Free The Big Mitt (A Detective Harm Queen Novel Book 1) by Erik Rivenes Page B

his flask convinced him that a stop at a saloon first might loosen him more. From Doc’s offices at 54 Third Street, Queen went west along Third, turning north on Hennepin towards the city. Few people were out now, and light snowflakes began to fall, glistening under the streetlamps’ soft cones of light. His hands were already getting cold, so he removed his gloves from his coat pockets and slipped them on. He listened for the familiar clang behind him, ready to hop aboard a cozy streetcar and find some place to let his frustration thaw. He figured a drink or two and a sandwich would energize his spirits, and a midnight visit to Dander and Higgins would serve as dessert. Even if the administration decided to prevent a murder charge from seeing the light of day, he was more determined than ever to find out if there was really another killer.
    A roar of laughter made him whirl around, and there were the members of the bicycle club, rowdily whizzing by him. One particularly obnoxious dummy even heaved a pop bottle at him, but it landed with a soft thud in a snow bank nearby. They all tittered at the near miss, congratulating the boy on his guts. If I had any way to catch up with that mush head, I’d put him in the hospital, Queen thought.
    “These young kids now. No respect for anyone.”
    Queen recognized the voice. The man stepped out from the shadow of a house, and walked towards him. You look like you’ve got an axe to grind.”
    “Did you follow me, or are you a happy Minneapolis homeowner now?”
    The man chuckled, and stopped at the sidewalk. He was dressed to death in a flash suit and overcoat with a stylish top-piece cocked on his head. He lifted his coat slightly, revealing a pistol snug on his waist. “Just wanted you to know that this isn’t a social call.”
    “Now is not a good time to talk, Jack,” Queen said. “If you’ve come for green,” he patted his pockets, “there isn’t any.”
    “Of course I know that,” the man said. “Why would you be walking down the street with three hundred dollars that isn’t yours?”
    Queen pulled out his own gun, and pointed it at the man’s chest. “I’ve been through hell this week and to say I’m not incensed to the point of shooting you dead would be a lie.”
    The man let his coat drop over his gun. “It’s such a pleasant night for an evening stroll, wouldn’t you say?”
    “So it’s just a coincidence that you are standing like a hobgoblin in some stranger’s front yard as I walk past?”
    “Of course not,” the man said, laughing. “Mr. Kilbane wants to know when he should expect to be paid back. You are to tell me, so I can tell him.”
    “I’ve got some things I’m working on. I wish I could tell you I was flush with cush, but I’m not. Gray stamped down on our side business to avoid prying reporters when the election started. You know that. We’ve had this conversation before. And, like I said before, once the new mayor takes over, there will be plenty of honey in the pot to share. Enough to pay you some interest even.”
    “Interest? You’re missing the point, Mr. Queen. When you come to Saint Paul to make a mouth-bet and don’t have the green to cover it, then it’s me that has to come into this stink hole town to find you. Mr. Kilbane wants your absolute assurance that you have a plan in place for squaring your debt.”
    “Of course I do.”
    The man smirked. “And does it involve becoming the head of the detective squad? Because I’ve heard that you’ve been passed over for that promotion.”
    Jesus, Queen thought. News travels fast in sordid circles. “Forget that for a minute. Mayor Ames has faith in me and that job will come with a little more time. I’ve got the ear of the mayor, Jack. Tell your boss not to worry about it. Give me two months, and you’ll have it all back, plus fifty more.”
    “Again, Mr. Queen—”
    “Call me Harm, why don’t you?”
    “Are we friends now?” the man asked. His eyes blinked