Part 26 (1/2)

He was waiting for Bobbi to see him. The lights would be in her eyes; maybe there was still time to head him off. I suddenly vanished and shot right over the heads of everyone between, going solid just as suddenly on the dance floor only steps from Mitch.e.l.l. I didn't care who saw.

But I was too late. Mitch.e.l.l sidled close enough so she caught the movement and looked his way. Grinning, he waved up at her. She didn't react, singing on, then did a kind of slow double take and froze in sheer horror. I thought she would dislike a reminder of the bad old days, but didn't expect this. It required a h.e.l.l of a lot to get Bobbi to miss a line, and she did just that, dropping several words and stumbling through the start of the chorus. She pretended to have a throat problem, pulling away from the microphone, hand to her mouth as though to cough. The band continued. Singers forgetting words were part of the job.

Mitch.e.l.l just kept grinning.

I clapped a hand on his shoulder from behind, grabbed his right arm so he wouldn't go for his gun, and turned him before he quite knew what happened. His baffled surprise turned into a snarl when he saw my face, but I chivvied him along as quick as any of the bouncers. I'm a lot stronger than I look, and where the h.e.l.l were they?

”Lay off, pretty boy!” Mitch.e.l.l started.

I clocked him smartly, rapping his skull with my knuckles as though knocking to get in. As mad as I was the force was the same as if I'd blackjacked him. His legs ceased to hold him so well, and I had to take his weight to keep him moving.

By now we were a spectacle. The joker running the traveling spot picked us out from the crowd on the dance floor and followed, much to everyone's amus.e.m.e.nt. A few applauded, thinking this was part of the show. So far no one was screaming in reaction to my magical appearance out of thin air.

I veered to the right, going toward the door that led to the backstage area. It had the closest exit. I glanced over my shoulder at the stage.

Bobbi made it to the end of the chorus, but her tone was wrong for the mood she'd set, her face fixed, eyes staring at nothing, like a mannequin. She threw a jerky signal to the band leader, and he muttered a song t.i.tle to his people.

The music s.h.i.+fted and changed key. Out of sequence, Bobbi hastily introduced Teddy Parris, calling him up again. He must have been ready in the wings, for he bounced forward and took over as though this was business as usual. The spotlight s.h.i.+fted to him, so Bobbi's hasty departure went mostly unseen.

Mitch.e.l.l and I blew through the door. Just within was a wide service area with the alley entry at the end and a smaller hall to the right leading to the dressing rooms. To the left were the bas.e.m.e.nt stairs. I wanted to bounce Mitch.e.l.l down them, but instead slammed him against the backstage wall, my forearm under his chin, his feet dangling free. He recovered enough to put up some fight, so I rattled him again, taking a lot of satisfaction from the rotten-melon thump his head made on impact. The wall was brick.

Then Escott got between us and pushed me back, shouting my name. It was just enough to keep me from a third try, which would have probably killed Mitch.e.l.l. He slithered to the floor. Escott shot me a loud ”What the devil is going on?”

I wasn't in a mood to explain. ”Go check on Bobbi. This creep...”

Escott instantly got the idea she'd been threatened in some way, but didn't leave. ”Jack... ?”

”It'll be all right. I promise not to kill him.” Not here, anyway. ”Who is he?”

”I'll tell ya later, go to Bobbi!”

He went.

Where were the d.a.m.n bouncers? But they were on the lookout for mugs like Hoyle and Ruzzo, not Whitey Kroun's top lieutenant.

Mitch.e.l.l had a thick skull and had roused himself back to alertness. The first thing he did was reach inside his coat for his gun.

Only I'd taken it off him. It weighed down my coat pocket.

Some guys can't handle being without their heat, but he wasn't one of them. He shot to his feet and went after me, fists flying. Very bad move. I got inside his first punch, taking it on the flank under my arm and gave him two sharp ones in the breadbasket left and right. Mitch.e.l.l gagged and dropped and spent the next few moments trying to get air back in his lungs.

He was vulnerable as he ever would be. I thought of hypnotizing him, my first choice for solving the problem he'd become. It wouldn't take much to give him both barrels in the face and see to it he forgot Bobbi ever existed. But even thinking about the attempt seemed to make a steel band tighten around my head. In my current state I'd either send him insane, send myself off into another d.a.m.ned fit, or both.

However, my second choice-beating the c.r.a.p out of him-was entirely acceptable. I impatiently paced side to side, waiting for him to get up so I could knock him over again.

”What's your beef?” he gasped, staying down. ”I only wanted to say h.e.l.lo.”

”Try again, and you'll do it without teeth. She doesn't want to see you.”

”Huh. Ask her, wise guy. Think she rolled and spread 'em just for you? She'll wanna-”

I hauled him up and threw him across the room.

He hit the brick wall on that side hard but didn't quite lose enough balance; he staggered and kept his feet. ”You're gonna pay, you stupid-”

I was too fast for him to see the move and too angry to stop. Not knowing quite how, I got hold of one arm and yanked the wrong way. For that I had an earsplitting howl in response, followed by some truly foul cursing.

”Ya busted my arm!” he informed me.

”Dislocated,” I said. I sounded calm as a doctor diagnosing a cold. How could I be this furious and speak so softly?

He tried another swing with his undamaged arm. I stepped back out of range plus a few steps. I'd promised Escott there'd be no killing. Mitch.e.l.l was making it hard to remember.

That's when the alley door swung inward. One of the bouncers, I thought, finally reacting to the commotion inside.

Except he wasn't a bouncer. Rawboned and face red from the cold, Hoyle shouldered past Mitch.e.l.l, raising the gun in his fist until the muzzle was level with my eyes. Hoyle's gleamed with unholy delight. He had me square.

”Kill 'im!” Mitch.e.l.l yelled.

Hoyle seemed barely aware of him. ”Payback,” he said to me, grinning. He still looked worse for wear from the pounding I'd given him. ”Outside, Fleming. Now.”

Mitch.e.l.l, apparently figuring to have a front row seat, darted clumsily through the door, holding his arm close.

Were they working together, or was it just glad coincidence that put them on the same team tonight?

”Outside!” Hoyle repeated. ”Or I'll drill you here, you-”

His gaze abruptly snapped to the side, toward the hall leading to the dressing rooms.

Faustine Petrova stood not ten feet away. She was out of her tango dance costume, wrapped in a blazing scarlet silk kimono, a look of fascination on her exotic face.

”You are hav-ink important beeznuss meet-ink, yesss?” she asked brightly.

My guts swooped. ”Faustine! Get out of here!” But she stood her ground staring intently at Hoyle. He glared back at her, and his gun muzzle wavered in her direction. Then his eyes went wide.

Faustine made a small, elegant shrugging motion, and the kimono suddenly fell from her shoulders. She was completely naked except for her lipstick. ”Daunce wit' me, beeg boy!” she sang out, spreading her arms.

Holy mackerel.

Hoyle's eyes got even wider, and his jaw sagged. He had to have seen a naked woman before, but Faustine possessed a unique electricity, and it always turned heads.

Including his, for just long enough.

I launched a full-body tackle on him. Being stronger, I could cover more distance in a leap. I slammed into him, and down we went. Hoyle's reflexes were too good, though. His time in the boxing ring made him quick to recover. He fired, and I felt the sear as the bullet grazed my side. It was a scratch, nothing to sweat over...

But Faustine dropped, giving a little cry.