Ill-Fame (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 2) (15 page)

It had a wooden handle, Baum noticed, and a sharp metal point jutted out from its end.

“It can also be used for other things,” the man said. “It can leave small stab wounds in a man. Hundreds, if done properly, while the man is still conscious. And they will hurt,
mon ami
. They will hurt more than a roll through a bed of nails, if executed with the proper skill.”

Baum moved his lips, but nothing came out. He wanted to tell the man he understood, but couldn’t make the words. The man looked back with sympathetic eyes, and stepped close to him.

“I understand your anguish,
mon ami
. I’ve seen the terrible things men do to each other. You’ve been stepped on, kicked and beaten by those above you. You’ve experienced immeasurable torment.”

“Yes,” croaked Baum.

“Here is a man who represents everything you despise about power,” he whispered in Baum’s ear. “He is the very effigy of authority run amok. Can you dispute this?”

He could do nothing but shake his head.

“Good,” the man replied, and Baum felt him slip the cold handle of a gun into his hand. “Shoot him now,” he breathed. “Do not hesitate.” And he stepped to the side.

Moonlight Darling bounded over the bar with only his hand to support him. He landed next to Baum, who Maisy could see was trembling with fright. The smoke from the gun circled his head. She rushed around the bar, past Henri, and slipped under Dick’s arm.

Together, they stared at Jiggs, who had fallen to the floor and lay on his back, holding his hands to his gut. It was a nasty, nasty wound. She looked at him, writhing in agony, his eyes bulging in surprise at how he’d been done in. She’d wanted him dead since she’d seen him bash Trilly’s head, and had expected satisfaction at its conclusion, but was surprised instead that she felt only disgust and pity instead.

Henri motioned to Moonlight. “Your father is dying. Say what you have to say.”

“But what about
him
?” Moonlight let go of Maisy and spun to meet Baum. “He shot my old man.”

“Do you want revenge? Your father will be dead soon, and this man will hang for it. Make your peace, if you care to.”

The boy turned back to Kilbane and got down on his knee, moving broken pieces of a whiskey bottle away. He picked up his father’s hand.

“I despise you,” he said, “for everything you do and you stand for. For the way you treated Mother. For your carousing and philandering and lack of nobility.”

“Nobility?” Kilbane sputtered, blood dribbling down his cheek. “Do I look like a goddamn king to you?” He flung his son’s hand to the side.

“You look like you’re knocking at death’s door, is how you look. Just go, Father. Close your eyes and pass on.”

Kilbane struggled up into a sitting position. “Somebody get me a goddamn cigar,” he suddenly shouted. “I don’t want a penny stick either. Get me a ten cent Havana, for Christ’s sake!”

Just die,
Maisy thought.
Just die, you son-of-a-bitch.

“You’re a disgrace,” Moonlight scoffed. “You make your green by cheating, stealing and murdering. You’ve lived your life selfishly. And now that your misbegotten ways have led you to this moment, you have a chance to atone. Apologize for how you’ve treated me. How you’ve treated Maisy.”

“You ungrateful little shit,” Kilbane spat. He snatched the back of Moonlight’s neck and yanked it close his crimson-stained shirt. The gangster’s chest rose and fell with heavy wheezes, and Maisy couldn’t help but glance at the ragged hole in his stomach, oozing with thick, dark blood.

“That fat fuck just gut-shot me. Why are you wasting your time on that fuckin’ folderol when he’s standing right there!”

“W-whatever he did to you, you deserved it, I’m sure.”

“That doesn’t matter. You’ve got to be strong, boy. Give out your licks like a man. Just because you’ve... you’ve…,” a wheezing fit overcame him, and he gasped for air. “J-j-just because you’ve got a college degree, and I ain’t, don’t void you of your goddamn duty. You ain’t no Darling, no matter how much you hide under your mama’s name. You’re a Kilbane, for fuck’s sake!”

Moonlight’s eyes blazed, and he stumbled up, wrestling his neck from his father’s grasp, suddenly unsure of what to do. Maisy put her hand on his shoulder, but he brushed it off. He turned again to Baum.

“I am under obligation,” Moonlight said.

“Your life will be ruined,” she cried. “Your father was going to have me raped, Dick.”

“I just don’t know,” he muttered. “I don’t know what to do.”

She looked at Uncle Martin. Congealed blood clogged his nostrils, and his eyes were wet with tears. Trembling, she removed the gun from his hand.

I thought I could do this
, she thought, fighting to control her panicked breath.
I thought that I could, but I’m not sure now
.

Her finger slipped onto the trigger, and she stretched her dainty thumb to the hammer, pulling it back. It was all she could do to hold it steady, but she gritted her teeth and aimed.

At her Uncle Martin.

“Atta girl!” cried Jiggs. “I knew you had pluck the moment I first laid eyes on you at Dander’s brothel. How does it feel,” he turned to Moonlight, “that this vicious little bitch has got more moxie than you ever had?” He threw his head back to laugh, but gagged instead on the blood that clogged his throat.

“What are you doing?” Moonlight gasped.

“You’re a hero, Dick.” Her senses were dulling, and she felt faint. “Children know your name. You’ve got a future, and I won’t let you spend it in prison. If you feel so obligated to your father...”

“You’re not a murderer. I won’t let you do this.”

The cave sat silent, as if waiting to see what she’d do next. Martin Baum had steadied himself, and wore a resigned expression. Henri stood by as serenely as a stone statue, and Moonlight looked overwhelmed with emotion. Then Jiggs broke the silence.

“What are you fucking waiting for? Do it. Shoot the pudgy shit, and get it over with.” He gave a low, agonizing moan, and then it slowly crescendoed into a high-pitched giggle, finally climaxing in a hysterical fit of coughing.

She walked over to Kilbane and looked down without expression or remorse this time.

His eyes grew wide when she put the barrel against his forehead. Her aim was steady, and Jiggs fell back forever with her shot.

It was as if the steam had been let out from the entire room. Moonlight fell to his knees, sobbing into his hands. Baum looked exhausted, and sat down in a chair and stared into space. But Henri appeared to be nothing but business.

“My dear,” he said. “You should have let him die on his own.”

“I needed to do it.”

“I know.”

Henri took the gun from her, wiped the handle with his jacket, and placed it into Baum’s sweaty hand.

“Do you understand what you have to do?” he asked. “Whether it is by the police, or by your own hand.”

Baum nodded. Henri turned his attention back to Maisy.

“You are free to go.”

“To where?”

“Do you have money?”

“Yes, some.”

“Here is more.” He counted out a dozen bills from a stack he pulled from his jacket pocket.

“This is too much. Why would you give me this?”

“Because I have a soft heart for the downtrodden. You’ve been through the mill, and need to start again. I have one more thing for you, by the way.” He reached into the vest of his suit and took out the book she’d seen him reading earlier. “I know it is in French, but perhaps you can free some time to learn the language of love.”

“And what will you do?”

Henri gave her a pat on the shoulder and smiled. “These are dangerous questions to ask, Miss Anderson, so let us part on these friendly terms, shall we?”

CHAPTER 19

He came far faster than Queen had anticipated, which reminded him he’d better thank Frasier for his promptness in making the call.

“How are things, Harm?” Norbeck asked with a chuckle.

“What do you think?”

“I don’t get to this part of town as often as I’d like to. You know a good place ’round here for a plate of pickles and a strong drink?”

Queen turned away as Norbeck picked at one of his sores. It was all Queen could do to hold his miserable lunch in at the sight of the blistering scabs that crawled over his ex-partner’s nose.

“Christ, Chris. Where is your ointment?”

“Oh, right,” he said. He took out the container and dabbed it delicately on his face. “Feels better, Harm.”

“I’m relieved to hear it. Listen.” He leaned into the bars, trying to avoid Norbeck’s breath, which smelled of rancid sardines. “I need you to do some things for me, Chris.”

Queen had always had an odd relationship with Detective Chris Norbeck. They’d been partners in the past, and Queen had leaned on him many times before for personal help. While Norbeck could be readily counted on for follow-through, he made piss-poor decisions, too. As long as Norbeck was judge-sober, though, he was good in a pinch.

“I figured,” Norbeck said. “I never expected to see you in air and exercise, Harm. Jail, tut-tut! I mean I know we’re walking the line in Minneapolis, but Doc has our asses covered and...”

“Chris.” Queen waited for Norbeck to realize he was talking too much. When Norbeck took a breath and gave a sheepish smile, Queen continued. “I need you sharp for me. Can you abstain for the next few hours?”

Evidently Norbeck saw the seriousness in Queen’s expression, because he gave a firm nod and grabbed the bars with both hands for emphasis. “What do you need, Harm?”

“I need you to get me out of here.”

Norbeck dropped his voice to a low, conspiratorial tone. “That’s what I’m here to do, actually. I’ve got a message from Colonel Ames.”

“What is it?”

He looked around to make sure that no one could hear. “Colonel Ames is worried about Doc, Harm. Really worried. The mayor found a note at his door this morning.”

“What kind of note?”

“It had a threat written on it.”

“A threat? What kind?”

“It said that he had to watch out.”

Queen reined in his irritation. “Elaborate.”

“It said that Doc was an enemy of the proletariat and a shill for the aristocracy and he should be punished for his crimes.”

“What crimes?”

“For what he did to the Indians during the Sioux uprising. And for what he’s doing in Minneapolis now.”

“He was a goddamn doctor during the uprising. And it’s the proletariat that got him elected mayor to begin with.”

“Well, that’s what the letter said.” Norbeck gave a wide grin. “He’s worried about being assassinated, Harm.”

Queen ignored Norbeck’s spectral smile. He was long used to the detective’s inappropriate responses.

“Did the note mention that?”

“Nope. It just demanded that he confess his crimes, or else.”

“Or else, huh?” Queen scratched his cheek. First, anarchist scuttle, and now this. On the surface, it didn’t seem particularly menacing. But knowing Doc, he was likely reinforcing his home with barbed wire and guard towers to counter the threat. This malcontent, whoever he was, really wanted to shake the Ames brothers up, and was certainly succeeding. And a threat was a threat, and it needed to be investigated. Unfortunately, he wasn’t in a position to do anything about it.

“You really think there are anarchists in Minneapolis, Harm?”

“Well, there are definitely plenty of Socialists. It’s one step away from that. And you were the one that questioned the boy at the university who said he was attacked by one, and never bothered to tell anyone.”

Norbeck shuffled his feet. “It seemed kind of funny, at the time. I thought he was pullin’ my donkey’s tail.”

“That a boy’s finger was bitten off by a lunatic?”

“Well, yeah.” Norbeck’s face suddenly brightened. “But I got to meet Moonlight Darling! What a swell player he is!”

Queen hadn’t been positive that word had gotten around yet about his discovery of Pock, but now he was sure it hadn’t. Norbeck would have arrived with questions from Fred Ames about Pock’s arrest, and why he hadn’t been brought directly in front of the colonel for a personal grating. This was a lucky break, because he had no idea where Pock was since the trouble at Nina Clifford’s place. He hoped that he’d stayed in the wagon as instructed and Big Snorre had taken him home.

“Chris, is word of my incarceration on the streets yet?”

“Don’t know. News travels slow on Sundays.”

Thinking about Peder had taken his mind to Karoline again. What were the chances she might have already heard about this fiasco?

“I need you to find Trilly Flick for me.”

“That sweet little dish? Sneaking her in here just for a poke don’t seem such a great idea.”

“Do you know why I’m actually here, Norbeck? I’m being charged with murder,” he hissed. “A roll with a prostitute is not exactly on my mind.”

“Okay, okay. Got it.” He gave Queen a sly wink. “Detective Frasier filled me in. Jiggs Kilbane sure don’t like you, huh?”

“He shot Edna Pease...”

“The one who couldn’t talk.”

“Yes, her. Trilly was there, and saw everything. Get her here, and convince her to tell the truth, and I’ve got a chance to get out.”

“We don’t need to do that, Harm.” His grin shone in triumph. “Doc is pulling strings.”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s already spoken to the mayor of Saint Paul. I don’t know the business behind it, but you’re going to go in front of a judge first thing tomorrow morning, and bail will be posted. You’ll be out for a whiskey lunch! Ain’t that just snappy?”

That was one hell of a helping of good news. Too late to see Karoline, but it would give him time to clear his name, which had to be his first priority. How Doc had managed to go above Police Chief O’Connor and make this happen, he couldn’t even begin to fathom, but he wasn’t about to argue. For this, Doc would get the finest box of cigars Queen could afford.

“Does Frasier know yet?” he asked Norbeck.

“Right after our conversation outside I saw John O’Connor approach him, looking perturbed as all hell. I’d imagine he knows now.”