Jack Du Brul - Vulcan's forge

Explaining it once to Mercer, Tiny had said that the horse was too much of a true winner to allow any other to beat her. He didn’t have the heart to rein her back and come in second. That night he was treated to a sumptuous victory banquet by the horse’s owner. The next morning the loan shark’s enforcers broke both of Tiny’s kneecaps with a steel wrecking bar. During the following months of painful rehabilitation, Tiny cursed the stupid nag for being so swift. He finally forgave Dandy Maid only after he opened a bar in his native Washington.

When Mercer entered the bar, Tiny waved one small arm and immediately poured a vodka gimlet, easy on the Rose’s lime.

“Thanks, I need this.” Mercer took his drink to the red leatherette booth occupied by Tish and Harry White. Apart from two workers from the industrial laundry around the block, the bar was empty.

“Sorry I had to take Tish out of your house, Mercer, but you ran out of Jack Daniel’s.”

“I have a fresh bottle under the back bar.”

“Had, Mercer. You had a fresh bottle under the back bar. Besides, who the hell would look for her in this hole in the wall?”

“I agree, no harm done.” Mercer turned to Tish. “How are you doing?”

“I’m fine.” She giggled, slightly drunk. “But I must say I’m not used to drinking in the afternoon.”

“Stick with Harry and me, we’ll show you the ropes.” Mercer smiled warmly. Perhaps a little buzz would be good for her. Brace her for what he was going to ask her to do.

“What did you find in your office?”

“More clues, I think. There’s one more thing I want to check tonight and then I’ll turn us both over to the authorities.”

“What do you mean ‘turn us over’?”

“Tish, you were under the protection of the FBI when I nabbed you, and I’m sure they want you back. Also, I have to answer for the corpses I left in the gutters downtown.”

“Oh.”

“Hey, Harry, I see two suits coming in,” Tiny said, peering out the filthy front window.

Mercer turned to Harry, one eyebrow cocked in question.

“Tish told me the story about yesterday, so I took the precaution of having Tiny keep an eye out.”

“Good thinking.” Mercer held out his hand to Tish. “Come on.”

He led her out of the barroom and into the small kitchen in the back. They paused in front of a pane of glass set into the tiled wall, and Tish realized that the mirror behind the bar was a two-way mirror. She looked over Tiny’s shoulder as two beefy men strode through the front door and flashed badges. FBI, not local cops, was Mercer’s guess.

“Philip Mercer?” Tiny responded to their question. “Yeah, I know him. I haven’t seen him in a week or more. He travels a lot.” Tiny’s thin voice raised a notch. “If I had seen him, he wouldn’t owe me eighty bucks in old bar tabs.”

Tiny thrust a wad of chits under one agent’s face. Mercer winced, hoping the agent didn’t look too closely. Those tabs all belonged to Harry.

Harry stood up and staggered one step, steadying himself on the back of the booth. Mercer wondered if his friend was acting.

“I seen Mercer,” Harry nearly shouted, spit spraying from his lips. Acting, for sure.

“Where?” one of the agents asked eagerly.

“It was 1943; he was a cook for my battalion. Couldn’t cook worth a damn; gave us all food poisoning on Tarawa, or maybe it was Iwo Jima.” Harry downed a heavy slug of bourbon. “If it was on Iwo, that must have been ’45. Poor Frank Merker bought it on Okinawa.”

“No, it’s Philip Mercer we’re looking for.”

“Don’t recall any Philbert Mercy,” Harry said slowly. His eyes glazed over and he slumped into his seat. “I once knew a stripper named Phyllis mmmm…” His head hit the table with the sound of a fallen coconut, snores following a moment later.

The two agents left after warning Tiny to call if Philip Mercer showed up. Tiny and Harry played their roles for a few minutes more, until they were satisfied that the FBI men had moved on. As Mercer led Tish out of the kitchen, he noted that he had not let go of her hand during the whole episode. The simple touch was comforting.

“Harry, you should get an Oscar for that.”

Harry sat up and smiled brightly. “I did once know a stripper named Phyllis. Phyllis Withluv she called herself; hot little redhead I met in Baltimore.”

“What are we going to do now?” Tish interrupted before Harry could begin some lurid story.

“We can’t go back to my place, that’s for damned sure,” Mercer said, sipping a fresh gimlet.

“If you need to, you can stay with me,” Harry volunteered.

“No, I’m allergic to roaches. Seriously, I have other plans. We’re going to New York.”

Tish looked at him sharply. “What?”

“Tiny, call us a cab, have him meet us at the Safeway.” The giant grocery store was a couple of blocks away. “Harry, thanks for your acting job.” Mercer pulled a hundred dollar bill out of his wallet and slapped it on the bar. “This should clear your tabs.”

He led Tish through the deserted kitchen and out the back door.

“Why are we going to New York?” Tish asked as they walked up the street.

“When we read those faxes, you must have seen that David Saulman suspects that Ocean Freight and Cargo may be a Soviet front. If that’s true — and I believe it is because you heard Russian — then checking out their offices is our next logical step.”

“You mean we just waltz in there and make accusations?”

“Not at all.” Mercer laughed. “We’re going to break in tonight.”

Tish stopped to look at him; his gray eyes were hard as flint and just as sharp. “You’re serious?”

His voice was soft when he responded, but his conviction stung the air. “Deadly.”

“Youse guys sure youse want to do dis?” the Hat asked.

“Yeah, Hat, we’re sure,” Mercer said evenly.

They were sitting in a late-model Plymouth, on lower Fifth Avenue, about ten blocks from the brownstone that was the OF amp;C headquarters.

“My scags could hit it in no time, lift any swag you want and be out before nobody knew nottin’. Youse don’t need ta go in a’tall.”

“That’s the whole point, Hat. We do need to go in, and I want them to know that they were hit.”

For the first time Mercer had a vent for the anger that had begun the moment Tish entered his life. Until now, he had been simply reacting to the actions of his unknown enemy. Now he was about to act, to take the fight to them, as he had promised.

“Babes in da woods,” Hat said with a wave of his hand. The ember of his cigarette was like a comet in the dark car.

Danny “The Hat” Spezhattori was a professional thief. His gang of burglars were responsible for making New York City’s wealthiest denizens several million dollars poorer over the years. The Hat’s fourteen-year-old son had once made the mistake of trying to pick Mercer’s pocket in front of the United Nations Building. Rather than turn the boy over to the police, Mercer had forced him to tell him who his father was. Mercer and the Hat met an hour later.

In a world where more business is done through people owing each other favors, Mercer had decided that a favor owed to him by a man in the Hat’s position might someday be worthwhile. He was right. Tonight, that three-year-old debt would be paid off.

“Hat, give us an hour to get in position and then send your boys in, all right?”

“Mercer, once we hit da doors and d’alarms trip, dey will station a guard in da building.”

“I’m counting on that.”

“Youse ain’t gonna murder no one, are you? Cause if ya do, I’ll have nottin’ ta do wit it.”

“Hat, we had a deal.” Mercer’s voice was like ice. “No questions asked. Your boys do what they’re told and they will be in their pajamas in no time. No risk to any of them.”