Gin Palace 01 - The Poisoned Rose

hands.”
    Marie nodded thoughtfully. “It must be hard for you to say no to people, Mac. It must be hard for you to see a person floundering and not want to jump in and help.”
    I said nothing to that. Several cars passed by below, one right after the other. My thoughts were on our drive out of town. Marie’s escape was all I wanted to know about.
    “I’ve been thinking, Mac,” she said then. “Why don’t you come with me?”
    I looked at her.
    “Maybe it’s time for you to leave this place, too,” she said. “Why don’t we leave it together? I think my father would have been happy that we found each other again. He would have liked the idea of the two us looking after each other.”
    I didn’t say anything.
    “You’re afraid, aren’t you?” she said. “You’re afraid of leaving because this place is all you’ve ever known.”
    “It’s not that.”
    “Then what is it?”
    “I made a promise to a friend. If Searls is loose, I’ll need to stick around and keep it.”
    Marie thought about that, then said, “And if you didn’t have that promise to keep? What then?”
    “I’d leave with you in a heartbeat,” I said.
    It wasn’t long after this that the pharmacy sign outside began to blink. It took time coming on, but eventually the blue and red light was rushing over us again, chasing the darkness from the corners of her apartment. It was close to night now, nearly time for us to leave. We waited till nine, for dark to have settled in completely, then got ready. But before we left she went to her closet, opened it, and pulled something out. She held it up for me to see.
    It was a denim jacket, like the one I used to wear, like the one I had put over Vogler all those months ago.
    “Scully wanted me to give this to you,” she said. She handed it to me. I looked it over. There wasn’t a spot of blood on it, but the third button from the top was missing. I realized then that it wasn’t just a jacket like mine, it was mine.
    “How’d he get this?” I said.
    “He took it off Vogler.”
    “What?”
    “Scully told me you didn’t recognize him at the cottage. He was with Vogler when Vogler got shot. They were arguing. This was before Scully got all paranoid and shaved off his beautiful hair, thinking people wouldn’t recognize him so easily and that a bald head made him look meaner. He took the jacket off Vogler before the cops came.”
    “Why?”
    “He wanted to know who you were and thought there might be something in the pockets to identify you. There was, and that’s how I knew you were still out here. And then after what happened at the cottage, he thought you should have the jacket back. He thought it would be a gesture of good faith on our part or something. He was impressed by the fact that you tried to save Vogler. So was I. That’s why I came to you that night—”
    “Wait a minute. You knew Vogler?”
    “I knew him before I knew Carter, yeah. Before I went into hiding. My brother paid Vogler to stay away from me. Vogler took the money and handed it all to me. I didn’t know where it came from at the time. Anyway, that’s why my brother had Vogler killed, because he went back on their agreement.”
    “I saw that,” I muttered. “My friend and I, we were there.”
    She nodded. “I know. But what Jean-Marc didn’t realize was that my father had already hired a private detective to scare Vogler off. The man he hired sent you. Without his knowing it, my father provided witnesses to a murder his own son arranged and paid for. That was when Jean-Marc decided to take control of things and keep my father isolated from everyone. That’s when the shit really started to happen.”
    “Your brother was behind Vogler’s murder.”
    “Yes.”
    “Who were the men he hired?”
    “I don’t know their names. One disappeared afterward. The other had gotten beaten up pretty badly. Broken wrist or something. I guess that was your doing. He went away for a while after the hit on Vogler went bad, but eventually he came back.”
    “What did he look like?”
    “He was ugly, had pockmarks on his face. He used to be a boxer or something. I saw him a few times with Jean-Marc. He’d worked for him before.”
    “Searls,” I said.
    “Like I said, I don’t know their names. But he was short, kind of stocky.”
    “You’re telling me your brother used this man, this ugly boxer with the scars on his face, before?”
    “Yeah. Why?”
    “Jean-Marc told me he’d asked the Chief for