by Jackson, Gil
She looked at him and her face changed. She bit her lip and Charlie could tell something was amiss. She said his name, quietly, yet with a forcefulness of a person that was overflowing with the emotion of fearfulsomeness and the need to express herself so overwhelming that consequence would go right out the window. She would no more be able to stop herself than hold back the tide.
Throwing her arms around him she burst into tears. ‘Oh, Charlie!’
His arms automatically reached out to her as she sunk her sobbing face into his shoulder. There was a pause and she lifted her head and faced him. Composing herself, her head slowly moving from side to side in a manner that was saying no to a question that he had not put; and to Charlie, the trace of two tears like those of the clown said:
‘What was Fariq, and what did they do to his daughter they want to do to our baby?’
Charlie told her the story of the Fariq family, leaving as much of the gruesome details that he could out.
‘What became of the man himself, Charlie?’ she said.
‘Last we heard ... he’d returned to Russia.’
* * *
So. The bastard has returned. Couldn’t leave well enough alone. Found them — or at least let them alone for five years — then to the day dropped his evil bombshell at the precise moment when a mother — at her proudest, is her most vulnerable. An anniversary card from a warped mind to someone that knew nothing, and had never had any dealings with. It was little wonder that she had not wanted to tell Frank first: she must have been going out of her mind. So much for the Marco Giuseppi file having been closed. He had never heard of a grudge by a criminal to a law enforcement officer to have been so protracted — directed at a man’s family. There would be threats, of course there would be, made in a court after a man had been convicted, but they hardly ever amounted to anything. Nothing was ever that personal. Hadn’t they run into local hoodlums that they had brought to book, sent down and later meeting them after their release greeting them with a civility that, although not brotherly, wasn’t of a vindictive nature. But this card. There was little doubt in Charlie’s mind that it could be anyone else than Marco Giuseppi. All his business activities, his labour scams, the protection, the stills, they had been nothing to his child abductions, which, although ceased locally had seemed to have gone national. His house, boarded up and which had not seen his shadow on its front door since that day was a despairing and pitiful abode which still gave people the shivers to look at. And that was in the daylight. At night it took on a life of its own — local people saying they could hear the muffled cries of children from within it portals. Not that he had much time for that kind of mumbo-jumbo, but nevertheless —
As for the Marco Giuseppi file, there was a need for it to be reopened, officially or otherwise, so there it was.
His immediate concern was what the hell he was supposed to say to Sarah? And in a more practical manner what was he supposed to do with her and David until Frank’s return?
He tried to explain — leaving out the gory details as best he could — the life of Marco Giuseppi and his criminal activities involving labour scams within the docks. He could tell from her expression that she didn’t buy it and that there was more to it than that. He stood silent when she challenged him and seeing his dilemma decided that she probably didn’t want to know any more, for the moment at least. He carried on. ‘Have you the envelope it came in, Sarah?’ She pulled it from her dress pocket and handed it to him.
Turning it over he read the address. It had been sent to her.
‘It’s all right, David hasn’t seen it if that’s what you’re thinking.’
‘I can’t believe Frank left knowing you had this.’
‘He didn’t know he’d gone by the time it arrived.’
She burst into tears again and Charlie realised she had carried on with David’s party without any way of letting Frank know of this terrible message of ill-will, and up until now, when all David’s young guests had left, and David was in bed, had shown no outward sign that anything was amiss.
He looked at the envelope again. Sweet Mother of Jesus, he said to himself, this thing’s been delivered by hand. Had Sarah noticed? There’s only her and David in the house — he’d watched her send Martha home. Not that she’d be any more able to protect them in the event of an intruder of Giuseppi’s. And nor would he be. He was going to have to contact Frank and let him know. The problem was that he would have to leave Sarah alone to do that; and with Frank out of town on the Seaburg investigations he was not sure how he could be contacted.
Sarah though, was ahead of him. Having satisfied herself that there was a danger reasoned a solution for that night’s safety at least. Tomorrow would bring further solutions, and she was expecting Frank back the day after.
Charlie on hearing her plans shouldn’t have been surprised, for her people, like his to a lesser degree — that were not orthodox American Caucasian and had to suffer racial or religious bigotry and unfortunately had gotten not only used to it but had found simple solutions to their problems. David and her would pack up an overnight bag and stay with him she said.
* * *
Frank was on the investigating team looking into the Hon. James Walker’s affairs. Along with other agents from the Bureau, they had started to pick their way through the scams and misappropriation of city monies in the name of the Mayor of New York. What made the whole ball game more difficult was the fact that the police department’s own vice squad was heavily involved in their own illegal operations. Framing women on trumped up charges of immorality or possession of drugs and blackmailing them. When they couldn’t pay they would turn to prostitution.
The whole was a long and arduous task headed by Judge Seaburg, an Episcopalian moralist who was no stranger to opening up cans of worms – he’d uncovered a courtroom racket by the Metropolitan Street Railway of using their own judges whenever their company was up before the courts, overriding any objections from lesser mortals.
Frank liked what Judge Seaburg was about and felt that with the like of his kind he and Charlie were no longer fighting child abuse alone. As to the rest of crime, although since the death of Police Commissioner Harry Rivers the corruption in the police department had gotten worse, they were working for the side of law that was slowing its descent into the mire rather than stopping it altogether.
Head of operations was deputy director Nathaniel Johnson, said to be a member of the Bureau’s Special Operations Surveillance Unit, specialising in infiltrating organisations that might be a threat to United States’ security. His name rang a bell but could get no further information, it was: a need to know only basis.
Whatever he was or wasn’t, Frank couldn’t help liking his easy manner although his taste in pipes and tobacco was something else. But apart from smoking the office out he was Judge Seaburg’s number one right hand man for operational management so who was he to complain. He sat Frank down at his desk and stood preferring to address his subject while pacing backwards and forwards.
‘Right, Agent Weinberg, first of all let me say that it’s good to have you with us, you come highly recommended. Sorry you couldn’t work with your partner, Charlie O’Hare isn’t it?’
Frank nodded, went to speak but the deputy director wasn’t expecting a verbal reply.
‘We tried, but, never mind, this is how it’s to be, an on-going operation that will be going on for some time. Teams will be interchanged. We want no familiarity with those we are investigating, that way we can keep the whole operation squeaky clean. Right?’
Frank nodded.
‘Good. As for your part in all this, you’ll be in charge of one of the main busts. We’ve a male transvestite prostitute that’s been arrested for importuning. Turns out he’s being blackmailed by the people that are supposed to uphold law and order and are not bothered that he’s a man. We’ve persuaded him to turn Queens’ in return for information. He knows all the officers involved in what’s going on; he also works for the cit
y hall’s finance department which makes it useful for us since he can name names of public servants that’re getting backhanders on the Hon. Mayor’s behalf.’
Deputy Director Nathan Johnson went on to explain after Frank had asked what the young man had been caught doing. ‘He was a God damn arse-’ole bandit prostituting himself in women’s clothes and was that damn attractive he gave me an ’ard-on.’
Frank had sheepishly made the comment, ‘That good was he?’
‘Better looking as a woman than a man that’s for sure. Still you can judge for yourself when you speak to him.’
‘What’s he to do with the bust, if you’ve all the information?’
‘They gave him such a hard time, that he started playing them at their own game and started taking names and numbers. That’s them here. He’s our way to the main boys.’ He opened a folder in front of him, pulled out a sheet and handed it to Frank. ‘They were getting that sure of themselves that the wife of a certain captain was running one of her own brothels. When the situation gets as bad as that, agent, you can see why we can trust no one in this operation remotely connected with the police.’
Frank cast his eye over it. ‘Reminds me of another—’
‘There’s a local club, Tinkerboys, they like to keep in touch with each other, that’s where you’ll find them and you’ve two days to sort yourself out, you go in. Use whatever it takes.’
‘My life I can’t believe the police have come to this.’
‘Sorry, agent, present company accepted; but that’s the way it is, you’ve the Mayor of New York to thank for this and it’ll gotten worse without the Judge, so we can be thankful for him.’
‘Don’t worry about it, I’ve had my head buried in more serious matters for the last five years; things have got worse since, I can see that.’
‘Right I’ll leave it with you, Maddox is his name. I’ll get them to introduce you.’ He ushered him from behind his desk. ‘Now get outta my chair and don’t forget soon as you’re done you clear out and clear off, I’ll do the mopping up and reporting back. We won’t meet again after this.’
* * *
Maddox was being held in a police cell. The deal had been that he was to be detained for twenty-four hours to clear up everything that he knew of police involvement before being released without further charge. And that was Frank’s sum total as far as his part in the enquiry was concerned — a continual change of investigating officers in and out. The authorities might have other ideas at a later date. It was highly unlikely that Maddox’s employers wouldn’t be told of his activities whatever else he might have been told to get him to talk. As far as the Bureau was concerned they couldn’t be seen to be doing deals and being caught out later.
Frank didn’t take to Maddox when he saw him. Whether it was because he was homosexual, he wasn’t sure. He spoke with him for half an hour and he’d more or less confirmed names on his list from memory, except for a small oversight. The file failed to mention that Tinkerboys was a club run by the Mob. As well as being an outlet for their bootleg spirits, all sexes’ prostitution was also on the menu. As to how Maddox got into this in the first place; when he had a perfectly well paid job? He told him that it was to finance $500 a week shots of arsenic and bismuth to cure him of syphilis. If he was telling the truth, well he felt sorry for him. But he was his own worst enemy. A victim of a choice he had freely made — venereal disease was of epidemic proportions in New York. All he could do was reassure him that they were not in the business of compromising his career or making life any more difficult for him than it was already. He went on to suggest that a doctor and a hospital might be a better bet for him, we can see to that for you for your assistance in these matters (he, at least had that much authority).
Maddox had gone on to explain that he’d been operating in Tinkerboys and that he was becoming increasingly concerned for some of the girls that were working there. One in particular had had a lot of trouble trying to pay off her bondsman as well as the police. The police officer in question said that he wouldn’t go away — and you know where a bondsman stands. He told her he knew a bar where she could earn some extra cash. At the end of her tether and in sheer desperation she killed herself. He decided that enough was enough.
After an hour of going through who was who on the list he felt that he had all he needed from this man; promised to do what he could for him and released him back into police custody until the job was finished — he didn’t need to take a chance that he might be a double agent. Working through the rest of the night he formulated his plans for what would be the bust of New York and Mayor James Walker.
* * *
Frank made his mind up quickly; he was not going to dress as a shape-changer to get into Tinkerboys. He had thought about calling Charlie to see if he fancied it but could see that could be stretching their friendship a little too far. The image came to him of a ruddy-faced, curly and ginger-haired Irishman, wearing brogues, brown derby, green-sequinned dress with the merest hint of make-up, tap-dancing and jigging his way into the club; was too much for him, shook his head and said to himself, He’d never get away with it.
He had a list of reliable people from Nathan Claypole that he should use and from it recruited two agents and a dozen of Pinkerton’s Detective agency’s best. The plan was to go in heavy-handed with sledge hammers and Thompson sub-machine guns. It wasn’t the faeries or the shape changers that would be the problem when they went in but the heavies in the back rooms running it; he was under no illusion on that score — they would be armed and ready, but hopefully surprise would be on their side. The other problem would be if there were any tip offs: the police themselves could be waiting for them. There could be no question of any thing other than shoot first; ask for their credentials after. The excuse that they were under attack from another mob would not have been used for the first time against members of the Bureau. That was likelihood that he would have no control over.
Customs’ had made available an empty warehouse to act as a holding centre for the estimated 200-odd patrons that were expected that night. Beds and furnishings, toilet facilities and screens had been brought in from an emergency war-time facility as well as doctors and nursing staff and equipment in case of injury. Transport was supplied by the prison service in the form of coaches and catering — courtesy of DeLuxe. These prosecution witnesses were to be spirited away right from under the noses of the police and anyone else connected with Mayor James Walker and put under the microscope. He was not so naïve to think that everything had been covered; but as sure as he could be.
* * *
Charlie, who had been having difficulty getting through to Frank because of the sensitivity of the operation, obtained special clearance because of the extenuating circumstance of Sarah’s distress. Frank guessed when he answered the telephone that something was amiss.
‘Charlie! How are you? You’d love what I’m on—’ His voice trailed off as his enthusiasm gave way to anxiety. ‘What’s the trouble, Charlie?’
‘Now don’t you go getting overwrought about what I’m saying, I’ve everything in hand until you get back—’
‘Come on spit it out, what is it, O’Hare? Has something happened to Sarah — David—?’
‘No, nothing like that, listen, have you had any threats while you’ve been doing whatever you’re doing—?’
‘Stop skirting, Charlie, what’d you talking about, threats?’
‘Sarah’s had one.’
‘Threats! My life get to it, Charlie. What threats?’
‘I don’t know.’ He lied. ‘But Sarah was a little concerned so they’re staying at my place for a few days — you know what women are like, it’s probably something over nothing, she’s a lot happier staying with me while you’re away — probably missing you.’
‘Missing me? You haven’t broke security over nothing, Charlie, and we’re hardly likely to have threats — no one knows us or what we’re doing, unless you’re talking—’ His mind raced ahead. N
o it couldn’t. He hasn’t been able to track him for the last five years how could he have got through his web without him having a hint of where he was?
‘Frank, listen, there’s nothing to worry about, I thought you should know what’s going on. Sarah and David are safe with me you know that, just keep your head down, it’s for your safety I’m calling, not Sarah’s, someone could be watching you.’
Frank didn’t need him to say anymore. He would have everything under control. ‘OK, Charlie. Thanks. If you’re sure I don’t need to come home, I’ll leave it with you, you were right to call me.’
‘Might be as well you cover up.’
* * *
Frank thought about Marco Giuseppi. They had followed every possible lead they could in the tracking of him and all led to nothing. Charlie couldn’t say the word over the telephone — it was clear to the both of them that someone knew where he was and a telephone bug could let someone know how close they were. But, if he had found them, or more to the point had known where they were and what they were up to, well the thought was definitely unsettling. He and Charlie had always been aware of the problem with making discreet inquiries: rule 1, the information you’re seeking may alert them before you’ve become near enough to apprehend them. Rule 2, make sure you’re the hunter, not the hunted. That would mean someone, somewhere, in a high place that knows more of the works of Marco Giuseppi than are letting on, and, inadvertently putting them in danger — knowingly. He’d since accounted for one but not the others that were with Giuseppi that day. If the plan had been to get rid of him for what he knew, a high profile operation like this Seaburg investigation would be an ideal time. That would involve someone high up. Very high up in fact. High enough to be able to pass a directive down through the system that would not be questioned, and would not be challenged. There was only a limited amount of people that could carry that kind of weight. They would operate under the directive of the President — though he would not be personally involved — the inner workings of Government were not for him to fret upon. Unofficial surveillance groups. People like Johnson and Sullivan — denied by the Bureau, were a clear example of that. The President would not need to know the details of the running of such a group, but the person taking the order, he would have the necessary credentials to get away with murder. Stalking the corridors of power like some latter day English Oliver Cromwell torturing confessions out of Royalists on behalf of the State. The Seal of the People in one hand, a thumb-screw in the other, with no more concern for a man and his family than his job with an overview of how he thought things should be. If such a man existed and was protecting Giuseppi for some obscure cause or reason, he would have ultimate protection to carry on doing whatever he chose. Instinct told him that he should consider their futures very carefully indeed. At least he was thinking and aware of the possibility, which could put him one jump ahead of Oliver (Rule 3).
