The Halfway to Hell Club

by MARK J. McCRACKEN

  He patted the Sarge on his good shoulder and moved to another emergency case that came in.

  We went to Tommy D’Amato and sat on each side of him. Tommy was pretty pale.

  Vinnie put a hand on his leg. “I know you feel low, kid. You pulled your service revolver and took a life tonight. I know it eats at you.”

  He turned and looked hard at Tommy. “You remember this more than anything: You saved a woman’s life. You saved your partner’s life. You did what you had to do. You were a cop tonight. I’ll ride in a prowl car with you anytime, anywhere, officer, and so will all the guys waiting in this room. I’m going over to the Sarge’s house and get his wife. You come along with me. Give me a minute first; I need to talk to Mr. O’Farrell.”

  The kid nodded and we went to the corner of the waiting room. All the cops there came over and slapped him on the back.

  “Did we do enough for Stella, or did we let her down?”

  “We did all we could, Vinnie. Some men can’t be helped or saved. Ralph was one of them.”

  Vinnie was thinking hard. “Do you think this Morehouse dame was in on her husband’s murder?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Well, so do I. I can feel it in my bones, Sean, this broad may not have done it, but she knew the score. For that, she is going in for questioning. I’m going to squeeze her until she pops, so help me God.”

  He put his hand on my shoulder. “But not tonight. Tonight Dr. Constance Morehouse is going to save two more lives. Come tomorrow, though, her ass is in a room and she’s mine.”

  CHAPTER FORTY

  Vinnie and the kid went to go pick up the Sarge’s wife at home. It suddenly occurred to me that I didn’t have a ride, and there was no reason for me to hang around.

  I was getting ready to shove off and was standing just outside the side door of the emergency room having a butt when that young doctor came out for what looked like the same purpose. He was no older then twenty-five or six, fresh out of medical school. He had a baby face, and he didn’t look old enough to shave yet. But it has been a long day for everyone and he looked tired and weary. I held up my pack of Luckies and offered him one. He smiled ear to ear as I struck a match and fired the kid up.

  “You look tired doc, long day? I said.

  He shook his head in the affirmative. “I swear it’s like we were giving away free medical care today.

  “How so?”

  “We have had two bar fights, two car crashes, an accident down on the piers with a crane, an old Model T that thought it could outrun a cable car at an intersection, and now the cop, and the lady victim. I have been up over thirty hours straight.”

  “That was pretty nice things you said about Doctor Morehouse, is she that good?” I said fishing around.

  The young doctor was not playing along, his yap was shut tight, he was a smart kid. He stuffed out his butt and started going back in without a word.

  “Look doctor I’m a detective, I’m not some janitor hanging around the water cooler looking for two cent gossip. I need to know about this Doctor Morehouse.”

  The kid turned around and was thinking things over. He wasn’t saying yes and he wasn’t saying no. He just stood there, I didn’t push him. Finally he piped up. “Got another smoke pal?”

  I fixed the kid right up. He inhaled down to the bottom of his lungs and he seemed to relax a little. He was looking down, ran his fingers through his hair and nodded to himself that he had made up his mind. He gave a hard long stare.

  “Okay he said.” First the kid looked around and over both shoulders making sure no one was listening in. He leaned in and lowered his voice. “I wasn’t kidding, if I was that cop I would want Doctor Morehouse working on me, PERIOD!”

  He looked over both shoulders again gripped in either fear or paranoia, probably both. “She may be the most talented surgeon on the planet, but that twist is one stone cold bitch.” He dragged on his smoke.

  “Really?” I said.

  “Look most doctors are uptight and hard to please. Surgeons are known for being almost maniacal, but she is heartless.”

  I asked him what he meant by that.

  “Okay you know how guys talk about broads and getting laid every chance they get?

  “Sure” I said. “What gee doesn’t?

  “Morehouse is creepy. There was this intern named Jacobs, he worked here in the ER, good doctor. He was single and Morehouse didn’t know he was alive. The guy got married and next thing you know old Connie is after the guy, morning, noon, and night. After a couple of months of softening this idiot up, she got a few drinks in him and the next thing you know he’s nailing her in her office. One screw and she was done with him.”

  “You are right doc that is pretty cold.”

  “That’s nothing, Jacob’s wife got an anonymous letter in the mail clueing her in. Next thing you know Jacobs wife leaves him. He swears that it was Morehouse that sent the letter.”

  “I gave the doc a knowing nod.

  “Okay you hear one story, its rumor. You hear a second and you start to listen. There was a Negro orderly called Darnell. I was going up the stairs to the second floor when I saw Darnell screwing Morehouse from behind in the stairwell, she has her skirt up around her waist, and she was holding on to the handrail for dear life as he was giving it to her, and good. I just froze there, they couldn’t see me, but I just wanted to crawl away and hide. I didn’t what to make any noise so I stayed hidden under the stairwell. When they were done she told him “Fuck break is over back to work.” I heard the second floor stairwell door open and slam and went back the way I came.” The young doctor looked white.

  “Anything happen after that?” I asked.

  “The very next day, Doctor Morehouse went to the hospital administrator and she told him that she saw Darnell steal some money out of a patient’s room. He fired him on the spot.

  “Jesus, that’s cold.” I said. “Let me be the devil’s advocate here. Was Darnell stealing from patients? I said.

  “Not a chance, but this is the super twisted part of this whole damn thing.”

  “What is?”

  The kids swallowed hard. “I have been here for one year. Ever since I have been here, little piddily stuff goes missing from patients rooms. Compacts, lipsticks, lighters, little stuff. I don’t give it a second thought, then one day this eighty year old woman is checking out and she is tearing her room apart. She claims she brought her late husband’s pipe lighter. She didn’t smoke, she just wanted it near her.” He looked at me. “You ever seen one.”

  “I think so, is it the kind you pull apart and there is a round hole that fits over the pipe”

  “Exactly” the kid smiled. “The lady described it to me. Gold, with brown leather on both sides, and two green emeralds that join together when it is closed.

  “Two months later I’m in Morehouse’s office getting my ass chewed and she lights a smoke with guess what? The kid held up his flat palm for me to guess.

  “Don’t tell me a gold pipe lighter with brown leather and emeralds.” I said.

  “The doctor smiled.

  I lite another smoke for myself and then it hit me, when did I lose my lighter? Shit it was at Connie Morehouse’s place.

  I caught a cable car down to the wharf to get something to eat. It was two in the morning and only Molly’s Diner would be open this late. I was all keyed up and needed something to eat. I jumped off the cable car by the docks, a block from Molly’s.

  A cold breeze came off the water, giving me a damp chill. I turned up the collar of my wool overcoat. It was a little foggy and it started to drizzle. I lit a butt and was tossing the match when I heard the noise. At first I thought it was a cat crying. Then I heard laughter, several men in a group. I made my way to the docks, closer to the sound. A blood-curdling scream pierced the night, followed
by more laughter.

  I unbuttoned my overcoat and suit coat, and quietly drew a .45 with my left hand. I let it hang down at my side. What I saw in the middle of the pier under a shabby lamp made me sick.

  Madison Cooper was hanging on a massive fish hook that was suspended from a wire secured between two iron bars. A fish scale was under his feet. The hook was in his overcoat and suit coat, right behind his collar. It might have been in his shoulder, I couldn’t tell for sure. His nose was bleeding and he had a cut over his right eye. His hat was crushed on the dock and his shoes were three feet above the pier. He was swinging back and forth, his face frozen in terror.

  The five men around him were some pretty tough-looking longshoremen. They were all dressed in black trousers, black turtleneck sweaters and black watch caps. A couple of them had on pea coats. The tallest one had some kind of wooden bat and was hitting Cooper in the side like the reporter was a Mexican piñata.

  “Come on, Crusher. Hit the nosy little turd again,” a bald fat one said.

  The tall one stuck the bat under Cooper’s chin.

  “All right, shorty, I’ll ask you again: What are doing down here poking into union business here on our docks?” He brought the bat down and hit Cooper in his side.

  Cooper was pleading. “Please don’t hit me anymore. I’ll leave and never come back.”

  The bald man opened his pea coat and pulled out a long serrated knife from a sheath. “Don’t worry, shorty. We know you won’t ever be back again.” He smiled a wolfish grin. The others laughed as he raised the knife between Cooper’s legs.

  “Evening, boys,” I said.

  They all turned and faced me. The tall one did the talking.

  “This is a private dock. Shove off,” he said.

  I held the .45 behind my leg so they couldn’t see it.

  “That gee looks like he weighs a buck fifty. Do you think all five of your mutts can handle him by yourselves?” I said.

  The tall one wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  “This newsie was poking around in a place he ought not to be poking around. Take a walk, pal. This is none of your business.” He spit on the dock and gave me a menacing look.

  I was looking at their leader when I noticed every pair of eyes shifting to my right. I could feel someone creeping up behind me. I brought out the .45 and pointed it at the crowd.

  “If the guy behind me doesn’t move to my front, one of you rummies is going to walk with a limp for the rest of their life.”

  I pulled the second .45 and aimed it at the leader.

  “I guess we’ll all start calling you Hopalong.”

  The leader threw up his hands. “Jesus, Wally, come out from behind there before the gee shoots.”

  A gaunt black kid came out of the darkness and joined his buddies, doing his very best to look tough. He had a long knife in his hands. I told him to drop it. He didn’t. I squeezed off a round. It went into the wooden pier post between the black kid and the leader. Splinters flew through the air. All six longshoremen dropped to the dock and covered their heads.

  “Jesus, mister, you don’t have to shoot. We’ll leave the newsie alone,” the kid said.

  I put one .45 away. “Get on your feet and start walking, all of you. Anybody turns around and I’ll drop you where you stand.”

  They scrambled to their feet, and backed away down the pier and into the fog.

  The leader had a little starch left in him. “What’s your name, pal?” he said.

  “O’Farrell,” I said.

  The leader pointed at me. “Next time you come down here and mess in our union business, we’ll boil your mick ass like a potato.” He gave himself a satisfied smile.

  I fired another round into wooden sign directly over his head. The sign said LONGSHOREMEN ONLY. The pieces fell on his head and shoulders.

  “Thanks for the tip, pal.” I said.

  They drifted away. I waited about a minute to make sure they were really gone before taking a small barrel and placing it next to Cooper. I jumped on top and put my arms around his waist.

  “Cooper, are you hurt? Anything broken?”

  Cooper was doing his best to keep it together, but he was in shock and scared to death. “I’m okay. Please get me down.”

  I lifted as high as I could and took his weight off the hook. “Cooper, can you reach behind your head and get the hook out?”

  It took him a few tries to get it out, but he eventually worked the hook free. I was busy looking over my shoulder, making sure the welcome wagon didn’t come back. I lowered Cooper to the ground. His legs didn’t hold him up. He slid to the dock with his legs splayed out. He tried to reshape his stomped fedora, but it was pretty much a lost cause. Slowly he started to stand. At first he leaned on me, then the post. After a couple of minutes, I offered him a butt. His hands were too shaky to light his lighter, so I took it from him and lit his smoke. He took a deep drag and held it. He exhaled and seemed to settle down.

  His hand was still shaking as he lifted the butt to his lips.

  “I thought I was dead for sure, O’Farrell. Thanks. I owe you my life.”

  “What the hell were doing down here anyway?” I said.

  “I was chasing a rumor that the longshoreman’s union was going to strike the docks tomorrow. I was poking around, like the guy said.”

  I handed him what was left of his fedora. “Come on, Cooper, I’ll buy you a coffee.”

  We walked the block over to Molly’s Diner. Cooper looked up at the neon sign and gave me a funny look. “O’Farrell, this is a cop diner. I’m not exactly welcome here.”

  I gave him an impatient look. “Come on, Cooper. They don’t bite.”

  We strolled in and the place was almost empty. Breakfast, lunch, or dinner, it was the same menu, twenty-four-seven. It was a greasy spoon, but it was clean, and there really was a Molly. Her old man was a cop who was killed in the line twenty years ago. Cops from all over town came to Molly’s. They came before shift, after shift, after church, after poker. Cops never forget the fallen.

  Cooper and I grabbed a couple of stools. Tommy O’Mara, a brother Knight, came to the register to pay his tab. He was in uniform, either coming or going on duty.

  “Hey, Sean, how you doing, lad?” he said.

  I gave him a short wave. “Hi, Tommy, how’s tricks?”

  “Doing well, Sean. If I were you”—he gave Cooper a hard look—“I’d find better company than this piece of shit.” He didn’t wait for a response. He said goodnight to Molly, took his hat off the rack, and found the front door.

  Cooper was a little dejected; it had not been a good night for him. “I told you, O’Farrell, I wasn’t welcome here.”

  “First off, call me Sean. Second, I’m sorry Tommy was hard on you, but you earned your reputation. It’s up to you to change it.”

  He gave a little chuckle. “Easier said than done.”

  “What do your friends call you?”

  He shuffled a little. “I don’t have many friends, but my old buddies used to call me Coop.”

  “Well, Coop, my old man was not very tall,” I said. “He was sensitive about it; he was so worried about it that he took every comment and slight to heart. He could be a mean little bastard. When I got into high school, he changed. He made a decision to not let it bother him ever again. And I’ll be damned, I never heard another person every mention it again. I never saw my old man come unglued like he did when I was little.”

  Cooper was listening, taking it all in. I lit a fresh smoke as the counter man refilled our coffees.

  “Look, I read your paper every day, front to back. I read every article you write. You are a great writer. But you go negative about everything. You can see in your articles that you are pissing people off. Even when you write a great story you end up in the used-car section buried in the back. You g
ot to give a little to get a little in this world. If you wrote about the good that cops do occasionally, you won’t be treated the way O’Mara just did.”

  I tossed fifty cents on the counter. “Coop, I’ve never seen an article by you on the front page. If you go up there, you get your picture and byline plastered there for everyone to see. You deserve a lot better than hanging on a hook down at the docks.”

  I told him I had to get home. He said he was going to stay for a while, that would walk home from here. He thanked me again. I turned up my collar as the wind tried to take my fedora. As I walked by the front window, Cooper was looking into the mirror behind the counter. The wheels were turning. If there was hope for Madison Cooper, only time would tell.

  CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

  The next morning, I was pouring cream in my coffee when Vinnie knocked on the door.

  “Want some eggs, Vinnie?”

  “Absolutely. I only got four hours of sleep, but it’s better than no hours of sleep.”

  I poured Vinnie a cup of coffee and started another pot brewing. “Everything okay at home, pal?”

  “Yeah, I’d rather take the family to church, but duty calls. Connie Morehouse has been in surgery all night. She will be done with the Sarge around ten. I have a little gift from Judge Reinholt.”

  Vinnie held up a search warrant.

  “While the good doctor is slicing and dicing, I have four inspectors rummaging through her house. Do you want to come along and help search that yellow boat of hers?”

  “You never take me anywhere anymore,” I said.

  “I’ll take that as a yes. When she is done, I’m dragging her down to the station for the questioning. I figure I’ll get her while she is tired. Maybe I’ll get lucky and she won’t have a scumbag lawyer on a leash who comes running when we get her in a room.”