There was a blind spot for the camera covering the front of the Harbor Inn. If he crossed the street from the abandoned gas station just so , and didn't walk more than six feet to either side of a certain line, then the front camera would be blocked by the old metal lighthouse on the sign itself.
Once under the overhangand presumably not yet on any monitor or videotapethe Dodger ignored the front door since the P.I. would certainly have telltales there. Securing the backpack, the Dodger crouched low, jumped straight up, caught the sharp edge of the old hotel sign over him, swung twice back and forth, his legs kicking higher each timecontinuing to keep the metal lighthouse between him and the surveillance camera a floor aboveand then swung all the way up, doing a complete flip and coming to rest on top of the sign, with his back to the metal lighthouse.
The old sign structure creaked and groaned, but did not collapse. The rusted lighthouse with "Harbor Inn" painted on it was about seven feet tall, was hollow and was made of cheap metal. The Dodger kept his hands on it while he worked his way around it, under the camera's field of view now, and crouched outside one of the three big windows looking out on the intersection of Chicago and Ohio.
It was dark inside, but the glow of monitors in there showed the Dodger that the room was empty.
He propped the backpack by his knee, removed a suction cup and glass cutter on a compass, cut a six-centimeter hole in the glass, carefully laid the circle of glass on the sign base, returned the equipment to his pack, and listenedno audible alarm soundedand then reached in, unlatched the old window, and shoved it up. The ancient sash groaned and protested, but the window slowly rose.
The Dodgeras agile as Spidermanswung in and pulled the backpack in after him. He hoisted the pack to his back again, carefully lowered the window, held the silenced 9-millimeter Beretta in his hand, and moved into the darkness to find or wait for Mr. Kurtz, the elusive P.I.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
He had time for none of that.
Traffic was light since it was Sunday evening, but he'd left Curly's Restaurant late and had to head straight for his office on Chippewa if he was going to get there before the others. As it was, he came out of the alley where he'd parked the Pinto and reached the outside door just as Angelina and two new bodyguards pulled up in a black SUV and parked across the street. All three came over at once. The two new personal bodyguards were bigger, heavier, and more the comb-your-hair-with-buttered-toast Sicilian type.
Kurtz paused before unlocking the street door. "Just you," he said.
"We're going to look at the place first," said Angelina.
"You don't trust me?" said Kurtz. "After last night and"
"Just open the fucking door."
They followed him up the steep stairway and waited below him while be unlocked the office door and turned on the lights. The two goombahs brushed past him.
"Be my guest," said Kurtz.
The two quickly searched the office, looking through the warm back room with the servers and checking out the small bathroom. They were efficient, Kurtz had to give them that. On the second quick sweep, one of them looked under Arlene's desk and said, "Mounted holster set-up here, Ms. Ferrara. No gun."
Angelina looked at Kurtz. "My secretary's," he said. "She works here late at night." He thought, Shit, I was counting on that Magnum being there .
The don's daughter waved the two bodyguards out and Kurtz closed the door behind them. When he turned around, Angelina had her Compact Witness.45 in her hand. "We going to my place again?" he said.
"Shut up."
"Can I sit down?" He pointed to his chair and desk. Suddenly it was either a case of sit down or fall down.
Angelina nodded and gestured him over to his chair. She sat on Arlene's desk and set the pistol next to her. "What is all this mystery crap, Joe?"
Well, at least I'm back to Joe , thought Kurtz. He glanced at his watch. Gonzaga would be here in a minute or two.
"I'll tell you the whole story when your pal Gonzaga gets here. But I needed to ask you something first."
"Ask."
"Word on the streethell, word everywhereis that either you or Gonzaga have brought in the Dane and he's already here. I think it's you that brought him in for a job."
Angelina Farino Ferrara said nothing. Outside, the light was waning. Neon signs glowed through the not-quite-closed blinds. Traffic hissed.
"I want to make a deal" began Kurtz.
"If you're worried that you're on some list," said Angelina, "don't. You're not worth a hundred-thousand-dollars for a hit."
Kurtz shook his head and had to blink at the pain. "Who is?" he said. "No, I had a different deal in mind." He told her quickly.
It was Angelina Farino Ferrara's turn to blink. "You expecting to die suddenly, Joe?"
Kurtz shrugged.
"And you won't tell me the name?" she said.
"I'm not sure yet."
She set the Compact Witness in her purse. The downstairs door buzzed on Arlene's intercom and Kurtz could see Gonzaga and three of his men on the video monitor.