The Golden Girl and All

by Ralph Dennis

  Within half an hour the pattern was clear enough. Art and Hump and I stood aside and let the two young cops do their work. First they’d gone through the inventory sheets and they’d blue penciled all the items of evidence that included hard drugs. After that it was a matter of going through the numbered wired-in cages. They’d weigh the contents and check it against the inventory and then taste a fingertip of the powder. Right away, with the first ounce, I heard the whisper, “Talc.”

  And later, after they’d checked out eight or ten, I heard one say, “They must have bought all the talc in Atlanta.”

  “An ounce here, an ounce and a quarter here … it adds up.”

  “Got careless here or hurried,” one said another time. “Took out an ounce and replaced it with an ounce and a half.”

  “Closer to two ounces,” the other said.

  Art watched it, not blinking as it added up, but I could read him well enough to know it was making him sick. I almost think he wanted me to be wrong for the sake of the department.

  The two young cops didn’t talk to us. Without their help I could see it shaping up. The hits and pieces as I kept a running count on my fingers, already added up to at least a pound. And there were still a lot of blue pencil marks to go.

  Art walked over and whispered to one of the young cops. He whispered back. Art nodded. He told them to go ahead with their check. When they finished they were to bring the results up to his office. Not to anyone else. Just to him.

  On the way back to the front desk Art leaned toward me. “Better than a pound missing already.”

  “Sorry to be right,” I said.

  “Recent too,” Art said. “The last couple of months. When the story broke about all that heroin being missing from the evidence storeroom in New York … what was it, three hundred pounds? … a check was made down here. It was all here then.”

  “Who made the check?”

  “A team from outside,” Art said.

  “No way they could cover themselves? Nobody from the storeroom helped with the inventory?”

  “They were the ones we were checking on,” Art said, shaking his head.

  The young cop at the front desk looked at us but he didn’t say anything. Art started past him and then thought better of it. “How long have you been on this detail?”

  “Am I under investigation?”

  “Not that I know of,” Art said.

  “About a month.”

  “Did you know Randy King?”

  “I knew him. He was on the day shift, the busy one.”

  “How many on that crew?” Art asked.

  “Three. Randy and Bo Turnage and Ed Winters.”

  “They close friends?”

  “I don’t know how you mean that,” the young cop said.

  “Sure you do,” Art said. “Did they pal around after working hours?”

  The young cop nodded. “They were thick as …” He broke that off and shook his head. “They went to ball games together, drank at the same places.”

  “What kind of guys are Turnage and Winters?” I asked.

  The cop looked at Art, wanting to know if he had to answer my question. Art nodded at him.

  “They lived over their heads, I think?”

  “How?”

  “Well, I can’t prove it,” the cop said.

  “We’re not taking your statement right now,” Art said.

  “You know … clothes, cars, the places they drank and ate …”

  “You got any idea where the money for all that comes from?” Art twisted around and hooked a cigarette from my shirt pocket.

  “Favors, I heard,” the young cop said.

  “What kind of favors?”

  “Just favors,” he said.

  “They had to explain it somehow,” I said. “It’s a good cover. Almost any cop wants to can make a bit off favors.”

  I stepped around Art. “Turnage and Winters … what kind of size on them?”

  “Turnage’s a big guy, shoulders like a barn door. Winters’ the other way. We used to joke that he probably stood on his tiptoes to make the minimum height.”

  “That’s a knot for me,” I said. “And I’ve got the ribs to prove it.”

  Art leaned over the young cop’s desk and mashed out the cigarette. “What kind of car you drive?”

  “A ’67 VW.”

  Art nodded. “Go slow with favors. Some balls are getting broken around here tonight.”

  We were in the tunnel headed for the elevators. There was a turn ahead and I heard them before I saw anyone. It was a noise I remembered from the stairs outside the garage apartment on Fifteenth. “Company,” I said. Art walked on, getting a pace or two in front.

  Bear Hodge and Ben King rounded the turn and headed on the straight away for us Bear was pacing himself, trying to lay back with Ben. It was hard on him. He had burn on you could read from a distance of fifty yards. On Bear’s right Ben was moving as well as he could under the circumstances. The tile floor didn’t give him good traction for the crutch tips.

  When Bear couldn’t stand it anymore he touched Ben on the shoulder and came at us at a run. Art got another step in front of Hump and me and put his chin out where Bear could reach it.

  “What the fuck are these two doing in here?”

  “Interested taxpayers,” Art said:

  “I’m going to have your ass for this,” Bear said.

  “You mean next month or right now?” Art said. “You can have it now if you want it.”

  Ben King reached them while Bear was trying to decide whether he wanted it to break that way. He was shaking and sweating from the exertion. He got a hand on Bear’s shoulder and pulled him a step away from Art.

  “What’s this I heard?” Ben asked Art.

  “Where’d you hear it?”

  “A friend called me,” Ben said.

  “Who?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Ben said.

  “It matters,” Art said. “You see, you’re just an interested taxpayer, too.”

  Ben backed away a few steps and leaned against the tunnel wall. Bear went over to him and asked if he was all right. Ben said he was, that he’d be fine as soon as he got his breath.

  Bear looked past Art at me. “This wild hair your idea, Hardman?”

  I didn’t have to answer. “It’s not so wild,” Art said. “It’s not finished yet, but it looks bad.”

  “How bad?”

  “Over a pound of the hard stuff so far. It might go as high as three or four. Jim here thinks a bit over three pounds.”

  “God damn it, how?”

  “Copycat of the New York thing. Substituted talc for the stuff.”

  Ben King grunted with effort as he elbowed his way from the wall. “You got some reason to tie this to Randy?”

  It was a hard one for Art to handle. I waited to see how he’d deal with it. He did it the only way he could. “I wish I could say we didn’t. I think he was, Ben, but we won’t be sure until we talk to the other two on his shift. I’m putting out a pick-up order on Turnage and Winters soon as I get back upstairs.”

  “You’re slipping my question,” Ben said.

  “All right. It’s hearsay and circumstantial so far. An informer tells me Peggy Holt has three pounds of hard dope she’s about ready to deal. Word is she didn’t get it through the usual pipelines. She says Randy furnished it to her. Add to that the fact Randy was living with her and it looks bad.”

  “The pig,” Ben said.

  It broke the rest of his back, the one that had nothing to do with spinal cords and motor impulses. It smashed the guts and the balls that he’d drawn on to hold the brittle parts of himself together. I was watching his face and I think he knew as soon as he heard it. Maybe he knew even before that. He might have tried to believe otherwise but he knew Randy for what he was, he knew the weaknesses in him. Whatever it was that allowed Peggy Holt to squeeze his balls and lead him anywhere she wanted him to go.

  If we’d have been alone I believe
I’d have tried to make Ben understand that Peggy Holt had that way with men. She could have made Billy Sunday take up drink and sin again if she wanted him to. That kind of thing. But we weren’t alone and there wasn’t any way I could say those things to him in front of Bear and Art.

  “After you talk to Turnage and Winters,” Ben said, “you let me know.”

  “It’s kind of late,” Art said. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

  “Tonight’s our poker night. Bear and I’ll be playing until sunrise if it takes that long.”

  “I’ll come by,” Art said.

  Hump and I stepped past Bear and headed for the elevators. Art was a step behind us. I guess Bear wasn’t through with us yet. He yelled after us, his voice hollow in the tunnel. “And get those two out of the building. You hear me, Art?”

  I waited until the echo died out. “Don’t throw me in that briar patch,” I said. “I’m leaving anyway.”

  Art followed us out to the parking lot. It was in the twenties, bitter cold and dropping. It wasn’t a night to be out on the streets. It was a night to be home in bed with a warm woman.

  Hump got behind the wheel and started the engine. I got on the passenger side and Art got in the back seat. The air coming out of the heater felt like air conditioning.

  “Bad back there,” I said.

  “Yeah.”

  “The cop in the Evidence room almost said thick as thieves,” I said. “Like he’d made a guess before tonight.”

  “It’s the first law. Don’t inform, cover up for the other cop.”

  I pulled up my topcoat collar and fitted it around my neck. “It’s in the open now. No reason to cover anything now. Find Turnage and Winters and break them wide open. Hang their guts out to dry.”

  “Cruisers on the way to their apartments now.”

  “When you break them I think you’ll find that the three of them worked it out together, with some help from Peggy Holt. And somewhere along the way they fell out. Might have been Peggy Holt’s doing. Maybe she convinced Randy the pie was better if they didn’t cut it as many ways. All Randy and Peggy had to do was play stay-away until the sale was made. Remember what Ben said? Randy was taking some leave. Bet you’ll find he and Peggy made a move and tried to get lost. Set up house-keeping and Peggy went up and stole her kid. That probably means they were going to unload the dope and bug out of town. Peggy didn’t want to leave without her kid.”

  “And Turnage and Winters … what could they do … take it to court?”

  “They traced Randy to the garage apartment. Had their face-off with him. He told them to fuck off. They were out. Think you’ll find they came prepared. Didn’t want to use their own iron. Got some lady’s pistol from the Evidence room, one that hadn’t been used, just confiscated. When they’d taken all they wanted off Randy, killed him and looked for the dope. It wasn’t there. Might even have put the lady’s gun back on the shelf. What better place to hide a murder gun?”

  “So, no sign of the dope. Needed a lever on Peggy.”

  “That’s where Maryann came in. Only Harper got there first.” I put my hands to the heater vents. It was getting warm at last.

  “So they kill Harper, take the child, want the dope as ransom.”

  “Only we get the kid before they can make the deal,” I said.

  “Most of it’s speculation,” Art said.

  “The main thread’s there. Some details might change.”

  “We find Turnage and Winters and we’ll find the kid,” Art said.

  “I thought so too. Now I’m not sure. Can’t figure any way Turnage and Winters could have known Marcy had Maryann. That’s been bothering me all day.”

  “Who has her then?”

  “I hate to say it out loud,” I said. “I want to be wrong this time.”

  “Whisper it to me then.”

  I shook my head.

  “Looks like I’ll be in all evening.” Art got out and closed the door.

  A couple of blocks away Hump stopped at a pay phone. I got out and checked an address.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  I stood in the doorway and waited. Hump was behind me and to my right with his hand on the door bell. As soon as the door opened and Jack Smathers was there I reached back, feeling the ribs the whole way and not giving a damn, and hit him with all the strength I had left. His nose broke under it and he fell back and cat down on his rump.

  I followed him in and Hump closed the door behind us and locked it. When Jack got over the stunned feeling he looked up at me. “You crazy or something?”

  “Not a bit,” I said.

  Hump leaned down and grabbed him by his jacket front, lifted him and threw him in the general direction of the sofa. “Play time’s over,” Hump said. “This is for real.”

  Jack landed on the arm of the sofa and rolled into a seat. One hand covered his nose, exploring it. He brought his hand away and stared at the first blood.

  “It happened too fast,” I said. “That’s what bothered me. Given some more time, a few more hours, anybody might have found the kid. I knew and Hump knew and Art knew and we didn’t tell anybody. That leaves you. I made a phone call to you. Why not? I was working for you.”

  “That’s crazy,” Jack said.

  “Say something else,” Hump said. “I’m getting tired of that.”

  “Your wife in?” I walked past him and looked into the bedroom of the apartment.

  “She’s visiting her mother in Dalton,” Jack said.

  The linen on the bed looked newly changed, the pillows starched and the sheet and blanket turned down partly on one side. “When’s the divorce?”

  “It’s a visit.” Jack worked a handkerchief out of his hip pocket and pressed it to his nose. “I think you broke it.”

  “When did you start selling us out? I know the why. Peggy Holt, superwoman in bed. Couldn’t wait to go trotting back to her with your fly open.”

  “Say something,” Hump said.

  “I like money as well as anybody else,” Jack said.

  “That’s not it,” Hump said. “It’s bedroom tricks you like.” Hump turned to me. “Jim, next time you get a chance, you got to introduce me to this Peggy woman.”

  “First chance,” I said, grinning at him.

  “You won’t get close to her,” Jack said.

  “Not the way I hear it,” Hump said. “Was talking to this black dude at the Crystal this evening. Seems, from what he said, she thinks black is better.”

  “And the Wildwood Connector,” I said. “He’s black and used to do her.”

  “I wouldn’t worry about it,” Hump said, false comforting him. “It won’t wear out and it don’t change colors.”

  “You been selling us out all along or just today?” I asked.

  He didn’t answer right away. He was pushing it around from compartment to compartment, trying to see if there was some story he could get away with telling. None of them panned out well, I guess. “Today,” he said.

  “Had this ball ache and saw a way of easing it, huh?”

  “Yes.” He lowered the handkerchief and felt the bone in his nose. He grimaced at the pain. “You did break it.”

  “Where’s the kid?” This from Hump as he leaned over the coffee table and shook a cigarette from a pack there.

  “I don’t know. With Peggy, I guess.”

  “Where’s Peggy?” I asked.

  “I don’t know.”

  I nodded at Hump. “Take a look in the bedroom and tell me what you think.”

  Hump stood in the bedroom doorway and started chuckling. “Shit, man, that’s a love nest.”

  “Bet there’s champagne in the refrig, too,” I said. I gave it a second to level out. “When was she due, Jack?”

  He didn’t like it. “Two hours … or three hours ago.”

  “When you answered the door you thought it was her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Man, you are innocent.” Hump put back his head and hooted. When it became a low, throaty whee
ze he said, “That cunt’s got all she wants and none of that is you. She’s got dope worth three or four hundred thousand and she’s got her kid and you’re so far out in left field you don’t even know what happened to you.”

  “I bet you didn’t even get your wick dipped once this time,” I said.

  “That right, Jack?” Hump said.

  He didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

  “How’d you get in touch with her?” I eased into a chair at the end of the sofa.

  “She called me last night. After she talked to you. She wanted to know if you could be trusted.”

  “Maybe I should have asked her if you could be trusted,” I said.

  “People like you two, you can’t understand. I just couldn’t help myself. I heard her voice and I couldn’t …”

  I didn’t want to hear it. I could make it up. “So she asked if I could be trusted. What else?”

  “She said she wanted Maryann back.”

  “That figures.”

  “She said she’d do anything to get the kid back,” Jack said. “She was crying.”

  “I’ll bet. So, then, she set up the sell out?”

  “Yes.”

  “She give you a way of getting in touch with her?” Hump said.

  “After you called me I called the Union Mission and told a man I wanted to talk to Peggy. She called me a few minutes later.”

  “His name?”

  “Frank Benson.”

  Union Mission. The old guy, almost toothless, in the Park a few hours before. The one who’d directed me to the meet with her in the Arlen’s parking lot. Might be him.

  “And that’s all?”

  Jack nodded.

  I got up. Hump moved over to the outside door. He unlocked it and waited. “Last words for you, Jack. I’d beat the shit out of you if I thought it’d do any good. I don’t think it would. All I’m going to ask is that you get on the other side of the street when you see me coming. Or you dive in a doorway and stay there.”

  “I couldn’t help it, Jim, I really couldn’t.”

  “That’s what all the cripples say.”

  Hump drove back toward the center of town. We stayed on Peachtree until we reached Ellis. He turned left and we could see the huge sign over the old brick building. Atlanta Union Mission. It was a place, where for fifty or seventy-five cents a night, the winos and the derelicts could get a bed and a shower. Passing it several times and watching the winos out front getting some sun, I’d wondered how long the Mission would last. It was only a block or so off Peachtree. Too valuable, I thought, for the property to be used that way much longer.