Act of Fear: A Dan Fortune Mystery

by Michael Collins

  ‘Remember, Danny, Olsen has my protection.’

  When Pappas stands up it is a signal. The way when a king stands up it is a signal for everyone to rise. I heard the motor start in the big car up the block. Max Bagnio crossed the street towards us. Jake Roth stepped up to the table beside his boss. I found myself looking at Roth. His eyes were even shaped like the eyes of a snake. The snake eyes were fixed at me.

  ‘He must be in real trouble, Andy,’ I said to Pappas, but it was Jake Roth I was looking at.

  It was Roth who answered me. The tall, skinny killer leaned half down and across that small table like a long-necked vulture. He stank of sweat in the heat. Roth never takes his coat off in public.

  ‘Slow, peeper,’ Roth said. ‘Real slow. Mr Pappas said lay off. Mr Pappas said forget it. You never heard about no Olsen. You don’t know the name. Mr Pappas said cool it. You cool it.’

  Roth’s black, luminous, snake-shaped eyes seemed to float in dark water. His breath was thick. He breathed fast as he bent his face close to me. Andy Pappas touched him lightly on the shoulder. Roth jerked upright like a dog on a leash.

  ‘I told him, Jake,’ Andy Pappas said. ‘You can tell Olsen that Fortune got the word. Tell Swede it’s okay.’

  The black car purred up to the kerb. Pappas touched his dark blue homburg to Marty and climbed into the back of the car. Roth got in with Andy, and Little Max Bagnio went around and joined the driver in the front seat. The car eased away and turned into the Sixth Avenue traffic. I watched it go. I ordered a double Irish for both of us.

  ‘I know that you know him,’ Marty said, ‘but I’m surprised every time. Just seeing him makes me shiver.’

  ‘Join the club,’ I said.

  The drinks came.

  ‘You know what is so terrible?’ Marty said, her eyes still looking towards where the car had vanished. ‘That a man like that, an animal like that, can actually affect people trying to live good, normal lives. I mean, he could help or harm me, my acting. An animal, a parasite like that.’

  ‘Believe it,’ I said.

  ‘How can you talk to him like that?’ Marty said, shivering.

  ‘I can’t talk to him any other way,’ I said. ‘What I never really understood is why he lets me. I guess even Andy needs to think he is human. I’m his human feeling, his charity.’

  Marty shivered again. ‘I wonder what trouble Olsen is in that he’d have to have Pappas’ protection?’

  ‘Who knows? Maybe it was Jo-Jo who killed Tani Jones. Maybe he knows who did.’

  ‘Tani Jones?’ Marty said, stared. ‘My God, Dan, Pappas wouldn’t protect anyone involved in her murder.’

  She stared at me, I guess I stared back. I waited for her to drop the bomb I had guessed from her face.

  ‘She was his girl friend, Dan. At the club, the girl who talked about her said she was Pappas’ girl. I remember. This girl at the club said it was scary, the way Tani had loved jewels, and it was jewels that got her killed.’

  I took a breath. ‘Andy’s married. A family man. He’s real proud of being a family man.’

  Marty laughed a female laugh. ‘When did marriage or a family have much to do with a girl friend? Except to make it hard on the girl. I mean, I suppose that’s why they kept it so quiet. He had to maintain his image – the devoted family man. This girl who knew her said they never met in public. He always came to her place. A hidden toy, you know?’

  ‘Could she have been dangerous to him?’

  ‘I don’t know, Dan. The girl who knew her said she was pretty dumb. A real bird who loved the men. I don’t think she really knew much about him, just that he was important. The girl who told us about her said that Tani seemed to think it was exciting to have a secret lover.’

  But I had stopped listening. I was thinking about the killer of Andy Pappas’ woman. I could imagine the fear of anyone who had killed Tani Jones, even in panic. I could imagine the problem of anyone who knew who had killed her.

  I could imagine something else: men had killed their own mistresses for centuries.

  Chapter 9

  It was past quitting time, and outside in the evening streets of the city the people were hurrying home in the last bright summer sunlight as it faded into deep purple across the river above Jersey City. But Gazzo was in his office. Somehow he almost always is in his office, morning or evening. Perhaps because, as the captain himself says, it may be evening or morning out in the streets, but in his dim and silent office it is always midnight.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t you tell me Jones was Andy’s girl?’

  ‘You didn’t ask, and it was none of your business,’ the captain said. He looked very tired. Too tired to amuse himself with me. ‘It still isn’t your business, Dan.’

  ‘It’s even money he’s after Jo-Jo Olsen,’ I said. ‘It’s better than even he beat up my client.’

  ‘No,’ Gazzo said.

  ‘Yes!’ I said. ‘It’s a thousand-to-one Andy killed her, and Andy never liked a witness! Christ, Gazzo, who would dare kill Andy Pappas’ girl friend?’

  ‘No,’ Gazzo said.

  I swore. ‘No, what?’

  ‘No to everything,’ the captain said. ‘Pappas didn’t kill her.’

  ‘Alibi?’ I said. ‘Of course Andy would have an alibi. Andy would have the best alibi money could buy. Foolproof, airtight, beyond reproach.’

  I was at that moment feeling bitter. Who else could kill Tani Jones? And Jo-Jo had seen enough to make him run very far. I would have run if I could place Andy Pappas on that street at the right time.

  Gazzo slammed his hand flat on his desk. ‘Knock it off!’

  The captain glared at me. ‘You think maybe I haven’t been a cop long enough to know a real airtight alibi when I see one? Or maybe you think Pappas can buy me?’

  Nobody can buy Gazzo. I know that more cops than I like to think about have their hands out for a fast buck every chance they can get, and I know they have found whole burglary rings actually run by policemen, but Gazzo cannot be bought. There are a lot of honest cops. Maybe it is only that Gazzo never needed extra money. Behind every five-dollar bill a patrolman takes there is a need, real or imagined. But that is another story.

  ‘I’ll listen,’ I said.

  Gazzo spelled it out for me. ‘At the exact time of the burglary and killing Andy Pappas was in Washington in front of that congressional committee investigating waterfront crime. If you had a brain, you’d have remembered that. If you think hard, you’ll remember that the committee had been sweating Andy for three days solid. On the day of the killing he’d been on the stand all day; the session didn’t end until eight o’clock that night. Even Andy can’t turn time back.’

  ‘He had it done,’ I said. ‘Sure, it’s just the time he would pick. Were all his boys with him?’

  ‘No, but they all have alibis.’

  ‘Sure, probably each other.’

  ‘No,’ Gazzo said as if he were reading a very easy book to a dumb four-year-old. ‘Jake Roth was at Pappas’ place down on the Jersey shore. Pappas admits he had Jake out of sight and under wraps because Jake would make a lousy witness down in Washington. Pappas had a sort of gentleman’s agreement with the committee that he would show voluntarily if they wouldn’t subpoena any of his boys. But Andy wasn’t taking chances.’

  ‘How about Max Bagnio?’

  ‘Little Max was in Philadelphia on business. I didn’t ask what business, but Pappas says he can trot out the witnesses if needed. They’ll be hoods, but there’ll be a lot of them. Most of the others were in Washington with Pappas or have alibis.’

  ‘Airtight alibis?’

  ‘Not like Pappas,’ Gazzo said evenly. ‘No one saw them who couldn’t be bought, I admit that. Roth has the best. He was at Pappas’ private beach all day. We checked that his car never left the shore. Bagnio was seen by enough reliable people in Philly, but it’s a short trip up here. The rest can account for most of their time, but not all.’

  ‘So none of them
have real alibis,’ I said.

  ‘Who does, Dan?’ Gazzo said. ‘You’ve been around long enough to know that an alibi without an area of doubt hardly exists. Who can prove what he was doing every minute of a day unless he plans to do it or is lucky like Pappas. You know we have to go on probability. The boys all have alibis just good enough to make it hard for them to have killed the girl for Andy. Nothing is sure in this world.’

  I swore again. ‘It’s got to be Pappas himself!’

  I wanted it to be Andy. It’s good to think that evil always trips itself up; that a deadly machine like Andy Pappas would be finally betrayed by his one weakness – that he was, after all, human enough to have a girl and be jealous. Only that was unlikely as the motive. With Andy it was more probable that the Jones girl had learned too much, that it was bad business to let her live – love or no love.

  Gazzo sighed. ‘Give me some credit, Dan, okay? Don’t you think I want it to be Pappas? You think maybe I wouldn’t like to nail him on this? My mouth waters when I think of it. I lie awake at night telling myself that this is just the kind of mistake that nails a guy like Pappas. Sure. Only I’ve been a cop too long to kid myself.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Meaning that I’ve got to be honest. I’ve got to go on what my experience and judgment tell me, and I know, as much as anyone can know anything, that Andy didn’t kill her or have her killed.’ Gazzo stopped and stared moodily into the shadows of his office. He picked a cigarette from his package and lighted it. His eyes were seeing something not easy to see. ‘I was there when we told him, Dan. I mean, I wanted to be there. I was sure we had him. We didn’t know about him until the maid told. We told him cold. I’m human, I wanted to see him squirm. Only I didn’t like it when I saw his face.’

  Gazzo smoked, looked at me. ‘He almost fainted when we told him, Dan. I’ve told a lot of people about the death of someone they loved. I’ve seen a thousand faces when they get that news. I know what those faces look like, and I know a real shock and a real faint when I see one.’

  The captain seemed to find the cigarette bitter to his taste. ‘He cried, Dan. I mean, Andy Pappas really cried. You ever see Andy cry? Even when he was fifteen? I remember the day his old man was crushed to death on the docks. Andy just looked at what was left of the old man. This time he cried. He told me to get who killed her.’

  ‘Touching,’ I said.

  But I wasn’t as hard as I sounded. It was just, as I said, that I wanted Andy to make his mistake that way. I wanted Andy to get it from something as stupid, as simple, as human as a jealous rage; some lousy little mistake anyone could have made. I wanted that real bad. Gazzo knew what I was thinking.

  ‘I’ve been a cop a long time, Dan, and I know about Andy this time. Sure, we’ve checked it all ways and upside down, too. As far as we can learn, the girl was just a dumb kid who was proud to be Pappas’ girl. Word says she never even knew exactly what Andy does. Everything says that Pappas was really hooked on the girl, treated her almost like a daughter.’

  ‘Daughters cheat,’ I said, ‘and maybe she learned something she didn’t even know she knew. Andy takes no chances.’

  ‘Everything is possible, Dan,’ Gazzo said, ‘but we dug deep. There isn’t a whisper against Pappas. It doesn’t look like she even knew who he really was. They kept it pretty quiet, and she was like a toy to him. The worst you can say is she was dumb, and liked the men too much.’

  ‘Maybe one man too many,’ I said. ‘Andy’s human, maybe.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Dan, we’re talking about Andy Pappas!’ Gazzo roared at me. ‘You think Andy would do such a lousy job of killing his own girl friend? You think he’d shoot her in her own apartment and just fake a burglary? You think he couldn’t come up with a better cover than that?’

  It was the best argument Gazzo had offered. Yes, I thought that Pappas would have done better. The girl had been closely tied to him. There would have been a more plausible ‘accident’. And a sudden rage was out. Pappas had been in Washington. I did not see anyone else killing Pappas’ sweetie on purpose. No, the burglar theory looked better now.

  ‘That’s why you weren’t surprised that the loot hasn’t turned up,’ I said.

  Gazzo nodded. ‘Every fence in New York has those diamonds and pearls engraved on his brain. Pappas would see to that. To try to sell them would be a death warrant.’

  A very quick death warrant. The question was: whose name was on that warrant? Someone was looking for Jo-Jo Olsen, and looking very hard. The next question was: Was it Pappas who was looking for Jo-Jo, or someone else? From the way Andy had acted when he warned me to lay off Swede Olsen and family, it did not seem that Andy was looking for Jo-Jo or had any idea that Jo-Jo might be connected to the death of Tani Jones. But Pappas is a clever man. He would not tip his hand, and he would not want me looking if he was looking. He could be playing both sides of the street – warning me off to lull Olsen, and looking for Jo-Jo himself. At least, whoever was looking was still looking. Which indicated that Jo-Jo was not yet in a shallow grave.

  I left Gazzo to his perpetual midnight.

  ‘Keep in touch,’ the captain said. That, too, was an order.

  On the hot streets it was almost night now. I could feel the city begin to move. New York is busy in the daylight, but it is at night that it really lives. You can feel the surge as the sun goes down across the river. It can be a wonderful moment, that night surge of the city, if you have something to do and somewhere to go. If you have nothing to do and nowhere to go it is a desolate moment. All I had to do for certain was chase down the Driscoll girl. It was too late for that, I had only an office address. After the Driscoll girl I was down to starting again looking for someone who knew anything about Jo-Jo, and checking the weary round of airline desks, train stations, and bus depots – something the police could do better, and that would lead to very little anyway. I was stymied.

  But I had somewhere to go. Or I thought I did as I stood outside headquarters. Which proves how unclear my thinking was.

  I wanted a drink and some company. I grabbed a taxi uptown for Monte’s Kat Klub. I don’t usually hang around the club. Marty is busy, and her job is to make the customers slobber over her three-quarters naked body; and she does a good job. On top of that the whiskey is cut and overpriced for the marks. But I wanted an ear, Marty can sometimes give me time between shows, and for me she can find a good bottle.

  So I rode uptown and reached the club just in time for the first show. Or I almost reached the club. The cab could not get close, with the other cabs double-parked to let out the suckers. The driver had to drop me a block away.

  I saw them. They were stationed casually on either side of the entrance to the club. Too casually. Not amateurs, maybe, but only semi-pros. They were not ridiculous in their stakeout, just bad enough for me to spot them and know them. Two average men in dark suits, one skinnier than the other. It was possible that they were waiting there for someone else. I knew better. Or, let’s say I knew better than to take the chance. I walked in the other direction. If I had had any doubts I soon lost them. When I reached the corner of Macdougall Street I saw them coming behind me.

  The crowds were moving in phalanxes up and down Macdougall. I had no desire to be caught in Washington Square Park, so I went south. I passed the San Remo and kept going south into the darker streets of Little Italy. They were still behind me. They looked eager. They seemed to enjoy their work. From their manner I guessed that they thought I had made a mistake by leaving the crowds and running down towards Houston Street. They were wrong. Danny the Pirate still had friends.

  I went around the corner on Houston Street and broke into an instant sprint. I not only had friends, I knew the neighbourhood. They probably did too, but I was sure they thought they had me and that that would make them careless and too sure of themselves. I made it the three doors before the two came around behind me. I went down the dark flight of six stone steps like a man falling into a hole. At the botto
m I knocked the signal, and the door opened. I slid through, and the door closed behind me.

  ‘You got a wait for a seat, Fortune,’ the steerer on the door said.

  I went down the dark hall and into the room where the table sat green and decorated with money under its single overhead hanging lamp with the green metal shade. The cards were going around in a silence broken only by the cold voice of the dealer: ‘… ace for the johnnie, another blue, the ladies are paired, and here we go. You have a hunch, bet a bunch. Throw it in ‘n it’ll all come home. Ladies say they’ve got the hammer. The blue says no, could be a bucket, and bumps all the way. When you’re out turn ‘em over. Acey-Johnnie talks like three, ‘n here we go …’

  I knew the dealer, but he was in the slot and his cold eyes saw nothing but cards. My man was a shadow in a chair against the far wall. I had bought time, but not much. My two shadows would have turned the corner and found me gone. Maybe two, maybe three minutes of quick running, and then they would stop and they would know about the poker game down here. Maybe one minute. Any second I would hear the door open again far back down that long hall. I stepped to the shadow in the chair.

  ‘Hello, Dan, some action? The shill in the jeans’ll stand soon.’

  ‘I need some time, Cellars,’ I said. ‘And the back door.’

  ‘Cops?’ Cellars Johnson said, tilting his chair forward until his black face came into view. ‘Cellars’ Johnson because he knew every cellar in Little Italy, the Village, and Chelsea where his poker game could be played.

  ‘You know better,’ I said. No man brought the cops after him into one of Cellars’ games. It was not good manners.

  Cellars stood up. I followed him back through the darkness. We reached the back door and Cellars unlocked it. I went through. I was in a back yard below street level. I went over a fence, across another yard, through an iron gate and up out on to Macdougall again.

  The street was deserted. I ran back to Bleecker, across to Sixth Avenue, and flagged a taxi. Once in the cab I sat back. But I did not relax.

  Now I was thinking clearly. Now I knew I had been wrong – I had nowhere to go. I knew nothing about Tani Jones or Stettin or Jo-Jo Olsen, but I was in this – and Andy Pappas was in it. With Pappas in it, and until I knew what it was all about, I could not go home. I could not go to Marty. They wanted to talk to me, and they would not let Marty or Joe just stand around watching. Until this was over, I had no friends. Not if I liked my friends. In that cab I never felt so alone in my life. Alone and scared.