All the way back to Chicago, I kept an uneasy eye in my rearview mirror. I remembered the call Iva Wuchnik had gotten when I left her place the first time. She was angry with me; she would report me in a heartbeat to whoever she’d spoken to before. I didn’t think it would have been Lawlor, showing his hand in person. Maybe Vernon Mulliner, earning his mansion. Or one of the Crawford, Mead lawyers.
Even this late at night, traffic was heavy. Bouncing around amid the long-haul truckers and the SUVs, I was having a hard time telling whether any particular set of brights in my mirror was tailing me or just tailgating. When I-57 finally fed me into the Ryan around eleven o’clock, I got off and took side streets until I was sure I was clean.
I drove to my office: I wanted to get the newspaper into my big office safe, more secure than the little one in my closet at home. I could crash on the daybed in the back, even wash off in my leasemate’s little shower stall.
Our little parking area was empty. I surveyed the street, gun in hand. The coffee shop across from my office was closed, but the bar five doors up was still in full gear. Despite signs urging customers to respect the neighbors, the band noise spilled out onto the street, and the smokers, leaning against cars or girders, were creating their own field of noise.
Briefcase under my arm, I kept my gun in my hand while I typed in the code on my front door. One last look around the street, and I slipped into my building.
49.
IN THE AQUARIUM
THEY WERE WAITING FOR ME JUST INSIDE MY OFFICE. I smelled the sweat just after I turned on the lights. I had my gun out, but one of them hit me from behind, a chop to the back of the head. I fired wildly as the assailant’s arms locked around my neck.
I collapsed in his grasp, falling back against him, legs locked around his so that he had to go down under me. His head hit the cement floor and he grunted. I rolled over, but the blow to my head had dazed me and a heavy foot stepped on my gun hand before I could fire again.
I pulled my knees to me and kicked hard at the shin. Heavy-foot yelped and backed away, and I fired again, trying to roll over and get to my feet.
The man on the floor recovered and put an arm around my throat. “Sit on her chest,” he panted, and a third man was suddenly straddling me.
I tried to bite him but got a mouthful of vinyl. There were three of them, all wearing black hooded rain jackets. The faces of death, Kira had said. The faces of death looking down at me.
“Get a needle into her fast, before she does any more damage. That last shot, she clipped Lou.”
“Mulliner!” I recognized the Ruhetal security director’s voice. “This is how you earned your mansion, isn’t it?”
I made myself relax, deflated my chest, twisted to my side, was almost free, when I felt the sting of a needle through my cutoffs into my hip. I got a knee up and into the groin of the sitter, tried to stand as he fell away with a scream of pain, but then I fell myself, my head and arms as heavy as if a thousand pounds of sand had landed on my head.
“Ten milligrams. I thought that would get to her fast.” Mulliner speaking, proud of himself.
“Where’s the clipping?” I was sure I knew that voice, too, that fruity baritone.
I had to protect the clipping, I knew that. I could see my briefcase by the front door and I tried to crawl to it, but I was so dizzy and heavy-headed that I could barely move. One of the death dealers walked over easily, picked it up, dumped the contents on the floor, found the clipping.
“We’ll take care of this now,” Fruity said. He pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket.
“No smoking in here,” I tried to say, but that wasn’t the point, the point was he was setting fire to the newspaper story, which I needed to save, it was so important, it was the story of Leydon’s life. No, that wasn’t right, but it didn’t matter, he was rubbing the charred fragments between his fingers and laughing.
“And now let’s get this overeager snooper to bed. She needs to sleep with the fishes tonight,” Fruity said.
“Not Marlon Brando,” I muttered. “Know you.”
“Yeah, bitch, and I know you, too. So up you get.” He laughed again and tried to pick me up. “Jeez, bitch weighs a ton! Give me a hand here, guys.”
“She got Lou in the nuts,” Mulliner said. “And my head isn’t too good, but hers won’t be worth shit in the morning.”
Mulliner put an arm between my legs, seized my arms, and tried to lift me, but a hundred fifty pounds of dead weight is hard to move.
“Why do you want to go all the way out to the country with her? Leave her here. Smother her or something and let’s get going.”
“Chicago cops won’t let it rest if they find her here,” Fruity said. “Anyway, it’s poetic justice.”
Together, Fruity and Mulliner got me up, slung me over Mulliner’s back. The motion made me seasick. I threw up and Mulliner swore, but he wobbled along, bouncing, making me sicker.
“Lou, you nutless wonder, stop crying, hold the doors,” Fruity said.