by Kane, Henry
Parker said, “Sam—”
“Christ,” Kelcey said. “What am I supposed to do? Play potsy with him?”
I went, and he let me. I hung up the jacket. I hung up the tie. I threw the shirt away into a hamper. I opened the bottle in the kitchen. I put a pitcher of ice water on a tray, and a bottle of seltzer, and a keg of ice cubes, and the bottle. I carried it into the living room and set it down on the coffee table. “If anybody likes a drink—”
“Sit down,” Kelcey said.
I went back to the kitchen for glasses, high ones and low ones. I put them on the tray.
“Sit down,” Kelcey said.
Parker got up and walked, casually. But he stayed between us. “What in all hell is the matter with you, Pete? Why don’t you stop interfering in police business? Why don’t you co-operate?”
“Sit down,” Kelcey said.
I had a drink and chased it with water.
“Sit down, I said.”
I sat. He stood over me. “Look. You’re his pet.” He pointed at Parker. Parker grinned, not too happy. “Me, I’ll kick your teeth in, I swear. Then I’ll strip you of your lousy license and I’ll stick you in the can, and I’ll paste it on you so hard that can’ll be home base till your eyeteeth fall out. You guys got a function. All right, you got a function. So function. But I don’t want you messing around in police business. I’d like to— Maybe I’ll do it right now.” His breath came quick and his face got red and a vein in his forehead stuck out sharper than buck teeth on a beautiful girl. He leaned over.
“Sam—” Parker said.
“Sam, Sam. What the hell am I supposed to do? Kiss him?”
“If anybody would like a drink—” I said.
“See what I mean?”
I got up and I fixed a highball and sipped it. It was nourishing. I went back to my chair. One of the two bright young men ran a quick tongue against his lips, then settled back to stoic.
“What about Nyack?” Kelcey said.
So that was it. “What about it, Inspector?”
“Listen, once, carefully. After that, I’m through talking with you. For good. If not for your—your patron here—” He flung fingers at Parker. He sighed and he went to the coffee table and put some of the Scotch in a shot glass and drank it. Both of the bright young men ran their tongues over their lips. “I’ve had just about enough of you. Understand?”
It was a rhetorical question.
It received rhetorical silence.
“I can put the tag on you, peeper, I’m telling you now. I can put a little tag on you for this Nyack business, but I can put a real big tag on you right here. Nobody’s forgotten that you discovered a dead woman and didn’t report it. Nobody’s forgotten that you picked up the murder weapon and brought it away from the scene of the crime. I let it slip by because it made no difference; we caught up with the guy and, unwittingly, you led us to him. But if I wanted to throw you to the D.A.—if I wanted to insist— Do you understand?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now you turn up breaking and entering up in Nyack. Nice, huh? You just don’t want to be good, do you? These two gentlemen are gentlemen from Nyack. Lieutenant Kapura and Lieutenant Tifel.”
“How do you do?”
“How do you do?” the young men said.
“If you would like a drink, please help yourself.”
“They bring us a report on the breaking and entering up there. They bring us a report on Nottiby with the slug in his head. Before that, on routine, a Mr. Vaydelle informed us, when asked, that you were interested in transportation to Nyack. Now these two guys come to me with a description, looking for a guy that looks like you that got driven back to town. They develop a kid up there, Jeffrey Colman, who drove you up to the place where Nottiby was hiding out, and then took you back to town. You discovered Nottiby. Right?”
“That’s right, Inspector. Suicide?”
“That’s what Nyack tells us. His gun, his prints, his house, nitrate particles in his gun hand. Plus now they know that his wife was murdered, and they know about the crazy trick he pulled with Mikvah. So all right. These guys don’t really want you; they want to know about you. What are you doing in Nyack?”
“Visiting.”
“Whom?”
“Him. Nottiby.”
“How?”
“What does it mean—how?”
“How would you know where to visit him? Seems nobody else knew, including us.”
“I once heard about it from Mikvah. I once heard this Nottiby had a place up there, which he took over from some people. I figured I’d go up and inquire.”
“Why didn’t you tell us?”
“You told me you didn’t want me messing in police business.”
“Look, peeper—”
“He was nice to me down there in the pokey. I figured if I could find him, and talk to him, maybe he’d have an angle…. Suicide? Why suicide?”
“A drunk whose wife is killed the day before and then pulls a nut trick that’s going to wind him up a jailbird—that kind of guy is probably figuring to kill himself before he springs the guy out of the coop. Maybe he’d made up his mind when he heard about the wife, maybe that closed off a section of his life; maybe he was glad about it and that’s why he jumped Johnny out. She was one bitch from our reports. What’s the difference? That kind of guy, they figure for suicide.”
“Any dough on him?”
“Didn’t you look?”
“I missed that.”
“Thirty-four dollars, sixty-six cents,” one of the young men said.
“Thanks. If you’d like a drink—”
Kelcey said, “You fellows want him?”
“Well,” one of the young men said. “It’s really up to you folks. I mean, there’s nothing, really—”
“You’ve been looking for trouble, peeper,” Kelcey said. “Sooner or later, you’re going to get a bellyful.”
Parker said, “Sam.”
“What?”
“He turned him up for us, didn’t he? It closes it out—no stinking publicity, no criticism, no nothing. It’s ended, period. Pamela Reeves, Mikvah, Nottiby—all cleaned up. The department gets a lot of praise, and nobody’s been hurt. Why stick it to him now? In a way, in his own way, he did us a turn.”
“Well,” the Inspector grumbled, “all right, boys. We’ll handle it from this end.”
“Thanks, Inspector,” I said.
“Thank Parker, don’t thank me.” He opened the door and the two young men went out before him. “Mr. John Travis. Mr. John Travis. I’d like to—Coming, Lieutenant?”
“I’ll stick around a while and blueprint the facts of life for this guy. Then I’ll go down and finish that report.”
“See you,” the Inspector said. They went away.
Parker had a drink. Parker had two drinks.
“You go from bad to worse. What’s the matter with you?”
“Nothing. I just hate to think a guy like the Mick is a murderer, that’s all.”
“Wow. Still at it.”
“I am, but I’m wobbling.”
“What was so special about Johnny the Mick?”
“Nothing, but—”
“Open and shut. You had it explained to you, just like I did. How the hell can you see around it?”
“That’s the hump. I can’t.”
“You guys that are always so ready to criticize cops. What’s your criticism here?”
“Did you know the guy, Louis?”
“Who?”
“Johnny.”
“Not really. Saw him around, mostly.”
“I knew him. From way back. Guys are cut out a certain way. Sharp operator, yes. Murderer, no. Business—pressure—I wouldn’t put it past him to hire hoods to eliminate the pressure. With mob guys you play by mob rules, or you don’t survive. But downright, straightaway, outrageous murder—not a guy like this Johnny.”
“People go overboard on people. It’s happened before. The perspective gets c
ockeyed.”
“Cockeyed, now, am I?”
“And mostly, cockeyed in your methods of operation. You don’t trust anybody. You don’t trust cops. You don’t co-operate. You work alone. Okay, that’s okay, when it don’t cross with police business, but when it does, what the hell—you’re leaving yourself wide open. Why don’t you wisen up? You’re going to run up against the old eight ball one of these days.”
“There’s people agree with me.”
“There’s always people.”
“There’s people ask me to check around. That’s how I got up to Nyack. I wanted to talk with the guy.”
“Look, Pete, it’s none of my business what you do with your time. I’m telling you for your own good. You’ve got Kelcey steaming from the pores. Lay off, for Christ’s sake.”
“I’m laid off, Louis. I’ve about exhausted it. So far, no good.”
“Certainly not. Open and shut, and this guy plays with it.”
“Open and shut, open and shut, that’s all I’ve been hearing. All right. I’m going to take a bath, and I’m going to sleep. You think maybe that’s all right with the police department?”
“Speaking for the police department, that’s perfect.”
Parker had another drink and took his hat and coat. “The boss is going to smell this on me, and the boss is not going to like it.” He sighed. “It’s all in the line of duty.”
One more drink, and he was gone.
I opened the windows and the curtains fluttered. I dimmed down the lights to a couple of lamps and I finished undressing. Naked, I turned the tap for the bath and I thought I heard the bell ring. I turned the water off. The bell was ringing. I knotted a towel around me and I went to the door ready to discourage more words of wasted advice from Parker.
It was Miami Moonbeam.
“Hi, lover.”
Tall and beautiful. Swaying slightly.
“Piffed. I’m piffed, lover.”
“Piffed?”
“Piffed. I lisp off the lower lip. Call it incandescent. Aren’t you going to ask me in?”
“Come in.”
She came in and dropped her coat to the floor and left it. “Why the sarong?”
“What?”
“The sarong. Looks good too. Maybe you ought to move the knot to the front.”
“Oh. Excuse me, Miami. I won’t be a second. I’ll change.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You look good like that. You look very good.”
She came close and put her arms around me. “No good,” she said. “Too tall. Wait a minute.” She kicked out of her shoes. “Three-inch spikes, to make me six foot three. I ain’t. I’m six. Let’s try it on for size again.” Back went her arms. “Good,” she said. “See?”
She slid her hands to my face and put her mouth to my mouth. The hands moved off my face and down my back and the hair of my head ridged and the towel fluttered. My arms came up around her, tight. So that’s when she shoved fingernails into my shoulders and declared it off.
“No, sir. We got a deal.”
“Big deal.”
“Big deal. Little deal. Deal.”
“Forget it.”
“Not me, lover. Deal’s a deal. And right now, don’t think I wish we didn’t have a deal.”
“Well—”
“No, sir, lover. Deal’s a deal. Know what I mean?”
“I know what you mean. Deal’s a deal.”
“That’s it. Deal’s a deal. Who told you?”
“I heard about it.”
“Good. Deal’s a deal.”
“Stop it. What is it, Miami? I mean, what’s the visit for?”
“Coffee. There is a good idea. Coffee. That’s what’s the visit for. I came to find out how you’re making out on the deal. Deal. Remember deal? Deal’s a deal. Let’s have coffee, lover. Love? There’s always love. But coffee …”
“Right. I’ll get my robe.”
“Oh, no you don’t. You look good, lover. Better than I thought. Muscles and everything. You don’t know how good you look, lover. Where’s the coffee?”
Later, four cups of coffee and a quick recovery later, Miami giggled on the couch, and I was prim in a bathrobe on a lonesome chair.
“Boy,” she said, “when you weather a Miami Moonbeam attack, you’re good. How’d you manage it?”
“I fought you off. Tooth and nail.”
“Yes, you did. Boy, I was loaded there for a while.”
“Piffed, I heard tell. What were you celebrating?”
“Sweetheart and me. We closed that business, that Atlantic City business, right here in town. Papers signed and all. We’re going to have one gorgeous hunk of joint out there.”
“That’s good enough cause for celebration.”
“Now, seriously, how’ve you done on our matter?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve been working on it. You’ve done something. Would you tell me?”
“Yes, Miami, I’ll tell you.”
I told her everything. I went all the way down the line from the beginning. I was summing it up for myself, and I hoped that perhaps she’d come up with something. When I was finished, she said, “You’ve been working, lover. You must be awfully anxious for a fee.”
“What do you think, Miami?”
“I think you deserve a fee.”
“I don’t mean that. I mean—right now, I don’t mean that. I mean, what do you think? Who do you like?”
“Petersen. If I was a detective, he’s for me.”
“Why, Miami?”
“He stood good with that dame dead. All right, suppose he does it.”
“How, Miami?”
“I don’t know how. Suppose, somehow, while she was in Mikvah’s place she called him and he came up and he did it. Now from what you say, Nottiby is a sucker for a dominant individual. Petersen sounds like one dominant individual. He also holds that note for twenty-five thou, which makes him a dominant individual with an extra dom, in spades. So suppose he calls Nottiby down there in the can and he says, ‘The dame got it in Mikvah’s apartment, so you bring Mikvah out, and I’ll take care of him too, and everybody’s home free. You’re rid of her, I’m rid of her, and the worst that happens to you is maybe a short jail sentence for springing the guy, but to sweeten that, I cancel you out on your note.’ Nottiby springs him, they go to Courvocco to get some money, the Mick picks up some of those tools, and they go to your place. With this guy Petersen right behind them all the time. He does it there in your apartment, and he and Nottiby leave. They go up to Nyack, and he does it to Nottiby too—and he’s out, all the way. That’s my man. Petersen.”
“So why would he be the guy that gives me the tip where I could find Nottiby?”
“So that you could find him. So that he could be found. So that the investigation closes, and it’s over.”
“You know how much of that we could prove, don’t you?”
“No.”
“None of it.”
“You asked me.”
“And you told me. I don’t know, Miami. Maybe the cops are right all around. If there was no dough in that safe, then I’m the wrong-o. That’s the only place I have it on them—money in that safe, no money on the Mick. Maybe there wasn’t—”
“There was. There always was.” She lit a cigarette. “That Johnny, that poor Johnny, he’d have been a wizard on that Atlantic City deal. I was thinking about that when we were signing the papers.”
I had it. Right there, suddenly, I had it. All of it.
“Go home, Miami.”
“What’s the matter with you?”
“Go home. I’ve got to get dressed. I’ve got things to do.”
She inhaled deeply, scowling. She rubbed out the cigarette and stood up. “Thanks for sobering me up. You’re certainly a queer one.”
“That’s what Annie said.”
“Who’s Annie?”
“I left that out.”
“Who’s Annie?”
“The girl that
took me up to Petersen’s apartment, where I found the note.”
“You know, you did glide over that. You’re not going to be unfaithful, lover, before unfaithful can be called unfaithful?”
“I’ll tell you when I figure that one out. Here’s your coat, what’s your hurry? Where’s Sweetheart?”
“What?”
“Sweetheart.”
“Home, I suppose.”
“You know his number, off hand?”
She gave me his number. I helped her on with her coat.
“Bye, Miami.”
“The hell with you, lover.”
I closed the door behind her and I leaned my forehead against the door and I stood there and I let it grow inside of me. I had it. I knew that. It jiggled a little, like champagne in an ice bucket, but it fit, like the same champagne in the same ice bucket. I dropped off the bathrobe. I dropped off the towel. Champagne in an ice bucket and soft music and bubbly lights and a beautiful blonde or a beautiful brunette or a beautiful redhead or a beautiful someone, but make it female, and the glow of champagne about you—have a picture for the camera lens: the romantic detective, real virile, with his case broken, but jiggling, daydreaming through a Scotch mist, nude against the door, cooling his forehead.
I called Sweetheart Vaydelle. “Sweetheart,” I said, “drop over to my place, will you? It’s very important.”
“What’s important?”
“Come on over, will you?”
“For what?”
“I’ve got news for you.”
“What about?”
“Johnny.”
Indecision came over the wire in a blurt of silence.
Then: “Right. Where are you?”
“Fifty-ninth near Sixth. It’s in the phone book.”
“Right.”
I bought myself a drink. I tried to work out a plan of action, strategy. It panned out an omelet. I threw it away. I went to the bathroom and I pulled the stopper on the tub, wistful. I rubbed down with alcohol (no cracks, critics). I dressed. I had about as much plan of maneuver as a cockeyed drunk on a runaway carousel snatching for a ring. I sat around and I waited for Sweetheart Vaydelle.
I called downtown to Parker.
“According to the last dispatches,” Parker said, “you were taking a bath. You were taking a bath and going to sleep. Remember? With the full approval of the police department.”