Cold Justice

by Rick Polad

  A half hour later the Mustang was back in its warm garage, and I was sipping coffee and watching the news. I checked the phone book for L. Hands. There was no listing. A call to the station in the morning should take care of it with a little help from Kate. The weatherman said the cold spell should break soon. He was forecasting fifteen above by Friday. It’s not often fifteen above sounds like a heat wave. He said if it made us feel better, it was forty-eight below in Yakutsk, Siberia, the world’s coldest city. It didn’t make me feel better.

  Chapter 9

  Friday dawned bright and sunny. It had warmed to seventeen above. People waiting for buses and walking to their offices from the train were more stalwart than I, who wasn’t happy about walking from the heated house to the heated garage.

  I called Kate while waiting for traffic to clear. She said it would be nice to work on something easy and would get back to me after lunch with the name. I figured if I left by nine that would give me enough time to take care of a few things at the office and get to my Maggio appointment at eleven.

  Carol was at the coffee machine when I arrived and handed me a hot cup.

  “Thanks, my woman Friday. How was the commute this morning?”

  She laughed. “The commute is like rolling out of bed. I almost could. Living right across the street is wonderful. It’s the two block walk getting Billy to school that’s the tough part. But at least the wind has calmed down. Nice to only have to deal with the temperature.”

  I took a sip. Carol’s coffee was good, but it wasn’t like Mom’s—nothing ever is.

  She poured herself a cup and said, “The backgrounds are on your desk. Everyone picked up the photos yesterday, and you have an eleven o’clock appointment with Mr. Maggio.”

  I knew she didn’t approve of my dalliance with organized crime, but she hid it well.

  “Good. Thanks. I’ll be here until about ten.” I stopped halfway to my office, reached into my pocket, and pulled out Mooneen’s permit copy. “It’s not a case, but would you make a file for the dog lady and put this in it?”

  “I already did. What is it?”

  “A copy of the handicap permit.”

  She took it. “This is going to help?”

  “You never know.” I watched her looking it over.

  “Hard to read the signature.”

  “Impossible to read the signature. Tends to keep people anonymous.”

  I made it to my office, settled into my cushioned chair, and opened the file.

  ***

  Michael DaVita… Moose. Sixty-two years old. Born in Chicago on the south side. His listed address was Joey’s on Lincoln Park West. Married when he was twenty-two. Divorced two years later. One daughter, no address. The report listed an expired driver’s license. That had happened twelve years ago, in 1972. He had a current gun permit. Next to employment were the words “self-employed.” He had been arrested three times. Two were gambling related. One was a DUI. The only one that had stuck was the DUI. He had been given probation and during that time had let his license lapse. Not much there, but I didn’t expect much.

  The sheet on Marty Sparin had even less. Thirty-eight years old. Born in Detroit. His current address was listed as 3711 Kenmore. That put him within walking distance of Wrigley Field. A previous address was also in Chicago. He owned a 1982 Buick and had just renewed his driver’s license. No arrests. He had a degree in business from the University of Chicago. No marriage listed. He had a gun permit that had an original date of 1969, sixteen years ago.

  The driver, Danny Primo, was twenty-four years old. His address was also listed as Joey’s. He had two arrests in the last two years for petty theft, and there was a recent outstanding speeding ticket. He had a year left on parole. His parole officer wouldn’t be happy about Jack Eigen. Born in Chicago. His last place of employment was a car service station on the north side. I wondered how he got the job with Joey and thought he must be related to someone. Joey didn’t pick up kids off the street.

  Jimmy Smith, the soda jerk, had an address only a few blocks from Marty on Southport. He was fifty years old, had a valid driver’s license, and had never been arrested.

  Carol had made copies of each sheet. I left the copies with her and walked to the front window to watch the bundled pedestrians. There weren’t many. As I turned and started toward my office to get my coat, the phone rang. I sat on the edge of Carol’s desk and listened to her “umhmm” and “thanks.”

  She hung up and looked up at me. “That was Kate. Your mystery lady’s first name is Loretta.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  “Does that help?”

  “Not yet. But more information is better. Please give Ben a call and see what he can find out about Loretta Hands and please make reservations for two at McGoon’s at seven.”

  “You don’t want to use the same guy we just got the reports from?”

  “No. I have a feeling about her. Ben has sources that will go deeper than these reports. They’re just basic information.”

  “Okay.” She smiled. “Good luck with Mr. Big.”

  I got my coat and headed downtown.

  ***

  Larry Maggio’s office was on the fifth floor in an all-glass building in the high-rent district on Michigan Avenue. We had first crossed paths a few years back when a case led me to a picture gallery he owned. I had been invited by two large men in a limo who strongly recommended it would be in my best interest to have a chat with Mr. Maggio. The meeting had been cordial, and he had said to call if I ever needed anything. I try and not need things from the heads of organized crime, but this time I was working for Joey, which meant that I was working for Maggio.

  Traffic was light, and I found a spot on the first level of the parking garage. I was fifteen minutes early and stopped in the lobby to warm up. The elevator door opened opposite Maggio’s glass wall.

  The same smiling secretary was at the desk and said Mr. Maggio was expecting me, and I could go right in. She told me I could hang up my coat and announced me on the intercom. I knocked and let myself in. I couldn’t remember if the same hired help was sitting outside the door, but he was doing the same thing as the last time… reading the paper with one eye and watching me with the other.

  Maggio stood and walked around his desk. He held out his hand, and I took it.

  “Hello again, Manning. Have a seat.”

  Nothing appeared to have changed since my last visit. The view out the windows to the south was still spectacular, the bar behind the desk was well-stocked, and Maggio was dressed immaculately.

  He folded his hands on top of the glass-topped desk. “I’d offer you a drink, but last time you refused.”

  “Well it’s still hard to turn down Glenfiddich 15, but before lunch is a bit early for me. I’ll take some water.”

  “To tell you the truth, me too. Next time make the appointment for afternoon.” He smiled.

  I said I’d do my best, but I had no intention of making a habit of visiting Larry Maggio.

  He filled two crystal glasses from the pitcher on his desk and said, “I assume this is about Joey. Have you seen him?”

  “Yes. Orange isn’t a good color on him.”

  “No, that must be killing him. I was shocked he didn’t get bail.”

  “Perhaps not so shocking given who he is.”

  “Perhaps. O’Brien tells me Joey knows nothing about it and says he’s been framed. Do you have any ideas on that?”

  I took a drink. “I would have to agree. Joey’s not that dumb. First, if he did do it, he’d have an alibi set up. And second, he wouldn’t do it. He’d have someone else take care of it. Can you tell me anything?”

  He took a deep breath. “I would agree he’s been set up, but the list of possibilities is long.”

  I nodded. “Tell me about Max Schloff.”

  We were interrupted by the sound of sirens coming up Michigan Avenue.

  “Not much to tell. A nickel-and-dimer we used at times. He was harmless. He wanted
to play with the big boys, but he wasn’t very bright. I think there was something wrong with him. The boys made fun of him but would help him out sometimes if he needed a few bucks. Nobody would have any reason to kill him.”

  “One person did. And maybe the reason was to put Joey behind bars.”

  “I hear there’s a witness. You know who?”

  “Nope. That’s being kept very quiet.”

  “Bound to come out sometime.”

  “Yup. At trial if not sooner. The cops are being very tight about it.”

  We stared at each other for a minute before I said, “I have a few ideas, if you wouldn’t mind answering some questions.”

  “I might and I might not. Go ahead and ask.”

  I leaned forward and fingered the glass. “How secure is Joey’s job?”

  He raised his eyebrows. “What does that mean?”

  I shrugged and thought about how to put my questions. I usually liked my clients, but this one represented everything I thought to be wrong with the world. “Two things. Are you happy with him?”

  He sat back in his chair. “I’m not sure what that means, Manning.”

  I thought some more, staring at the sunlight sparkling in the crystal glass.

  “Is he doing his job? Causing any trouble for anybody?”

  Maggio stared at me, deciding how to respond. “Given that his job isn’t something you agree with, all I can say is, from my side of this desk, no one here has any problems with Joey.”

  I nodded slowly. “Okay. How about this? Anyone looking to take over his job? Anyone think Joey’s been doing it long enough, and it’s time for a new face in his chair?”

  He thought some more. It was like we were dancers both wanting to lead but couldn’t figure out what the rhythm was.

  “Again, from this side of the desk, I see no problems. Nobody who works for me is that dumb.”

  I disagreed. There’s always someone who wants to move up the ladder, no matter what the job. But I kept that thought to myself. “It would make sense. If this is a frame, someone wants Joey out of the way. There are two ways of doing that. Putting him in jail is one. The other is more permanent.”

  He nodded. “I do see your point, but I see no evidence of that. If someone wants him out of the way, it isn’t someone in my… company.”

  “What can you tell me about the… employees at the ice cream parlor?”

  “What do you want to know, and why?”

  “Let’s start with the why. Most crimes are committed by a relative or friend of the victim.”

  He shook his head. “I’ve already told you there’s no one who works for me you should be concerned with.”

  “I have to be concerned with everyone. And if it’s not one of them, the list of people who want to get even with Joey is endless.”

  “I don’t agree, but I see your point. What do you want to know?”

  “How long have they been… with you?”

  He laughed. “We don’t exactly keep employee files.”

  “Give me a rough guess.” Wondering how much he knew about his employees, I wanted to check what he said against what Marty had told me.

  Leaning forward, he said, “Okay. DaVita is the longest, about ten years. Marty a little less, Smith about five years, and the kid just a little over a year. But you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

  The times matched. He was more hands-on than he let on. “I have to bark up every tree. And as I already said, outside those trees the forest is huge.”

  The intercom buzzed, and he pushed a button.

  “Yes, Ashley?”

  “Your next appointment is here, Mr. Maggio.”

  “Thanks. Tell him it’ll just be a minute.”

  I guessed I was done.

  He looked up at me. “Any more questions?”

  “Just one. What do you know about his bodyguard?”

  He laughed again. “Not a thing. I don’t micromanage. Officially, why would Joey need a bodyguard to run an ice cream parlor?”

  “How about unofficially?”

  “Same answer. And why would you care?”

  “I’m just trying to help here. I start with a list that includes everyone and cross them off. A person in the ‘ice cream business’ might have a bodyguard, and that bodyguard might know something.”

  He smiled. “Do you box, Manning?”

  “Used to. Why?”

  “You’re pretty good at sparring.”

  “I do my best.”

  “Always nice chatting with you, Manning. If you need anything else, call.”

  And we’d continue dancing around my questions.

  I had never gotten much information out of Maggio, and I wasn’t fond of associating with him. Meeting with the head of organized crime in Chicago conflicted with my upbringing by a dad who was chief of police. But information is information, and a few years back a sentence from Larry Maggio had helped me solve a case. He had said he didn’t micromanage, but I was betting if he knew when Joey’s crew were hired he also knew about a bodyguard.

  I checked in with Carol from the car and told her I’d pick up sandwiches for lunch. She told me Ben couldn’t make the meeting at two but would make dinner.

  ***

  Morrie was the first to arrive. He was always fifteen minutes early. I had tried to convince him that if he could always arrive fifteen minutes early he could arrive on time. It wasn’t a concept he could understand. While we were chatting about the Cubs’ chances, Carol stepped in and told me Ralph was coming but would be a little late. Paul gave me his opinion on the changes the Cubs needed to make to get back to the World Series in 1985. He had been at the series in forty-five, the last time the Cubs had won the pennant. They hadn’t won the series since 1908. Hope springs eternal.

  Everyone but Ralph had arrived by five after two. I handed out the profile sheets and asked for reports. No one had anything out of the ordinary. I told them about Ben’s seeing Danny and Jack Eigen together.

  “There’s a name you never stop hearing,” Paul said. “Eigen can’t stand it if a week goes by without his name on the police blotter.”

  “Yeah, not exactly how you want to make a name for yourself,” replied Morrie. “But I can’t imagine the kid has anything to do with this. He’s strictly penny ante.”

  “Maybe he’s branching out,” said Rebecca.

  Morrie just shrugged.

  I heard the front door open and Ralph introduce himself to Carol. He sat on the chair in the corner, and, after briefly catching up with the three he knew, I introduced him to Helene and Chester. I filled him in and gave him Danny. That would free up Ben if something special came up.

  A little after two thirty I heard the door open again. A minute later Larry entered my office carrying a large box. Everyone but Helene got a portable phone. I had offered to buy them, but Larry offered them free if everyone agreed to record where they were using them and if they had any reception problems. He explained that the network of transmission towers was in its infancy, and they needed to find out where it worked and where it didn’t.

  They all acted like kids at Christmas with a new toy. I told them we’d meet Monday at Chin’s for lunch at noon. I saw them all out and sat in front of Carol’s desk. She gave me a hurt look.

  “So, how come I don’t get a car phone?”

  “Maybe because you don’t have a car.”

  “Men. All they have is excuses,” she answered with a slight smile.

  “And sometimes they sign checks.”

  Her smile grew bigger. “You have a point. What’s your plan for the rest of the afternoon?”

  “I’m going to the parlor and set up a meeting for Monday to have a chat with the boys. I’ve got some time to fill before I meet Ben at seven.”

  “So you think one of Joey’s people is behind this?”

  “I don’t think anything yet, Carol. I’m just watching and shaking some trees. You shake the right tree sometimes something falls out.”

  “
You mind if I close up at four? I’d like to take Billy for some new clothes.”

  “No problem. You don’t even have to ask. Just let me know.”

  “Maybe not, but I always will.”

  I just nodded. Carol was the best part about this job.

  ***

  The boys were the only ones at the parlor. It was a good thing Joey didn’t depend on ice cream to make a living. Moose just got up and knocked on Marty’s door and waved me in. I wondered how good I should feel about being one of the boys. Marty still wasn’t thrilled about my talking to the group alone.

  “What are you doing about this besides bothering us, Manning?”

  “There are a few other angles, but none are promising.” Actually, there were no other angles after Maggio had added nothing to the pot. “You and Joey have given me nothing else to go on.”

  He stood up from behind Joey’s desk and lit a cigarette. I wondered how much he liked the desk. History was full of guys getting used to other guys’ desks, sometimes with the help of a bullet or two. Maggio had told me a while back that he was a businessman—guns were a thing of the past. Maybe Marty had traded a gun for a frame.

  He reluctantly agreed to a meeting Monday and said he’d make sure Danny stopped by.

  I nodded to Moose on the way out. He nodded back. Jimmy was washing glasses and didn’t bother to look up.

  The sky had clouded over, and a wind out of the north was adding to the cold. As I crossed the street I glanced up at Loretta’s window. It was just another window. Nobody looking out and no curtains moving.

  There wasn’t enough time to go home so I headed for McGoon’s. I could get a parking spot and watch the customers over a leisurely Guinness or two.

  ***

  It was only a ten-minute drive, but I had forgotten it was Friday and that the working crowd would be quitting early and celebrating the end of the work week. The tiny parking lot behind the pub was full, and I had to park a block away on a side street. And I was lucky to get that. The walk in the cold air was invigorating, but I was glad it was only a block. The sky had clouded over, and they were predicting more snow overnight.

  I smiled at the maître d’, Nathan, as I unzipped my jacket.