Quarry in the Middle by Max Allan Collins Page B

of…and I’ve heard of a few.”
    “Bet you have.”
    His face seemed to darken further under the leathery tan. He slammed the empty tumbler down on the glass and leaned forward and pointed a finger at me. “Listen, booby—you know not with whom you fuck. I ran key clubs on the West End for the Kray brothers when you were sucking your mama’s titty.”
    “I’m a bottle baby.”
    “I’ve seen things undreamed of in your fucking philosophy, Horatio. Fuck! I ran Rush Street Clubs for the Giardellis when you were—”
    “Shooting gooks with a sniper rifle?”
    That stopped him.
    “Listen,” I said, and I held my hands up, palms open. “I’ve invested some time and money and energy in this, but I’m well aware it’s a speculative endeavor. You can say no—you don’t have to buy my Fuller brushes, you can pass on my Amway products, you don’t evenhave to buy any magazine subscriptions to send me to Bible camp. Your choice. Of course, you’ll be dead, this time tomorrow.”
    I rose.
    He looked up at me. I had a feeling he had a gun stuffed down in that chair, particularly because of the way his hand was way back on the cushion. If he made a move, I could have the glass coffee table in his face faster than Chrissy could snort a line.
    But he raised his own palms and patted the air, gently. “Sit,” he said. “Sit.”
    I sat.
    “Suppose I take you seriously,” he said. He got a cigarette going, taking one from a gold box on the coffee table—not a Virginia Slim, I’d wager. “Suppose I accept this outrageous scenario as potentially real and not just ridiculous twaddle.”
    “Isn’t twaddle inherently ridiculous?”
    He closed his eyes. “You are insufferable.”
    “Sorry. Just trying to lighten the mood.”
    “What do you know about this?”
    “About this?”
    “About how I would be…eliminated.”
    I shrugged. “It’s going to be nasty. You’re going to be run down by a car.”
    His eyes popped. “You said something about triggers being pulled…”
    “That was meant to cover the whole panorama of how many ways your ass can be ‘eliminated.’ My guess is, this particular specialist has been brought in so thatyour death can pass as accidental. Somebody wants you dead who doesn’t want a killing coming back on them.”
    He frowned, looked off toward the door. But he wasn’t thinking about Chrissy, I didn’t think.
    Then his leathery puss turned toward me and he said, slowly, “I know who hired this done.”
    “Ah. So it is credible, then.”
    He nodded. “Very credible. That’s why we’re still talking, Mr. Quarry.”
    I didn’t correct him. It was his way of saying he was talking to a hired killer, not a veterinary medicine salesman.
    “What,” he said, “if I wanted that party removed. By that I mean, the party who wanted me removed.”
    “Party of the first part?” I said and risked a grin. “It is a contract, after all…I’d be glad to. I couldn’t quote a price until I knew more of the circumstances, but I’d be fine with that.”
    Really fine—after all, when you kill the contract killers, the guy who hired them might be miffed with you. So eliminating the buyer would be the best kind of contract to get—lucrative and self-interested.
    “Should we discuss it?” he asked.
    “Let’s discuss you. First things first. How many on your security staff?”
    “Twelve.”
    “I counted six.”
    “Six working tonight.”
    “Are you including the parking-lot deputy?”
    “No.”
    “Is he trustworthy, the deputy?”
    “Of course not.”
    “So what’s the story on law enforcement in Haydee’s Port?”
    “There isn’t any, Mr. Quarry. There’s a county sheriff’s sub-station in Burris, which is ten miles from Haydee’s. They have half a dozen deputies and one very corrupt sheriff. All of them work for not only me but the other businesses in Haydee’s.”
    “Like the Lucky Devil downtown?”
    “That’s right. The Lucky Devil and all of the other low-rent