Die Laughing: 5 Comic Crime Novels

by Steve Brewer

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “There were two murder weapons. Each guy was killed with a different gun. Or to put it another way, the gun found at Steerwell’s didn’t kill Nubar.”

  Barnes looked at me. “How do you know that?”

  “Because Steerwell died first.”

  Barnes and Preston looked at each other.

  “I don’t recall releasing any autopsy reports,” Barnes said.

  “Neither do I,” said Preston. “How do you know that?”

  I shrugged. “We’re talking hypothetically here, remember?”

  “Anything else?” Barnes said.

  “Yeah. The gun found at Steerwell’s had a silencer.”

  “How do you figure that?”

  “Because the moron who I.D.’d me going into Steerwell’s didn’t hear a shot.”

  “Interesting,” Barnes said. “Anything else?”

  “Yeah. When you traced the serial number on the gun it did you no good. You found out it had been reported stolen, either by a private owner or by a sporting goods store, at least two or three years ago.”

  “I know why he’s doing this,” Preston said. “He’s not telling us anything. He’s feeding us theories about stuff he wants to know, hoping we’ll confirm or deny them.”

  Preston was dead right. I was making logical deductions that anyone could have made from the known facts, and hoping to get a nibble.

  “Well, it was worth a try,” I said.

  “Do you have anything else hypothetical, in the spirit of cooperation?” Barnes asked, somewhat ironically.

  “Not at the present time,” I said. “In fact, if it’s all the same with you, I’ll take you up on that ride now.”

  “Certainly,” Barnes said.

  We got up.

  “And just in case you should choose to disregard my advice about putting me under surveillance,” I said, “for the information of the cops assigned to the task, I am going home and going to bed.”

  A cop drove me back to the hotel. He didn’t try to talk to me on the way, and I didn’t try to talk to him. I was too damn tired.

  I went up to my room and flopped down on the bed. I was really beat.

  Before I passed out, I made a call. I figured that even though MacAullif had blown my cover with his daughter, after all he was only human, and he was vitally concerned, and he had a right to know.

  If he didn’t know already. I wondered about that, too.

  “Yeah,” MacAullif growled.

  “I have news, and it ain’t good,” I said. “Unless your daughter’s already told you.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Well, she’s your daughter and all. I assume she tells you things.”

  “What the hell are you talking about? What things?”

  “I guess you haven’t heard. The detective Harold hired to spy on your daughter’s been murdered.”

  “What!?”

  “Not to mention the loan shark Harold was in hock to. He’s been murdered, too.”

  MacAullif hadn’t heard. His surprise was genuine, I’d swear it.

  “Jesus Christ!” he said. “Are you serious?”

  “Absolutely.”

  “Oh, my God! This is awful!” There was a pause, then MacAullif said, “Listen. Whatever you do—keep Harold out of it.”

  I’m afraid I chuckled. I was thinking of Miss Busybody’s identification.

  “I’m doing one hell of a job of that.”

  23.

  I TOLD MACAULLIF everything. Everything except the interlude between the tree surgeon and his daughter. Of course, that left a few glaring gaps in the story. Like the bit about me getting indicted for grand larceny. But I told him the rest of it. And even without the bit about the pictures, there was still a lot to tell.

  “Jesus Christ!” MacAullif said.

  “My sentiments exactly,” I told him.

  “Why didn’t you call me before?”

  “You’re a police officer, and I have to tell you that? You only get one phone call. Under the circumstances, I opted to call my lawyer.”

  “He really came down there? That Rosenberg guy? He came down there and kicked ass?”

  “After a fashion.”

  “I’d have liked to have seen it. I remember some of the things he said to me.”

  “I’m glad you’re so amused. It happens your daughter and your son-in-law are in deep shit, and I’m in serious danger of taking a fall for double homicide.”

  “I know, I know.”

  “Now, I know I said I’d do you a favor, and I’d certainly like to help your son-in-law out, but that doesn’t include taking a murder rap for him.”

  “I just don’t understand how that happened,” MacAullif said.

  “It’s perfectly easy to understand,” I said. That was pretty ballsy of me, seeing as how I didn’t really understand anything. “Unless Harold is actually guilty, which I can’t really discount, he was set up to be a fall guy.”

  “By whom?”

  “I don’t know. But the point is, if he was, then the witnesses have fucked up and identified me. Which elevates me into the same position.”

  “True.

  “The saving grace is Minton. When he gets back, I should be off the hook. Of course, Harold may be on it.”

  “Shit.”

  “So there we are. Two people have been murdered. Your daughter had a motive for murdering one. Your son-in-law had a motive for murdering the other. However, the cops seem to have elected me for both. Now, I know I said I’d do you a favor and all that, but this is going a little far.”

  “What a mess.”

  “Exactly. And how did we get into it?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your daughter went out to see Steerwell yesterday. I don’t know what she did when she got there, but she might have killed him.”

  “Barbara wouldn’t do that.”

  “Maybe not. But her fingerprints are on the murder weapon. She was also seen with it in her hand. So my question is, why did she do it?”

  “Why did she do what?”

  “Why did she go out there?”

  “I don’t know what you mean?”

  “Yes, you do. Aside from Harold, you and I are the only ones who knew that he hired Steerwell. And I sure didn’t tell her.”

  There was a silence on the line.

  “Which means you did,” I said.

  “Well, I—”

  “Of course you did. I don’t blame you for that. She’s your daughter, it’s family, it’s personal. But you didn’t tell me you told her. You held out on me. You made me play it wide open, like an asshole, without knowing what I was doing. And that’s how we got into this mess. If I’d known you’d told her, I could have headed the situation off. “

  “What situation?”

  “Her going out there.”

  “Oh, yeah,” MacAullif said. “Then why did she go out there?”

  “I just told you. Because you spilled the beans. Because you told her Steerwell was on to her.”

  “Yeah, but why would that make her panic? Why would she rush out there? What did she have to hide?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m talking about holding out on people,” MacAullif said. “I have asked you repeatedly what happened while Steerwell was watching my daughter’s house. And you told me nothing. I didn’t believe you then, and I don’t believe you now. And I didn’t believe my daughter on the phone when she told me nothing happened, either.

  “Something happened while Steerwell was watching the house, and that’s why he knocked off at noon. He wasn’t hired for any half day. He got what he came for. And that’s why my daughter was in such a panic when I told her she was being watched, and that’s why she rushed out there. And that’s why you’re holding out on me.”

  “Listen—” I said.

  “Listen, bullshit! I’m a cop, and I’ll always be a cop, and I know when people are holding out on me, and I
’ve known about you for some time. Now cut the shit and tell me what happened.”

  I sighed.

  “All right,” I said. “It appears your daughter has formed a liaison with a young man.”

  “Then why the fuck couldn’t you have told me that?” MacAullif cried in exasperation. “Jesus Christ, my daughter’s twenty-eight years old. Her husband’s running around with every skirt in town. You think this is the crime of the century? You think this the most earth-shattering news to come down the pike in twenty years? You think my heart couldn’t stand it?”

  I could picture him shaking his head, pityingly.

  “Jesus Christ,” he said. “You must be the most puritanical son of a bitch I’ve ever run into. What do you think this is, the fucking Middle Ages? You think you’re some white knight on a charger, dashing off to save the young lady’s honor? What are you, a moron? I mean, Jesus Christ, I cannot believe you let this situation develop over a stupid thing like that.”

  I said nothing. I felt once again like a total asshole, which I guess is the role I’m destined to play in life.

  “All right,” MacAullif said. “So I held out on you, and you held out on me, and now everything’s all fucked up. Well, that’s behind us now. Let’s figure out what the fuck we’re gonna do. So tell me what happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “What do you think I mean? That morning. The detective and my daughter.”

  “Well, he was there when a young man came to the house.”

  “I know that. Did he take any pictures?”

  Shit. He would ask me that.

  “Yes, he did.”

  “Shit. Does Harold know?”

  “No.”

  “Where are the pictures?”

  “I have them.”

  “What!?”

  “I have the pictures. I stole them from the Photomat where Steerwell left them to be developed.”

  “No shit! I take it all back what I said about you being a moron. Damn good work.”

  “Yeah, except the cops know it. That’s another way they got onto me. I’ve been indicted for grand larceny.”

  “For a roll of pictures?”

  “Thirteen rolls. I had to pick up the whole work order for the Minton agency.”

  “So you’ve seen the pictures?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What do they show?”

  “That your daughter seemed to like the gentleman in question.”

  “Shit. You burned them, of course?”

  I groaned. What an asshole. I was getting a lock on the chump of the month award. It hadn’t even occurred to me.

  “I said, you burned them, didn’t you?”

  “No.”

  “No? You mean the cops have them?”

  “No. I mailed them to myself General Delivery.”

  “Up here?”

  “No. Here in Atlantic City.”

  MacAullif thought that over.

  “O.K. That’s good. But we gotta get them out of there and burn them up without the cops finding out about them. And they’re sure to be following you. That’s a problem.”

  “There’s another problem,” I told him.

  “What’s that?”

  “One of the other rolls of film happens to be shots of one Frederick Nubar, deceased.”

  “Holy shit,” MacAullif said. “You mean Steerwell was tailing Nubar? That is something the police should know.”

  “Yeah. Except for one thing,” I said.

  “What’s that?”

  “If they did, the way things stand now, they’d figure I had hired Steerwell to tail him.” MacAullif thought that over.

  “What a fucking mess,” he said.

  “Well,” I said, “at least we still agree on something.”

  24.

  I LEFT A WAKE-UP call for eight o’clock that night. I got up, showered, put on a suit and tie, went down to the lobby and looked up an address in the phone book, drove downtown, bought a pint of bourbon, and made a social call.

  It was a second floor walk-up on Ventnor Avenue. Mike Sallingsworth opened the door. He flinched slightly when he recognized me, but that was his only reaction.

  He cocked his head at me. “You here to punch me in the nose?” he asked.

  I pulled the pint of bourbon out of the bag. “No. I’m here to buy you a drink.”

  “I prefer that,” he said.

  He swung the door open and gestured to me to come in.

  We sat down in a small, modestly furnished living room. The furniture was old and tattered. It occurred to me Sallingsworth hadn’t been pulling down two hundred dollars a day very often.

  “I’ll get some glasses,” he said.

  “Get one,” I told him. “I don’t drink this stuff.”

  He looked at me. “You sure you’re a detective?” he said.

  “Not at all,” I told him.

  He went into the kitchen and came back with an empty glass. No ice. No water. He poured a slug of bourbon in and gulped it down. I had a feeling the glass was because he considered it a social occasion. If I hadn’t been there he’d have gulped it straight from the bottle.

  Sallingsworth poured another shot, held it up, looked at it, then looked at me.

  “I don’t mean to look a gift horse in the mouth,” he said. “But I’m wondering about the purpose of this little visit.”

  “I’ve been talking to some of the boys from Major Crimes,” I said. “Barnes and Preston.”

  Sallingsworth nodded. “Good men.”

  “Yeah, I thought so. Very entertaining.”

  Sallingsworth slugged down a second shot of whisky and poured another.

  “You understand why I had to talk to ’em,” he said. “This being a double homicide, and all.”

  “Oh absolutely,” I said. “No problem there. But seeing as how this is a double homicide and all, and seeing as how you seem to be the prime source of information in this town, I thought you and I should have a little talk.”

  He downed a third shot of bourbon, exhaled happily, and looked at me.

  “Barnes and Preston know you’re here?”

  “I consider it highly likely. They released me, but they’re probably having me followed.”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “No.”

  “You’re a detective.”

  “Yeah, but I’m a lousy one.”

  He nodded judiciously. “That does make it harder. But if they’re having you followed, they’ll know you came here.”

  “This is true.”

  “And they’ll ask me what you wanted.”

  “And you’ll tell ’em I came here to bawl you out for talking to them in the first place.”

  He thought that over. “Is that what you plan to do?”

  “No.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “Information.”

  “My rates are two hundred dollars a day, plus expenses.”

  “Your rate’s a pint of bourbon and my good will.”

  He grinned. “Right you are. What you need to know?”

  “You familiar with Tallman’s Casino?”

  “Sure. Newest one on the strip. Opened less than a year ago. Seems to be making a go of it.”

  “How about a distinguished gentleman, fifty to sixty years old, white hair, razor cut sideburns, gold medallion, and walks around the place with an entourage.”

  Sallingsworth took another shot. “That would be Tallman himself.”

  “I thought it might be. What do you know about him?”

  “No one knows that much about him. Of course, there are rumors.”

  “Such as?”

  Sallingsworth seemed to have forgotten the glass. He took a slug straight from the bottle.

  “One rumor is that he’s mob connected.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  “Yeah. Another rumor is that he isn’t.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  He looked at me sharply. “You k
now anything about casinos?”

  “Only that I shouldn’t leave my money in ’em.”

  He nodded. “That’s a hard thing to learn. Well, a casino hotel is an expensive proposition to get going. I mean, getting the land, getting the zoning permit, building the damn thing, outfitting it, hiring the personnel. It’s a major undertaking.”

  “So?”

  “So, if Tallman’s mob connected, there’s no problem, because the money’s there. If Tallman’s not mob connected, the question is, where’s the money come from? Nobody puts up umpty million dollars out of their own pocket to build a casino. We’re talking mortgages, bank loans, bonds, all that sort of shit. And when you’re talking stuff like that, the sixty-four dollar question always is, is the guy good for it?

  “Now, in Tallman’s case, as I understand it, his collateral is mostly in the form of cash. Now if that cash is coming from the mob, well that’s fine, ’cause there’s an unlimited source of it. But if it isn’t, that’s something else.

  “So you see, the rumor that Tallman’s not mob connected is the one that hurts him.”

  It was all Greek to me. I’ve never had any money in my life, and my biggest problem is balancing my checkbook. The financial end of it I understood not at all. But I got the gist of what he was saying.

  “All right,” I said. “Tell me this. Is there any connection between Tallman and Nubar?”

  Sallingsworth looked at me in surprise.

  “Absolutely not,” he said.

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because Tallman wouldn’t go near him.”

  “Why?”

  “It would be suicide.”

  “How come?”

  He took another swig from the bottle. “You don’t understand this at all, do you?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t.”

  “Well, let me try to explain. Nubar is a notorious loan shark. I know it, the cops know it, everybody knows it. It’s common knowledge.” He grinned. “That’s why I was able to give you the information so cheap. But here’s the point. For Tallman to have his name connected with Nubar would be a disaster. It would be a scandal of epic proportions. Tallman’s whole operation exists on the strength of the fact that he’s solvent. For Tallman to be connected with Nubar, a notorious loan shark, in the eyes of everyone would be taken as proof that he is not solvent, that he is in serious financial difficulty. And you know what would happen then? His loans would be called in. His financial backing would disappear. And Tallman’s Casino would come tumbling down.”