by Jack Lynch
He didn’t answer right away. His jaws worked slowly in a random pattern and he stared at the foot of the bed. “Well, Mr. Bragg, you have a way of getting to the heart of things.” He raised up on his good elbow with some difficulty. “Close that door over there.”
I closed it.
“This is my suggestion. I couldn’t prove it right now, of my own knowledge, but I know it in my heart. And an investigation of the bank’s activities and holdings might prove it. I have had a routine of processing enough transactions to know that something like this is taking place.”
“Like what, Mr. Morton?”
“Mr. Slide has ambitions to move on to bigger things, Mr. Bragg. Like the action in Las Vegas.”
“I’ve heard that.”
“He has come close two or three times, I believe, and after the last unsuccessful attempt I believe he made certain arrangements with certain parties, to ensure his success the next time he might try. As you might be aware, there have been government investigators concentrating again on Las Vegas in recent months. They suspect that it has become an important center of financial activity to organized crime. And I’m not talking about the fleecing that goes on out on the casino floors, Mr. Bragg. I’m speaking of the laundry that operates elsewhere.”
And then I knew what caused Carl Slide’s stomach muscles to go slack when he thought about outside probers. “Stolen securities?”
“Absolutely, Mr. Bragg. Absolutely. There have been millions of dollars worth of securities stolen in this country that haven’t surfaced. They haven’t surfaced because they become valuable again without exposing the holders by being posted as securities for loans. Some of them make their way to Europe, but not all of them by any means. You can bury them for forty years by posting them for loans.” He was growing weaker, and lay back down on the bed.
“You think Slide has been doing that at the bank here in town?”
“I am certain of it. There is a quirk or two in this state’s banking laws that would make it easier here than in lots of other places. As I said…a thorough investigation…”
He closed his eyes and swallowed a couple of times.
“Mr. Morton, are you up to one more question?”
He nodded, with his eyes closed.
“Did you know a former policeman here named John Caine?”
His eyes blinked open. “Funny you should have heard about him. Yes, I knew him. And I think he suspected what Slide was doing. He made inquiries. I talked to him briefly. He was a little oblique in his approach. I didn’t know what he was getting at. Didn’t suspect it myself just then. It wasn’t until later.”
“I understand Caine was suspected in turn of accepting some kind of payoff money. I heard he had a special bank account! Could it have been at your bank?”
“Yes, but I’m a little hazy about that. I don’t remember who opened it, in Caine’s name. He might not even have known about it. But I do remember the man who made deposits to it twice a month regularly, in cash. He caught my attention on several occasions, and I asked around to see what he was doing. A rough-looking fellow.”
“Do you remember his name?”
“No, I can’t think of it now. He was a big fellow. Dressed colorfully. I believe he was some sort of henchman for another unsavory character who used to live here. Fellow named Barker. He owned the Truck Stop before Ma Leary took over.”
“Would you remember if they called the big fellow who made the deposits Moon?”
He smiled weakly. “Yes, that was it. Funny name. Fearsome fellow with a funny name. Moon. That was it.”
The door behind me opened and nurse Cathy Carson stalked into the room with a hypodermic needle in her hand. She pushed me aside and shot something into Morton’s good arm.
“You ought to be ashamed of yourself,” she told me. “When I heard you were still in here talking to poor Mr. Morton I almost fixed one of these things for you,” she said, waving the needle under my nose. She ushered me out of the room and followed.
“You look cute in white. Does that mean you’re chaste?”
“I don’t flirt while I’m on duty. Why did you have to stay with him for so long?”
“There were things I wanted to know and that he wanted to tell me.”
“What sort of things?”
“All sorts. How is it going down in emergency receiving?”
“It’s quieting, somewhat. We’ve taken in ten of our local citizens and two policemen for gunshot wounds.”
“How about the outsiders shooting at one another?”
“We’ve had the bodies of five strangers brought in. No wounded. They must be looking after their own.”
“Not too bad for all the gunfire going on.”
“I hope it ends soon. We’re not used to this much activity.”
“I think it will. Outside law enforcement people have been sent for. Can you spare a couple more minutes?”
“For what?”
“Anything more you can tell me about the day Burt Slide was shot. You said the ex-cop, John Caine, brought him in. Burt was unconscious. Caine had been drinking. Caine witnessed the shooting and said Burt started it. What else can you remember? What else did Caine say?”
She thought for a moment. “After they wheeled Burt Slide into surgery, Mr. Caine sat in a corner of the lobby. He looked very distraught. I went over to try comforting him. He said a funny thing. He said it was his fault.”
“The shooting?”
“I guess so. He said the girl, Theresa Moore, had phoned him and warned there was apt to be trouble when Mass let out. He tried to get there in time to stop it, but was too late.”
“So Caine knew Theresa Moore too.”
“Oh, yes. She got into some minor scrape a few years back. Mr. Caine sort of took her on as his own responsibility. His wife was still alive then. They let the girl live with them for a few months.”
“When was all of this?”
“Quite a long time ago. I don’t remember if I was even out of high school then.”
“You don’t look as if it could have been all that long ago.”
“Now you’re flirting again, Mr. Bragg.”
“What else is a guy to do around here?”
I followed her back down to the reception area. Her crisp white uniform didn’t detract at all from her appearance. I wondered why it was I had to run into her just then in my life. Back in San Francisco was slender, impish Bobbie, who wanted to make me feel boy-girl silly. And I think she could somehow manage that. And here was nurse Cathy Carson with her dark, wise eyes, efficient, smart and playful. I’d always been a lousy juggler when it came to women. I hunched my shoulders, figuring I was setting myself up for some hilarious trouble, but thinking it might be worth it.
Cathy walked over to a desk at a nursing station to speak with the people there, then came back and walked outside with me.
“It looks as if the good guys are going to win,” she said. “None of the gunshot victims are in danger any longer.”
“That’s good news. Maybe you could take some time off, then.”
“Maybe.”
“You could even consider coming up to San Francisco and letting me show you around, maybe.”
“I’m a very independent woman, Mr. Bragg. I can consider almost anything. It would all depend.”
“What on?”
“Different things. You really are serious about this, aren’t you?”
“I think I am.”
“What sort of hospital insurance do you have?”
It made me blink, but the face with the wise eyes wasn’t giving any clues as to why she had asked. “I don’t have any.”
“Why not?”
“I’m healthy as a horse. It’s expensive. I don’t have a boss to share the cost of the premiums. And I don’t plan on getting hurt.”
She gave me a womanly little snort. “You may not plan on it, brother, but it looks to me as if it’s already happened one time not long ago. What is it you’re do
ing here in Sand Valley?”
“I’m trying to find out who’s been threatening the lives of people in San Francisco. Somebody from around here, I suspect. The most recently threatened person is a little girl. That’s Theresa Moore’s child. Whoever threatened her had earlier threatened a big lout named Moon. He’s the man who shot Burt Slide. Moon was murdered this last Monday. I came down here to try to put an end to it. Why do you want to know?”
“I have to have an idea about how far you might go in some directions. I’ll be candid with you, Mr. Peter Bragg. I would not, ordinarily, consider tripping off someplace to spend a few days with somebody I’ve known for such a brief time. But there is something unique about you. I think it might really be fun. And I’ve always wanted to explore the area around San Francisco. But I’m rather of two minds about it. I’m a little worried that having even a brief encounter with you could eventually do bad things to a girl’s head. At least this girl’s head.”
“Why is that?”
“The sort of work you do. I was very close one time to a boy who lived here in Sand Valley. He climbed on a jet plane one day, just like in the song, and flew to Vietnam. He didn’t come back. I don’t think I ever fully recovered from that. I wouldn’t want to experience anything the least bit like that again. Not ever.”
“I could understand your feeling that way about a regular cop, maybe. But it’s not the same for a private investigator. We get to pick and choose the risks we take.”
“And what sort of risks do you pick and choose?”
“It depends.”
“What if you think a little girl’s life is at stake?”
I shrugged. “I might take a little bigger one than normally.”
She leaned back against the front of the building, her arms folded across her tidy chest. All she said was, “Yes, Peter, I think we’ve hit on it.”
“Look, Cathy, I’m not suggesting a profound and disturbing relationship. I can’t handle those things any longer. I just thought we could spend a pleasant few days together. A little time in the sun at Stinson Beach. Lingering cocktail hours. Some cha-cha-cha in the Venetian Room at the Fairmont. Cable car rides, the view from Telegraph Hill. A ferry boat ride on the Bay. A climb up Mt. Tamalpais. Maybe a little time in each other’s arms.”
“I’m telling you up front, Peter. I’d just be a little bit afraid of making love with a person who two hours later might be lying in a cold metal bin in the coroner’s office.”
“I wouldn’t work while you were in town.”
“But sometimes things from the past have a way of looping into your life again when you least expect them. From clear out of the ballpark, as you men might say. It happens to me. It must happen to you as well.”
“Sure it does. But if you’re not careful you can slip in the shower and brain yourself too. I try to be that careful, all the time.”
“I hope so, Peter. Really. But I’ll have to think about it some more. Try to give me a call before you leave town, huh?”
“Sure.” I watched her go back inside, took a deep breath and headed for my car. Someday, I knew, it was going to happen. Someday, right in the middle of a job I was doing for some troubled sap, I was going to say to hell with it and go out and get a normal job again, just like other people. Someday. But for right then I had to take one of those little risks Cathy Carson had been asking about.
EIGHTEEN
I parked a block away from the Sky Lodge and hiked around to the loading dock for my normally furtive entrance. I was beginning to feel like the guy who filled prophylactic machines in the men’s room. The place was back in business, more or less. The casino was patched up and operating. A temporary plywood front had been put up in place of the glass in the lobby. Some large characters with bulges in their armpits were sitting around keeping an eye on things. There were new security measures in force. Guards blocked all the stairways leading upstairs to the mezzanine. I didn’t have much choice. I used a house phone to call Slide’s office. I think my brashness was beginning to intrigue him.
“I assume you’re calling from about a hundred miles down the road, Bragg.”
“No, Slide, I’m right here in the house again. I have to talk to you one more time. By my reckoning, I have another few minutes before your guys are supposed to hang me out to dry.”
“That’s right, but it doesn’t mean we have anything to talk about.”
“I think we do. I hear tell you run a laundromat for some people in Las Vegas.”
What could he do besides sit and suck air through his teeth for a while?
“All right, you bastard, come on up.”
I was intercepted in the hallway and relieved of both the handguns I’d been dumb enough to carry. Then they led me down to Slide’s office. Three mugs occupied all the extra chairs in the room. Nobody stood up to offer me one of them. I nodded to Slide and sat on one corner of his desk.
“Dumb,” I told him.
“What?”
I indicated the room with a wave of my hand. “I should think you would have moved your command post. You’re lucky you weren’t in when the bully boys swept through this morning. They must know this is where you hang your hat, from what they did to the poor cat. If they come back…”
Slide stared at the ceiling and took a deep breath. He told one of his aides to check at the downstairs desk to see what was available. The messenger got up and left. I sat in his chair.
“Just so you know where we stand,” Slide told me, “I hate your fucking guts. But you are smart, I’ll give you that. Want these guys to leave?”
I leaned forward with elbows on my knees. “Frankly, Carl, I don’t care whether they do or not. Because I don’t think any longer that my business touches on theirs—meaning yours. That laundromat I mentioned on the phone, I’m not here about that.”
“How did you get on to that, by the way?”
“You know better than to ask. Carl, you’re classic. You’re just like Armando. Heavy-handed, blunt and suspicious. And I’m not any more interested in seeing you again than you are in seeing me. The only thing I’m interested in is how to make the world just a little more secure for a little girl in San Francisco. And for that reason, I had to come back and talk to you one more time about your brother Burt, and a girl named Theresa.”
Slide did something with his eyebrows that prompted the other two gents in the room to get up and leave.
“Let’s get it over with,” he told me.
“I’ve heard some rumors. That maybe a story about Theresa Moore having a husband in the Army who got wasted in Nam was just that. A story. I heard some gossip that maybe the baby girl was Burt’s.”
A faint color spread across Slide’s cheeks and reached for his throat. Other than that he didn’t react.
“If that were true,” I continued, “maybe you would have an urge to help me in my job even more. Because I never lied to you about what my job here is. It’s to keep that girl from harm. And if she really was your brother’s daughter, that would make you her uncle.”
“But I’m not,” he said quietly. “I would be her uncle if I were Armando’s brother, not Burt’s.”
I sat back in my chair. It didn’t make sense for Armando not to have told me that. “You’re saying Armando is the child’s natural father, not just her stepfather?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying. It’s why my brother is dead. Why I couldn’t do anything about him being dead. It’s just one of those—tragedies, you know, like they make those tearjerk soap operas out of. Only it really happened.”
“Will you tell me about it?”
“There’s not much to tell. The Sunday morning it happened, I was here in the office working. My brother and Armando both had been chasing after this Theresa Moore. I couldn’t understand it, myself, but you know how it is with girls. Some attract certain guys. She attracted those two. She had for years. I was glad when she left town. Burt met another girl and married her, but it didn’t last. When Theresa Moore cam
e back to town with the little girl, I prayed that Burt wouldn’t get mixed up with her again. Aside from that one conflict, Armando and I managed to do our own thing without getting in each other’s way. But within a week of Theresa Moore being back in town it was like old times. It went on that way for several months, then that Sunday morning Burt stormed in here like a madman.
“He’d just been out to see Theresa. By then she was pretty thick with Armando, and wasn’t seeing much of Burt. Armando was brought up in the church, though, and he still went to Mass on Sundays. So it was a good time for my brother to stop in and visit Theresa. This Sunday she told Burt he’d have to stop seeing her. She told him she and Armando planned to get married. Burt tried talking her out of it. That’s when she let him have it right between the eyes. She told him the baby girl was Armando’s child.”
He hunched around in his chair some before continuing. “He stormed in here, Burt did, half crazy. He told me what Theresa had told him, got a pistol out of the safe and steamed on out. I tried to stop him, but he was not stoppable that morning. I went after him, but it was all over by the time I got to the church. Moon went everywhere Barker went, so of course he was at the church too. Mass was letting out when Burt had got there and made his dumb play. People who saw it say Burt got off a couple of shots in Armando’s direction. They say Moon even yelled at him to stop shooting, but Burt ignored him. It goes to show how you shouldn’t get into the shooting business when you’re so upset. Burt was pretty good with a gun, most times. Anyhow, Moon finally shot him. Just once. And there wasn’t anything I could do, you know? I’d lost my brother, but who could I blame? Theresa, maybe. But before long it became common knowledge that she wasn’t going to live much longer. So that was that. There wasn’t anyone I could hate, even. It’s hard, when your brother dies that way, and you can’t have someone to hate.”
“You don’t hate the little girl, do you?”
“Of course not,”
“Then level with me. Is she really the reason why Lou and Soft Kenny went to San Francisco? And who hired them?”