Carroll glanced over at Sands. He looked a little apologetic. “He came in the tavern yesterday morning about ten thirty and asked to see the boss.”
“I see. Then what happened?”
“I called Harry from the kitchen, and he asked Sands what he wanted. Sands gave him a list of dealers who supply taverns with things they need. He told Harry he had to start buying from them instead of the suppliers he had been using.”
“He told him, Mr. Carroll? This was a command?”
“Well, it wasn’t just a request. But, you see, this was before Sands knew that Ginny—”
“Just answer my questions, please,” the district attorney interrupted. “There’s no need to elaborate. Did Harry—Mr. Thompson have any objection to this high-handed order?”
“He blew his lid,” Carroll said. “Harry didn’t take to being pushed around. He ordered Sands out.”
“Did the defendant then leave?”
Carroll’s gaze strayed to Sands, then away again. In a reluctant voice he said, “No. There was a fight. Harry tried to take Sands and got knocked silly.”
“Sands beat him up?”
“Well, he didn’t mark him any. But Harry was out on his feet. On his pants, rather. He just sat there on the floor looking punchy.”
“Then what happened?”
“Sands walked behind the bar and opened both beer taps to let the beer run on the floor.”
Coombs asked, “Why did he do that?”
Carroll said unhappily, “He said it was an object lesson, because we were dealing with the wrong beer suppliers. He Was going to break some liquor bottles too, until Ginny—”
Martin Coombs interrupted again. “Did you know Judson Sands was from Chicago?”
Carroll looked confused by the abrupt switch. “Not then, I didn’t. I found out later he was from Chicago.”
Sands was forced to feel grudging admiration for the district attorney’s smoothness. His previous remark about Sands’ out-of-state underworld connections, coupled with this reference to his being from Chicago, left the impression that he was a representative of some Chicago gang attempting to muscle into Ridgeford. Obviously any attempt by Carroll to mention Renzo Amatti would be blocked in the same manner as were his attempts to mention Ginny. He wondered how Coombs would handle the situation if Amos Swert tried to bring out mention of Amatti or Ginny in cross-examination, then immediately decided it would be simple. With the judge so flagrantly on the prosecution’s side, Coombs merely had to object and he would be sustained.
Coombs said, “Sands’ purpose in all this was extortion, wasn’t it? And if Harry Thompson didn’t ‘come around,’ as Sands phrased it, didn’t the defendant threaten more serious retaliation?”
Amos Swert bounced to his feet. “Objection, Your Honor. Counsel is leading the witness.”
The judge demonstrated his impartiality by tossing the defense a bone. “Sustained,” he said graciously. “Please rephrase that so that the witness can give a proper answer, Mr. Prosecutor.”
Swert sat down again and whispered to Sands, “What is all this? Is he telling the truth?”
“So far as it goes,” Sands said. “The D.A. cuts him off every time he mentions Ginny. The whole picture would change if Carroll could get that in.”
Martin Coombs was saying, “What explanation did Sands give for his actions, Mr. Carroll?”
“I told you. He wanted Harry to deal with different suppliers.”
“In other words, it was extortion.”
“I guess you could call it that,” Carroll admitted.
“Did the defendant threaten further retaliation if Thompson didn’t ‘come around’?”
“He said he’d keep coming back until he did come around. And every time he’d beat Harry up a little worse and mess the place up a little more.”
“Did he say mess the place up, or blow it up?” Coombs shot at him.
“Objection!” Amos Swert roared.
Before the judge could rule, the district attorney said suavely, “I’ll withdraw that question. Your witness, counselor.”
Swert said to the judge, “If the court please, I’d like to request a ten-minute recess to confer with my client before cross-examining this witness.”
The judge glanced at Martin Coombs, who merely shrugged.
“All right,” the judge agreed. “Court is recessed for ten minutes.”
CHAPTER XV
AS THE judge left for his chambers, Sands said, “Can we smoke in here?”
“Over on the side,” Swert told him, rising and leading the way to a side window.
As both men lit cigarettes, Sands saw Ginny start toward them from the rear and Bridget begin to make her way toward them also. Amatti’s gray-faced bodyguard rose and strolled toward the main door at the rear of the room.
Swert said, “Now what’s all this about your trouble with Thompson yesterday morning?”
Sands said, “I would have told you, but I never expected Carroll to be a witness. I thought the last thing Amatti would want would be any mention of extortion.”
“You should have told me no matter what you thought,” Swert said crossly. “I can’t work in the dark. Did you try to force Thompson into switching suppliers?”
Before Sands could reply, Ginny and Bridget simultaneously joined them.
Bridget said timidly, “I don’t want to disturb you, Jud, because I know you have things to discuss with your lawyer. I just want you to know that if I can do anything to help, I’ll be glad to.”
Ginny looked the redhead up and down curiously. Sands said, “Thanks, Bridget. Just your moral support is a help.” He introduced her to Ginny and Swert.
Ginny gave the girl a cool but polite greeting. The lawyer gave her a perfunctory nod and glanced pointedly at his watch.
Sands said to Swert, “There isn’t anything we can’t discuss before Bridget. She’s on our side. In answer to your question, counselor, yes I did push Harry Thompson around a little. Yesterday morning I was working for Amatti.”
The lawyer stared at him.
“Renzo hired me to lean on Thompson,” Sands said. “I was leaning hard when Ginny walked in. Ginny and I grew up together in Chicago, but we’ve been out of touch. I didn’t even know she was married, let alone that she lived in Ridgeford now. When I discovered she was Thompson’s wife, I stopped leaning and apologized to Thompson. Later I not only quit my job with Amatti, I warned him to leave Thompson alone. That’s why he has this grudge.”
Ginny said quietly, “He’s telling the truth, Amos. Jud was going to help us fight Amatti.”
Swert frowned from one to the other of them. “Why didn’t you give me this background before, so I could prepare a proper defense?” he asked irritably.
“Think it will do any good, now that you know it?” Sands asked with a touch of cynicism. “Coombs is going to block every attempt you make to bring in mention of either Amatti or Ginny. And with the judge on his side, how are you going to get it in?”
Swert stared out the window, his brow furrowed. Following his gaze, Sands felt depressed at the peaceful scene outdoors. The window looked onto a broad lawn at the side of the City Hall. A massive oak, whose thick branches reached to within a few feet of the building, was beginning to bud. People strolled along the sidewalk, enjoying the early spring sunshine. He wondered how many years it would be, if ever, before he would be able to enjoy a spring again.
Swert said slowly, “Even if we managed to get your story into evidence, there’s no way to prove it. Amatti wouldn’t admit ever having heard of you.”
“Jack Carroll knows what happened,” Ginny said. “And you could put me on the stand.”
After considering this, Swert shook his head. “Frankly I don’t believe anything will work at this hearing. The attitude of the court suggests Sands will be remanded for grand jury action, no matter what evidence we present. I don’t think there’s anything we can do but accept that and a subsequent indictment by the grand jury. We’ll h
ave to bank on beating the case in District Court.”
“Which is also controlled by Amatti,” Sands said cynically. “What it boils down to, counselor, is that you just can’t save me. Doesn’t it?”
Swert turned and unlatched one side of the window to toss his cigarette out in a vicious arc.
Bridget said, “Certainly they can’t convict you if you’re innocent, can they, Jud?”
Sands didn’t reply. He was thoughtfully examining the window the lawyer had opened. The courtroom windows were low-silled and nearly six feet tall, opening from the center like French doors, though they were solid panes of glass instead of being divided into small squares. He flipped his cigarette outside after the lawyer’s.
Bridget said, “Can they, Jud?”
Sands glanced at her. “Ask Mr. Swert.”
Swert said with the suppressed fury of frustration, “In Renzo Amatti’s fixed courts, I can’t guarantee any such thing as justice.”
“But he’s innocent!” Bridget protested.
Sands examined her curiously. “How do you know, Bridget?”
She looked at him wide-eyed. “I’ve been listening to the conversation.”
“Sure. But you knew before you walked into court. What gives you such unquestioning faith?”
Bridget flushed. Ginny said with the faintest trace of hostility, “The girl is in love with you, you idiot.”
It was impossible to tell by her tone whether the hostility was directed at Bridget, or at Sands in sympathy for Bridget.
Bridget turned crimson. Sands stared from her to Ginny and back again. Swert looked embarrassed.
Ginny laid a hand on Bridget’s arm and said contritely, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have blurted that out. I’ve been so upset, half the time I don’t know what I’m saying.”
Bridget’s eyes avoided everyone. “It’s all right,” she said in a low voice.
The judge appeared from the door to his chambers. The court clerk announced in a sonorous voice, “All rise.”
Ginny and Bridget hurriedly began to make their way back to their seats. Amos Swert started toward the defense table.
In a soft voice Sands said to the lawyer’s back, “Thanks for the try, counselor. We’ll try it my way now.”
Stepping to the window, he flung both sides wide open. Without haste he mounted the sill, then paused for a moment to glance back over his shoulder. The judge, just mounting the bench, was looking toward him in outrage. Amos Swert had halted and turned, and his mouth gaped open in surprise. Ginny’s back was to him, but Bridget had already reached her place and was staring at him with an expression of fright. In the crowd he caught a glimpse of Joey’s gray face, as blankly unemotional as that of a corpse.
Because of their proximity to prisoners, the court bailiffs did not carry guns. But the policeman guarding the main door was armed. Drawing his service revolver, he began to run down the center aisle.
Sands faced forward and looked down. It was a good twenty-five feet to the ground. But the huge oak stretched one thick branch to within four feet of the building, just below the window.
With a catlike leap Sands landed on the branch with both feet. His weight bent it downward, but by grasping a smaller overhead branch he managed to maintain precarious balance. Then, as lightly as a fleeing squirrel, he ran down the thick branch to the trunk, grabbed another small branch with both hands and swung downward to a second one thick enough to support his weight.
By the time the armed policeman reached the window, Sands had dropped from branch to branch to the ground.
“Halt or I’ll fire!” the policeman yelled.
Sands kept the bole of the tree between himself and the window until he reached the sidewalk. Startled pedestrians stared at him as he headed down the street at a dead run.
No shot came. There were too many innocent bystanders in the line of fire for the officer above to risk one.
Sands sprinted a full block, then swung right. Still traveling at full speed, he left a wake of gaping pedestrians behind him. At the end of this block he came to a Kresge store. Plunging into it, he came to an abrupt halt.
Winded by his two-block dash, he merely stood for a moment, drawing in deep gulps of air. A few nearby customers glanced at him curiously, but otherwise no one paid him any attention. Quickly, but without eye-catching haste, he worked his way diagonally across the crowded store to a side entrance. By the time he reached it, his breathing had returned to normal.
The side entrance let him out directly in front of a bus stop. A bus was just loading. Stepping aboard, Sands dropped two dimes in the slot and took a seat immediately behind the driver. The bus was only about half full.
As it pulled away, sirens began to sound.
“Must be a fire somewhere,” the driver commented.
“Yeah,” Sands said.
He had been lucky enough to board an express bus, which stopped only at six-block intervals. At the first stop a police car roared by with its siren wide open.
“Guess it was an accident instead of a fire,” the driver said.
“Yeah,” Sands repeated.
Glancing at the destination marker up front, he saw he had boarded a Terrace Heights bus. Terrace Heights was a suburb to the east of Ridgeford.
At the third stop, eighteen blocks from the City Hall, he got off. Dimly he could hear a siren in the distance, but there were no cruising radio cars in sight.
At an unhurried pace he walked two blocks to another bus line and caught a local headed south. It took him to within two blocks of the Hotel Centner.
He approached the hotel by means of the alley behind it. Cautiously he moved across the vacant parking lot to the rear door. The door to Bridget’s apartment was just inside this, and he tried the knob. It was locked.
Quietly he moved up the hall until he could get a view of the desk. No one was behind it, and the lobby was deserted. Spotting the night push bell on the desk, he guessed that George the janitor had taken over for Bridget while she visited court, and was as usual taking his ease in the small room behind the desk.
Sands tiptoed forward until he could see into the room at an angle. The colored janitor, profile toward him, was seated in an easy chair reading a magazine.
Without sound Sands circled the lobby to the far side of the desk, which was out of George’s range of vision. Slipping behind it, he studied the tier of message boxes. As he had hoped, there was one labeled 101, the number of Bridget’s apartment, and there was a spare key in it. He pocketed it.
Circling the lobby again, he quietly mounted the stairway next to the elevator. Two minutes later he came down again, carrying his suitcase. On tiptoe he moved down the rear hall to Bridget’s door.
Inside, with the door locked behind him, there was nothing to do but wait for the red-headed girl’s return home. He decided to take advantage of the wait by removing the visible signs of his night in jail.
Taking a quick shower, he changed clothing from the skin out. Then he located an iron and board in the kitchen and pressed the wrinkles from his suit.
He had just put his suit back on and was putting away the ironing board when he heard a key slide into the apartment’s front door and turn.
CHAPTER XVI
SANDS WATCHED from the edge of the kitchen doorway, ready to retreat behind the door if Bridget wasn’t alone. She was. As she clicked the door shut behind her, he stepped into the front room.
She stared at him whitely. Then she raced across the room and threw her arms about his neck.
“Jud,” she breathed. “I’ve been driving myself crazy imagining they’d caught you and you were lying somewhere full of bullets.”
He grinned down at her. “Why should you care?”
Looking up into his eyes, she colored faintly. “Because it’s like this,” she said, drawing his face down to hers.
Their lips met in what started to be a mere kiss of hello. Then he felt hers gradually open. He allowed his to open too, and a pointed little tongue
thrust into his mouth.
As her tongue touched his, a sizzling spark ran through both of them. Half frantic with worry before she entered the apartment, her relief and gladness at finding him safe converted her already highly charged emotion into passion. Her grip tightened about his neck and her questing tongue forced his mouth wide open. Her body strained so tightly against him, he could feel the contour of her figure all the way from her full bust clear down to her thighs.
For a suspended moment they pressed body to body in growing passion. Then, with one accord, they sank to the floor right where they were.
With a single quick motion he slid the zipper at the back of her dress from the nape of her neck to the waist. Nearly sobbing with eagerness, she helped him slip the garment over her head. Her slip came right along with it, staying inside the dress.
Tossing it aside, he unsnapped her brassière and hurled it after the dress and slip. She fell to the rug on her back, and her hips momentarily raised as he stripped off a pair of sheer nylon panties, leaving her clad in nothing but stockings.
Rising, he stood towering over her as he ripped off his own clothing and cast it aside in a heap. Her full breasts, firm and erect and snow white, rose and fell with the effort of her breathing. Her pupils dilated enormously and her face grew curiously numb as she stared up at him.
“My God!” she whispered when he stood before her nude.
Her thighs began to tremble with a mixture of apprehension and anticipation.
As he dropped alongside of her and swept her into his arms, she started to make guttural animal noises.
An eternity later he rolled aside and gently kissed the end of her nose. Glassy-eyed, she gave him an exhausted smile. Coming erect, he gazed down at her. She lay still, arms and legs flung outward in a position of tired abandon, her expression one of such complete satiation that she seemed content merely to lie there unmoving forever.
Dropping to his knees beside her again, he gently touched her cheek. “What happened to those inhibitions you mentioned, redhead?”
She gave him a sleepy smile. “I suppose I should feel ashamed. But I just don’t care. I feel like lying here without moving and going to sleep. Put your head on my shoulder for a minute.”
Edge of the Law Page 10
