Blood on the Water

Chapter 7

Baker swung the door firmly shut and slid home the inside bolt. I didn't like having him behind me and instinctively turned and backed away to keep him in sight. If he decided to shoot, I wanted to see it coming. Calmly alert, he remained in place, a professional wearing a cop's uniform, but not a cop.
"Who the hell are you?" Baker's face was as blank as a store window's dummy. I wondered if he was a close relation to Kyler.
I looked past them and said, "Bobbi." It sounded like a statement, but Gordy took it for the question I meant it to be. To my relief, he shut his eyes briefly and gave a minimal nod. She was okay, then, wherever she was. That concern off my mind, I was more ready to deal with these clowns.
Baker was on the ball and noticed the interplay. "He's lying."
"Search him."
He closed in cautiously. I let him slap me down without any fuss because Calloway was standing there with his hand inside his unbuttoned coat expecting trouble. The car keys, some loose change, a pencil stub, and a thin notebook were tossed on the desk next to the gun. The money belt stayed in place; he wasn't looking for money.
"He's clean." Baker sounded disappointed as well as suspicious. If I'd been one of Gordy's men, I'd have been packing something lethal as a matter of course; if a legitimate reporter, then a wallet with some kind of identification.
"Doesn't matter," said Calloway, who was coming out of his initial shock.
"What do you know about Kyler?"
I kept my eyes steady. "Enough to spot a couple of his stooges while they trip over themselves. He's picked the wrong target this time. Gordy had nothing to do with last night's hit."
"So we should take your word for it? Get him over there, Baker." He gestured at Gordy's end of the room.
"But it's a pretty sharp plan," I continued, as though he hadn't spoken. "Using a real raid as cover, you two come up here for the big fish. Only you'll invent some kind of problem and be forced to kill him, say, while he's resisting arrest.
His New York bosses won't pull any reprisals against the official Chicago police because you were just doing your job. Baker can disappear in the crowd and the whole business leaves Kyler totally clear of the blame. So... how much are you getting to do his dirty work?"
Calloway looked ready to drop back into shock again, but picked his jaw up faster this time. "What's it to you? What's your angle?"
"I figure you can lay off of Gordy, which is okay since he's not behind that shooting like I said, and just take me with you to see your boss."
"Why should we?"
Baker interrupted my answer. "Shut up, Calloway, it's him. It's Fleming."
Calloway was quick enough to understand and react; God knows what Kyler had said about me. He pulled his gun free and centered it on my chest. Baker's was already out but there was just enough of a difference in his manner to warn me that he was going to take it one step further. Having been there myself, I instantly recognized it in another. His eyes went blank as he slid into that place of non -
thought that makes it possible to kill.
As his gun leveled and centered, he darkened into a gray blur. The rasp of his lungs faded and surged again as I hurled at him, fast as thought. My hands became solid once more to fasten onto his. Momentum carried us into the wall and that put an end to the fight before it could really start. His skull bounced once, he grunted out a thick breath in reaction, and slithered to the floor with his eyes rolled up.
I turned to take care of Calloway, but Gordy was there first and making a short job of it. He'd wrestled him down, using his weight to good advantage to keep him pinned. I stepped in and relieved Calloway of his gun, then dropped to one knee to better focus on him. It might not have been too safe since I had to step up the pressure to get through, but it was fast and we needed speed. He stopped struggling after a moment; seconds later, he was deeply asleep. I broke away and backed off.
Gordy looked down at Calloway, then up to me. "How'd you do that?"
"Beats me, but it works."
"Sure as hell does, kid, and that disappearing trick..."
"Comes in handy once in a while, I know. Are you all right?"
He found his feet and dusted his knees. "Yeah. They were all set, you came just in time. I owe you one."
"We'll call it even if you tell me where Bobbi is."
"Locked in the basement."
"Locked?"
"It was her idea. There's a hidden room down there for emergencies."
"And a secret tunnel, too?" I joked.
"How'd you know?"
"I didn't. You mean you've really got one of those?"
"Only to the building across the street. The basements connect up."
"Maybe you and Escott should compare notes."
"Yeah? Why?"
"It's sort of a hobby with him. What d'you have one for?"
"When things were jumping hot in this town between Big Al and everyone else during Prohibition, it seemed like a good idea to have another way outta the place."
"It still is. You should use it until this blows over."
"First I make some phone calls." He gestured at the two unconscious men.
"Maybe they're crooked, but this raid was real enough and I'm needing my lawyer to start putting things back together."
"You got any plans for these guys?" I asked thoughtfully.
"I'm for dumping them out the nearest window, then getting away. You got something better in mind?"
"Yeah. I want them to take me to Kyler."
He shook his massive head. "Dangerous, kid. You'll end up showing your face to a lot of other cops who don't need to see it."
Nothing like an example to illustrate a point. I vanished, reappearing a few feet to his right. An ear-to-ear grin was my automatic response to Gordy's open-mouth stare. "Think again. These mugs won't even know I'm along."
After some quick phoning to start things rolling in the legal department, we unlocked the door and cautiously checked the upper hall for invaders. Clear.
Gordy locked it from the outside to keep out any importune visitors, then we hustled down to the ground-floor landing. The activity here was casual; just one cop passed us and he only nodded, not so much at me but the uniform. I'd borrowed Baker's hat and overcoat, one too small and the other too short, but it had just proved its effectiveness as cover.
Oops. Wrong assumption. The cop paused, turned, and gave me a tough once-over. "When's the last time you had a shave, kid? Just because you're working this end of things doesn't mean you can run around looking like that."
"Uh..."
"And those ain't regulation shoes, neither. What's your name and badge number?"
I locked eyes with him and hoped for the best. It was draining to do it like this and tough on my conscience, but in for a penny, in for a pound, as Escott might have said. "Jack Sprat could eat no fat," I babbled.
"What?"
The distraction of the rhyme took him off balance. The harder he focused to understand what the hell I was talking about, the easier he made it for me. "You didn't even see us, officer. Go on with what you were doing."
"Okay," he said reasonably, and walked off, just like that.
Gordy let out his breath. "Jeez."
"That goes double for me. Let's move."
For a big man, Gordy knew how to be light on his feet; we fairly shot down the next flight of steps.
The deserted basement was as the raid had left it, with the door open, only a couple of dim lights on, and a mess littering the floor. We dodged around some overturned crates and smashed bottles, working toward the south wall. The farther we went, the happier I was to have company. Unlike the homey familiarity of my own underground room, this one was too large for comfort. The ceiling pressed close and the silence was like a vast monster watching us from the shadows.
Damn my imagination, anyway. I swallowed it back with private embarrassment. Bobbi was stuck down here with no way of knowing what was going on and I was the one trying not to be afraid of the dark. I'd once invented a mythical Vampire's Union as a joke; this kind of nervousness would be enough to get me tossed out, fangs and all. Holding on to that crumb of lunacy got me through the next few minutes.
Gordy stopped over a dip in the floor with a large square drainage grate set into its lowest point. He braced himself and lifted it out.
"My God, you put her in there?" I whispered, staring at the black pit he'd uncovered.
"Not as bad as it looks."
He sat, swung his legs over the edge, and carefully placed his feet on some thick iron rungs set into the smooth cement of the walls. The descent was short, the bottom not more than eight feet down. The hole wasn't much bigger than a phone booth. Gordy fired up a match with one hand and used the other to grip something and push. A narrow door opened away from him. He stooped low and was gone.
I scrambled down the ladder, cracking an ankle against the last rung. Gordy, holding the door for me, waved me in. I ducked and followed and he let it close up behind. His match went out.
I worked spit into my mouth. "You got another light?"
"Jack? Is it you?"
Bobbi's clear, sane, and extremely welcome voice seemed to dispel the crushing atmosphere in my overactive brain. A distant flashlight blazed smack into my face, blinding me as effectively as the total darkness. I didn't mind.
The flash wavered from side to side as she trotted up. "Jack, Gordy, is everything okay?" She threw herself into my arms and I gathered her up in a tender bear hug.
"For the moment, honey." I reluctantly eased her down. "What about you?
This place is terrible."
She almost echoed Gordy's earlier comment. "It's not so bad. I just pretend I'm a Becky Thatcher who's given Tom Sawyer the slip. C'mon." She took my hand to lead away with the bobbing light down a cement tunnel with smooth walls and a level floor. It turned once to the left and went up a step. The cement changed to ancient brick and pressed closer.
"Slick's mob built all this?" I asked.
"Not Slick," Gordy answered somewhere behind us. "Pearly Garson. He was scared of Big Al, but wanted to be like him. He heard that Al had an escape tunnel, so he had to have one, too."
"Take long to dig?"
"Nah. He tied it into an old rail delivery system that the city forgot about, even got some of the labor for free. They've tightened up on some of the graft these days, but back then you could get away with murder."
True, and he wasn't just speaking figuratively. "What happened to Pearly?"
"Got shot by his girlfriend's husband, then they took off for Canada. Never did catch those two. Cops still have the case open, but Slick moved in and made sure nobody kicked about it too much. It was one hell of a funeral."
The walls widened to a circular space that resembled a hub of some kind.
More cement sealed up what had once been other branches leading off to goodness knows where beneath the city. I could have sieved through and gone exploring, but that would have to wait until sometime after hell froze over.
"All the comforts of home," Bobbi said cheerfully, gesturing at a portable lantern burning on the grit-cluttered floor with a camp stool next to it. She turned the light up, revealing all the dreary details. It was fairly dry, which was the best that could be said about the place.
"Aren't you freezing down here?" I asked. I was getting cold just looking at the endless rows of brickwork encircling us.
She gave herself a hug within her heavy coat, its high fur collar bunching up her bright blond hair. "Haven't even thought about it. What I want to know is if it's safe to leave now."
Gordy shook his head. "The raid's pretty much over, but we're gonna get out of the way for a while. I called the lawyer and fixed it. We'll go to his place. He'll have a spare room for you."
"Jack, too?" she asked hopefully.
"Not yet, sweetheart," I said.
She read my face, her own clouding up in response. "Then it's not over, is it?"
"It will be soon."
"For Kyler or you? You don't look so good, Jack."
I rallied for her sake. "I just need to clean up and shave."
She nodded slowly, accepting the offered illusion, but not at all fooled by it.
"What next?"
"We get you the hell out of here."
Bobbi wasn't all that in love with the place. Gordy took the flashlight, I picked up the lantern, and we started hiking. It seemed like a very long trip. I began to wonder if the tunnel ran down the length of the street instead of crossing it when a slab of iron loomed out of the dark to block our path. I hoped that it was a door; it had a handle but nothing like a lock or bolt on this side. Gordy gave it a hard twist, lifting and pulling at the same time. The thing gave and abruptly came away toward him, revealing the yawning darkness of what I could assume to be the other basement.
"Cozy," I croaked. Both of them remained diplomatically oblivious to my nerves.
"Goes up through a furniture store," Gordy laconically explained. "The lawyer's car'll be waiting for us."
"Sure it's safe?"
"Better'n any bank."
"I'll be fine," Bobbi assured me. "Will you?"
That helped to straighten me up. Once again, she read my face right and we came together like a magnet and a bar of steel, each giving the other what was needed to hold on a little longer.
Bobbi and I weren't in any hurry to say good-bye, but Gordy pointed out that there was no telling how long the two cops would stay in dreamland. Sooner or later one of them would wake up or some enterprising member of the raid might decide to break into the office to see what was on the other side. I had things to do before that happened.
We reluctantly broke off. She gave me a last smile and squeeze on the arm and ducked through ahead of Gordy. He handed me a spare key to his office and followed her. A shift of metal and a heavy clang and we were solidly separated with very different directions to take. Armed with the lantern and trying to hold my mind on more important things than claustrophobia, I quickly returned to the Nightcrawler's basement.
Neatly dropping the grate back into place, I all but galloped across to the stairs. I left the lantern behind, making a point of turning it out, then vanished and floated upward.
It was safer in this form; any cops on the lookout for trouble would miss me, and I didn't have to worry about making noise while whipping around the landings to the second floor. I reached Gordy's office and went on through. The place was quiet. I materialized.
Thankfully, Calloway was still on the rug, sprawled on his back, and just starting to snore. Baker was where I'd left him. I shrugged out of his coat. It wasn't easy wrestling it back on him again, but things had to look right. If he noticed, he'd probably attribute his rumpled condition to our brief run-in. At least he didn't wake up, which didn't worry me too much; Calloway was my prime concern.
His snores were in full swing. It seemed a shame to disturb him, except he wasn't all that aware when I started talking to him in a low, persuasive tone. He took the orders without question, same as the other cop had, and lay there like a zombie while I quietly unlocked the door from the inside. After dropping the key in the top drawer of Gordy's desk, I stood a moment to take in a last bracing breath, then snapped my fingers.
That was Calloway's cue to wake up. I disappeared just as his eyes flickered open.
He moaned, groaned, and cursed whatever aches his body had provided for the occasion, but eventually got to his feet. I kept clear of him, not wishing to advertise the least hint of my presence. He made a trip out to the hall and back, presumably to the nearby washroom for water. I heard a soft splash followed by Baker making outraged sputtering noises.
"What the hell... !"
"On your feet, Baker. We gotta get moving."
"What happened?"
"You let that jerk-off kid mop the floor with you, that's what happened." He'd somehow overlooked the fact that Gordy had also fallen on him like an avalanche.
"Shit, I didn't even see it coming."
"Well, too bad for you."
"Where'd they go?"
"Out. C'mon."
"Where?"
"Kyler's. He's gonna want to know about this."
"Criminey, couldn't you just phone him?"
I'd anticipated that alternative and smiled invisibly.
"He'll want to see us personally," he said, repeating my instructions to him, word for word. He made them sound normal.
More grouse, more mild objections, but in the end they straggled downstairs with me in their wake.
Calloway collared one of the regular cops and asked after Gordy.
"You kiddin', Lieutenant? We've been tearing the place apart for him. You'd think a guy that big would have turned up by now."
I recognized the voice of the officer who had stopped us on the way to the basement.
"What about another man, tall, dark hair, needs a shave?"
Long pause, or so it seemed to me. "Nah, no one like that. Check with the boys out front. Maybe they bagged him with the others."
"Got away," Baker muttered when the cop left.
"Can't help it now. Let's get out before someone spots you instead."
"You still going to... going to see him?"
Calloway answered by walking off. Baker reluctantly followed. I stuck with them as they went through a regular obstacle course to their car. Like a slightly colder blast of wind, I whipped inside one of the open doors and settled on the floor behind the driver's seat. With my long legs crammed up over the drive shaft hump, I cautiously went solid again, the better to get an idea of our destination.
The ride was tense for me; I had to stay alert, ready to vanish any second should one of them happen to glance back. It was also silent with Baker nursing his bruised head and Calloway concentrating on the road. Plagued as I was by occasional motion sickness, I felt a strong pang of sympathy for Opal's difficulty earlier tonight. At least I wasn't riding with my back to the motor, though being stuffed in sideways couldn't have been that much better.
And so I occupied myself with internal complaints over minor discomforts.
The idea was to keep my mind off the near future and a job for which I had no enthusiasm.
A lot more driving, starts and stops, then a long steady stretch which helped to steady my stomach. Turn, then turn again onto a bumpy surface that threatened to undo everything. I had to brace myself to keep from rattling around too much and betraying my presence. We crunched to a final stop, tires sliding over gravel and gravel sliding over mud. Calloway cut the motor. I soaked in the comparative silence for only a second before disappearing. Calloway and Baker got out and I gave them plenty of time to get well away. Solid once more, I cautiously lifted for a peek out the window.
As a roadhouse, it could have qualified as anyone else's mansion, but I wouldn't have expected Kyler to invest in a shack, not after seeing his setup at the Travis. This one had a couple of sprawling stories' worth of white-trimmed brown brick with an extra-wide porch running all around. In the summer it probably sported tables, with romantic couples wanting to watch the moon rise over the surrounding trees. Music leaked out from within. It was the kind of place I'd have taken Bobbi to for a nice dinner and some close dancing. Too bad about the new owner...
Never mind that for now.
I quit the car and circled the house. The front parking lot was full; the back was less crowded, but more informative. Kyler's twin Cadillacs were parked together next to the rear entrance, noses out, prepared for a fast exit.
This was the right place and the time had come, but I hesitated to move, held back by the blankness of the immediate future. No specific plan of what to do during that final confrontation had descended upon me. To be practical, not knowing the layout or circumstances ahead meant that improvisation would be a necessity... but the time had come, the time had come.
Before, I'd dreaded slipping into the efficient madness that had carried me through one murder; now I was afraid of not finding it again. It was far preferable to be borne comfortably along in a soothing haze of insanity than to have each action and detail burned clearly into memory as a conscious choice. If banging my head into a wall would have helped, I'd have done so; instead, I took a deep breath and walked right through it.
I usually floated in through cracks below doors or around windows, but picked the more difficult way for distraction. I felt the graininess of the mortar and the hard blocks it held together. Perhaps one night I would find a wall that I couldn't seep through and stay trapped there like Fortunato, forever out of reach of his Amontillado. But this time the bricks gave way to plaster and strips of lath and I was in the free air of a large room.
I could fumble around and try to guess my location, but now that I'd started, it was better to keep going and to go quickly. Since it seemed quiet enough to be deserted I found a corner and slowly materialized, eyes wide and ears straining.
The dance music, along with voices and the clink of dishes, grew louder now that I had real ears again. I was in a really nice billiards room. The lights were low and the cues and multicolored balls were stored in their cabinets, but one of the tables was still very much in use. A young man and woman with most of their clothes off were happily thrashing away on its sea of green felt like nobody's business-nobody being myself.
My mouth popped open and an unexpected blush seared my face. I had enough presence of mind to disappear before either of them noticed me and got the hell out. I'd long ago lost my virginity and had seen enough of life not to be a prude, but encroaching on the privacy of courting couples was not a hobby I planned to take up just yet. The temptation to return and study another's technique was very strong, though. One peril-or bonus-of my changed condition was the danger of becoming an incurable Peeping Tom. Maybe later, I told myself firmly, and left them to it.
The accidental intrusion did serve to remind me that Kyler would probably be upstairs away from the... uh... entertainment areas. I pushed up through the ceiling and drifted around enough to guess that I was in a long hall. Invisibility had its drawbacks, with no vision and limited hearing. I could be methodical and start at the back, checking out each room, which would only take half the night. Nuts to that.
Calloway and Baker would certainly be talking to Kyler by now. I floated softly along, alert for any voices, and eventually found them. The confused verbal blur sharpened into speech as I slipped into a room.
Bingo. I recognized Baker's voice.
I brushed by several people, creating a momentary chill for each... hard to tell how many were scattered around the room and any of them could have been Kyler. No one moved as they listened to Baker giving his story. It was very interesting to hear things from another point of view; the facts were essentially the same, except for me being larger and more ferocious, and the fight, such as it was, lasting longer.
"The next thing I know is Calloway telling me to get up," he concluded.
"Gordy and Fleming got away?" Kyler's voice. I surged toward him.
"Yeah, boss."
"And you came all the way out here just to tell me that?"
"It was Calloway's idea."
"I figured you'd want to see us personally," Calloway added from across the room.
Kyler took a while before speaking again, either to think, grind his teeth, or to make them sweat or all three. "Use the phone in the future. You could have been followed."
"Yes, sir."
"Otherwise you saw what Baker saw?"
"What do you mean?"
"About Fleming."
"I couldn't really say. Things were jumping and I was busy with Gordy... but it was him and he said he wanted to see you."
"Did he say why?"
"Baker interrupted before he could tell."
I had a mental picture of Baker squirming before Kyler's unblinking eyes.
"Calloway, you may leave. Better luck next time."
"You still want Gordy hit?"
"Yes, but you're off of it. We'll have to try something else."
"But I-"
"You'll get your usual payment, but without the bonus since you were unable to complete the job. I think that's fair enough."
"Yes, sir." Calloway sounded relieved. There was some shuffling and the door opened and closed.
Kyler lowered his voice, concentrating it. "All right, Baker, I want an exact account of Fleming's attack on you."
"It's just what I said. He was fast. I hardly seen him coming."
"Hardly, or did not? Give me more detail."
"I guess I must have blinked. It was like he wasn't there for a second. He was
fast."
"Almost as though he vanished and reappeared again?"
Baker hesitated. "Yeah... but that can't be right. Can it?"
Kyler didn't answer that one. "You may go, too. Change out of that uniform before you frighten away the customers."
"Yeah, boss." More shuffling and door noises. I made a fast, blind sweep of the place. Only two men were left. The odds were getting better for me.
"Well?" said Kyler.
Chaven's voice: "We still don't know how he does it. Is it mass hypnosis, like those Indian guys with the rope trick, or what?"
"The method is not so important as the fact that he is capable of doing it."
"Great, so how do we deal with something like that? If he can turn it on and off like a light bulb..."
"Light bulbs can be broken."
"When you can see to hit 'em. How you going to hit this guy? How you going to keep him from hitting you?"
"By being prepared. We must also prepare against Gordy."
"He'll be on guard himself, thanks to those assholes screwing up."
"No doubt."
"What about that stuff about Gordy not being behind getting Red and his boys? And what happened to Vic? If Gordy didn't get 'em, who did?"
"There are others who have the means to do it, but they would know better than to try. We'll find out for certain later. As for Gordy, we'd have had to deal with him eventually. This business only caused us to move a little faster."
"But are you ready to take on him and his backers in New York?"
"I'll have to be."
"How?"
"By hitting him again, before he can hit back. This time we make sure it works.
We move in and offer New York a five-percent increase on the profits. Taking over Gordy's territory will increase our present income by about four hundred percent. That will make the expenditure of the extra five worth it."
"First you gotta find him," Chaven pointed out.
"Give it to Deiter. Where is he?"
"Downstairs someplace."
"Get him."
Chaven left. The odds would never be better: one to one and no witnesses. I went solid.
The room was on a level with the rest of the place: opulent with its velvet curtains, grass-thick rug, and overstuffed furniture. All the comforts and then some, though I'd halfway expected him to have at least a few crosses and a garland or two of garlic up in his sanctum.
Kyler had his expensively dressed back to me. He looked smaller without his vicuna overcoat, but snakes can come in all sizes and still pack enough poison to kill. He stood before a well-appointed bar. The usual mirror behind the bottles was missing, replaced by a wall of tufted black patent leather. Too bad, I could have used it to keep an eye on the door. I moved to one side to cover it. Kyler heard the shift of my clothes and whipped around, a gun ready in his hand. It was Escott's Webley. Though not fatal to me, it hurt like hell to get shot, and the .455
bullets this weapon could spit were nearly half an inch in diameter. I decided not to provoke him into anything I might regret.
"So you did follow Calloway," he said after the first surprise wore off. "What do you want?"
"Same as before: a truce, but now I don't trust you to keep your word. Is that something you only reserve for people who can't threaten you?"
That, as Escott might have said, touched a nerve, but Kyler made an effort to hold his voice even. "I kept my word last night. I was not the one after you.
Lieutenant Blair-"
"Was your patsy, yeah, I figured that much."
"He was having me watched. My hands were tied."
"So tight that you couldn't have found a way around him? Never mind, it worked out fine for you. You set me up and got the cops looking someplace else for that girl's killer and we all had a good laugh."
"Some of us. You killed Hodge, so that balances things. But I'm out the price of the bracelet."
"Turning it in got you off the hook with the cops. Cheap at the price as far as you're concerned."
He acknowledged the logic with a small nod. "Perhaps, but three more of my men are dead and another's missing along with little Opal. Where is she?"
"Safe enough. You're out the bracelet and some soldiers, but you came that close to killing my friends; we could play I-did-you-did all night. What do you want, Kyler?"
He usually kept a poker face, but couldn't quite suppress a minute glitter from his dark eyes. "You may have noticed that the police still don't know who you are.
I could have told them, but did not. I will continue to be silent."
I still hadn't lost my initial revulsion for the man, but it was under control, more or less. He was playing me, but I knew it and was willing to go along. "In exchange for what?"
"Information about yourself."
Not unexpected. He must be eaten up with curiosity, and the questions he asked would give me a clear idea of how firmly entrenched he might be in old superstitions. "Why do you want to know?"
"I think we can be useful to one another."
"I thought you wanted me dead."
"For a situation like this, I can be flexible."
He got a cautious nod from me on that one and I experimentally paced the room. The Webley never once wavered, but he didn't try anything, giving me time to think. My real purpose was to get my easy-to-read face turned away from him and orient myself in case I had to leave fast. That's what I told myself; I was not trying to stall.
Bullshit.
It was that damned wall in my head. I'd gone through a real one not ten minutes ago; time to face the internal one and get down to practicalities. Get through it, get through with it, then get the hell out.
I could easily take away the Webley, but it would be a bad idea to use it against him: too noisy and the thing might be traced to Escott. Maybe we could alibi each other, but he wouldn't thank me for pulling off anything so clumsy.
Perhaps I could arrange for Kyler to jump out a window. Better. That way his death would at least look like a suicide. The idea of methodically breaking his neck or stabbing him sickened me. I had no desire to touch him. It's different in the heat of a fight when the instincts to survive take over and the adrenaline pushes you past thought and over the edge. I might try arranging some kind of confrontation, force him to make the first move...
How? I thought sarcastically. Look him straight in the eye, insult his immediate family, and hope he'll lose his temper?
"Flexible... ?" I prompted at last.
"I'll stop the hit on you," he answered readily.
"And my friends?"
"All included."
"Gordy as well?"
He didn't like it, but finally nodded.
"And listening to my life story is worth losing that four -hundred-percent increase in your profits?"
That set him back a bit as he realized I'd been there for his conversation with Chaven, but his eyes continued to glitter. "I would expect it to be instructive."
I'd been down this road before and wasn't about to make a second trip. This time I turned away to pace around his desk, looking for an idea, or maybe a blunt instrument. My eyes swept over a single book lying on the blotter. A few seconds later its title impressed itself onto my busy brain with an inner jolt. I kept going as though I hadn't seen it.
"And along with the truce I am prepared to generously compensate you for your efforts," he added, inspired, possibly, by the shabby clothes I now wore.
The book changed nothing, but it did explain the dearth of crosses and garlic.
Though I'd read the story as a kid, I remembered little of it; the visual impression from seeing the movie three years ago was much stronger. The sight of Claude Rains swiftly unwrapping the bandages from his apparently missing head was not something one could easily forget. Kyler wasn't chasing after Stoker's Dracula, but The Invisible Man of H.G. Wells.
I almost laughed out loud and had to disguise the intake of breath as a heavy sigh. He'd miscalculated this one, but it did make a kind of sense, considering he'd only seen me vanishing and coming back, not lurking around the Stockyards for a meal. He was close enough to the truth and deserved a few points for choosing even crazed science over superstition-ridden vampirism. But it made no difference. The information he wanted would still be useless to him and as soon as he realized that...
"How much?" I asked, not looking at him.
"Five thousand."
"Make it ten."
He hesitated.
"It's worth it, Kyler." I let myself fade, moving on ghostly legs until we were closer than before. Eyes filling his face, he renewed his grip on the gun. I faded completely for just a second to drive home the point, then returned. "It's well worth it."
He'd had plenty of time to dwell on the potentials in the last day or so. My demonstration only confirmed the beginning of endless advantages. "How?" he whispered.
I said nothing. His own inner arguments would persuade him better and faster than any I could invent.
"Is it a chemical process?"
It should have been Escott standing here; he was the one with an actor's training and judgment. I had to go on instinct and hope to make it work. "You'll find that out if and when we make a deal. Call off the hits, leave my friends alone, and ten thousand in cash. In exchange, I'll show you how to..." I illustrated by vanishing briefly once more, returning that much closer to him.
Kyler's greed hadn't been so obvious before. Moment by moment, I was learning to read him better, and now he seemed hooked. "All right." His voice was very soft. But the last time I'd heard that tone Chaven had been holding a gun to my head. I was hard put not to glance behind me.
"Deal?"
"Yes. But five thousand down, the balance when I'm able to do what you do."
"Then we start now," I told him. "The sooner we start, the sooner I get out of here."
He had no objections to that. This was his last chance and mine as well. If I couldn't break through to him he would have to die and I would have to live with that death. He was as vulnerable now as I would ever find him.
"You must listen to me very carefully..."
I put everything I had into it, focusing onto his stony eyes, shutting out all other distractions. The room we stood in, the people at their games and dances in the rest of the house, the stark winter woods surrounding the place all ceased to be. The changes within that frightened me, that I had promised to keep under control, took over and rushed free once more.
"Listen to my voice..."
The air was very still except for the even thump of his heart.
"You will listen and do what I tell you."
I concentrated, willing his face to slacken into blankness, quietly demanding that he hear me.
"Do you understand?"
His jaw sagged. I almost mirrored him, surprised by sudden hope. This time it just might work.
"You must listen to me."
His eyelids flickered.
"You must."
But he drew a steady breath and held it, giving a sharp shake with his head.
"Like hell," he said thickly. "What are you doing?"
Losing the battle. "Kyler..."
But the harder I tried to hold it, the quicker it slipped away. Whatever it was about him that set him apart from other men and repelled me-an especially strong will or carefully controlled insanity-worked in his favor. He was throwing off my influence, waking up, and stubbornly fighting. My own concentration wavered.
Details ignored before, but necessary to survival, abruptly intruded on us.
I was aware that Chaven and another man had entered the room. They'd padded in as softly as hunters after any skittish prey. If I hadn't been so mentally bound to Kyler, I might have had a chance to do something more than just sluggishly notice their presence and start to turn. But that chance came and went like a ghost's shadow. Chaven's hand darted into his coat, dragging free his first and final answer to problems like me.
Wide awake now, Kyler looked past me. His face opened with sudden horror; one arm came up in futile protection.
"No!"
But if Kyler had anything more to say, it was lost in the ongoing roar of Chaven's gun.