“Very nice,” Scalisi said. “Things’re going very nice. Arthur’s good and careful. Yeah, very nice. You bring the stuff?”
“Out in the kitchen,” Coyle said. “I put it under the chair. Right inna shopping bag, under the chair. All set.”
“You done all right on this one,” Scalisi said. “I want you to know, I appreciate it. I been able to talk some sense to Arthur, you know, about hanging onto the stuff. He starts getting all bothered and I just say: ‘Well, Arthur, you know, Eddie’s done all right by us so far. He’ll have some more. Now heave it inna god-damned river.’ Damn near breaks his heart,” Scalisi said. “You can see he doesn’t want to do it. Arthur gets a good piece, he hates to part with it. But he does it. And it makes a difference, you know? It’s a lot safer, knowing nobody’s going around with a piece on him, case he gets picked up on suspicion. It really makes a difference.”
Wanda came in with a tray. It held a quart of beer and two glasses. “That’s pretty nice meat you brought,” she said. “I was putting it away there, and I looked it over.”
“Hey, thanks,” Scalisi said. “How much I owe you for the groceries?”
“Well, let’s see,” Eddie Coyle said. “Twelve for the first batch, the eight. Then there was another dozen, eighteen bucks for that. Now there’s ten here, another fifteen hundred. Forty-five hundred. I’ll throw in the steaks.”
“My God,” Wanda said, “that’s a lot of money for some meat.”
“Shut up, Wanda,” Scalisi said.
“You know my friend here, I think,” she said, “very large gangster type.”
“I told you,” Scalisi said, “shut up.”
“Fuck you,” Wanda said. “I heard you talking about me, I was out there, I heard you. What business of his is it, I wear pants or not. What am I, something you brag about? My kid brother talks about his goddamned Mustang the same way you talk about me. ‘I just reach down there every so often and set her off.’ For Christ sake. I thought we were friends. I thought we liked each other. Shit.”
“You got this trouble?” Scalisi said to Coyle.
“Yeah,” Coyle said, “different, but the same. Hasn’t everybody?”
“Fuck you too,” Wanda said to Coyle.
“I think it’s all this Women’s Lib stuff or something,” Scalisi said. “I’ll be Christ if I know what to make out of it.”
“I don’t think they got enough on their minds,” Coyle said. “You know, hacking around all day. They stand around there thinking, you get home and they’re all pissed off and all you did was put the goddamned car in the yard. They need some good worries, is what I think.”
“I work,” Wanda said. “I probably work more’n both of you bastards put together. I earn my keep.”
“I told you to shut up,” Scalisi said.
“I told you to go and fuck yourself,” Wanda said. “Talking about me like that. How’d you like it if I was to start telling the girl at the store about your prick and what you like me to do with it? With me, the things you like to do with me, would you like that?”
Scalisi came out of the chair quickly and slapped Wanda across the face. “I told you to shut up,” he said. “That’s what I want you to do. Shut fucking up.”
“No,” she said. She did not cry. “No, you wouldn’t like that. And you better sleep with both eyes open tonight, because maybe I’ll decide to hit you with a hammer, you bastard.”
Wanda stamped out of the living area and made as much noise as she could shutting the folding door to the sleeping area.
“You ever get laid,” Scalisi said.
“Sure,” Coyle said.
“You ever get laid without a lot of goddamned talk?” Scalisi said. “That’s really what I mean. I’m beginning to understand the guys, that go down to the hotel and pick something out and pay twenty bucks. I really mean it. You pays your money and you say: ‘Blow me.’ And she blows you. No crap, you don’t get a load of shit about it. It’s clean and you can see what you’re doing. I used to think, well, any man’s got to pay for it, he might as well cut it off, you know? But the old lady’s whining and bitching all the time and then I get this wired up and I think, well, all right, here’s something and there isn’t any talking and stuff, you know? I been with this broad for probably a year and a half. And I know she’s screwing whoever says please and thank you on the plane to her, and I don’t care. I mean, what the hell, I’m not perfect. It isn’t as though she come walking into it blind and stupid, you know? But what does she do? She’s mad because I tell the goddamned truth. She don’t wear no pants. That’s obvious. You take a look at her, you know. So where’s the thing, I mean? What harm does it do? The broad’s great in the sack and she lights off real easy. So I say it, and now she’s mad. I don’t know.”
“Look,” Coyle said, “they’re all batty. I come home the other night, I hit the number. I got six hundred and fifty bucks on me. Six hundred and fifty bucks. I’m thinking about buying her a color tee-vee. She watches the fucking thing all the time. I figure she’ll enjoy it. So what happens? I come in the door. What does she say: ‘Where the hell’ve you been? The oil burner’s all smoky and I can’t get the repairman.’ So right there I forget about the color tee-vee. I went out in the morning and I come home at night and she’s pissed off. Screw her. I went out and opened a fucking bank account. In my name. Next February or so I’m gonna have some business down in Miami, there, and I’m gonna get warm. To hell with her.”
“Hey,” Scalisi said, “the money. How much?”
“Forty-five hundred,” Coyle said.
“I’ll be right with you.” Scalisi got up again and left the living area. In a few minutes he returned. He had a packet of bills. He handed it to Coyle. “Count it,” he said.
“No,” Coyle said. He accepted the packet and put it in his pocket. “No, you never screwed me yet. I trust you.” He got up.
“You gotta go?” Scalisi said.
“I got a long ride,” Coyle said. “You got something else on your mind anyway. You gonna need any more guns?”
“I don’t think so,” Scalisi said. “Look, I’ll let you know. I think we’re just about finished. You gonna be around?”
“At least until next month,” Coyle said. “I got that thing in New Hampshire coming up. I don’t know.”
“That gonna be a problem?” Scalisi said.
“I don’t know,” Coyle said. “I’m waiting to hear. Maybe not. Hell, how do you know? It comes, it comes. You take it the way it comes. I don’t know.”
“I hope you’re all right,” Scalisi said.
“Me too,” Coyle said, “me too.”
19
With no expression on his face, Jackie Brown sat in the outer office, his cuff ed hands in his lap. Tobin Ames, a shotgun across his lap, sat behind a desk, opposite Jackie Brown, watching him. In the chief’s office, Waters and Foley watched Ames and Jackie Brown through the glass partition.
“Did he say anything?” Waters said.
“He said he understood his fucking rights,” Foley said. “He’s a tough kid, I’ll say that for him.”
“When did you arrest him?” Waters said.
“About quarter of five,” Foley said.
“I guess you stopped off for a drink on the way in,” Waters said.
“You ever been in that traffic on Route 128?” Foley said. “We brought him up to the marshal’s office and mugged him and printed him and then we brought him here.”
“Okay,” Waters said. “Now it’s almost eight-thirty. You got some plans for him for the rest of the evening, I hope.”
“Sure,” Foley said. “We’re gonna charge him.”
“Good,” Waters said. “I think that’s an excellent idea. You got any idea of what you’re going to charge him with?”
“Yeah,” Foley said. “Twenty-six, fifty-eight-sixty-one. Possession of unregistered machine guns. Five of them.”
“Well,” Waters said, “what’re you waiting for, Easter? I mean, you had him
for almost four hours. He oughta be charged.”
“I know he oughta be charged, Maury,” Foley said, “but I don’t make warrants out of thin air. Moran had to get a search warrant for the car. Then we searched it. We found the guns. Now Moran’s getting a complaint. I got a Commissioner all lined up. Soon as Moran gets the complaint, off we go.”
“I had tickets for the Bruins game tonight,” Waters said.
“Hey,” Foley said, “look, I know, I’m sorry. I just thought I oughta talk to you.”
“So talk,” Waters said.
“What do I do now?” Foley said.
“You mean after you get him bailed and so forth,” Waters said. “That’s the first thing you do.”
“I know,” Foley said. “But then what?”
“What’re the choices?” Waters said.
“Okay,” Foley said. “I can let him go. The Commissioner’s sure to let him go in personal security. I can say: ‘Okay, Mister Brown, see you in court.’ And then try to get an indictment on the son of a bitch.”
“You think you’re going to get one?” Waters said.
“I think so,” Foley said. “That bastard in the U.S. Attorney’s office, I don’t think even he can find anything wrong with this one. I did everything I could think of, and Moran thought of some other stuff. I tell you, if this kid wanted to take a leak, I’d get a warrant before I’d let him do it.”
“Okay,” Waters said, “you can let him go and indict him. What else?”
“I could say something to him before he goes,” Foley said.
“Like what?” Waters said.
“Well,” Foley said, “for example, he knows somebody tipped us. He’s not stupid. He figured out we got word he was going to be over at the railroad station. Couple times, driving in, he said: ‘Who told you? Who told you I was going to be there?’ ”
“You wrote that down, I hope,” Waters said.
“I wrote it down,” Foley said.
“Okay,” Waters said, “he was asking questions. So what?”
“So suppose we tell him?” Foley said.
“Tell him what?” Waters said.
“Well,” Foley said, “we got a choice. We could let him think the kids in the VW bus did it.”
“He going to believe that?” Waters said.
“Probably not,” Foley said. “He might, but probably not.”
“So why do it?” Waters said.
“To get their names,” Foley said. “I’m not saying this is what we ought to do. I’m just saying, we could.”
“You get the license number on the bus?” Waters said.
“Yeah,” Foley said.
“Sooner or later that’s going to tell us who was in it, right?” Waters said.
“Likely,” Foley said, “unless it’s stolen.”
“Assume it’s not,” Waters said, “what have we got?”
“The names,” Foley said.
“And for evidence we can show they drove the bus to the railroad station,” Waters said. “Is that a federal crime, to drive a bus to the railroad station?”
“To buy machine guns, sure,” Foley said.
“Who’s going to say that?” Waters said.
“Jackie Brown,” Foley said.
“Suppose he doesn’t,” Waters said.
“Nobody,” Foley said. “Nobody in the world.”
“You still got a federal crime?” Waters said.
“Sure,” Foley said.
“Sure,” Waters said, “but you can’t prove it, is all.”
“Right,” Foley said.
“Next question,” Waters said.
“I could tell him Coyle tipped us,” Foley said.
“That’s an interesting notion,” Waters said. “Why tell him that?”
“It’d make him mad,” Foley said. “I’m reasonably sure he was up to something with Coyle. So I tell him Coyle blew the whistle, he gets mad and tells me what he was doing with Coyle.”
“Is it worth it?” Waters said.
“Well,” Foley said, “you told me yourself, suppose Coyle was arming those bank robbers. If he was, maybe Jackie Brown was peddling the guns to him.”
“You’d like those bank robbers,” Waters said.
“Yes indeed,” Foley said, “mighty fine.”
“Okay,” Waters said, “you tell Brown. Then what happens.”
“I dunno,” Foley said.
“I do,” Waters said, “he gets arraigned on charges of possessing unregistered machine guns. Then he gets turned loose. Then what.”
“He goes looking for Coyle,” Foley said.
“Sure,” Waters said, “he goes looking for Coyle, and when he finds him, he kills him. Then what’ve you got? One machine gun salesman and one dead fink. Is that what you want?”
“Probably not,” Foley said. “Is there any way I can hold him without bail?”
“No,” Waters said. “The purpose of bail . . . do you want to hear the whole lecture?”
“No,” Foley said. “ ‘To insure that the accused will appear for subsequent proceedings.’ Even with machine guns?”
“Even with machine guns,” Waters said.
“Okay,” Foley said, “he gonna get out. I can still tell him.”
“And then he’s going to tell you?” Waters said.
“Probably not,” Foley said. “He looks like the type that wouldn’t tell you if your coat was on fire.”
“So what’s going to happen?” Waters said.
“He’s going to go looking for Coyle,” Foley said, “and I’m going to tail him.”
“Come on,” Waters said.
“I’ll put a homing device in his car,” Foley said. “I’ll track him on a fucking radio.”
“Just like Mission Impossible,” Waters said.
“Efrem Zimbalist is my favorite,” Foley said. “Just like the Eff a-Bee-Eye.”
“Remind me to get you transferred to Topeka,” Waters said. “You got any other bright ideas?”
“Yeah,” Foley said. “I can tell him it was the guy that sold him the guns.”
“Now there’s a thought,” Waters said. “Let’s explore that. Who was it?”
“Some young punk soldier, I bet,” Foley said.
“Where’d he get the gun?” Waters said.
“It’s probably his,” Foley said. “Him and four buddies want a little dough to get a high class piece of tail.”
“Numbers on them guns?” Waters said.
“Yup,” Foley said.
“Serial numbers registered to the soldier who gets the gun?” Waters said.
“Yeah,” Foley said.
“Soldier got to account for the gun when it turns up gone?” Waters said.
“Yeah,” Foley said.
“What do we gain from that?” Waters said. “We’re going to find out anyway.”
“You win,” Foley said. “I don’t tell him it was the soldiers.”
“And you don’t tell him it was the people in the bus, and you don’t tell him it was Coyle,” Waters said.
“I don’t tell him nothing,” Foley said. “I let him go in personal surety.”
“Then what happens?” Waters said.
“He hits the street,” Foley said, “and I start trying to get that bastard in the courthouse to indict him.”
“But what does he do?” Waters said.
“He goes home and thinks,” Foley said.
“Right,” Waters said, “stupid, he isn’t. What does he think?”
“The first thing he thinks is whether the people in the bus dumped him,” Foley said.
“Right,” Waters said, “and what does he decide?”
“He decides, no,” Foley said. “They were there, but they didn’t know anything. He decides it wasn’t them.”
“Then what does he do?” Waters said.
“He starts thinking about who else could’ve dumped him,” Foley said.
“Who’s he gonna pick?” Waters said.
“Coyle, first,” Fo
ley said. “If he knows Coyle’s name. He saw Coyle this afternoon, I’d bet on it. Coyle probably saw the machine guns. He’s gonna blame Coyle.”
“How’d Coyle see the machine guns?” Waters said.
“The kid opened the trunk,” Foley said.
“Why would he open the trunk?” Waters said.
“To get something out of it for Coyle,” Foley said. “Of course.”
“Coyle bought himself some guns today,” Waters said.
“Of course Coyle could’ve sold him the machine guns,” Foley said.
“Where would Coyle get machine guns?” Waters said. “Army machine guns? No. Coyle was buying something.”
“So he thinks it was Coyle and he goes looking for him,” Foley said. “Now what can we do about that?”
“You think he knows who Coyle is?” Waters said.
“His name?” Foley said. “Maybe. Probably not. Maybe his first name. Not the rest of it. Who he fits with? Probably. He’s a tough, smart kid. He probably started thinking Mafia, the minute Coyle went out for guns. Coyle ain’t no Panther, that’s for sure, and he’s no revolutionary. The kid probably knows Coyle’s a gangster.”
“Okay,” Waters said. “Now maybe we got something. The kid gets bailed and he wants to know who set up the grab, so he starts thinking, and he decides he got set up by the boys. If he’s smart, he isn’t going to go around shooting one of them, and he’s smart. So he’s gonna want to get even. Now, how can a fellow get even with one of the boys that set him up?”
“Well,” Foley said, “he could call him up at all hours of the night and breathe at him.”
“Yes,” Waters said, “and he could poison the guy’s water hole and put it out around town that the guy’s wife’s fucking somebody else. But there’s an easier way, isn’t there?”
“Certainly,” Foley said. “One calls one’s friendly law enforcement officer and finks on the bastard that finks on you.”
“Exactly,” Waters said. “Now, do you suppose you could think of something to say that would express to Jackie Brown the deep regret you feel personally at having to arrest him, and your sincere conviction that he was set up?”
“Leave me give it some thought,” Foley said. “I always hated to see a kid taken advantage of.”
The Friends of Eddie Coyle Page 10
