Part 69 (2/2)
”What the h.e.l.l's going on?” he asked.
”It appears that Nance and his bunch have lifted Jake Kilmer and Harry Raines' widow,” Pancho Callahan said.
”Nance kidnapped them?”
”It don't sound like no scavenger hunt,” said Lange.
Charlie One Ear said, ”It sounds straight. Jake's car is still out there. Apparently it's permanently imbedded in the security fence. The security man checked the license for me. I've got a blue and white on the way to make sure somebody isn't giving us the finger.”
”Speaking of fingers, right now we ain't got a finger on anybody in the mob, that right?” Stick exclaimed.
”Chino and Salvatore are still on the range somewhere. Shall we try to raise them?” Charlie One Ear replied.
Dutch slammed down the phone. ”Okay,” he said. ”There's gonna be a lot of p.i.s.sed-off Cadillac owners in town, but maybe we'll luck out and nab them before they get too far.”
Five minutes later Zapata answered his page. Stick s.n.a.t.c.hed up the phone.
”Chino, it's Stick. Where the h.e.l.l are you?”
”Outside one of these strip joints on Front,” he answered.
”What are you doing there?”
”Watching Silo Murphy, the one they call Weasel.”
”You got Murphy in sight right now?” the Stick said.
”Yeah. He didn't go on the boat ride, so I stuck with him. Salvatore's still trying to get a line on that f.u.c.khead Nance.”
”I'm on my way,” said the Stick. ”If he leaves, follow him and keep me cued through central. What's your number?”
”Seventy-three. What's goin' on?”
”Ten minutes. Tell you when I get there,” said Stick. He slammed down the phone and headed for the door.
In Dutch's office the rest of the SOB's were also wrestling with the problem, ”How about the traffic chopper,” suggested Cowboy Lewis. ”Maybe we can run down Costello's cruiser.”
”Good idea, get on it,” said Dutch. ”So where do we stand right now?”
”Salvatore and Zapata are still on the street,” said Charlie One Ear. ”Mufalatta's on the range rounding up the rest of the Graves gang. The rest of us are here.”
”Where'd the Stick go?” demanded Dutch.
”He's checking on Chino,” said Charlie One Ear.
”Not anymore,” said Callahan. ”He just went out the door like his underwear was on fire.”
”Sheiss, what next!” cried the Dutchman.
I came around with elephants thundering in one ear and out the other and the bitter-salty taste of blood in my mouth. I was stretched out on a fairly comfortable Naugahyde sofa. Doe was sitting beside me, bathing my aching head with a wet cloth.
”Oh, thank G.o.d!” she said as I opened my eyes.
”You okay?” I asked.
”I'm fine. It's you they knocked out.”
”Where are we?”
”I'm not sure. They blindfolded me,” she said. ”We're near the water, though, I can smell it.”
My nose had been knocked out of commission along with half of my other senses. I couldn't have smelled my hair if it was on fire.
”How long did it take to get here?”
”Twenty minutes, thirty maybe. I've never been very good about time and I don't have a watch on.”
”My G.o.d, how long have I been out?”
”Another ten.”
”They must've hit me with a poleaxe.”
”Actually it was a little black stick one of them had strapped to his wrist.”
”Just a plain old-fas.h.i.+oned sap,” I said. ”Just like me.”
I sat up slowly, so my head wouldn't fall off, got my feet on the floor, and sat very still to keep from vomiting. Eventually the nausea went away. The room was small and tidy and looked like a doctor's office, without the medical journals and four-year-old National Geographics strewn everywhere. The only light in the room came from a table lamp made from a wooden anchor with ”Saint Augustine, Florida, 1981” hand painted on it. The room had two windows, both heavily draped, and there was a TV monitor camera mounted high in one corner.
I decided to see if I could stand up. That brought some activity from the other room. The door opened. I could tell from the silhouette that it was Nance. I didn't realize how badly I had beaten him until he turned sideways and the light from the other room fell across his face. Both eyes were swollen to slits, he had bruises and gashes down both sides of his face, he was limping, and there was a cut that had swollen to the size of an egg on the corner of his mouth, surrounded by a blue-gray bruise that spread almost to his ear. He was a wreck. I felt better when I saw him.
”Hi, Nance,” I said. ”Been a real s.h.i.+tty day for you, hasn't it?”
He made animal noises in his throat and started toward me but a hairy paw against his chest stopped him. Arthur Pravano, the one they called Sweetheart, stepped past him.
”Don't make any more trouble,” he said to Nance. Sweetheart leaned on the doorjamb and stared at me.
”Well, well,” I said, ”the pool's getting full.”
”You talk awfully big for a man with his b.a.l.l.s in the wringer,” said Nance.
<script>