He handed me the envelope which was sealed with cellophane tape. I grabbed a pair of scissors off the desk and slit open the envelope. When I looked inside, I found a stack of newsprint cut to look like currency. I held out the envelope and said, "See?"
Henry sat down abruptly in the desk chair and put his head in his hands. I sat on the edge of the desk and said, "Rookie mistake. Don't sweat it."
Henry looked up, his face a picture of misery and moaned, "They didn't cover any of this when I was in school at Cal."
I laughed and said, "Buck up, cowboy. We need to go pay your friends over at Universal a visit. And we need to get there before the cops do." That reminded me of something. "Can I use the phone?" I asked.
Henry nodded glumly. "Sure."
I reached over, picked up the receiver, and dialed the office.
"Consolidated Security." It was Marnie, my gem of a secretary.
"Lemme talk to Mike."
"He ain't here, Nick. He's over at the North Station."
"The minute he gets back or, if he calls in, give him this message. Ready?"
"Shoot."
"Lieutenant Holland. Central Station. Unknown guy pushed off twentieth floor of 600 Market today around 10:15 or so. There's more, but I wanna tell him in person and after he's checked in with Holland. Got that?"
"Sure. Gruesome, huh?"
"Like a goddam pretzel."
"Gee, Nick."
"I know. Thanks, doll." I put down the phone and stood up. "Come on cowboy. Put on your hat and let's get saddled up. We have some cattle rustlers to chase down."
Henry smiled briefly, put on his hat, and we made our way through the construction site and out onto Market Street.
Chapter 2
The Shell Building
100 Bush Street
Wednesday, June 16, 1954
A few minutes before noon
Henry and I walked into the ornate lobby of The Shell Building through the main entrance. As we were waiting at the elevator, he said, "This building is beautiful."
I nodded. "But I like the modern look of our building better."
Henry smiled and said, "Yes. I think it's going to really stand out against the skyline." He looked around. "Is Jeffery's office still here?"
I nodded and gave him a tight smile. Jeffery Klein, Esquire, had been my lover, my friend, and my lawyer. Now he was none of those.
Back in '43, I'd inherited a large trust from my Great-Uncle Paul on my twenty-first birthday. I was in the Navy at the time and met Jeffery through the commander of the ship I was serving on. Once I was back home, we'd become lovers. He'd successfully helped me when my entire family had sued to have the inheritance voided. Our relationship was winding down about the time I met Carter in '47 but we stayed friends until the previous summer when Jeffery had decided to get out of the life and get married to a nice girl by the name of Rachel. In a synagogue. By a rabbi. The last I'd heard, Rachel was expecting. That was nice.
The elevator doors opened. There wasn't a doorman like there had been the last time I'd been in the building. Instead, there was a bright and shiny panel of buttons. Henry pressed the number seven and the doors began to close.
Just as they did, I heard a familiar voice say, "Hold that, please!" I put my hand in the middle and forced the doors back open.
"Hi, Nick. Henry." It was Jeffery Klein, Esquire, himself.
Henry nodded but said nothing as Jeffery walked in. I said, "How are you?"
"Good. Rachel's expecting a baby."
"When?" I asked.
"November."
"Congratulations." I tried to insert some enthusiasm in my voice, but it didn't take.
"Thanks."
After a long moment, the car stopped on the seventh floor. Jeffery asked, "Universal?"
I said, "Yeah."
"They're bad news, Nick."
I lifted my hat to Jeffery and followed Henry out into the hallway. The doors closed silently behind us and he was gone.
"How much weight do you think he's gained?" asked Henry as we walked down the long hallway.
"Does it matter?" was my growling reply.
Henry said, "Sorry."
"He's getting fat because he's unhappy and not getting any on the side. But let's don't dance on his grave."
Henry said, "Sure, Nick. Sorry about that."
I stopped walking and grabbed Henry's arm. The hallway was deserted and the door to Universal's office was made of frosted glass. I pulled Henry into a hug, which pushed both our hats back but not off, and kissed him on the lips. I held him close and whispered in his ear, "Stop fretting, cowboy. We're gonna get this all cleared up." As I released him, I said, "You let me do all the talking. Got that?"
Henry looked at me. "You always know how to make me feel better, Nick."
I smiled and said, "It's the kiss. That's what does it."
Henry smiled at me and kissed me on the cheek in reply.
. . .
"I don't know what you think this is, but I don't take kindly to shake-downs."
We were standing in the office of Thomas Rutledge, President of Universal Construction, Incorporated. His office was in the same location as Jeffery's, whose was three stories up, and he had the same view of the bay. The Golden Gate Bridge was on the left. The Ferry Building was on the right. And Alcatraz was in between. Above it all was a big blue sky.
I said, "This ain't a shake-down, Mr. Rutledge. What I wanna know is why you sent over forty pieces of newsprint instead of four thousand dollars?"
"What are you talking about?" Rutledge was about 6'2" tall. He was somewhere north of fifty. His hair was gray and cut short. He was a big man but he was fit. He was standing up, leaning on his desk, and looked like he was ready for a fight.
"Didn't you order the concrete for my building?"
"Your building? Who are you?"
"Nicholas Williams. You're working through Henry here to build my office building at 600 Market Street. You better get your story straight because a man was strangled and then pushed off the top of that building this morning at 10:15. The cops are gonna be paying you a visit pretty soon."
This got through to him. He sighed deeply and sat down in his chair. It was of the big leather type and looked like butterscotch.
"Damn."
"What?" I asked.
He didn't answer. Instead, he pressed down on a button and barked, "Get Keller in here, now!"
"Yes, sir," replied the voice of the dragon lady who guarded the inner sanctum. We'd had a hell of a time getting in.
Running his hand over his hair, Rutledge smiled. "Gentlemen. Please. Have a seat."
We both did just that.
"Now. Let's start over. Mr. Williams, it's a pleasure to finally meet you." He pointedly did not smile nor did he offer his hand. As my notoriety spread, I was becoming used to this.
"And, yes. We bid on the job advertised by Mr. Winters. And we're happy to be working on it. I hear we're coming in ahead of schedule."
I didn't say, "Because your crew is being managed by a girl," even though I wanted to. I figured I'd save that line for later.
"And, yes, I know that in San Francisco, like so many cities across America, there are hidden and unexpected costs in construction. And, in San Francisco, that particularly applies to concrete."
Right then, a side door opened and the oiliest man I'd ever seen oozed in the office. He was about 5'9", thin as a rail, had dark hair slicked back to a shine, and was all smiles. He should have had the word, "snake," tattooed across his forehead.
"May I introduce you to one of my managers? This is Vernon Keller."
Keller walked over and offered his hand to me which I shook. I wanted to run my handkerchief over my palm afterward, but I didn't.
"Vernon, this is Mr. Nicholas Williams. He's the owner at 600 Market Street. Of course, you know Mr. Winters already."
Mr. Keller nodded coolly. He said, "I didn't know Mr. Williams was the owner. Henry, you never mentioned that."<
br />
I stood up and said, "Why does that matter?"
"Well, Mr. Williams, it's always a good idea to know who the players are in any project."
I tried not to roll my eyes. Before I could speak, Mr. Rutledge said, "There was a tragic accident at the site today, Vernon. Seems that a man was strangled and then thrown from the twentieth floor. Do you know anything about that?"
I watched the thin man's eyes dart around the room. He was obviously trying to decide on how to answer the question. After a quick moment, he said, "Sure, Mr. Rutledge. I just got a call from the site. Terrible news. And no one knew who he was."
Henry stood up. "You know exactly who he was."
Mr. Keller leaned back on his heels and asked, "Who?"
"Your contact at Riatti Supply."
Forming his mouth into the shape of an "O," Mr. Keller said, "Really? Johnny Russell?"
Henry nodded. I asked, "And, I'm wondering why, when you sent over the money for the 'unexpected cost,' as your boss put it, you sent Henry a stack of newsprint."
Now Keller looked trapped but he maintained his posture. "I don't know what you mean."
I pulled the envelope out of my coat and showed it to him, without handing it over. Rutledge came around to look at it. "This is what I mean. Delivered by messenger this morning. This was supposed to be the four thousand dollar payoff. Henry was chipping in a thousand from his own pocket." I put the envelope back in my pocket.
Rutledge looked at Keller and said, "I thought the total was three thousand. That's how much I signed for yesterday."
Keller licked his lips and smiled. "That's right, Mr. Rutledge. I put in a thousand of my own. I only felt it was fair." This was such unmitigated bullshit that it was all I could do to keep from laughing.
I looked at Henry and tilted my head. He nodded. I said, "Well, we'll leave you two so you have time to get your story straight before the cops get here. Keller, I hope you have witnesses for where you were at 10:15 this morning."
With that, I walked to the big double doors we'd entered through. After Henry went through, I turned and said, "Oh, and Rutledge?"
The big man turned and looked at me. "Yes, Mr. Williams?"
"Your boys are doing a great job and they're coming in ahead of schedule. Please thank 'em for me."
He smiled and nodded. "I certainly will."
I pointed at Keller and said, "But, it's not because of this lying piece of shit." Keller's eyes widened in outrage. "It's because Henry hired a girl to do the site management."
. . .
Once we were down in the lobby, I said, "Lemme call in." Henry nodded. I walked over to the row of phone booths, entered one, and closed the door. I dropped in a dime and dialed the office. This time Robert answered.
"Mike there?" I asked.
"Not yet. But he called in and Marnie told me to tell you that she delivered the message."
"Good." I paused, trying to decide whether to say the next part. Taking a chance, I said, "Robert, I need to tell you something but you didn't hear it from me."
"Sure, Nick. What is it?"
"Henry's had a tough day."
"I figured. Such a tragedy."
"It's more than that. I can't go into the details but I just wanted to let you know he's gonna need some extra T.L.C."
Robert sighed. "Thanks, Nick. I'll be real sweet to him."
I smiled to myself. "You do that. And, thanks, kid. But, remember. You didn't hear it from me."
"I'll remember."
Chapter 3
Offices of Consolidated Security
777 Bush Street, Third Floor
Wednesday, June 16, 1954
Around 5 in the afternoon
Mike Robertson, President of Consolidated Security, my best friend and first lover, and a former police lieutenant at the North Station was sitting across from me and next to another one of our guys, Ben White. Ben had once been a police officer at the Central Station. They both lost their jobs thanks to the fact that I'd confronted George Hearst a year earlier and they were known to be friendly with me. The same had happened to my husband, Carter, and Ben's squeeze, Carlo Martinelli. It still rankled, but I was doing my best to make it up to these guys.
Carter and Martinelli were gone for an overnight trip to Santa Paula, down south. They were helping a small fire department investigate a possible arson. They were due back the next day and, since I hated sleeping alone, I was already looking forward to seeing them walk through the door.
Meanwhile, I'd asked Mike and Ben to go over what we knew about the events at the construction site earlier in the day.
"So, waddaya know about this Holland?" I asked.
Mike looked at Ben and said, "I never worked with the guy. What about you?"
Ben nodded. "Straight shooter. Goes by the book. I once saw him break up an interrogation that was going too hard. Good guy. But," and he shook his head, "no friend of ours."
By that, I knew Ben meant that Holland wouldn't like working with or being around a bunch of queers. I nodded and asked Mike, "You talk to him, yet?"
He shook his head. "Nope. Left a message and haven't heard back. He may not be interested in talking to me."
I sighed. We tried to work with the City police and fire departments. But they were under a lot of political pressure to steer clear of us. The smaller towns and villages in California were happy to hire us to come in and help when they needed it. We had reasonable rates and were usually available right when they wanted us. It seemed like we were only notorious in San Francisco, itself. It didn't matter much. We had more than enough business and Mike was hiring at least one new man per month.
The story for these new guys was always the same. Somehow the truth that they were in the life would be discovered and they would be fired. We were happy to have most of them if they wanted to work for us.
In fact, Carter and Martinelli were working with a new hire. He was a former fireman and was, in fact, living with Mike. His name was Ray Hunter. He'd been married and, in the divorce, it came out about his proclivities and that was the end of his work as a San Francisco fireman. According to Carter, who was his boss, he was working out just fine.
I asked Mike, "What do you know about Universal?"
"Probably the same as you. Used to be connected to the mob. A few years ago, they sold out to a former Yale football star. Comes from the east coast. Guy by the name of Rutledge. He's been trying to clean the place up."
I nodded. "I heard it was because the Army had hired them to work at the Presidio and their mob connections were made public."
Mike nodded.
"I also heard that this Rutledge was somehow politically connected."
Mike said, "Yeah. His father was a Republican bigwig in Connecticut. I don't know all the details, but there's some link between the son coming in to take over the company and the father's pals. I think it has to do with the Army. But I'm not sure."
"He tried to pretend he didn't know about the payoff, at first. Then he does a song and a dance about 'unexpected costs.' But, I think he's more on the up-and-up than that weasel Keller."
Ben asked, "You said his name was Vernon Keller?"
I nodded. "You heard of him?"
Ben closed his eyes for a moment. "I have. I just can't remember where."
I laughed. "Bunco Squad?"
Ben shook his head. "No. It was something else."
"Well, he tried to pull a grift on his employer. That newsprint scam is as old as Moses. I didn't think anyone tried shit like that anymore."
Mike laughed and said, "It's tried and true." He stopped and thought for a moment. "Poor Henry."
I nodded. "Yeah. I told Robert to take off early so he could get ready to deal with the incoming wounded. Henry had a rough day today." I sighed. "And we saw Jeffery."
Mike cocked his head to the side, "And?"
"He's put on a few pounds. That just means he isn't getting any sex. I know that much."
"Rachel's pregnant?" Mike asked
.
"Yes."
Ben, not knowing he was walking into a landmine, smirked at me and asked, "Then who's the father?"
I couldn't help myself. "Jeffery is, you little shit. Who do you think?"
Mike sat up and said, "Easy there, Nick."
I took a deep breath and said, "Sorry about that, Ben. Thing is, as angry as I am about Jeffery, I just can't stand it when someone else picks on him. He thinks he's between a rock and a hard place." I looked down at my desk and started moving things around. "Hell. You know. You were there. He had a real bad time last summer in Mexico."
Ben nodded soberly. "You're right, Nick. I shouldn't have said that. I'm sorry."
I stood up. "It's alright, kid." To change the subject, I said, "Well, we're all fireman widows tonight. What are you two up to?"
Ben stood up. "I'm going to see a movie with a friend. Then we're going to the Tonga Room at the Fairmont."
I smiled. "Sounds good."
Ben pursed his lips. "It's OK. I don't like sleeping alone."
I walked over and slapped him on the back. "Me, neither, kid. Me, neither."
He said, "Unless you need me, I'll be heading out then."
I smiled and said, "Thanks for your help, Ben. Sorry about what I said earlier."
Mike stood up and said, "Meet me here at 9 in the morning. I have a job for you."
Ben nodded, turned, and walked out the front door.
Once he was gone, Mike crossed his arms, looked at me, and said, "What gives, Nick?" He was a big man. He stood 6'5" and had what I liked to call a monster handsome face. He had jet black hair, a heavy forehead, and intensely piercing blue eyes. When he was happy, he was surprisingly attractive. When he was upset, I always thought of the villagers fleeing the monster. This was one of those times.
"Jeffery?" I asked.
"Yeah. I thought that was over and you were done."
I nodded and sighed. "It is and I am. But, seeing him today..." I thought for a moment. "He looked so sad. There's no other way to put it."
. . .
Somehow, Mike convinced me to go with him to Gene Compton's Cafeteria at South Van Ness and Market for dinner. We walked in, got our trays of food, paid, and sat down in the dining room. I hadn't been to the place in a few years. Looking around, I didn't see any familiar faces. We took a table in the corner so we could watch and see if anyone we knew wandered in. It was just past 7 and that was early for the old crowd. The sun was still in the sky, for one thing. Most of the old gang usually only came out at night.
The Mangled Mobster (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 7) Page 2
