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by Unsung Hero. Proofed by Highroller. Made prettier by use of EBook Design Group Stylesheet. A Chill in the Blood by P.N. Elrod Chapter One Chicago, February 1937 Tired to the bone, I slumped in the front seat of Shoe Coldfield's big Nash, wedged between him and my partner, Charles Escott. The car's heater was going full blast, but I still shivered like a malaria victim. I'd never been this cold before in my whole life, but that's what happens when you take a dive off a boat into Lake Michigan in early February. Coldfield, a large, grim-looking black man in his middle thirties, glared down at me with a combination of relief and exasperation, then shifted the glare in Escort's direction. "Charles, he's half-dead. I'm taking him to a hospital." Escott bent forward so his pale, sharp-featured face was more or less in my field of view. The effort made him grunt. One of his eyes had a bad shiner, the other was swollen shut, and he held his left arm protectively close to his lean frame. He'd been through the wars tonight himself, I dimly recalled. "My dear fellow," he said, addressing Coldfield, not me, "that really wouldn't be a good idea for any of us, and you're well aware of it." In response, Coldfield snarled a ripe curse as he hauled at the steering wheel. He made a smart U-turn along the beach road and got us pointed back toward Chicago. "Jack's a little shell-shocked, but he only needs a warm place to thaw out and "No shit. Then what? We wait for pneumonia to set in?" I got annoyed at their talking over me. " 'M a'right," I managed to puff out through chattering teeth. Bad idea. It made me cough. Escott thoughtfully shoved a handkerchief in my face before I dribbled more lake water onto the overcoat he'd loaned me. "Like hell you are," said Coldfield. He glared briefly at me again, like all this was my faultЧand he was rightЧthen focused on the road and the rearview mirror. I was glad I was low enough in the seat so he wouldn't notice anything odd about the reflection. "Anyone following?" asked Escott. "Not yet." "Let's keep it that way. No hospitals, Shoe, as a favor to all of us. We must assume that Kyler's gang or Miss Paco could have informants anywhere in the city andЧ" "Yeah, yeah, well, they won't have any in my neck of the woods. I'm bringing in Doc Clarson to look at you both." "I can manage without." "Oh sure, I've seen how well you've managed with those busted ribs." "They're only just cracked a little." "CharlesЕ" Rising impatience in Coldfield's tone. Couldn't blame him. But Escott's attention was centered on me. "Jack? Are you up to seeing Dr. Clarson?" I shook my head. A doctor meant an examination, which meant that the first time he tried to take my pulse he'd find out I was a bit more than just half-dead. In |
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