Killer Mine (3 page)

He said, “Hey, cop,” and when I looked around he shifted the cigar with a tongue roll to the other corner. “You looking to get your badge lifted, you’re in the right place. You know that?”

I grinned at him and felt Marta touch my arm lightly. “No, I didn’t know that.”

One big thick forefinger came up to emphasize the point against my chest. It’s one of the things I can’t stand at all. It’s something a hell of a lot of people learned never to do. The second he touched me I grabbed, twisted and broke it straight back without moving his arm and before the amazement ever reached his face I hooked him one under the chin and he bit the damn cigar right in half.

I tapped Marty. “Who is he, sugar?”

Before she could answer the bartender said, “Al Reese, mister. You bought trouble. He’s important. This is his district.”

I said, “Oh,” and grabbed hold of Al Reese’s shirt. “You know me, Reese?”

He tried to bring back the sneer when I slapped him. It was a nice, loud slap, but I had the heel of my hand in it and his knees jerked.

“I asked you something.”

This time he nodded.

“Say it loud, fat man. Let everybody hear you.”

“Lieutenant Scanlon.”

“Louder.”

It came out louder and hoarser.

“You know what I think of slobs like you?”

I was getting the hand ready when he nodded again.

“Anybody pulls any crap on me like this again and I’ll brown you all out. I come from this place. I know the rules. When I don’t like ’em I make up new ones. Maybe you played with some of the easy boys too long. Don’t try it with me.”

I let him go and he staggered away, clutching his hand against his chest. Both sides of our spot at the bar were empty now. Down the other end one guy in a grey suit was watching with amused, knowing eyes. Loefert, from the uptown mob.

Marty took a small sip of beer and touched her mouth nervously. “That was rough, Joe.”

“You’ve seen it before, kid.”

“But now you’re
department.”

I grunted and picked up my brew. “Lesson one. Don’t be afraid of letting them know who you are. They move first… then you move, only do it harder. Once these pigs get the bull on you, neither the department, nor the uniform, nor the gun is any good.”

“But…”

“We’re not in happy town, kid. This isn’t a cross section of normal middle class morality.”

“I live here, Joe. So do… did you.”

“Sure, and now for lesson two. We’re on a job and you’re in the department too so stop moralizing.”

For a moment she stiffened, then when she saw me laughing at her in the mirror she smiled back. “I’ve been in juvenile too long.”

“I know. You’ve had to be nice to everybody. You’ve forgotten your heritage here though. In these parts it’s the tough guy who has all the friends. Remember?”

“Too well.”

“Come on, finish your beer and let’s go up to your place. The icebox full?”

“It’s a refrigerator, and yes it’s full.”

“Then let’s go make like a romantic couple should.”

Her eyes brightened mischievously. “What’ll we do?”

“Eat, of course,” I said. “Hell, we’re cops, aren’t we?”

CHAPTER THREE

I STOOD by the window thinking of my own comfortable bachelor quarters overlooking the Drive. The sun’s passage over the canyon of the street had been brief, and now it lay in deepening shadows.

Behind me, Marty put the last of our notes away and poured from the fresh pot of coffee. She handed it to me silently, then watched the scene with me for a while.

“Thinking it’s pretty terrible?” she asked.

“No. Just that it’s three dimensional. From here the city is sight, sound and smell.”

She shrugged and nodded. “But it’s home.”

“I prefer it a little more antiseptic.”

“You’re an old man and set in your ways.”

I looked at her with the coffee halfway to my mouth. “Like hell!”

“Oh?” Those wild Irish eyes of hers went up and down me intently. “Most bachelors are out sowing. Not you. A fancy apartment, your own car and money in the bank. Duty comes first. For fun you take on extra assignments.”

“How did…”

“I asked around, old buddy. Your friends told me.”

“So?”

“So you’re an old man and set in your ways. No real fun. No broads.”

“Listen, I got broads. I got…”

“You got mad,” she laughed.

Then I stopped and laughed too. “Well, like I said, it’s been pretty antiseptic. The things I wanted on a cop’s salary you have to make the hard way. You can do it easy too, but that puts you in another class I’m not interested in.”

“They told me you were offered some fancy jobs.”

“Unfortunately, then I just plain wanted to be a cop.”

“Police officer.”

“Police officer hell,” I said. “That’s for the upper etch bugheads who hate honesty. I like to be called a cop. You know why? Because that’s what I am. Somebody yells, what do they yell? ‘Call the cops’ they yell. Not ‘call a police officer.’ You know what I am to those snot-nosed JD’s? I’m a cop, that’s what. Damn it, a
police officer
wouldn’t last ten minutes outside Traffic Division with that tag.”

“Okay, copper, okay. So I’m sorry. You ought to see your face, it’s all screwed up red and tight and if I wasn’t a broad you’d cream me, huh?” Her laugh was deep and throaty again and took all the annoyance away. I shook my head because I let her get me all riled up and turned and stared out the window again. Old Giggie. Jeepers. She put her coffee down and walked away.

On the street half a dozen kids fought for stickball right in the middle of the road. They hung up two cars, but the drivers were too intent in the fight to bother blowing their horns. It ended quickly as they always do, then the cars crawled by and the game started.

Marta came out of the bedroom then. The grey tailored suit was gone and now she was in a sheer green thing that seemed to shimmer in the light, and what she did to her hair changed her face somehow and I had to wonder where all the beauty came from. She was full and proud in the breasts, with a casual way of standing with one leg partly thrust out that accentuated the incredible curve of her hips. Like that, the fabric of the dress ran flat across her belly, yet made you aware of other hidden curves still more lovely.

“You like?” she asked.

“I like,” I said. “What’s it for?”

“To give you a good reason for being here.”

“It was good enough before,” I grinned.

She walked closer, swirled around so I could see the overall effect. “But better now, huh?”

I nodded. “Better now.” Then I grabbed her and pulled her close so I could smell the sweet scent in her hair and she was warm and hard against me, her fingers biting into my arm. Her mouth touched my mouth, warm and moist, the tip of her tongue soft and searching, saying hello after such a long, long time, a gentle touch because we were still new, even though very old.

I held her away and she smiled. “Nutty, isn’t it?”

“Yeah. I’m not sure I understand it.”

“Like this is nice work,” she grinned.

I said, “On the job training.”

She gave me that throaty laugh again, touched my lips with her finger and reached for her purse. She said, “We ready?”

I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to six and there was no time like the present. I nodded and said, “Let’s go.”

 We picked Tony’s Pizza for supper because René Mills had made it his special eatery. Nothing fancy about it, but Tony would put anybody from the neighborhood on the cuff. The old man remembered me with a black-faced nod not intended to be personal, but prohibition raids had long ago soured him on any kind of cop.

Fat Mary came over beaming and smiling, then patted me on the head like she used to do when she gave me a slice of hot Italian bread, thick with butter, for running errands for her.

When the sausage and peppers came Mary dished it up herself and sat down opposite me, nodding with satisfaction as we ate. She liked to see people eat.

She said, “Now, Joe, you come back to see thees nice girl, no?” She didn’t let me answer. “That is good. Very good. Long time thees nice girl should be marry. How to have the babies without the marry, no?”

“Well…”

She waggled a fat finger at me. “No. You marry first! Like I tell…”

But Tony broke it off. “Like you tell nobody. You let them eat, okay?”

Mary laughed so that her chins jiggled, then she reached over and patted my hand. “You a good boy, Joe. Now, how about rest of your family, eh? That crazy brother of yours still around?”

“I haven’t seen him in a long while, Mary.”

“Oh, he a funny one. Remember when he make believe he hang that kid and I scream and fall down the steps?”

Marta looked at me, puzzled. “The Davis kid,” I explained. “They made this harness to go under his clothes, but it looked like he really was hung.”

“Oh.”

Mary’s face drew into a stern grimace. “Not so funny yet. On the back I am all black and blue. Good thing I am there to see.”

“Why?”

“Thees things they made to hold him up. One broke and he really was hanging.” She shuddered. “For minute his face get red, his tongue come out. I take him down and I give that brother of yours one hell of a sock. Make his nose bleed. I was going to tell your papa, but he cry so I say nothing.”

“First time I heard about that part of it.”

“What was his name, what you called him? Something Indian.”

“Chief Crazy Horse. A Sioux, I think. Big war leader under Sitting Bull.”

“Oh, I tell you plenty things from them days.”

Behind the bar Tony said, “Yak, yak. You let them eat, woman.”

I winked at the old man and he scowled back friendly-like. Mary looked hurt, so I said casually, “See where René Mills died.”

“No die.” She hunched her heavy shoulders in a shrug. “He was killed.”

“Yeah. Shot. Lots of that going on around here,”

“Always trouble, Joe. You know that.”

“René making it big here?” She understood me, but waited a long moment before acknowledging it. “Not so big like he talked always. Big shot, that guy. Always talking about them… them
shooters.
His friends. Huh!”

“He always had a big mouth,” I said. “Who’d he say his buddies were?”

Her typical Italian gesture was eloquent. “Who cares? Tough guys he likes. Always somebody in the papers who got trouble is his pal.”

“He didn’t have any loot around when he died.”

“Always broke, that one. He pays his bills. Sometime take a month, but he come across.”

“You’re lucky,” I said.

“What the cops do about it, eh, Joe?”

It was my turn to shrug. “He’s on the books. Something’ll turn up.”

Her wise black eyes looked into me. “Like you maybe?”

I put down my fork. “Mary, I’m brass. I’m a lieutenant. You think I’m going to do legwork in this part of town?”

“So?”

“So let ’em shoot each other up all they want to. I’m going to make a pass at this mouse here and try to snag her out of this place.”

Mary said, “Some mouse,” and Marta jabbed me with her fork under the table. “Joe, no foolin’. You gonna do somethin’ ’bout René?”

“What for?”

“You cop. We pay taxes and…” From behind the bar Tony growled in his usual way. Mary gave him a dirty look.

I said, “The cops were here and asked all the questions, weren’t they?”

“Sure. They come. They ask. We tell. But what? Who knows from what, Joe? From a kid, like you, I know that one. He’s what they call a sharpie. So what else?”

“Nothing else. What else is there?”

She drummed her fingers on the table top and pursed her mouth in thought. Then her finger went up dramatically. “Wait. I think of something.” With a practiced motion she squeezed her bulk out of the seat and walked across the room with that peculiar lightness you sometimes see in fat people. A hurried talk in Italian with Tony got her yelled at, but she yelled back, then Tony rummaged around some papers beside his cash register and handed them to her. When she came back she laid them down and spread them open.

Marta and I looked at each other briefly. Mary said, “He left them here couple of nights before he get killed.”

One was a four-color brochure on new model Caddies. The other was the same, but for the Chrysler and it was folded back to the page showing the luxurious Imperial.

Mary was looking at me with raised eyebrows, waiting. I said, “He sure was thinking big, that’s for sure.”

She nodded. “This night he leave thees things, he pay his bill.”

“How much?”

“T’ree hundred fifty somethin’.”

“That’s pretty steep to go, isn’t it?”

“You know Tony,” she said. “Most of that thees René drink. Tony, he buy him plenty booze and bring it to his room just before that.”

“Oh?” I didn’t want to push her.

“Tells me bunch of guys up there. They don’t let him in. Just take the stuff and tell him pay later. You know Tony.”

“So they were playing cards maybe,” I said.

“Sure, maybe,” she said and all her curiosity left.

I paid the bill, said so-long to Mary and Tony and took Marta out of there. She was all primed for a big talk, but inside, couldn’t say anything that might have official sounding overtones. Now she wanted to talk and I wouldn’t tell her anything. I just walked beside her grinning to see how much she could take.

We hit a couple of bars then, saying hello here and there, finding some of the old bunch still around. I made no bones about being a cop, but by then the news had preceded us anyway so it didn’t make much difference. But one look at Marta and they knew I had a good reason to be around without wanting to get involved in police work. The winks were big and broad and I accepted them with a wink back.

It was a great cover. She spiked me with her damn heels a few times for pulling that stuff, but it was still real great cover.

At eleven-thirty I took her home, closed the door behind us and ducked the backhand she threw at me. I said, “You’re supposed to use Judo.”

“Oh, Joe!” But she had to smile. “I’m never going to ever be able to hold my head up around here any more.”

“Why? You knew all those people.”

“But I’m not a saloon jumper. Golly…”

“So we’ll teach the old dog new tricks.” This time the backhand got me before I could move out of reach.

Marta laughed, shook her head and said, “I’ll go make coffee and you can tell me how we’re doing. That is, if I’m allowed to know.”

I said okay and sat down.

“Now tell me,” she said.

“Not tell, sugar. Speculate. All we did was get seen around. All we speculate on is René Mills. Apparently he had some loot or was expecting some.”

“He always looked the part. I never saw him in anything other than the latest styles.”

“Sure,” I agreed, “and he paid his bills. Those guys could always go that far rolling drunks. What gets me were those auto ads. Who needs a car around here? The kids would make a playground out of it in one day. Taxis and subways are too easy.”

“He could have been just looking.”

“Those folders were worn. He did a whole lot of looking.”

“Somebody else could have had them first.”

“Uh-huh,” I agreed, “so we find out.”

It took ten minutes. With a half a dozen calls I found the Caddie and the Imperial dealer who remembered Mills.

Marta said, “Well?”

“He did the asking himself. He sounded serious.”

“René had something going for him then.” She walked over with coffee and a plate of Danish and held them out.

“Who knows? He could still be playing the big shot.”

We finished the snack and I looked at my watch. It was a quarter after twelve and I was beginning to drag. I got up, stretched and reached for my hat. Marta said, “Joe… it’s been fun, really.”

I grinned at her. “Work isn’t supposed to be fun.”

Her eyebrows went up. “You unhappy?”

“No. Come here.” She came into my arms with a smile and a soft little sound and a way of doing it that was as if we had been doing it all our lives. We seemed to touch all over at once, then when the hot fire of her mouth engulfed mine, the touch became a demanding, writhing pressure and when I pushed her away she shuddered briefly, then opened her eyes.

“Little Giggie,” I said.

“Big Giggie,” she reminded me. “Don’t do me like that or you’ll get bitten.”

“Never bite your superior officer,” I said.

“Then watch yourself,” she smiled. “Tomorrow?”

“In the afternoon. I have to go downtown first.”

“You know you’re leaving me in an awful mess,” she said with a sultry grimace. Then she looked at me and grinned broadly when I stepped back.

I opened the door. “That makes two of us,” I said.

On the way to the corner I saw Benny Loefert across the street talking to some chippy. I walked over and they stopped talking while I was still in the middle of the street. I said, “Turn around and put your hands against the wall, punk. You know the pose.”

The arrogance in his eyes turned to little snakes of hate and he spit, then turned slowly. I made it faster with a shove of my hand. A handful of up-laters stopped to watch and you could hear the whispers and sense the heads in darkened windows of the tenements.

I patted him down to his shoes, made him show his identification then gave him at ease. He said, “What’s that for? You know I don’t go loaded.”