Motor City Shakedown (29 page)

After another swallow of morphine, I settled in to wait for them to return. I don't know how long I stayed awake, but finally unable to hold up my head, I leaned against the wall and fell asleep.

*   *   *

I was perhaps five years old. We were vacationing in South Haven, staying in a resort hotel on Lake Michigan. My sisters had gone off for a walk down the beach, to meet boys, no doubt. I was playing with a shovel in the wet sand near the lake. My mother and father sat on a blanket behind me. A soft breeze blew in, carrying a faint odor of rotting fish.

I looked out at the lake. A small boat with a crimson sail bobbed perhaps a hundred feet offshore. It was unoccupied. A single rope, tied to the front, angled out into the water. I stood, turned, and called, “Father! I want to ride in that boat!”

He looked away from my mother, and glanced first at me, then at the boat. With a smile, he stood and strode past me in his woolen bathing costume, tousling my hair as he went by. “You stay on the beach, boy.” He waded into the freezing water and, when he was almost up to his waist, dived in and began swimming straight out, bobbing up and down in the waves as he cut through the water with strong, sure strokes. The sailboat seemed to be farther away now, but he kept swimming.

Then I was sitting on the blanket near my mother. We watched my father swim out far past the pier, so far that his head was nothing more than a pinpoint bobbing in and out of view, but he was no closer to the sailboat.

My mother gripped my shoulders and pulled me to her. I could feel her heart racing. A warm droplet of water fell onto my head. And another. I looked up at my mother's face. Her mouth was stretched open in a silent sob. I looked out again at the lake.

My father was gone. The boat was gone. I turned to look at my mother. She was gone. The wind picked up, the smell of death stronger now. Waves crashed against the shore like thunder.

Without another thought, I ran to the water and plunged in. Instantly an undertow pulled me away from shore. I tumbled across the bottom, my back scraping against sand, my head hitting a rock, all the while being pulled deeper and deeper into the endless lake. I held my breath and fought to reach the surface. My lungs ached.

“Thank God,” a woman's voice said from far away. “Will?” Now she was closer. She grabbed me from behind and stopped my tumbling, but still I was underwater. I looked up toward the surface. A hundred feet above me, waves rolled by one after another.

“Will?” she said again.

I tried to pull away, to swim to the surface, but strong hands held me in place. I craned my neck around and saw Elizabeth smiling at me. Her auburn hair undulated in the current. She held me like a baby. I knew it was all right to give up. I took a deep draught of water into my lungs.

“Will? Wake up.”

I blinked and squinted into the sunlit room. I was lying on the staircase, propped up against Elizabeth, who sat behind me with one hand on my shoulder, the twelve-gauge gripped in the other. I sat up, my mind still half in the dream. She leaned in and hugged me hard. “Thank God,” she said again before letting go and standing. “Will, come on, we've got to go.” I saw dark smudges under her eyes. She wore a rumpled indigo day dress that looked as if it had been slept in, with a red ribbon tied sailor-style around her neck. She wasn't wearing a hat, and her wavy auburn hair spilled down over her shoulders.

I rubbed my eyes. “Are my mother and father all right?”

“They're fine.”

Relief flooded through me. “And your mother?”

“Fine too. But we might not be if we don't get moving.”

I pushed myself up off the step.

Elizabeth touched my arm. “What happened to you?”

“The cops happened to me. That's why I didn't pick you up.”

“Thank God it wasn't the Gianollas.”

“What's going on?”

“We can catch up after we get out of here.” She held up the shotgun. “Do you want to take this?”

Nodding, I grabbed the cold barrel and hefted the gun. “Just a minute. I need one more thing.” I ran down to my father's shop and grabbed a hacksaw from the wall.

The shotgun needed some work if I wanted to carry it around with me. And I definitely wanted to carry it around with me.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

I pulled on my duster as we hurried outside into the early dawn. The sun was peeking out above the buildings downtown, bathing the city in its red glow. My father's Detroit Electric roadster stood by the curb. “Did he—is he here?” I said.

“No.” Elizabeth walked around the car to the driving side and climbed in. “He's at the Pontchartrain with our mothers.”

“Okay,” I said. “I'll follow you there.”

I started the Torpedo, hopped in, and stayed close behind her on the short drive to the hotel, feeling dazed. They were all alive and outside the Gianollas' reach. After the previous night, it seemed too good to be true. Yet the evidence was in the car in front of me. It was still early enough that virtually no one was on the street. Still, Elizabeth drove carefully, keeping her speed below ten miles per hour. She pulled up to the curb just down the block from the hotel, and I was able to park behind her.

I shoved the shotgun farther under the seat and joined her as she was pulling a flowered ivory valise from the backseat. “You packed?” I said.

“Some of my father's guns and a couple of knives.”

“Do you mind if I take a look?”

She set the bag back down on the seat. “Go ahead.”

I opened it and looked inside. Pushing aside boxes of bullets, I saw a pair of switchblades and a Browning .32, like the one Elizabeth had been carrying in her purse, lying atop a Marlin rifle case. “What, no land mines? No hand grenades?”

She made a sour face at me. “No, but I'm also
carrying
a couple of guns.”

I closed the bag and lifted it out of the car. “A couple? I saw the one in your purse the other night.” I eyed her. “Where's the other one?”

“Gentleman don't ask questions like that.”

“What's that got to do with me?”

“Oh, you're right, I'm sorry. It's none of your business where my guns may or may not be.” We were both giddy with relief.

“So what happened yesterday?” I asked.

“When you didn't pick me up I called your father's office. He had Mr. Wilkinson come get my mother and me and bring us to the factory. After he talked with Detective Riordan, we all came here.”

We started walking toward the Pontch. “Why did you leave?” I said.

“I needed to find you.” After a brief hesitation, she added, “We're partners, right?”

“My father wouldn't have let you take his car and go out by yourself.”

A shy smile worked its way onto her face. “No. I had to wait until everyone had fallen asleep to swipe the valet ticket for his car and get out of the room. It was three o'clock by then.”

“Is someone guarding them?”

“Yes. Your father has two security men inside. They're armed.”

“What's Riordan doing?”

“Last I knew he was out trying to track down Pinsky and the Gianollas. He stopped in at the hotel around eleven but hadn't had any luck. He left shortly thereafter to run down some leads.”

We walked up to the hotel. The doorman held the door for us, and we hurried inside, taking the elevator to the fourth floor.

When we turned the corner in the hallway, we saw two men wearing the Anderson Electric Car Company's blue security uniforms standing in front of a room with their hands inside their coats—shoulder holsters, no doubt. They looked twitchy, but when they saw it was us, they relaxed. Both were men in their late fifties or early sixties, and had worked for my father for years. Their normal responsibility was guarding the factory from generally nonexistent thieves, not protecting people from murderers. I was embarrassed that I didn't know either of their names.

“Didn't sign up for this type of work, did you?” I said.

They both let out a nervous laugh. “No, sir.” One of them knocked on the door.

When my mother opened it, she nearly fainted. She gave me a long embrace, complete with hard kisses on the cheek. “I thought you were dead,” she whispered.

I hugged her awkwardly with one arm. “I'm all right, Mother.”

Elizabeth and her mother stood face-to-face, talking quietly, their arms around each other.

I glanced at my father. “I borrowed a shotgun. You probably won't get it back.”

He shook my hand. “That's fine. I'm just glad you're here.” I could see the relief on his face. “Why didn't you pick us up for the meeting?”

I started telling my parents what had happened to me.

“No,” Mrs. Hume said, “you can't.”

I looked over at Elizabeth and her mother. They had separated, now standing a few feet apart. Mrs. Hume looked stricken. “Mother—” Elizabeth began.

“I won't lose you too.” Her fears were etched into her face, deep lines between her eyebrows, on her forehead, around her mouth. Her eyes pooled with tears. “I can't lose you, dear.” Her voice was wet, heartbroken.

“Here.” Elizabeth took her hand and led her to the bed, where they sat down and began again to speak quietly.

I told my parents about my day. By the time I finished, Elizabeth and her mother had rejoined us and stood side by side with their arms around each other, Elizabeth with a grim expression, Mrs. Hume with red, teary eyes.

Biting his lip, my father nodded. “When you didn't show up, I consulted with Detective Riordan. He and I went to Pinsky's house, but no one was there. I had to assume the worst and get the women to safety, so I brought them here.” Turning to Elizabeth, he said, “And at some point we'll have to speak about automobile theft.”

“What else have you heard from Riordan?” I said.

He shrugged. “I talked to him a few hours ago. He hadn't made any progress.”

“Mr. Anderson,” Elizabeth said, “you need to take our mothers somewhere—out of town—and let Will and me handle this.”

His eyes widened. “You can't be serious. You've got to get out of the city.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I'm not leaving.”

“The same goes for me,” I said.

My father put his hands on his hips. “I've got a business to run. I can't just leave.”

“You've been meaning to get down to the Cleveland plant,” my mother said. “This might be a good time.”

My father looked conflicted. Finally he said, “If all of you will join us, we could spend some time in Cleveland.”

“Mr. Anderson,” Elizabeth said, her chin quivering. “With all due respect, I'm not going anywhere, but I'd like you to take my mother.”

I took half a step toward her. “I'm not leaving. This is my fight.”

My father folded his arms over his chest and glared at me.

“Father, take Mother and Mrs. Hume to Cleveland. Let us look into this. Anyway, we'll be working with Detective Riordan. He'll keep us out of trouble.”

My father snorted. “Like anyone could do that.” He just stood there, shaking his head. Finally, he sighed. “All right. I'll take the women. But, Will”—he stood and walked over to me—“if you bring Elizabeth in on this, you're going to be responsible for her life.”

I looked into his eyes. “I know that, Father. I'll protect her.”

“Wait just one moment.” Elizabeth's face was red. “I am not a child.”

“Elizabeth,” her mother said. “Mr. Anderson only wants you to be safe.”

“I know that. But I'm as capable as Will. More so.”

More capable than me?
I felt real anger but decided to swallow it for now. We needed to present a united front.

After a moment, my father nodded and crossed the floor to her. “You're right. I apologize.”

So he agrees. Perfect.

He held his arms open. Her frown melted and she hugged him.

“I think it would be a crackerjack day for a drive down to Monroe,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “They've got a very nice train station. That would be a good place to start.”

My father got my drift and nodded. The Gianollas might be watching the Detroit train stations. “All right, ladies,” he said, putting some enthusiasm in his voice. “Let's go on vacation! What a lucky man I am to be able to escort two such lovely women.”

He didn't get a smile out of either one. Elizabeth grabbed her valise, and we all walked out into the hallway. My father stopped in front of the security men. “Do either of you know how to drive an automobile?”

“Yes, sir,” one of them said. “I can.”

“Could you take a drive with us down to Monroe and bring the car back?”

“Of course, sir.”

My father turned to me. “Why don't you take a little protection?” He nodded toward the other security man.

“No. We're working alone.”

He tried again but soon shook his head and allowed us to walk them down to the lobby. Elizabeth gave my father a sheepish grin while handing the ticket to the valet. While he retrieved the car, we went through our tearful family good-byes.

We waved as they drove away. Turning to me, Elizabeth said, “What now?”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” My voice was just as cold as I intended it to be.

“What?”

“You're ‘more capable' than I am. Thanks. I'm sure it filled my father with pride to know his son is a complete Nancy.”

“That's not what I said.”

“No, but it's what you implied.”

“Oh, Will,” she said, waving a hand at me. “You're too—” She stopped abruptly. Her face softened, and she grasped my arm. “You're right. That was insensitive … and wrong. I know you're better able than I to deal with these people. I'm sorry. I just didn't want to go, and I feel terrible having my mother leave. I hope she doesn't regress.”