The Mangled Mobster (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 7)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  "You think we spooked him?"

  "Yeah. I suppose. Look." He took in a ragged breath. His eyes were red and bleary. "Can you have Mike call me when he gets back from Pleasanton?"

  "Livermore," I corrected.

  "Yeah. Sure. Just have him call me, will you?" He quickly put his hat back on and left.

  I held up my hand to keep the office quiet and waited two beats. Then I quickly opened the door and walked towards the elevator where Holland was waiting.

  "Lieutenant." He didn't turn.

  "Greg." This got his attention.

  "What is it, Williams?"

  "You OK?"

  He looked straight ahead at the elevator door. "Sure. I'm fine."

  "You don't look fine."

  The car arrived and the door opened. The lieutenant walked in without replying. As the doors closed, I said, "Take care of yourself, Greg."

  He looked up at me, nodded, and was gone.

  . . .

  "What was that about?" asked Marnie.

  "That, doll, was the look of a man in love with another man." I thought for a moment. "Maybe for the first time in his life."

  "Gee. He's in love with Mike?"

  I nodded.

  "What about that Ray?" She looked around carefully, as if Ray might be lurking nearby. He wasn't. He was out with Carter and Martinelli. They were doing one more pass over our house. Carter was using it as a training exercise for Ray.

  I shrugged. "I don't know."

  "You think Mike is... You know... Does he feel the same way?" For as long as we'd worked together, this was a topic that still made Marnie uncomfortable.

  I nodded and leaned against the wall. "I do."

  Robert, who'd been quietly sitting at his own desk throughout all of this, piped up and said, "I've seen guys go through that before. It's tough."

  "What about you? Did you always know?" I asked.

  Robert nodded. "Always. There was an older kid who lived next door that I really liked when I was four years old. I didn't know why, of course. What about you?"

  I smiled. "Same. Only it wasn't the kid next door. It was my father's chauffeur. Back in those days, he wore--" I looked over at Marnie, who was turning pink. "Anyway, yeah. I knew when I was probably four, too."

  Robert asked, "Was Carter in love with Henry when they were kids?"

  I shrugged. "He's never said. But I know that Henry was in love with Carter. He's told me as much. And he still is."

  Robert looked down at his desk. "Oh."

  I laughed. "Not in that way, Robert. He's in love with Carter the way I love Henry. Like brothers."

  Robert looked up and smiled. "Oh. Yeah." He seemed to remember something. "Can I get your keys, Nick? Marnie wants a copy of them for Mrs. Kopek."

  I pulled the set for the house out of my pocket. He caught the jangling ring as I tossed them over. "Wow. That's a lot."

  I nodded. I pointed out which ones I knew about and which ones I didn't. He noted each one and, using an Indian ink pencil, made markings on each key that corresponded to his notes. I said, "Make a set for you and a set for Marnie, as well."

  He stood up and said, "Will do. I'm going over to get them cut right now. Anyone need anything?"

  I walked back over to my desk and said, "No," over my shoulder as he left. I sat down for a moment and then had an idea. Grabbing my hat, I said to Marnie, "I'm going out for a while."

  "Where to?"

  "To find a cop before he does something stupid."

  . . .

  McKeegan's on Commercial was known to be a hang-out for the cops from Central. It was nearby and off the beaten path. I wasn't sure it would be the spot to find Greg Holland. I wasn't sure whether he'd want to talk to me. He'd treated me like the plague at the office. But I thought I'd give it a shot.

  The cab dropped me off at the corner of Commercial and Montgomery. I walked down Commercial half a block and pulled open the door. Even though it wasn't even 10 in the morning, the place had a small crowd. The jukebox was playing some western swing tune I'd never heard before.

  Sure enough, right at the far end of the bar, there was Lieutenant Greg Holland. He was nursing a beer and looked pitiful.

  I walked over and sat down next to him. I motioned to the bartender.

  "What'll it be, Mister?"

  "Burgie. In the bottle, if you got it."

  "Sure thing, Mister. Comin' right up."

  I nodded and watched the bartender as he reached into a cooler and pulled out a brown bottle. He popped the cap off and brought it over. "Glass?"

  I shook my head and put down a five. The bartender looked at it suspiciously and said, "Want anything else?"

  I said, "Not right now. But, thanks."

  He scooped up the five and said, "Let me know."

  I nodded as he walked off.

  Holland quietly asked, "That how you buy your friends?"

  I took a sip of beer. "You know, I met Mike when I was a kid on the street."

  "That so?"

  "Yeah. My old man was gonna kick me out so Mike took me in. He was on beat patrol at the time."

  "Beat? There's a photograph of the 1940 motorcycle patrol squadron on the wall down from my office. He's the tallest one in the group."

  "When I met him, he'd gotten in trouble and--"

  "Your fault?"

  I laughed. "No. It was someone else but you're not far off. But, yeah, when he was back on motorcycle patrol, he always used to get a sore back from crouching on that damn Indian all day."

  Holland raised his bottle up and waved it in the air. The bartender brought him a new one. It was Lucky which, like Carter, I couldn't abide the taste of. After he'd taken a swig, he said, "You never answered my question."

  "Yes, I did. My best friend in the world is Mike Robertson. And he became my friend when I didn't have a pot to piss in."

  "He just thought--" Holland stopped as a small crowd of cops in uniform walked by. I kept my head down as a couple of them patted him on the back.

  Once they were gone, I said, "You're probably right. But that was fifteen years ago. The only trouble we've ever had was when I enlisted in '41."

  "Why was that?"

  "Because I didn't tell him. I went down on that Tuesday morning and signed up for the Navy. When he got home that night, I told him. He decked me. Hard."

  Holland chuckled. "Oh, I'd have paid top dollar to see that."

  I waited. He was trying really hard not to like me, for some reason. It was a full 180 from his attitude the morning before. I didn't give a damn why. But I guessed that I was too exposed for him to be close to. All the world knew who I was and what I was. And it scared him.

  I couldn't blame him. Whatever the real source of his fear might be, it was tearing him up inside. That much was obvious.

  I sat for a moment and considered what to say next. I was curious, that was for damn sure, but I didn't want to scare him off. So, I sat for a while longer. I didn't have anything to do. I could wait.

  Finally, Holland banged his empty bottle on the bar and stood up. He threw a buck down and walked towards the door. I waited until he was out the door and then I followed him.

  Once I was out on the street, I saw him walking halfway to Montgomery. When he got to the corner, he turned left instead of right, going away from The Hall of Justice and the Central District Station and heading south. I wondered where he was off to, so I followed him.

  Maintaining my distance, I walked with him all the way down to the building site, which was buzzing with activity. Obviously, the stop-work order had been lifted. From a few stories up in the skeleton of the building, I could hear Pam chewing out someone.

  He went up to the construction office and knocked on the door. I held back at the gate and waited. When no one answered, I walked over, up the steps past Holland, and opened the door.

  "Come in, Lieutenant." I sat down on Pam's desk and waited.

  He stood in the doorway. His eyes were still red. Finally, he walked in, pu
lled the door closed, and locked it. I wondered if he was gonna try to clean my clock or put his tongue down my throat.

  He turned around and stared at me. As he did, tears ran down his cheeks. I sat perfectly still, waiting for him to decide what to do.

  He stumbled forward and got up in my face. His breath was sour from no sleep and too much beer. I looked up at him as he began to weave a little.

  I got off the desk and pulled a chair behind him. Shoving him it, I went over and started making coffee. As I was opening up the can of Folger's, I heard him stand up. Before I could do anything, he had put his arms around me and was burying his face in my neck.

  I gingerly pulled him off me and turned to face him. The tears were still coming.

  I nodded and said, "I know."

  It was like watching a storm blow through. It was going to happen. It had to happen. And all anyone could do was let it happen.

  After a few moments of us standing there looking at each other, he ran the sleeve of his coat over his face and sniffed. He walked over and sat down. I turned around and finished making coffee.

  Once it was ready, I poured him a cup. "How do you take it?"

  "Black," he croaked.

  I handed him the cup and said, "Drink some right now."

  He nodded and did so. It was hot, so it likely burned his mouth, but he drank it nonetheless.

  I pulled over the other chair and sat down in front of him. I pulled out my pack of Camels and offered him one. He shook his head and said, "Don't smoke."

  I put the pack back in my coat and said, "This your first?"

  He sat back and looked at me. "My first what?"

  "Your first love."

  The tears started again. I took the coffee cup from his shaky hand before he spilled it. I said, "Greg, it's hard to admit the truth, isn't it?"

  The lieutenant nodded. He sniffled again and looked around for a paper tissue. I handed him my handkerchief. He wiped his face with it and then did something curious. He smelled it.

  Looking at me like a kid, he said, "It smells like you."

  I smiled and asked, "How so?"

  "It smells like cigarettes and soap. Like you smell."

  "How does Mike smell?" I asked. I felt like I was probing the wound. I wanted to just lance it and not cause more harm.

  He sighed. "Like leather."

  I nodded. "Yeah. He still wears his motorcycle jacket, without the patches, of course. I think he keeps it in the closet with his other coats."

  Holland smiled. He was attractive. But, as I'd noticed before, it was in a nondescript way. I looked at his broken nose. "You used to box?" I asked.

  He put his hand on the bump on his nose and asked, "This?"

  I nodded.

  He shook his head. "Got in a fight when I was 18. Someone called me a..." He couldn't finish.

  "A faggot?"

  He nodded.

  "Mike taught me how to take care of myself around people like that."

  Holland laughed wryly. "Are you trying to sell me on him or something?"

  I shrugged. "Maybe. I'm telling you know it's all OK."

  He stood up and began to pace in the small office. "No. It'll never be OK. You have no idea."

  I crossed my arms. "Try me."

  He stopped and looked down at me. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I'm being blackmailed."

  This, I wasn't expecting. But it made more sense than just puppy love.

  I said, "Have a seat and tell me what's going on."

  He stood there for a moment. Finally, he sat down, looked at the floor, and began to talk.

  "It started in January. I was walking down Polk Street one night and heard someone call my name. When I turned around it was a man I'd once met. His name was Roger Steele. We'd met at a private party. I was there undercover. We got to talking at the party and he invited me to his house. I'd already been having second thoughts about the investigation. I was considering whether to hand in my badge and just walk away." He looked up at me. "I even thought about calling you to see if I could get a job. I wanted a safety net before calling it quits. Know what I mean?"

  I nodded.

  "So, Roger sees me on Polk Street and asks, you know, if I wanted to come see him again. I had been out walking just for the fresh air and to clear my head and didn't want company, so I declined. Somehow he'd found out I was a policeman and he told me so right there. He told me that if I didn't come with him right then, that he would call my captain." He sighed deeply and looked up at me again.

  "What'd you do?"

  "What could I do? I went home with him. We did what we'd done before which was easy for me." He looked at me as if he wondered if I needed it spelled out.

  I didn't. So, I asked. "Then what happened?"

  He quickly smiled at me. "By the way, your technique isn't bad for a private dick." He seemed to think that was funny. But I didn't smile. I just watched and waited.

  He cleared his throat. "He found my phone number and started calling me at home. He wanted me to come over once a week. Then it was twice a week. The thing was, he wasn't ugly."

  I shook my head. "That doesn't mean a thing. You didn't wanna do it. That's what matters."

  "You make it sound like rape."

  I nodded. "In a way, it is."

  "But--"

  "I know."

  "Well, I guess it was in March that I realized I just couldn't do it anymore. I stopped answering the phone, which got me in trouble with my captain. The next thing I know he's sending me a letter." He shook his head. "It was like in the movies. Letters cut out of the newspaper. That sort of thing."

  "What'd it say?"

  "That I could just send him fifty dollars a week, instead."

  "That's a lot."

  Holland ran his hand over his head. "Yeah. It is."

  "Did you pay?"

  "Yes. And I'm still paying. I send it to a post office box. Every Monday."

  I shook my head. "For the love of Mike, you're a cop. I can count at least three state felonies and two federal ones. Why not bust him?"

  Holland's face went white. "I couldn't. He'd tell my captain. It'd get in the Examiner."

  I nodded. "Probably so. But," I put my hand on his knee. "You do have a safety net. In the car yesterday, you were the new hire we were talking about. Or, to be honest, the one I was talking about."

  Holland sat back and closed his eyes. "I don't know."

  "Have you ever been married?"

  He sat up and opened his eyes. "Yeah. I was. We got married before the war started."

  "What happened?"

  "She said that she lost faith in me. Because I didn't go off to fight." He frowned. "I did what my sergeant asked me to do and didn't enlist."

  I nodded. "Same as Mike. And Carter."

  He shrugged. "Maybe if I'd gone, she wouldn't have left me."

  I snorted. "Is it possible she knew you weren't interested?"

  He stood up and looked out the window built into the office door. He put his hands in his coat pocket. "Yeah. I hadn't thought of that. But that probably was it."

  "How did it happen? Did she go to Reno?"

  He turned around and smiled. "Yeah." He looked down at me. "Why are you asking me about this?"

  I stood up and crossed my arms. "I want you to remember that you were in a bad situation before and got out. This'll probably be like ripping off the bandage but it'll be a hell of a lot easier. Like I said," I put my hand on his arm. "You gotta safety net. Only thing is, you'll have to work for me. I know you don't like me but you can't work for Mike. You know how that is."

  He grinned, reached over, and pulled me into a bear hug. He really needed a bath. After patting me on the back, he let me go. "I never said I didn't like you, Nick. I was scared shitless by you. That's all."

  . . .

  After checking in with Pam, who was in rare form and having a great time doing her job, I decided to go back to the office. By then it was past noon. Holland was following me around lik
e a puppy, so I invited him to lunch at The Old Poodle Dog since it was just around the corner from the construction site.

  The original Poodle Dog had been a fixture of the Gay Nineties. It was a French restaurant that also included private dining suites on the upper floors. There were plenty of references to the place in Uncle Paul's diaries. He'd seduced a number of men there. It had been originally located at Eddy and Mason. The '06 fire destroyed the building. The current spot came along in '33. I'd been there a couple of times. Although it was a nice spot, I was sure it was a shadow of its old self.

  Once we were at a table and had some coffee, Holland began to pepper me with questions about Mike. He had it bad and it was sweet, I had to admit. I answered his first couple of questions, then I put out my hand.

  "Hold on, cowboy. These are questions you need to ask Mike. Besides, you don't want to be grilling the ex about your new squeeze, right?"

  "But you're his best friend."

  I had to smile because, just like the day before, we were in school girl territory. I replied, "Yeah. And since he's my best friend, I don't wanna spoil any possible first date conversation for him. He deserves to tell you about himself while he grills you about you. Got that?"

  Holland nodded and took a sip of his coffee. He looked around the restaurant and then back at me. "Possible?"

  I nodded. "You bet. He's living with Ray. They're an item."

  Holland's face fell so hard you could almost hear the sound of a brick hitting the pavement. "Buck up, Holland. I'm on your side. Ray is fine, as far as it goes, but--" Right then, our waitress arrived with our lunch.

  After we were set up and Holland was cutting into his steak and French fried potatoes, I asked, "What are you gonna do about work and that letter?"

  He swallowed his bite and said, "After I talk to Mike, I'm gonna come clean with my captain and turn in my badge and gun."

  "Are you sure you have that in the right order?"

  Holland looked at me. "What do you mean?"

  "Shouldn't you take care of your own business first?"

  "What if Mike doesn't like me?"

  I shook my head. "Is that really your first priority?" I lowered my voice. "You're being blackmailed, bud. That's a big deal."

  He put his fork and knife down and stared at me. "Oh my God. I sound like a little girl, don't I?"