Kim Oh 3: Real Dangerous People (The Kim Oh Thrillers) by K. W. Jeter

here.” She pointed a lacquered fingernail at Curt. “Of course, I see you here all the time. But I was just mentioning to Kathy here –” She came over and took my arm again, using it to keep herself upright. “What a good idea it is, to have a woman working with you. This way, my husband and I could go to the opera. And we could take her with us.” Her smile turned mischievous. “And I think you’d have to admit, she’d fit in better than any of you gentlemen would.”
     
    From the corner of my eye, I saw Foley nudge Elton in the ribs. “See?” He whispered close to Elton’s ear. “Told you we should put you in a dress.”
     
    Elton smiled but didn’t say anything.
     
    “Muriel . . .” Mr. Falcon attempted to look regretful. “I’m afraid we’ll have to put off going to the opera for a little while. Just until things settle down a little bit.”
     
    “Pity.” She looked around at me again. “Now, dear, don’t let any of these ruffians get away with anything. If one of them starts talking out of line when you’re with them, you just let me know. All right?”
     
    “Sure,” I said. “But I don’t think we’ll have any problem.”
     
    “Well, I’ll leave you folks to talk about your business. If there’s anything you need . . . anything at all . . .”
     
    Mrs. Falcon drifted back toward the stairs. We watched her go. When she was finally out of sight, her husband let out a weary sigh.
     
    “Opera,” he said. “Somehow, if you’re Italian, you’re supposed to love that stuff. I mean, it’s all right. But I’m not going to go out and get myself killed just to listen to it.”
     
    “Don’t worry.” Curt smiled at him. “We’ll get this all cleared up. Then you can go every night, if you want to.”
     
    “You’re not helping.”
     
    When the crew headed outside, Curt gestured to me. “We need to talk.”
     
    As I followed him toward the Chevy, we heard Elton shout from the mansion’s front door.
     
    “Hey! Can you drop me off downtown?”
     
    Curt looked back at him. “Yeah – come on.”
     
    The two of us sat up front, with Elton in the back seat. As Curt drove the Chevy past the gates and onto the street, he glanced up at the mirror. “Where you want?”
     
    “You know the White Hawk?” Elton met his gaze. “Over on Hammond –”
     
    “That dump? Why’re you going there?”
     
    “Personal business. I got some folks there I need to talk to.”
     
    I laid my arm across the top of the seat and looked back at him. “Anything to do with the job?”
     
    “Not this one.” Elton shook his head. “Just some private matters I got to take care of.”
     
    “Oh. I thought maybe you had some contacts. Like somebody who’d have a lead on who’s gunning for Mr. Falcon –”
     
    “Nope. You want contacts, Curt there’s your man. He knows everybody.”
     
    I glanced over at him behind the wheel, then back to Elton.
     
    “Yeah,” I said. “You’re right about that.”
     
    “After all – he knew you.”
     
    “That’s because we had a mutual friend once.”
     
    “Do tell.” Elton was just making conversation. “What happened to him? Your friend, I mean.”
     
    “He died,” said Curt. Not looking away from the view out the windshield.
     
    “That happens.” Elton gave a nod. “All the time.”
     
    A little later, we were in a part of the city that made the area around Mae’s place look positively scrubbed by comparison. The White Hawk didn’t even have a sign except for its stenciled name fading on a wall, and it was the only place for blocks around that might have been open.
     
    “Thanks, man.” Elton leaned forward and patted Curt’s shoulder. “See you tomorrow.”
     
    He got of the car and started across the sidewalk.
     
    “Hey, Elton –”
     
    He stopped and looked at me leaning out the side window.
     
    “Looking forward to it,” I said. “Working with you, I mean.”
     
    “Yeah, sure.” He nodded.