She was glaring up at me with those off-focus eyes, her chest moving with her rapid breathing.
“You’ll get your next fix, baby, when you decide to tell us the name of the man you work for.”
She screamed, clawing at her face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I want to get out of here.”
Her voice rattled against the walls, shook up everybody in the room except the matron and me. Neal went to the door, hurried out
The matron came over to Jackie. Jackie stared at her, pushing out her lip like a child in a tantrum. The matron lifted her hand as if to backhand her across the mouth.
“You want it, chick?” the matron said. “Or you want to shut your mouth?”
Jackie said no more. She sat trembling, breathing wildly, staring up at us.
Ernie and I were at his desk waiting for a call from the hospital. Doc Yerrgsted had promised to let us know as soon as there was anything on the Greek.
When the phone rang, Ernie lunged for it.
“Detective bureau. Lieutenant Gault.” He looked up at me, shook his head. It was not Doc Yerrgsted.
He sat a moment, listening. “No,” he said.
After a long time, he said, “All right, Commissioner. All right.”
Neal Burgess came out of his cubbyhole at the end of the long room. Chief Waylin was with him.
“Was that Commissioner Mitchell?” Waylin said.
Ernie stared at them. “Didn’t you know it was going to be?”
Waylin and Burgess had reached Ernie’s desk by now. Waylin looked white around the mouth.
“What kind of talk is that, Gault?” He moved close to Ernie’s desk, stared down at the little man. “I might expect something like that from Ballard, but not from you.”
“Maybe you’d better expect it from me, too,” Ernie said.
Waylin tensed, but Neal Burgess caught his arm. “Take it easy, Clyde. Ernie’s upset. This has been a hell of a time.”
“It’s been a hell of a time for all of us,” Waylin said. “He doesn’t have to take it out on me.”
“What did the commissioner want?” Burgess said.
“He didn’t want anything. He called in to tell me that Mr. Judson Palmer will be down here with his attorneys in about ten minutes, and that Palmer’s daughter is to be released into the custody of her father.”
“All right,” Waylin said. “That’s what we’ll do. We obey orders around here, Gault. All of us.”
“And what about our material witness in a murder and attempted extortion case?” Ernie stood up. He was not as tall as Burgess and much thinner than Waylin. He didn’t look like a match for either of them. But what he had they couldn’t touch, a record of service and honesty that made him ten feet tall.
“Nobody’s letting her get away.” Waylin gestured with his clenched fist. “Her family is one of the finest in this town. She’ll be where we can get her. When we want her.”
“When that dame walks out of here, you’ll never see her again.” Ernie’s voice shook. “She was the moll along when Climonte was killed. She was there today when two hoods were killed, and Spyrous Papolous was shot—and Papolous may be dead by now. I don’t give a damn who this dame is, or who her family is. She’s on dope, she’s mixed up in this racket—a big thrill for her. But it’s murder.”
“We follow orders, Ernie,” Waylin said again.
“I’m damned if I do. I’ve followed orders. From you and from Neal. I’ve followed them, by God, until I’m so dirty rotten filthy I can’t live in my skin. I won’t do it. Not any more. You let that dirty-mouthed little bitch walk out of here, and I’m going to resign. But I’ll be damned if I’ll resign quietly. Everybody in this town will know why I quit. I’ve given my whole life to this damned police department. I’ve gone into debt trying to give my wife and kids the few basic things they ought to have, but I’ve never taken a cent above my salary. And I’ve worked twenty hours a day when I had to.”
“You’re all upset, Ernie,” Waylin said.
“You’re damned right I’m upset. I’m telling you again—you let that thrill-crazy slut out of here, and you get my resignation. And I’ll see that the story makes every paper in town.”
I caught Ernie’s arm. “Take it easy.”
“Leave me alone, Mike. God knows I’m a hell of a lot smarter than I was four years ago when I thought you were a crooked cop—I don’t think that now. But I’ve had a bellyful, Mike. I know what I’ve got to do and you can’t stop me.”
“You’ve got three kids to feed, too,” I said. I kept my voice flat.
Ernie stopped. He seemed to shrink into himself. Then he shook his head. “I can’t help it. I can get some clean job. I can scrub sewers. But I can’t stomach this dirty dishonesty—not any more.”
Waylin had calmed down now. He seemed to grow calmer the more agitated Ernie Gault became.
“We’re only following orders, Ernie. You know what discipline means in the department. Both Neal and I would do anything for you. But we’ve got to do as we’re told.”
“Not like this, Clyde.” Ernie heeled around, pleading with Burgess. “Neal? For God’s sake. Tell him. This is too rotten. We can’t go on taking orders like this.”
Neal wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I’m afraid we’ve got to, Ernie. I’m sorry.”
Waylin actually forced himself to laugh. “Mike Ballard knows the score, Ernie. My God, if you don’t know it, what can I say to you? You mean a lot to all of us, Ernie. To the whole department. But one thing doesn’t change. We just work here, Ernie. Go on home and sleep this off. You’ll see it all differently tomorrow.”
Waylin’s voice was soft, almost gentle. But his words were like fists hitting Ernie Gault in the face. Ernie retreated, braced himself against his desk. He would not look at any of us. He did not move.
19
Neal Burgess drove Ernie home in his car. Waylin vanished into his own office and I sat at my desk for an hour, waiting for the call from Doc. It didn’t come. Finally I called the hospital.
I learned exactly nothing. Doc Yerrgsted was not in the hospital Out Ward. He had disappeared more than an hour ago. The Greek was getting every attention, but had not yet regained consciousness.
I slapped the receiver back into its cradle, hating the whole world almost as much as I hated myself. I went out of the building, got into my car. I drove past the Greek’s bar on Lafayette. The bar was locked and dark, and I wondered where Doc Yerrgsted had holed in. Padlock the Greek’s and Doc might die of exposure.
I found a liquor store, bought two pints of bourbon, then I drove back to City Hall. I supposed Doc had a room somewhere, but I didn’t believe he would go there until there was no chance he would find himself alone with his thoughts.
There was a light in the window of the M.E.’s office. I parked and went up the marble steps, carrying the bourbon.
I knocked on the door marked Medical Examiner. Doc’s voice called, “It’s unlocked. Come in.”
I entered his office, closed the door behind me. “You mean you sit alone in this place at night without locking your door?” I said.
He shrugged. “You wouldn’t do it, Ballard, because you have something to live for.”
“I’m loaded with happy reasons for living, all right”
He shook his head again. “If you weren’t, you wouldn’t be afraid of death. I’m not afraid. Suppose somebody walked in here and filled my carcass with lead. I might leak bourbon all over this nice carpeting, but—what you got there?”
He had seen the bourbon. I set it on the desk before him. He reached out for a pint, his hands trembling. “You’re a good boy, Ballard.” He grinned up at me. “Why don’t you get out of this town?”
“I thought you were going to call me from the hospital.”
He was removing the cork with his teeth. “I’ll bet you did.”
“What’s the matter? Didn’t you have a dime? Couldn’t you con a hospital phone?”
He took a long d
rink. “I decided the hell with it.”
“Why?”
He shrugged and took a drink.
“Doc. How is he?”
“The Greek? What do you care?”
“Good God. Why wouldn’t I care?”
“I don’t think you care about the Greek, Ballard. It was good of you to bring me this bourbon. I’m sure there are gold stars beside your name in heaven. Why don’t you just leave this stuff here with me?”
“What’s eating you, Doc?”
“Nothing. The Greek is still alive. He was still alive when I left him at the hospital in the hands of the young butchers they employ there. He may survive. He comes from a hardy people—it may take more than our modern medical graduates to kill him off. I devoutly hope so.”
He took a long drink, glanced up after a moment. His thick brows wriggled as if he were surprised to see me still standing there.
“Good night, Ballard.”
“Doc. I don’t get this. What could I do? I did all I could at the Greek’s.”
He took a long drink. He got up, went to his window, stared down at the quiet streets. He shook his head.
“No. You barely did what you had to do. He was the Greek, a friend of ours. A close friend. You could not let him be killed. So you came to his place early and stayed to protect him. But you had done nothing about all this organized evil and murder in this town. Climonte, Flynn, Hogan. And the poor devil—whoever he is—who gets it in his gut tomorrow night? You didn’t do much for the Greek, Ballard—only what you had to do.”
I sat for a long time at the wheel of my car in the deserted parking area outside City Hall. Doc’s window continued to glow. The streets were dark caverns.
Suddenly I knew just what I needed. What I needed was a dame and a bottle. Nothing wrong with me that a dame and a bottle wouldn’t cure.
I started the car.
It was two AM. when I got to my apartment I had found a bottle, but I had not found a dame. I know plenty of them, but tonight none had suited.
When I saw the light in my apartment windows, I felt a surge of anger. If Lupe Valdez was hanging around again, I would kick her out. I didn’t take her to raise. If she wanted the truth, all my sympathy was with Morgan Carmichael. She had enough to tempt any man—and if she was going to give it away, she had to learn to take the consequences.
I was still angry when I pushed the key into the lock and pushed the door open. The sound of music, whispering and insistent, filled my living room and I caught a whiff of perfume—but a strange scent I didn’t recognize.
I closed the door behind me, leaned against it, staring at the couch.
Naomi Hyers, Morgan Carmichael’s redhead, got up slowly, stretching, yawning, looking deliciously warm and sleepy—and completely naked. The doll who had stared along her nose at me beside Flynn’s pool. I had to admit the absence of a bathing suit made her even lovelier tonight than she had been then.
Morgan Carmichael’s fiancée— Morgan’s women seemed to have developed quite a penchant for my couch.
“Hello, Mike,” she said. Her voice had a breathless quality.
I managed to pull my gaze away from her for a moment to glance around the rest of the room. Her clothes were nowhere in sight—she must have undressed in the bedroom. Her eyes followed mine to the bedroom door.
“I didn’t know if you were a subtle man, Mike, and decided not to take a chance. There’s nothing subtle about the way I feel about you.”
“What do you want here?” I gave myself an Oscar for the stupidest line of dialogue of the year.
“I’ve been thinking about you, Mike.” Her voice trembled slightly. “You haven’t been out of my mind—since that day you taught Jerry Marlowe a lesson at the pool. Have you remembered me at all?”
“I guess any man would remember you, having seen you.”
She smiled languidly. “No other man has ever seen me like this, Mike.”
The heat was building up inside me. My clothes felt tight, constricting. I wanted to be free of them, to be with this redhead and let the ache and frustration in my body that had been plaguing me for days go up in fire. Fire? A conflagration. We’d singe City Hall.
I knew now why just any doll would not have done for tonight. I needed something special—and there was nothing more special than Morgan’s redheaded chick. I wanted to bury my face in her flaming curls, suck at her throat with my mouth. She was part of the nightmare that had enmeshed me—but the only part that had wanted to be on my side. Doc was against me—I had killed Jerry Marlowe, and Carolyn was never going to forgive me. Grab this, Mike, I thought. Grab it, take it, use it—for tomorrow she may hate you, too.
She was turning slowly before me, her face flushed and expectant, lips smiling slightly. She kept her arms at her sides. She was lovely and wanted me to know how lovely—and she was as artful in her movements as any nightclub stripper. Perhaps more artful than most, because she meant it.
“Mike,” she whispered. “I’ve been waiting so long.”
“I’m sorry. I’d have come running.”
“I don’t mean tonight, Mike. I mean all my life.”
She was close to me now I could feel the heat from her body—the faint scent she wore began to drug my senses. There was a sick throbbing behind my eyes.
She raised her hands to my coat lapels. I looked from them into her eyes. They were limpid and wet, but suddenly I saw only ugliness. She was part of the nightmare still. She was lovely and might be as untouched as she claimed. Perhaps I was seeing something no other man ever had. But I saw it against the backdrop of Climonte, bleeding out his life on the floor of his dingy store; Tom Flynn, Clemmons and Hogan dying unavenged; the Greek unconscious in a hospital and Jerry in the morgue; Doc dying slowly of sickness in others—and I knew I couldn’t add to the blackness and deceit around me. No matter what sort of heel Morgan Carmichael had proven himself.
I took her wrists and disengaged her fingers from my lapels. “No,” I said. “Get in the other room and get dressed.”
“Why, Mike? You want me. You know you want me.”
“Not like this.” I walked away from her to the door of the bedroom, threw it open. “Come back again some time,” I said, “when you’ve got less on.”
At first she gave me a twisted half-smile, thinking I was joking. She looked down at her flushed, nude body.
“How much less could I have?”
I caught her icy hand in mine, held it up, pointed to the brilliant engagement ring Morgan Carmichael had given her.
“You’re still wearing too much for me,” I told her. “Now get dressed. Get out of here.”
She began to cry, emptily, dressing automatically, leaving the bedroom door open. The hurt in the sound made her younger than her years. I didn’t believe it.
She came out dressed at last and went to the door. She hesitated, with her hand on the knob, not crying any more. “I thought you were a man,” she said. “You’re not a man at all.”
I did not look at her. “Be glad you found it out in time.”
I heard the door close, and knew she was gone. The room was suddenly cold. After a while the phone began ringing. The sound was without warmth, curiously forlorn.
I let it ring. The hell with it. Who would I want to talk to now? And who would really want to talk to me?
20
Finally the ringing stopped. I glanced at my watch. It was almost three in the morning.
All I could think now was that I had to go to bed, because I had to get up tomorrow. I could not think of a positive reason why tomorrow mattered other than that it would come and I would have to live through it.
Still, I could not stand the idea of lying alone and awake in my bed and suddenly wished the phone would ring again. And it did.
I pounced on it before the sound of the first ring had died.
“Ballard,” I said.
“Clyde Waylin. There’s a little trouble. In fact, you’re it. They want to talk to you in eight-se
venteen at City Hall.”
Any other time I would have told Waylin to go to hell. It was 3:00 AM., and their little trouble would keep. But at the moment I was glad to hear even Waylin’s voice.
I said, “I’ll be right over.”
I was still dressed. All I had to do was put out the lights, get out and into my car.
When I entered Room 817, its atmosphere was cozy with scheming and tobacco smoke. The same little group was present that had been here the other night when Doc Yerrgsted was forced to knuckle under and sign a false death certificate. But one man had been added—Fred Carmichael sat at the far end of the long table, wreathed in cigar smoke.
Commissioner Mitchell let me sit down before he began. His voice was sharp. It was clear that whatever patience these men had had was already expended deciding what they were going to do about me.
“The charges against you are serious, Mike. You know that, or none of us would be here at this time of the night. Frankly, we don’t know what to do about you. We’ve got the public to consider.”
“God help them,” I said,
“Smart talk won’t buy you anything here tonight, Ballard. Mr. Carmichael is here because I asked him to come. He charges that you engaged in violent assault and blackmail against his son.”
I shrugged. “What the hell? I was off duty.”
“Cut it out, Mike,” Waylin said. “I’ve done all I can for you. As a matter of fact, this is only one charge. The other is that by not taking your assignments, by placing yourself armed, and without orders, in the establishment of Spyrous Papolous, you precipitated a double killing which might include a third victim before the night is out.”
I stared at them. “That’s real interesting, Commissioner. Would you mind explaining to me how I precipitated a twin killing?”
“We have proved, Mike, that Jerry Marlowe, the young Palmer girl and Frank Sencho were merely on a kick—out for thrills. There were serious implications in their behavior, but they were not professional criminals. Now young Marlowe, a fine young man from a wonderful family, a college football star, is dead—the owner of the Greek’s bar is dying—Frank Sencho is dead—and the Palmer girl has been placed in a rest hospital, victim of a complete collapse.”
Any Woman He Wanted Page 12