The Childish Churl (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 15)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  I said, "Sorry we're late."

  Higginbotham looked over at me with a grin and said, "Great view you have here, Mr. Williams." He seemed to be extremely relaxed.

  I suddenly remembered how much dirt I had on the man. Even though he was holding the extradition order over my head, I knew all about an affair he'd had a few years earlier. I'd been keeping an eye on the woman, whose husband had hired me to do so, and got some incriminating photos of the two of them in Sacramento. Higginbotham had admitted he knew as much at our first meeting in March. I decided I could relax. "I have some great whiskey here, put up by my grandfather. Can I offer you some, Mr. Higginbotham?"

  He laughed. "I suppose so. It is my day off, after all."

  Kenneth said, "We were all wondering about that."

  Higginbotham didn't say anything as I pulled out two small glasses from the credenza against the wall. "Anyone else?" Everyone else demurred, so I said, "Can't let you drink alone, Higginbotham, so I'll have some with you." Pulling the old bottle out from a cabinet in the credenza, I pulled the cork and poured a finger in each glass. Walking over to where Higginbotham was standing, I offered him one of the glasses.

  He swirled the amber liquid in his glass and sniffed it. His eyes lit up and he said, "Happy days," as he gulped it all at once.

  I said, "And happy nights," and followed suit. It burned a little going down but was otherwise smooth and mellow. I reached for Higginbotham's glass, which he gave me, and put his down with mine on the credenza.

  I turned and looked at him. "Now, to what do we owe the honor of your visit?" I was using what Carter liked to call my "high hat" voice. It came in handy, from time to time, and I figured that was one of those times.

  Higginbotham said, "Why haven't you hired Joseph Abati yet?"

  I shrugged. "I've tried. I've approached him three times. Each time he's been about to take me up on the offer, and each time he's backed out at the last minute. Do you have any suggestions?"

  "Seduce the son of a bitch."

  I put on my stony face in order to hide my surprise.

  Carter, who'd taken up a position next to Mike, shook his head in disgust.

  Kenneth took a deep breath and asked, "That's not how things work."

  "Why not?" asked Higginbotham. "I've been around enough. If one of you wanted, you know, that sort of thing, you can always get it."

  I snorted. "Like Kenneth said, that's not how things work."

  "Why not? That's how dames get what they want. I don't see what the fucking problem is, Williams. You've got a stable of men working for you. Surely young Joseph has a type. What's so hard about that?"

  I shook my head. "What do you think that would accomplish? Are we supposed to blackmail him? Or is this some sort of Mata Hari trick?"

  Higginbotham looked out the window. "I thought you had guts, Williams."

  "I don't know what you mean by that, but we're not in the business of trying to convince people to do what they don't want to do." I had a sudden flash of Carter seducing Bill Merritt and realized what I'd just said wasn't precisely true.

  "Let me put it another way. You need to do something to get Joseph Abati away from his father. I need that organization destabilized."

  "Why?" I asked. I knew the answer but I wanted to hear the current version of his reasoning.

  "Otherwise, and the Chief of Police agrees with me on this, they are likely to expand their operations. We need to find a way to keep them from doing that."

  "Why don't you just arrest them all?" asked Carter.

  Higginbotham looked at him and smiled wryly. "We would have done that a long time ago, if we had anything on any of them. We do catch one or two, from time to time, just as the police do. Ask your Mr. Robertson there. But if we went in and got rid of them all, someone would come in from Chicago or Miami or New York, and set up shop to take over and do more of the same. The best deal, for everyone concerned, is to keep an eye on the ones we have."

  Carter shook his head. "Sounds like you want them to be doing what they're doing."

  Higginbotham shrugged. "You could say that. I wouldn't. I just have to face some unpleasant realities. As long as there are mobsters, there's going to be a mob of some sort."

  Benjamin asked, "Why do you think Joseph Abati is the key?"

  "Because," replied Higginbotham, "his old man is trying to groom him. I don't think it's taking. But the second in command, Johnny DiLuca, wants to get rid of the son. And, if that happens, old man Abati will blame his lieutenant. Seems pretty simple to me."

  Carter asked, "What if he blames Nick and tries to come after him?"

  Higginbotham looked at me and appeared to be ignoring Carter's question.

  I said, "Yeah? What about that?"

  "Seems like you know how to take care of yourself. You managed to knock off the most feared hired gun the mob has ever produced. You might not know this, but you're famous, or, more likely, infamous, among mob circles."

  I nodded.

  "No one's ever said who killed The Kid. We don't know if it was you or one of your men. But whoever did it, the mob all over the country is aware of you and paying attention."

  The mob killer he was talking about, popularly known as The Kid, was someone I'd known in the late '30s. To me, he was Ricky. And, unknown to me, he'd been in love with me. Obsessed with me. Things had finally come to a head in March when Sam had killed Ricky.

  As Higginbotham had been talking, I'd watched Sam out of the corner of my eye. He hadn't moved a muscle or fluttered an eyelid. Nothing to give away the fact that he'd brought Ricky down. He was that good.

  Kenneth asked, "What do you want?"

  "Keep your end of the bargain. I've kept mine. About once a month, I get a call from the British Embassy in Washington asking about that extradition order. I tell them I'm still looking into it." He shrugged his shoulders. "I can't keep putting them off."

  "How do we know you won't turn Nick over even if he does what you ask?" That was Kenneth.

  Before Higginbotham replied, I said, "Because he knows what will show up on the front page of the Examiner the next morning if he does." I'd already set that up with Mike as an insurance policy. If I was ever arrested by the Feds, Mike had the photos and the story of Higginbotham's affair ready to release to all the papers.

  Higginbotham looked out the window and didn't say anything.

  Chapter 8

  Offices of Consolidated Security

  Wednesday, October 12, 1955

  A quarter past 11 in the morning

  "Tell me what you've been up to," said Mike. "I know you've been sneaking around behind my back."

  I grinned and said, "You're right. I have."

  Carter added, "I told him he was gonna get in a lot of trouble."

  Carter and I were sitting on the sofa in my office. His arm was over my shoulder. Mike was sitting on one of the low-slung chairs across from me. He grinned and asked, "What's the story?"

  I went through the details, starting with meeting the Grossmans upstairs and ending with the explosion outside the T.W.A. hangar.

  "Do you think that's related to the missing Mr. Grossman?"

  I shrugged. "The plane was a Super 'G' Connie."

  "Were you able to ask anyone about that?"

  Carter answered for me. "No. Bill ushered us out as soon as it happened. I have a feeling he didn't want anyone to know that Nick had seen the whole thing."

  "Was it big enough to have brought down the plane in mid-air?" asked Mike.

  I nodded. "It would have blown a hole in the lower fuselage. I suspect it would have made the plane unflyable, although I don't really know."

  Mike pulled a small notebook and a pencil out of his coat pocket. "Seems to me we have some research jobs for Walter."

  I nodded. Walter Marcello was our resident brainiac. Along with Maria Vasco, the two of them made a formidable research team. They could run circles around most anyone and were fast as anything.

  "First thing," I sa
id, "is to make some inquiries about Mr. Grossman at Bechtel."

  Mike nodded and scribbled in his notebook. He added, "And we need to know more about this project in Southern Rhodesia."

  "Mrs. Grossman said Bechtel isn't doing the job. They're just helping the Italian firm."

  Carter said, "What about this Zinger fellow from New York?"

  Mike made a note. "What was his address?"

  Carter pulled a note from his pocket and passed it to Mike, who copied the information into his notebook.

  "What else?" asked Mike.

  I said, "We need to find out what T.W.A. says about the explosion."

  Mike nodded and made another note.

  We sat in silence for a moment. I said, "I guess that's it, for now."

  Mike put his notebook back in his pocket. Looking at me, he said, "I wanna try an experiment."

  I grinned. "What?"

  "I'm gonna let you run with all this. You just let me know what resources you need." He glanced over at Carter and then back to me. "Maybe we've been doing this all wrong."

  "How so?" I asked.

  Mike looked out the window. "The key to my success with you back in the old days was to let you be you. Seems to have served you well when you were in the Navy."

  I nodded.

  Carter said, "Nick told me all about how you trained him to pick up sailors."

  I looked up at Carter, who was grinning. Mike laughed and said, "Wanna know why I did that?"

  Carter nodded as he pulled me in close.

  "Because Nick was being hit on left and right when he walked down Market Street and had no clue."

  I frowned. "What do you mean?"

  Mike leaned in, resting his elbows on his thighs and holding his chin in his hands. "I caught sight of you one day. After I was back on motorcycle duty. You were prancing down Market, moving your ass like a lit-up neon sign."

  Carter guffawed at that.

  "Oh, brother," was the only thing I could say.

  "My first thought was to circle around the block and catch you coming down the street. Instead, I decided to watch what happened."

  "And?" I asked. I was beginning to feel annoyed for some reason.

  "I kid you not, there was a line of guys, some you would have liked and others you would have passed by even if you'd have known what was going on. They were following you. Had to be at least six or seven. I parked my bike and, keeping my distance, I followed the parade down Market. We walked from 7th Street all the way down to 3rd. Some guys lost interest when they realized you weren't responding and others added to the pack."

  "You make it sound like I was leading a row of ducks." There was a slight edge to my voice.

  Mike laughed. "More like wolves. And it was in the middle of the day. The sidewalk was packed."

  "When was this?"

  Mike leaned back in his chair. "It was a warm day. You were wearing short sleeves and those ass-hugging sailor-style dungarees."

  Carter whistled. "Ass-hugging?"

  I shook my head. "Must have been in September or October of '40." My irritation was building. I felt like they were talking about me as if I wasn't in the room.

  Mike nodded. "Remember me telling you to stop wearing those pants?"

  I nodded. "Sure. I just thought that they had gone out of style."

  Carter kissed me on the forehead. "I wish you still had them."

  I pulled away slightly from Carter and crossed my arms.

  Mike nodded slowly as he looked right at Carter. "Yes, you do, Carter. Yes, you do."

  I huffed. "What does this have to do with the price of tea in China?"

  Mike came out of his reverie and cleared his throat. "The point is that when I tried to tell you what to do, coming at you right on, we had that huge fight. Remember?"

  I thought for a moment, tapping my right foot. "Sure." I frowned. "That's what you were telling me? I thought you were jealous."

  Mike blushed slightly and ran his hand through his hair. "Well, I was. But I also knew you weren't going to be mine forever—"

  "Mine forever?" I asked, surprised at the acid tone in my voice.

  Mike rubbed his hands together and looked at Carter. "Sorry, Carter."

  I glanced up at my husband. A guilty expression covered his face. It hit me like a ton of bricks. Pulling away from him, I said, "You two have talked about this before." Standing, I looked down at them accusingly. "You've talked about this." Wave after wave of disappointment and betrayal were crashing over me. I walked over to the windows and looked down at Market Street. Pointing to the right, I said, "That's 3rd Street down there. Where Kearny ends. You followed me all the way down there and you didn't tell me?" I was trying to keep my voice steady, but I wasn't sure I was doing a very good job of it.

  Mike cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, Nick."

  I sighed. All the emotion drained away. "That's OK, Mike." I turned and looked at the Ferry Building. "What was the point of all of this?"

  Carter said, "Mike's point, and we didn't talk about this, Nick, is that you do best when no one is standing over you. That's why you didn't finish school."

  I didn't buy it. "What about the Navy?" I was pretty sure I could see a Navy destroyer off in the bay. The haze wasn't that thick, but the air wasn't that clear either. I wondered if one was leaving the shipyard over in Oakland or maybe sailing towards the Golden Gate after leaving Hunter's Point.

  Mike said, "That's different. You were doing the job you wanted to do. That's the one thing I agree with that quack about."

  "What quack?" I asked, knowing full well who he was talking about.

  "The one who testified at your trial in San Rafael. When he said the relationship between a homosexual man and his commanding officer wasn't like a father and son. Everyone in the Navy has a boss. And, when you're in the Navy, I suppose you know that's the case."

  I nodded. I'd agreed with him about that, too.

  With a flash of anger, I had a new thought. Turning around, I looked at Mike, who was facing Carter and said, "But you were my father, weren't you, Mike? Isn't that what you're doing right now?" I could suddenly see the whole setup in our relationship. It was so clear and, in a brief moment of sanity, I wondered whether it meant anything. "You're sitting there like the all-knowing father. You know all about Nick." The tears were trying to get out. I felt like I was about to fall over a cliff. "You go around telling people about how to deal with me."

  Carter shifted and looked down at the floor. Mike was stock still, not moving at all.

  "Still such a good cop, taking in the orphan who was thrown out of his own house. You're still playing that role. You're making sure I don't do too much damage because I don't know how the world works." The rage was building and building. I stalked over to where he was sitting. Looking down at him, I said, "Even all the ways that you have Carter and me under surveillance. It's all about you being the dutiful father. You even treat my own father that way. You look at him as someone who could hurt me." The tears were flying out.

  Carter looked up at me with a very worried expression.

  "Let Nick be Nick. That's what everyone says, right? Let's get Herb fucking Caen on the goddam phone." I stormed over to my desk and picked up the phone.

  Marnie knocked on the door.

  "What?" I yelled.

  She opened it and looked around cautiously. "Everything all right in here?"

  "Sure, Marnie. We're all just peachy." My voice was bitter and hard. "Come on in, doll. And join the conversation. Let's talk about it. Let's get it all out."

  She stood in the doorway, her eyes wide in fear and concern.

  I walked over and pulled her in the room bodily. "Come in, Marnie. Have a seat. The topic today is how much of a baby Nick is and how much Mike is the good father, protecting the world from my stupidity."

  Carter stood and barked, "Enough, Nick. Stop."

  I turned on him. "And now it's your turn, isn't it? You're the big bad daddy, now. Mike's got his own man to boss aro
und. So now you're in charge."

  Carter walked slowly towards me. "Nick, I need you to shut the fuck up right now."

  I shook my head. "No. I wanna talk all about it." I walked over to the window. "Everyone already knows I'm a goddam queer. Everyone knows that I take it up the ass. You're the man in our relationship. We're married, after all, right? Someone has to be the wife." I turned on Marnie and said, "Right?"

  Carter walked up to me and took me by the shoulders. "Nick, shut up. You're hurting everyone. Everyone who loves you."

  That did it. The spell was broken. I looked around the room, aghast at Marnie's contorted face and flowing tears, and mortified at Mike's stooped-over back. I looked up at Carter and said, "I don't know why I did that."

  "I do," said Mike, in a very small voice.

  I shook my head. "There's no reason, Mike. I don't even know half of what I just said."

  He sighed. "You're right. I've been doing everything you said and more."

  Carter said, "Mike—"

  "No, it's true, Carter. You know it as well as I do."

  I looked up at Carter. He was pale. I reached for his hand and he gave it, but without any real connection. I could feel myself falling off that cliff.

  Marnie said, "I was wondering—"

  "Stay with us," said Carter, much to my surprise.

  She made a slight sound and then walked fully into the room. I moved over to the credenza and picked up the half-full bottle of whiskey. Removing the cork, I walked to the sofa and sat down. Mike had his head in his hands and appeared to be crying that silent cry he did.

  Carter sat down next to me. He was close but not too close.

  I took a swig from the bottle and then handed it to him.

  He followed suit and then offered it to Marnie who, by then, had sat down next to Mike.

  She took it and had a swig herself. Tapping Mike on the arm with the bottle, she said, "Have some of this, Mike."