Black Alley Part 22

"Just the usual," I explained. "Ralph Morgan tried to tell me, but I keep forgetting. It just isn't easy to stay relaxed. Not in this business, anyway. But I'm not dying, so stay cool, kitten."

When we finished the waitress poured us another cup of coffee and we sat back sort of grinning at each other, wondering what being married was going to be like. h.e.l.l, we were together most of the time, in wild situations where your life depended on your partner, what else could be new when you were married?

She broke off our eye contact and rummaged in her handbag, bringing out a white envelope. "I forgot to show you these. There was a one-hour developing place near the motel and I had them done."

What she gave me were photos of Slipped Disk Harris' cave area, and although the focus was fine and the scene well lit, the subject matter was arranged in a pretty amateur way. I flipped through them, noting again how that great area could well have housed many thousands of bottles of booze. In the floor markings were the outlines of pallets, and the grooves made by the wheels of the trucks that had delivered the booze to the customers in the big cities.

I was studying the one where the ceiling had come down when she said, "No sign of bats?"

"No bats," I reiterated. I took another sip of coffee and knew I was frowning.

"What are you thinking, Mike?"

"You got a card from McClain and Leeds Surveying, didn't you?"

"Uh-huh." She went into her handbag again and came out with the card.

I checked the address and handed it back. "Come on, kitten. We have things to do."

She was going to make a good wife, all right. There were no questions. I paid the bill and we got in the car. Thirty minutes later I pulled up in front of the survey building, parked and went inside. Johnny Leeds said h.e.l.lo with a big handshake and another one of those glances toward Velda that I'd have to get used to seeing.

"Well, did you see the Harris place?" he asked.

I grinned at him and nodded. "Yeah, and it's a great spot."

"You must be kidding!"

"No way, Johnny."

"But I told you it was a depressed area." He watched me a moment, then he got it. "You really are talking about raising a family, aren't you?"

"Let's start off by saying a vacation spot might be more in line. Those old buildings can be demolished pretty easily and you sure can't beat the scenic value of that spot. If the worst comes to the worst, I can raise mushrooms in that cave up there."

"Sure you can," he replied jokingly. "What's your problem with the place?"

"No problem. I need information. There's a caretaker there of sorts and I'd like to find out how long he's been there and who was there before him. I want to locate the owner and see if the place is on the market. Can you handle that?"

"Easy. If you want to buy, do you want me to recommend an agency?"

"You bet. Just make sure you get a cut of the sale."

"You bet," he replied with a wink. "Incidentally, did you hear about the killings up at the Ponti estate? That's not too far from the Harris place."

"Heard it on the morning news. Don't suppose they'll be missed, though. They know who did it?"

"If they do they're not saying yet. A dragnet is out for somebody."

"Well, at least we know old Harris is well tucked into bed," I said. "When do you want me to check back with you?"

"Late this afternoon. That be all right?"

"Just fine. See you then. If I get tied up, I'll call."

"One more thing. These real estate agents will want to know about financing and-"

"It'll be cash on the barrelhead, Johnny. No banks, no mortgages."

"Way to go," he said, and waved me into the car.

As we pulled away from the curb, Velda mused, "No banks, no mortgages . . ."

"What's wrong with that?"

"You're talking like a d.a.m.n millionaire about to buy the place."

"It's a great idea."

"Where would you get the money?"

"Oh, I'll dig it up."

"Like they'll dig up Hoffa's body?"

"Something like that."

There was a pregnant pause, and she said, "Do I have anything to say about this?"

"No."

"When we're married . . ."

"You're not married yet, kitten."

Her voice sounded tiny and defeated, just a little, "Oh."

So I rea.s.sured her. "I'm not saying it's a bad idea, doll. I just said we're not married yet."

The satisfied grin she gave me made me feel a lot better.

I turned on the radio and punched the b.u.t.tons for the local Albany station. The big news was still the Ponti murder. What they hadn't figured out yet was the damage done by an unidentified car that had banged around a bunch of bad guys. n.o.body was talking yet and there was no broken gla.s.s or shards of evidence to identify the make or model of the car. The paint samples indicated that the car was black. Later, laboratory a.n.a.lysis would point out the maker and, most likely, the model and year of my vehicle. Which didn't bother me. Ford had manufactured a million of them.

Twenty minutes later I spotted the thruway up ahead, pulled into the left lane and turned onto the on-ramp heading north. Velda's head jerked around, surprised. "Where are we going, Mike?"

"Back to Harris' place."

"Mike . . . that place will be filled with cops!"

"Why? n.o.body was killed there. We didn't leave any tracks leading to his place."

"They can have roadblocks up around there."

"Not on the thruway, kitten, and if they had any at all, they're probably down by now. Roadblocks only last for so long. If they haven't caught the killer by now, it won't happen in a roadblock."

I ga.s.sed up right off the thruway, and when Velda went to the ladies' room I reached down under the seat and brought out my .45, still wrapped in its leather shoulder holster. I slipped off my jacket, climbed into the speed rig, tying it in place and fastening it to my belt. I jacked a sh.e.l.l into the chamber, thumbed the hammer back to half c.o.c.k and slipped the safety on. When my jacket was back on I felt normal again. I had been too long without that weapon. For too many years it had been a close companion and saying h.e.l.lo to it again was like shaking hands with an old friend.

After five minutes Velda came back. She was looking away from the office section, not wanting anybody to be able to describe her. I had done the same thing, but a little bit differently, when I paid the bill.

The county road I was looking for wasn't far away and I picked it up, drove to the familiar spot where it led to Slipped Disk Harris' old quarters, and slowed down right after I made the turn.

Velda said, "What's the matter?"

"Remember Slateman telling us he spotted the car a mile away?"

"So?"

"Harris probably cut a see-through opening in the trees for that purpose."

"What difference does that make? Harris is long dead."

"I don't like gimmicks, kitten."

"Are we going to walk?"

"No . . . but you keep looking off to your right and if you start to see any of the buildings up there, tell me. I'll keep the other side covered."

We hadn't gone an eighth of a mile when she held out her hand and said, "Stop!" I hit the brakes quickly then, keeping the engine running, got out of the car and walked around the front of it. Velda had spotted it just in time. Running straight as an arrow up the side of the mountain was a path through the tree line. The brush was grown up head high, but the line of sight was perfect. Anybody up there could spot movement down on the road below. A car driving past would never notice that strip of emptiness and a beautiful ambush would be waiting for him above. Unless they had a prearranged signal set up. But that was long ago. Those devices wouldn't be in use now, but nature hadn't closed off the visual sighting slash in the trees yet.

Very slowly I drove past the opening. It would be movement that attracted the eye and at my pace n.o.body was going to notice. We pa.s.sed the wreckage of the old chain-drive Mack truck, followed the ruts in the road very carefully and finally came out on the edge of the estate.

When I stopped again, Velda said, "Now what's wrong?"

"You feel anything?" I asked her.

"Clue me in."

"Slateman."

"He didn't know we were coming."

"There's a wood-burning cookstove in his kitchen. No smoke."

"He's not cooking."

"Look, he doesn't start a fire for every meal."

"If a fire burns down, will it smoke?"

I shook my head. "Not necessarily, but chimney heat always leaves a disturbance in the air."

Softly, Velda said, "Mike, New York people aren't supposed to know these things."

"New York people who were army personnel sneaking up on country places the enemy occupied did."

We sat there for five minutes, then I put the gearshift into drive again and touched the gas pedal. Nothing happened. We got up to the door of Slateman's house and stopped. Still, nothing happened. The only sounds were those of the wind whistling through the trees. Over to the west was a rumble of faraway thunder.

I got out of the car and made Velda walk behind me. It wasn't the best way to approach a place you weren't sure of, but I was beginning to think it was the memory of what this area was, the business that held it together, that gave me that spooky feeling. There was still something left in the old wood and fieldstone that seemed to radiate trouble.

The door was latched, the fire was out and the place was empty. There were no dirty dishes, the garbage can was empty and everything seemed to be right in place. There was just an uncanny feeling of aloneness that shouldn't be there.

Velda had taken it all in too. Finally she said, "He'd have to go to town sooner or later, Mike. He wouldn't leave the stove going then and he would have cleaned up beforehand."

"That's a long walk, kid."

"He'd have some way to get to town. He wasn't that much of a recluse."

I nodded in agreement. "Guess you're right, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. Come on, let's go see the cave."

"What are we looking for?"

"If I told you, you'd think I was crazy."

Slateman had left his heavy-duty flashlight right on the table. I took that and gave Velda the one out of the car. She hefted it, thinking it more of a club than a light. When she was satisfied, we moved out across the field.

Finding the entrance was easy this time. Velda balked a moment until I said, "No bats, remember?"

She took a deep breath and walked in behind me. We kept the lights moving, covering the area as best we could, but nothing had changed since the last time. We followed the wall, stepping over the junk on the floor, kicking away things that made small tinkling sounds and avoiding the broken remnants of whiskey bottles that had been sampled, drained and dropped by workers getting a few perks in for their labors.

Three-quarters of the way around we came to the place I had wanted to see. It was the rubble from the roof that had come crashing down many years ago and had been pushed against the back wall out of the way. I ran the light up at the ceiling and saw some scars in the stone, then lowered it to cover the angled pile to my left. Dirt and dust were thick on everything. I crouched down, picked up a handful and let it sift through my fingers.

Odd, I thought. Dust wasn't dusty after all. It had an abrasiveness like fine sand.

Velda's light hit me right in the eyes.

When she realized the light was blinding me she pulled it down to the ground and said, "What are you looking for, Mike?"

I was just about to answer her when another voice said, "Yeah, Mike, tell her what you were looking for."

There was the faintest metallic click and I knew the hammer had gone back on a gun.

Velda sucked her breath in with an audible gasp.

The voice in the darkness behind us wasn't coming from Slateman. It was young and hard, the kind that had death right behind it and wouldn't wait very long at all to spring into a killing frenzy.

I said, "It's about time you got here, Ugo."

My tone slowed him down an instant. Ugo Ponti wasn't a fast thinker.

"Why do you suppose that, Hammer?"