Enforcer

by Sydney J. Bounds

  While he waited for a flight back to New Orleans, he reviewed likely men for Madden’s job. He was going to be particular. He felt excited for the first time in years. Madden was a top organiser and, if this went right, word would soon get around that Leon Greco could be relied on. Then he’d be asked by other organisers to provide teams of specialists, and he would quickly build a thriving — and safe — business.

  *

  Diamond leaned back in a swivel chair, his feet crossed on the desktop. He held a glass of iced water in one hand and there was a broad smile on his chocolate face as he contemplated his name in reverse on the pebbled-glass door. The window was open, bringing the sounds of washing machines below and an appetising smell of gumbo from next door, a murmur of voices as tourists passed by on the sidewalk.

  His thoughts drifted and he wondered what a private eye was supposed to do while waiting for a client to arrive. Earlier, he’d spent a couple of hours working out at a gym, had lunch and completed two dozen lengths in a swimming pool.

  The heat was slowly getting to him and he was about ready to doze off when footfalls tapped on the wooden stairs.

  He removed his feet from the desk, grabbed a note-pad and ball-pen and tried to look alert as the door opened and a woman walked in.

  Diamond smiled as he rose to greet her.

  She was black and carried a copy of the local paper open to the advertisement Cave had placed. ‘You Diamond?’

  He noted a plain gold ring on her finger. ‘Yes ma’am. How can I help you?’

  She took her time looking him over, seemed impressed, and sat in a cane chair across the desk.

  Diamond resumed his seat. She was in her middle twenties, he judged, a ripe beauty wearing a bright blue dress tight enough to show off her figure. Her face was marked, cheeks bruised and lips split.

  ‘Mrs. —?’

  ‘Call me Louise.’

  ‘Louise is fine, ma’am. You want to tell me your trouble?’

  For a moment she looked as though she might burst into tears; so her pride had been hurt too. Then she regained control.

  ‘It’s my husband, Melvin.’

  Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear. Then she raised her voice and stated clearly: ‘I purely love that man, and the only thing I’ve got against him is he beats me when he’s drunk. And he’s drunk too damned often!’

  Her eyes measured his size.

  ‘You figure you might throw a scare into him — you’re big enough, I reckon — scare him off drinking, for a hundred bucks? You can take the dough off him. It’s like, I don’t want to lose Melvin, but I sure can’t take any more drinking and beating up on me. Can you make that clear to him?’

  ‘I can try,’ Diamond said mildly. ‘A woman should be treated right by her man.’

  ‘I don’t want him hurt none,’ Louise said quickly.

  Washington T. Diamond stood up behind his desk, his face solemn. He had his first case.

  ‘I might just dust him down a little,’ he admitted.

  They went downstairs to his car and he drove north to Louise’s place, part of a housing development just above Basin Street. The apartment was neat and clean, and she brewed coffee and chicory while they waited for Melvin to get home from work. Louise switched the radio to her favourite soap opera while Diamond thought how he might handle the situation.

  Louise looked at the electric wall clock. ‘Melvin’ll be maybe ten minutes,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Do you have any whisky?’

  She jumped up. ‘I should have asked if —’

  Diamond shook his head. ‘I don’t drink. It’s just to set the scene a little. A couple of glasses and — if you don’t mind — could you slip into a wrap and let your hair down? The idea is to give him something to worry about.’

  Louise’s eyes sparkled. ‘Yeah, I like it.’

  She went into the bedroom and came back in a wrap that showed a lot of bare leg and the cleft between her breasts. She brought a tray from the kitchen with a whisky bottle and two glasses, and half-filled the glasses.

  She took a sip, and giggled. ‘Maybe it’s a good thing Melvin is due home, Mr. Diamond!’

  He relaxed as she lit a cigarette and plumped herself down on the couch beside him and mussed the cushions.

  ‘Maybe it is,’ he said dryly. ‘Just don’t overdo it, or I might have a real fight on my hands.’

  A door slammed and a voice called, ‘You cooking, Louise? Hurry it, will ya? I’ve got a drinking date with some buddies — sure ain’t got no time to waste.’

  A lean negro appeared in the doorway, a flashy dresser, handsome with a neat moustache. He saw Diamond, stopped in his tracks and scowled.

  ‘Who’re you, man? What you think you’re doing with my wife?’

  He sniffed whisky fumes and stared hard at Louise’s gaping wrap. ‘I’m telling you, I don’t like what I see here.’

  Diamond rose and stretched, towering over Melvin. ‘I’m a friend of Louise’s, a friend you owe some money.’

  He took a step forward, opening big hands and putting on a frightening face.

  ‘Say, what is this?’

  Louise blew a smoke ring and crushed out her cigarette, shaking with excitement.

  Diamond lifted Melvin easily so his toes left the floor, and jerked a wallet from his inside jacket pocket. He dumped Melvin, counted off a hundred dollars and tossed the wallet back. There wasn’t much left in it.

  ‘Hey, man,’ Melvin protested. ‘That’s my drinking money!’

  Diamond shook his head sadly. ‘No way, Melvin. You just quit drinking, so you don’t need the dough. You beat up Louise when you drink, so I’m helping you to stop, get it?’

  Melvin was outraged. ‘Who says I beat her?’

  ‘Her face says so.’

  Melvin looked at his wife as if he hadn’t seen her before, and moistened his lips. ‘Hell, maybe — I don’t rightly know what I’m doing when I’ve had a few. You know how it is.’

  ‘Yeah, I know. And you know a man doesn’t beat up a fine wife like yours and still keep her. So that makes me your best friend. You’ve got a real loving woman there, so why don’t you hit the sack and show her a good time before someone else does.’

  Diamond picked up Melvin again and shook him the way a dog takes a rat in its teeth and shakes it.

  ‘Just remember, Louise has got plenty of friends. You hit her once more and I’ll break you in two.’

  Diamond dropped him like a sack of potatoes on the couch, and Louise moved in to console her husband. He grinned to himself as he went out through the door.

  *

  Kenny was waiting with the Ford when Leon Greco landed and sucked in a lungful of steamy New Orleans’ air. The Fox moved swiftly to the car and got in the back, grateful for the air-conditioning.

  ‘Good trip, Mr. Greco?’ Kenny asked, putting away the girlie magazine he had been studying.

  ‘Fine, just fine.’

  He was in a good mood, pleased with life and the way things were working out for him. He lit a cigar as the car edged out into the traffic and headed towards the city centre.

  Kenny’s lips moved incessantly as he drove. ‘That Go-go dancer . . .’

  When he got the car where he wanted it, he interrupted his unconscious babbling long enough to say; ‘Jacobs was on the blower while you were away. He left this message — ‘What you suspected is a fact’. He said you’d understand.’

  Greco chewed the end of his cigar, spoiling it. His good mood was spoilt too. He mashed his butt into the Ford’s ashtray.

  He understood what Jacobs meant all right. For a while now he’d suspected that Roach, who managed the video porn factory, was into him for a sizable slice of dough. It was easy enough; all he had to do was run off a few extra copies and sell them privately.

  Greco expected this and was prepared to allow it on a small scale. But it seemed that Roach was ambitious. He was scaling up his operation till it cut into Greco’s own profits.

 
; Jacobs, his accountant, had been probing the situation and now confirmed it, so . . .

  I can do without this, Leon Greco thought, and I’ll goddamn well put a stop to it.

  He peered through the window. Looming ahead was the huge white oval of the Superdome.

  He leaned forward and spoke to Kenny. ‘Stop at the Post Office. I need a public call box to give Turk instructions.’

  Chapter Six – Bodyguard

  ‘This is a hell of a small room,’ Chelsea complained. ‘It’s a pity you’re so damn big — there’s hardly room for you, never mind me as well.’

  Diamond grinned broadly. ‘Always room for you, baby.’

  He had his coat off and shirtsleeves rolled up. With Chelsea’s help, he’d cleaned the room behind his office, cleared out his belongings from the condominium and dumped most of them at her place. They’d been shopping and stocked the tiny fridge. Now she was intent on turning the back room into a temporary home.

  It was small, Diamond admitted, but it had a bed and a closet for clothes, an electric stove and a shower. It would do till he found himself an apartment.

  Chelsea pushed back a straggling hair as she scrubbed the sink. ‘Well, there’s no more excuses for dirty shirts,’ she said. ‘Not with a laundromat right below.’

  ‘And I shan’t starve next door to a gumbo restaurant —’

  When the phone rang in the office, Chelsea went through and answered. ‘Diamond Investigations.’

  A familiar voice said, apparently amused: ‘Got himself a secretary, has he? Let me speak to the big feller.’

  Chelsea handed the phone to Diamond, murmuring, ‘It’s that detective again.’

  Cave said, ‘You have a client on his way, and he needs a bodyguard. You’ll understand when you hear what he’s got to say.’

  Cave rang off abruptly, and Diamond rolled down his shirtsleeves and put on his jacket.

  Chelsea removed her overall and tidied her hair. ‘With a client arriving, it’ll look better if you have a secretary. I’ll stay till he arrives, okay?’

  ‘If you say so.’

  She made fresh coffee and they relaxed till footfalls sounded on the stairs. Then she went into the office and waited behind the desk.

  The man who entered was olive-skinned and wore sharp clothes with a Fu Manchu moustache and sideboards; his gaze travelled up and down Chelsea’s figure as if he’d had a lot of practice.

  ‘My name’s Roach,’ he said, and showed his teeth in a wolfish smile. ‘Any time you want to make some extra money, I can arrange it.’

  She kept her temper for Wash’s sake. ‘If you’ll just take a seat, Mr. Roach, I’ll inform Mr. Diamond that you’re here.’

  She went into the back room and closed the door. ‘Name’s Roach, and he’s a creep. You know him?’

  ‘I’ve heard the name somewhere.’

  Chelsea left for an appointment with her hairdresser and Diamond stepped into his office and shook hands with Roach. He saw a bony man in a tight-fitting blue-stripe, a tie starring a fluorescent nude and two-tone shoes.

  As Diamond seated himself at his desk, Roach said chattily: ‘Nice looking secretary bird you’ve got there.’

  Diamond forced himself to remember this man was a client and just nodded.

  Roach looked carefully at the size of him. ‘I don’t think we ever met, but I’m sure glad you split with Greco.’

  ‘We had a difference of opinion.’

  Roach grinned and his mouthful of teeth reminded Diamond of a shark. He seated himself in a cane chair, carefully adjusting his pants so as not to spoil the crease and crossed his legs. He appeared completely relaxed.

  ‘So I can fight fire with fire. The Fox had Jacobs investigating me so, next thing, his new enforcer will be calling.’ He paused. ‘You know I’m running his porn factory for him? I’m going to need protection — keep me in one piece and I’ll pay top rate. You interested?’

  What was it Cave had said? ‘Turk’s his enforcer now’. And Cave had pushed this porn merchant his way, putting him in the middle. Why?

  Roach took out a wallet stuffed with notes. He peeled off ten and spread them out on the desktop like a hand of cards. ‘Ten centuries, okay?’

  Diamond looked at the money, one thousand bucks’ worth of protection. Someone — Turk? — had cut up his cats and ruined his gear; someone was going to pay for that. Yet he felt suspicious of Roach. He looked scared, but not scared enough for a bony man with a bone-breaker after him. There was something he was holding back.

  Diamond scooped up the money, folded it and put it away. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘I’m interested.’

  He stepped into the back room and strapped on the shoulder holster, adjusted his jacket so it wasn’t obvious. They went downstairs to Roach’s car and headed south, past the St. Louis Cathedral with its three steeples, to the waterfront.

  Roach drove towards Canal Street, passing ships being unloaded, tall cranes and trucks. The factory had been a warehouse at one time. Diamond had never been inside, though he’d heard this was one more racket Greco was into. The building was big and old, given a lick of paint on the outside and a plastic nameplate proclaiming:

  ROACH VIDEO

  They went through an open gate and across a yard. The interior was as big and as high as an aircraft hangar. Along one wall were assembly benches with young girls on high stools putting the finished tapes into boxes ready for despatch. The floor was cement, the lighting fluorescent.

  Opposite was a production line for videotape copying; one machine played the master tape and a bank of slave machines each recorded a copy. There was a white-coated technician supervising.

  Roach gestured with his hand. ‘We’re only concerned with copying here. The master comes from a studio specializing in hard-core porn. And it’s the real stuff, no faking. I can give you a copy of our latest if you want.’

  ‘No thanks,’ Diamond said, looking around.

  At the back of the warehouse, an overalled man loaded finished tapes into a delivery van. There was a small office with filing cabinets and a typist.

  ‘I’ve got an apartment upstairs,’ Roach said, leading the way up a flight of stairs beside the office.

  It was a comfortable apartment, luxuriously furnished and equipped with video equipment and a stack of tapes. It looked from the raunchy titles as though Roach probably enjoyed his work.

  Diamond checked a door opening onto a fire escape. ‘Keep it bolted,’ he advised, ‘and get a chain for your apartment door. Don’t make it easy for anyone to reach you.’

  Roach nodded, not really interested. ‘I’ve got some work to do in the office. You coming?’

  They went downstairs, and Roach used the phone to arrange transport. He looked at the wall clock.

  ‘I’m taking lunch here today. Okay with you?’

  ‘That’s best.’

  Roach sent his office girl for food for them both and Diamond inspected the factory. There were two ways in; the front entrance across the yard and the loading bay at the rear — but only one door to Roach’s office.

  After a quick lunch — hamburgers with French fries and milk shakes — Diamond borrowed a chair and placed it where he could watch both entrances and settled down to wait.

  The afternoon was hot and drowsy. Roach kept busy, moving between his office and the bank of video machines. At five o’clock, the factory shut down and the workers left.

  Diamond got up, stretched, and walked about. Any tine now, he thought; or would Turk wait for darkness? He made sure the rear door was locked and kept watch on the yard.

  An hour passed quietly; then a bulky figure wearing a tracksuit jogged through the gate.

  Diamond recognized Turk’s square head as he came towards the factory entrance. He was big all right, and Diamond had heard he was a dirty fighter. He moved easily, flexing his muscles, grinning lazily.

  Diamond called to Roach, in his office. ‘Turk’s here. You stay put — I’ll handle this.’

  He stepped
out of the doorway, into the yard to give himself room to move. Turk saw him, slowed to a stop, his small eyes blinking rapidly. His high tinny voice sounded plaintive: ‘What’re you doing here, Wash?’

  They faced each other in the empty yard, the silence broken only by the siren of a tug on the river, two big men — one white and one black — and Diamond eager to fight.

  ‘Stopping you getting to Roach.’

  Turk seemed confused. His orders were to cripple Roach; the Fox hadn’t said anything about Diamond. ‘Mr. Greco —’

  ‘I don’t work for Greco. Right now I work for Roach. D’you think you can get past me?’

  Turk was slow on the uptake. ‘You’re interfering,’ he complained. ‘Mr. Greco won’t like that.’

  ‘I suggest you tell that honky bastard to leave us alone then.’

  Turk began to move around Diamond, who shifted his position to stay between the enforcer and his victim.

  ‘You’re in my way, Wash.’

  ‘And that’s right where I’m staying. D’you know anything about my cats? If you do, you can guess what I’ll do to you.’

  ‘Roach is a crook, you know that. He’s got to learn he can’t rob Mr. Greco.’

  ‘Greco is a crook!’

  Somewhere in the background, Roach laughed.

  Turk hesitated, frustrated because he couldn’t easily get at his victim. He looked past Diamond, to the shadowy figure in the doorway, and raised his voice.

  ‘I’ll be coming back for you, Roach. Don’t think I won’t — you can’t hide for long. And then I’ll take you apart.’

  Diamond dipped his hand under his jacket, brought out his gun and levelled it.

  ‘I’ve got a P.I’s license now, and you’ll have me to deal with if you show your face again. I can take you out any time — legally. And get away with it.’

  Turk stared into the black hole in the barrel of Diamond’s revolver, and didn’t like it. His sweat turned clammy and he backed away; no one had said anything about facing a gun.

  He kept going till he reached the gate, then turned about and jog-trotted out of the yard. He called back, ‘You ain’t getting away with nothing, Wash. We’ll see you off.’