Cold Night (Jack Paine Mysteries) by Al Sarrantonio Page A

try it out. His mother had told him not to go out but he had gone anyway. He was not the one they were looking for. Dannon told him that he had yelled for Paine not to fire; that Paine had taken out his gun and pointed it at the boy. Dannon told him how the alley had lit up like lightning when Paine fired his .38. He hit the boy in the head from five feet away, killed him instantly.
    "You yelled, ‘Uncle Martin!’ when you fired, Jack, " Dannon said, unsmiling. Later, at the inquest, unsmiling, Dannon said the same thing.
    For a while, at twenty-five thousand feet in the air, Paine imagined the jet engine’s screams were his own.

SEVENTEEN
     
    P aine's call to Bobby Petty went right through this time. No one told him Petty was out; no one put him on hold and made him listen to bad music.
    "Kicked some ass, Bobby?" Paine asked. He noticed that Petty had taken his call in the quiet place again. No typewriters, no voices.
    Petty grunted.
    "Dannon been bothering you?"
    "Dannon can fuck himself."
    "I'm sure he couldn't get it right."
    "That's a cheery thought, Jack. I got you something on Lucas Druckman."
    "Tell me about Druckman."
    Petty hesitated. "Okay, I'll tell you about Druckman." Paine could tell there was something else Bobby had to tell him, something that he was waiting for the right moment to say.
    "Is Druckman dead?" Paine asked.
    "Yes, Druckman's dead. Someone found him in the trunk of a car in L.A. seven years ago with his face blown off. Somebody must have been very mad at him. LAPD figured he had sharked the wrong guy, maybe borrowed a little too much himself. Maybe he wasn't very good with records. That's not the weirdest thing about this guy, though. Looks like he was another wash job."
    "Jeez . . ."
    "Nobody named Lucas Druckman existed before 1970. No birth records, nothing."
    "Morris Grumbach was involved with two wash jobs? Was he some sort of broker for the FBI?"
    "It's possible."
    "But why? And if he was, why did the FBI let the scumbags they gave him run all over him?"
    "I hit a wall on that, just like with Paterna."
    Paine had a sudden thought about the third photo that had been grouped with Paterna and Druckman. "Think your person in L.A. would be willing to take a look at a picture, try to make an ID?"
    "Sure, drop it off," Bobby said. "He owes me a couple of favors. Listen, Jack," Bobby continued, "there's something else I've got to tell you."
    "Something with Ginny? She call you or Terry?"
    "Nothing like that. It's that friend of yours at the Barker Agency. Jimmy Carnaseca."
    "What did Jimmy do?"
    "He got killed."
    "Oh, Christ Jesus."
    "He was taking money from some guy to check on his wife, and messing with her himself. The guy killed Jimmy, winged the wife." Bobby continued sarcastically, "The guy forgave the wife, says they're going to save their marriage."
    "Christ," Paine said.
    "I know you liked him, Jack. I'm sorry. They're going to wake him tomorrow night at Thompson's in the Bronx."
    "Sure, Bobby. Listen, I've got to go."
    "You'll be all right?"
    Tonelessly, Paine said, "Sure."
    "Like I said—"
    "I'll call you if I need you, Bobby."
    He let the phone fall into its cradle.
    "Oh, Jesus," he said.

    The night man recognized him this time and nodded briefly over the top of his Daily News as Paine signed in. The elevator up to the agency was noisier than usual. Paine thought of Gloria Fulman's elevator, the smooth, regularly oiled mechanism that pulled it gracefully up, the sour look that would cross Gloria Fulman's face if it dared make a noise ("Barbara, have someone look at that").
    The elevator jarred to a stop and Paine yanked the rusting, lopsided gate back and pushed his way out into the lobby of the Barker Agency. The carpet was old. There was a flattened, shoe-worn tread in it that wound past Margie's reception desk and down the hall. Paine followed it to Jimmy Carnaseca's office.
    "Hey, Jack, you should do what I do," he almost heard Jimmy say.
    Sure, Jimmy.
    The door to Jimmy's