A Cool Breeze on the Underground (20 page)

24

Neal sat in one of the overstuffed wing chairs in the lobby of the hotel. He had chosen a seat where he could see both the elevators and the revolving door that led to the street. He tried hard to look composed and relaxed, but his stomach was jumping and his heart beating about eight trillion times a minute.

Please, Mrs. Goldman, get going. You don’t want to be late for the concert. Please come out of the next elevator. She didn’t.

He glanced out into the street, where he knew Colin and Crisp were waiting. Patience was not Colin’s long suit. Come on, Mrs. Goldman. Another elevator. Two well-dressed American ladies, neither of them Mrs. G. Who’s that? Another woman, not Mrs. Goldman.

He wondered about Allie, waiting in the hotel bar. At least he hoped she was waiting in the hotel bar, not shooting up in the ladies’ loo, or worse yet, out on the street looking for a connection. Time was not on his side in this thing, so, Mrs. Goldman, any haste would be appreciated. The elevator bell rang again. He had followed her to her room a bare two hours ago and held the surveillance, so he knew she was in there performing the complicated ablutions and ritual that go with a big night out. Let’s slip the frock on now, Mrs. G., and haul it down here. She wasn’t in the elevator.

Colin shifted his weight from one foot to the other again and gave Crisp a dirty look. Not that it was Crisp’s fault, he knew, but because Crisp was the only one there, and didn’t mind, anyway. That was what he was there for.

“Tardy, tardy,” Crisp said through a mouthful.

“Something’s wrong.”

“She’s late, that’s all. Maybe she’s giving the old man a quick one.”

Colin shot him an especially filthy look. “That would be just lovely, now, wouldn’t it?”

Allie was trying to hold it together. Her hand shook a little as she reached into her, bag for a handkerchief. Goddamn Colin,

anyway, she thought, and double goddamn that bastard Neal Carey. If they had let her have one little shot, just one little shot, she’d be all right. She’d be perfect. She’d be fan-fucking-tastic. Colin had even subjected her—no doubt at that prick Neal’s urging—to a search. The fact that’d turned up a little envelope of powder didn’t make it all right. She’d get even with him later.

Now she just wanted to get this over with. Do this john, pick up that triple motherfucker Neal, and get home for the promised fix. She didn’t even care that this was her last trick, ever; that Colin had told her this was her farewell performance, her retirement party, her swan song. Fine and dandy, Collie baby, but I need a little taste. And if Neal doesn’t hurry up and get in here, I’m going to go out and find one. One thing she’d learned in her short career as a lady of the evening: Every place has a back door.

Mrs. goldman looked good. Almost worth the wait, Neal thought as he watched her stride through the lobby and out the revolving door. He gave her a few paces and then picked her up. She asked the doorman to get her a cab, and as he stood blowing his whistle, Colin and Crisp walked to the corner, where they had a cab waiting. Neal watched Mrs. G. climb into her taxi, and watched the car carrying Colin pull into traffic behind her. Colin looked out the window, saw Neal, and gave him a quick thumbs-up sign. Let’s hope so, Colin, let’s hope so.

He found allie in the bar working on her third gin. He walked up in back of her and leaned over her shoulder. She jumped when he whispered, “Give it five minutes, then come up.”

She whipped her head around and glared at him. “Where the hell have you been?”

“Easy. Steady. You look great.”

“Fuck you.”

“Five minutes.”

Neal went up to his room and fixed a tall gin and tonic and a scotch. He dropped four muscle relaxers into the G&T, sat down on the bed, and waited. A few minutes later, a soft knock came on the door.

“Come in. It’s not locked.”

She made an entrance. Slinky black dress, bright smile, her long strand of pearls held in one hand. Sexy, young, willing. It was a great act.

Her smile dropped as she saw Neal and her eyebrows arched in question.

“He just called. He’s on his way. Nervous, I guess. Sit down. I made you a drink. Your favorite.”

She plopped down on the bed. “Just how nervous is he?” she asked, raising the ugly specter of potential impotence.

“Pretty nervous.”

“Great.”

“Cheers.”

She took a gulp of the drink and then they sat there looking at each other. A good two minutes passed while she sipped on her gin before she said, “Is this supposed to be a long concert?”

“Aren’t they all?”

Another couple of minutes, and then: “Look, why don’t I just go to his room, whip my clothes off, and—”

“That would kind of defeat the purpose.”

“Oh, yeah.”

Three minutes passed before she spoke again. “Maybe he’s killed himself, couldn’t stand the precoital guilt.” Two minutes later, she passed out cold.

Neal picked up the phone, rang the front desk, and asked for Hatcher. Five minutes later, the detective called him back.

“I have a problem,” Neal said.

“Why does this fail to surprise me? I’ll be up.” Hatcher suppressed a sneer with some effort when he saw the young lady passed out on Neal’s bed. “A bit too much of the old persuasion, son?”

“She arrived this way.”

Hatcher sniffed the near-empty glass of gin. “And she brought this with her, I suppose.”

Neal shrugged. “I could never deny a lady a drink.”

“I rather think you can never deny a lady at all. In any case, what is the problem?”

“I have to get her out of here.”

“That is your problem. What is mine?”

“Hatcher, do you really want me to drag her through the lobby with all those people down there? How will it look?”

“With all respect to your privacy, why can’t the young lady sleep it off right here?”

Neal did his best to work up a decent blush. What with the nerves and the fear and all, it wasn’t tough. “Because the young lady is quite young. Hatcher, I just want to take her home. Help me get her out quietly and into a cab, please?”

“This is a bit much.”

“Okay. You’re right. I’ll just drag her through the lobby.” He started to lift Allie off the bed.

“Is this the niece?” Hatcher asked.

Neal nodded.

“I don’t believe you actually found her.
And
managed to bag her.”

I’m not sure I believe it, either, Neal thought. “She’s not in the bag yet.”

“I’ll ring a cab. We’ll use the service entrance.”

“He‘s got her.”

The overseas connection wasn’t the greatest. The phone crackled and popped like a Rice Krispies commercial.

“Who’s got her?”

“Carey’s got the kid. She went up to his room with him, then they left out the back.”

“Shit. You know where they went?”

The guy was enjoying this. “You said not to follow him.”

There was a long silence. “
I
know where he went.”

“What now, boss?”

“Can you do it?”

“I don’t do that kind of work. But I know who will. Local talent named Colin. He’s her pimp, and you know pimps.”

A lot of snaps, crackles, and pops went by before he got his answer. “Okay. Make it happen. Here’s the address. Phone number if you want it.”

“Might come in handy.”

“Hey, just get it done.”

Colin was in a major-league sweat. He’d been standing in the fooking Covent Garden tube station for close to an hour. No Neal. He grabbed Crisp by the shirt when he came back from the phone.

“Alice isn’t back and no word from Neal. We’ve been fucked, Colin.”

“Not yet, we haven’t.”

They hopped the train and rode it to Piccadilly. He breezed past the young doorman and got into the lift. Outside Neal’s room, he felt for the knife in his jacket pocket and got ready to use it. He motioned Crisp to the other side of the door and then rang the bell. And waited. Waited a good five minutes before stationing Crisp at the lift and going to work on the door lock.

Inside the room, everything was gone: luggage, clothes, Neal, Alice, and the books.

Two minutes later, he was at the registration desk. “Mr. Carey’s room, please.”

“Mr. Carey has checked out, sir.”

Triple poxy whoredog asswipe. “Did he leave a forwardin’ address?”

“Let me see, sir.”

Hurry, mate. Hurry, hurry, hurry, hurry.

“No, sir, sorry.”

Colin slammed his fist on the counter. Then he headed for the door.

The doorman knew his lines. “Did you lose something, mate?”

“Did you find somethin’?”

Moments later, Colin and Crisp were in a taxi. Colin was thinking about bloody murder.

The doorman found the gentleman in the bar, just where he said he would be. “I did what you said.”

The gentleman slipped him a tenner. “Good job.”

The gentleman went to a phone and waited for the overseas connection to go through. “It’s over.”

“Hey, you sure?”

“He’s a duster.”

“What about her?”

“You kidding? A junkie and a pimp? It’s the perfect relationship. Forget about her.”

“Okay, get lost. Very lost.”

Allie started to come to as Neal plopped her on Simon’s bed. He was out of breath from lugging her dead weight up the stairs and maneuvering her into the bedroom. He was tying her wrists to the torn sheets when she woke up enough to speak.

“Are you kinky or something?” she asked, looking at the restraints but not necessarily objecting.

“I haven’t had the chance to find out.” He tightened the bonds just enough to hold her. It seemed to wake her up a little.

“Neal, what’s going on?”

“Nothing. I want you to get some rest.”

“Why are you tying me up?”

Neal sat down on the bed. He took her chin in his hand and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other.

“Alice, listen. No more smack. That’s over with.” He saw a fine edge of panic creep into her eyes. “I’m going to give you something to cool you out. It’ll be okay, but no more heroin for you.” She was still too woozy to really take in what he was saying, and he figured that was probably a blessing for them both. He broke a Valium in half and gave it to her with a swallow of Coke. The sugar would help. She fought him a little at first, but her body wanted sleep and her mind wanted refuge, so after a few seconds she took the pill. Neal sat with her for the few minutes it took her to go to sleep. Then he shut the door, went into the kitchen, and fixed himself a cup of coffee.

Seventy-two hours. He needed seventy-two hours and that should get them through the worst of it. She wasn’t too badly hooked and there was no question of her dying of withdrawal. He knew he could nurse her through it, knew he could get her off smack and get hooked on Neal, because that’s what it took. Three days of this and she’d belong to him as if he bought her at an auction. More than that, because she’d want it, too. That’s the way junkies are, and it takes a long time before they get to a place where they can stand up by themselves. So he’d wean her off the dope, and tell her he loved her, that he’d be her new man and take care of her, that they’d take the money and split and live happily ever after. Then he would whip her on an airplane and take her back and hand her over and that would be that. And it’s a shifty world, but there would be plenty of time to reflect on what a dark hole the universe is when this particularly shifty job was over. And he wasn’t letting her out of his sight, because she wasn’t going to be any Halperin kid. All he needed was seventy-two hours … seventy-two mean, sweaty hours—especially for Allie.

The ringing of the phone cut right through him. Made his heart jump a little before he reasoned that it was probably a friend of Simon’s who didn’t know his schedule. He went into the sitting room and lifted the receiver. “Hello.” “Hello, rugger.”

Neal edged to the window and inched the curtain aside. Colin probably didn’t have a gun, much less a rifle, but there was no sense taking chances.

Colin waved to him from the phone box—a cheery little wave accompanied by a wide grin. Vanessa was with him. He couldn’t see Crisp, which meant that he was out back—along with God knows how many others. Neal closed the curtain and stepped back into the middle of the room. “Hello, Colin.” “You’re dead. She with you?” “No.”

“Lying bastard. She’s dead, too.” “Come on up. We’ll talk.”

“I’ll be up, all right, rugger. Not to worry. When I’m ready.” He rang off. Neal’s mind raced. Come on, think. Cut through the fear and think. You weren’t followed; you’re sure of that. Sure or just arrogant? No, sure. Okay, who knew about this place? Simon. He’s out. Kitteredge, Levine, and Graham. Couldn’t be Kitteredge; makes no sense. Levine and Graham. Say it ain’t so, Joe. And how would they hook up with Colin? Unless they knew about him all along. Unless I was sent to make Liz Chase happy, while the Senator and everyone else wanted Allie to stay lost. So when I find her … I’m written off. I should have seen it. No files on the kid. Fed the Mackensen bullshit story like it’s gospel. No backup. No partner. Check in every day, let us know how you’re doing … Well, I’m doing pretty shitty right now, Ed.

It’s 11:15, give or take. Colin is waiting for the small hours, when screams can be written off as nightmares. When the streets are quiet. No passersby. Then he’s got you.

The fear hit him again. The slash of the knife across his face. There was no way he could take Colin, no way.

Knock it off, Neal. Think. Run it through. You could call the cops. And tell them what? That you’ve kidnapped a girl? Fed her drugs? She’s tied up in the other room? Not a good choice. Okay, deal. You have the books. Trade him the books for Allie. Why should he? He can have it all. But he needs the name of the buyer for it to do him any good. Bargain there. No, he can get that out of you. You’ll talk. Colin holds a knife to Allie’s face. Shit, babe, be honest. If he holds a knife to your face, you’ll tell him.

And where would you go? Even if you got out of here, where would you go? You could make a break for it. Throw her over your shoulder and run for the tube. It’s closed, moron, and you’d never make it five steps. A cab? Same. That leaves the car. Down the back stairs and into the garage. Assuming you make it, where could you take her? Fuck her. Maybe you can handle Crisp on the back stairs and make it to the car, but not with her. Dump her, babe.