Night and Day (Book 3): Bandit's Moon (15 page)

“Schleu? That her name?”

“I nodded.

“Yeah, usually two of her boys,
sometimes three. One in front, one or two behind. And packing. No long
guns, but sometimes you’d see a pistol or one of those little
machineguns.”

“Were the people being forced to go
to the Floresta?”

“If they were, sure didn’t look
like it to me. They looked happy, maybe even kind of excited.”

I didn’t say anything for a moment.
I’d been hoping to get a handle on what was going on, and none of what
Eichhorn was saying was helpful.

I sighed. “Okay, so the guys bring
them up and...what?”

“They get up near the door and the
door opens,” he said. “The lady, Schleu, comes out. Stands on the steps in
front of them. Talks to them for a minute or two. Like she’s giving a
speech or something. Then she leads everybody inside.”

A speech. Welcoming speech?
Recruitment speech, maybe? But recruiting for what? Whatever else it was,
the Humans First Front was well armed and probably pretty effective. They
wouldn’t need to pull people off the street to beef up their
ranks.

“So how many total did you see go
inside.”

“Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Welles. Say
four groups a day, eight or ten in each group for the four days we were
watching. At least a hundred, I guess, maybe a hundred and
fifty.”

“Must be getting pretty crowded in
there,” I muttered, more to myself than Eichhorn.

“Nah, people are leaving all the
time,” he said.

“The same people?”

“I guess. I mean, we couldn’t
recognize everybody who came and went, but sometimes, you know, you see a
good looking woman and you pay more attention to her. And you notice her
when she leaves.”

“They leave in a group, like when
they came?”

He shook his head. “No, they leave
a couple at a time. Two or three. Sometimes they got one of Schleu’s boys
with them, sometimes not.”

“Where do they go?”

He stared at me and shrugged.
“Someplace else. They hit the sidewalk and take off. We don’t pay attention
to them. I mean, we’re supposed to be keeping an eye out for the
lady.”

I felt like there was something
else I should be asking, something that would help it all make sense. But I
had nothing. So it was time to let him take a crack at it.

“Anything else you remember that I
didn’t ask about?”

Eichhorn shrugged. “That’s about
it,” he said. “We watch every day. Take pictures of the guards and when the
lady, Schleu, shows up. That’s...”

“Wait,” I said quickly. “You take
pictures?”

“Sure,” he said, looking at
Werkle.

“We show ‘em to Terry Legs,” Werkle
said with a thin smile. “We’re gonna kill that fucking
pucchiacha
,
what do you call her, Schleu. But we also want the fuck that clipped
Ralphie.”

“Where are the
pictures?”

“At a place we got on Bedford,” he
said. “A kinda clubhouse. That’s where Terry hangs out when he’s not
working. Easier to send the pictures over there than have him come here
every time we get another batch. He sees that
strunz
that clipped
Ralphie, he’ll sing out.”

“Can I get a look at the photos?” I
wanted to absolutely confirm that it was Schleu. And if possible, get a
look at the people they were bringing inside the Floresta.

“Sure, that ain’t a problem,”
Werkle said. “You can do that in the morning. I’ll have ‘em brought
here.”

The morning. More time lost. I only
had three full days until Christmas Eve and what Redmond called
Armageddon.

I was just about to say something,
urge Werkle to let me go over to the Bedford clubhouse tonight, when I
realized he had more to say.

“You’ll my guests tonight,” he
said. “I’ll call Eddie and let him know.”

Before I could decline the
invitation, Angelo said, “Thank you, Don Alfredo. We’d be honored to be
your guests.”

Werkle smiled. “You’re friends of
Eddie’s, so you’re friends of mine. My home is your home.”

I wasn’t anybody’s friend and this
wasn’t my home. But Angelo had left me with no outs. I needed to see those
photos. I needed to talk to Terry Legs. I needed Werkle’s help to do both.
And now that Angelo had accepted for both of us, I couldn’t say
no.

“That’s very kind, Mr. Werkle,” I
said. I’m not sure I sounded real happy about it, but it was the best I
could do.

“Mario, take them to Don Carlo’s
suite and make sure they’re comfortable,” Werkle said. He smiled at us.
“I’m sorry to give you the bums rush, but I have some other business to
take care of tonight.”

Angelo stood. “Of course,” he said.
“Have a good evening, Don Alfredo.”

I hesitated, then got up from the
chair. “Thanks again for all the help, Mr. Werkle.”

“This way, guys,” Mario
said.

We followed him out of the office
and back down the paneled hall, through the house, back to the foyer. Mario
started up the staircase, and we followed.

The second floor wasn’t as
grotesque in terms of decor. There was still plenty of ugly flowered
wallpaper and paint-on-velvet pictures in ornate molded plaster frames, but
nary a child angel statue to be seen.

Mario took us down a side hall and
opened a door. “Don Carlo’s suite,” he said.

The sitting room had some armchairs
and a couch, upholstered in the same flowery pattern as the chairs in
Werkle’s office. Three open doorways led off from the room. One looked like
it led to a bathroom and I could see beds through the other two.

“Breakfast at eight,” Mario said.
“I’ll have them pictures here by eight-thirty.” He looked at me. “You need
to talk to Terry too?”

I nodded. “That would be a big
help.”

“No problem, I’ll have him bring
‘em. Seeya in the morning.”

He closed the door behind him when
he left.

I turned to Angelo. “I don’t want
to sound rude or ungrateful, but what the fuck was the idea of accepting
Werkle’s invite? Don’t you think you should have asked me about staying
overnight before you accepted for both of us?”

“I’m trying to help you, Mr.
Welles,” he said. “You said Christmas Eve is your deadline. Werkle is a
bloodsucker. He doesn’t do business during the daytime. If we didn’t stay,
you wouldn’t see those pictures till tomorrow night.”

“But he said we could see them in
the morning. And Mario confirmed it.”

“Sure. Because we’ll already be
here, Werkle will let Two-Mouths handle it.”

“Who?”

“Mario,” he said. “Two-Mouths. One
on his face, one...” He drew his thumb across his throat.

“Yeah, I noticed. Who cut
him?”

“Arnie Kaiser,” Angelo said. “Mario
was still working for Frankie Lavino, which is how I met him, back before
the war. And Kaiser and Lavino were butting heads. So one night Kaiser was
cruising the east side, and he spots Mario on the sidewalk, just walking
along, minding his own business. Arnie pulls over, his boys grab Mario.
Arnie slashes him, takes a sip, then leaves him there.”

I’d had my own encounter with Arnie
The Razor. And I would have ended up just like Mario if it wasn’t for
Tiffany Takeda. And her sword.
 

“Mario’s the underboss. Handles
business for Werkle while he’s sleeping.” He paused. “And he owes me.
Frankie the Wino was a real back-down guy, and he was scared of Kaiser. So
he let what happened to Mario slide. No payback. Mario never got over that.
When I whacked Frankie, I was also doing Mario a favor, and he knows it.”
He paused. “Things will go smoother with Mario than with his
boss.”

“I’ll take your word for
it.”

“Don’t worry,” he said. “Ed sent me
to make sure you got what you needed. And that’s what I’ll do, if you don’t
get in my way.”

“You’re the expert.”

“Yeah,” he said. “So which bedroom
do you want? Barozie’s or the one for the muscle.”

“Barozie,” I repeated. “I was
wondering who the Don Carlo was that they named the suite
after.”

“Werkle made it up special for him,
so he could come visit the east side and stay in style. I hear Barozie only
spent one single night here. He didn’t like Werkle because he was a candy
brain, and he didn’t like the east side because it’s a shit hole. All he
liked was the money Werkle sent uptown every week.”

“You take Barozie’s bedroom,” I
said with a smile. “Be a Don for a night.”

“
Sfiga
,” he said. “Don’t say
that. Barozie’s dead. It’s bad luck.”

“Sorry,” I said. “It was a
joke.”

“It wasn’t funny.” He crossed the
room and peered into both bedrooms. “You sure? Bed in Barozie’s is bigger
and it’s got a toilet.”

“Yeah, take it,” I said. “I’ll be
fine.”

“Suit yourself,” he said. “I’ll see
you in the morning.”

After he closed the bedroom door, I
stood there for a moment before I headed for the other bedroom. Christmas
Eve was four days away, and I wasn’t any closer to finding out what Schleu
had planned than when I started.

If that didn’t change soon, I might
have to go to Plan B. B for Bain, the Deputy Area Governor who could bring
the full weight of the Security Force down on the Floresta. And maybe B for
Bad.

Bad for vampires. Bad for
humans.

Chapter
Ten

I didn’t like Terry Legs from the
minute I laid eyes on him.

I’d slept pretty well, despite
Angelo’s buzzsaw snoring from the other bedroom. The wall between the
muscle bedroom and the Don’s bedroom was thin. Maybe deliberately so. When
a bodyguard can’t keep an eye on his principal, an ear can be almost as
good.

Breakfast was runny scrambled eggs,
limp, greasy bacon, and coffee. I think Mario made it himself. He seemed to
enjoy it, and so did Angelo. Me? At least the coffee was good. Better than
the conversation.

I tried to pay attention to Angelo
and Mario’s chitchat, but eventually it just got to be too much. This guy
did this and that guy did that, and did you hear what happened to Vinnie
the Nose? They didn’t try to include me, and I didn’t try to get involved
with their shop talk. None of it had anything to do with my Schleu problem,
so I just tuned it out.

Thankfully it was over in half an
hour and Mario ushered us to a small office, off the foyer, where we would
meet with Terry Legs.

Around eight-forty, Terry showed
up. Ten minutes late. He slouched into the office and leaned against the
door frame. Terry was a tall, slender Spanish kid, with curly hair to his
shoulders. He wore a black leather jacket, jeans, high-top black sneakers
and a t-shirt that said ‘Honest, your Honor, it was just a snuggle
struggle’.

His flat, dead stare flickered over
me, then Angelo. “What’s up, big man?” he said to Mario. “Who’s the
suits?”

“Mr. Vitale and Mr. Welles,” Mario
said. “They’re friends of Don Alfredo’s and they got some questions for
you.”

“Sure,” he said. He looked at me
and smiled, flashing a mouthful of big, yellowing teeth. “You got the
questions, Legs got the answers.”

“You bring them pictures with you
like I said?” Mario asked.

“Sure thing, Mario.” He reached
into his jacket and pulled out a handful of photos.

Mario jerked his chin at me. “Give
them to Mr. Welles.”

Terry handed them to me with a
loose, easy smile. “Here ya go, dog,” he said.

I took them without a word and
looked at the photo on top. Katarina Schleu, a sentry on either side, one
hand extended to a small group of people in front of her. I set them aside.
I’d go through them after I was done with Terry.

“I’m not your fucking dog,” I said,
looking up at him. “You have some problem, a weakness that makes you lean
on that doorway?”

“Easy, man,” he said, pushing away
from the door frame. “You don’t need to be harsh.”

I did need to be harsh. I’d talked
to a hundred east side shitbirds like Terry Legs in my six years with
Robbery-Homicide before the war. The only way to get what you wanted was to
slap them down, early and hard. Set some ground rules for what was to
come.

“Shut it, asshole,” I said quietly.
“I ask you questions, you answer. All I want to hear coming out of your
mouth is answers. Save the rest for your
cholos.
I’m not
interested.” I paused. “Got it?”

“Yeah, man, I got it,” he said.
“Geez.”

“So what do you do?”

“What do I do?” he asked. “I’m a
lover, man. I share myself with any sweet bitch that catches my eye.” He
grinned and thrust his pelvis forward a couple of times, I guess to make
sure I understood what he was talking about. I didn’t need the
visual.

“What about the ones that aren’t
interested?”