The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (41 page)

He watched a gentlemen in a top hat and long wool coat, cane placed firmly in hand, stride with regal confidence across the street. A dignified woman with a hat of peacock plumes held tightly on to the old coot’s arm for support, her ankle-long dress brushed wet at the hems. The couple was oblivious to a fist-shaking wagon driver who was forced to rein his horses back to prevent an accident.

They continued to clop along in their carriage past steam laundries, meat markets, saloons and furriers. Queen recognized the towering block-long Schuneman and Evans Department Store, where he’d once bought something called “eau de toilette” for his sister on her birthday, long before he’d been declared unwelcome in the city.

Past West Seventh Street they went, through the very heart of the city, where streetcar tracks and wires crisscrossed in a teeming, confusing intersection of horses, rigs and people. They were moving up Wabasha Street, north towards Rice Street and then University Avenue, where Kilbane kept his little hideout, away from the city’s distracting noise. As they ascended the gentle slope, businesses became homes, and the bustle outside began to subside. Queen realized he liked the activity, as it pulled his mind away from the seriousness of his situation.

“Nice night for a ride, I guess,” he said, to fill the silence. Peach rubbed his eye with his finger and looked out at the street, still uninterested in small talk.

They reached Rice Street and veered left towards University Avenue, and Queen was momentarily awed as he saw, to his right, the brand-new State Capitol, a massive, gleaming, white granite block that lorded atop the hill. The building was almost complete, save the enormous marble dome, barely a third done. Scaffolding still clung to the sides, and a crane towered over the top. Large winter-beaten boards with advertisements for Gold Medal Flour, Happy Durham Tobacco and Hires Root Beer bordered the street, fencing off the work-site. The pop ad reminded him suddenly that his throat was beyond dry, and he regretted again that he had given his last few precious drops of whiskey to an indolent tramp.

Peach inspected his watch, and then shifted in his seat, a twinge of anxiety on his shadowed face. He pounded on the ceiling and a moment later the buggy jumped forward. Queen knew they must be late. Satisfied with their surge of speed, Peach put his hands behind his head and leaned back.

“Almost there, Lieutenant,” he said.

And they were. Queen recognized the two-story brick building in front of them from prior visits. To any upstanding citizen walking by, it was nothing more than a commercial block, matching dozens just like it nearby. The driver yelled “Whoa” when they arrived, and the rig jerked to a halt.

“You first,” Peach said, motioning with his revolver. It was a British Bulldog model, with a short nose and an ivory handle, the kind sneaky people hid in tight places like coat pockets. He still had Queen’s pistol tucked in his waist, too.

“I see you’ve got your pocket advantage. Does that shoot a big bullet, Jack?”

“Get a wiggle on,” Peach replied, waving the gun toward the door.

They both stepped out and crossed the sidewalk into a nondescript storefront with “Acme Slot Machines” lettered across the door’s glass. The room was well lit and lined with one-armed bandits, shiny new and ready to move into loving new homes. A “clerk” stood in their way when they entered; big, ugly and mean-looking as hell. Queen knew he wasn’t there to help him buy a slot machine, either. The brute moved aside as they strode past him and into a back room; this one rigged-out, with a thick plush rug, comfortable chairs, and gold-framed scenes from Greek mythology. Queen had been here many times before, but those had all been in pursuit of pleasure. While he was intimately familiar with this room Kilbane called “the Lounge,” he assumed he wouldn’t be enjoying complimentary drinks or free chips for the casino tonight. He wasn’t surprised either, when Peach opened a door to the side, partially blocked by a palm tree, to the staircase leading to the second floor and Jiggs Kilbane’s office.

Peach went first, Queen following. To make sure Queen didn’t have any second thoughts, the ugly bruiser from the front room brought up the rear, carrying a double-barreled shotgun. At the top of the stairs, Peach rapped twice.

“Enter!” a sharp voice barked.

Peach gave Queen a knowing little wink.

“A little hot-tempered today. Let me go in for a minute and talk to him.”

He left Queen on the steps with Big and Ugly. The guy’s breath was rancid and he had a lazy eye that was staring at a spider on the wall. It gave Queen the willies.

“How’d your eye get like that?”

“Screw,” the man replied, and killed the spider with a swat of his hand.

“Gentlemen,” Peach said, opening the door. “Please come in.” First Queen, then his guard, entered the bare-bones office. It was dimly lit, and a far cry from the lavish décor they had just left downstairs. A dusty chandelier hung from the ceiling and ancient wallpaper peeled from corners of the wall.

And there he sat, in all his potato-eating glory, Jiggs Kilbane, the pride of the Emerald Isle, with his wire-rimmed glasses, hooked nose and slicked-back orange hair. He sat on the edge of his desk in a nobbish green suit, and gave Queen a needle-pointed stare. They had a history together, most of it genial, but now things had changed for both of them.

“You’re lookin’ to get me, I hear, Queenie,” he said with a smirk. “You want to take care of me, huh? That’s the message I got.”

“Who gave you that message, Jiggs?” Queen already knew it was Peach, but was ready to play coy as long as the gangster had such a firm upper hand.

“Over there, Queenie. You got blinders on or somethin’?” He snickered and pointed to a camelback loveseat, and at two young women sitting on it.

Queen adjusted his eyes.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

There sat Miss Trilly Flick and Miss Edna Pease. Trilly met his gaze with indifference. Edna, with horror. He looked for some sign from Trilly that she was in danger, held captive and against her will, but her glassy expression directed at no one in particular dashed his hopes into the rocks.

“These young women were being guarded,” Queen said, turning back to Kilbane. He felt his face go hot, and clenched his fists to keep his hands from shaking. Grief, shock and anger at this betrayal hit him all together like a trio of bricks to the forehead. But he knew he couldn’t let Kilbane see this affect him. You have to remain composed, he told himself, but Christ, oh Christ, he and Trilly had been so intimate just this afternoon! She’d probably sent a message to Kilbane the minute he’d left.

“What did you do to the men at Ulland’s house?” he asked, trying to keep himself from looking at the girl he’d thought he could love.

“We didn’t do nothin’ to those stupid fish eaters, Queenie boy. These whores left on their own free will, didn’t you?” He grinned toward Trilly, who yawned and glanced away.

“So, what now?” Queen asked. “She told you I was coming for you, and now you want to talk, right? What are you willing to offer me?”

Kilbane started laughing so hard he blew snot from his nose. “Money? You think you’re going to get money? Remember, you owe me goddamn money!”

“If it’s not that, then what?”

Kilbane took a moment to catch his breath and took a drink of something clear from a glass on his desk. “This is not a negotiation, Queen. You think just because you’re a police detective, and a famous one to boot, that you’re safe from harm’s way?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“You do, huh?” Kilbane gave a little laugh, which transformed into a sinister smile. “Ask me a question.”

“What?”

“You heard me, Queenie. Ask me a question. I’ll answer any question you goddamn want.”

“Why did you kill Dander?”

“Easy,” Kilbane said. “I didn’t want the dandified gump to drag me down with him once he got his day in a court of law.”

Queen understood what was going on. Kilbane was humoring him. There was no way he would willingly blurt out his misdeeds to an officer of the law unless he wasn’t planning on letting him out of this room alive.

He still wanted to know.

“What did you two have going on, that you were so scared about somebody finding out?”

“I heard through the vine that your superintendent of police was going to tear Dander apart on the stand. Make an example of him, as a white slaver, who kidnapped young girls off the street and ripped them apart until they obeyed his every word and deed. A real crucifixion, but with my name at the tip of his lips.” Kilbane straightened his tie and then snapped his head to his shoulder twice in quick succession, trying to make it crack.

“Actually, Colonel Ames doesn’t care much about Dander at all,” Queen said. “He was planning on sweeping the whole thing under the rug. Just waiting for it to blow over.”

“Nonsense!” Kilbane lashed. “I got my ways of knowing what I know. And you want to know the reason I’m a little jarred about the whole thing, Queenie?”

“Why is that, Jiggs?”

“Cause Dander had nothin’ to do with it! He worked for me! Every goddamn girl at that dump he ran over there was mine. I loaned them to him. Even that stupid whore that tried to tear out and got a bullet for tryin’.” He held his hand over his heart. “Which I didn’t do, for the record.”

“So what happens from here, Jiggs? You know they’ll come looking for me if I’m not back by tomorrow. I’m famous, to quote you in your own words.”

Kilbane scoffed. “First, nobody knows you’re here. Second, nobody cares. And even if someone was to have seen you step off that train, no Saint Paul cop will lift a finger to help you.” He hopped down from the desk and shook out his spindly legs. “Face it, you’re fucked.”

A twitch of fear suddenly jerked at Queen’s heart, but he forced a steady expression. He was, in fact, alone in this city, and Kilbane was fully aware of it. “Answer another question for me, then,” the detective said hastily, not wanting to leave a lingering pause.

“Sure.” Kilbane grinned. “Why not?”

“The dead girl. Her name isn’t Maisy Anderson. Who is she, really?”

“Somebody from some other city, connected to someone much more powerful than certainly you, or even me.”

“You can’t tell me?”

“Naw,” he said, running his tongue over his teeth like a lizard. “We still got other ears in the room, and I want them around a little longer.” He spread his hands towards Peach, Big and Ugly and the girls, as if Queen didn’t already know who in the hell he was talking about. “She was one of the few girls I ever employed who came willingly. She begged me for work, in fact.”

“But she fled on New Year’s Eve,” Queen said.

“Because of that prick Dander. Ain’t that right, honey?” He looked at Trilly, whose eyes flashed darkly. “See, she hated the fucking bastard. I have to say, I should’ve put an end to his antics a lot sooner than I did. But we all make mistakes, ain’t that right, Queenie? You made a mistake when you threatened me, and too bad for you. After all of our recent trouble, you just ain’t worth keeping around.”

“And why was she called Maisy Anderson?”

Kilbane’s eyes lit. “That’s an interesting story. We don’t got a lot of time, but I’m in a charitable mood, since everything’s going my way today. Maisy was a girl in my employ, and let’s just say she wasn’t satisfied in her job. She was one of those acquired girls that had to be cajoled a little before she went to work.”

“You’re talking about her in the past tense.”

“Yeah, I am. She was. She didn’t last long. A customer of hers cut her up one night while she was bein’ belligerent. Some whores, you know? Just don’t go easily. They gotta make a big stink. Anyway, she and the dead girl on the fence, well they was mighty good friends, and when Maisy died, the other ‘un took her name in loving memory. I figured it was okay, as long as she wasn’t going by her real name. That goddamn last name is more well-known than Christ!” Kilbane sniggered at the thought. “One of the richest men in the country, and he doesn’t know his own kin is dead.”

Queen felt his lips go dry. “So, the real Maisy is dead, too.”

“Ain’t that just what I said?”

And there it was. Sheriff Dix Anderson travels to Minneapolis with a heavy heart, discovers his granddaughter still might be alive, only she really isn’t. How was he going to tell him this? I’d better figure out a way of making it out of here alive first, he decided, and worry about Anderson later.

A soft sob cut through the air, and all eyes turned to Edna. Her face was contorted into something truly disturbing, as if a demon was letting itself loose into her brain. She grasped her hair and began pulling out tufts, eyes darting around the room, at the walls, the floor, the ceiling, at Jiggs Kilbane. Then they darkened and fixed on Queen. Her sobs increased in halting gasps of air and tears.

“Jesus,” Kilbane said. “She’s fucking bughouse.”

Her eyes stayed locked on Queen and they pled for help. Queen had never heard her say a word, but she was silently begging him to do something to help ease her mind, appease her terror. Even Peach looked spooked, and he wasn’t one to ever lose his polish.

Then she stood up.

Trilly tried to take her hand and pull her down, but Edna refused, and instead slapped Trilly across the face with a furious, malevolent burst. For a split second Queen saw the pain on Trilly’s beautiful face and felt his heart melt, but her expression turned villainous, a thin crack of an evil smile, and he looked away.