Anything But Saintly

by Richard Deming

  While the younger officer was cuffing Czekanski, I gave the senior one a brief rundown on the situation. I didn’t fill him in on the background. I only told him the dead men’s names and that I had been kidnapped and brought to the warehouse to be killed. I also explained the night watchman’s minor part in the plot.

  “Whisky Joe Glapa mentioned a boat tied to the dock,” I said. “I guess they meant to use it to transport my body to the middle of the river. Better locate it for evidence. When the homicide team gets here, tell them I’ll stop at headquarters later to give them a statement.”

  “You’re not going to wait?” he asked.

  “I’ve got a call to make,” I told him. “I’m leaving you in charge.”

  Walking over to the truck entrance, I pushed the sliding door upward, then moved to my car and climbed in.

  “You can close it after me,” I called to the older cop.

  Starting the engine, I backed out.

  CHAPTER 17

  It was twenty-eight minutes after two when I arrived at Little Artie Nowak’s tavern for the second time that night. Even though it was only two minutes until closing time, the customers hadn’t lessened in number nor the noise in volume. The jukebox still blared and conversations were being shouted above it.

  This time Jake Stark was nowhere in sight, but Little Artie stood at the end of the bar in the same spot Jake had occupied earlier. That meant that Jake must be downstairs dragging the poker game, as Artie wasn’t likely to leave it unsupervised. The same dumpy brunette who had been talking to Jake was now coyly looking into Artie’s face.

  As I wormed my way through the mob toward Artie, I noted that old Dinny still sat at his corner table. He made a cordial gesture for me to join him. Shaking my head, I kept on going.

  Little Artie gave me a cold look when I stopped beside him. But there was no sign of surprise on his face, which momentarily threw me for a loss. I had expected him to react as though he were seeing a ghost.

  The dumpy brunette said, “The cop with the big brown eyes again. Jake wouldn’t introduce me. Will you, Artie?”

  Both Artie and I ignored her. He merely continued to examine me coldly and I stared back with equal coldness.

  “Let’s take a walk,” I shouted above the bedlam, jerking a thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

  Turning, he swaggered toward the kitchen door, looking for all the world like a strutting bantam rooster. An aisle miraculously opened before him as customers melted to either side. For all his littleness, Artie Nowak drew a lot of respect on his home grounds.

  Following behind him, I caught the swinging door in time to prevent it from breaking my nose, pushed on through and let it swing shut again. In here you could still hear the noise from the barroom, but at least it was muted.

  Artie leaned against a table and looked at me. “Well, Rudowski?”

  His tone suggested he wasn’t pleased with me. Usually he called me Matt. I thought it was a little unreasonable for him to be angry because I wasn’t dead. Walking over to within inches of him, I glowered downward.

  “The only reason you’re not flat on your back, Nowak, is I bate to hit pipsqueaks I outweigh by eighty pounds.”

  He looked surprised, but not the least frightened. “Try your luck and see who ends on the floor,” he suggested.

  I was tempted to, but I controlled the urge. There’s a rule against cops hitting suspects except in self-defense or in overcoming resistence to arrest. “Maybe you’ll resist arrest,” I said hopefully.

  His eyes narrowed. “Come again?”

  “You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder,” I said.

  He looked up at me indignantly. “First you sick those homicide dicks on me, now you’ve got the crust to accuse me yourself. You’ll never pin Kitty’s kill on me, copper. All you’ll do is get yourself back on a beat.”

  I bent to put my nose an inch from his. “I’m not talking about Kitty, little man. I’m talking about the two goons you sicked on me. You should have picked more efficient killers. They’re both dead and you’re on your way to the clink.”

  He stared up at me, his eyes now reduced to slits. “Maybe you’d better tell me what you’re talking about. We seem to be on two different subjects.”

  He sounded as though he really didn’t know what I meant. As a matter of fact, his reactions ever since I had entered the place had been puzzling me because they weren’t those of a guilty man. Straightening up, I examined him contemplatively; doubt was beginning to erode my nice simple theory that Artie was behind the assault on me.

  I said, “Maybe we’d both better simmer down long enough to get on the same subject. I’m accusing you of hiring Ray Zek and Whisky Joe Glapa to burn me tonight.”

  His face registered absolute astonishment. “You must be off your rocker. Why the hell would I do a thing like that? I’ve got a beef against you, but it isn’t that serious.”

  “What beef have you got against me?”

  He made an impatient gesture. “I just told you. You sicked those homicide dicks on me. They wanted to know if I’d strangled Kitty for rolling a John. That tip couldn’t have come from anybody but you. I figured you must be tired of being a sergeant.”

  I had been getting myself in the mood to discuss things intelligently, but this crack started to make me mad again. I gave him a bleak smile. “Your political influence couldn’t even get me called on the carpet when a murder is involved, Nowak. You know the brass in this town draws the line at murder. Nick Bartkowiak would throw you to the wolves so fast, your head would still be spinning when they strapped you in the chair.”

  He glared at me. “Want to test my political influence?”

  “Suit yourself,” I said with a shrug. “Of course, if you backed me into a corner, I’d do my damnedest to tag you for the kill whether you pulled it or not. I’d have to in self-defense. I think the brass would listen when I told them that a while back you warned all your girls you’d beat hell out of any of them you caught rolling a client.”

  His face grew still. “Who told you that?”

  “Never mind. I can prove it on the stand if I have to. Still want to flex your political muscles?”

  After staring at me for a moment, he said, “This is a silly argument. Let’s get back to your beef. What makes you think I sent Zek and Glapa after you?”

  “Oh, you know them?”

  “Sure I know them. I’ve used them for a little strong-arm stuff on occasion. So have a half dozen other guys in town. But I sure as hell didn’t sick them on you tonight. Why should I?”

  I said, “So you wouldn’t have to sweat out tomorrow night’s deadline.”

  He looked genuinely puzzled. “What deadline?”

  “Didn’t Jake tell you about our conversation earlier?”

  He gave his head a slow shake. “He never even mentioned talking to you. When was this?”

  He wasn’t acting. I was sure of that. There wouldn’t be any point in his pretending not to know what I was talking about, because I could blow apart the pretense simply by dragging Jake into the conference.

  “Jake downstairs?” I asked.

  Pursing his lips, he examined me doubtfully.

  I said, “If you’re worried about admitting your basement poker game to a cop, forget it. I’ve got more important things on my mind. Get him up here.”

  He stared at me in silence for a time more, then walked to the swinging door leading to the barroom and opened it. Above the hubbub he yelled, “Hey, Hank!”

  Down in this area when Artie Nowak raised his voice, people listened. There was instant silence in the barroom.

  “Yeah?” the bartender said.

  “You announce last call?”

  “Sure. Five minutes ago.”

  “Then clear the house and come back here.”

  Artie let the door swing shut again. Going to a cupboard, he took out a cup, crossed to the stove and poured from a simmering pot of coffee.

  “Coffee?” h
e inquired.

  I shook my head.

  He carried the cup to the table, added sugar and cream and stirred. The door from the barroom opened and the aproned night barkeep came in.

  “You couldn’t have gotten them out that fast,” Artie said.

  “They’re leaving. I told Dinny to leave last and pull the door shut behind him. I set the spring lock and I’ll bolt it later.”

  “Okay,” Artie said. “I’ll take care of closing up. Get down cellar and take over dragging the game. I want Jake up here.”

  The bartender looked surprised, but he didn’t make any objection. Stripping off his apron, he hung it on a hook, opened the basement door and disappeared downstairs.

  A few moments later the basement door reopened, bull-necked Jake Stark stepped out and closed it behind him. He glanced at his employer, then looked at me and did a double take. Slowly his face drained of color.

  “Surprised?” I inquired.

  Licking his lips, Jake flicked his gaze to his employer, then back to me. He didn’t say anything.

  “You wait long at Cybulski’s Tavern?” I asked.

  He still didn’t say anything.

  Jake Stark was big enough so that it wouldn’t hurt my conscience to push him around. Walking over to him, I gathered a handful of shirt front and slammed his back against the basement door.

  “You punk,” I growled at him. “Come up with a fast explanation of why you set me up for a kill.”

  “A kill?” he squeaked. “All I did was phone you. I didn’t know it was going to be a kill.”

  “You instructed them to be gentle, I suppose.”

  “I didn’t instruct nobody to do nothing, Sarge. All I was doing was following …” He came to an abrupt halt and threw a quick sidelong look at Little Artie. Then he continued lamely. “I mean I didn’t know what they was going to do.”

  Artie said in an unnaturally quiet voice, “Turn him loose, Matt. I’m as interested in answers as you are, but I think I can get them faster.”

  All of a sudden we were back on a first-name basis, I noted. Glancing at the little man, I saw that there was no belligerence in his expression. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed on his assistant. Obviously he hadn’t meant his words as an order to turn Stark loose. It was a request.

  I decided he probably could get faster answers from Stark. Releasing my grip on the man’s shirt front, I stepped back.

  CHAPTER 18

  His gaze still fixed on Stark, Artie raised his coffee cup and took a slow sip. When he set it down again, he said quietly, “We’ll start at the beginning, Jake. Matt says he and you had some conversation earlier tonight. What was it about?”

  Jake nervously ran a hand over the back of his bull-neck. “He’s got a witness who saw me going into Kitty’s apartment house. He had me cold, so I hadda explain what happened. I convinced him I was telling the truth about finding her already dead when I got there, but he was gonna pull me in as a material witness. I talked him into giving me twenty-four hours to turn up the killer myself. I said I’d get you to gather all the girls together and find out everything we could about Kitty’s private life. I figured we could get more out of them than the cops ever could.”

  Artie glanced at me.

  “That was about the substance of our conversation,” I said.

  Artie turned his attention back to his aide. In a silky voice he said, “But instead of relaying this conversation to me, you decided to handle things yourself, huh?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” Jake muttered lamely.

  Artie gave him a smile that made Jake turn even paler. “That was considerate of you, Jake. Now we’ll move on to the important question. A couple of minutes ago you started to say that when you set Matt up, you were just following orders. I was under the impression you took orders from me, and I sure as hell didn’t instruct you to do anything about Matt. Whose orders were you following?”

  Jake rubbed the back of his neck again. “Nobody’s. I didn’t say nothing about orders. What I meant was I was just following these guys’ suggestions.”

  “What guys?”

  Sweat beaded Jake’s upperlip. His face was strained with the effort of heavy concentration as he attempted to come up with a story both of us would swallow. Unfortunately, for him, he didn’t possess enough imagination to swing it.

  He said, “I was worried about admitting to a cop that I’d been to Kitty’s place. So I called this friend of mine and told him about it. He said I should phone the sarge and make a date to meet him somewhere. Then he and his buddy would waylay him and scare him into forgetting what I’d told him.”

  This was so patently an invention of the moment, it would have amused me if I hadn’t just come from an attempt on my life.

  “Who was this friend you called?” I growled.

  He licked his lips. “You wouldn’t know him.”

  “I know the two goons who tried to take me, because they’re both in the morgue. Come up with your friend’s name and we’ll see if it matches either of theirs.”

  Stark looked from me to Artie and back again with a trapped expression on his face. It was apparent he didn’t have the slightest idea who had waylaid me, which meant he had only been a tool in the plot, and not the instigator of it.

  I decided it was time to blast the truth from him by bringing up my reserve guns. I said, “You know, Artie, when you alibied Jake to the homicide cops, I suppose you felt you had a certain obligation to protect him because you had sent him to Kitty’s place. Naturally you believed his story about finding her dead when he arrived because, so far as you knew, he didn’t have a reason in the world to kill her. But actually he had an even better motive to kill her than you did.”

  Artie frowned at me. “What motive?”

  “To shut her up. He could have been afraid she’d tell you he was the guy who’d been encouraging your girls to roll customers. He gets a percentage of the take for guaranteeing to protect them from you in case they ever got caught.”

  Little Artie slowly ran his gaze up and down the burly frame of his right-hand man.

  Jake said loudly, “That’s a lie, Artie!”

  “You sure of what you’re saying, Matt?” Artie asked in a quiet tone.

  “Absolutely certain. I can take you to a girl right now who will verify it.”

  “You won’t have to,” Artie said in the same quiet tone. “I believe you. I guess it’s time to stop fooling around and get the answers to everything.”

  He started to move toward the larger man. The swagger was gone from his walk and he moved as gracefully as a cat. His face was absolutely blank of emotion and, despite a sixty-pound-weight disadvantage, there was such a lethal air about him, I began to feel sorry for Stark.

  Jake Stark must have weighed a hundred and ninety pounds, but he also must have seen the little man in action before because not only his upper lip but his whole face was suddenly drenched with sweat.

  “Hold it a minute, Artie,” he said, raising his palm. “You don’t think I’d pull a stunt like that on my own, do you?”

  Artie stopped a pace from him. “I’ll listen,” he said carefully.

  “Nick told me to do it.”

  Little Artie stood perfectly still. “Nick Bartkowiak?” he asked incredulously.

  “A long time ago,” Stark said in a rapid voice, eager to get the words in before Artie decided to close the distance between them. “You think I’d cross you on my own? I got better sense than that. But what could I do when Nick gave me the order and told me not to dare mention it to you? Nobody says no to Nick. Would you, if he told you to cross me?”

  Artie stood there with an absolutely stupefied expression on his face.

  Stark went on in the same rapid voice, “It was Nick I phoned after talking to Rudd tonight. He said not to discuss it with you, that he’d take care of Rudd. Then he said to call him back in a half-hour. When I called back, he told me to start phoning Rudd’s apartment
every five minutes until I got an answer. When I did, I was to get him to meet me somewhere. That’s all I had to do with it. I never asked Nick what he planned and he never told me. But I never even thought he meant to have a cop burned.”

  This time the man was telling the truth, I knew. My old friend Nick Bartkowiak, who only that afternoon had so solicitously inquired after all the members of my family, had ordered my death. He had calmly picked up the telephone and issued orders so that Ray Zek was staked out somewhere near my apartment house parking lot when I arrived home. The man probably had climbed into the back seat as soon as I was out of sight, then simply waited for Jake’s phone call to send me running back to the car. It all must have been planned as quickly and as casually as the ordinary businessman would plan some legal maneuver to outwit a competitor.

  Why would Nick Bartkowiak go to such lengths to protect Jake Stark from arrest, I wondered? Then immediately I realized there could be only one answer. It was vitally important to him that no one discover Jake was secretly operating under his orders. And almost certainly Jake would have told everything he knew under prolonged police interrogation.

  All at once I understood the whole pattern of Bartkowiak’s thinking. The knowledge didn’t put me any closer to a solution of Kitty Desmond’s murder, but at least it cleared up what had happened tonight. Despite my outrage at the racketeer politician ordering to have me killed, I suddenly began to laugh. I couldn’t help it. Nick Bartkowiak’s Machiavellian ways struck me as so hilarious, I almost rolled on the floor.

  Artie and Stark both stared at me without understanding. I finally got myself under control enough to choke out, “He’s tying a can to your tail, Artie. He’s through with you. He …” I dissolved into laughter again.

  Artie waited patiently for me to laugh myself out, his face expressionless but a trifle pale. When I finally recovered and had wiped my eyes, he said with an effort to keep his voice steady, “Want to let us in on the joke, Matt? What do you mean, Nick’s through with me?”