The Holy City Hustle: A Duke Dempsey Mystery

by Ron Plante Jr

  “Why don’t you listen to your old partner, Dempsey?” a voice that had been missing asked from the living area.

  “I don’t work for you anymore, Derflinger. The truth is coming out this time, and I’m going to make sure it does.”

  Duke was continuing to unravel the strap when he heard the all-too-familiar sound of a hammer cocking. He immediately stopped and turned around to a Colt .45 semi-automatic pistol. Duke’s first instinct was to go for his holstered revolver, but he refrained as he tried to size up his newest foe.

  “That’s right, Dempsey, you’re a civilian, and you are currently interfering in an official police investigation. That evidence is coming with me downtown. Hand it over,” the commissioner said, as he raised his weapon and took aim.

  “Duke, it’s not worth it. Let him have his glory and we’ll handle this at the station,” Stampkin said, but kept his hand on the shotgun and his focus on Derflinger.

  “Not this time, John. Who do you think was the driving force in stopping that investigation? Who do you think threw me to the wolves for doing my job?”

  The commissioner let out a hearty laugh, “You want to bring up ancient history? You are the reason why you got the boot. This police department doesn’t work for you, it works for the city. We didn’t have time for your crazy accusations then, and we don’t have time for this trip down memory lane. Hand over the book.”

  “Hey, Johnny, I’ll bet you a round at Doc’s there’s a good reason why he doesn’t want me to open this book. Derflinger, you worried your name is in here? Why don’t we find out?” Duke said as he reached down and picked up the ledger.

  A gunshot rang out through the cottage, and Duke heard the velocity of a bullet zing past his head. He immediately looked up from the ledger and focused back on the commissioner with a look of surprise.

  “Next time I won’t miss. Give me the ledger, or tomorrow’s headline reads, ‘Super Sleuth Found Dead in the Surf.’”

  Duke adjusted his hat and looked over at Johnny, who still had his shotgun in hand and was razor-focused on Derflinger.

  Johnny took a glance at Duke, and like many times in the past, Duke gave him a smirk that often meant Duke was in full control of the situation.

  “Alright, we’ll do this your way,” Duke said as he started to slowly walk toward the commissioner with the book in hand.

  Derflinger started to smile as he kept his gun squarely targeted on Dempsey. “That’s right, boy, keep coming.”

  Duke inched closer, trying not to make and fast moves that might have set off Derflinger. “So, why did you whack Scagnetti? The kid was on to you, wasn’t he?’

  “Give it up, Dempsey. You’re playing Go Fish while the grownups at the table are playing Hold 'em. You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into.”

  “You hear that, John? Sounds like the commissioner just confessed,” Duke said with a smile on his face. Duke was now mere inches away from Derflinger, with the book outstretched. What the commissioner did not see, was while they were having their conversation, Duke had palmed the badge given to him earlier in his free hand.

  As the commissioner reached for the book with eyes still focused on his target, Duke flipped the badge like a coin before Derflinger’s eyes. For a brief second, his eyes shifted toward the metal badge twisting in the air.

  Duke immediately slammed the book into Derflinger’s .45, making a round go off and a bullet rocket toward the wall. In one fluid motion he headed-butted the Police Commissioner directly in the face, smashing his nose. Derflinger stumbled back with blood and tears streaming down. His blurry eyes made it hard for him to focus on Dempsey as he tried to raise his gun toward his attacker.

  Dempsey took control of the hand that held the weapon and ripped it behind his back in a chicken wing fashion. Derflinger winced in immense pain and instantly loosened his grip on his gun. Once Duke took the weapon, he shoved Derflinger away from him and held him at gunpoint.

  “Alright, sweetheart, it’s time to start singing. How deep does this go?” Duke asked as he picked up the ledger, while keeping the battered commissioner in his sights.

  Derflinger used the sleeve of his jacket to wipe the blood from his face the best he could. He looked up at Dempsey with a smirk. “Deeper than you could’ve ever imagined.”

  As Duke studied Derflinger’s face, he heard the racking of a police-issued Remington M 11 pump-action shotgun from behind him. All the confidence and emotion instantly drained from his face. It was as if he had just been sucker-punched in the gut, and all the wind had left his body at once.

  “Say it ain’t so, John,” was all he managed to whisper without even turning around.

  “What was that, Dempsey? Speak up,” Derflinger said with brashness in his voice.

  “Duke, just hand over the ledger and I can get you out of this. They promised me all they wanted you for was to find the book. This is bigger than you think,” Stampkin said with regret in his voice. “It wasn’t supposed to go down like this, but you’re so damn stubborn.”

  “So, tell me how it was supposed to go down. Was I supposed to just let you and your boss walk out of here with the book? Maybe it disappears somehow in custody and case closed. Is that the gist of it?” Duke said as Derflinger ripped his gun and the ledger out of Duke’s hands.

  “I told you before. We may not all be saints, but we play with the cards we were dealt. Why do think this place never turned into the Wild West during Prohibition? Capone played in the swamp, but our streets stayed clean,” Stampkin said as he walked over to Duke and took his Colt .38 out his holster.

  “Don’t even try to play the hero. Sleeping with snakes to save the city won’t play with me, partner. Let me guess, your name is in that book too?”

  “Enough! We’ve got the ledger. Come on in here!” shouted Derflinger.

  From the back room searched by Derflinger, out walked a man with a familiar face. He was tall, wearing a white suit with a white hat, and wielding a Tommy gun as an accessory. With a grin of pearly white teeth from ear to ear, he sauntered up the commissioner. “Well if it isn’t my friend, Duke Dempsey. Nice to see you again.” Carbone then focused his attention to the book in Derflinger’s hand. “Very nice work, Duke. I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

  Duke reached into his inside coat pocket and grabbed his pack of Luckys.

  “Hands in the air, Dempsey,” Derflinger yelled.

  “Hold on to your britches. The odds are in your favor, sweetheart, and I’m just grabbing a smoke. How’s that nose feeling, anyway?” Duke asked as he continued to light his cigarette.

  Carbone took possession of the book and opened it up to authenticate that it was, in fact, the ledger. Johnny had his shotgun pointed at Duke, but his gaze was locked on Derflinger. He was trying to gain his attention, because the presence of Billy Carbone was an unwelcome surprise to him. Derflinger kept his focus on Duke, and purposely ignored Stampkin while he wiped the blood that streamed from his face.

  “Why is he here?” Stampkin asked.

  “To make sure this finally got done right. I’ve got a boat ride to catch, and I wasn’t about to let you bums do this alone,” Carbone said, as he cut off any response by the commissioner while putting the ledger in his coat pocket.

  “This is still my town and you’re a guest. Something you might want to remember, if you want to make it home in one piece,” Derflinger shot back, with an annoyed glance at the implication that Carbone was in charge.

  Duke sat back, amused at the distrust and confusion between the three. “Play nice now, kids. So how long were you stringing me along, Johnny?”

  “There was no stringing. Just me looking after you like always,” Stampkin said before he focused on Carbone. “You’ve got the goods now, beat it.”

  Carbone let out a laugh. “Ok, tough guy. Your feelings hurt now that your true colors are out in the open, Detective Stampkin?” Carbone lit up a smoke of his own and focused his attention back to Duke. “Your mentor took dough j
ust like of the rest of the weak-minded sheep. You know, Dempsey, we aren’t that much different, you and me. We’re both guided by our conscience, and what we believe to be right. ‘If he knows that he is righteous, he knows that everyone that does righteousness is born of him, 1 John 2:29.’ We both try and rid the world of the weak. I’m just more effective at it. No red tape in my profession,” Carbone said with a smirk.

  “I think you’ve got it twisted. I try and protect the weak from psychopaths like you. You need to read a little more of that Bible. ‘He who walks righteously and speaks uprightly, He who despises the gain of oppressions, who gestures with his hands, refusing bribes, who stops his ears from hearing bloodshed and shuts his eyes from seeing evil. Isaiah 33:15.’ Your definition of righteousness is flawed, to say the least,” Duke said as he took a long drag. “You’ll be able to take it up with your maker soon enough.”

  It was the first time Duke had seen a change in demeanor from the unflappable hitman in his two encounters with him.

  Carbone reached toward his holster where his nickel-plated Beretta sat snuggly to his side, but stopped himself. Billy Carbone never lost his cool and he wasn’t about to let this little city, slick-talking private eye get the best of him. He walked up close to Duke so he was almost nose to nose, with his Tommy gun pointed to the floor, almost daring Duke to make a move. He stuck his free hand into Duke’s side jacket pocket where he saw a bulge and pulled out the keys to his 1932 Ford Roadster. “Why don’t you make an appointment for me when you see him?”

  Chapter 24 – Lucky Shot

  Duke could only shake his head as he watched his evidence and his car walk out of the cottage. He was left there contemplating how he could’ve missed the signs of his longtime friend, former partner, and mentor playing for the bad guys. Duke wasn’t sure if he’d purposely ignored the clues, not wanting to believe it was possible, or if his old friend was just a lot better at the cloak-and-dagger routine than Duke gave him credit for. Either way, Duke was staring at the end of a Remington shotgun, and needed to clear his mind of all the emotional mumbo jumbo if he wanted to walk out of there.

  “So where do we go from here, boys?” Duke asked as he put out his smoke on the dining room table next to him.

  “Well Dempsey, now it’s time for you to say any last words,” Derflinger said.

  “So we are adding attempted murder to your list of criminal enterprises? I guess if you’re going to go bad, you might as well go rotten to the core,” Dempsey said as he glanced over at Stampkin.

  “Now wait a second, Commissioner, you said the book for Dempsey. Murder wasn’t in the deck,” Stampkin said.

  “A little late to play the white knight. You still didn’t answer me. Is your name in the book?”

  “Of course it is. There are a lot of people in that book, which helped bring this town to the prominence it is. Do you think this port became the number one export and import city on the east coast without a few assurances? There are a lot of people in high places that helped Charleston get where it is. If we want to keep it there, we’ve got to play ball. Something you have proven you can’t do,” Derflinger said as he shifted his stance, taking a better aim at his target.

  “Duke, your stubborn ass wouldn’t look the other way. So I had to for both of us. That was the only thing they got on me. I looked the other way to keep you alive. You lost your career, but you kept your life,” Stampkin said.

  Duke looked at Stampkin in a whole new light. He realized then and there that Detective Johnny Stampkin was the reason why Duke had gotten railroaded off that case, and ultimately off the force. “If you’re waiting for a thank you and a fruit basket, I wouldn’t hold my breath.”

  “I’m not looking for thanks, I just thought you should know why I did what I did.”

  “How about why you’re doing what you’re doing now?”

  “Because with Detective Stampkin’s name in that book, he knows that almost thirty years of police work goes down the drain. Thirty years of bad guys going to jail getting overturned because of a technicality. All because his name was written in a slimeball’s book. There are a lot of good cops in that same boat, and we can’t let that boat sink,” Derflinger added.

  “So, how long can this game go on? Are you going to knock off any mayor that chooses not to lay down in the mud with you? Swanson was a good man and the people put him in power. The people who you are supposedly doing all this for. Let me guess. They’re too dumb to know what’s good for them?” Dempsey said, trying to infiltrate Johnny’s conscience with his words. He could see the wheels turning in Stampkin’s mind, and was praying they were turning in his favor.

  “You have no idea how deep this goes. I heard your little Bible-thumping earlier, so if you’ve got any last words for the Almighty, now would be a good time to start singing.”

  “I’m sorry, Commissioner, but I can’t let you do that,” Stampkin said as he changed the direction of his shotgun to Derflinger. “You’re under arrest, sir.”

  A look of confusion came over the commissioner. He didn’t know if he should keep his weapon pointed at Duke or point it at Johnny. “If you arrest me then you might as well be arresting yourself.”

  “I think I’ve had long enough career, and I’m tired. Some solitary might be just what the doctor ordered,” Stampkin said.

  “Jail? They’ll kill us before we make it to a courtroom you fool.”

  “I’ll take my chances, then. I’m going to do what I should’ve done a long time ago, even if it kills me.”

  Johnny started to hand Duke’s Colt back to him, when the commissioner turned his .44 semi-automatic on Stampkin. Before Stampkin could react, Derflinger fired a round into the abdomen of Stampkin. The bullet hit John with such force that it propelled him through the air and into the table in the dining room.

  Johnny still had his finger on the trigger of the shotgun, holding it with one hand. Either out of reflex or skill, he fired an almost impossible shot as he flew back. The shotgun slug hit Derflinger perfectly in the face, dropping him instantly to the floor.

  The shock hit Duke like a punch to the gut. He tried to comprehend what had just happened. The sequence of events had transpired so rapidly, but the actual witnessing of the gunfire seemed to have happened in slow motion. He took a glance at Derflinger, whose face was hardly recognizable, before rushing to his injured ex-partner. Stampkin’s jacket and shirt were a deep crimson red, and all the color in his face seemed to have dissipated. His eyes were open, and his breathing was shallow.

  “Damn it, lucky shot,” he managed to say as blood drizzled from the corner of his mouth.

  Duke immediately took off his beige jacket and used it to apply pressure to Johnny’s injured abdomen. “Him or you? You normally couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.”

  Johnny laughed, but the excruciating pain that emanated from his mid-section made him cough up more blood. “Duke, I’m sorry. I was never a saint, but I tried to do right by this city despite the circumstances. I always tried to look out for you, kid, even if it was misguided.”

  Although Johnny was still warm to the touch, Duke knew the gunshot wound would be fatal if he didn’t get some help fast. “Shut up, fool. You know I’d be shining shoes on Market Street if it wasn’t for you. You should’ve told me you were all jammed up and we could’ve figured it out together.”

  Out of nowhere, breaking the quietness of the cottage, Duke heard the blaring sound of a siren approaching. “You hear that, you lucky son of a bitch? You may just survive this fiasco,” Duke said trying to reassure the wily vet.

  Johnny managed a weak smile, but his eyes grew heavy. Sudden tiredness overtook the pain he felt, and he had a tough time keeping his eyes open.

  Duke slapped Johnny’s face. “Don’t sleep on me now. We need to finish this together.”

  Duke was interrupted with the kicking open of the front door of the cottage and the voice of Captain Slate yelling out, “Charleston PD!” He looked down at the scene of Duke tr
ying to help Detective Stampkin, who was covered in blood and barely conscious. “Jesus Christ! What the hell happened?”

  Duke was about to speak but was cut off by Stampkin. “Derflinger was dirty and working with Bertucci.” Stampkin coughed up more blood, barely getting out what he was trying to say.

  Duke nodded to Slate in agreement, trying to keep pressure on Stampkin. “We need to get him help. Derflinger put one in the abdomen before taking a slug to the face.”

  “Hold on, Stampkin, we’re getting you to a hospital,” Slate yelled as he holstered his weapon.

  “It’s too late for me,” Stampkin said, as blood streamed from his mouth. “You need to finish this and get that book.” He touched his bloody finger to Duke’s chest. It left a red print before his body went limp.

  All the anger and sadness left Duke at that moment, and he was left numb. He fell into a vacuum, leaving his physical surroundings behind him. It was the same place he’d gone to when he’d learned about the death of his dad when Duke was just a teenager. The two people who’d taught Duke just about everything he knew had been snuffed out of his life.

  He wasn’t sure where to turn or how he needed to act at that moment. He looked up and saw Slate looking down at him. His lips were moving, but Duke wasn’t hearing anything coming out of his mouth. It was like a bad dream that he desperately wanted to wake up from. He focused harder on what Slate was saying, and finally sound ruptured through the void.

  “You need to get out of here,” was what Duke thought he heard from Slate.

  “Huh?”

  “I’ll take care of this. You need to get out of here or they’ll lock you up and throw away the key,” Slate said. “I’ll take care of this and meet you at your office. I don’t know who I can trust down at the station at this point.”

  Duke, still in a partial daze, stood up, covered in his ex-partner’s blood. He looked down at the floor and grabbed his Colt .38 Special lying under the table. He took one more look at Johnny lying there and cleared the fog from his brain. “Alright, Slate, what’s the catch? Why do you want to help me?”