"The pain will stop as soon as you tell me where she is in Chicago. You want me to stick your dick in this next?"
The tip of Flanagan's forefinger was a blackened lump of flesh and blisters. Even the fingernail was burned back.
Ping.
"I think they're putting her in the Zoo," Flanagan gabbled, seeing Valentine's hand move to pick up the lighter. "I've been there, it's on the north side of Chicago, near the lake. Lots of boats tied up permanent."
"Why there? I thought they just put everyone in the Loop when they wanted to do away with them."
"They knew Touchet. They asked me if she was a real looker. I told them about her. I mean, if she weren't my niece, one of the patrollers would have raped her a long time ago. Saint Croix, you haven't been around much. I've risked my job-my life even-to help my sister and her family. Molly was never going to be hurt." Sweat coated Flanagan's face, wetting his bushy eyebrows and running down his neck in rivulets.
"So what's this Zoo?"
"It's in a place called Lincoln Park. I've got a little map of Chicago in my desk, bottom drawer. Even has phone numbers for cab companies. The Zoo is... a big brothel, that kind of thing. There are a lot of bars there; they do sports, too. Kind of a wild place, anything goes, like Old Vegas."
Valentine popped up the lighter and left it resting lightly in its socket. "Good enough, Flanagan. There's one more thing I want before I go. I need a travel warrant made out for one Private Pillow. Giving him a week's leave or whatever you call it to go to Chicago. And some money to spend."
Flanagan's massive eyebrows rose in surprise. "Madison paper's no good there. Our guys bring things to barter. Jewelry, beer, food, stuff like that. But what you're thinking is nuts. I'd like to see Molly alive as much as her parents, but it ain't going to happen. There're hundreds of soldiers from Illinois, Indiana-Michigan, even. I've heard of officers coming all the way from Iowa and Minnesota to go to the Zoo. Even if you can find her, you'll never get her out. The Black Hole's a one-way-"
"Black Hole?" Valentine asked.
"I dunno where she would go for sure. But the Black Hole is kind of a prison. Women don't last long there. They're used... treated badly. Some of the men like that kind of thing. Never went there myself, but you hear stories."
"Just tell me where to find the papers to fill out."
Flanagan gave detailed instructions, and soon Valentine had his travel warrant. The major applied his seal and signed it; Valentine had freed the man's uninjured right hand to do so. The major wiped his face with his good hand. "You're tough, Saint Croix. I had no idea."
So he thinks fawning is his ticket to safety. Interesting. Has it gotten him out of jams with the Kurians? Valentine thought. He put his new papers and the folded map in one of the front pockets of his shirt. He then walked over to the front of the desk. The shotgun leaned up against one of the carved wooden lions.
"Take my car. It's in the garage, and the keys are in my breast pocket here. I'll tell them you went north. I'll keep the Carlsons under lock and key for a few days, then release them. We'll shout questions at 'em for a few hours; don't worry, they'll be fine. Of course, Molly can't ever come back here, but I'm sure you can get her somewhere safe up in the woods if your plan works. Watch yourself in Chicago, though. Must be a hundred Reapers there, easy. But if..."
The major stopped in openmouthed amazement as Valentine brought up the shotgun, pointing it at his head. "No, Saint Croix. Be fair! I gave you everything..."
Valentine put the butt tightly to his shoulder and placed his finger on the trigger. "You once said that if it were up to you, you'd hand me over to the Reapers for not having a work card. Well, now that it's up to me, I'm going to follow a little rule we have in the Wolves. I call it Special Order Twelve, section Double Ought. Any high-rank Quislings bearing arms against their fellow men shall suffer death by firing squad."
"You said you wouldn't kill me!" Flanagan shrieked, holding out his hand, palm outward.
"I said the pain would stop," Valentine corrected, pulling the trigger. The dark room exploded in noise and a flash of blue-white light like an old-fashioned flashbulb. At the last instant, Flanagan flung his arm across his face, but the blast of buckshot tore through his arm, head, and the back of the chair. Bone, blood, brain, and wood from the chair splattered the brick wall behind the chair.
Valentine went through the house, filling a pillowcase with anything of value he could find: Virgil Ames's sunglasses and beaded pistol belt, Flanagan's cheroots and electric lighter, a solid silver cigarette box, gold jewelry belonging to the missing Mrs. Flanagan. The liquor cabinet contained two bottles of bonded whiskey. They joined the other contents of the pillowcase.
He went into the furnished basement and flicked on one of the electric lights. A pool table filled one end and a small workshop the other. Three rifles hung from an ornate gun-rack, set between two eight-point deer heads. Valentine's eyes lit on an old Remington Model 700. He shouldered it. Then he crossed to the workshop and found a tin of kerosene. He opened it and splashed it along the pool table, carpet, and wood paneling. He struck a match and tossed it into the puddled liquid on the pool table. Flames began to race across the green baize surface. Sure that the fire was well on its way, Valentine climbed back up the stairs.
Frat pulled the car out of the field and onto the little path leading back to the road. "Now what, Lieutenant?" he asked. Oddly enough, Frat had asked no questions about what had transpired in his uncle's house.
"Where can I catch the next train to Chicago? Not a station, though. I mean to jump on."
Frat considered the problem. "The line connecting Dubuque goes right through Monroe. A train goes along that every day. Takes you right into Chicago, or the meatpacking plant, that is. You'd be in the city by tonight. You'll know you're close when you go through this big stretch of burned-out houses. Reapers burned out a huge belt around the city. Great Suburban Fire, it was called. Happened before I was born. Then they did something to the soil so nothing but some weeds grow. Mile after mile of old street and rubble. Of course, I was pretty young when I saw it. But you'll never find Molly in the Loop. You could look for days. How you gonna get her out again?"
"They didn't put her in the Loop. She's in someplace called the Zoo."
Frat smacked his head. "Zot me! I shoulda thought of that! They would put someone who looks like her there. My momma used to tell my older sister, "What you trying to do, get a job at the Zoo?" whenever she didn't like what Phila was wearing."
"What else can you tell me about Chicago?"
Frat turned the car onto a road heading south. "It's big, really big. But what you got going for you is that there's people from all over, so strangers don't get noticed. If you cause any trouble, they grab you and throw you in the Loop. They use the old United States money there, too, but it has to be authorized. The bills they've authorized have a stamp on them, kind of like the stamp on our work cards. I'm pretty sure some of your people who fight the Kurians are there, but I don't know how you would ever find them. And I'd hide that big curved knife of yours. Too many of the soldiers know about those."
They reached a bend in the road. Frat pulled the patrol car to the side.