Known Devil Read online

  “Do tell,” I said.

  “Is this secret stuff?” Christine asked. “Should I go out in the hall?”

  Karl gave her a smile and a shrug. “Don’t see why. Your old man’s gonna tell you all about it later, anyway.” He looked at me. “Right?”

  “Yeah, most likely,” I said.

  “Since he trusts you, I trust you,” he told Christine. “You might as well stick around. Besides, you’re the only one in here who’s easy on the eyes.”

  They exchanged that look again, and I made myself stop wondering what it might mean. Christine’s love life is none of my damn business, as she’d be the first one to tell me. Neither is Karl’s.

  But – my daughter and my partner. Dear sweet merciful Jesus.

  “So you got this email…” I said to Karl.

  “Yeah, from a guy who’s kinda on the fringes of the Calabrese organization. He picks up interesting gossip once in a while. He trades it for small favors, or just the chance to bank some goodwill.” He paused.

  “Come on, Karl,” I said. “Stop milking it. What’s the guy say?”

  “He tells me that Calabrese has brought in some out-of-town talent to help in this war with the Delatassos.”

  “Philadelphia?” I asked. “Don’t tell me we’ve got more thugs from Philly in town.”

  “No, this one’s from Boston. And he’s no run-of-the mill thug. Word is, Calabrese hired John Wesley Harding.”

  There was silence in my little room until Christine broke it by saying, “John Wesley Harding? Wasn’t he some desperado in the Old West?”

  “Hardin,” Karl said. “You’re thinking of John Wesley Hardin. This guy’s name is the same, except for the ‘g’ at the end.”

  “Desperado’s not a bad description, though, from the stories I heard,” I said. “Dude’s supposed to’ve killed more people than the Black Death, although that’s an exaggeration. Probably.”

  “Is he warm?” Christine asked.

  “He was,” I said. “Still is, as far as I know. Maybe that’s why Calabrese hired him. Could be he wants somebody who’s as deadly in daylight as he is at night. That’d be pretty useful in the kind of war Calabrese is fighting.”

  “Wonder if one of Harding’s parents was a Bob Dylan fan?” Karl said.

  “Well, what I’m wondering,” Christine said, “is whether he’s Daddy’s ‘guardian angel’.”

  Karl looked at her. “You mean whoever iced those three guys this morning?”

  “Them, as well as the one who took out the Delatasso fangster who got behind me, that night Calabrese got cornered,” I said. “I agree with McGuire – it seems pretty unlikely that I’ve got two guardian angels. I think it’s pretty amazing that I have even one.”

  “Well, whoever he is, it’s probably not Mister Harding,” Karl said. “My source says that Calabrese just hired him, and the dude hasn’t even hit town yet.”

  “Your source could be wrong,” Christine said. “That ever happen to you?”

  “Sure, all the time,” Karl said. “And if his information was off by just a few hours, then, yeah, it could put Harding behind Jerry’s Diner this morning, in time to save Stan’s ass. But it still doesn’t explain the Delatasso guy who got nailed in the street last week.”

  “Why not?” Christine asked.

  “Because if somebody on Calabrese’s payroll had killed that shooter who’d got behind me,” I said, “Calabrese wouldn’t have been shy about saying so. In fact, he’d probably have told me that it wipes out whatever obligation he might have incurred when I saved his ass.”

  Christine frowned. “So, we’re back to square one,” she said. “Either there are two different ‘guardian angels’ involved here–”

  “Which seems unlikely,” I said.

  “Which seems unlikely,” she agreed. “Or it wasn’t this Harding guy at all. So we still don’t know who’s doing it.”

  “Yeah, I can’t even send him a ‘Thank You’ card,” I said. “Too bad. I had a nice one all picked out.”

  Nobody spoke for a little while, then Christine said, “We were talking about Lacey earlier. It just occurred to me that she makes pretty good guardian-angel material, Daddy. She likes you, and you told me that she’s pretty handy with a gun. What do you think?”

  “Hmmm. I never thought of that,” Karl said.

  “Absolutely not,” I said. “No fucking way.”

  Christine tilted her head a little to one side. “How come you’re so sure?”

  “Like I told you – Lacey’s in Wisconsin, visiting her sister.”

  “Maybe she came back early,” Christine said, “and hasn’t told you yet.”

  “No chance,” I said. “If she was back in town, she’d have let me know.” I paused for a second. “Probably.”

  That prompted another exchange of meaningful looks between Christine and Karl – something I was starting to get tired of.

  Karl looked at me. “You and Lace ever figure out what kind of relationship you guys want?”

  “We’re still working on that,” I said. “That’s one of the things she said she wanted to think about out in Wisconsin.”

  Karl nodded as if he understood, although I was pretty sure he didn’t.

  “Besides,” I said, “if Lacey was watching my back like that, she’d want me to know about it. She wouldn’t be pulling this Lone Ranger crap and disappearing once her work was done.”

  “OK,” Christine said. “If you say so. It was just a thought.”

  “You’re probably right, Stan – it’s not Lacey who’s your shadow,” Karl said. He gave me a half-smile. “Hell, I bet she doesn’t even know what evil lurks in the hearts of men.”

  “Of course she does, Karl,” I said quietly. “She’s a cop, isn’t she? She knows.” I looked toward my vampire daughter. “We all know.”

  “So, who’s gonna replace Victor Castle,” I asked Christine, “as the capo di tutti supi?” I noticed sirens in the distance, but that’s a pretty common sound around a hospital.

  “It’s anybody’s guess,” she said. “No clear candidate has emerged, as they say.”

  “I was in the hospital when Castle took over from the late Mister Vollman, so I never got around to asking you about the process. How does the supe community choose a leader, anyway? Is there a series of… primaries or something?”

  The sirens were louder now, and there were more of them. But the sound didn’t seem to be getting any closer to the hospital.

  Christine gave me a small smile. “It’s nothing so organized,” she said. “What usually happens is–”

  That was when music started coming from Karl’s pocket – the first thirteen notes of the James Bond theme, to be exact. Karl had just received a text message.

  He doesn’t get them very often, so he pulled out his phone, thumbed an icon, and looked at the screen. From his expression, I was pretty sure he wasn’t reading birthday greetings from his mom, and my suspicion was confirmed when he said, “Aw, fuck!”

  As he put the phone back in his pocket, Christine and I both said, “What?” at the same time.

  “There’s been another bombing,” he said to Christine, then looked at me. “Ricardo’s Ristorante.”

  The sudden jolt of adrenaline started the bump on my head throbbing all over again as I asked Karl, “How bad?”

  “McGuire didn’t say – you can’t put a lot of info into a text message, anyway. But when’s the last time you heard of a bombing that wasn’t bad, Stan?”

  “Yeah – I withdraw the question.” I threw back the blanket and sheet and swung my legs slowly over the side of the bed.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Christine asked, but before I could say anything, she went on, “Never mind, I know where. But why, Daddy? The fucking bomb already went off, right? And there’s gonna be a gazillion cops and firemen and paramedics and gosh knows what – all over the place. Why do you have to be there?”

  “So I can find out what the fuck is going on!”r />
  I stood up, and the pounding in my head immediately shifted from second gear into third. I glanced back at the sterile-looking hospital bed, and at that moment it looked like a really good place to be. But I turned away from it and started walking toward the suitcase that Christine had brought me.

  “I don’t mean to throw you out, honey,” I told Christine. I picked up the suitcase and tossed it on the bed. “But unless you want to embarrass us both by seeing your old man naked, maybe you’d better leave. I’ll see you when I get home, unless it’s after sunrise. In that case, I’ll talk to you at breakfast.”

  She made an exasperated sound, but her voice was calm as she said, “I don’t suppose arguing’s gonna do any good, huh?”

  Karl answered her before I could. “You’ve known him longer than I have, babe. What do you think?”

  Babe. I wondered if it was too late to have that talk with Christine about the bats and the bees.

  Yeah – about twenty years too late. Maybe more.

  Christine gave him one of those What can you do? expressions, then turned to me and said, “I guess I’ll see you at breakfast, Daddy – if not before.”

  She stepped closer and kissed my cheek. “Be careful – there’s likely to be a lot of broken glass out there.”

  “I will.”

  I wondered if Karl was going to get a kiss, too – but apparently they weren’t willing to do that in front of me yet. He got a friendly nod and “’Bye, Karl,” and then she was gone.

  I dropped the hospital gown, then opened the suitcase and began to pull clothes out of it. Getting dressed doesn’t usually pose a challenge for me, but this time was a little different. The first time I bent over, I was afraid my head was going to explode. Then I started hoping it would explode and put me out of my misery.

  With a little help from Karl, I managed to make myself presentable. I filled the empty suitcase with the dirty clothing I’d been wearing when they brought me in, closed it, and said, “OK, let’s go.”

  “You want a wheelchair, get you as far as the front door?”

  I looked at him. “You figure they’re going to have any wheelchairs at the fucking crime scene?”

  He shrugged. “I could borrow one from here.”

  “Yeah, and I can just hear the other guys from the squad when I show up looking like you just sprung me from the Shady Rest Old Folks Home. I might hear the end of it in ten, maybe fifteen years. Fuck that shit – no wheelchair.”

  “Then at least let me carry the damn suitcase.”

  “Fine – take it.”

  As we passed the nurses’ station, one of the ladies in scrubs glanced up at us from her clipboard, then did a double take. “Mister Markowski! What are you doing out of bed? I need you to–”

  With his free hand, Karl held his ID folder out and growled, “Police business.” Then he flashed her a little fang. I’m not sure which impressed the nurse more, but after a second, she picked up the clipboard again and began studying it like she was trying to memorize every damn word.

  When we came through the sliding doors of the front entrance, Karl said, “Wait here – I’ll bring the car around.”

  “I can walk to the fucking car, dammit! Stop treating me like some kind of invalid.”

  Karl turned and faced me. “Stan – I’m a member of the bloodsucking undead, right?”

  “Yeah – so?”

  “So, I can’t see myself in a mirror. But I’d still bet fifty bucks that right about now you make me look good. Just stay put while I get the fucking car, OK?”

  Before I could come up with a suitable retort, Karl turned and started walking away. Then a few seconds later the vampire afterburners kicked in and he disappeared into the night.

  Fucking undead showoff.

  We hadn’t gone very far from Mercy’s parking area when I started to wonder why Karl was driving like a little old lady on her way home from a Sunday social. Then I got it: he was trying to avoid the many bumps and potholes, to cut down on any bouncing around that would make my head hurt worse than it already did.

  “Karl.”

  “What?”

  “I know what you’re doing, and I appreciate it. I really do. But nobody ever died from a goddamn headache, and I want to get to the crime scene ASAP – so will you fucking move?”

  He glanced at me. “Yes sir.”

  Karl pressed down on the accelerator while reaching under the dash with one hand. He flicked a switch, and the red LED lights behind the grille started flashing their get-the-hell-out-of- the way message. Then he found the toggle that controls the siren.

  The high-pitched wailing noise that began an instant later cut into the back of my head like the business end of a Black & Decker Model 12V. And like the Energizer Bat, it just kept going, and going, and going.

  Be careful what you wish for, Markowski.

  I did my best to keep the pain off my face, but that’s the thing about having a vampire partner – he can sense changes in your heart rate, and sudden agony will definitely kick things up a notch or two.

  Karl gave me another sideways look. “Pretty bad, huh?”

  “I’m alright – just drive.”

  Eight long minutes later, we arrived at the scene of the restaurant bombing – or as close as we were able to get. What looked like dozens of official cars and vans were blocking Moosic Street, all with their own lights going – red, blue, or yellow, depending on the department responding. The effect that light show had on my pounding head made me want to squeeze my eyes shut and keep them that way – for a week, maybe. But Karl and I had a three-block hike in front of us, and I wasn’t going to do it like some kind of blind man. So, squinting like the second lead in a spaghetti western, I got out of the car.

  The walk was slow going, what with the police and emergency vehicles parked at crazy angles and the immense crowd of gawkers standing around, probably hoping to see a dead body being carried away – or, better yet, a headless corpse.

  Finally, we came to the barrier of yellow crime-scene tape that extended from one side of the street to the other, uniformed cops standing behind it every fifty feet or so. The one we approached, a red-haired patrolman named McHale, knew us by sight and lifted the tape so Karl and I could duck under it. Bending over like that achieved something I wouldn’t have thought possible – it made the pounding in my head even worse. When we’d straightened up, I said to Karl, “Let’s wait here a minute or two, see what’s going on.” Truth was, I just wanted to stand still and see whether the pain would back off a bit – just receding from “Intolerable” to merely “Pretty Fucking Awful” would’ve been OK with me.

  Karl looked at me, but all he said was, “Sure, Stan.”

  If McGuire had been there, I was prepared to listen to a bunch of “I told you not to act like some TV hero” crap, but I guessed he’d stayed back at the station house. Maybe my night was improving – a little.

  Christine had been right, back at the hospital. There was nothing I could do here that all the other professionals on scene couldn’t do, and probably better. But there were things I wanted to know. Besides, I couldn’t stay in a hospital bed while every other cop in the city was on the streets working this case. I just couldn’t.

  After a while, the pain did let up a little – enough for me to focus on the scene before us. And quite a scene it was.

  This section of Moosic Street was brightly lit, but all of the illumination came either from the headlights of emergency vehicles or the dozen or so HMI lights that had been rigged by the police and fire departments. None of the usual light sources were worth shit at the moment.

  Up and down the street, tall wooden lampposts were either bent in half, their lights smashed on the ground, or just knocked flat by the explosion. Most of the power poles had gone down, too, taking the electrical wires along with them. Several loose wires lay on the asphalt, still live, sparking and hissing like wounded dragons.

  What I could see of the street – the part that wasn’t covered
with debris or puddles left by the fire hoses – had depressions in the asphalt, as if a T-Rex had stomped through, on his way to eat Dixon City. Broken glass was everywhere, and the air was thick with the odor of gasoline, burned rubber, scorched metal, and several other smells that I couldn’t identify.

  “Blood,” said Karl, the mind reader. “There’s a lot of blood in the air.”

  “You gonna be alright?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine,” he said quickly. Maybe a little too quickly.

  “Look – Scanlon’s here,” I said, as much to change the subject as anything else.

  “I’m not surprised. Lot of work for him and his boys tonight.”

  Hugh Scanlon made his careful way toward us, stepping over or around the worst of the debris, avoiding the puddles made by the fire hoses. He kept his hands in the pockets of the light topcoat that he seemed to be wearing every time I saw him.

  When he reached us, Scanlon stopped and looked me over. “I heard you were dead,” he said finally. “Looks like the reports are only half right.”

  “Yeah, I get that a lot,” I told him.

  “Me, too,” Karl said.

  Scanlon gave him a look and turned back to me. “I’ve heard about six different stories about you,” he said. “You know how cops are – they gossip worse than a bunch of old ladies.”

  I gave him raised eyebrows. “They?”

  “I just listen,” he said with a shrug. “That doesn’t count.”

  “If you say so,” I said.

  “One version says that you were jumped by a bunch of guys behind Jerry’s and managed to take out three of them before they finally took you off the count.”

  “I think I’ll encourage that one,” I said. “The first part of it, at least. Makes me sound dangerous.”

  “Yeah, whatever,” Scanlon said. “Another story has you in Mercy Hospital, deep into a coma due to a fractured skull.” He leaned a little to one side to get a better look at my bandaged lump. “Looks like they weren’t far wrong,” he said. “About the fractured skull, I mean.”

  “I’m doing OK,” I lied. “They say I don’t even have a concussion. Just some bruises, a big lump, and frequent visits from the Headache from Hell.”