intimidated by Willie Hoyte's gruff interrogation. It was just getting plain boring. Miguel had better things to do than to sit in Willie's kitchen and drink Cokes while Willie played Perry Mason. Shit, it was one thing to be invited into the home of the Dogs of Hell's leader; it was another to be second-degreed. Especially when he had a hot date waiting across town for him at that very moment.
"What you mean, he said he saw a bag of rags?"
Miguel sighed dramatically. "I already tole you, Willie. Ted said he saw somethin' moving along the wall in the tunnel. I tole him it was jes' some workman or somethin', but he didn't believe me. He said no workman dressed like that and walked like he was hiding or somethin'."
For a moment Willie caught sight of his father's smiling face, and his determination to get to the bottom of Slade's disappearance was renewed. This was the second day no one had heard from that white sonofabitch, and Willie was going to have answers about what had happened to his second-in-command or else he was going to kick ass.
"I looked out where Slade was peering," Miguel continued, "but, shit, I didn't see nothin' at all. Maybe Slade was smoking reefer."
"Tell him that to his face, Miggie," Willie replied angrily. Right about now Miguel would do anything--even lie--to get off the hook. "Why didn't you stay with him on the platform at Ninety-sixth Street?" Miguel turned away in answer and Willie decided to pursue the question. "You chickenshit or something?"
"I was going to Marylu's house, that's why," Miguel admitted, feeling the blood rise to his face. "Don't a man get no privacy 'round here?" Miguel loved the way his girlfriend ran her fingers over his chest, all the time cooing about the hardness of his muscles. It was a real turn-on!
"You don't get shit if you don't be square with me." There was really nothing more to say, but Willie's frustration drove him on. He'd never admit he really cared about Slade--he'd cared about his father once, and look where that got him--but he did care, and Slade's vanishing into thin air scared him, made him feel his own vulnerability.
Miguel pushed away from the kitchen table. "I've had it up to my teeth with you damn fool questions, Willie." He squared his shoulders and put on his Dogs of Hell jacket. "How many times we got to go over this before you believe me that I don't know squat about Ted Slade?"
"I believe you, Miggie," Willie admitted quietly. "It jes' don't figure, that's all."
"Well, it don't figure to me, neither, but that don't mean shit where Slade's concerned." Miguel scratched his head and shrugged. "Maybe you should tell your buddy Detective Corelli 'bout Slade's vanishin' act."
Willie didn't rise to the bait. He knew his men were suspicious of his special relationship with the cop, but that was none of their damn business. Besides, he was personally going to investigate this occurrence himself. Something weird was happening down in the subway. Slade's disappearance proved it. So did Corelli's asking Dogs of Hell to keep a lookout for strange things--people walking into the subway and never walking out.
"Let's go." Willie beckoned Miguel to the front door.
"I'm seein' Marylu in half an hour," Miggie whined.
Willie rolled his eyes. "You got a date at three o'clock in the afternoon? Man, don't you ever get enough?" Miguel blushed, and Willie pushed him out the door. "If you want to keep your lady smilin', you'd best call her from a phone booth and tell her you're gonna be late."
"Say what?" Miguel said, wishing he'd never heard of Willie Hoyte or of his goddamned Dogs of Hell.
"You're gonna be a little late, my man, 'cause you and me are goin' out to find Ted Slade. Now, come on." And with that he pushed past Miguel and jumped down the stairs two at a time.
The Seventh Avenue IRT subway had four clusters of exits onto Broadway at the Ninety-sixth Street stop: one on either side of the street at Ninety-sixth Street itself, and two between
"What you mean, he said he saw a bag of rags?"
Miguel sighed dramatically. "I already tole you, Willie. Ted said he saw somethin' moving along the wall in the tunnel. I tole him it was jes' some workman or somethin', but he didn't believe me. He said no workman dressed like that and walked like he was hiding or somethin'."
For a moment Willie caught sight of his father's smiling face, and his determination to get to the bottom of Slade's disappearance was renewed. This was the second day no one had heard from that white sonofabitch, and Willie was going to have answers about what had happened to his second-in-command or else he was going to kick ass.
"I looked out where Slade was peering," Miguel continued, "but, shit, I didn't see nothin' at all. Maybe Slade was smoking reefer."
"Tell him that to his face, Miggie," Willie replied angrily. Right about now Miguel would do anything--even lie--to get off the hook. "Why didn't you stay with him on the platform at Ninety-sixth Street?" Miguel turned away in answer and Willie decided to pursue the question. "You chickenshit or something?"
"I was going to Marylu's house, that's why," Miguel admitted, feeling the blood rise to his face. "Don't a man get no privacy 'round here?" Miguel loved the way his girlfriend ran her fingers over his chest, all the time cooing about the hardness of his muscles. It was a real turn-on!
"You don't get shit if you don't be square with me." There was really nothing more to say, but Willie's frustration drove him on. He'd never admit he really cared about Slade--he'd cared about his father once, and look where that got him--but he did care, and Slade's vanishing into thin air scared him, made him feel his own vulnerability.
Miguel pushed away from the kitchen table. "I've had it up to my teeth with you damn fool questions, Willie." He squared his shoulders and put on his Dogs of Hell jacket. "How many times we got to go over this before you believe me that I don't know squat about Ted Slade?"
"I believe you, Miggie," Willie admitted quietly. "It jes' don't figure, that's all."
"Well, it don't figure to me, neither, but that don't mean shit where Slade's concerned." Miguel scratched his head and shrugged. "Maybe you should tell your buddy Detective Corelli 'bout Slade's vanishin' act."
Willie didn't rise to the bait. He knew his men were suspicious of his special relationship with the cop, but that was none of their damn business. Besides, he was personally going to investigate this occurrence himself. Something weird was happening down in the subway. Slade's disappearance proved it. So did Corelli's asking Dogs of Hell to keep a lookout for strange things--people walking into the subway and never walking out.
"Let's go." Willie beckoned Miguel to the front door.
"I'm seein' Marylu in half an hour," Miggie whined.
Willie rolled his eyes. "You got a date at three o'clock in the afternoon? Man, don't you ever get enough?" Miguel blushed, and Willie pushed him out the door. "If you want to keep your lady smilin', you'd best call her from a phone booth and tell her you're gonna be late."
"Say what?" Miguel said, wishing he'd never heard of Willie Hoyte or of his goddamned Dogs of Hell.
"You're gonna be a little late, my man, 'cause you and me are goin' out to find Ted Slade. Now, come on." And with that he pushed past Miguel and jumped down the stairs two at a time.
The Seventh Avenue IRT subway had four clusters of exits onto Broadway at the Ninety-sixth Street stop: one on either side of the street at Ninety-sixth Street itself, and two between
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