Chapter 11

Dead Weight

Mark stared at the still body of Ed Brown as it lay stretched out on the concrete floor, stunned at what he'd just done. His right hand felt as though it had been crushed in a vice, as he hadn't just hit Ed; he'd punched him like he really meant it, using his own fear and panic at the situation as fuel. And Ed hadn't even tried to stop him, or tried to avoid it. He'd just stood there waiting for Mark to get on with it!

What had he done?

Suddenly, Archie clapped him on the shoulder.

'Hey man! What a move! You'll be taking my job next,' he said with a loud laugh.

The silence that had held over the whole time suddenly broke, and the people started chatting and talking. Mark stared still as Mikey knelt down next to Ed, lifted his limp wrist and checked his pulse.

'Is he…?'

'Man, you must really hate cops to hit him that hard!' said Mikey. He looked up at Pete. 'If you want a real fight, you're going to have to give him time to come round.'

Pete glared down wordlessly at Ed, then back at Mark

'You stupid jerk!' he hissed. 'What did you go and do that for?'

'Hey, Pete, take it easy on the man,' said Archie, grinning and still patting Mark's shoulder in a brotherly way. 'It's just gonna stretch things out a bit. You'll still get your show. And I'll take it a bit easier on him, to make it last!'

Archie laughed again, and Mark pursed his lips. At least he'd managed to delay the fight. But whether or not that helped, he couldn't guess.

Ed was no pro-fighter, but he understood how to play the game; a cop on the streets of any city wouldn't last a week if he didn't know how to handle himself in a fight. But he'd find it difficult to even stand up straight after a punch like that, and against a man like Archie, he'd be easy prey. He had to do something; he couldn't leave Ed to face Archie, and certainly not after smashing his lights out just to protect his own cover.

'What are you looking at?' Pete snapped at Mark. 'This is your fault!'

'Hey, man. Sorry. But you just said to hit him.'

Pete grunted, not noticing the shudder Mark gave as he spoke.

'Fine,' said Pete with a shake of his head. 'Mikey, take him back to the meat locker and get him into shape. Feed him coffee, or uppers, or whatever. Just get him standing! We can't hang round all day.'

'And you? You can help!' Mikey snapped at Mark. 'You got me into this! What did you have to hit him so hard for?'

Mark shrugged.

'Looked like he was smiling at me,' he muttered.

'Remind me not to smile at you again,' said Mikey dryly. 'C'mon! Help me get him out of here.'

Mark helped get Ed half sitting up, and slipped his arm under one shoulder to lift him off the ground enough to be moved. But at least there was no blood, and it was unlikely that he'd broken Ed's nose, or worse. Still, his head lolled backwards in an extremely unnatural way and he was a dead weight to carry. The two other men who'd brought Ed through in the first place did nothing to help as Mikey and Mark dragged him back through the doorway, one on either side.

Behind the door was a small room with another, open door at the far end. There was also a table and a couple of chairs, and on that table Mark saw Ed's gun, still sitting in its holster, beside some other things, some keys and coins, a small Swiss army knife and a set of handcuffs.

They opened up the far door and dragged Ed through. The room was lit up like a Christmas tree and empty, except for an off-brown carpet.

Carelessly, Mikey let Ed fall to the floor and Mark forced himself to copy the other man, leaving Ed lying on his back, his mouth slightly open. Still anxious, Mark knelt down beside him to take a closer look, and Mikey did too.

'Good looking for a cop,' Mikey said. 'At least he was before you took a pop at him.'

He tipped Ed's face towards Mark. There was a large red bulge across his cheekbone and up to his eye, where Mark had hit him. That had to hurt like hell! His expression was slack, and if Mark hadn't known what had happened, he would have though Ed was sound asleep. Looking at his friend, Mark had the sudden, terrible feeling that Ed wasn't acting. He really was out.

Mark gulped, his mouth suddenly drier than a Californian heat-wave. That was bad news.

'Hey, man don't sweat it,' said Mikey. 'As long as Archie gets a go, Pete's not gonna come after you.' Mark had to force himself to grunt back in reply.

Mikey stood, and so did Mark, finding it hard to look away from Ed.

'C'mon,' Mikey said, shaking Mark by the arm and pulling him towards the door. 'Come with me and we'll find something to perk him up a bit.'

What else could he have done? What else could he do but keep this painful façade up for as long as he could, and hope and pray that he could get in touch with Ironside?

With one last look as his unconscious friend, Mark shut the door behind them.

-xxx-

Ironside missed Mark. The police driver was a good enough officer, but he didn't have the way with the van that Mark did, and it bumped and lurched its way along the city streets. There was little traffic, as it was still a shade too early to be busy. Beside him, Eve sat in a tense silence; without a window to look through, she stared down at the floor.

Eventually, they rumbled to a halt and Ironside and Eve got out. The apartment block was just as Ironside had imagined it would be from Ed's report, cheap but not as bad as it could have been.

He knocked on the door and they waited. Over a minute passed before there was any sound of movement.

At last the door opened a fraction and Ironside could see part of a woman standing behind it, peering though with a very unfriendly expression on her face. He smiled.

'Who are you?' said the woman loudly.

'We're looking for Ron Lincoln,' said Ironside, holding up his badge. 'We need to speak with him.'

'M'husband's out,' said the woman. 'Go away!'

'Mrs Lincoln…'

'I told you, he's not at home,' she said sourly. 'What's wrong? You can't hear as well as can't walk!'

'Well if he's not here, we'll just have to speak to you,' snapped Ironside with a scowl, ignoring the insult.

'You going to kick in the door?' she asked.

'Do I need to?'

The Chief glared at her, aware that Eve was close by his side, and probably glaring at her too. He needed information and he needed it as fast as possible. If this was a dead end, then he had to know about it sooner, rather than later. He couldn't afford to waste time going to get a warrant. Time was running out, he could sense it. Swallowing his considerable anger, he drew a deep breath.

'Mrs Lincoln, may we come inside and ask you a few questions?'

The woman hesitated then shut the door. Furious, Ironside was about to knock again when there was the rustle of a chain and the door slowly opened.

The woman behind it was thin and angular, her brown hair tied back under a scarf. She looked as if she had been cleaning something, as she was wearing a tatty apron over her clothes and there was the faint smell of disinfectant. She stood back, letting Ironside roll forward, helped by Eve.

Inside, the hallway smelled of cleaning fluid as well, with added overtones of furniture polish. Mrs Lincoln stared at Ironside.

'So? What have you got to say for yourself?' she demanded.

'Where is Mr Lincoln? Shouldn't he be here, working?'

The woman gave him a withering look.

'Who cares where the old fraud is!' she said.

'I care.'

'Well I don't. He's gone out and that's all I know!'

The woman glared at Ironside, a cantankerous expression on her lined face. Ironside glared back.

'Eve,' he said suddenly. 'Book her for obstruction!'

'It will be my pleasure, Chief!' replied Eve coldly, and even Ironside was taken aback by the conviction in her voice.

'But you can't do that!' squeaked Mrs Lincoln.

'I can and I will,' said Ironside. 'And besides obstruction, I can book you for aiding and abetting, after the fact and likely before as well!'

'Aiding? Abetting? What! I've done nothing, you can't just come in here and…'

'This is a murder investigation, Mrs Lincoln!'

That word stopped her.

'B-but…' she spluttered.

'What can you tell us about Scott Thompson?' Eve asked suddenly. 'You do remember him? Don't you?'

The woman almost smiled.

'Scott? Yes of course,' she said. 'But he's long gone back to his folks I guess. Two months or more. What's that got to do with murder?'

'What was he like?' Ironside asked.

'A nice enough boy, but always broke. Always late with the rent, but very apologetic about it.'

'A good mechanic?'

'Oh no!' she said, shaking her head vigorously. 'Terrible. Always making a mess of cars, even ours once.'

'I'm sorry, but he's not gone home, Mrs Lincoln,' said Ironside slowly. 'He's dead. His body was pulled out of the Bay. He was murdered.'

The woman looked from Ironside to Eve, confused. The Chief leaned forward, an earnest expression on his face.

'We have reason to believe that the killer might have been seen by your husband,' he said, not even slightly ashamed of bending the truth at the moment. 'So we have to find him quickly.'

'But…' She was still hesitating. 'Ron? You can't mean that my Ron is involved in this?'

'Where is Mr Lincoln?' asked Ironside. 'It is extremely important that I speak to him.'

The woman looked between Ironside and Eve, her lips pursed.

'He rushed off, he often does, leaving me here to tidy up' she said, the bitterness in her voice strong enough to strip paint. 'He got a call, I don't know who from. Off to be with his little club, I suppose.'

'Club? Which club?'

'I don't know it's name, don't know where it is either, before you ask. Nasty place anyway, wherever it is. He always comes back smelling of sweat and ashes. It's disgusting.'

That sounded exactly like the kind of place someone would use as a killing ground, and Ironside's confidence grew stronger. Lincoln must be involved.

'How often?'

'Once a week, usually,' she said. 'Sometimes he gets an urgent message, and drops everything to go.'

Ironside considered this new information. If Lincoln was involved, then that fit the patterned well enough. They would find a new one and the call would go out as urgent. They would have to be killed quickly, after all. Ironside shuddered, thinking of Ed. He would have to be killed quickly too. They were running out of time.

'What else can you tell me?' he demanded. 'Anything?'

'Ron doesn't speak about it,' she said. 'Never has done. Likes his secrets, he does.'

'Nothing else?'

The woman shook her head, and there was a brief silence.

'They would probably be using Carlson's business as the front,' said Ironside to Eve. She nodded, but with little enthusiasm. The trouble was that there were so many different subsidiaries, and not all of them were in San Francisco, either. He thought about the large bundle of files that Ed had dumped on his desk hours earlier, and of all the hard work Ed had done in pulling it all together, and gave a little shiver. It was likely he wasn't going to get the chance to thank Ed now, or tell him that it hadn't been a waste of time.

No. He couldn't think like that. He couldn't afford to wallow in panic just now.

'But how are we going to find out which one?' said Eve with a sigh. 'When the only clue is a bad smell.'

'Sweat and ashes,' echoed Ironside. Eve was right, there wasn't much to go on.

'What about the Carlson's Gun Club!' said Eve suddenly. 'The smell of cordite. Ashes! And what better place?'

For the first time in many hours, Ironside smiled. Yes, the Gun Club would be and excellent place for something like this. It was near the water, it was relatively out of the way, and club members could come and go as they pleased without anyone thinking twice about it. Also, it was a good link to John Carlson, and considering they were going to use him as a fall guy.

'Eve, call in to Headquarters. Get some cars to the Gun Club, as well as the homicide boys. And make sure they get there quick but go in easy. Tell them there's trouble.'

Eve moved to the phone.

'You can stay here with Mrs Lincoln to take a statement.' At that Eve scowled at him. 'And to make sure she doesn't use the phone!'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Mrs Lincoln demanded. Ironside ignored her.

'But what about you, Chief?' asked Eve.

Ironside didn't answer, but checked his watch. Ed had been missing all night. It had been over two hours since Ron Lincoln had left, it wouldn't take more than about thirty minutes to get from here to the club, forty at the outside.

A cold spike of fear went down his spine, as far as it could go until it vanished at the point where all the feeling stopped. Even allowing for delays, Sergeant Brown was most likely dead already.

He looked at Eve, seeing in her frightened expression that she had worked that out as well.

'Chief?' she asked quietly.

'The Gun Club. That's were I'm going as well.'

-xxx-

Mark had followed Mikey through the basement and up some stairs to a plush-looking hallway. He was always on the look out for some hint as to where he was; that and a phone!

But this place was just like any other business building, full of locked door and empty corridors; he didn't know what he expected to find that would give him a clue to what it was. The only odd thing was a smell like bitter smoke, with some hash thrown in for good measure.

They stopped by one of the closed doors and Mikey reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He unlocked the door and they went inside.

It was an office, there was a fine leather seat behind the desk. On the wall above a small filing cabinet there was a pair of antique duelling pistols, an odd decoration in an otherwise ordinary building.

But Mark didn't spend too much time wondering about them, as he had spotted a telephone on the desk. Now all he had to do was use it.

'I'm going to check through here,' said Mikey, jerking is thumb towards a second set of doors that Mark hadn't noticed. 'Look in the desk to see what he's got.'

'What?' muttered Mark.

'Pills of course, man! What did you think? And the bottom drawer of that cabinet has a bottle of scotch in it. Get that too.'

A moment later, Mikey had turned the handle and was gone. Immediately, Mark ran to the phone and picked it up. He wasn't going to get another crack at this. He only had a few second before Mikey showed back up.

It was a huge chance to take, especially with the condition Ed was in downstairs, but he didn't have a lot of choice. He just hoped the Chief would pick up!

Mark dialled the office number, hardly daring to breath, and not knowing what he was going to say. But it rang and rang and rang, and no one answered. After just seven rings he put the phone down. If it hadn't been picked up by then, it wasn't going to be!

After taking a quick, anxious glance towards the far door, he tried again, this time with the van's number.

Behind him, Mark heard a movement from the other doorway, the way they had come in and he jerked his head up. Mikey was standing there, looking at the phone with a curious expression on his face.

Mark froze, the receiver pressed against his ear but the number still not finished. He'd been caught.

-xxx-

A/N - I know it's a bit earlier than usual, but it's NaNoWriMo time again. I hope to get the next two up over next weekend, then there's only one more until the next story!