We followed him up three narrow and unlit flights of carpeted stairs. Everywhere was dark until we arrived on the fourth floor, where a light shone from behind a glass door at the end of the hall. Our chaperone opened the door and ushered us in with a gesture of his hand.
Fearless was the first one through the door, then Milo and me, followed by the big man. We all three had different reactions to what we found there.
Fearless swiveled his head around to get the lay of the land. Milo looked at the small suited man behind the desk and sputtered, “What’s this supposed to mean?”
I was proud that I didn’t let the fear I felt come out when I greeted our host.
“Hello, Mr. Minor,” I said. “I wondered when you’d show up again.”
The little man squinted at me. “Rome? No, Paris. You were at the Tannenbaum’s house, no?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Hey, brother,” Fearless said.
When I looked to my right to see who it was that Fearless was greeting, I felt a clenching spasm down in my bowels. Leon Douglas, his eye still puffy and his jaw swollen, stood next to another evil-looking black man. The stranger was taller by an inch and twenty pounds lighter than Leon. He wore a cowboy hat.
Both men glared at us.
“What is the meaning of this?” Milo said again. “Where’s Mr. Widlow?”
“Mr. Widlow suggested to me that the principals should work out the specifics of this transaction,” the little man said. “Sit down, gentlemen.”
Fearless grabbed the chair closest to Leon and his friend, who stood against the wall on our right. The big white man who let us in leaned against the door behind us.
Minor was seated at a vast maple desk that was empty of papers or books or anything else to distract the eye. All he had was a lamp with an opaque green glass shade. Mr. Minor/Zimmerman smiled and nodded.
“How is Sol?” he asked.
“Dead,” Fearless said.
“We have business, yes?” our host asked. Sol’s death was not even worth his notice.
“Who are you?” Milo asked.
“I am Zev Minor.” I would have never known it was a lie from his delivery. He was just a feeble uncle too old and weary to waste time trying to fool you. “And this is Mr. Christopher,” he said, gesturing to the man behind us.
Fearless had his head turned away from Minor. He was pretending to read the titles on a shelf of books. That way our back was covered.
“I think you already know Mr. Douglas. His friend’s name is Mr. Tricks.”
“Just Tricks,” the cowboy said.
“We represent Lawson and Widlow in this business about the bond.” The last three words betrayed the gravity of his interest.
It was then that I remembered where I had seen Mr. Christopher. He was the big man leaving the Messenger of the Divine storefront on the night I was so cold and sleepy.
“This is totally unacceptable,” Milo said, sputtering as he spoke. “I was to meet Mr. Widlow, and I expect to meet with him …”
Milo kept talking because he sensed danger. Words were Milo’s weapons, so he pulled them out. I wasn’t concerned about the bailbondsman or his fears, but when I looked over at Fearless, I saw that his hand had edged nearer to his gun pocket. Fearless was preparing to fight for his life. I could see that in his posture and the almost imperceptible furrow at the center of his brow. I wasn’t worried about Fearless though — if anybody could survive that kind of battle, he could, but the odds for me and Milo weren’t so good.
Under the fear of impending death and with the recognition of Christopher, who I would have bet was the Nazi Holderlin, everything else fell into place in my mind. I wondered if the nearness of death caused some chemical reaction in the brain that increased intelligence, as some scientists say that adrenaline increases physical strength in times of great stress.
I sat forward and said, “We know where Elana Love is at, and she has the bond.”
“Where?” Leon asked from the sidelines.
“My colleague has a good question, Mr. Minton,” Minor said.
“What’s it worth?” I asked.
The little man pressed out his lips and shrugged. “My patience is wearing thin, my friend. Sol Tannenbaum stole my money. It took me many years to get to this moment. Don’t press your luck.”
“You mean the art treasures you stole from the poor people that Mr. Christopher sent to the gas chamber?”
Mr. Christopher said something in German.
“What’d he say?” Leon demanded. “I told you muthahfuckahs I don’t want you talkin’ that shit around me.”
Fearless’s hand was at the opening of his pocket.
I felt my own pistol pressing into my stomach at the belt line.
I wanted to get us up on our feet and going through the door. That was a natural advantage that I was sure Fearless could capitalize on.
“We could take you to her,” I suggested to Minor, “but we’d have to get something for that.”
“Why bother, Paris?” Fearless said. “Go on, tell him.”
I turned to Fearless, speechless.
Fearless smiled.
“Tell him what the Israeli guys said.” Fearless leaned forward across the desk, reaching into his pocket as he did so. “Elana took the bond to these Israeli guys been lookin’ for you. She showed ’em the bond, and they found out that it wasn’t part’a the big money you lost.” Fearless nodded toward Leon and Tricks. “That means he don’t need you no more, Leon. If there ain’t no treasure, then there ain’t no cut. He’ll probably tell that fancy lawyer you got to cut you loose.”
“What’s he sayin’, Minor?” Leon said.
“It’s nothing. It’s a trick.”
“That cop, that Latham, he was workin’ for the Israelis,” Fearless went on. “He took Elana there before Grove called you. You know I ain’t lyin’.”
Minor’s eyes showed uncertainty. I remember thinking that Fearless had probably succeeded in getting us killed.
Mr. Christopher chose that unfortunate moment to practice his German.
“I told you to talk English,” Leon shouted. He pulled a pistol from under his shirt.
“Get down!” Fearless screamed.
He grabbed my chair, upturning it into Milo. We both tumbled over, shouting. Mr. Christopher shouted something else in German. One shot was fired. I was turned on my back, facing Minor, who stood erect like a soldier holding a pistol at arm’s length. He fired and I turned, expecting to see Fearless die.
He was already firing when the bullet entered his forehead. Then the tall and slender black man named Tricks fell straight down in a heap.
Fearless, was on my lips when I realized that it was the cowboy who’d gotten shot. Leon had pressed Mr. Christopher against the far wall and was just firing the bullet into that man’s temple. With terrible quickness he fired randomly in my direction. I didn’t know if he’d hit me or not, but Milo screamed out loud. Two more shots fired. I grabbed for my pistol, but I pulled it out with such force that it went flying out of my grasp into a far corner. Fearless was bleeding, but the baby gun was in his hand rapping out reports. Leon lowered his gun and got a strange look on his face. When he remembered that he was supposed to be shooting, the gun was already too heavy. He slumped down and expired, beaten for the second time in a row.
Suddenly I remembered Minor.
“Fearless! Watch out!” I yelled.
I stumbled up on top of the desk and then fell right on the corpse of the traitor. The shot from Tricks’s gun had found the mark.
“Shit!” Fearless shouted.
“I’m dyin’,” Milo moaned.
Both men were bleeding — Fearless from his left hand and Milo from his upper arm. I went to Milo and pulled off his jacket, then I ripped the shirt off his back. I wadded the shirt up and pressed it against the wound.