On The Inside

by Ted Wood

  “No. But I'll be stretching to stay awake after you've been in bed six hours. Thanks, but not now.”

  “You sure don't drink much,” he said. His tone was mild, he was as anxious to find out about me as I was about him. I made the first move.

  “I'm a Black Velvet man,” I said. “Off duty at this time of night I'd sink a couple with the best of guys. I just don't need to get any sleepier than I am.”

  “Oh.” His mouth was a perfect circle. “You sure didn't look sleepy out there when the fight started.”

  “I don't have to do much, not with my dog along. He's a better cop than I am.”

  “Thought the sergeant said you wouldn't be using him.”

  “Yeah, he did, but I've still got a bum shoulder. I figured I'd need some backup.”

  “What's Ferris gonna say when he hears about it? Because you can bet your ass somebody's gonna say something.”

  We were fencing. I had a feeling that he didn't like Ferris but I could have been wrong. I couldn't force the pace.

  “I guess I'll find out soon enough,” I said. “But I figure I'll have a word with the chief. He's hard but he likes things cooled out. If my dog does a good job it's dumb to leave him behind.”

  “Good luck,” he said. He paused and I sat and smiled, weighing him up. He had a worried face, leathery but pale. He looked like one of those tiny statuettes that Quebec woodcarvers make, deeply chiseled lines each side of his nose, long chin, receding hair.

  “The chief seems fair,” I said.

  “You could say that, I guess.”

  He seemed to want to say something else. I wondered if he was carrying a grudge about the money he had to pay out to the police or if he was some favorite of the chief's, glad to have the license to run the bar in this town, a license to print money. I played it right down the middle.

  “I couldn't say anything else, could I? Even if I didn't like the guy. He's the boss. I do like he says.”

  “You were a chief yourself, weren't you?” He opened his desk drawer and took out a pack of Old Port cigars. He offered one to me but I shook my head. He grinned and shook his own head at my refusal, then lit up. “Any bars in the place you worked?”

  “Couple. One hotel where they had a cocktail bar, that was where the tourists drank, or the locals on anniversaries and birthdays. The other one was mostly a beer joint—they did the blue-collar trade, what there was of it.”

  He waved out his match and laid it carefully in the ashtray. I could tell from his precision that he wanted to probe me.

  “You have any arrangements with them?”

  “Nothing special. I used to drop in a couple of times through the week, more on weekends. If they had trouble, they'd call.”

  “And what was in it for you?”

  “Company mostly, the odd beer or shot. Both of them used to give me a pretty good Christmas present.”

  “Yeah?” He was leaning forward, his face wreathed in smoke. “Like what would it be?”

  “The beer joint used to send me a case or two of Labatt's Blue. The bar usually sent rye. Usually Crown Royal, pretty upmarket for me.”

  “Yeah?” He said nothing else, and I made the next move in the chess game.

  “No big deal. Of course, we were pretty close to the highway. The OPP was just outside the door if they needed any extra support.”

  “The nearest OPP post to here is a hundred miles away,” he said softly and again he waited.

  I looked at him and grinned. “Does that mean we have different rules in Elliot?”

  “You could say that.” He puffed his cigar.

  “Like what?” I asked cunningly.

  He took his cigar out of his mouth and looked at me levelly for about a minute. “Why do I get the feeling that you're not as dumb as you sound?”

  “Maybe you've got second sight.” I laughed. “Hell, if I was bright would I still be a constable at the age I am?”

  “You're married to a class lady,” he said. “A bright woman. Yeah, I heard, an actress. She's gonna turn all the broads in town into Farrah Fawcetts or whatever. I don't think she'd've gone for a dummy.”

  I changed my tack. “Listen, if you've got a point to all this, let's get to it.”

  He picked up his cigar and tapped the ash off the end very carefully. “You're bright,” he said. “And you're experienced. I did my homework. You were in the T'ronto department. You've been a chief.”

  “In a one-man band,” I said. “I did exactly what I'm doing here, only for less money.”

  He changed his tone, conversational now, not so serious. “How'd'you like this place?”

  “So far so good. I was born in Coppercliff. Mining towns are my stomping ground.”

  “And how does your wife like it? I mean, no theater, not even a movie house, just weekly flicks in the community center, sitting on hard chairs. No bookstores, none of the big-city stuff a woman like her is used to.”

  “You don't have to worry about my wife. I'll do that,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Of course. So you plan to settle down here and live happily ever after?”

  “That's it. Have some kids, maybe get back into hockey.”

  He sniffed. “How would you like to be the chief?”

  I straightened up and stared at him, then laughed. “An’ who's gonna vote me into the job? Bounce the chief, put me ahead of Sgt. Ferris on the application sheet?”

  “Think about it.” He stood up and stuck out his hand. “I like you, Bennett. Thanks for the good work tonight.”

  “I'll tell my dog,” I said, shaking his hand. “Thanks for the vote of confidence. It's nice to be appreciated.”

  I went back out and resumed patrol, chewing over what I'd heard. The most sense I could make out of it was that he was tired of paying off the chief. He figured it would be cheaper or easier to work with me in the job. Well, if that was the case I would go along with him until I could put a wire on him and get the evidence I needed.

  But on the other hand, I thought gloomily, as the town quieted down for the night, maybe he was testing me out on the chief's behalf. Maybe Harding had asked him to see if I was on the level. I would be well advised to move slowly with him, I decided. I didn't want to tip my hand.

  I spent an uneventful night, booking off at eight in the morning. Ferris was not on duty, he came in late on Saturday to cover the seven-to-three shift, so I didn't get any flak about using Sam. I drove home and parked my car. When I got to the back door there was a box sitting there, a plain cardboard container that had held paper towels. It was open at the top. When I looked in I saw another box inside, gift-wrapped, with a card on it.

  I lifted the whole bundle indoors and Fred greeted me in surprise. “Hi, honey, been shopping this early?”

  I set the box on the table and kissed her. Then she peered in. “Gifties,” she said. “Who's it from?”

  “An anonymous friend, I figure,” I said. I tore the card open. It was one of those all-purpose greeting cards with just a picture on the front. Inside was written. “Thanks. Let's talk again.” There was no signature.

  “Curiouser and curiouser,” Fred said. “What's in the package?”

  “Unless I miss my guess it's a case of rye.” I tore the paper off it and found I was right. A dozen Black Velvet.

  Fred looked at me, her eyes wide. “What happened?”

  “Let's just say I'm starting to get myself on the inside.” I said. “This is our secret.”

  She shook her head sadly. “I don't like this, Reid.”

  “No more do I, but it's the first opening in the maze so far.”

  SIX

  I checked the case all over. “What are you doing?” Fred wanted to know.

  “Making sure it hasn't been tampered with,” I said. “If this is a setup they may have marked it some way so the chief could waltz in here and prove I've been taking favors.” I satisfied myself there were no secret symbols on the sides and then opened it. Twelve bottles of Black Velvet, in the famil
iar black cylinder. I opened one of the cylinders and checked the bottle. The government bond seal was intact, but there was a tiny squiggle from a felt pen tip at one end of the label. I checked all of them. They were all marked.

  “That's it,” I said. “The sonofabitch is trying to find out if I'm on the take. If I accept these, he's going to tell the chief and they'll come here and find them and I'll be thrown off the force.”

  “Then that means he wants you to be honest,” Fred said. “He's testing you. If you pass he'll come clean about the chief and try to have you promoted. I hear he's on the town council. He could probably swing it.”

  “This could be the break I need,” I said. “I'll run it back down there right now, and he'll know I'm straight.”

  “What will you say?” She had her long red hair pulled back with a strand of thick wool. She looked about eighteen and beautiful, but this was work and she was all business.

  “I'm not sure. I don't want to scare him off by coming on too sanctimonious.”

  “Won't he trust you more for it?” she frowned.

  “It needs phrasing very carefully,” I said, then kidded, “Come on, you're the drama expert in this house. What do I say?”

  She sat down and folded her hands in her lap thoughtfully.

  “It seems to me that he wants you on his side. That doesn't mean he wants you straight, just that he wants to be sure where you stand.”

  “So what do I tell him?”

  “How about this?” She grinned suddenly. “Yes, this would be good.” She told me the line she'd thought of.

  It sounded good to me. She ran me through it a couple of times. Then I left, putting the box in the trunk of my car and driving back downtown to the hotel. It was closed at this hour. The cleanup man was slopping his mop around. He looked up in surprise when I came in the back door, carrying the box. “We're closed,” he said.

  I kept my voice low, angry. “Where's Berger?”

  “In bed,” he said in surprise. “Who're you?”

  “My name's Bennett. Go and tell him I'm here to see him. And hurry.” Fred had gone over the scene with me, playing it like a drama. “Remember, action is character,” she'd said. “It's not just what you say, it's how you say it that's important.”

  It worked. The guy leaned his mop against the bar and went up the stairs behind the door marked Private. He was down again in a minute. “Boss says he'll be right down. Wait in the office.”

  I nodded curtly and went into the office, scooping up a bottle of Black Velvet and a shot glass as I passed the bar. The cleaner looked at me in surprise but said nothing.

  I poured myself an ounce and a half, sipped off the half ounce and gargled in it before swallowing, to make my breath as boozy as possible. The bottle was already half empty; he wouldn't know how much I'd had.

  He came in a couple of minutes later, dressed but unshaven and rumpled. “What's going on?” He sounded angry.

  “Sit down,” I said and he did, falling silent. I slugged the other ounce of rye and looked at him. “I wanna know what's going on. Last night you made a funny kind of speech to me. Sounded to me like you were trying something on for size. Then this morning there's a case of my kind of booze on the doorstep.”

  Now he nodded. “Yeah. Call it a gratuity. I don't mind what you call it. A gesture of friendship. Whatever.”

  “You know the rules about cops taking payola,” I said. “You think I'm gonna put my job on the line for a lousy case of rye?”

  That was the line Fred had come up with. And it worked. I could almost see the wheels turning behind his eyes.

  “You said you took gifts from the bars where you used to work.”

  He had no tone at all in his voice. We were sparring again.

  “This isn't Christmas and I haven't done you favors to warrant a case of the stuff. For all I know you're about to call the chief and tell him to look in my closet and find a marked case of rye. The chief comes in and I go out. Is that it? You the local testing facility for crooked cops?”

  “You're being paranoid,” he said, but he licked his lips.

  “You figure I'm paranoid? If I'm going to risk my job its not for something I could buy myself if I wanted.” The second half of Fred's line, the invitation.

  He looked at me without speaking for a long time. Then he spoke, and he smiled as he did. “Don't screw around, do you?”

  “Not for nickels and dimes.”

  “Then for how much?”

  I laughed scornfully. “I'm not paranoid and I'm not stupid. I'd like to be out of here by the time I'm fifty, able to set up somewhere, do something else.” It was still open-ended. The ball was still in his court.

  He rubbed his hands over his uncombed hair. “That sounds heavy,” he said at last.

  “You said last night you wanted me to be the chief. On his pay I could probably save enough living here to cut out on schedule.” I paused, but he waited until I went on. “So I've brought back the case of liquor. It's on your bar, still in the box you sent it in. If you want to talk about promotion, I'm here to listen.”

  I heard voices outside—a couple of men—and I saw Berger's eyes flick towards the door. “I'm being squeezed,” he said. And then there was a tap on the door.

  “Come in,” he called.

  The door opened and Harding came in, followed by Ferris. “Morning, Bill,” Harding said evenly. He nodded to him and turned to me. “What are you doing here, Bennett?”

  “Talking to Mr. Berger, sir.”

  “Your wife said you would be,” Harding said. “Right before we searched your house.”

  “If you were looking for a certain case of liquor that turned up on my doorstep, look behind you,” I said.

  I stood up and shoved past him into the bar. He looked surprised but said nothing and came with me.

  “There must have been a wrong delivery,” I said softly. “This came to my house and I've just brought it to the only place in town it could have been addressed to.”

  Harding looked into the box and opened the case of liquor.

  “It's been opened,” he said.

  “Right. It was wrapped when it arrived. I thought maybe someone had left off a box of books for my wife. When I saw what it was I knew where it was intended to go, so I brought it here.”

  Harding looked at me out of cold eyes. He didn't speak for a long time. Then he said. “You did the right thing. We got an anonymous call that you were receiving payoffs from the hotel.”

  “I'm new in town but I'm a longtime copper,” I said coldly. “I know the rules on gratuities, chief. Not that I knew it was a gratuity. I haven't done anything to earn one. But I figured it had been misdelivered, so I brought it down here. Mr. Berger thanked me and poured me a drink.” Fred would have been proud of me. This was all improvisation.

  Harding said, “Okay, that takes care of it. You can go home now.”

  “Right,” I said. I leaned back into the office. “Thanks for the shot, Mr. Berger.”

  Ferris was standing in the office door and I spoke to him next. “And sergeant, you're probably going to hear that I used my dog last night to cool out a fight. I would appreciate the chance to take him on patrol with me at nights. He can do things a man can't. He's good, and he's free.”

  I turned to Harding. “Chief, this isn't the place to make the request, but with respect, I would like you to listen to what Mr. Berger has to say about my dog and give me permission to use him. He gets the department a lot of extra respect.”

  Harding was grinning—a thin, satisfied tightness around the mouth. “I'll listen and I'll give Sgt. Ferris his instructions,” he said. “Now get to bed.”

  “Right sir.” I stood to attention and then turned away. I was frustrated. Berger had been on the point of giving me the information I needed. He wanted out of his bind. I could see that much now. But I still had no evidence. When I finally got his confidence I would have to wire him and have him meet with the chief and tape the payoff procedure. Then I
could call in the police commission and head out of town. For now I could only wait and hope he would talk to me the next time I came in.

  I slept badly but was back at the station at eleven thirty for duty. I was surprised to find Harding there, dressed in civilian clothes. He was in the guardroom, talking to the afternoon man, Al Levesque. When I came in Harding turned and I nodded, “Good evening, chief.”

  “Good evening, Bennett.” That was it. Neither of them spoke as I slipped into my uniform and checked the teletype pad for messages. Then Harding told Levesque. “Your turn on the street, Levesque. Bennett can handle the radio this evening.”

  Levesque looked surprised but he said nothing, just put on his down-filled parka with the police crest and nodded to me. “No calls so far, but you can expect Mrs. Frazer to call around one. That's when her ‘usband gets in from the ‘otel.”

  “You usually go down there?”

  “Sometimes.” He shrugged. “Nineteen Falcon Street.”

  I nodded and he left. Harding looked at me, not speaking.

  There was nothing much to do but wait for the phone to ring, so I picked up the empty coffeepot. “Think I'll set up for the night. Like a cup, chief?”

  It broke the tension he was trying to build. “No,” he said shortly. Then he said, “You did well, this morning, Bennett.”

  “Just going by the book, chief. I know a lot of hotels like the police of their side. I don't mind accepting the occasional drink, but when they start wrapping glass around it and sending it to the house, they're trying to own you. I don't want that.”

  “You would have been out of this town by noon if you'd taken that liquor,” he said. Except for what I knew of his own dealings he sounded like any normal police chief, straight down the middle.

  “I don't want to screw up,” I said. “My wife's settled in. I like the town. We can make a life here.”

  “You can,” he nodded. “And it's not a dead-end job. They're looking at a mining prospect in the bush, not fifteen miles from here. If that comes on stream we'll be growing. The town will grow, get a proper shopping mall maybe, another couple of thousand people. The department will expand. We'll need a second sergeant.”