MaxAllan Collins - Quarry's vote

“Don’t turn on the lights,” I told her, “and don’t turn around.”

“Don’t rape me,” she said. “Please don’t let him rape me, Vic!”

“Shut up,” he said.

I tossed him the packet of clothesline.

“Tie her in that chair,” I told him. To her I said, “Keep your back to me. Don’t see me.”

“All right,” she said timidly.

“Sit,” I said.

She sat.

Werner, moving with slow, quiet disgust, tied his wife into the chair. I watched him carefully and he performed his task well, making it tight enough and knotted well enough to get her bound, but not hurting her. Despite their bickering, he seemed to care for her.

While he was doing that, I asked him: “Anyone else in the house?”

“No.”

“No children?”

“We have two kids, both at college.”

“Neither home at the moment?”

“Neither home at the moment.”

“Any live-in help?”

“No.”

“No bodyguards?”

“No. I used to have live-in help like that. No more.”

“Why?”

“I’m a respectable member of the community. Respectable members of the community don’t go around with bodyguards.”

He got up from where he’d been kneeling to tie her legs to the chair and said, “Now what?”

“Her mouth,” I said, and tossed him the adhesive tape.

He sighed and put a slash of tape across her mouth. I saw him smile reassuringly at her, squeezed her shoulder once. Said, “Don’t look at him, Virginia.”

She nodded.

“Now what?” he asked.

“How often does the rent-a-cop car come by? Don’t lie.”

“Twice a night.”

“When?”

“It varies.”

“Usually.”

He shrugged. “About midnight. Then again around three.”

“Let’s go outside.”

“Why?”

“I have the gun. The one with the gun gets to ask the questions.”

“Right,” he sighed. He turned to his wife, whose back remained to us. “Just sit there,” he said pointlessly. “Don’t try to do anything.”

She nodded again, which was about all she could do, anyway.

And her husband and I went out into the cold foggy air. The distance from house to alley was moderate, but the yard was wide and protected from neighboring houses and their big yards by walls of shrubbery.

“What’s this about?” he asked. He didn’t seem very afraid.

“I used to work for the Broker.”

That only seemed to irritate him. “Well, what are you coming around here for, then? And what’s the idea of the gun, and tying up my wife?”

“Simple precaution,” I said; he seemed to have taken me for somebody else, which could prove interesting.

“Look… Stone, is it? None of this has anything to do with me, and I don’t want to have anything more to do with it. You can tell that to Ridge.” He sliced the air with the side of his hand, karate-chop style, in a gesture of finality. “I’ve done all I’m going to do.”

“I may not be who you think I am.”

“Well, you’re Stone.”

“No I’m not. I know who you mean. I worked with Stone, a few times. But I’m not Stone.”

“You’re not.”

“I’m someone else who used to work for the Broker.”

“Someone else? Who?”

“What’s in a name.”

“Look, a lot of people worked for the Broker. But that’s ancient history. That cunning old son-of-a-bitch died years ago.”

“I know,” I said. “I was there.”

He wasn’t impressed yet. “Were you really.” It wasn’t a question.

I said, “He pointed you out to me, once, Mr. Werner. He said you were a rising star who fell.”

He laughed humorlessly. “That sounds like him.”

“He said you were destined for big things in the Outfit, but that you made some mistakes. You were lucky to stay alive, actually, let alone hang onto your vending business, hotel interests and other holdings locally.”

“I have very little to do with those people anymore,” he said. “I am, as I told you, a respectable member of the community. What are you, down on your luck? Looking for work? If you’re auditioning, you’ve come to the wrong place. If you’re just a thief, now, well, there’s little of value in my house, but I’m willing to lead you to what there is, if you’ll be done with this and go. We have perhaps a thousand in cash, some negotiable securities, some jewelry, a few paintings, though the latter might not be anything you’d want to fool with.”

“Well, you’ve seen me, Mr. Werner. You’d give my description to the authorities.”

“But I wouldn’t. I’m still connected enough that I don’t relish investigation of any sort. If they caught up with you, you might tell them what you know about me, and while I don’t think much would come of it, it could prove embarrassing.”

“Embarrassment is the least of your problems. I said I used to work for the Broker.”

He looked at me sideways, drawing back a bit. And then it hit him. The blood left his face. “You… you’re not the one he called… Quarry, are you?”

“That’s right.”

And now he was scared. He was starting to breathe heavy, his country club cool melting on him, even in this weather. He started backing up.

“Don’t do that,” I said.

He stopped; suddenly his breath was smoking up the place. “I thought… I thought…”

“You thought I was dead? And why is that?”

“Look-I was just doing a favor for a friend… I…”

“What friend? What favor?”

He patted the air with his palms. “Let’s be reasonable. Let’s just be reasonable. I can explain.”

“I’ll explain. Someone came to you, someone who knew you had mob connections, and requested the name of an assassin. And you used to be the Broker’s mob conduit, so you knew the names and even the whereabouts of some of his people. What made you pick my name out of the hat?”

A swallow and a sigh. “Broker said… he said something about you once.”

“What’s that?”

He looked at the ground. “I don’t remember. I just remember he singled you out.”

“No, really. I’m interested.”

He swallowed again, reluctantly met my eyes with his. “He said you were his best man. If I ever had anything… out of the ordinary, anybody important, you’d be the man for the job.”

Even dead, all these years, that cocksucker was still causing me problems.

“Well, I’m flattered,” I said. “And that’s why you gave out my name for this political contract, is it?”

He shook his head no, repeatedly. “I don’t know anything about the contract. I just know who put it in motion.”

“And who would that be?”

He thought.

Then said: “If I tell you, you have to promise me something.”

“Which is?”

His eyes were slits. “You’ll kill this man at your first opportunity.”

“No problem.”

“He’s… a friend of mine, you see, but he’s… he wouldn’t stop at anything, to reach his goals. If he knew I’d told you who he was, I’d be dead.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s a self-made millionaire. Real estate.”

“What’s his name? Ridge?”

“Ridge,” he nodded. “George Ridge.”

“Lives here in the Cities?”

“In Davenport. That’s where his business is, too. It’s in Paul Revere Square on Kimberly.”

“I see. You’ve been helpful, Mr. Werner.”

He smiled. “You don’t have to worry about me keeping my mouth shut,” he said.

“Oh, I know,” I said, and raised the nine-millimeter.

“Wait! Wait. That’s not necessary!”

“You thought I was dead, Mr. Werner. Why?”

“George… George told me you hadn’t worked out. He asked me if I could give him another name. I… I gave him one.”