I said, “And now you think it isn’t a no-trouble operation?”
“I know it ain’t,” he said grimly. “It’s developing big trouble.”
I took out the same cigarette again, and this time I lit it. Nick Bartkowiak watched moodily until I had it going. “I’m listening,” I said.
“I got ears all over town, Matt. I hear things even the cops don’t. And rumors keep seeping down to me about guys getting rolled by call girls. Not just no-account punks. Prominent businessmen.”
So Kitty of the heart-shaped tattoo hadn’t been an isolated incident, I thought. It was a regular racket.
I blew out a perfect smoke ring, watched it climb and expand until it finally disintegrated. I didn’t say anything.
“You know what that kind of thing can start?” Bartkowiak demanded.
“What?”
“A citizens’ reform league. Naturally these guys ain’t going to report to the police they was rolled. Most of them is married. But it leaves them sore. One of these days some character with a lot of influence is going to get sore enough to start yammering for an investigation of the call-girl racket. And every other influential man who has been rolled is going to fall right in behind him. You ever see an aroused group of prominent businessmen and civic leaders go after local rackets?”
I shook my head.
“Well, I have.” He gave a slight shudder. “About thirty years ago, right around when you was born, a bunch of do-gooders split this town wide open. You can defeat reform office seekers at the polls and you can buy off un-cooperative officials who do get into office, but there’s not one damn thing you can do about a bunch of crusading private citizens except sweat it out. These guys thirty years ago had money, social prominence and connections reaching right into the governor’s mansion. They hired their own investigators, they prodded the newspapers into an anti-vice campaign and they stirred up the grand jury by dumping evidence into its lap until it turned into a runaway grand jury. When the dust settled, half the city officials were in prison and the other half had left town. The political organization was a shambles. It took us ten years to get back on our feet again.”
I vaguely remembered hearing of the reform explosion a generation back, but I didn’t know many of the details. I said dryly, “Maybe another reform movement would be good for the town.”
“It ain’t funny, Matt,” he said a shade testily. “This really ain’t a bad town, you know.”
“Isn’t it?”
“Well, you know what I mean. Sure there’s a few rackets. But not as bad as a lot of big cities. You don’t find protection rackets, where goons go around shaking down merchants and dropping bombs in places that refuse to pay off. And there’s no dope racket. At least none with any political protection. A few bookies, some small-time gambling joints, some policy and a few hustlers. Just entertainment-furnishing really. It ain’t a syndicate controlled town. You’re gonna have some rackets, no matter who’s in the driver’s seat. St. Cecilia’s pretty clean. How long’s it been since you remember a gang killing?”
“I guess the powers that be draw the line at murder,” I admitted.
“They draw the line at anything that might get out of hand. You’re never gonna have a cleaner town than you’ve got right now, no matter who’s running things. I’d hate to see some citizens’ league shake things apart and leave the city wide open for maybe somebody like the syndicate to move in.”
I said, “You think a few guys getting rolled might bring things to that point?”
“I ain’t about to find out,” he assured me. “Even a crusade just against the call-girl racket would be bad enough. The general public don’t think much of guys who dabble in woman traffic. If the papers got on Artie’s back, it would ruin him on the south side. And it might ruin me by association, because everybody knows he’s my right-hand.”
“Have you spoken to Artie about this?”
“A while back. He said it wasn’t his girls, that it must be independents pulling it. But there ain’t no independents in the call-girl racket. Streetwalkers, sure, and a few cat houses, but not call girls. Artie’s a good organizer and he don’t like competition. It’s his girls all right, and I kept hearing about the rollings even after I spoke to him. All I can think is he’s deliberately instructing them to roll customers, strictly against my orders.”
I was becoming more puzzled by the minute. In the first place, what Bartkowiak was saying didn’t quite jell with Little Artie’s performance that morning. I had gotten the impression that he was both surprised and irritated to learn that one of his girls had rolled a customer. Of course it was possible he was merely a better actor than I had suspected.
In the second place, I couldn’t understand why Nick Bartkowiak was so frankly baring his innermost secrets to a cop, even though he regarded me as an old friend.
I asked bluntly, “What do you expect me to do about all this, Nick?”
“Your job is to arrest prostitutes, ain’t it?”
After examining his face, I slowly nodded.
“Well, go out and arrest some.”
“You mean break up the operation?”
“I don’t mean pin anything on Artie. He’s a key man in the district and he’d be too hard to replace. Anyway, any dirt you threw at him, some is bound to spatter on me. I just want him rocked back on his heels so he’ll behave in the future.”
I was silent for a few moments, mulling this over. And finally I thought I understood it. I had always known Nick Bartkowiak had a devious mind, but until now I hadn’t known just how devious. He wasn’t of the old school of racketeer who punished insubordination with a gun, or the threat of a gun. Little Artie Nowak was too valuable to him merely to cancel out, but at the same time Bartkowiak wasn’t going to put up with lack of discipline. He meant to bring Artie back into line simply by withdrawing his protection for a time and allowing the police to harass his operation. But he had made it clear he didn’t want Artie himself touched. Undoubtedly he meant to sit back and wait until Artie Nowak came squawking to him that the police were arresting his girls, and then calmly inform the little man that he had withdrawn his protection. When Artie wanted to know why, Bartkowiak would tell him that when the rolling stopped, the harassment would stop.
I felt like batting him for his effrontery in expecting the police department to help him discipline his underlings. But that would only have gotten me batted off the force. I kept my mouth shut.
Bartkowiak rose to his feet. “Of course I expect the background of all this to stay between you and me, Matt. I wouldn’t have given any other cop such a detailed fill-in. I would have had to let some strange cop know it was okay to go after the girls, and just take a chance that I could shut it off before they got to Artie. This way’s better, because now you know just exactly how far you can go. But you can keep that under your hat. All you have to tell the captain is there won’t be any beefs to the commissioner if you start knocking off Artie’s girls.”
“I get it,” I said dourly.
I was tempted to forget the whole thing and not even mention the matter to the captain, because I resented a racketeer-politician maneuvering the police department as though he owned it. Then I decided I had to tell the captain. In the first place, he was going to want to know what Bartkowiak had on his mind, and I’d have to tell him something. In the second place, I was going to end up on Bartkowiak’s blacklist if I sat on my hands. And that was equivalent to asking for a demotion back to uniform.
When the politician walked out, I signaled to Carl and we went in together to see Captain Spangler.
CHAPTER 5
The captain was still a bit piqued that Bartkowiak had chosen to confide in a mere sergeant instead of in him, but he tried not to show it. With exaggerated politeness he asked both of us to have seats.
When we were seated, I said, “Nick just gave me the go-ahead to move in on Little Artie Nowak’s call-girl operation.”
Spangler looked startled. “You sure
you heard him right?”
“He has reasons,” I said. “I’m not supposed to tell you the whole background, but I take orders from you, not Nick Bartkowiak.”
Whereupon I repeated my conversation with the politician word-for-word and added my theory as to his motive.
When I finished, Captain Spangler was frowning and Carl Lincoln looked incredulous.
“Who the hell does this cheap hood think he is?” Carl inquired. “Does he think he can walk in here and use the police department to straighten out his hired help?”
“He knows he can,” I informed him. “A word from Nick and the police commissioner could put us all back in harness.”
Captain Spangler’s frown deepened. He didn’t like the situation any better than Carl or I did, but he wasn’t constituted to fight City Hall. He also disliked having it baldly brought out in the open that the department was subject to political pressure. Although he was about as wily a back-rubber as there was on the force, he preferred to pretend that no one ever received preferential treatment from the police for political reasons.
He said somewhat defensively, “Of course it isn’t as though Mr. Bartkowiak is asking us to do anything illegal. He’s merely requesting us to enforce the law, which is any citizen’s privilege.”
“Enforce it within limits,” Carl said. “Arrest the girls, but let Little Artie alone.”
“That’s more than we’ve been able to do up to now,” the captain said reasonably. “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”
Carl said, “I vote that we forget the whole thing.”
Spangler examined him sourly. I could almost see his mental processes working. In principle he agreed with Carl, but he was forming a mental image of Nick Bartkowiak phoning his political crony, Commissioner Baldy Mason, to complain about the efficiency of the Vice Squad in following up complaints.
He said dryly, “Fortunately this division doesn’t operate on a democratic basis, Corporal Lincoln, so your vote doesn’t count.” His tone became decisive. “Both of you had better shift to night duty and nail as many of these girls as you can before Bartkowiak suggests we stop.”
Carl grunted and rose to his feet. I got up too. The captain examined our faces.
“It is your job to arrest prostitutes,” he said.
I didn’t say anything. I just walked out of the office. Carl trailed behind me.
Outside in the squadroom Carl said disgustedly, “Why do we put up with this crap, Matt? Why don’t we quit and move to some town where cops are allowed to be cops?”
“You couldn’t breath air without soot in it,” I told him. “If we’re going to have to work tonight, let’s log out and take the rest of the day off.”
We logged out at two P.M. We were moving toward the door when the phone rang. I turned back to get it.
“Vice, Gambling and Narcotics,” I said. “Sergeant Rudd.”
“Hi, Sergeant,” a slightly thick voice said in my ear. “I just found a note here to phone you.”
“Mr. Warner?”
“That’s right. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I just got your message from the desk. We were having an after-luncheon party in the cocktail lounge.” He emitted a little giggle.
I said, “We got your money back, Mr. Warner.”
“You did?” he said in a surprised voice.
“Uh-huh. You going to be around for a while?”
He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “How’d you get it back?”
“We traced the girl through the bellhop. How long will you be there?” There was another period of silence. Finally I said, “You still on the line, Mr. Warner?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I was just thinking. I’m due in a meeting right now. I’ll be tied up right to six o’clock, then we have a dinner at seven. You want me to run over there between six and seven?”
“I won’t be here,” I told him. “I’ll drop by the hotel about six-thirty.”
“Fine, Sergeant. I’ll meet you in the bar.”
Carl was waiting for me at the door. He said, “Warner?”
“Uh-huh. He’ll be in the Leland bar at six-thirty. You may as well meet me there too, and we’ll have dinner somewhere before we start to work. You got a better suit than the one you’re wearing?”
“What’s wrong with this one?” he asked in an offended tone.
“For one thing, you must have been using it for pajamas. You look like you’re on relief. You’re supposed to look like you can afford fifty-dollar call girls. A girl would spot you as a cop the minute she looked at you.”
“In this town a cop’s salary is the next thing to being on relief,” he said. “I’ll get a press job if you’re ashamed of me.”
I didn’t have Carl’s clothes problem. The forty-nine-fifty suit I routinely wear to work isn’t any dressier than his, but I have a reserve wardrobe for special occasions. I acquired it at the time I was working the undercover job at the Leland, though not at city expense. A private citizen, who was sore at the marijuana set for involving his daughter, had footed the bill as a bonus for getting her off the hook. So when necessary I can dress quite respectably.
At six-thirty P.M. I walked into the Leland all dressed up in a two-hundred-dollar suit. I found Carl already waiting for me in the lobby. He wore the same suit he had that afternoon, but it was freshly pressed and his shoes were shined. With his long, knobby build, he looked like his namesake Abe Lincoln, all dressed up to attend a square dance.
He flushed slightly when I looked him up and down. “Do I meet your excellency’s approval?” he growled.
“You’ll never pass as a business executive,” I told him. “Better pose as a rich eccentric.”
He made an unflattering noise.
We found Harold Warner in the bar with some fellow convention delegates having a cocktail before the scheduled dinner meeting he had mentioned. Calling him aside, I gave him the five hundred.
“I certainly appreciate this,” he said. “How’d you ever manage it?” Apparently he had sobered up during the afternoon, for his tongue was no longer thick.
I said, “I told you over the phone.”
“Oh yeah.” His voice became a little apologetic. “I was kind of stoned this afternoon. Something about the bellhop, wasn’t it?”
“Uh-huh.”
“The girl give you any trouble?”
I shook my head. I didn’t see any point in telling him we had never even seen the girl, but had recovered the money from her procurer. That would have sounded as though the police had some kind of business arrangement with the procurer. “She was happy to avoid a prostitution rap. We couldn’t have charged her anyway, of course, without your signature on the complaint, but she didn’t know you wouldn’t sign.”
He laughed a trifle self-consciously. “I must say your department goes all out to make a good impression on visitors. You’ve made a fine one on me. May I buy you and your partner a drink?”
Before I could answer, Carl said in a sour tone, “We’re in a hurry.”
Warner gave him a brief glance suggesting he still didn’t like him. He said to me, “Can I offer you a reward, then?”
“Just tell your friends in Houston what a nice town we have,” I said. “That’s reward enough. I would like a receipt for that money, though.”
He looked surprised, but he didn’t question the request. Taking a pen and a small notebook from his pocket, he jotted down the date, then wrote: “Received from Sergeant Rudd recovered stolen property in the amount of five hundred dollars ($500.00) in cash. Harold Warner.”
Tearing out the sheet, he handed it to me. “Okay, Sergeant?”
“Just fine.” I stuffed it into my pocket. “Good-by, Mr. Warner.”
As Carl and I walked back through the lobby, he said in a mimicking voice, “Just tell your friends what a nice town we have. You dumb Polack. We might have split a fifty-dollar bill.”
“That would put me in a higher income-tax bracket,” I told him. “You bring your car?”
“Uh-huh. It’s on the hotel lot.”
“So’s mine. You can follow me. We’ll need both cars, because we’re going to work separately.”
“Lead on,” Carl said, “and head for the nearest restaurant. I’m getting hungry.”
CHAPTER 6
The standard procedure used in police drives against call girls is pretty simple. A cop registers in a hotel room and asks the bellhop to send him a woman. When she arrives, he asks the fee, pays it and makes the arrest as soon as she accepts the money.
During dinner, Carl and I discussed tactics and decided to start with the Grove Hotel. We checked in a little after eight P.M., registering separately and acting as though we were unacquainted.
We registered under our own names, but I listed Houston as my home town and Carl listed Chicago. I was assigned room 426 and Carl drew 614. Both of us had brought along suitcases as stage props. We went up on the same elevator, with different bellhops carrying our respective bags, not speaking or looking at each other.
When my bellhop had set down my suitcase inside my room and stood waiting for a tip, I said, “What’s the woman situation in this town, buddy?”
He raised his eyebrows. “There’s no shortage.”
“I mean pros,” I said. “Is it possible for a fellow to get a cozy roommate?”
“Sure,” he said with a grin, “but it runs kind of steep.”
“Like what?”
“Fifty bucks for all night.”
“Hmm. Is it worth it?”
“We furnish only top shelf. Young and built like this.” He drew a curvaceous figure in the air with his hands. “It’ll take about forty-five minutes to get a girl here. We don’t stock them in the hotel.”
“I guess I can hold out for that long,” I said. “Send one around. And send room service up with some ice and soda.” I gave him a dollar tip.
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