Vanity Row

by W. R. Burnett

  Roy nodded and got an answering nod. Neither of them smiled.

  "Roy," said Chad, "what do you think you're doing?"

  "In what way?"

  "Have you slept with this girl yet?"

  Roy flushed slightly. "What girl?"

  "Ilona Vance."

  "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "You know what I'm talking about. Putting me off. Making a boob out of me. You've got enough evidence against that girl right now to send her to the chair."

  "I disagree. I explained to you last night…"

  Chad cut him off. "Be quiet. Want to hear a legal opinion-from the D.A.'s office? All right, Grant."

  "With the evidence I've seen, we could get an indictment without the slightest difficulty, and unless something very much out of the ordinary came up, a conviction."

  "What evidence did you see, and how did you happen to see it?" asked Roy.

  "Everybody's not asleep, you know, Roy," said Chad. "You're not as goddamn smart as you think you are. All right, let's talk about the evidence. The motive is simple. Frank got damned sick and tired of this floosie and told her to get lost. She wouldn't get lost, so he removed all the things he'd given her. This burned her up so she killed him. So far so good. The murder weapon belongs to her and we can prove it. We know who gave it to her. We've got a witness…"

  "Such as he is," Roy put in.

  "His testimony will stand up," said Perrin. "I'll guarantee it."

  "There's a legal opinion, Roy. So far so good. We've got the motive and the weapon, and God knows we've got the body-poor old Frank!"

  "Now it's poor old Frank," said Roy, beginning to lose his temper. He'd had a bellyful the last few days. Wesson, the hoodlums, now Chad.

  "Don't take that tone with me, Roy," said Chad, "or you may have to face a malfeasance charge yourself."

  "I doubt it," said Roy, looking insolently from Chad to Perrin.

  "Okay, okay," said Chad, lowering his eyes. "We'll get no place squabbling." He pushed a paper over to Roy. "Have you seen this new ballistic report?"

  Roy looked at it in surprise. "No, I haven't."

  "How does that happen?"

  Suddenly it came to Roy. Lackey! "This is beginning to have the smell of a double-cross," said Roy.

  "Oh, sure," said Chad. "This new report proves that the bullet found came from the murder gun. You see?"

  "I see," said Roy, pushing the paper away.

  "Now here is an interesting little item," said Chad. "A report on powder marks on one of the girl's gloves."

  Roy stood up, stunned. "What is this-a rib?"

  "Read the report," said Chad. "You'll see that it was signed and okayed by the best man we've got in the city."

  Roy sat down and read the report.

  "Now I'm going to ask you a question and I want a truthful answer. Why did you suppress this report?"

  There was a long silence. Finally Roy said: "I know you've got Lackey hiding around some place, so you can spring him when convenient. Well, spring him."

  Chad thought for a moment, then he pressed a buzzer. After a long wait, Lackey came sidling in from a room at the back. His face was pale and sweating; his mountain of fat seemed to be trembling. He was in such a state that he couldn't look at anybody.

  "Lackey," said Roy, "did I see this report about the girl's glove?"

  Lackey raised his eyes for a moment and looked quickly from Perrin to Chad. "Yes, Captain. You must have."

  "Be more specific, Lackey. So you say I must have. Isn't it one of your duties to bring things like this-scientific reports-to my attention?"

  "Yes, Captain."

  "Did you bring it to my attention?"

  Lackey hesitated and looked about him miserably. At last he forced himself to speak. "I put it on your desk, Captain."

  "All right, you put it on my desk. Look, Emmett. You're not kidding me any, but apparently you're getting away with it with these men. Now, Emmett-wouldn't you say that this is the most important bit of evidence so far turned up?"

  Lackey was silent, stared at the floor.

  "Answer him, goddamn it," shouted Chad.

  "Y… yes, s… sir," Lackey stammered. "I mean, perhaps, sir, it is the most important. It ties things together."

  "All right," said Roy. "Why didn't you mention this to me? This is your side of the business. Why didn't you discuss it with me? Why did you just stick a report on my desk-if you did-of a thing as vital as this?"

  Lackey said nothing but stood wetting his lips. From time to time he cast a frightened glance back over his shoulder toward the door as if measuring the distance he'd have to travel in order to escape.

  "Answer him, Lackey," cried Chad, red in the face, furious.

  "I… I don't know…"

  "You don't know, eh? I know. Did you tell Chad you barged into my office without knocking when I was questioning the prisoner?"

  "You were… you were kissing her," shouted Lackey, quivering with emotion, suddenly bold, with a sort of sheep-like, fearful boldness. "I saw him, Mr. Bayliss. I saw him."

  "All right," said Roy. "You saw me. Did you tell Chad I belted you for it-knocked you down-blacked your eye?"

  "I've decided to prefer charges," said Lackey, tight-lipped, his face flushing, then turning pale.

  "Now wait a minute," said Chad, calming down. "You can't do that, Lackey. You want to blow the roof off?"

  "He won't do anything," said Roy. "Right now, he's lucky he's alive."

  Chad turned to Lackey. "Do you still insist that Hargis suppressed this report on the girl's glove?"

  "Yes," said Lackey. "I'm no slave. You can't treat me this way. I'll take it up with the Civil Service Commission. I'll… I'll take it to court. He had no right to hit me when I was merely doing my duty."

  "Going behind your superior's back is not doing your duty," said Roy.

  "Just a minute," Chad interpolated. "In this case, I disagree with you, Roy. All right, Lackey. Wait outside."

  "I demand to be transferred," cried Lackey. "I will not return to that office. I will never work for Roy Hargis again."

  "All right, all right," said Chad, wearily. "Just wait outside. Stay put."

  Lackey turned and shambled out.

  After a moment, Chad picked up a letter in front of him and showed it to Roy. "Here's a request for your resignation signed by the Mayor. You want to write out your resignation right now, Roy? Or do you want to argue about it?"

  Roy studied Chad for a moment, but the red, rather congested-looking face told him nothing. Roy knew very well that the request for his resignation was Chad's idea, not the Mayor's. Chad had merely pushed a piece of paper in front of the Mayor and told him to sign it. Chad was the boss, and this was it-the showdown. With Roy out of the way, the girl was a goner sure. Conviction was almost a dead certainty now-which meant a long stretch, years, maybe ten, if nothing worse.

  The D.A. would make a circus out of it, with all the trimmings. It would be a sensational trial with national newspaper coverage, newsreel shots, sob stories. And then in a few weeks, an iron door would close on the big kid and she would be buried just as effectively as if planted in some lonely cemetery. Buried, and forgotten.

  Roy felt a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea, rose from his chair, and stood leaning on the big shining boardmeeting table, staring at nothing. He'd gone very pale. Perrin and Chad looked at him in surprise, then concern.

  "What's the matter, Roy?" asked Chad.

  "Nothing, nothing," said Roy, then he sat down, took out a handkerchief and mopped his clammy face.

  The picture of that big beautiful girl shut away from him for years, maybe forever, sickened him to such an extent that he felt for the moment as if he might die. Little by little, he began to feel better. The dizziness and nausea left him, and he sat limp, staring at the shining table-top as if hypnotized. Chad's voice roused him.

  "You want to sign this, Roy?"

  The color started to come back into Roy's face now,
and his body began to tense up as if for a physical encounter.

  "Chad-can I talk to you alone?"

  Chad rubbed his hand wearily over his face, then he turned to Perrin. "Do you mind waiting outside for a few minutes, Grant?"

  "Not at all, Mr. Bayliss," said the young D.A.'s man, then he rose and ignoring Roy, went out into the front anteroom.

  "That's your probable successor, Roy," said Chad, smiling slightly. "What do you think of him?"

  "I don't like bow ties."

  There was a brief silence, then finally Chad spoke. "If you're thinking about trying to buck us, Roy… Look, for Christ's sake-what's a big floosie, more or less? You're no kid. I'm surprised at you, Roy. All right-so she's a beauty. But they all got the same equipment-nobody knows that better than you do; and they all end up being a bore. What the hell has happened to you, Roy? From what I hear, you've always played the woman-game smart. Why blow up now?"

  Roy said nothing but sat staring off across the room. Every word spoken by Chad struck him as true to experience, and yet it didn't matter in the least. The calm guy, the guy who was not in trouble, could always give you good advice-the cheapest thing in the world, and the most futile.

  "It's not a question of me bucking you, Chad. I'm not considering that now, after all you've done for me," said Roy. "However, if I wanted to, if I finally decided to, it might be very uncomfortable for everybody. You'd have your way, all right, Chad; I know that. But you'd get pretty badly scarred up and the whole thing would have a mighty ugly look to it."

  "Granted," said Chad.

  After a moment, Roy spoke again: "Do you think a big three-ring circus trial is a good idea, Chad?"

  "Why do you ask?"

  "A lot of dirty things are going to come out of it. Mr. Hobart's not going to look like any lily. For instance, a smart lawyer is going to show in court that Hobart had been wolfing it on the Row for years."

  "Completely irrelevant. After all, we'll set the case, Roy. We'll have our own judge. It'll be run more or less as we want it run."

  "More or less," said Roy. "But this is a big one. Suppose somebody manages to see that the girl gets Benny Lynch for defense attorney."

  Chad winced. "Who would do that?"

  "Who?" Roy laughed curtly. "Chad-you've got enemies. You think everybody is asleep? Take one instance: Wesson. I saved your bacon on that. How about all this wire-tapping? Things are rumbling all over the city. Suppose you lose in '52? What do you think is going to happen to a lot of the boys you've got in office now?"

  "What?"

  "They are going to the Walls-for malfeasance, and a few other little items, such as stealing."

  Chad winced again. "Yeah? So?"

  "Let's be optimistic for a moment," said Roy. "Let's say that none of your enemies pick up the business. Let's say that. No one gets Ben Lynch-who would just love to blow you out of the water…"

  "All right, we'll say that."

  There was a pause, then Roy spoke slowly and in a low voice. "In that case, I'll get Lynch to protect the girl."

  Chad studied Roy for a long time. "I see," he said; then: "You're really hooked, aren't you?"

  "Yes," said Roy.

  Chad got up and began to pace the floor. Then he lit a cigar and smoked in silence for a while. Finally he spoke. "Roy, I don't get it. You haven't got a Chinaman's chance to get this girl off."

  "I know that."

  "Then… what the hell is this all about?"

  Roy reached across the table, found the letter requesting his resignation, and held it up.

  "I don't like a thing like this hanging over my head."

  Chad pulled it away from him and impatiently tore it up. "All right. Now what?"

  "What you want is a conviction-is that right, Chad?"

  "That's right."

  "Give me twenty-four hours. No questions asked."

  "I don't know, Roy," said Chad. "You act to me like a guy who's suddenly lost his way. Maybe you don't realize it, but that's the way you act. We had big plans for you, son, but that's all out the window now. You blew the big one."

  Roy was surprised to discover that this mattered very little to him. He brushed it aside. "Okay, Chad. That's beside the point. Just give me twenty-four hours. I might get it over fast for you."

  Chad sat down heavily in one of the leather armchairs by the window. There was a protracted silence.

  "Twenty-four hours is not very long, Chad," said Roy. "So I waste it. Then I'm out. I'll sign anything you like. I'll blow for good. You can put your bright boy with the bow tie in my office, and that will be that."

  "It's a tough decision to make," said Chad, after a moment. "But then-all top-level decisions are tough to make. Ever think about that, Roy? I'm the guy who says yes or no. I got to say one or the other, right or wrong. I'm like a baseball umpire. In baseball, there is no such thing as a tie. With us, it's the same. I've got to call 'em and take the consequences. Why do you think I got high blood pressure?" There was a long pause as Chad sat turning something over in his mind. "Once in a while," he went on, "the yes or no guy feels he can relax. He gets hold of a man he's got complete confidence in, and he says to himself, 'Well, that end of the business is taken care of.' Then what happens? All of a sudden the man blows up in his face."

  "I admit it, Chad. I'm not arguing with you."

  Chad stood up suddenly. "All right, Roy. Get rolling. I'm holding the watch on you."

  Roy stood up and smiled wearily. "Thanks. Now about Lackey. I want him to clean out his desk and take a vacation till this is over. Then you do what you like with him."

  "Pretty good man, don't you think?"

  Roy hesitated for a moment before he spoke. "Yes, in a way, he is. Hard worker, bright. Only trouble with him is, he's a slob, knows it, and resents it."

  "Well, we'll see. We'll see."

  Roy gestured briefly and left. In the anteroom the bright young man in the bow tie was giving the secretary a line, and she was looking at him coquettishly. Roy walked through the ante-room and out the door, ignoring them.

  ***

  Ben Lynch's office was in one of the oldest buildings in town. A creaky, wobbling cage-elevator took Roy up to the third floor, and after a brief search in the dark, dusty hallway he found Lynch's office door and went in. It was about six o'clock and beginning to get dark. One small light burned in the dingy outer office which was deserted and smelled of dust, ink, and mildewed books.

  Roy tapped at the inner office door and a sharp, high-pitched voice called: "Come in."

  Roy opened the door. Lynch was sitting at his cluttered desk, smoking a corncob pipe. He was a small, thin man with curly, rumpled brown-gray hair. He had a thin hawklike nose and piercing hazel eyes. His clothes looked as rumpled as his hair. There was an atmosphere of comfortable failure about him, mitigated somewhat by his keen, shrewd, alive glances.

  He was a born rebel. Luckily he had never married, but was content to suffer the results of his rebelliousness alone. He was frugal in everything except tobacco-he smoked incessantly. He did not drink; he ate just barely enough to keep him alive; and his idea of a good time was a weekly visit to the zoo, where most of the animals were long-time friends of his.

  All his life, he had found it impossible to knuckle under. His temper flared in and out of season. He was born to be in the opposition. Success would have bored him.

  "Well, well," he said, looking up over his pipe. "So you're the famous Captain Hargis? Have you gone crazy or something? I always seem to get the lunatics."

  Roy tossed a thick manuscript on his desk. "There's everything, Mr. Lynch. Read it and give me your opinion."

  "I'll stay right here and read it. May take me an hour or two."

  "That's okay. My home phone number's on there. I'll be waiting to hear from you."

  "I've already turned this girl down once," said Lynch. "She's guilty as hell, in my opinion. Although I have no right to that opinion as yet, going only on what I read in the papers-God help me!-and w
hat I can deduce."

  "Is that so? Who came to you?"

  "A damn fool kid named Dumas, or something like that. He didn't make any kind of sense at all. I ran him out of here. Defending whores I find not only unprofitable, but distinctly boring. They are all alike-too lazy to work, and too stupid to keep out of trouble." He slapped the thick document. "Isn't this a little unusual, Captain-not to say unethical?"

  "What does that last word mean, Mr. Lynch?"

  "The word? Oh. Well, not much of anything at the present time. Forget I mentioned it. All right, Captain. You'll hear from me shortly."

  Roy took out his wallet and counted out a thick stack of bills. "One thousand dollars, Mr. Lynch. Okay?"

  "What's that for?"

  "Well… retainer."

  "Wait a minute, Captain. I told you on the phone I had no intention of defending this girl. This is one time I agree with the Administration. She ought to be sent up. Why should I strain myself over a case I can't win?"

  Roy studied Lynch for a long time. Did he mean it? Didn't he know that this was one of the Administration's touchiest cases? Apparently he did not. Losing his grip, I guess, thought Roy. I heard he was a real sharpie.

  "You misunderstand me," said Roy. "I only want an expert opinion, and maybe some advice."

  "An opinion's not worth a thousand dollars."

  "I think it is," said Roy, shoving the money across the desk.

  "I don't understand this at all, Captain."

  "All I want is your honest opinion. Then we can talk later about anything else."

  "I'd expect a double-cross if I could figure out any way I could be double-crossed in this business."

  "Don't worry about any double-cross. This is just strictly between ourselves. Nobody knows anything about this but you and me. Is that understood, Mr. Lynch?"

  "Yes," said Lynch, slowly. "But that again brings up that uncomfortable word 'ethics.' Without ethics, I might tell everybody in town that I'd been approached sub rosa by an Administration official on a hush-hush matter."

  "But you've got ethics," said Roy, grinning.

  "Yes," said Lynch, "I've got ethics, which makes me sort of a freak at the moment, like a two-headed calf."