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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
rest." Escott went on, peering at my no-doubt-glazed eyes.
"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