Макс Коллинз - Killing Quarry

He looked more irritated than alarmed by this summons, as he came quickly but unenthusiastically from the parked vehicle to the doorway where I stood, his breath smoking with cold. He hadn’t taken time for a topcoat. He was back in the tan tailored suit and yellow, open-collar shirt, but they’d been thrown on.

All I’d told him on the phone was: “Get the hell over here. Quick. Bring nobody.”

“What is it?” he’d asked.

“It’s bad. Get over here.”

Now here he was, and I ushered him in. I’d turned a few lights on but the chalet remained underlit, although while I’d waited for him I’d lighted a fire in the big fireplace downstairs.

“Okay, Jack,” he said, “so what the fuck?”

“I’m going to give you a little tour of your facility,” I said. “There’s been some dramatic remodeling.”

He frowned, taking in the emptiness, which didn’t back up my implied crisis. “Where is everybody? Asleep?”

“You could say that.”

“Do we need to be quiet?”

“Not really.”

I showed him around the impacted rooms in the order that Lu and I had made our discoveries, starting on the third floor. Seeing pudgy Kraft in his pj’s on his back with a hole in his forehead, and that big blossom of blood framing his noggin, got an immediate reaction out of Dan. Well, a two-part immediate reaction. First the lodge manager froze, deer-in-the-headlights style. Then he ran into the bathroom and knelt at the porcelain altar and made an offering.

I was in the doorway of the john as he stood at the sink, running cold water and splashing it on his face. He toweled off and looked at me, horrified, the angular features of his narrow face twisted into a grotesque grimace, his handsomeness M.I.A.

“Do the others know?” he asked.

“Probably not. You okay?”

“No I’m not okay!”

“There’s more to do.”

He gripped my arm. “We’re not calling the cops. You haven’t called the cops , have you, Jack?”

“I have not called the cops. What are friends for, Dan? Come on. We’re just getting started.”

“What?”

I didn’t bother answering, just led him past the corpse and out into the hall.

My poker pal took in Callen’s bed-bound corpse, and Field’s, more stoically. He clearly had nothing left to puke up, and his comments ran to what you might imagine: “Jesus... oh my God... Christ!” Which sounds more religious than it was.

Then we were downstairs, him on one blue couch, me facing him on the other, with the fire crackling and snapping between us at my right and his left, its warmth providing a bizarre coziness, aided and abetted by the moonlight pouring in the tall windows.

I was sitting back, an ankle on a knee, arms along the top edge of the cushions behind me, the lined black leather jacket unzipped. Numb, Dan was sitting forward, knees apart, folded hands draped between his legs, shaking his half-hanging head.

Then something occurred to him, his chin snapping up, the eyes sharp again. “What about Poole?”

The shock of having three corpses as chalet guests finally dulled enough for him to realize the body count was off by one.

“Not here,” I said. “Room’s empty. I believe he did this.”

“What about your girl?”

“Mrs. William Wilson? I sent her off where she might not find things so unpleasant. Hey, things could be worse.”

“How in hell?”

I shrugged. “Those guys up there could have shit themselves.”

He covered his face with both hands. Not crying or anything. Just wishing this would all go away, I guess.

Then, getting himself together, he dropped his hands to his thighs and sat up straight. He was a professional, after all. An executive.

“Listen, Jack. With your... shall we say, ‘veterinarian drugs’ business... you certainly don’t need the kind of official scrutiny this thing could bring.”

“No argument there.”

“And if this became known to the public... my God, we’d be finished here. This lodge would be over, unless somebody figured out how to market a Manson Family vacation. And who would ever want to hire me?”

“It’s a pisser.”

He made a face. “These people... I don’t have to tell you . You were Vanhorn’s ‘silent partner,’ you said?”

I nodded.

Eyebrows high, he held two palms out, surrender-style. “I don’t want to know partner in what!”

“Well, crime of course.”

“Don’t tell me any more, Jack! Don’t tell me any fucking more. I know that these people — yourself included — are... connected. In a way, so am I. Chicago money is behind the lodge, you know that, right? And you know what kind of Chicago money I mean.”

“I do.”

He cocked his head, his voice quiet, reasonable. “So what I propose to do is call a number. I will report what the situation is here, and a clean-up crew will be dispatched. Before anyone gets a whiff of this, before the sun comes the hell up, this will be taken care of. Those things upstairs...” He pointed upward. “...will be gone. Disposed of. Do you understand?”

“I not only understand,” I said with a pleasant little smile, “I approve.”

He stood. Clapped once. “I’m going to make the call now.” He nodded toward the moon-swept parking lot out the windows. “Then I’m going to personally drive you home. We can talk later, but the short version is — none of this ever happened.”

“Fine by me.”

He sighed, smoothed his suitcoat, which could use it, and went off to the kitchen to use the phone. He spoke softly and I didn’t catch exactly every word of what he was saying, but the call was as he described it. Took him no longer than ordering a pizza.

He came back and sat down on his couch across from me, the fire reflecting orange and blue on him. Said, “Won’t be more than an hour before they’re here.”

“Works for me.”

He sucked in a bunch of air, then sighed it out. Half-smiled, in that shared private joke way. Then his expression darkened and his forehead tensed.

“Jack, what do you think this was about? Why would Poole have done all this?”

“Your seminar guests were all in the same business, with the same Outfit ties.” I was careful not to say what that business was. “But in a way they were competitors, too. I think it was a power play.”

He nodded, smiled tightly. “Starting with taking out the Envoy.”

Well, that told me that something I’d suspected had been right on the nose, so I got the nine millimeter out of the deep jacket pocket and pointed the gun at him. No silencer, but the chalet was well enough away from the rest of the facility that one little gunshot wouldn’t matter much. And that Jag was waiting for me outside for an easy getaway.

All I had to do was squeeze the trigger.

And in retrospect, I should have. It wasn’t hesitation over Dan being a poker buddy, though that made this a little sad. No, it was my own goddamn, innate curiosity. I wanted confirmation.

I said, “Had you said ‘Vanhorn’ and not ‘Envoy,’ I wouldn’t have been sure. I was fairly sure, just finding out that this resort is an Outfit property and you’re their fair-haired boy. And I think I know why you’d hire to have me killed. But do me a favor and tell me I’m right. And how you knew.”

He was shaking his head, frowning even as his eyes grew big. “Knew what? What the fuck are you talking about, Jack?”

“You want Wilma’s Welcome Inn. Or the property it lies on, and the rare zoning it enjoys. Shit! You even want my little A-frame and the lot adjoining Wilma’s! That would make a real moneymaker, a brand spanking new lakeside facility. Family friendly! In various senses of the word.”