The Vampire Files - Bloodlist Part 7

"Smart kid, that."

"He's grown."

"He's eating regular."

We sat down at the table and coffee was brought in by a kid in a busboy jacket who was also doing duty in the nightclub. Through the walls I could still hear music, which made an uneasy counterpoint with the radio.

"What brings you here, Charles? Working on a revival?"

"I heartily wish. Should I return to the boards, you will certainly be the first to know. In truth, I need a favor."

"These days who doesn't? What's on your mind?"

"I'm working on a little problem for Mr. Fleming, and since yesterday, for myself, in which Frank Paco is involved."

Our host sobered up, taking a cautious tone. "Just how involved is he?"

"Yesterday two of his men tried to kill me, and were it not for Mr. Fleming's timely intervention, they would certainly have succeeded. He survived an attempt on his life only last week from the same source and has been laying low ever since."

"Can't say as I blame you. What do you need? Smuggling out of town?''

"Nothing quite so drastic. Let me apprise you of the whole situation." Escott told him the basic truth, but said I sought him out and wisely omitted all the facts concerning my condition. "... so until Mr. Fleming knows what occurred during those missing four days he will always have this rather nasty problem."

"How do you think I can help? He needs a head-doctor."

"I was hoping you could help us get into Paco's house."

Coldfield shut right up, from sheer disbelief I suppose, since I was feeling the same way. "My mistake," he finally said. "You are the one who wants a head-doctor."

"Shoe, I am quite serious.""If Paco is after you, you oughta be. Why get into his place?"

"For a good look around and to find out what he's up to."

"h.e.l.l, I can do that from here. What do you want to know?"

"Some information on International Freshwater Transport might be useful."

"It's just his smuggling operation, everyone knows that."

"But what does he smuggle?"

"It used to be booze and he still brings in some of the fancy foreign stuff. If the price is right he'll take most anything, including people in or out of the country.

Lately it's been machine parts and chemicals coming in."

"Is it possible to find out whom they go to and for what purpose?"

"I can try tomorrow, but can't guarantee anything. I generally keep my people away from his territory. I suppose you want specific names for the chemicals, p'fesser?"

"It could help identify what he's up to, but please do not expose your people to undue risk. Yesterday I only made casual inquiries and his reaction was most violent."

"Don't worry. You gonna put him out of business?"

"That would be nice."

"Yeah, we can dream, but he's got friends. Word has it he's been dealing with Slick Morelli out of New York."

"Is that name familiar to you?" Escott asked me.

"Sure, he's a big nightclub owner there, ran a lot of speaks, then fancied them up into top spots after Repeal. He sold a few and concentrated on one or two of the biggest. He always had the best acts and the prettiest girls. Of course, this is only what I've heard, I never had the chance to take a look." Or the money, I silently added.

"He hasn't changed much," said Coldfield. "He's done the same thing for one of the biggest clubs in town up on the north side; he's got a half-interest in it."

"The Nightcrawler?" asked Escott.

"Yeah, maybe he likes fis.h.i.+n' or something."

"Does he own a yacht?"

He nodded. "A nice one, too, if you can have any other kind. The Elvira."I stirred in my chair at the mention of a s.h.i.+p.

Escott noticed, but continued. "Who is the other owner of the club?"

"A fat guy named Lucky Lebredo. He oversees the gambling there."

Escott glanced at me. I thought about the name, then shook my head. He turned back to Coldfield. "Do you know of any connection between Paco and Morelli?"

He shrugged. "If there is, it's probably money. Paco likes to spread it around and always needs more, Morelli keeps his in a mattress and the Good Lord help you if you borrow from him. He takes his loan interest right out of your hide."

"Do you think Lebredo is involved with them?"

"I don't know. Maybe not, all he seems to do is gamble. He's got an adding machine for a brain, and a deck of cards is just another part of his body." He paused.

Escott was looking at something we couldn't see, hovering just over the table centerpiece. We waited him out in silence until his eyes blinked a few times.

"You back?" Coldfield asked casually.

"Yes, just thinking, but I need more information."

"Then you're still serious 'bout going in?"

"Very serious."

"What did you have in mind?"

"Have you read the social columns?"

"Never miss 'em," he said with a trace of sarcasm.

"Then you may have noticed Frank Paco is hosting a reception at his estate this Friday. The place is going to be filled with politicians, hangers-on, and the man Paco plans to support in the next gubernatorial election."

"Yes..."

"The whole thing is certainly going to be catered."

Coldfield thought it out and smiled. "You mean you can cook, too?"

"No, but I can pa.s.s as a waiter."

"Not on this one you can't. You know d.a.m.n well one of my joints is doing the food and service, and face it, Charles, you're just too white for this job."

"Then I can work as a white waiter."

"And stand out like a sore thumb. No sir, Paco likes his staff well done. Besides, what white man would be working for me? Whites work for white caterers, and once in a while they take on a colored kid 'cause he works cheap, but it just ain't done the other way around."

Escott's pride had been piqued. "Am I or am I not a character actor?''

"The best, but no blackface makeup is going to pa.s.s a close look, and your nose is all wrong, anyway. If you were me, would you want to take the chance?"

"I agree," I said. "Paco might know your face, Georgie could be out on bail by now, and if either of 'em spots you, you're scragged and so are the caterers."

Escott's eyes snapped at me a second, then he visibly calmed and shrugged it off.

"Of course, you're both right. We'll have to think of something else. Perhaps I could get hold of an invitation or forge one."

"Not easy, they check 'em against their guest list. You'd have to be in someone else's party to sneak past, and then you still have your face to consider. Look, why does it have to be this Friday? Try some other night when Paco is gone and just break in. I can stick one of my boys on the catering staff to case the place for you."

"That is most kind."

"Great, anything to save your a.s.s. Listen, how 'bout we all have dinner tomorrow night, right here."

"Dinner, yes, but it's on me-to make up for too long an absence. Mailman's, I think."

"You're joking, Charles. I couldn't get past the door."

"You most certainly will if it's my party. If you plan to run for governor you'll have to get used to breaking open some doors."

"When I do that, the cops get nervous."

"And well they should. Eight o'clock?"

"That's early for me, but I'll be there, and try to have some dope on the warehouse from my boys."

'' Please advise them to use all caution; that thump on the head they gave me was nearly fatal."

"Your skull is too thick. I heard something was fatal to Paco's chief gun, Sanderson. They found him in a trunk the other day. That anything to do with your problem? The papers are saying Georgie Reamer hit him with a sledgehammer." He was looking at me with interest.

I was careful not to look at Escott for a clue. How much Coldfield knew or guessed about last night would be my affair. I shrugged. "Hey, I used to be a reporter-don't believe everything you read."

We left without hindrance from Coldfield's men, one of them even nodded and smiled as we went out to the untouched Nash. I gave the keys back to Escott and we got in. The watching faces were still around, but were not as interested in us as before. Word must have been pa.s.sed that we were welcome in the neighborhood.

"He's some guy," I commented.

"Yes, I met him in Canada when we were both young and hungry. I was already in an acting company when he walked into the theater with his shoe s.h.i.+ne box and asked for work. We got to be friends and with a great deal of argument, persuaded the manager to hire him on permanently. He worked at moving scenery and in wardrobe at half-salary. Occasionally, I'd do him up in white-face so he could carry a spear in the background when we were short of players, but he was being wasted. If you could have seen us in Hamlet as Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, he nearly sweated his makeup off and gave the game away. At least it showed the other actors in the company that he was more than capable, but our manager was a pigheaded old reprobate. He refused to even consider Shoe for the obvious part of Oth.e.l.lo."

"But he did play it?"

"Oh yes, but it was a bit of a challenge for me to arrange it. The one thing I did manage was getting him the part of understudy to the lead. The manager allowed that much."

"Then the lead got sick?"

"Not precisely... I had to help him along. Between the chloral hydrate the company Iago slipped him and the ipecacuanha I provided to treat his symptoms, he was in no condition to play the Moor of Venice, and Shoe had his chance. I must say he brought the house down with his performance."

"What about the lead?"

"He recovered in a week or so and no harm was done. By then he had received a telegram offering him a radio announcing job in New York and he left. I'm afraid we didn't miss him much, a very unpleasant ham, he was."

"Was the telegram genuine?"

"Why, what a suspicious mind you have, Mr. Fleming."

Chapter 5.

I GOT MY trip to the Stockyards out of the way and was ready and waiting at a quarter to eight when Escott picked me up. He was in an ordinary suit, which was a relief to me because Hall-man's sounded like a white-tie-and-tails joint and I was fresh out of tuxedos.

"I may have a problem at this place," I said."What would that be?"

"Let's just say that I have a very restricted diet."

He opened and shut his mouth. "Dear me, I'm afraid I never even thought of that."

"Neither did I. Doing business over food is a very normal thing. We take it for granted.

Escott considered it. "Yes, I can see-you must have a tremendous amount of free time to be unfettered with having to stop and eat every four or five hours."

"I'd gladly go back to it if I could."

"Would you rather skip this evening, then?"

"No, I'll just say it's stomach trouble and nurse a coffee. As long as we're on my case I want to be along every inch of the way, if it's all right with you."

"I've no objections. I made more inquiries after Benny Galligar/O'Hara today, but with negative results."