Arky spoke without hesitation. “Rudy I don’t know, only what I read in the paper. Leon I know.”
“How do you know Leon?”
“He set me up in business, Commissioner. He was a big man around town.”
“You think he was murdered?”
“I wouldn’t know, sir.”
There was a brief silence. Markland studied Arky covertly. The Commissioner sighed and turned away and paced the floor; finally in a quiet voice he asked: “Do you know Gordon King?”
Arky gave a start, but controlled himself and answered at once: “Yes, sir.”
“How do you happen to know Gordon King?”
Arky thought this over for a moment, then he said: “Well, sir, I’ve managed to get myself in a little trouble here and there—never convicted of anything, though—and about ten years or so ago somebody, maybe it was Leon, recommended Dighton and Black to handle things for me. Well, Mr. King—a very fine gentleman, by the way—was the boss at Dighton and Black then, and that’s how I happen to know him.” There was a long silence. The Commissioner sat drumming on his desk. Markland waited, studying Arky out of the corner of his eye. Although Arky showed no nervousness, and his face was blankly calm, cold sweat was beginning to trickle down between his shoulder blades. This was bad, very bad. Little by little the Commissioner was linking up the chain. Had Dysen really spilled the beans? Or was the Commissioner, knowing little but suspecting much, out on a fishing expedition? Would he get as far as the Judge? Very unlikely; and if he did not, none of the rest mattered very much.
The Commissioner woke him out of his thoughts by demanding explosively: “Did you know Judge Greet?”
Arky paled visibly and both Markland and the Commissioner noticed it. “Yes, sir,” said Arky, after having some difficulty clearing his throat.
“Will you tell me how you happened to know him?” Arky explained at length about how the Judge had saved him from prison and befriended him and how he’d worked five years for the Judge as a chauffeur. “Finest man that ever lived,” Arky concluded warmly. “Salt of the earth.”
For a moment the Commissioner said nothing and narrowly studied Arky. There seemed to be little doubt of Arky’s sincere regard for the Judge. Was there, then, something in this strange man besides hardness and duplicity? Almost in spite of himself, the Commissioner began slowly to revise his initial opinion of Arky. Finally he asked: “Why did you leave the Judge’s employ?”
Arky smiled slightly. “By request.”
“You mean you were discharged?”
“Well, more or less. The Judge put up with my driving as long as he could. He had iron nerves, sir, but I shook ’em. We parted friends, however.”
“Did you see him regularly?”
“Haven’t seen him for over ten years. Talked to him on the phone a few times.”
There was a long silence and the Commissioner sat lost in thought. Finally he said: “To sum up—you admit knowing the following men: Carl Dysen, Leon Sollas, Gordon King, and Judge Greet. Now, Wanty; I want you to do something for me.”
“All right, Commissioner.”
Stark took a document from the top of his desk and handed it to Arky. “Read this. Then give me your opinion. Take your time. No rush.”
The document was the final statement that Captain Dysen had signed. Arky tried to keep his hands from shaking as he read it. There was dead silence in the Commissioner’s office and little by little the roar of the big town below seemed to grow louder and louder. Finally Arky handed the document back after examining the signature.
“You have any comments to make?”
“Yes sir. Dysen is crazy, and you better have him locked up in a padded cell.”
“For your own part, you deny everything in there, is that right?”
“Yes sir.”
“You deny that you bossed the vice and gambling of the town?”
“That’s plumb ridiculous.”
“You deny you practically bossed the police of the 17th Ward?”
“I can hardly keep from laughing.”
“You deny that you sent police from the 17th to protect the Judge and that one of them shot or shot at the assassin?”
“I tell you the man’s crazy.”
“What motive would Captain Dysen have for telling such a story if it weren’t true?”
“If he’s crazy, he don’t need no motive. Look, Commissioner, you can’t ruin the reputation of a man like Judge Greet just on this big lobster’s say-so.”
“Why are you worrying about the Judge’s reputation, Wanty? You’d better worry about your own hide.” The Commissioner spoke with unnecessary sharpness and heat because Arky was touching on a sore and vital point. The naming of Judge Greet in this affair was going to cause an appalling scandal. Politically, it would shock the whole community. And after all, what good purpose did it serve? The ring was broken up. It could never operate in this form again… The Commissioner lost himself in vague and fruitless speculation, but Arky brought him up short.
He was shouting at the Commissioner with sudden animosity: “My hide ain’t on the barn door yet, mister. And neither is the Judge’s. I’ll give Dysen the lie to every word he says—and in court, too.”
The Commissioner flew into a temper, only partially feigned, and jumped to his feet, confronting Arky, who had also risen. “Fine!” shouted Stark. “Lie under oath and we’ll have you for perjury.” He turned to Markland. “Explain to Morgan that this man is to be held as follows: for questioning in the killing of Radabaugh and as a material witness, for questioning in the disappearance of Leon Sollas, also for bribery and corruption of police officials, maybe a hundred counts, also for running a gambling establishment in defiance of the laws of the city … and if there is anything else I can think of I’ll call Casey.”
“I sure got my rights protected, all right,” said Arky.
“You are innocent until proven guilty. I will shortly leave your fate to the D.A. and to the grand jury. All right, Markland. Turn him over to Morgan.”
But Arky held back. “Look here, Commissioner,” he said mildly, “you mean to tell me you’re going to let a thing like this about the Judge get out? Why, he was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?”
“Yes,” said the Commissioner. “But this is irrelevant. I’m afraid he’s going to have to take the consequences of his acts.”
“But he’s dead.”
The Commissioner winced slightly and shifted. Turning, he noticed that Markland was studying him curiously and suddenly he remembered the “lesson” he’d given the big detective not so long ago. “Does knowing a man excuse his guilt?” he’d said. Now the big detective was watching him, wondering.
There are still consequences,” said the Commissioner. “Dying doesn’t settle everything.”
“That’s a hell of a note,” said Arky. “What about his family?”
“You might have asked the Judge that some time back.” Arky swallowed, then took the plunge. “Supposing he’s guilty—which he ain’t—it’s not their fault.”
“Are you leading up to something, Wanty?”
“Yes, sir. A deal.”
“I don’t make deals.”
“All right,” said Arky. “But it’s like this. Dysen’s already confessed. Mr. King’s about dead, I hear. But I’m still alive and kicking. Wouldn’t it be enough to send me and Dysen up? Dysen—he could be the Big Boy.”
“What about you?”
“Well ... I might hold still for this, but it makes me laugh.”
“You still deny everything?”
“I sure do.”
“Then why do you want to do this?”
“On account of the Judge. Finest man I ever knew in all my life.”
The Commissioner looked at Arky for a long time. Loyalty was a great virtue, and a rare one, misguided or not.
Arky waited, glancing at the Commissioner. Markland folded his arms and stood with his back to the wall. The Commissioner paced up and down for a few
moments, then he went to his desk and lit one of his stogies. The smoke from it made Markland cough. “Wanty,” said the Commissioner at last, “I don’t make deals. I’m against them on principle. They are always unfair. Goats and favorites. See what I mean? It’s not just.”
“Maybe by law it’s not,” said Arky. “But I’m not talking about law.”
“Any way you look at it, it’s not, law or no law. And in this case, it would be particularly unjust. The Judge was without a doubt the ablest man I’ve ever come across. He made other men seem pretty tame and flabby and conventional. He had the makings of a great leader, and God knows we need them. But, Wanty, he evaded his social responsibilities; he turned against the very people he should have helped. …”
“I don’t know a thing about all this,” said Arky impatiently.
“Yes, you do,” said the Commissioner. “You just won’t listen. Loyalty is one thing; blind loyalty another…”
Arky broke in. “All I know is, I never met a man in my whole life that I liked as well as the Judge.”
“I liked him, too,” said the Commissioner. “But that is beside the point, Wanty. The point is, that deals are unjust, and in this case particularly so. The way we live is a matter of choice. We have to go one way or another. No one can have it both ways. The choice is often a hard one. But for the Judge it should have been easy. He had everything: health, looks, brains, ability, education, and money. He deliberately took the wrong way. In other words, there is no excuse for him, so why should he be protected at the expense of others?”
With his lips compressed, Arky shifted, took a step toward the door. “No deal?”
“Listen, Wanty; you knew the Judge intimately. Wouldn’t you say that he was a man who knew perfectly well what he was doing at all times?”
“Yes, sir, I would.”
“All right. Then the Judge knew that at any moment there might be a crash. It was inevitable. He gambled and he lost. If he was alive, do you think he’d let you make a deal for him and go to prison to save his reputation?” Arky swallowed but said nothing. “He’d take his medicine, wouldn’t he?”
In a low voice Arky said: “Yes sir, he would.”
“All right, Wanty,'” said the Commissioner. “Think that over.”
Arky turned and went out into the anteroom, followed by Markland. The Commissioner took out a handkerchief and mopped his brow, then he went to the water-cooler and drank two cups before he remembered and flung a third cup to the floor in exasperation.
He felt very tired now, but easier in mind; he’d clarified his thinking in regard to Judge Greet by talking about him to Arky. No matter how hard he tried he could not conceal from himself the fact that for one brief moment he’d been tempted to make a deal. Why? Did charm extend from beyond the grave? The Commissioner smiled grimly and uncomfortably.
18
THE POLICE car was moving slowly along the edge of a dingy city park. Beyond the trees of the park, the garish lights of the Front flared, spreading a purplish glow over the low-hanging clouds.
A young policeman was driving. Morgan and Arky were in the back. The traffic was very heavy, and the driver kept cursing the taxis, which were darting in and out all along the boulevard, grazing his fenders from time to time.
“Sonsabitches,” cried the young cop. “Ought to be a law.”
Morgan laughed sardonically, then glanced at his prisoner, who was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, staring apathetically at the floor. Arky hadn’t said a word or even looked at Morgan since they’d left the Commissioner’s anteroom. He seemed completely sunk, Morgan thought, and he had a right to be! It was obvious that the Commissioner, for reasons of his own, intended to see to it that the book was thrown at this fellow, who seemed to Morgan singularly inoffensive. Not a loudmouth, not a braggart, nor one of those irritating but pathetic I’ll-get-you-for-this boys! In fact, he was a strange type to Morgan. Not the kind of man you’d expect to see in the hands of the law at all.
“Sure is a warm, close night,” said Arky, finally. “I keep sweating. You mind if I take my coat off?”
“No,” said Morgan. “Help yourself.”
Arky removed his coat and held it across his lap, then he leaned forward again and sat with his elbows on his knees, his hands dangling.
“Sure feel low,” he said in a melancholy voice.
“I can understand it,” said Morgan.
“That little Commissioner,” Arky went on, “he means well, but he can sure be rough and tough on a fellow. He just wouldn’t listen to me at all. He just kept talking…”
“He knows his business,” said Morgan shortly.
Arky sighed. “I guess he does. He sure sounds like it. But a fellow can’t make no headway with him. He just won’t pay no attention…” Arky went on and on in his sad, monotonous voice, complaining mildly, making few charges of any kind against anybody, seeming to be interested only in lamenting his fate.
The young cop at the wheel was still cursing the taxis. Morgan, lulled by Arky’s voice, sat contemplating the crowded boulevard. Suddenly Arky acted. With his right hand, he flung his coat in Morgan’s face, then he reached forward and with his left hand jerked the wheel sharply to the right, and there was a shuddering crash as the police car banged into a taxi, and at once there was a general shrieking of brakes and many collisions all along the line of traffic; tires whined as they skidded on the asphalt, and there was the crash and tinkle of breaking glass.
Arky leaped out the car door into the middle of the traffic jam and ran across the boulevard, darting here and there among the cars, heartened by the shouting, the blasting horns, the utter confusion; and in a moment he disappeared into the shrubbery of the city park.
The taxi-driver, a shrewd-looking, middle-aged little man, pulled up in front of the Paymaster’s house.
“This it, mister?”
Arky got out. “Yeah,” he said, “this is it” Then he laughed. “Just went out for a walk, ran into a friend of mine in the Village, and ended up downtown. Didn’t even put my coat on.” He gave the driver a five-dollar tip.
“Thank you, sir,” said the driver, smiling and touching his cap.
Arky called good night, and crossed the pathway through the shrubbery. Dim lights were showing in the cottage and Arky saw the Cadillac parked at the far end of the drive, beyond the garage. As he stepped across the narrow porch, the front door was opened from within and Robbie looked out.
“Ozark!” she said in a rather unnatural-sounding voice. “Where’s your coat? I was getting worried about you.”
Joe was just beyond her. “I kept telling her not to worry,” he called.
“Hi,” said Arky. “Never mind the coat.” Then he hugged Robbie and stepped into the cottage.
Robbie closed the door, then she and Joe stood looking at Arky, waiting for him to say something, to explain, to tell them what to do.
“You all ready to blow?” asked Arky.
They nodded, then Robbie said: “We’ve been ready for a long time.”
“Okay,” said Arky. “But I kind of changed my plans a little. Sit down. I’ll be with you in a minute. I got to call Zand.”
He went into the study and shut the door. Robbie started to sit down on one of the straight chairs in the hallway but sudden baby-howls rose in the back of the house and she hurried off to see what was the matter with Orv. Joe lit a cigarette, sat down, and began to hum to himself. “Like I said,” he told himself, “you don’t have to worry about that guy. If he says he’ll show, he’ll show.”
Arky sat in the study impatiently chewing on a cigar. It was some time before Zand answered the phone. “Arky!” came Zand’s rather agitated voice. “Where the hell are you?”
Arky told him, then asked: “What’s up?”
“Cops been here twice, looking for you. They also combed the Greek’s garage for the Cadillac. The Greek came and told me about it. He just left. What is all this?”
“Never mind about that. Now liste
n carefully, Zand. First thing, don’t open the bookie joint tomorrow. Lock it up and keep it locked until things quiet down. Save you a lot of trouble.”
“Yeah, I saw in the paper ... the Commissioner…”
“That’s right. This town’s going to be hotter than a July 4th picnic for a good long while. Just keep your head down. Okay. Another thing. Do you remember the street number of Anna’s old lady’s house? She lives on Kosciusko Street, near the bridge, but what’s the number?”
There was silence at the other end for a moment, then Zand said: “Anna’s old lady’s house? Wait a minute. I’ll ask Lola.” A long pause, and Arky chewed impatiently on his cigar. Finally Lola came on the phone. “Arky? We sure miss you down here—you and Orv. Place seems empty…”
“How about that address?” snapped Arky.
“I got it wrote down here. 2371 Kosciusko Street, near Parkway.”
Arky made a note of it on the telephone pad. “Okay. Thanks, Lola. Put Zand back on.”
“What’s all this about Anna’s old lady?” Zand demanded after a brief pause.
“Don’t ask questions. Just listen. If you don’t hear from me in a week I want you to start sending Anna’s old lady a couple of hundred a month. Understand?”
“Yeah,” said Zand. “But…”
“No ‘buts.’ When I get around to it, I’ll make some kind of arrangement with Dighton and Black. The thing is, I don’t want to hand them Polacks a whole hunk of dough at once. They might go wild and blow it.”
“Okay, Arky,” said Zand, wearily. “Maybe you know what you’re doing.”
“One more thing. Get a car out here to me as fast as you can. I’m lamming. Read your paper carefully tomorrow and you’ll know why.”
“It ain’t going to be easy, Arky. The Greek’s out on account they got coppers hanging around. I can’t bring the Ford; they’ll tail me. But I’ll see what I can figure out. Call you back when I get a chance. Coppers been coming in and out… Arky—they’re downstairs again. I can hear them big feet. Sit tight.” Zand hung up abruptly.
When Arky came back into the hallway, Robbie was sitting near the door, holding Orv on her lap. The baby was looking about him sleepily and from time to time he waved his little fists vaguely in the air. Joe was standing leaning against the wall, smoking.
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