Emerald City Blues Read Online Free

minutes, but soon enough my thin patience was rewarded. Chef Markel D'Aubers was a wiry, spare man with excellent wavy black hair, a Saturnine complexion, and eyes the color of pitch - as was his soul, I was certain. We were not friends. Actually that was a bit of an understatement, and the way he looked at me like I was something unpleasant he had stepped in showed nothing had changed. "You don't look happy to see me," I observed with feigned casualness. Yep. Still had a bit of Scotch in me.
    "Should I be?" He looked me over, unimpressed and making a show of it.
    "It would be a nice change." He snorted and crossed his arms. "All right. I'll get right to it. I need to know what happened to Gerhardt Mueller's estate after the War."
    "Why would I know that?" There was a dangerous glint in his eyes now. H is hands had tensed into fists.
    Keep your voice level. Don't let him know how important this is to you. I knew Markel well enough to know he would not hesitate to say no just for the pleasure of denying me what I was after. "Because Erich was closer to Gerhardt than anyone, and I thought since he was your brother, he might have said something about Gerd's next of kin."
    "Why won't you people leave me alone?!" Markel practically shouted, startling a man and a woman next to me at the bar. That was all right, they could complain to the manager about Markel and Considien and I would laugh about it later. Just now I was more interested in his strange vehemence. "I don't know anything about the crazy old Kraut, woman. And if you send one more goon in here trying to grill me about it, I'll have him thrown out on the street, do you hear me?" His voice was low and angry now, the words coming fast and sharp. "Erich is dead. Let him rest in peace, and leave me alone. Whatever it is you and your little gang have planned, I want nothing to do with it. Do you understand me? Nothing."
    He turned to stalk away from me but I caught his arm before he could go back into the kitchens. The white linen of his chef's coat was rough under my fingers. "What do you mean? I don't have anyone working for me. Who else was asking about Erich?"
    "When two different people ask me within days of each other whether Erich told me anything about Mueller's personal effects, I can only assume they are conspirators," he grated. "Your innocent act needs work, Sheehan. The same goes for that blond devil comrade of yours." He shook my hand off his arm and stalked back into the kitchen with what he probably thought of as injured dignity.
    I sat there stunned for a full minute. That cold thing happened in my lower back. Hairs stood on end. He had been here. I knew it even though I didn't know how I knew. Whoever had killed Tommy had been here, in the Horseshoe, might even have sat where I was now seated. My skin felt tight and my limbs heavy. What had Markel said? That blond devil. I shuddered. He was beginning to take shape, and now I found I did not like the look of him at all. I felt horribly exposed, as if unfriendly eyes were watching me right at that very moment.
    I sat there long enough to be noticed. A plate of steak and onions came out from the kitchens, borne by a server in white who smiled politely and told me, "Compliments of the house." John Considine still remembered me. Gratitude rarely lasted long around this city; why was it that dapper crooks and smiling rum-runners who buried a couple of Federal agents every year were so generous, while the law-abiding citizens of the city turned away from me without quite admitting to themselves why they did so?
    There are few philosophies more persuasive than those that fill the belly. I tucked in.

FOUR
    I awoke to pounding. For once, it was not just inside my head.
    What time was it? I'd gotten to sleep barely an hour before dawn, and sadly without any company to help warm it. The dreams stemming from this state of affairs had been pleasant; being jerked from them so unceremoniously was anything but. I struggled