'And, Bob-you're going to steal that arrogant little prick's case right out from under him.'
CHAPTER 8
A knock woke Ness.
In the darkness, for a moment, he didn't remember where he was; then the stale smell, and the heat, and the rough, scratchy blanket, brought it back to him. He slipped out of the cot-like bed and padded toward the door in his stocking feet-he was sleeping in his socks, despite the heat, because the wooden floor in this rooming-house room was nothing you'd want to lay bare soles upon.
He didn't know what time it was-he'd left his wristwatch behind, back in the real world-but he'd gone to bed around one A.M., and it was still dark outside.
So whatever time it was, it was a hell of a time for somebody to come calling.
Another knock.
He was standing to one side of the door, questioning the wisdom of going on this mission unarmed, reaching for the chipped pitcher on the washstand nearby, when he heard a harsh whisper from the other side of the door: 'For Christ's sake, it's me.'
Wild.
Ness let some air out, unhooked the eye latch that locked the door, and let the reporter in, He shut and relatched the door, and his hand fumbled across frayed wallpaper and found the light button. A bare bulb above threw weak yellowish light on the small shabby room and its sparse, metallic, institutional-gray furniture.
'This is a fucking cell,' Wild said, pushing his straw fedora back, his eyes wide.
'Not really.' Ness, in his underwear, sat on the cot. 'I'd offer you a chair, but there doesn't seem to be one.'
Wild sat next to Ness. 'Well, we probably aren't the only guys sharing a bed in this joint tonight. Mind if I smoke?'
'What, and have you stink up the place?' Ness asked, then smiled and waved his permission.
Wild lit up and sucked on a Lucky, threw smoke out restlessly, shook his head. 'Four nights in this dump. How can you stand it?'
'I don't mind. Beats hell out of a flophouse crib with a chicken-wire ceiling. Ness paused, then said, 'You shouldn't be here, Sam.'
'Well, I'm delivering a message. Merlo wants to talk to you.'
Ness sat up. 'Developments?'
'Think so.' Wild shrugged. 'He didn't tell me. He doesn't like having a 'newshound' on the team. Anyway, he's sitting in an unmarked car a couple blocks from here, off the main stem.'
He gave Ness directions.
Ness got up and got his pants and shirt out of a dented metal wardrobe. 'You better go on,' he told Wild, motioning toward the door with his head. 'We shouldn't be seen on the street together.'
Wild stood, smoked nervously, said, 'Eliot, you're going to get yourself killed. Why didn't we stick to the original plan, anyway? It was working out fine.'
Stepping into frayed brown pants, Ness said, 'I didn't know we were going to hit pay dirt so soon.'
He was referring to the nameless tavern near Central and Twentieth. They had known it was a prime possibility, since Florence Polillo was known to have frequented the place; however, it was to have been only one of many such hellholes that Ness and Wild would hit, using the system Ness had cooked up whereby Wild asked provocative questions, then departed, leaving the already-present, undercover Ness to listen to what was said in the aftermath of the reporters departure, asking questions himself when he could get away with it.
But discovering that victims Andrassy and Polillo had known each other-a fact that had eluded investigators for over a year-prompted Ness to stick with the nameless bar; and he had taken this room in a nearby two-story brick rooming house to better become an inconspicuous part of the local landscape.
He and Wild had continued pursuing their routine at other taverns in the areas bordering the Run, particularly the Roaring Third, but only from late morning till around six. Evenings, Ness-alone-would spend leaning against the rail in the seedy joint near Central and Twentieth. The canvassing has slowed down accordingly.
'Look, Sam,' Ness said, bending to tie the laces of his heavy work boots, 'I have three good suspects in that bar- and I've struck up conversations with all of 'em. In fact one of them lives right here in this rooming house.'
'Jesus!' Wild said.
Ness, standing back up, raised a finger to his lips.
Wild went to the window and sent his cigarette trailing sparks out into the night. Then he turned to Ness, now fully dressed in his threadbare apparel, and said, 'You're going to get yourself fucking killed.'
Ness smiled dismissively.
Wild went to him and stared him down. 'You don't even have a goddamn gun.'
'I don't need a gun.'
'Oh, yeah, you know all about that jujitsu stuff. That'll work swell against some crazy asshole with a butcher knife.'
'Nobody knows me around here.'
'Sure, sure. You're in disguise-just like Sherlock Holmes.'
Ness had to wince at that; he'd been an avid Holmes reader since he was a kid. He didn't like to think he was acting out some childhood fantasy here. He preferred to consider this good, solid undercover police work.
'You got stubble on your face,' Wild said evenly, 'and you washed the Vitalis out of your hair. You put some gunk on your teeth, and you slouch, and you swear. But somebody who knows you will make you, my friend.'
'Who would know me down here?'
'The Butcher.'
Ness moved toward the door. 'Merlo's waiting, Sam…'
Wild was patting the air with one hand, gently. 'Eliot, let's not forget that you and the Butcher have something in common.'
Ness laughed shortly. 'Such as?'
'You're both publicity hounds. Now don't give me that look! I'm all for you getting headlines-I've helped out enough, in that line. And I know, I know, it's part of your job to make the papers. It's something you do well. But so does the Butcher.'
The truth of that jabbed sharply at Ness, but he said nothing.
'He leaves these bodies out in the open, where they are bound to be found eventually,' Wild went on, 'when he could be disposing of them in such a way that they wouldn't be found-like the heads and hands aren't found, when he doesn't want them to be.'
'Make your point,' Ness said.
'My point is, this guy probably has a goddamn scrapbook of what he's been up to-he may even bump another victim off, or at least pull a body out of his fridge and dump it, when he's stopped getting as much play in the papers as he'd like. See, he likes being the Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run-not just for the butchering, either. For the celebrity.'
'Well, you may have something there.'
'Of course I do. And if he's collecting his press clippings, and believe me he is, he knows all about you declaring private war on him. He hasn't just seen your mug in the papers-he's likely memorized it. He ain't no fool, but you, my friend, are bordering on that condition.'
'If he recognizes me,' Ness said, 'maybe he'll come to me.'
'Oh, yeah, and cut your head off and go steady with you, till the next idiot comes along.'
'Sam…'
Wild sighed in frustration, then gave Ness a look so earnest and concerned it surprised them both. 'You may also spook your boy. Have you considered that? You might make him take a powder.'
Ness shrugged matter-of-factly. 'If he's one of the suspects I've narrowed in on, then he'll give himself away
