The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) (9 page)

Queen could barely contain his fury. Not only was he being told not to investigate the girl’s murder, but there was now a gatekeeper between him and the new mayor. And he was being handed the leash to the colonel’s pet. He willed himself to give the most perfunctory of nods in response, and found himself pushing past the colonel and out into the corridor. In a half-dozen long strides he was out the door and into the cold night air. The winter sting froze his lungs as he inhaled deeply. He walked quickly, not wanting the Cahill kid or anyone else following him.

It was late, at least 10:30, and the stars glittered seductively in the low ebony sky. Queen saw members of a bicycle club on the corner, preparing for an evening ride. Bicycle clubs were all the rage in Minneapolis these days, even on the most bone chilling of winter nights. A group called the Flour City Cyclists rode at midnight from their clubhouse at 18th and Park to Fort Snelling and back, often with groups of revelers sending them off on their slippery adventures.

This was a pack of high-school aged youths, and the five of them stood next to their bikes, joking together and trying to hold cigarettes in their mittened hands. Electric streetlights glowed comfortingly, and as Queen buttoned up his ulster he began to relax, especially the farther he walked from the source of his anger. He’d made up his mind to interrogate Dander as soon as Colonel Ames had told him not to, and figured all the activity tonight might distract attention from him, should he decide to make a little trip down to the jail. A final swig from his flask convinced him that a stop at a saloon first might loosen him more. From Doc’s offices at 54 Third Street, Queen went west along Third, turning north on Hennepin towards the city. Few people were out now, and light snowflakes began to fall, glistening under the streetlamps’ soft cones of light. His hands were already getting cold, so he removed his gloves from his coat pockets and slipped them on. He listened for the familiar clang behind him, ready to hop aboard a cozy streetcar and find some place to let his frustration thaw. He figured a drink or two and a sandwich would energize his spirits, and a midnight visit to Dander and Higgins would serve as dessert. Even if the administration decided to prevent a murder charge from seeing the light of day, he was more determined than ever to find out if there was really another killer.

A roar of laughter made him whirl around, and there were the members of the bicycle club, rowdily whizzing by him. One particularly obnoxious dummy even heaved a pop bottle at him, but it landed with a soft thud in a snow bank nearby. They all tittered at the near miss, congratulating the boy on his guts. If I had any way to catch up with that mush head, I’d put him in the hospital, Queen thought.

“These young kids now. No respect for anyone.”

Queen recognized the voice. The man stepped out from the shadow of a house, and walked towards him. You look like you’ve got an axe to grind.”

“Did you follow me, or are you a happy Minneapolis homeowner now?”

The man chuckled, and stopped at the sidewalk. He was dressed to death in a flash suit and overcoat with a stylish top-piece cocked on his head. He lifted his coat slightly, revealing a pistol snug on his waist. “Just wanted you to know that this isn’t a social call.”

“Now is not a good time to talk, Jack,” Queen said. “If you’ve come for green,” he patted his pockets, “there isn’t any.”

“Of course I know that,” the man said. “Why would you be walking down the street with three hundred dollars that isn’t yours?”

Queen pulled out his own gun, and pointed it at the man’s chest. “I’ve been through hell this week and to say I’m not incensed to the point of shooting you dead would be a lie.”

The man let his coat drop over his gun. “It’s such a pleasant night for an evening stroll, wouldn’t you say?”

“So it’s just a coincidence that you are standing like a hobgoblin in some stranger’s front yard as I walk past?”

“Of course not,” the man said, laughing. “Mr. Kilbane wants to know when he should expect to be paid back. You are to tell me, so I can tell him.”

“I’ve got some things I’m working on. I wish I could tell you I was flush with cush, but I’m not. Gray stamped down on our side business to avoid prying reporters when the election started. You know that. We’ve had this conversation before. And, like I said before, once the new mayor takes over, there will be plenty of honey in the pot to share. Enough to pay you some interest even.”

“Interest? You’re missing the point, Mr. Queen. When you come to Saint Paul to make a mouth-bet and don’t have the green to cover it, then it’s me that has to come into this stink hole town to find you. Mr. Kilbane wants your absolute assurance that you have a plan in place for squaring your debt.”

“Of course I do.”

The man smirked. “And does it involve becoming the head of the detective squad? Because I’ve heard that you’ve been passed over for that promotion.”

Jesus, Queen thought. News travels fast in sordid circles. “Forget that for a minute. Mayor Ames has faith in me and that job will come with a little more time. I’ve got the ear of the mayor, Jack. Tell your boss not to worry about it. Give me two months, and you’ll have it all back, plus fifty more.”

“Again, Mr. Queen—”

“Call me Harm, why don’t you?”

“Are we friends now?” the man asked. His eyes blinked with mock surprise.

“Whatever you want to call it.” Queen replied. “I just don’t like the formality.”

“When you’ve paid my boss back,” said the man, “then we can drop the etiquette. Until then, I prefer Mr. Peach.” He gave a little shrug. “I won’t feel so bad, then, if I have to kill you.”

“What the hell, Jack? You think it’s a good idea saying things like that to me? I’ve got goddamn connections. I’ve got friends in the Saint Paul Police Department who will make yours and Kilbane’s lives absolutely bleak. With even a mention of something like that.”

“Come now. We both know how Chief O’Connor hates you. You’re mentioned in the Saint Paul papers almost as much as the Minneapolis ones, and not with admiration. The one thing you have right now, that makes you valuable, is your connection to Fred Ames.”

“Is that so? Tell me why?”

“My boss wants a private meeting with him. And you are to arrange it.”

“Why would I do that?”

“Because you are indebted to us. And not just monetarily.”

“That little thing is long past, Jack. I’ll pay you the three hundred, plus fifty, and then we’re square.”

The man’s pistol was pressed against Queen’s neck before he had a chance to take a breath.

“Chuck it up.”

Queen dropped his gun in the snow and put up his hands.

“You don’t know what kind of miserable evening I’ve had, Jack. This is making it a hell of a lot worse. If I had a swallow or two of gut-warmer in me it might be funny, but right now I’m more than a little sore.”

“You have two weeks to pay us the green and to arrange a meeting with Police Superintendent Ames.”

The end of the barrel was warm on his frozen cheek, and when Jack Peach pulled back his revolver’s hammer, Queen decided his odds had changed, and might require slightly softer tactics. Slightly. “What kind of meeting should I tell him it is? Are you planning a fat donation to the Washburn Memorial Orphan Asylum? All those snot-nosed little monsters swimming across the river to get into Minneapolis are one hell of a strain on our local charities.”

“It’s a financial matter, all right. Tell him that if they ever consider retiring early, Mr. Kilbane will happily contribute to their retirement funds in return for some small favors. Understand?”

Queen was up against the wall, so he nodded. Jack Peach lowered the gun and tucked it back into his pants.

“Are you through?” Queen asked. “I’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Just a few seconds longer.”

“What else do you want?”

A streetcar passed by, rattling along its track, and Queen cursed under his breath.

“You really need to walk more,” Peach chuckled, relishing the detective’s irritation. “You’re old and out of shape.” He patted Queen’s belly and walked back into the yard, disappearing into the night.

CHAPTER 4

“R
ISE AND SHINE,
L
IEUTENANT
Q
UEEN!”

He forced open his eyes, saw Tom Cahill standing over him, and sent his fist into his face. Although not hard enough to break anything, the impact still made the kid stumble back a step. Queen got out of bed and stumbled too, realizing the booze from the night before had not yet worn completely off. He was stale drunk. He cupped his hand over his mouth, and the stench of his breath made his own head feel light. I need a toothbrush, he thought. Cahill’s nose was bleeding, and Queen grabbed a sock lying atop the bed stand and shoved it in his face.

“That should plug the dam, kid.”

“I-is it clean?”

“What? You want me to smell it? The hell if I know. Probably. What time is it, anyhow?”

Cahill put the sock to his face, and then pulled out his watch to check. “Ten past one.”

“In the
morning
?”

“No, it’s early afternoon sir. I was told to fetch you for the inauguration. It starts at two and Colonel Ames says he wants every able-bodied officer not on a beat to come to City Hall.”

“Have you even been sworn in yet?”

“Tomorrow, sir. But Colonel Ames counts on me. He told me specifically to get you.”

“Who let you in?”

“Your sister. She said she tried to wake you earlier, but you wouldn’t budge. When I told her it was especially important, she agreed that I should try.”

“Remind me to tell my sister that if she ever sees your face at our door again, not only to lock it, but to board it up, too.”

Cahill’s mouth hung agape. With a heave, Queen pushed his way to the hall, and then the washroom, realizing as he stretched his tired legs that he had worn his suit to bed. He unbuttoned his trousers, urinated, washed his hands, and began to scrub away with his toothbrush. Cahill came up behind him to watch, holding the bloodstained sock to his nose. “You should brush slower than that, sir.”

“What?”

“Slower. You’re gonna wear out your gums doing it like that.”

“What I do with my gums is my own business.” He had no time for claptrap conversation like this. “Go back and tell the powers that be that I’ll be there when I’ve changed my underwear and taken dinner.”

“I’m to accompany you.”

“To change my goddamn underwear?”

“Of course not, sir. I’m to accompany you to City Hall for Mayor Ames’ oath.”

Grumbling under his breath, Queen briefly contemplated picking up Tom Cahill by the seat of his pants and scruff of his neck, carrying him down the stairs, and tossing him onto the stoop. Be rational, he told himself. Control your temper. You’ve had a night of heavy drinking. This miserable feeling is fouling your mood to the point where any little offense against you might really make you do something you’ll later regret. Taking it out on your boss’s shining student isn’t the best way to get yourself an invitation to the Ames Christmas dinner.

“Colonel Ames also wanted me to tell you he appreciates your willingness to listen to orders.”

“What does that mean?”

“He was positive that you were headed out last night to Central station to talk to Dander.”

“How does he know I didn’t do just that?”

Cahill smiled brightly. “I followed you.”

“Really.”

“Yes sir. Straight to the nearest saloon.”

“And you sat and watched me all night?”

“I did, sir.”

“It must have been an enlightening way to spend an evening.”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Why is that?”

“You pitched into some college boys. They were ready to upend you, too.”

Queen rubbed his head, trying to extract the memory. “I don’t remember that.”

“Luckily there were some cops there and they stopped you from getting drubbed.”

“I guess that was fortunate for me.” A half-bottle of Cooke’s Pennsylvania rye whiskey sat on the edge of his bureau, and he pointed at it and pulled his flask from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Here, fill this for me.” He handed it to Cahill, who gingerly took it and unscrewed the top, taking a whiff. “I need a pick-me-up.”