Shadows in a Dark City by Kirk Dougal

Author:Kirk Dougal [Dougal, Kirk]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Diamond Seven
Published: 2020-04-20T22:00:00+00:00

Draghunt

I smelled the blood before I spotted the body.

The first copper I walked around was too busy to notice me as he bent over with his hands on his knees, puking on his shoes. I sidestepped the mess and continued into the alley behind him. Ahead of me a rumbling bass voice gave rapid orders with the assurance of someone who expected them to be followed. The speaker was a mountain of a man, taller than me and twice as thick, with a belly that rolled over his pants like the start of an avalanche. I cleared my throat, and he glanced over his shoulder at me.

“What's the dope, Ballas?” I asked while holding out my deck of Luckies.

“Jesus, Jerry!” the man yelled over my head. “Quit tossing your supper long enough to give me a heads up!” He grabbed one of the cigarettes and nodded his thanks. “I haven't seen you for a while. You been laying low?”

I lit my own gasper and shook my head.

“Nah. I was working a case on the south side. Took a little longer than I thought it would.”

Ballas tilted his head, and I followed him deeper into the alley.

“Good money in that part of town,” he said. “Not as much riff raff. What brought you back here?”

“I got the call from McGlinty.”

Ballas snorted and flicked off some ash.

“I'll bet so.”

When Mayor Jenkins had a problem he couldn't handle through public channels, he called Jerry McGlinty, his right-hand man and so-called political adviser. Keeping political allies in line, running the union vote, and the occasional greasing of somebody's palm was his bailiwick. He even regulated some of the more “special” work. But when a job was too nasty for McGlinty to touch, he called me.

The smell of blood grew stronger as we walked, copper taste sitting heavy on my tongue with each breath. I swallowed and rubbed my arm, trying to stop the itch on my skin. I didn't like working around this time because it made things tricky. But McGlinty paid well, throwing in some extra cabbage for quick and quiet.

Then I saw him.

At least, I saw what was left of the poor bastard. One cheek was gone, and his scalp was torn back to the skull. Most of his shirt had been ripped away and revealed deep gashes on his body, though it was hard to tell how many cuts through the shadows and thickening slick of blood. What was left of the rest of his clothes were soaked as well, and even the wall beside him glistened under the flashlights. I didn't blame the flatfoot at the mouth of the alley. This guy was a damn mess.

“We're saved now, boys. The shamus has arrived.” Two of the uniformed cops off to one side laughed, but the third remained silent.

“Shut your pie hole, Jonesy,” Ballas growled. “Okay, Paul. Give him the tale.”

“His wallet says his name is Robert Diartello,” the quiet officer said. “He lives a few blocks away on 42nd Street.

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