The Halfway to Hell Club

by MARK J. McCRACKEN

  Righty and Lefty were still holding on me. Loc whispered in my ear.

  “We are sorry, boss. You weren’t going to stop this. Not now, not ever.” They released their grips.

  I looked at Mrs. Wang. “His murder will solve nothing.”

  Mrs. Wang was cool as gin and tonic.

  “I give you my word. Jimmy Chan will not be harmed; he will not be injured, or maimed in any way. He will also not be murdered. You have my solemn word on this fact. What Jimmy Chan will receive is justice.”

  Vinnie came back up in the elevator, hopping mad.

  “What the hell, Sean? There was no one down there. Where the hell did Chan go?”

  “He escaped, Vinnie.”

  “Escaped, my ass. You were sitting here. You had these two gorillas to stop him. Don’t bullshit, Sean. Where did he go?”

  I shrugged and looked at Mrs. Wang.

  “Silence is a friend that will never betray you,” I said.

  She smiled broadly. “Very, very good, Mr. O’Farrell. You quote Confucius. I am very impressed.”

  Vinnie walked over to the bar and called headquarters.

  “This is Inspector Castellano; I want to put out an all-points bulletin for a Jimmy Chan, description to follow.”

  I called out, “HEY, VINNIE.”

  He stopped talking and looked at me.

  “He’s gone, Vinnie, and we’ll never find him again. This is justice, Chinatown style.”

  Vinnie hung up the phone. Mrs. Wang gracefully exited the room. Vinnie and I were all alone. It was eight thirty in the morning. “Bartender, two Bloody Mary’s, please,” I said.

  Vinnie just sat in a stool next to me. We didn’t say anything. I started to drink my Bloody Mary.

  “How good of a buddy was Jimmy Chan to you, Sean?”

  “Jimmy who?”

  CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

  It was an interesting meeting. Vinnie and I were in the large conference room in Broadcreek’s office. The Chief of Police and Chief Inspector were there. Ashwythe and Dunderbeck were there as well. And there Vinnie and I were, on the skillet, getting a nice toasting. We told the story about three times each. Nobody liked it.

  Broadcreek was upset, but not so much.

  “You expect me to believe this crap? What happened to all this air of cooperation, Chief? I’m not all that upset with you, but it looks like O’Farrell and Castellano here went cowboy on us and decided to do this little act solo.”

  I’d had enough. “Look, pal, this thing took on a life of its own. How long have you been working this Chinatown caper?”

  His voice lowered and he said sheepishly, “About two years.”

  “Two years of the big goose egg. Let’s wrap this up so we are all clear here. Jimmy Chan murdered Mr. Wang. He got caught by his own people and they cleaned that mess up, period, end of story. There is nothing more to tell, and that’s just how the people in Chinatown want it.”

  After about five minutes of everyone in the room staying quiet, Chief Gallatin, Chief Inspector O’Malley, Vinnie, Bill and Bob got up and left quietly. It was just me and Bill Broadcreek.

  “I’m just a private dick. I don’t know much more than the average Joe. But I am going to make a couple of observations for you. You can throw them in the garbage can as soon as I leave. Mr. Wang is dead; his widow is running the show. His right arm, Jimmy Chan, is long gone. You keep trying to bring down the Wang organization and all that you’ll get is a bloodbath. It will be all-out war in Chinatown, like the Barbary Coast days when Wang set up shop. All the petty crooks, trying to take over Chinatown, killing each other and innocent civilians along the way.

  “I know you are supposed to get rid of organized crime in San Francisco, but you are missing the bus, pal. Wang and company are small potatoes now. Their organization is firmly in control of Chinatown. It’s about a twelve-block area. It’s everywhere else that’s up for grabs. The boys from Chicago got their hooks into the architect who designed the Oakland Bay Bridge. He designed all three of the new bridges in the Delta up to Sacramento. That’s contracts, construction, payroll and graft. And the mafia wants a big piece. They missed their opportunity on the Golden Gate Bridge; they won’t make the same mistake again. Prohibition is over; the mob wants new revenue streams. Their organization just doesn’t have broad-shouldered street thugs anymore. Organized crime is guys who went to Harvard, Yale and the Wharton School of Business. It’s a new organized crime.”

  I think I was getting through. Broadcreek wasn’t arguing.

  “I know it was you that nailed Al Capone. Eliot Ness got all the press, but he couldn’t do anything in a courtroom. That was your doing. It must be nice to know that every night when you go home on that ferry that old Al is scrubbing toilets, just another number?”

  Bill Broadcreek seemed to think for a moment, then spoke.

  “That son of a bitch murdered many good federal and local agents over the years. Many of them were my friends. I got a call from the warden on Alcatraz a couple of weeks ago. It seems old Al nearly got his throat cut for cutting into line at the barber shop. Just another number, just another convict. He’s a nobody now.”

  I got up to leave.

  “I’m sorry for all of this. I hope everything works out for your family, Mr. Broadcreek.”

  I extended my hand and he shook it.

  “You ever get tired of the private life, son, give me a call. You’d make an outstanding FBI agent.”

  I breezed. The rest of the day was mine. I went home and slept.

  Around one p.m., I got up and drove the Ford over to a body shop. It broke my heart, the condition she was in. The estimate was over one hundred and fifty bucks. Ouch!

  I spent the rest of the day at the office looking at bills and returning phone calls. Some woman wanted her cheating husband followed. I told I was busy for the next three to four weeks. I gave her the Pinkertons’ number. Like I need another Connie Morehouse type for a client. I took the cable car home at seven and read in bed till nine, and then it was lights out.

  In the morning I took a cable car to meet Vinnie for breakfast at Molly’s Diner. I worked on a cup of Joe and watched the place crawl with cops coming off duty. Molly was behind the counter, holding court and giving hell to all the rookie cops.

  Madison Cooper came in grabbed the stool next to me.

  “I’m not staying long, Sean. I’m sorry for being a jerk in Chinatown. I have to learn to keep my mouth shut and pick my spots.” He was looking at himself in the mirror.

  Cooper nodded to Molly and went to a stool at the end of the counter. A couple of the cops started giving him crap. Molly jumped right in with both feet.

  “You flatfoots button it up. Cooper’s all right. Don’t you mugs read?” She slapped a Chronicle down on the counter in front of the two cops. They started to read.

  Vinnie came in took the stool next to me.

  “What’s shaking’, Sean?”

  “I’m not sure, but let’s find out.” I said.” I gestured to Molly. She brought a cup and filled Vinnie’s and re-filled mine.

  “Hey, Molly, what’s in the paper the patrol guys are reading? Cooper have a story about the Chinatown murder last night?”

  She had a surprised look on her face. “No nothing like that at all. Did you two see the paper this morning?”

  We both shook our heads. Molly went over the cash register and got another paper. She slapped it down in front of us with the banner and headline in large letters: MURDER IN CHINATOWN.

  We started reading when Molly grabbed it off the counter.

  “You two mugs are reading the wrong article.” She flipped the paper over to the bottom half. The headline read, HERO COP SAVES PARTNER IN DOMESTIC SHOOTOUT. It had Madison Cooper’s byline. I guess he had found a better story, after all.

  It was a great article. It painted To
mmy D’Amato as a real hero, saving the life of his partner and an unconscious woman. Cool under pressure, he fired his service revolver an instant before the suspect could plunge a knife into the chest of Sergeant Patrick Mulligan. The article went to talk about the dangerous and thankless job that policemen do for the citizens of our fair city. There were a couple pictures from the crime scene and one of D’Amato helping lift the gurney into the ambulance. It was a real nice piece of work, the best I had ever seen from Cooper.

  “Gees, is this the same Cooper?” Vinnie asked.

  I smiled. “He doesn’t look so small all of a sudden, does he?”

  Every cop in the place shook Cooper’s hand and thanked him for the article. Vinnie laughed. “Who knows, Sean, there may be hope for this gee.”

  “I think you are correct, Inspector,” I said.

  Vinnie and I ate bacon and eggs, and downed more coffee. We talked about how much a wedding set was going to set me back at the jewelry store.

  When the hubbub died down, Cooper came over. “Hey, Sean, I forget to tell you something, if you have a minute.” He sounded sheepish.

  “Sure, Coop,” I said.

  He was nervous, he looked at Vinnie.

  “Inspector, I’m sorry for going into your daughter’s hospital room. It was a lowlife thing to do. I should have known better.” The kid swallowed hard.

  Vinnie put down his knife and fork.

  “You are right. It was a lowlife thing to do. I’ll be honest; I didn’t think much of you, but it took starch to walk in here and apologize in person. Nine out of ten guys don’t have that kind of guts.” Vinnie extended his hand and shook with Cooper.

  “Maybe I was wrong about you. By the way, it’s Vinnie, and that was a great article. Nice work.”

  He worked up a little more nerve. “Listen, the real reason I came over here was to give you both a tip. I know that you are both working that Morehouse killing. I did some digging and I found out something that might be of interest to you.”

  “Anything would be a help, Coop,” I said glad that he had changed the subject.

  “I was doing some background info on Morehouse and his wife. It was all pretty normal. Then I found out something funny. I found an article in the society pages ten or fifteen years ago announcing the engagement of Morehouse. It listed his soon to be wife’s name as ‘Constance Nagle.’”

  Vinnie shook his head. “So what?”

  Cooper lowered his voice. “Her medical degree is from Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore. She graduated as ‘Constance Miller.’ I called the Baltimore Sun paper and asked about Constance Miller or Nagle. Turns out Doctor Connie was married to another doctor named Miller; Nagle is her maiden name. Her first husband was shot three times with a small-caliber handgun, a supposed street mugging. The Baltimore Sun guy told me that the cops questioned old Connie for five days, till they were blue. They liked her a lot for it, but they had no evidence. The detective in charge, some gee named Kowalski, told me he was convinced that the good-looking doctor iced her hubby, but he just couldn’t prove it. After five days of questioning the DA told him to kick her loose, and she moved away. He told me something really creepy, guys.” Cooper broke out an evil toothy smile.

  “Okay, we give up, come on Coop, give,” I said.

  “He said the twist enjoyed it, that she was real sick, and he said she would do it again if she got the chance. He said he was absolutely sure she would kill again. That she got off on it, she liked it.”

  A chill went down my spine.

  CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

  We took the cable car down to Union Square, then walked down Ellis to Samuel’s Jewelers.

  “I was beginning to think you had changed your mind there, cowboy.” Vinnie said.

  “Fat chance of that,” I said.

  Vinnie and I looked over the rocks for four hours. It would have been be easier to swim to Alcatraz and back then spend all morning looking at jewelry. I picked a very nice set. Vinnie kept telling me I was too cheap and should get a bigger diamond. I asked him who died and left him a bucket of money.

  “Hey, pal, she’s a Knob Hill girl. You better hurt when this is over.”

  He was right. I bought big and it would hurt. I set up an account and payment schedule. My wallet needed to go to the emergency room for a transfusion.

  Vinnie and I walked across the street to John’s Grill. We went to the bar, and on the way I made reservations for dinner at six on Saturday. Believe it or not, I ordered only a Coke at the bar.

  Vinnie had some lingering thoughts.

  “I’m sorry, Sean. I kind of came off like you were part of the operation that allowed Jimmy to get away.”

  “Don’t apologize, Vinnie.” I told him what had transpired.

  “Crap, what did you figure they will do with him?”

  “I don’t know, but my guess is it won’t be pretty or fun for Jimmy.”

  Vinnie took a pull on his beer. “Are you okay, Sean?”

  “Yeah I’m okay. You know, I am pretty good at being a detective?”

  “Sean, you would be the ace in the Inspector bureau. And I’m not saying that because I am your friend. It’s true.”

  “I’m going to ask Kaitlin to marry me on Saturday night. I think it is time for me to practice the law again,” I said.

  “Where are thinking about hanging a shingle? District attorney’s office, U.S. Attorney’s office, public defender, what?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is Kaitlin is afraid of me getting hurt or killed. She has never come and asked me to give it up. But I know she wants it and I know I have to. Last night we were ready to listen to Jack Benny when the sirens came up the street, and Kaitlin turned white with fear. I can’t live my life in fear of scaring her to death at every corner. I think it’s time to find a big heavy box and store all of my .45s.”

  “Can you give it up, pal?” Vinnie asked.

  “For her, I could give up anything.”

  “Well, since you are in a giving mood, maybe you want to give your best friend that Ford of yours in the shop.”

  “Sorry, I’m dizzy for that redhead, but I plan on keeping the Ford.”

  Vinnie turned serious. “You worried at all about the Morehouse broad?”

  “She’s going to hide under a rock until things cool off. I should be okay. It’s only a matter of time before they bring in her boy-toy Giovanni. When that happens, old Connie has a whole new set of problems.”

  “Are you going to keep packing for a while?”

  “I’m going to ask Kaitlin to marry me on a cable car on Saturday night, and you think when I go to hug her she wants to feel a double rig of .45s?”

  Vinnie’s face turned grim. Sean, I need to come clean with you about something.”

  “Go ahead Vinnie.”

  He was looking deep into his beer. You remember four years ago when I got transferred from the Chinatown station?”

  ”Sure, Mimi was still crawling around.”

  “I was transferred out because Madison Cooper ran a story that a bunch of cops were on take from the Wang’s. I lost being promoted to Inspector for two more years. I never took a dime, but I got punished like I did. I never forgave Cooper for it. That’s why I treat the gee so crappy. A lot of cops had to take retirement because of that mess.”

  He lowered his voice. “I had you punch Cooper on that bridge not for seeing Mimi in her hospital room, but for almost ruining my career. My God, I used my kid for an excuse to get even with that newise.”

  I looked at Vinnie. “None of us are perfect, Cooper included. It’s time to move on.

  We drank up and he gave me a lift home. Grandpa Mario was waiting on the porch.

  “Hey, Sean, both of my kids are going to be out in the morning. I need you and one other guy to go fishing with me.”

  “You are on, Grand
pa. I know just the guy.”

  I called Shamus at his office. “What does your schedule look like at four in the morning?”

  “It doesn’t look like anything, boyo. I’ll be sleeping.”

  “I need a man who isn’t afraid of a little outdoor work. You’ll love it, take my word.”

  “All right, lad, I’ll see you at four a.m. What time will I get back? We should be done at noon.”

  I called Kaitlin and told her what I was up to. She agreed to meet me at noon.

  In the morning I picked up Shamus at his front door at four and handed him a cup of coffee. A few minutes later we pulled up to Fisherman’s Wharf. There was a dive right on the end of the pier called Bobby’s. I went in with Shamus and asked the bartender if Boston Bobby had my order.

  Bobby came out with a large cleaver in his hand. He looked pretty mad. “Look, O’Farrell. I’ve told you before we don’t serve your kind in here.”

  Bobby was big, strong-looking with a ruddy complexion. The kind of guy who finishes any trouble that he starts.

  “And what do you mean by my kind, pal?” I said.

  Shamus looked pretty nervous.

  “Officers, you are all a bunch of high-strung sissy boys. How are you, Lieutenant?” Bobby was suddenly all smiles. He threw the cleaver on the bar and gave me a big hug.

  “You know what, Lieutenant? You are okay for an officer.”

  I introduced Shamus.

  “Shamus this is Petty Officer First Class Robert O’Mara, United States Navy, Retired. He hails from Boston, hence the Boston Bobby.”

  Shamus was ecstatic. “Well, it’s always a pleasure to meet a fellow Boston man.”

  “Where from?” Bobby asked.

  “I’m a Southie Boy.”

  “I’ll be damned. So am I.”

  Grandpa Mario broke up the party. “Let’s go, boys. We will be burning daylight soon.”

  Bobby had three Tiffin carriers full of breakfast and a big thermos of coffee. We got on board, threw off the lines, and made for the Golden Gate Bridge. The Sun Dancer was humming right along. We got to our fishing ground and Grandpa Mario had us let go the nets. We were going after sardines today. As soon as the nets were set, the sun came up and we set up for breakfast. There was a little folding table in the pilothouse, and we sat on some stools and ate.