Death of a City

by Lionel White

  She’d remembered the incident the moment she’d realized what was going to happen to her this night. Had attempted to take some vicarious sense of hope in the memory and the realization that the incident had neither been a total disaster nor a completely negative experience. But remembering had not helped. She knew from the very beginning this would be different. This wasn’t merely a simple sexual act of gratification on the part of these men who were about to attack her and the white girl who was her friend. This was something else. It was something which she didn’t even want to think about. She was afraid to think about it.

  But then, suddenly, as his hard right hand dug in and his strong fingers bruised and kneaded the flesh of her right breast, his square white teeth tore at her lower lip and drew blood, she felt the sheer physical agony, and the fear left her to be replaced by blinding anger and fury.

  She’d been wrong, wrong all along. God, if she only lived through this, she’d get back to him, back to Max and explain, explain that now at last she understood and realized how right he had been.

  It was not a case of black men and white men.

  It was a case of good men and bad men.

  The fear which had pervaded her had made her powerless and acquiescent and she had submitted without making any effort to defend herself. But the pain and hurt which changed the fear to anger and hatred endowed her with a blind sense of courage.

  She knew what was going to happen next, knew what he would do to her once he’d reached his climax, knew what he would want then. And it was then that she determined she would fight back. When the opportunity arrived, she, too, would hurt, would injure and violate.

  It was only moments later when he raised himself, moved up across her prone body.

  She was dimly aware of the other one, the one he called Parky, reaching out and striking Caroline, knocking her to the floor and falling on her, when the man on top of her planted his knees on each side of her upturned face and he dropped, using his hands to force her mouth open.

  A moment later he screamed.

  It was the sound of that sudden terrified and agonizing cry which brought Caroline Vargle out of the temporary shock which had held her mind half-paralyzed during the last few endless minutes.

  In the beginning, when they had first come into the room, she had sensed at once what was going to happen. She'd known somewhere in the back of her mind that she would be violated, that they were intent on rape and that they would commit rape. And then, later, when Buddy had been cut up, she had suddenly realized that it wouldn't end merely with rape.

  The initial brutality, when he had torn off her clothes, laughed at her as his rough hands had bruised and violated her, had told her clearer than words that it was not only a desire to satisfy his sexual needs which motivated him. He wanted to hurt her, to destroy her. And in the end, he would kill her. He would have to kill her. It was the only way in which he could culminate his passions. And, in the back of her consciousness, she knew that it was the only way he could play it safe and protect himself from paying for his crime. He had to kill her.

  For a moment then, after he had knocked her to the floor and just before that strange paralysis of mind blanked out all con-

  scious thought, she remembered that at one time ages ago she had secretly wondered what it would be like to have an affair with a black man. Was she finding out? No, this was not a simple affair with a black man. This would be an affair with an animal who was filled with hatred and an insane desire to find vengeance for all the wrongs he had ever suffered or thought he had suffered.

  She was already escaping into semiconsciousness when he finally forced himself on her and it was less than a second later when the other one, crouched over the girl next to her, suddenly screamed and leaped up, holding himself as the blood gushed from between his legs.

  She was only vaguely aware of the man who weighted down her own body, lifting and moving away as he burst into wild laughter.

  As she fainted, her mind went to Carlton and the date they were to have had that evening.

  3 IT WAS well after midnight and he was tired, dead on his feet. His eyes were bothering him and he was having the gas pains again. He hoped that it was only gas. He didn’t even want to think about what else could be responsible for the heavy feeling in his upper left side. Usually a couple of spoonfuls of bicarb would take care of it, but not tonight. The bicarb only made it worse. And the bourbon hadn't helped ejther. Well, the hell with it. When this was all over, when he could lie down and get a little rest, he’d probably feel better. If he didn't, he’d go in and have the doc give him a checkup. But God knows when that would be, the way things were going. In the meantime, another shot from the bottle couldn’t hurt anything.

  Del Partridge pulled the desk drawer open and was reaching for the bottle when the door opened and Captain Harry Parker, the head of the homicide division, walked in.

  Parker tossed his hat on the table and fell into a chair.

  “Am I bushed,” he said.

  “What have you dragged in this time?" Partridge asked. “Whatever it is, we got no room. You’ll have to take ’em over to the courthouse basement.”

  “What a night,” Parker said. “What a night. Got another glass?”

  “Take it out of the bottle,” Partridge said, handing him the bourbon.

  Parker took a long drink and sighed, handing back the bottle.

  “This one I don’t have to take any place,” he said. “Jesus, the things that can happen. I got a twelve-year-old kid, maybe thirteen. A nut. A real Goddamned nut. You know what that little black bastard did?”

  Partridge shrugged.

  “Who cares?” he said.

  “Little bastard walks up to my car, my car, Del, not a city car, mind you, and he starts yapping at me. Can’t understand a thing he’s saying. So by God if he don’t take a rock, right in front of me, mind you, and break my Goddamned windshield.”

  “Well, yours isn’t the only windshield tonight.”

  Parker ignored the remark.

  “The city’ll get the repair bill,” Parker said. “Also for the radiator. Got a sniper’s bullet in that damned radiator and I have to stop and get water every half hour. You don’t have a car that isn’t being used, do you?”

  “Loaned the last one to the D.A.—young Asmore—a few minutes ago,” Partridge said.

  Parker grunted. “I was just going to forget it, give him a smack across the ass and let him go, but he jumps in the front seat and starts tearing at me. Said he wanted me to find a policeman, when he finally got to make a little sense, and so I told him I was a policeman. Anyway, it finally turns out he was sent to get help by his brother or someone. It was hard to get a straight story out of him he was so damned hard to understand, but what I finally made out of it was there was some kind of a fracas going on over at that Youth Center in colored town. As near as I could make out, a couple of women, one of them white, were being murdered. I wouldn’t have paid too much attention to it, but the kid seemed so Goddamned crazy, and throwing that rock through my windshield right in front of me and all, I began to think he might have something after all.”

  “Where’s the kid now, Harry?”

  “He’s still in the car. I thought maybe ...”

  "Get rid of him,” Partridge said. “Get rid of him. We got no time to waste on nuts. We don’t even have any place to lock him up. Hell, even if there is something to his story, there isn’t a damned thing we could do about it tonight. You think for a minute we could get a police car down into that district? Hell, it would take a dozen cars and twice as many men to get in there tonight. And we don’t have either the cars or the men. We’re taking enough chances just trying to patrol the fringes.”

  Parker nodded.

  "I know,” he said. “You sure you haven’t something else I can use except that car of mine? I tell you, she just won’t hold water and I don’t want to be caught out where the trouble is with a car that could fall apart under me any minute. I’
d feel a damned sight more comfortable if I had an official car tonight.”

  “Well, I haven’t got one,” Partridge said. He thought for a moment, then said, “Tell you what, Harry. Asmore said something about going over to the Cosmos Club. Was going to look up his uncle, I believe. Why don’t you take a drive over that way, see if he's still there? He don't really need the car anyway and if he just wants to see the action, he can go along with you, OK?”

  “I’ll give it a try,” Captain Parker said. “I’ll give it a . . .”

  He stopped speaking as the door burst open.

  Snookie Durham pushed into the room, his eyes wide and frightened. Seeing the two men at the desk, he stopped in his tracks. He opened his mouth, trying to speak, his head shaking back and forth and spit dribbling down his chin. He started slapping himself on the side of his face.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake,” Parker said. He got to his feet. “Keep him, until I can get outta here,” he called over his shoulder as he started out of the room. As he reached the door, the tremendous blast which rocked the entire downtown section of the city and which was responsible for Cass Asmore’s watch falling to the floor of the Cosmos Club and breaking, stopped him in his tracks. Partridge Said, “Jesus, what was that?”

  Moments later both men left the room, brushing past young Snookie Durham on their way to the courtyard. It took them only a moment to find the flames and smoke shooting high into the sky to the north, just behind the main business section of the city.

  “Christ a’mighty,” Partridge said. “That does it. Seems to be over in the area of Library Square. Harry, you better get over there as fast as you can. And get a report back to me the second you find out what’s happened. Look’s like a couple of city blocks must have gone up in that explosion. And with this wind from the northeast ...’’

  Captain Parker jumped into the front seat of his car and he was putting his foot on the starter when he remembered that his radiator had been steaming when he drove into the courtyard. He knew that if he didn’t refill the leaking tank, the engine would probably freeze up before he got a block away. So he climbed out again.

  “Gotta get water,” he said. “My radiator . . .”

  “Water? Damn it, we haven’t had water for the last hour,” Partridge said. He thought a minute, then said, “The cooler in the patrolmen’s dayroom. Maybe some in that.”

  It was a full fifteen minutes before Parker was able to refill the leaky radiator and get the engine of his car started.

  By the time he drove out of the courtyard and had turned north on Peach Street, the entire sky in front of him was lighted up.

  He was passing through Courthouse Square when he noticed the ambulance parked in front of the First National Bank. Normally he wouldn’t have stopped. He was in a hurry to get to the scene of this latest disaster, but something made him hesitate as he spotted the ambulance and then saw the white-coated figure leaning against its side. He caught a movement out of the corner of his eye and he instinctively slowed down and turned his head, noticing the front of the First National Bank. He thought, but he couldn’t be sure, that he saw the doors closing. He believed he saw a flash of light somewhere inside of the bank.

  In spite of his desire to get to the newest blaze as quickly as possible, he was too good a police officer to ignore the sudden premonition he had that something was wrong. He pulled over behind the ambulance and, when he climbed to the street, he held his police shield in his left hand. His right hand was on the butt of the gun he carried in his shoulder holster.

  The lights of his car were full on the white-coated figure who stepped away from the ambulance and came toward him.

  Parker flashed his police shield so that the man could see it.

  “Captain Parker, Oakdale Police,” he said. “What’s the trouble?”

  The man smiled at him ingratiatingly.

  “No trouble, officer,” he said. “I'm Jensen. Ambulance driver. We got word the guard inside the bank had a heart attack. Intern’s inside with him now, doing what he can.”

  Parker’s eye went to the bank and then back to the ambulance driver.

  “Need any help?” he asked.

  The ambulance driver shook his head.

  “No, I think we got everything under control. The doc is giving the man oxygen; I just helped him in with the tanks. The old fellow will be all right, I think. I just came back for the stretcher. We’ll get him to the hospital and he'll be all right."

  Captain Parker nodded. “OK,” he said. “Well, I was just checking up. Better get going. Looks like you boys are going to be needed over that way.” He nodded his head in the direction of the flames, several blocks to the north.

  He climbed back in his car and noticed, as he stepped on the starter, that the temperature gauge was reading over two hundred. He cursed under his breath and decided to swing over a block at the next corner and pass the Cosmos Club, just in case that police cruiser which the chief had loaned Asmore might still be there. As he pulled away from the curb, something was bothering him, but he didn’t quite know what it was until a couple of minutes later. It came to him as he spotted the police cruiser in front of the club and saw that someone was just climbing into the front seat.

  The thing which was nagging at him and which he finally figured out was what that ambulance driver had said. The night guard at the bank had had a heart attack.

  i So who had summoned the ambulance?

  The guard must have been alone in the building. The phones

  were out, even assuming that after the attack he could have used a phone. So who had called for the ambulance?

  But it was only a quickly passing thought. He wanted to get to that police cruiser before the driver pulled away from the curb.

  4 THE months of preparation, the careful planning, the minute attention to the very smallest detail, that’s what paid off in the long run. Yes, Patsy August had to congratulate himself. By God, not a single hitch, no unforeseen incidents, no monkey wrenches tossed into the machinery at the last moment.

  It had gone like clockwork.

  Even finding that guard in the First National, even that contingency had been thought of. And they had coped with it as he had planned they would. The unexpected difficulty at Citizens Trust when they had discovered that even in the dim light a passerby might be able to see the great doors of the Diebold safe which were fully exposed to the street through the double glass doors. That, too, had been taken care of. Thank the Lord they had had the foresight to take the possibility into consideration and prearranged to have the large thin cloth of silk painted in advance so that it folded into a very small bundle which they had been able to take out and hang in front of the safe so that they could safely work behind it when they set up the explosives around the five-ton doors of the huge vault.

  Yes, they had thought of everything, down to the very last possible detail. Nothing had gone wrong and every small piece of the pattern had fit snugly into place. Right from the moment he had picked up Charlie in front of the hotel and found the other two waiting in the square. While they had gone into each of the banks and made their preparations.

  The ambulance was set and ready and he had picked it up exactly where Charlie had planted it. He had picked it up after leaving one of the three men in each of the three banks. To wait for the

  countdown. To wait until he would activate that electronic device which would set off the three explosions. And the explosion which would rock the entire city when it went off over in the public library some ten blocks away.

  And now it was over and those four explosions had occurred simultaneously. Each of those three, Charlie and Marty and Basil, had done what he had to do. Each had fought his way through the smoke and fumes and entered the three shattered vaults. Each had filled his gunnysack with those beautiful, beautiful bills. Marty had been ready when he drove the ambulance in front of the Columbia Savings Bank. Exactly six minutes. And then the money—they had figured the Columbia Bank for two mill
ion—now it was in the back of the ambulance.

  Basil had been there at the curb when he drove up. A million and a half was their educated guess. And it, too, was safely tucked in the back of the ambulance.

  For a moment, in front of the First National, the whole thing might have gone sour.

  Charlie was standing in the doorway, just about to leave, when that damned cop drove up and stopped. Thank God Charlie had seen the car coming to a stop, right behind the ambulance, in time. He’d been able to cut his flashlight and duck back out of sight.

  But now the cop was gone and the last of the bags of money— two and a half was their figure for the First National—was also being put in with those other sacks in the back of the ambulance.

  Marty and Basil had already left. Their work was done. They were no longer needed. They’d been paid off in advance, very generously paid off. Mr. Carpender was a man who paid very well and never haggled over price.

  Marty and Basil were already heading for the outskirts of the city. They had no longer any interest in those sacks of money, the sacks which Mr. Carpender had estimated would be holding some six million dollars.

  In less than an hour they would no longer have any interest in anything. They would be lying dead in the smoking, twisted wreckage of their car which would have been blasted into a shapeless mass of junk by the time bomb which had been placed under its hood earlier in the evening.

  They would not be cheated out of their just rewards for the evening’s work, however. That wasn't Mr. Calender's way. Their widows and children would enjoy and spend the money they had earned that night.

  And now Charlie was finished also and he was walking over to his car. Charlie was not expendable and his work had not been completed for the night. Charlie would be following the ambulance to the airport, preparing to run interference if some unforeseen circumstance should come up at the very last moment, before he, Patsy, could safely transfer the sacks of loose bills to the cockpit of the Cessna which was waiting there, safely away from the burned hangars and the twisted wreckage of the planes which had been too close when the explosion rocked the building earlier in the evening.