Read Online Motown by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Loren D. Estleman
Tags: Historical
Ads: Link
The legend on the cover read:
BROCK!
The Steel Behind the Steelhaulers
EXCERPT FROM A SENSATIONAL NEW BOOK
“Ever see him?” Canada asked.
“On TV, sure. He invented unions.”
“I mean in person. Maybe you saw him in Patsy’s office a time or two.”
“I never been.”
“The express elevator to Patsy’s floor only makes one stop. I’ve had a man watching the elevator for two months. Your description shows up on the list six times. I can haul him down here for a positive ID.”
“Bullshit.” But he’d hesitated, and had seen the other man flick his tongue at the flutter of doubt and wobble it around.
“Okay, it’s not an express. Point is you’d have to have been to the Penobscot Building to know it. Anyway, Brock’s too sharp to pay a call on a paisan. ” Canada took a crumpled envelope out of the side pocket of his coat and laid it on top of Brock’s face.
“What’s that, breakfast?” Quincy didn’t touch it.
“Wallet, change, keys. Make sure everything’s there and give me back the receipt. You can change into your street clothes in Admissions. I never filed charges.”
Quincy looked inside the envelope and dumped out its contents. He counted the bills in the wallet, groped for and handed over the twist of paper he’d gotten for his valuables, and put everything in his jumpsuit pockets. He rose. Canada wasn’t watching. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put you in lock-up?”
“My ma taught me never to ask the Man for nothing.” He started for the door.
“How’s your side?”
Quincy slowed. “Which side?”
“The one they took thirty-two stitches in at Receiving last spring. You walked into a blade at the Chit Chat Lounge?”
“Hurts when it rains.” He hovered inside the door.
“You’ve got balls, Quincy. It’s one thing to spit over the brink when you don’t know what it’s like to have your blood filling your shoes, something else when you do. Once is lucky. Twice doesn’t happen. Not in Motown.”
Quincy returned to the table. “You got family, Inspector?”
“One uncle in a nursing home in Stockbridge.”
“Nice place?”
“It’s okay. The doors to the rooms are painted different colors so the patients won’t get lost.”
“My ma caught clap from her customers. When she couldn’t feed herself no more the Welfare folks stuck her in Ypsi State. Up there they keep them doped so they’re less trouble and tie them to their beds so they don’t fall out. She strangled herself with the ties, they said. They wasn’t sure just how.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I dream about it sometimes. Dying like that.”
“I get you.”
Quincy made another try at leaving, then went back.
“You got a brother locked up for trashing a restaurant,” he said. “Calls himself Mahomet?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, what’s bail on a thing like that?”
“Up to the judge.” Canada filled his mouth with coffee and held it for a moment, then swallowed. “If nobody files for personal injury, say five hundred.”
“I’m short fifty. I’ll be back with the rest.”
“He a friend of yours?”
“I just like to hear him talk.”
“Lucky for him those three guys didn’t take your wallet.”
“Guess they was in a hurry after they blowed down Congo.”
“Speaking of Kress, who’s going to claim the body? Doesn’t look like he had any relatives.”
“I’ll send Lydell. He hired him.” Quincy was leaving now.
“While you’re at it, tell him the police in Toledo want to talk to him about some bad checks he passed down there a couple of years back.”
In Admissions they’d hung his silk shirt and sharkskin jacket on wire hangers in a cabinet with a lot of other clothes that had never been hung anywhere before. Quincy would’ve told the deputies to burn them and worn the jumpsuit home if it didn’t mean being seen in his neighborhood in county blue. He changed, caught a cab to Wilson, and went up to the apartment for a shower and fresh threads.
BROCK!
The Steel Behind the Steelhaulers
EXCERPT FROM A SENSATIONAL NEW BOOK
“Ever see him?” Canada asked.
“On TV, sure. He invented unions.”
“I mean in person. Maybe you saw him in Patsy’s office a time or two.”
“I never been.”
“The express elevator to Patsy’s floor only makes one stop. I’ve had a man watching the elevator for two months. Your description shows up on the list six times. I can haul him down here for a positive ID.”
“Bullshit.” But he’d hesitated, and had seen the other man flick his tongue at the flutter of doubt and wobble it around.
“Okay, it’s not an express. Point is you’d have to have been to the Penobscot Building to know it. Anyway, Brock’s too sharp to pay a call on a paisan. ” Canada took a crumpled envelope out of the side pocket of his coat and laid it on top of Brock’s face.
“What’s that, breakfast?” Quincy didn’t touch it.
“Wallet, change, keys. Make sure everything’s there and give me back the receipt. You can change into your street clothes in Admissions. I never filed charges.”
Quincy looked inside the envelope and dumped out its contents. He counted the bills in the wallet, groped for and handed over the twist of paper he’d gotten for his valuables, and put everything in his jumpsuit pockets. He rose. Canada wasn’t watching. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put you in lock-up?”
“My ma taught me never to ask the Man for nothing.” He started for the door.
“How’s your side?”
Quincy slowed. “Which side?”
“The one they took thirty-two stitches in at Receiving last spring. You walked into a blade at the Chit Chat Lounge?”
“Hurts when it rains.” He hovered inside the door.
“You’ve got balls, Quincy. It’s one thing to spit over the brink when you don’t know what it’s like to have your blood filling your shoes, something else when you do. Once is lucky. Twice doesn’t happen. Not in Motown.”
Quincy returned to the table. “You got family, Inspector?”
“One uncle in a nursing home in Stockbridge.”
“Nice place?”
“It’s okay. The doors to the rooms are painted different colors so the patients won’t get lost.”
“My ma caught clap from her customers. When she couldn’t feed herself no more the Welfare folks stuck her in Ypsi State. Up there they keep them doped so they’re less trouble and tie them to their beds so they don’t fall out. She strangled herself with the ties, they said. They wasn’t sure just how.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I dream about it sometimes. Dying like that.”
“I get you.”
Quincy made another try at leaving, then went back.
“You got a brother locked up for trashing a restaurant,” he said. “Calls himself Mahomet?”
“Never heard of him.”
“Well, what’s bail on a thing like that?”
“Up to the judge.” Canada filled his mouth with coffee and held it for a moment, then swallowed. “If nobody files for personal injury, say five hundred.”
“I’m short fifty. I’ll be back with the rest.”
“He a friend of yours?”
“I just like to hear him talk.”
“Lucky for him those three guys didn’t take your wallet.”
“Guess they was in a hurry after they blowed down Congo.”
“Speaking of Kress, who’s going to claim the body? Doesn’t look like he had any relatives.”
“I’ll send Lydell. He hired him.” Quincy was leaving now.
“While you’re at it, tell him the police in Toledo want to talk to him about some bad checks he passed down there a couple of years back.”
In Admissions they’d hung his silk shirt and sharkskin jacket on wire hangers in a cabinet with a lot of other clothes that had never been hung anywhere before. Quincy would’ve told the deputies to burn them and worn the jumpsuit home if it didn’t mean being seen in his neighborhood in county blue. He changed, caught a cab to Wilson, and went up to the apartment for a shower and fresh threads.
Similar Books
