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floor was devoted to storage and full of dusty crates. Escott pulled one
away from the back wall and made something go click. A three-foot-tall
section fined between the wall studs popped open like a door. Two inches
beyond this opening was another apparent wall. He put his ear to it and
listened.
I made a reassuring gesture, then realized he couldn't see it, for we
were in almost total darkness. "There's no one on the other side or I'd
hear them," I murmured.
"Oh," he said. He pushed on the wall, opening another narrow door, and
eased himself through. I followed. We were standing in a small washroom,
but only for a moment. Escott went on to the room beyond.
I correctly guessed it to be Escott's living quarters behind the office.
Except for a radio acting as a nightstand next to an army cot and the
window blinds, the place was depressingly bare; even a hotel room had
more personality. I found myself fidgeting as Escott moved smoothly
around in the semidarkness. He'd pulled a suitcase from under the cot,
opened a tiny closet, and was busily packing.
"You dropped a sock," I observed.
"On purpose. Should they send anyone here later I want them to draw the
conclusion that I've departed in a great hurry, which is what I am no
doubt doing. Besides, it was developing a hole."
He went to the office. His desk had been searched. He paused and
grimaced at the mess, then stopped and grabbed up some scattered papers.
"I'll have to sort this lot out later," he muttered. The crossbow was
still on the desk; he picked it up and took it back to the bedroom. I
wondered what his attackers had thought of it.
"This will hardly fit in my bag, I'll have to leave it in the tobacco
shop for the time being. It is a bit too conspicuous to carry right
now."
"How did you happen to have it in the first place?"
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"It's a working prop left over from my acting days. I made it for a
small part I had in the Scottish Play.''
"The what?"
"Macbeth," he said sotto voce. "As a weapon these days it's a little
bulky, but it is powerful, lethal, and silent. I have smaller ones, but
thought you might be more impressed with something large."
"You thought right."
"Then you're certain wood can harm you?"
"The lady I knew in New York mentioned it."
"Ah." Escott returned to the washroom and shoved the suitcase through
the doors, along with the crossbow. He paused at the medicine cabinet,
dropped some shaving items into his pockets, and then, to my puzzlement,
tugged at the frame of the cabinet itself. It swung out, revealing a
flat metal box standing on edge in the space behind. He opened it,
making sure the papers inside were still intact before taking them away.
"Who did your carpentry?"
"Oh, I did it all myself," he said with some pride. "I love this sort of
thing, don't you?"
As Escott locked the tobacco shop door, I asked, "Do you own this
place?"
"Half of it. The other owner actually runs it. I help him financially
through these hard times and he helps me by maintaining a good hiding
place and, if necessary, escape route with twenty-four-hour access and
egress."
"Are you rich?"
"Sometimes." He swayed a little. "Sorry, that bash on the head is making
itself felt."
"Lemme take your bag."
"Only if you insist."
"Where to now?"
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"I'm not sure. Not knowing just where I slipped up on my investigations,
I can't be certain which of my other places would be safe."
"Then stay away from them and get a hotel."
"Mr. Fleming, I don't think you have grasped the tremendous influence
the gangs have on this city. If I show my face at the wrong hostel I am
very likely to get it blown off, putting to naught your efforts tonight
on my behalf. Within hours, if not already, Paco and his men are going
to know of my miraculous escape and be looking for me. It's very bad for
their image when someone thwarts them, you see."
"Then you'll leave town?"
"I'm not sure." Beads of sweat had popped out on his forehead and his
face was gray. He was having some kind of delayed reaction. I caught his
arm to support him.
"Hey, you're really sick. Come on, we'll sneak you up the backstairs of
my hotel, you can flop there."
"But I really shouldn't--"
"You can't think in the shape you're in now. You'll be safe enough there
under my name."
He protested mildly once more, but now and then everybody needs a
keeper. I appointed myself his and dragged him off.
Once back at the hotel, Escott collapsed with a groan on the bed while I
ordered up some ice and poured out a double from Georgie's permanently
borrowed flask. With the whiskey on the inside and the ice on the bump
outside, he went into an exhausted but healing sleep. I was stuck with
the whole rest of the night and wondering what to do with it when
someone knocked at the door. It was the bellhop returning with my change
and receipts.
"You wasn't here when I came on, or I'da brought 'em sooner."
"That's all right, I was busy. You got them all?"
He held up a few pounds of newsprint. "Sure do."
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I tipped him and told him I'd want copies of each paper every night and
to put it on my bill. He grinned, knowing I'd have to tip him each time
he brought them up. I winked back and took the papers inside.
I spent the rest of the evening reading. My notice appeared in the
personal columns of them all and by some miracle the wording and
spelling was correct.
DEAREST MAUREEN, ARE YOU SAFE YET? JACK
It was the same notice I'd been putting in the papers without a break
for the last five years. If she were alive, if she only glanced once at
it, she would let me know. After all this time I'd little hope left.
Checking the papers for a reply each day and getting none had eroded
most of it away. I fended off the inevitable depression of
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