Rafferty

by Bill S. Ballinger

  His temper flared at her insolence. His hand caught her wrist, and the heavy muscles of his arm tightened. She flinched, tears rushing to her eyes. ‘Don’t get me sore,’ he said softly. He dropped her wrist, and turned to go.

  ‘Wait!’ she called. She regarded him from the shadow. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t have said that. But I want you to know how it is.’

  ‘You’ve said it,’ he replied. ‘I understand.’

  ‘No you don’t. I’m not a tramp, but all my life I’ve been a sucker. And I’m through. All through. From now on, it’s going to be different.’ Roughly, she dropped the cigarette to the walk and ground it out with her shoe. She raised her arms above her head, her hands tucking the loose ends of the scarf into her hair, and when she lowered her arms again, Rafferty caught the fragrance of her body and awareness swept warmly over him.

  ‘What about this joint?’ he asked, nodding toward the club.

  ‘I want to get out of it. Maybe you’ll help me get out of it,’ she said. She walked through the painted door and disappeared.

  Lieutenant Feinberg crossed the room and paused beside the desk where Rafferty was making out a report. ‘Anything new on that Stack case?’ he asked.

  Rafferty shook his head. He replaced the pen in a holder on the desk, and swung around to face Feinberg. ‘Not a thing,’ he replied.

  ‘You talked to her?’

  ‘A couple of times...’

  ‘How’re you doing?’

  ‘Lousy.’

  ‘Got any ideas?’

  Rafferty shrugged. ‘No. Unless I pull her in and make it an official questioning.’

  ‘We can’t do it,’ said Feinberg. ‘We’ve got nothing to make her talk. She hasn’t spotted you as a cop yet?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘Okay. Keep after it.’ The lieutenant turned away and crossed to the door of his office. Rafferty picked up his pen and resumed his report. Abruptly, he stabbed the pen back into the holder and arose from his chair. He walked over to Feinberg’s office, knocked on the door and entered without waiting for an answer. He stood in front of the desk. ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I wish... you’d put somebody else on this...’

  Feinberg stared at him for a long moment. ‘What’s the beef?’ he asked.

  ‘No beef,’ replied Rafferty. ‘I... well, I haven’t gotten anywhere with her, and perhaps somebody else can do better.’

  ‘You’re assigned to a case until you’ve cleaned it up, or are taken off it.’ Feinberg’s face was impassive.

  ‘I know that.’

  ‘Then what the hell’s eating you?’

  ‘I don’t think she was tied in with Stack; I don’t think she knows anything about the outfit. I don’t like the idea of lying to her... and maybe lousing her up.’

  ‘A cheap dame like that is loused up already.’

  Rafferty interrupted him. ‘She’s doing the best she can,’ he said.

  ‘To hell with it!’ Feinberg eyed him coldly. ‘There aren’t many men around here who don’t look like cops,’ he said. ‘I think you’re the best man for the job. I can order you to stay on it. But I won’t. I’ll tell you right now you can get the hell off it, if you want. I’ll put somebody else on,’ he paused. ‘I won’t forget it, though; I’ll remember you walked off it.’

  ‘All right,’ said Rafferty. His voice was passive. ‘I’ll keep after it.’

  That evening Rafferty did not meet Rose Pauli in the restaurant. He waited for her, after the show, and the club was dark and empty when she finally came out to the street. In his pocket was a small roll of ten-dollar bills, fifty dollars he had withdrawn from his savings account that day. He reached in his pocket, and felt them in the palm of his hand.

  She was surprised to see him. ‘This is something,’ she said. ‘I didn’t see you at the diner and I thought you were sore.’ She was wearing a tawdry white fox jacket slung over her shoulders. In the shadows of the street, the jacket’s white bulk made her top-heavy.

  ‘I thought perhaps we’d go some place and get a real dinner,’ said Rafferty.

  ‘I’m not hungry,’ she said, ‘but I could stand a drink—a good drink.’

  They took a cab to one of the sleek, late night clubs on the East Side. It was still partly filled with late drinkers, and they were seated at a small, round table. There was no music, and the waiter stood attentively to take their order.

  ‘This is more like it,’ she said.

  Rafferty toyed with his drink, pushing it silently around in tight circles. ‘This is pretty important to you?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes.’ She looked at him levelly.

  ‘Why?’

  She sipped her drink. ‘I guess everybody wants something they’ve never had,’ she said.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Rafferty slowly, ‘I suppose they do. Did you make up your mind about it suddenly?’

  She laughed, but her voice held no humor. ‘Maybe,’ she agreed.

  ‘You’re going to make me the patsy?’

  ‘You don’t have to be. You can leave anytime you like. I just decided I’m all through... .’Her voice trailed away.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘What do you think I mean?’ She looked at him challengingly, then her expression softened. ‘Oh, nothing in particular,’ she added. ‘I’ve just been working around creep joints since I was fourteen. You learn plenty, but not much of it good. Then when I was still a kid, I got mixed up with a fellow... he was no good... he wanted to be a big shot. He pushed me around and I took it.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ she said indifferently.

  ‘Haven’t you ever heard from him?’

  ‘Not for years.’ She glanced at him casually, but her eyes didn’t meet his glance.

  ‘Are you still in love with him?’

  ‘No!’ This time she laughed loudly, the sound of it noisy in the quiet room. ‘No,’she repeated it quickly, her voice suddenly lowered. ‘I haven’t thought about the guy in years.’

  ‘That’s something,’ said Rafferty. ‘Not much... but something.’

  ‘I know it,’ she said closing the subject.

  Later they stood outside the door to her room in the cheap hotel. Yellow bulbs burned feebly at long intervals down the dreary hall. She turned the key in the door, then stood with her back against the panels. ‘I hope you’re not planning to come in,’ she said. ‘because I’m awful tired and I want to get some sleep.’

  ‘All right,’ he said.

  She did not expect his answer, for she stood silently a moment, her eyes searching his face intently. Her light hair falling to her shoulders and meeting the whiteness of the fox gave her face a suddenly innocent look—a young girl wearing a white hood. She leaned forward, against him, and kissed him on the lips. ‘You’re nice...’she said. His arms went around her, pulling her toward him insistently, but she turned away and placed her hands against his chest, forcing her way gently from his embrace. Then she pulled her hand away in quick alarm. ‘You’re wearing a gun at your shoulder,’ she said. Her voice was hard.

  ‘Yes,’ he admitted.

  ‘What are you?’ she asked. ‘A racketeer... a gunman?’ She turned to go in her room, but his hand grasped the knob and held it against her weight. ‘Go on! Beat it!’ she said.

  ‘I’m not a mobster,’ he replied.

  She turned quickly. ‘A lousy cop, then?’ Her hair had fallen slightly over her face, and she tossed her head, the hair swinging to one side. ‘What’s the difference? I haven’t got time for that either!’

  He thought quickly. The lie found its way easily to his lips. ‘I’m in business for myself,’ he said. ‘I run a delivery service.’

  She watched him cautiously.’ Like Brink’s?’

  ‘No,’ he said. ‘I don’t haul money,’ knowing he couldn’t make the lie stand up.

  ‘Then what?’

  ‘Oh... valuable furs, jewelry, stuff like that.’ He said it casually, passing it off. ‘It’
s not big... but it’s all right.’ He removed his hand from the knob, permitting her to enter the room.

  She stood inside, the door partly closed. ‘Are you on the level?’ she asked. In the dim light he could see only a part of her face; faint highlights along her forehead and cheek. He nodded. ‘Because if you’re not... I don’t want to see you again,’ she continued. ‘I’m not asking you for anything, except leave me alone.’

  ‘I want to see you again,’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ she said, her voice sighing. ‘But I warned you. I tried to be on the square.’

  ‘Don’t you like me?’ he asked.

  ‘I like you, all right,’ she admitted, grudgingly. ‘You seem like a real nice guy. I probably could learn to like you very much. But that’s not what I’m talking about... I don’t want a little house and kids some place. I want something now... plenty as soon as I can get it. I’m tired of living in joints like this. Understand?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said, his voice distinct.

  She shrugged the heavy jacket off her shoulders, and against the darkness of the room, her face, neck, and shoulders stood out in a cameo relief. Once again he felt the mixture of her perfume and the scent of her body playing along his senses. He stepped quickly into the room, closing the door hard behind him. She backed away from him in the darkness.

  ‘I understand,’ he said. His voice was husky, rough with fury and desire. ‘I’ll meet the highest bid! Do you understand that?’ Her shoulders were silhouetted against the faint outline of the window, and he held them in his hands. His voice was urgent now, and she stood quietly in his grasp awaiting the next inevitable moment. ‘I’ll see you get every goddamned thing you want,’ he said. Savagely, he thrust her down upon her bed. She sighed in resignation.

  The phone rang on Captain Feinberg’s desk. He picked it up and answered briefly. I waited until he was finished, then I arose and shook hands with him. ‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘I appreciate your telling me what you know about the beginning; it helps to understand the ending...’

  ‘The hell of it is,’ said Feinberg, ‘Rafferty was sort of driven into it. From the very beginning, I think perhaps he realized that unless he could escape early, he was trapped for good. When he asked to be taken off the case, I should have transferred him then and there. But I didn’t understand, either.’ Suddenly his face was very old and very tired.

  Chapter Five

  Swanson pulled up to the curb in the squad car and flung open the door. I had talked to him earlier in the evening and planned to meet him after he was off duty. He had, however, called me back and suggested that I might meet him earlier, as he had a necessary change of plans. Consequently, I waited for him on the corner of Sixty-seventh and Fifth Avenue, where he picked me up. As he pulled away into the traffic he asked me. ‘Did you find out much from Feinberg?’

  I repeated to him the conversation between the captain and myself. When I was finished, Swanson said, ‘Yeah. That’s pretty much the way it happened, I guess. One thing, though, the captain left out—he may have forgotten it—was that Emmet wasn’t kidding himself. He knew this Pauli dame was lying to him about her husband, and I don’t think he ever thought she was very much in love with him—Emmet, that is. But he was willing to meet her terms.’

  ‘Why?’

  Swanson thought my question over. ‘Well, first of all... you got to understand a little bit about Emmet. I know this sounds funny, but I don’t think Emmet had ever been in love before with a dame in his life. And the first time... it happens... it can turn a guy inside out...’

  I thought I could see what Swanson was driving at. ‘You mean that the average man falls in love... has a burning infatuation... when he is younger... when he is scarcely more than a kid in high school. With all the agony... the doubt... the humiliation, the uncertain handlings and fumblings. Strange emotions are burned away early and become harnessed in an adult life. A man may have a dozen affairs, but never again does he go through what he did in the first one.’

  ‘Yeah, something like that,’agreed Swanson. ‘In all the years I knew and worked with Emmet, he never played around on the side, never chased dames, never had much to do with them as far as I could find out. You know, guys sitting around... batting the breeze... they talk about dames they’ve known before they were married. But Emmet never did. I don’t think he had ever slept with any other gal in his life, except his wife.’

  ‘Wasn’t Emmet in love with his wife?’

  ‘Sure he was... in a nice easy sort of way. She was the sort of girl he knew, he could understand. There wasn’t anything mysterious or glamorous or come-on about her. And he was crazy about those two little girls they had, too. But this Pauli dame was something different; she could do things to him that no other woman in the world could do. And he was helpless to stop her from doing it. Look, I’ll tell you about it...’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘Well, it was like this. Emmet and I were partners fora long time. We were both on the Detective Squad. Then Emmet gets transferred to Homicide, but I stay on where I am. From then on I don’t see Emmet very often. Only occasionally I run into him, and we say hello. But I’m still, about the closest friend he’s got. Emmet goes up to Homicide in ’41....’ Swanson’s mind ran back through the years, ticking them off. ‘In ’42 he meets this Rose Pali, although I don’t know anything about it, then. Maybe about a year later... in the summer of ’43, he calls me up. Says he wants to see me, to talk to me. I arrange to meet him after we’re through and we get dinner...’

  The waiter set the plates on the red-decked tablecloth, and the two men waited until he had withdrawn. Rafferty picked up his glass of beer and drained it, looking at the wieners and kraut distastefully.

  ‘I’ll be glad when we can get a steak again without paying a week’s salary for it,’ he said.

  ‘Sure,’ said Swanson.

  ‘Where I came from, we used to be able to buy half a cow for the price of a steak now.’

  ‘Sure,’ agreed Swanson, ‘let’s go out and see if they still got any.’

  Rafferty refilled his glass with beer from the bottle. ‘It’s been a long time since we got together,’ said Rafferty. ‘Too long.’

  ‘How’re things going with you?’

  ‘I’m in a jam, Swanson,’ he said, ‘one hell of a jam.’

  Swanson finished his mouthful of kraut before replying. ‘You’re kidding,’ he said.

  ‘No,’ said Rafferty. Swanson thought his face looked different, and for the first time he noticed the gray hairs sprinkled through his temples. ‘I need dough,’ he continued.

  Swanson was disturbed. He could sense that Rafferty was struggling under intense pressure and, although his friend was not at a breaking point, he was restless, unhappy the situation made Swanson uneasy. ‘I could loan you a little dough,’ he offered.

  ‘No, thanks.’ Rafferty hadn’t touched his food. He shifted in his chair and motioned the waiter to bring another bottle of beer. ‘It’s worse than that, Swannie,’ he said. ‘I need a lot of it.’ He poured the beer into the glass and it foamed high, mushrooming to a head, then slowly slipping over the sides. ‘The hell of it is,’ he continued, ‘I’ve already spent all the dough I saved... every cent in Katherine’s and my savings account. I’ve got a little insurance I can borrow on, but what I get won’t last very long...’

  ‘What’s Katherine say about it?’

  ‘She doesn’t know.’

  ‘Oh.’ Swanson faced his friend bluntly. ‘What’s a matter?’ he asked. ‘You playing the horses?’

  ‘No. It’s something else...’

  ‘Who you kidding, Emmet? It’s same dame then.’

  ‘Yes,’ Rafferty inspected his glass carefully, refusing to raise his eyes.

  ‘So she’s taking you for a sucker,’ Swanson’s voice barely concealed his disgust. ‘Why in hell don’t you blow her off?’

  ‘I’ve tried,’ said Rafferty. ‘I’ve walked out half a dozen times, but I can’t stay away. I alway
s go back. Jesus, Swannie, you think I don’t know I’m being a chump? I know it every minute I’m awake, and I dream about it every night... if I can sleep. But I can’t help it, goddamn it!’

  ‘How long has this been going on?’

  ‘About a year.’

  ‘What does this dame think about you leaving?’

  ‘That’s the hell of it. She doesn’t really care... if I go or stay. She likes me, I guess. I don’t have any complaint about that. But she likes the things I give her, better. From the very beginning, I knew what I was getting into; she didn’t try to kid me about that. I figured I could make it a race for a few weeks or a month; then when that time was over, I stretched it to another month... and on and on.’ His face sagged, the muscles at his jaw bunched slightly. ‘But I’ve gotten to the point where I can’t go much farther... and I still can’t give her up.’

  ‘Ah, hell,’ said Swanson. ‘Forget it. Chalk it up to experience. You’ll get over it. Everybody does.’

  Swanson eased the car into the right-hand lane, and pulled up in front of an ancient, red brick house, five stories high. A group of neighbors were collected on the stairs leading to the door on -the second-floor level. A decrepit sign announced: FURNISHED ROOMS FOR RENT. Inside could be heard the sound of screaming voices. ‘Wait here,’ said Swanson, I’ll be out in a few minutes.’ He pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared within the door.

  Five minutes later, he reappeared. ‘Come on, break it up!’ he told the curious crowd outside the door. He walked down the stairs and climbed into the car. ‘Some guy caught his daughter trying to sneak out with a jerk he didn’t like. He started beating the girl up. Looked to me like she needed it.’ He threw the car in gear and pulled away.

  ‘Was that all Rafferty ever said to you about Rose Pauli?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Emmet was a pretty closemouthed guy. I didn’t pay much attention to his story, at the time, because I figured he would get over it, one way or another. At the worst, he’d run out of dough, and the broad would give him the air.’