Straight No Chaser (33 page)

“Listen, Crang, my man,” he said. “You just relax up now. What I'm gonna do, I'm gonna remove the piece from my pocket at the front here. Keep it below the tablecloth. No fuss or muss for anyone. And you're gonna slip me the money belts under the table, you with me?”

I didn't answer.

“And after that,” Bam went on, slick as grease, “I'll take my leave of you folks. Let you enjoy the evening. Drink your aperitifs. Sit tight. All that. You hear what I'm saying?”

What should I say? “No dice” would be dramatic. But did I want drama? Something neutral would be better. Delay for a time. Somebody might come to my rescue.

Big Bam showed signs he didn't have time and wasn't inclined to delay. He unfolded his hands on top of the table, and dropped the right one into his lap. I knew what that meant. He was going into the jumpsuit for his gun.

I'd run out of choices.

I was down to one.

I shot Big Bam.

The noise I made, the noise of Tran's gun, wasn't louder than the squibby pop of a small firecracker, and the hubbub of the packed room cancelled out the tiny sound. Bam may not have heard the shot, but the evidence seemed to be he felt it. He went over the left side of his chair toward Cam's lap. He didn't topple out of the chair. It looked more like he'd dropped to grab at something down below.

“What happened?” Annie asked me.

“Shot the bad guy,” I said.

Bam, bent over and out of my sight, was muttering in Vietnamese, and sprinkling the mutters with little whimpers.

“Where'd I get him, Cam?” I said.

Cam wore an expression of horrified distaste. He was pushing at Bam, whose slumped weight was dislodging Cam from his own chair.

“I think he's been hit in the foot,” Cam said.

“Nice shooting, sweetie,” Annie said. “Put the guy on the disabled list.”

“There's no blood down there,” Cam said.

I said, “Beats me the damned bullet even got through his shoe.”

Bam groaned something in Vietnamese from under the table.

“Cameron,” a deep voice broke in.

None of us saw the man approach our table. He was tall and slim, and had wavy grey hair and a spiffy three-piece brown suit.

“Why, Stuffy,” Cam said, coming out of his chair. He moved so abruptly that the moaning Bam slumped against Cam's thighs.

Stuffy? This gentleman was Detective Stuffy Kernohan? But he was supposed to be short, round, and red-faced. At least in my mind. In real life, he looked like a brain surgeon.

“I've a painful duty, Cam,” Kernohan said.

“It's all right, Stuffy.” Cam put a hand on Kernohan's shoulder. “I already know. Trevor's dead.”

“That sad news travelled quickly,” Kernohan said. He had two men behind him who looked like real cops. Lumpy guys with no necks and polyester suits.

“This man here may be responsible for Trevor's death,” Cam said, trying to pry Big Bam off his legs.

“Who is he?” Kernohan asked.

Cam turned to me, and Kernohan followed his glance.

“Ng Thai,” I said. “But you'll recognize him as Big Bam, the master of revels at the booze can you raided tonight.”

The two lumpy guys squeezed past their boss and pulled Big Bam up by his shoulders. Bam let out another groan.

“Don't be a baby, Bam,” I said. “It's only your foot.”

“And where did you belong in all of this?” Kernohan asked me.

“He's the lawyer I told you about,” Cam answered.

“Crang?” Kernohan said.

“In person,” I said.

“We expected to meet you inside the booze can.”

“Well, something came up, and I had to stay undercover. Underground too, come to that.”

Our waiter pushed between Kernohan and the other two cops.

“Will you gentlemen be ordering?” he asked.

“I'll have another double vodka,” I said. “What're you drinking, Annie?”

“
Crang
,” Cam said, reproving.

“White wine, please,” Annie spoke up.

Bam whimpered.

“What's the matter with him?” Kernohan asked.

I brought my right hand from under the table, and dropped Tran's gun on the cloth. The two lumpy cops made quick moves inside their suit jackets.

“Never mind,” Kernohan told them.

“I had to wing Bam with this thing,” I said. “Or, wait, you call it
wing
when you get a guy in the foot?”

“Never mind, Crang,” Cam said.

“Anyway,” I said, “the popgun belongs to a guy named Nghiep Tran. He works for Bam. If you check, you should find Tran's already been nabbed by your fellas at the subway station down the street from here.”

One of the lumps took a handkerchief out of his pocket and picked up Tran's gun with it.

“You guys want a real mean six-shooter,” I said, “unzip the front pocket on Big Bam's jumpsuit.”

The second lump went into the handkerchief number and took charge of Bam's gun.

“You seem to know a great deal about all of this,” Kernohan said to me.

“Happy to share it with you,” I said. “But maybe your first order of business is getting Bam out of here and patched up.”

Bam moaned on cue.

“Stop acting like a wimp, Bam,” I said. “It's just a little ping in the foot.”

“You come too, Crang,” Kernohan said. “I want to hear how this man killed Trevor Dalgleish.”

“Ten minutes, Stuffy,” I said. “Annie and I've got drinks on the way.”

Kernohan stiffened, and the two cops in polyester looked like they were itching to cuff me or something else fierce.

Cam stepped in.

“Perhaps we can leave Crang for the moment, Stuffy,” he said. “You and I might profitably exchange a few thoughts.”

“Before the press gets wind of tonight's events,” I said.

“I'll speak to you about silence later,” Cam said to me.

“And about a fee?” I said.

Cam latched on to Kernohan's elbow, and steered him between the tables toward the door. Kernohan didn't seem to object. The two cops hoisted Big Bam under the arms, and escorted him in the same direction. Bam was hopping on one foot.

The waiter returned with our drinks.

“Are these charged to the Charles party?” he asked.

“And give yourself a generous tip,” I said. “Twenty-five per cent.”

The waiter gushed his thanks and left.

“What a hero,” Annie said to me.

“Hard part's up ahead,” I said, going for a modest tone. “Stuffy'll keep me explaining all night.”

“Poor baby.”

“Do this for me, honeybun,” I said. “Guy in the phone book named Ralph Goddard. Call him and get his summer cottage number. That's where Dave Goddard is. Phone Dave and tell him it's all clear to come home.”

“The jazz musician,” Annie said. “Everything that's happened tonight, I forgot he was the point of the whole exercise.”

“Dave's not enraptured with the ornithology up where he is.”

I took a long, comforting pull on my vodka.

“That was incredible marksmanship,” Annie said. “Shooting blind like that, under the table, and you got the man in the foot.”

“Not so incredible,” I said. “I was aiming at his knee.”