Part 10 (1/2)

I figured I'd better take advantage of the confusion.

”You f.u.c.ked up, Milo,” I said, making clear I was in no way, shape, or form a bimbo. ”Barbara had nothing to do with it. You want the book back? I'll make a deal with you. You get the notebook, no ha.s.sle, if she goes free. We get in the car and drive to the city. You drop Barbara off somewhere far enough from a phone to suit yourself. Then I'll lead you to that book.”

Milo stopped pacing for a moment, instead jangling coins nervously in his pocket. ”I can beat it out of you,” he finally replied.

”No, you can't,” I shot back.

”Yes, I can.” Right, Milo, anything you can do I can do better.

”Not in time to do you any good,” I answered, which was true and he knew it. Even if there were n.o.body to report me missing, someone had certainly reported Barbara a long time ago. They didn't know that I had alerted the police and that Ranson and crew might even now be tearing Jambalaya Import and Export apart. But they were paranoid enough to worry. Mobsters have too many enemies, not just the police but rival gangs.

”You're bluffing,” Milo said.

”Uh, Milo?” The driver came in. He was carrying a top-of-the-line cellular phone. He handed it to Milo.

I watched Milo listen, his attentiveness to the caller confirming which of them was in charge. Milo was finally allowed to give a quick rundown of what was happening here. Then he was listening again.

After a moment he fixed me with a hard glare.

”So your name's Knight, huh?” he demanded.

I shrugged. It wasn't really a question.

”A P.I., huh?” Again, not really a question. ”b.i.t.c.h,” he added, a comment, I gathered, on my having so easily mislead him. ”The driver has got to go back to town. He'll take Barb with him. After we get the book back, he'll let her go,” Milo informed me, obviously on his boss's orders.

”What guarantee do I have that you'll let her go?”

* 71 *

”None,” he answered. ”You'll just have to trust me.”

That not being possible, I tried to think of something else. What would appeal to a rabid rat? Turner moaned loudly.

”Shut him up,” Milo said. One of the goons slapped Turner. It did little to quiet him.

”Take it or leave it,” Milo said to me. He took his gun out of his coat and aimed it at Barbara. ”But don't waste my time.”

”All right, I agree.” I had no choice.

Turner groaned noisily.

Milo nodded and with no change in his manner, he moved his hand slightly and pulled the trigger. The report from the gun was very loud in the still dawn. Turner grabbed his chest and pitched forward.

”Sorry, Turner,” Milo said calmly. ”You can't get your jaw broken and be on parole. Too many messy questions at the hospital and from your parole officer. Let this be a lesson to you, boys,” he pontificated.

”Don't let any broad break your face.”

There was the sickening, wet wheezing sound of air and blood mixing. Turner was gasping through his broken jaw. Barbara turned her face from the scene; she looked very pale and frail. I put my arms around her and held her. She started to gag. The air in the room seemed to change, the smell of a dying man overcoming the wet, dirty odor of decay.

Milo motioned to the driver, who led Barbara away from me and out to the yard. I heard her vomit outside.

”Make sure she's finished before you let her in the car,” Milo instructed. ”Cleaning bills ain't cheap these days.”

”It won't take long,” I said. ”She hasn't had anything to eat since lunch yesterday.”

”Now, Miss Private Eye Knight, who do you work for?” Milo asked.

”It's an hour drive to New Orleans. Surely you don't expect me to tell you anything before then,” I replied.

Milo repeated my answer into the phone.

”Let me work her over for the next hour. I might knock it down to forty-five minutes,” he told his boss.

”I made a deal,” I said, loud enough for the unseen caller to hear.

”In an hour, I'll talk.”

* 72 *

Milo was listening again. He mumbled a few sputtered explanations.

Evidently Mr. Big found some fault in his handling of the situation.

Milo finally said, ”Okay, I'll be there. And don't worry, I'll take care of it.” He turned off the phone. ”Take her downstairs and tie her up.” He added, ”I'll be back,” to me.

Goon boy led me back to my favorite rat-infested bas.e.m.e.nt and tied me to the stake, then I heard the slamming of the doors and the room was dark again. A car drove away in the distance.

But goon boy was not the expert in marlinespikemans.h.i.+p that Turner was. By maneuvering my arms up the column a bit I was able to bring my hands closer together and get some slack in the rope. It took me some time and a b.l.o.o.d.y wrist, but I managed to work myself free.

By groping in the dark, I found my purse and the small pocket flashlight that I always carry. Let there be light. The next thing I pulled out was my gun. Then I started looking around the bas.e.m.e.nt.

It was basically a hole in the ground in which junk had been deposited. There was a pile of boxes covered by dust and spiderwebs stacked against one wall. Against another wall was an a.s.sortment of furniture that made the stuff upstairs look like the finest D.H.Holmes had to offer. I was afraid that any second now my flashlight beam would discover the shackles used on slaves. I didn't like the idea of tortured ghosts in here with me. But only a blackened brick wall appeared in my light.

The bas.e.m.e.nt was odd shaped. The wall on the other side of the door went back at a ninety-degree angle into another section of the bas.e.m.e.nt, like a square added to the rectangle.

I explored back in that direction, hoping that that wasn't where the killer rats were hiding. More junk and broken furniture appeared in my circle of light. There was a large pile of lumber and some old broken doors in what I guessed to be an outside corner. Something scurried away from my light. Probably just a little mouse, I told myself.

Dark, dank bas.e.m.e.nts always make sounds seem much louder than they really are.

Just to prove to myself that I wasn't scared of any field mouse, I decided to look behind the doors. I lost my footing for a moment stepping over the lumber in my work pumps. That didn't do much for my rating on the Butch-o-Meter. I pulled the last door away from the wall, * 73 *

first s.h.i.+ning my light on the floor, just in case any cute, little, adorable rodent should be in the vicinity. A number of insects, but nothing mammalian. As I looked up, my flashlight illuminated something very interesting. Two rusty hinges attached to a metal door, maybe two feet by three. It was a very dusty black, evidently a coal chute. And it looked wide enough for me to fit in. Eureka! I remembered seeing a pile of old clothes somewhere. If I was going to be climbing up coal chutes, it might be a prudent idea to change out of my, so far, only slightly tarnished blue dress. I stumbled back over the lumber to the other side of the bas.e.m.e.nt, where I found what I was looking for. I took off my dress, slip, and panty hose, and folded them into my purse, which I hid in one of the bottom boxes. If I couldn't get out of the coal dump, maybe I could hide there and make them think that I had gotten away.

Before putting on my new clothes, I went over to a corner and peed.

Get the bodily functions out of the way now, instead of having to go while I'm fighting the bad guys. Then I tried on my new ensemble. A pair of holey jeans a size too big and a moth eaten T-s.h.i.+rt, also too big.