Читать книгу The Fruitcake Murders - Ace Collins - Страница 13

Chapter 7

7

Thursday, December 19, 1946

1:27 A.m.

Within five minutes of having Lane’s plan go terribly wrong, Tiffany’s heart rate returned to normal. With both hands on the wheel and her eyes watching carefully for ice, she silently navigated the Windy City’s all-but-deserted streets for twenty minutes until she finally made the left onto Lake Shore Drive. It was only then the driving snow let up, giving the woman a chance to relax and reflect.

Her captor obviously knew Lane. How? Had the guy with the shiny gun been on the police force? Had he been arrested sometime in the last year? Maybe he and the cop had met in the service. Perhaps they had even been part of the same unit. Yet, before she felt she could dig into that area, she had to focus on the one thing she did know. The gunman apparently believed she was the blonde he’d been assigned to pick up. But for what purpose? Did he need information she was supposed to give him or was he going to rub her out? At this point knowing if she was living on borrowed time seemed far more important than discovering where this guy had met Lane. So, Tiffany opted to first voice a very haunting query, and, if she managed to get an answer that offered a chance at life, she’d figured she could go on from there.

“So, is this my final ride?”

She glanced over to the man as she waited for an explanation. From the glow of the car’s dash lights she could now perceive he was not only broad-shouldered but also square-jawed, clean-shaven, and ruggedly attractive. His dark, bushy eyebrows framed large eyes and his sharp nose and jutting chin gave him a bit of a Dick Tracy look.

“You’re a good-looking doll,” he noted as their eyes met.

“Pickup lines aren’t really necessary,” she replied as she turned her attention back to the road. “You already have me in your car and that gun pretty much dictates I’ll have to do whatever you want me to do.” Suddenly feeling a bit bolder she added, “But whatever you do, please don’t call me a doll. I’ve got a college degree and I can put together sentences in both print and verbal fashion. Dolls can’t do that.”

If she’d touched a nerve, it didn’t show. He cocked his head and barked, “Take off your gloves.”

“It’s cold and I’m driving the car,” she snapped, “it would be dangerous for me to let go of the steering wheel. Besides, my hands aren’t my best features.”

“Okay,” he replied, “I’ll make this easy; just use those full red lips to answer a question. Are you wearing your jade ring?”

“Listen,” she cracked, “on what I make each week the only piece of jewelry I can afford is a cheap watch. Why don’t you use that cash we brought tonight and buy your own jade ring? I don’t have one.”

He was quiet for a moment before he began spitting out words that chilled her even more than the hard December weather. “I’ve been paid big bucks to get rid of you, and that jade ring you claim you don’t have is the key to my not getting rubbed out, too.”

She considered his words and, as she did, a plan quickly came together in her mind. The guy needed a jade ring to seal the deal. He obviously figured she’d be wearing it. If she played things right, the mere fact she wasn’t might just buy her some time.

“The ring’s at my apartment,” she lied.

“But I was told you always wear it.”

“Well,” she stalled, “I do, except when it’s this cold. My gloves don’t fit right when I have it on. So tonight, I left it home. Why’s it so important to you?”

She waited for his response, but it didn’t come quickly. It was a full three miles later when he finally posed a question. “How far is your place from where we are now?”

“With the streets the way they are,” she explained, “maybe half an hour.”

“Let’s go,” he suggested. “You’re no good to me without that ring.”

Tiffany turned right, drove around a block, and pointed the car back toward downtown. She’d successfully and unexpectedly bought a little time, but would that really matter when they got to the apartment? When she had to admit there was no ring, then what would the guy do? That was something she didn’t want to consider and thanks to his breaking in with a question, she didn’t have to dwell on it either.

“What do you have on Richard Delono?” he demanded.

This was interesting. Just the mention of the gangster’s name proved that Elrod had been on the right track with his investigation. But what did a blonde woman have to do with it? Why was she so important to finishing this equation? It was time to find out and perhaps the best way to get that information was to play dumb.

“What makes you think I know anything about . . .” she paused for effect, then added, “what did you say the guy’s name was?”

He leaned against the passenger door and studied her for several seconds before asking, “How much farther?”

“About ten minutes, unless we hit a patch of ice.”

He smiled grimly. “Elrod turned you over to me or at least he used Walker to do that. That’s how badly he wanted those files. On top of that, Delono paid me to make sure you didn’t talk. So what is it that you know?”

She was getting someplace now. The blonde was valuable, at least to the crime boss, maybe what the mystery woman knew might even bring him down. But if that were the case, why would Elrod turn her over to the very man he was trying to expose and stop? Or was he? Maybe Elrod had been playing both sides of the street and the blonde and cash were meant to assure Delono that they were on the same team. As she rolled the theory over in her head, she turned to her captor, “What was in the files?”

“What difference does it make?” he asked.

“If those files are worth more than my life,” she shot back, “then I want to know why.”

He nodded, “That’s fair. There was supposed to be pages of information in those files on the man Elrod has in his sights, but it was all a scam. Those files are filled with nothing more than blank sheets of paper.”

She could barely believe what she’d been told. She’d put her life on the line for nothing. Swallowing hard she whispered, “You’re serious?”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “I looked through them. I don’t know what Elrod was expecting, but when he opens those files he’s going to be very disappointed. So, I guess your life is not worth the paper that absolutely nothing is written on.”

She nodded and frowned. Now that was a sobering thought. Lane had sold the reporter out for a long story with absolutely no copy. Well, at least the cop could read and comprehend what he’d been given.