Anything But Saintly

by Richard Deming

  “Don’t you see it?” I said with a grin. “You’re too strongly intrenched just to shove aside without cause. But for some reason he wants to replace you. Maybe you’re getting too big for your boots. I don’t know. It’s hard to figure anybody as devious as Nick.”

  “Go on,” he said in his quietest tone.

  “You’ve got too many friends in the district for him just to boot you out. He had to have a reason. So he arranged for some of your girls to start rolling customers, then came to you with the story that he’d heard rumors of the rollings and wanted them stopped. They didn’t stop. That made it look as though you were deliberately violating his instructions because everybody in the know is aware of the iron control you have over the girls. Probably he’s been complaining about it all over the district to all the little ward heelers you think you have in your pocket and who would raise hell if he tried to unload you without good cause. At the same time he’s probably been planting the idea that he can’t put up with such insubordination forever.”

  I paused to emit a chuckle and Artie said. “How would you know he’s doing all that?”

  “I don’t. It’s just an educated guess based on some information you don’t know about.”

  “What information?”

  “This afternoon he finished lowering the boom on you. He came into headquarters and confided in me all the trouble he was having with you. He gave me the green light to go after your girls, but not to touch you. This was supposed to be a disciplinary action to jerk you back into line, but of course it was nothing of the sort. If we touched you, a lot of people were going to want to know why, but nobody was going to get upset about some of your whores being arrested, except you. And since you’d take your complaint to Nick, he could stall you off. We started pulling in your girls tonight. See what Nick will have accomplished when the arrests are listed in the morning paper?”

  “I’m beginning to,” Artie said coldly. “But you tell me.”

  “He’ll have the final piece of string to tie a can to your tail. He can spread the story that you’ve gotten so far out of line, even his political influence can’t protect your racket any more, because the police commissioner will only sit still for so much. His story will make sense, because everybody knows old Baldy Mason won’t put up with rackets that start to raise a public protest. He’ll say you’re endangering the whole setup by practically asking for a full-scale police investigation of every racket in the district. And all your little ward-heeling friends, concerned about their own petty rackets, will desert you in droves. They’ll stand aside and cheer when Nick sends you tearing down obscurity alley with a can clanking behind you. Who do you figure your replacement is?”

  Little Artie smiled without humor. The color had returned to his face and his eyes were glinting with the sparkle of battle. “Nobody. My tail is allergic to tin cans.”

  Jake Stark said in a tentative voice, “Nick’s been grooming Whitey Sysol for something, Artie. Maybe …”

  “Shut up, you miserable moron,” Artie said in a cold voice.

  Jake gulped and lapsed into silence.

  CHAPTER 19

  I said to Artie, “You still feel like alibiing Jake for this afternoon?”

  The little man looked at me.

  I said, “Of course it doesn’t make much difference, since we’ve already established that he was at Kitty’s apartment. But it would round things out to have your testimony that you sent him there.”

  Artie glanced at his assistant, who obviously was shortly going to be his ex-assistant. “I sent him over there about one P.M.,” he said curtly. “He got back about two.”

  “He left here at one?”

  “Around then. Couple of minutes one way or the other.”

  I examined Jake thoughtfully. “Earlier this evening you said you walked into Kitty’s place about a quarter of two, stayed only a couple of minutes and got back here by two. If it only took you ten minutes to drive back to the tavern, why’d it take you forty-five to get there?”

  Jake said sullenly, “I had a couple of other errands first that Artie gave me to do. They took about thirty minutes.”

  I shifted my attention to Artie. I studied him in silence for so long he began to get irked.

  “Why the silly look on your face?” he inquired.

  “I meant it to be contemplative,” I said. “I was just wondering why you arranged things so that Jake wouldn’t arrive at Kitty’s until forty-five minutes after he left here.”

  “What do you mean, arranged things? I had some other places I wanted him to go, and as long as he was going out, I had him do everything at once.”

  “Uh-huh. Or did you send Jake to collect the five hundred just to establish that you weren’t going after Kitty yourself? If Jake had a half-hour’s worth of errands to keep him busy before he headed for Kitty’s, you had plenty of time to get there and kill her before he arrived. And you’d have a perfect alibi.”

  “Yeah,” Artie agreed sardonically. “Except I never left here from the time Jake took off until he returned.”

  “Got any witnesses to that?”

  “You got any that I did?”

  I thought back to my conversation with Dinny. I remembered asking him if either Jake or Artie had left the tavern that afternoon, but then he had gotten involved in bargaining over how many drinks it was going to cost me to find out. When we finally got back on the subject, he had told me about Jake’s absence from the tavern, but now I couldn’t recall if I had ever specifically asked him again about Artie. It was possible that Artie had left also, and the old man hadn’t mentioned it simply because I hadn’t asked.

  Walking over to the swinging door, I pushed it open and looked out into the barroom. Apparently Dinny had followed the bartender’s instructions and had gone home, for the place was empty. I resolved to look him up the next day.

  Artie said, “Well? You got any?”

  I shrugged. “You can discuss it with the homicide boys. It’s their baby anyway, not mine. No doubt they’ll be by in the morning to talk to you again.” I motioned to Jake. “Hands against the wall, Jake.”

  He looked at me blankly. “Huh?”

  “For a shakedown,” I explained. “You’re going downtown, and I always shake down mugs before I run them in.”

  Jake glanced at Artie for moral support, but the little man simply ignored him. Aggrievedly he turned and placed his hands against the wall. I removed a snub-nosed thirty-eight revolver from a belt holster and dropped it into my right-hand coat pocket to balance the one in my left-hand pocket which I had taken from Vichek Czekanski.

  “Got a license for this?” I inquired.

  Dropping his hands from the wall, Jake turned to face me again. “Sure,” he said sullenly. “You can’t pin nothing illegal on me.”

  “His license will be cancelled tomorrow,” Artie said. “So you can keep the gun.”

  Jake gave the little man a forlorn look. Then, at my gesture toward the swinging door, he preceded me out into the barroom.

  Artie stopped me in the doorway by asking, “What about Nick, Matt?”

  I paused and half turned, holding the swinging door open so that I could keep an eye on Jake, who had stopped just beyond it. “What about him?”

  “Well, he tried to get you burned, didn’t he? You just going to forget it?”

  “He’ll be pulled in for conspiracy,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “You going after him tonight?”

  Even when they conspire to have a cop killed, you don’t go after men as big as Nick Bartkowiak without a legally executed warrant. And it wasn’t likely that anyone at Homicide would care to get the D.A. and a judge out of bed at that time of morning. I didn’t see any point in explaining all that, though.

  I said, “It’ll keep till tomorrow.”

  “Sure,” Artie said sardonically. “Want to make a bet?”

  “What?”

  “You won’t hold him for five minutes when you do pull him in
. And with both those guns dead, you’ll never bring him to trial.”

  “Possibly,” I admitted. “You’d better hope we can make it stick, or you’ll be out in the gutter.”

  “I’ll make you another bet on that,” Artie said with a grim smile. “Why do you think he wanted you dead?”

  “Why do you?” I countered.

  “Because he was scared silly that if you pulled in Jake, I’d find out what he’s been trying to do to me. And he knew better than to let me see a knockout punch coming. His little plan might have worked if I hadn’t known what was happening until it was all over, but it sure as hell won’t work now. Nick’s going to be the one who gets a can tied to his tail.”

  “Oh? You got plans?”

  “Yeah, I got plans. You’re going to see Little Artie Nowak sitting in Nick’s spot when the dust finally settles.”

  I shrugged. “That won’t be any improvement, but I suppose the district won’t be any worse off either. It’d suit me if you both knocked each other out.”

  I moved on out into the barroom, letting the door swing shut behind me. I gave Jake Stark a gentle push in the direction of the street door.

  When we reached headquarters, I took my prisoner straight to Homicide Division instead of stopping at the booking desk en route. I didn’t mind doing some investigative work for another division, but I wasn’t about to assume any of its purely administrative duties.

  The squadroom was empty when we got there, which didn’t surprise me any because Homicide closes down at two A.M. and it was now a quarter after three. Calls to Homicide after two A.M. are taken at the Detective Bureau, and if homicide officers are required, they’re routed out of bed by telephone and told where to report.

  I knew this was what had happened when I phoned in from the warehouse. Some team on the night trick would have been called just as they reached home, and ordered to make the investigation. They would shortly be along with the night watchman in tow, so there was nothing to do but wait. I told Jake to make himself comfortable at one of the long tables in the squadroom, and seated myself across the table from him.

  It was my luck that the team routed out of bed because of my call-in had to be Lieutenant Robert Wynn and Sergeant Hank Carter. They rolled in about three twenty-five. They had Vichek Czekanski with them, still handcuffed. In deference to the lieutenant’s brass-happiness, I got to my feet as he entered the room.

  Before I could open my mouth, Lieutenant Wynn exploded, “What do you mean leaving the scene of a killing before homicide officers arrive, Sergeant?”

  “I left word that I’d report here,” I said mildly. “And here I am.”

  Pulling the gun from my left-hand pocket, I laid it on the table. “This is Czekanski’s.” I laid the second gun next to it. “This is his.” I pointed to Jake.

  The change of subject threw the lieutenant off stride. He wasn’t through bawling me out, but Jake’s presence sidetracked him.

  “What’s he doing here?” he demanded. “Is he under arrest?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said. “Accessory to attempted murder, also as a material witness in the Desmond case. Or mabye you’ll want to change the last charge to suspicion of murder when you hear what we’ve got against him. I think I’d better explain the charges one at a time.”

  “All right. Start explaining.”

  While the lieutenant and I were talking, Hank Carter had uncuffed Vichek Czekanski and had seated the night watchman in a corner. Carter came over to listen in, but as usual remained silent.

  I said, “I’ll start with the attempt on me tonight. About ten after one Stark here got me out of bed with a phone call. He asked me to meet him at a place called Cybulski’s Tavern down on the south side. He said he had some information about Katherine Desmond’s murder. I dressed and started out to meet him. Ray Zek, one of the men you found dead at the warehouse, was concealed on the back floor of my car. He put a gun in my back and forced me to drive to the warehouse. I guess you know what happened there.”

  “The radio patrolmen, who were there when we arrived, relayed your story. I’d prefer it firsthand.”

  I took time out to repeat what had happened at the warehouse.

  When I finished, the lieutenant grunted. “So then you couldn’t wait at the scene to explain matters. Stark here could have been picked up by other officers. But you felt you had to go after him personally.”

  I said, “I assumed Jake had set me up on Artie Nowak’s order, and I wanted to get to Artie before his tavern closed. I only made it with two minutes to spare. Artie, Jake and I had a three-way conference, and it turned out Artie had nothing to do with the attempt on my life.”

  Wynn frowned. “How’d he convince you of that?”

  “Jake admitted it was Nick Bartkowiak who told him to phone me.”

  Lieutenant Wynn looked startled. He turned to stare at Jake, who shuffled his feet and looked uncomfortable.

  I said, “There isn’t any doubt that Nick ordered the kill, Lieutenant. I’ll get around to his reason in a minute. First, let’s jump back to the second charge against Jake. Material witness in the Desmond case. Or maybe suspicion of murder, if you see it that way.”

  Wynn shifted his attention back to me. “All right. Go on.”

  “Jake’s story is that he visited the girl’s apartment about one forty-five P.M. and found her dead.”

  The lieutenant stared at Jake again. “So you lied about not leaving the tavern all day, eh?” Then he frowned at me. “What’s your interest in the Desmond case, Sergeant? Don’t you have enough work in your own division?”

  “Excuse me, sir,” I said with exaggerated politeness. “I thought a police officer was supposed to arrest criminals even when the crimes were outside his specialty. I’ll take him back where I got him and forget the whole thing.”

  “Don’t be an ass, Rudd,” Wynn said testily. “Of course I appreciate your help. Get along with your story.”

  Since he had decided to be polite, or at least polite for him, I told him everything I knew, starting with Harold Warner’s visit to the squadroom with his complaint of being rolled. I told him how Little Artie had coughed up the money the girl had stolen, and had said he’d collect it back from her. I told him about Artie’s previous warning that he’d beat any girl he caught rolling a client. But I didn’t say where I’d gotten that information. I left the impression that Artie had admitted it during our kitchen conversation only a short time before. I threw in the story of Nick Bartkowiak’s machinations to unhorse Little Artie, and concluded by having Jake Stark repeat what he had told me about his visit to Kitty’s apartment.

  When I finished, Wynn asked in a fascinated voice, “How’d you ever get Artie and this man to admit so much, Rudd?”

  “Interrogation technique, Lieutenant,” I said negligently.

  This put the scowl back on his face because he and Carter hadn’t gotten to first base with either man. “Why didn’t you bring Nowak in too?” he inquired. “It seems he had both motive and opportunity to murder the girl.”

  “? thought I’d leave a little work for Homicide. He’s not likely to run away before morning.”

  He emitted another grunt. “I suppose he’d only have his lawyer down here with a writ of habeas corpus anyway,” he conceded. “Then we’d either have to release him or get the D.A. and some judge out of bed. He’ll keep until morning, when all the necessary legal machinery is functioning.”

  “Yeah. Bartkowiak too. Will you do me a favor, Lieutenant?”

  “What?”

  “Leave a note for the day trick that I’d like to go along when they go after Bartkowiak. I think I deserve the privilege of putting the arm on him personally.”

  He surprised me by being congenial about it. “I suppose you do, if you want to get up that early. They should be able to get a warrant by nine A.M.”

  “I can still sneak in four hours sleep,” I said. “You need me any more?”

  “We can take over from here. Thanks for your ass
ist.”

  “Don’t mention it,” I said.

  Nodding good-by to the silent Hank Carter, who hadn’t opened his mouth since he entered the room, I walked out of the squadroom.

  CHAPTER 20

  I finally got to bed at four A.M. I set the clock for a quarter of eight, was up, had showered, shaved and dressed by five after eight. I caught coffee and a doughnut on the way to headquarters and logged in at eight-thirty.

  Captain Spangler arrived just as I finished logging in.

  He looked at me in surprise. “What are you doing here, Rudowski? You working two tricks?”

  I said, “I think our night duty is over, Captain. I’ll let Lincoln sleep until twelve and call him back to duty this afternoon.”

  Spangler frowned. “What do you mean your night duty is over? Have you decided to make up your own schedules now?”

  “No, sir,” I said. “Something happened last night that takes us off the hook with Bartkowiak. Got a minute?”

  He nodded. “Come into my office.”

  Following him into his office, I took a seat and waited until he was situated behind his desk.

  “All right,” he said. “What happened last night that’s so important?”

  “A couple of things. First, I discovered that Nick Bartkowiak led us up the garden path when he explained his reason for wanting us to go after Little Artie Nowak’s girls. He’s trying to unload Artie, and he wants to discredit him among his constituents in order to make the unloading easier. Artie’s too strong in the district to kick out without substantial reason.”

  “How do you know this?” the captain asked.

  I relayed a portion of my conversation with Little Artie and Jake Stark. I left out the part concerning the attempt on my life, wanting to save that until I disposed of this first subject. I merely told him how Nick Bartkowiak had hired Jake to undermine the call-girl operation so that it would seem that Little Artie was deliberately disobeying orders.

  When I finished, the captain was frowning deeply. “I’m going to speak to the chief about this, and ask him to speak to the commissioner. I suspect Mr. Mason will take a dim view of Bartkowiak maneuvering the police department to carry out political stratagems.”