Free Blue Madonna by James R. Benn Page A

We’re well hidden in plain sight.”
    â€œI don’t doubt you, but no way do I want to end up back in the clink.” I already knew about the rooming houses. Kaz and Big Mike had taken up residence on the other side of the street where they could keep an eye on things. Not that they could do much if Nick took the dog for a walk, but it was still comforting to know.
    I sipped my tea, keeping an eye on my new friends as Willie nodded his agreement about jail. As it grew silent in the kitchen, I listened to the background noise. The rumble of a truck headed down the road; the faint creaks of an old house. But no other footsteps, no sign of life, neither a captive rattling chains nor a gangster sharpening a blade. I stayed quiet, hoping for a hint of Donald Blake, but the only sound was the sudden roar of Spitfires overhead.
    â€œDamn test pilots,” Willie muttered. “They fly every plane that comes out from that factory. All they need do is take off, climb, do a few maneuvers, then land. No need to rattle our windows.”
    â€œDoes that go on all day? I could use some shut-eye.”
    â€œGood luck with that, Boyle. They’ll be at it till six o’clock tonight. Nick’ll fix you some grub, and then rest up as best you can. Once we get word back about Archie Chapman, we’ll get your papers. Or not,” Willie said with a wink to his pal. They both chuckled.
    â€œYou’ll get my papers,” I said. “And if you’re smart, you’ll cut out the wise-guy stuff. When your boss hears about my connections, he may make me a partner. May as well start calling me ‘Mr. Boyle, sir,’ so you can get used to it. Now what’s to eat, Nick?”
    Nick hesitated, looking to Willie to see if my insolence needed to be punished. I could almost see the wheels in Willie’s mind turning, calculating the consequences if I wasn’t blowing smoke.
    â€œMake us some eggs, Nick,” was all he said, his eyes not leaving mine. A guy who knew how to play the angles. Nick grabbed a once-white apron, wrapping the string around his waist and knotting it. It was the kind of apron a short-order cook wore—full protection from splatters from the neck down. It was grimy and worn, but what interested me most was that it was too large for Nick. The sides covered his pockets, held down by the tied string. He’d be able to get to the Bulldog, but not quickly. I figured five to seven seconds of fumbling before he got a grip on it.
    â€œEggs for three?” I asked, trying to sound bored and indifferent.
    â€œBest not to ask too many questions,” Willie said. “Mr. Boyle.”
    â€œSure. But tell me: How many people know I’m here?”
    â€œWhy?” Willie said.
    â€œSo I know who to come after if the cops show up. I’m not spending the rest of my life in Leavenworth, so I don’t plan on letting them take me. But I do plan on evening the score if anyone snitches.”
    â€œThat ain’t the kind of operation we run,” Willie said. “We reward loyalty and punish disobedience. Grassers are put down like the dogs they are.”
    â€œSmart,” I said, watching Nick at work cracking eggs. “A united front.”
    â€œExactly,” Willie said, smiling. “Don’t worry. Long as you’re honest, you’re safe with us.” I almost laughed, but caught myself.
    Then I heard it. A footstep. Another. The sounds came from upstairs, echoing off the ancient plaster walls. I yawned wide and loud, trying not to appear as if I’d heard. I caught a quick glance between Nick and Willie. It vanished instantly.
    That was as close as I was going to come to proof Blake was being held upstairs.
    Nick cracked another egg, this one thin-shelled and splintering in his hand, which ended up covered in sticky egg white. Willie caught me looking, his eyes going wide for a split second before I grabbed the billy club from between