seemed mildly surprised.



"Yeah. That a problem?" Everybody smoked. The club's air was thick from it. The spotlight on Caine fought through a slowly shifting blue haze.



"No. Just-"



"What?"



He shook his head. "Nothing."



Maybe he was one of those fresh-air types. I could have told him that smoking actually exercised and strengthened the lungs. I'd read it in a magazine ad someplace. Of course I couldn't inhale, so none of that applied to me. Jewel Caine must have lungs stronger than Walter Winchell's.



Alan Caine's number ended on a big, heartbreaking, and beautifully clean note. I was no musician, but knew enough about how hard that was to pull off. No wonder Escott was impressed. The spot winked out, and the houselights came up. Caine had delivered; the audience wanted to let him know about it. His voice had filled the room, and in the wash of adulation for that talent he glowed. He graciously smiled and humbly bowed, and whatever magnetism he had going sent them wild. The women called his name over and over, blowing kisses, waving handkerchiefs. It was crazy. I'd seen something like it in a newsreel, but the film had been about Hitler. Just as well Caine wasn't in politics. We didn't need an American version of Germany's most famous house painter.



Caine made a last bow and dashed lightly off to get behind the curtains. They didn't quite close, and I saw him visibly shut down his performance personality the second he ducked backstage. He wouldn't need it until the next show. He had thirty minutes for a costume change, going from a black to an all-white tuxedo for the second set. Plenty of time to swap clothes, have a belt of booze. Or gargle. I glimpsed a flash of spangles beyond the curtain: Evie Montana trotting eagerly past to catch up with him. Yeah, there was time for her, too, if she didn't mind rushing things.



I suddenly shivered in my overcoat. Couldn't help it.



"You cold?" Kroun asked.



"Yeah. I must be in a draft."



"Or it's that medicine you take. I heard some of that stuff can do weird things."



"Or I'm catching cold."



Kroun's deadpan look returned. "A cold?"



I'd not been sick from an ordinary illness since my change. Didn't know if I could get sick in the ordinary way. For all I knew this could be the Undead version of the Spanish influenza.



"Maybe you should get more sun."



Most of the guys who worked these nightclub jobs were fish-belly pale. I fit right in. "Nah, I'm allergic to daylight."



"Ya think? Never heard that one before."



The band swung into dance music, and couples moved onto the floor for some fast fox-trotting. That was one way to work off the extra energy Caine had built up in them. The waitress came by again, got waved off again. After a few tune changes I checked my watch. Bobbi's first set was over, and Teddy Parris would be stepping from the wings. I could almost see and hear it in my mind. After his set and their duet, Roland and Faustine's red-washed dance-



Shut it down. Quick. Better to not make pictures of anything in my head. I might go fragile, which could get humiliating. Strome should have returned by now. Maybe he'd gotten sidetracked backstage. Plenty of cute girls there, and this was their break time.



Kroun's attention wandered around the club, then he looked at his watch.



"Expecting someone?" I asked.



"Mitchell. He said he was catching up with some friends here. You?"



"Strome's due. Maybe they're having drinks."



He snorted. "Not likely. Mitchell said friends. Those two are oil and water. They only mix when they have to."



"I can have the boys find him." I had an odd feeling about Mitchell. What if he'd decided to make a quick trip to Lady Crymsyn to see Bobbi? I stood to leave. "I'll check on 'em both."



Kroun flapped one nonchalant hand, apparently content to watch the dancers. The waitress, either determined to earn her keep or responding to his particular magnetism, came back with a glass of ice water for him. He smiled warmly up at her. She smiled back. He wouldn't be short of female attention tonight if I read her look correctly. Alan Caine had nothing on Kroun when it came to acquiring company.



There was a phone at the Nightcrawler's bar-the kind Bobbi wanted me to put in-and I used it to call Crymsyn's lobby booth. Several rings went by until a drunk guy answered. I'd expected Wilton, but he was probably busy.



The drunk guy was remarkably unentertaining, parroting my questions back at me and giggling. A woman's voice cut in, there were sounds of a wrestling match, a slap and a yelp from the guy, followed by more giggling. I wondered if I'd been that boring in the days when I'd been able to get properly drunk. One of them hung up the phone.



Hm. Bobbi's idea was looking better by the minute. Crymsyn was a swank place. Busy. No reason why I couldn't have two phones in it. I waited a minute, watching Kroun use his charm effectively on the waitress, then dialed again.



This time Wilton answered. He sounded harried and said he'd get Escott.



Clunk, as he dropped the receiver onto the booth's small writing ledge. From the sounds filtering through there was a large, noisy crowd in the lobby. That was reassuring. I should be there to greet the customers as usual. A smile, a firm handshake, the suggestion they'd have a great time, hit home with a little eye whammy... well, maybe not that.



Until the axe-blade migraines stopped I'd have to stay on the wagon from artificially winning friends and influencing people.



The waitress was now sitting with Kroun; but that was okay, everyone knew who he was, and none would nag her to get back to her job. In passing I noticed she was slim and dark-haired, very like Adelle Taylor but shorter. He must have liked that type. The waitress sure seemed to like him.



"Hallo?" Escott. Finally.



"It's Jack."



"You all right?"



"I'm dandy. Just checking on things. Remember Mitchell from last night? The mug who wasn't Strome and didn't have a streak of silver in his hair?"



"The ill-favored Casca of the trio?"



I recognized the theatrical tone and perfect inflection. Escott must have had a good dollop of brandy. It brought out the Shakespeare in him. I'd had to read some of the plays just to get his references at times. Looks like I'd have to put another one on the list. "I guess. He's not shown up there, has he?"



"Not that I've noticed. Is there a problem?"



"So long as he stays away. I sent some extra bouncers over. They doing their job?"



"Of looking formidable and threatening? Yes, they're covering that most excellently well. One of them said they were there to keep Hoyle and his cronies out."



"Yeah. It's probably nothing, but I don't wanna take chances. Tell them I said to add Mitchell to the list. I don't want him bothering Bobbi."



"Why would he do that?"



"He knows her from when she was with Morelli."



A pause. "Indeed. I take it you'd prefer she not be subjected to unpleasant reminders of that chapter of her life."



"Bull's-eye. If Mitchell shows, tell him his boss Kroun wants him back at the Nightcrawler, toot-sweet."



"I shall be pleased to do so."



"You seem to be in a good mood."



"Ah. Yes, well, I am, as it happens. Vivian was delighted at the idea of a party. Bobbi's setting it up for Saturday. My appreciation is boundless, old man."



"Uh, okay, likewise." Escott in love. What a picture. Color it pink. Lace it with brandy. "I'll be by later. I got business here still."



"Take your time, all's well."



I hung up. Next he'd be skipping in a meadow throwing flower petals around.



No he wouldn't. But still.



Kroun looked like he might not care to be disturbed. I left him to proceed with his conquest and went on to pass the word for the help to be looking for Mitchell. Let him interrupt his boss's canoodling.



Another shiver. Damn.



Since Strome was likely to come in by the alley door, I made my way to the rear of the club. The kitchen would be warmer than the rest of the place. I'd wait by a fired up stove and hope to thaw out. If that couldn't shake the chill, then I didn't know what else to do. Maybe retreat to my office and turn up the radiator and sit on it all night with a hot-water bottle. Come the daytime, and the cold wouldn't matter.



I didn't get as far as the kitchen. Strome was in the wide hall of the backstage area with Derner, and their heads were close together. Even at a distance I could see something off in their posture. They weren't the sort to broadcast much in the way of emotion, but I did pick up there was trouble of some kind going.



They spotted my approach at the same time, and each gave his own suppressed version of a guilty start.



"What is it?" I asked, my voice low. The lights were necessarily doused here to keep from showing on the stage area in front. Only thin threads seeped from under the dressing room doors. All but one: Alan Caine's.



"Got a problem, Boss," said Derner.



"We can take care of it," said Strome.



"What is it?" I suspected that Caine and Evie Montana were locked in, most likely involved in some very advanced canoodling. Not unheard of in a dressing room. Hell, Bobbi and I had...



The grim mugs in front of me said I was on the wrong track. I waited them out, just looking and frowning.



Derner broke first. "There's been an accident."



Strome winced at the word. That he reacted so strongly was more than enough to put my back hairs up. "Accident, my ass," he muttered.



He was upset. "Spit it out," I said.



Derner rubbed a hand over his face, a show of weariness and frustration in the gesture. Next he checked the wide hall, which was empty, which was not normal. There should have been chorus girls wandering about, the stage manager, stray waiters. All I saw were a couple of the muscle boys at the other end, waiting and watching... me.



Derner opened Caine's dressing-room door. It creaked inward to silence.



No sounds of an interrupted tryst, no squawk of outrage, no movement at all.



Dark inside. The dim spill from the hall didn't penetrate far, even for me.



"What happened?" I asked. "He leave?"



"Caine's still here, Boss," said Strome.



And without going any farther, without any visible facts, I knew what was wrong.