Kelson swung to the curb in front of his building, went into the lobby, and took the stairs to the basement. He went through a low-ceilinged corridor with exposed pipes and rounded the door into the laundry room. A couple were making out in the corner, the woman sitting on a washer that vibrated in spin cycle, the man standing between her legs. Kelson yelled, ‘Did you see a big-breasted woman and a redhead?’
The woman pulled her lips from the man’s and stared at Kelson. ‘Creep,’ she said.
‘Get the hell out of here, OK?’ the man said.
‘How long have you been here?’ Kelson said.
‘This is your business?’ the woman said.
‘Like five minutes,’ the man said. ‘Now leave.’
Kelson was already gone. He ran up the corridor to the elevator, muttered at the elevator door until the car came, and rode to his floor.
When he went into his apartment, Payday mewed at him from his bed. He asked her, ‘Where are they?’ He poked his head into the kitchenette. He stepped into the bathroom. Painter’s Lane was sniffing the mess Genevieve Bower made when she missed the toilet. ‘Huh,’ Kelson said. He shooed her out and closed the door.
He left his apartment and ran down the hall to the stairwell. He took the steps two at a time back to the basement.
When he charged into the laundry room, the couple were still making out. The man had a hand inside the woman’s T-shirt. Kelson stared around wildly. Then he kicked a dryer.
The couple jumped, and the woman yelled, ‘What the hell?’
‘Impulse control,’ Kelson said, and he kicked a garbage can. The can spun across the floor and tipped. The lid rolled off, and the garbage spilled out. At the top there was a man’s gray sweatshirt with a Chicago Bears logo – Phillips’s. One of the shirt sleeves was smeared with vomit.
‘Dammit,’ Kelson said, and he kicked another dryer.
Outside in his car, he called Rodman. ‘Phillips and Cushman have them,’ he said.
‘Wow,’ Rodman said.
‘Exactly. I’m heading to G&G.’
‘Don’t,’ Rodman said. ‘This has gone too far. Call Dan Peters or Venus Johnson.’
‘I’m sure that’s good advice.’ Kelson turned the key in the ignition.
‘You’ve no idea what’s waiting for you there,’ Rodman said.
‘I have a pretty good idea. But they don’t have any idea what I’ll do.’
‘Control yourself, OK? If they killed Jeremy Oliver—’
‘If they hurt Doreen and—’
‘I’ll meet you there. Wait in the parking lot. Don’t go in without me.’
‘More good advice.’ Kelson hit the gas.
He sped out to the Interstate and north to Mundelein. When traffic thickened, he shoved up within inches of the cars in front of him, jerked the steering wheel, and slid into an adjacent lane. When other drivers honked at him, he flipped them off out the side windows or in the rearview mirror. Joan Jett’s ‘I Love Rock ’n’ Roll’ began to play deep in his brain. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Just no.’ For a half mile before he got off the Interstate, he drove on the shoulder, swearing at the other drivers – and at himself.
When he reached the concrete and glass building that housed the G&G offices, he left his car in the fire lane, ran inside, and poked the elevator call button. When the indicator light showed the elevator stationary at the third floor, he went to the stairwell and ran upstairs. He burst into the G&G reception area out of breath.
The receptionist raised her eyebrows and asked pleasantly, ‘May I—’
He went past her, into the hallway leading to the Cranes’ offices.
Before the receptionist could get up from her desk and follow him, he ran up the hall and rounded the doorway into Harold Crane’s suite.
Harold Crane was there.
So was Doreen.
They sat together on a blue leather couch across from the desk.
They were drinking glasses of wine.
Kelson made a sound. Then he made another sound. Then he managed to make a word. ‘What?’
Harold Crane gazed up, his beakish nose pointing at Kelson, and grinned as if he’d pulled off a practical joke. ‘Ah, Mr Kelson.’
Kelson stared at Doreen. ‘What …’
She gave him a masklike smile. She said, ‘Turns out I know Harry.’
‘Harry?’
‘From before,’ she said.
‘You mean, as an escort?’
‘I went out with Harry to several dinners,’ she said. The little man grinned and squeezed one of her knees. ‘As his evening companion,’ she said.
‘Small world?’ Kelson said, and the words felt small in his mouth.
‘Small city,’ she said. ‘For a select clientele.’ She laid her hand on Crane’s.
Kelson remembered the man’s flaccid fingers from when he first met him. He stared at Doreen touching him and said, ‘Slugs.’
Doreen gave him a warning look. He started to ask her why. But Stevie Phillips, Greg Cushman, and the receptionist rushed into the office. Phillips and Cushman moved toward Kelson as if they would wrestle him to the floor. Kelson dangled his fingers over the pistol in his belt.
Harold Crane said, ‘It’s all right, boys,’ and Phillips and Cushman stopped. ‘Mr Kelson is joining us for a drink.’ He gazed at Kelson. ‘Is wine acceptable, or do you prefer beer? We also have a bottle of Woodford bouncing around. Can you mix alcohol with the opioids you’re taking?’
Kelson brushed his fingers over the pistol grip. ‘How do you know—’ He glanced at Doreen, who shook her head.
Crane said, ‘We have a wonderful research department, as the best investment companies do. Would you like to know your credit history? Would you like me to tell you what you ate for breakfast?’
‘I’d like to know where you’ve got Genevieve Bower,’ Kelson said.
‘You paid for the waffle at the Golden Apple Grill with a Visa card. I tell you this because I want to frighten you.’
‘Where is she?’
‘We’ve already moved her somewhere we can keep her safe.’
‘You mean where you can keep yourself safe from her?’ Kelson said. His fingers rested on the pistol grip.
One side of Crane’s mouth curled in a smile. ‘I assure you that pulling your gun would be the biggest mistake of your life.’
Cushman asked Crane, ‘You want me to take it from him?’ He’d taped a bandage over his cut-up cheek.
Crane asked Kelson, ‘Will that be necessary?’
Kelson said, ‘I’m taking Doreen out of here.’
Crane’s smile spread. ‘I believe the lady’s enjoying her wine.’
Kelson said to her, ‘Are you enjoying your wine?’
Doreen raised her glass to her lips and downed the rest. ‘Very much.’ She set down the glass and squeezed Crane’s hand. ‘Give me a call,’ she said.
She got up and joined Kelson. He stared at her, confused. She smiled. ‘Are we going?’
As they walked out of the office toward the reception area, he said, ‘What the hell—’
She took his hand, squeezed hard, and whispered, ‘Shut up.’
In the elevator, he tried again. ‘What the hell was that about?’
‘She’s in a room in the back.’
‘What?’
‘Genevieve Bower. I got him to tell me – I had to kiss him for it. His goddamned tongue tastes like a turd. If you hadn’t come in, he would’ve wanted more.’ She looked like she wanted to spit. ‘We used to call him Scary Harry. The things he wanted to do.’
‘Did you do them?’
‘Do you want me to answer that?’
‘No.’
They went out through the lobby into the late-afternoon sun. Kelson stopped before they got to his car. ‘I can’t leave her here.’
‘Wrong,’ Doreen said. ‘You’ve got to. You can’t go in alone. You saw that place – you heard Harry. When Phillips and Cushman brought us in, they gave her to three other guys. What’re you going to do against five men?’
‘I can’t—’
‘Call for help,’ she said. ‘Get the cops. What good can you do on your own?’
Then a white van ripped across the parking lot. It stopped in the fire lane behind the Dodge Challenger. Rodman stepped out. He looked cool and calm.
He said to Kelson, ‘You went in without me, didn’t you?’
‘I did,’ Kelson said.
Rodman shook his head, then looked at Doreen. ‘Are you OK?’
‘Never better,’ she said.
‘She was getting drunk with Harold Crane,’ Kelson said.
‘Where’s Genevieve Bower?’ Rodman asked.
‘Still inside,’ Kelson said.
‘In a back room,’ Doreen said.
‘They’ve got five men on her,’ Kelson said.
Rodman glanced from Kelson to Doreen, as if searching for something he didn’t see. ‘Hell,’ he said, ‘what are we waiting for?’ He went to the lobby doors and disappeared into the building.
Kelson and Doreen stared at each other. ‘Hell,’ Kelson said, and they followed Rodman.