The street was dark and a rising wind hurled bits of paper along the drive. I started across the walk to the Olds. A dark car pulled around the Olds, stopped in front of me.
“Looking for a taxi, bud?”
I looked at him, reacting. Doc had already got word to Luxtro.
Hell, it came to me in that moment, the bartender Doc had called. He’d explained what he wanted, and who wanted it. That bartender—who else but Tom Biggs behind the bar at the Ubangi. No wonder Luxtro could get somebody after me so quickly. But a man alone, a small man who didn’t even look dangerous four feet from me. “Hell, this is no taxi,” I said.
“No. But this is a gun. So why don’t you get in?”
The door swung open. The driver had an automatic fixed on me. All I had to do was refuse to get in or try to walk away.
I didn’t feel afraid; there was nothing but cold anger that this hood was pointing a gun at me.
“New in town, aren’t you?”
“Yeah. New. Got in at ten tonight. Been driving for six hours. No rest. Temper’s short. So why don’t you get in? We’ll talk about it then.”
I stepped into the car and slammed the door.
“Smart. Been messy shooting you in the street. People standing around might remember the car or get a glimpse of me.”
The driver put the car in gear and we moved out on the drive. His shoulders twitched. He kept sniffling. That sound irritated me, I knew I couldn’t take much of that twitching, either.
“What’s the pitch?”
“Been hired to talk to you. You don’t take orders so good. Looks like you might make trouble. So I’m to warn you to stop making trouble.”
“If you’re going to talk, put that gun away.”
“That’s what I’m going to talk with.”
My breath snapped. “You doped? Killing a cop?”
“Cop? What’s the diff? I’m three hundred miles from here by morning. Never saw this town. Never heard of you.”
“Got it all figured, haven’t you?”
“Like I say, you might make trouble. I hear they been patient with you, but you just keep on making trouble.”
“Somebody framed an innocent guy.”
“What the hell? We all got our troubles. You get your rake-off. What’s your beef?”
“You came to the wrong town, Blondy. Tell you what. You tell me who hired you. Luxtro? Is that the name? I’ll be easy on you. I’ll take you in, you get a rap for carrying a concealed weapon. I won’t even say you threatened me. I’ll be easy on you.”
“You make jokes. I’m the gee holding the gun. Look, mister, no safety. All ready.”
“Just tell me who hired you. That’s all I want.”
His shoulders twitched. “Cold character, ain’t you? They said that. They couldn’t get to you. I got something here that will get to you.”
“That’s why they brought you here. A hophead. They couldn’t hire a gun in this town for the job you got.”
Blondy’s shoulder twitched again. His mouth jerked. “Funny. Pretty boy. Soft talker. Making jokes.” His laugh was off key. “You don’t scare me.”
“That’s because you don’t know me, Blondy. Next time you see me, you’ll be scared.”
“Next time I see you, mister, will be in hell.”
“Keep a place for me.” I moved fast, grasping his wrist.
The gun exploded. I’d known that would happen. A bullet slapped into the door above my knees. Blondy yelled, released the wheel. The car swerved, spun to the right, went over the curb and struck a metal pole. I slammed the punk’s wrist against the steering column. Blondy groaned. The gun clattered to the floor. I didn’t even glance at it.
I released Blondy. He sprang away. Fear had wiped out the narcotics in him.
“All right, who hired you?”
“Go to hell.”
His shoulders twitched. He stared at the gun on the floor between us. His eyelid fluttered. Then he made a dive for the gun.
I let his hand close over the automatic. I jammed my heel down, grinding Blondy’s fingers.
He screamed, straightening up.
“I’m sending you back to your boss,” I said. “With a message. Tell him it’s over. Tell him I said to get out of town.”
I caught his coat lapels. He tried to twist free. I forced his arm through the steering wheel. He screamed, scratching and kicking.
He beat at me with his left hand. I ignored it. I raised his right arm, brought it down over the lower turn of the wheel. We both heard the bones snap. I released him.
He writhed away, screaming. He hit the handle, fought the door open.
I could have caught him, but I didn’t. I let him go. He ran sobbing into the darkness, holding his arm in the air.
I backed his car out, drove slowly back to the place where I’d left my Olds. I went by once. Everything looked quiet. I wondered if anybody had got to Tino Gonsmart and told him to get out of town, but I doubted it. They had faith in Blondy.
I parked his car, got out and went to my olds, wondering if they’d paid Blondy in advance.
Chapter Nineteen
When I reached the Olds, lights flashed on like a Hollywood premiere, a midway opening, a drink stand. Lights exploded in front of the Olds and on the same side of the street, from across the street both ways, and behind me.
I was a cop, thirteen years a cop, and they pulled that trick on me.
I stood there with my hand on the half-opened door. I didn’t move.
Ernie Gault spoke from behind those blinding headlights. “Just stay where you are, Mike.”
“Is all this for me?” I said. “I bet Dillinger is whirling in his grave from jealousy.”
“The commissioner wants to see you, Mike.”
I kept my voice level. “Oh? I thought maybe you’d come to pay me back that hundred you owed me.”
There was a silence from behind the yellow wall of light, the kind that goes with indrawn breath.
Ernie stepped into the light. He looked thinner and shabbier than ever.
“There’s nothing personal in this, Mike. God knows I didn’t want to do it. He wants you brought in.”
“He must have expected quite a fight. How many cars you stake out around here?”
“He just gave us orders, Mike. I’m trying to follow them. I hope you won’t make any trouble.”
I laughed at him. “What would you do, Ernie? Shoot me?”
“I wouldn’t want to, Mike.”
I took a deep breath, suddenly very tired of Ernie Gault. There’s nothing finer than an honest cop, but you can get sick of them in a hurry.
“Why didn’t the old boy come himself?” I said.
Gault shook his head. “Let’s go, Mike. We wouldn’t be here like this, but it’s serious.”
I looked around at the lights and the uniformed men who’d moved just inside the ring of light.
“It must be.”
“I tried to warn you, Mike.”
“I don’t suppose it would impress you a damned bit if I told you I’m in a hurry? I can solve a murder with just a little more time.”
“I’m sorry, Mike.”
“Tell him you couldn’t find me.”
“I couldn’t do that, Mike.” It was deadly serious with Gault; he couldn’t do it. “I’m following orders. Anyhow, look at these men. Come on, Mike. Let’s go.”
“You mean you won’t trust me to drive my own car down there?”
“Afraid not, Mike.” Gault looked ill. “They’re impounding your car, Mike.”
“Impounding it?”
“Evidence of graft, Mike. I’m sorry. I told you, I’m sorry.” He turned his head. “Jerry, drive the Olds down to headquarters.”
“You son of a bitch,” I said.
“I’m following orders.”
“Yeah. All you had to do was let me know; I could have put the car away.”
“I’m sorry, Mike. I couldn’t have done that. You know it.”
“Doe
s that halo keep you awake nights, Gault?” He breathed in deeply. “You don’t have to ride me, Mike. I’m sick enough about this. I tried to warn you.”
Commissioner Mitchell, Chief Waylin and Captain Burgess awaited me at headquarters. Two reporters were there, so the meeting was held out in the bureau office.
I looked at Neal and Waylin. Neither of them would look at me.
Mitchell said, “I have nothing but contempt for you, Ballard—”
“C-o-n-t-e-m-p-t,” I said to the reporters. “Get this right. He’s saying it all for you.”
Mitchell’s face got red. “Stop that smart talk, Ballard. You’re going to hear what I have to say.”
“I can hear you, but can the reporters? Do I get to give them my story when you’re through?”
Mitchell’s face paled. He looked from Burgess to the reporters. “I may as well tell you, Ballard,” he spoke loudly. “I’ve discussed this case with the owners of both newspapers. I’ve shown them your record. I’ve been assured that neither newspaper would be interested in any slander from you about me or my office. They won’t print it. You may ask either of these fine young reporters what their orders are concerning you.”
I glanced at them. They looked uncomfortable. One of them shrugged. “Sorry, Mike. No statement. I’ll take it if you like—but they won’t print it.”
Mitchell was smiling again, at ease. I stared at him, seeing for the first time how completely impossible it was ever to clean up any town. I had thought I was cynical and disillusioned before, even riding my gravy train, but they were showing me. They needed a patsy to quiet the yells of outraged citizens, and I’d been elected. First my old man for being too damned honest, and now me because they needed a carcass to toss to the wolves.
I sighed. Things would go on just as they were. They’d promote somebody to my job, somebody who could be approached, and handled, and the reform cry would be so large that nobody would notice that the men who ran the vice and collected the big rake-off were still there.
“Look,” I said, “I’m busy. Do what you want to do. I’ve got to get out of here.”
I turned and started out, walking past the commissioner. He jumped to his feet and grabbed my arm. I looked down at him.
“You’re not going anywhere. You’re under arrest, Ballard. You’re going to hear what I have to say.”
“I’m not interested in anything you have to say.”
“Not even your suspension?” His voice rose.
“I don’t care.”
Mitchell thrust a morning Times before my face, tomorrow’s paper that would soon be on every breakfast table in town.
My gaze moved across the headline: COMMISSIONER BOWS TO CITIZEN COMMITTEE; OUSTS VICE LT. MICHAEL BALLARD.
He jerked the paper back from me.
“Now you do understand it? I’m cleaning out the rotten apple in this department. We’re going to have a clean town. You’re suspended for thirty days. At the end of that time, I’ll present my charges against you before the Civil Service Board. Meantime, you may as well consider this dismissal permanent. From this moment you are without rank, off the payroll, and you’ll remain so until tried by the Board, after which I can promise you’ll be hauled into criminal court.”
I removed my badge from my wallet and tossed it on the desk before Neal Burgess. Neal didn’t look up. Neal had once had my job. Maybe he was thinking, There but for the grace of God...
I started past Mitchell again.
Mitchell croaked. “Arrest this man, Burgess. Arrest him.”
I took the small .38 from its holster. “Don’t try it, Neal. Don’t try it. Let’s say you people have released me on an appearance bond.”
I moved toward the hall door, crabwise. When I turned, Ernie Gault stood there. His face was white.
“You better stop right there, Mike.”
I just looked at him. “I hope those kids have a good Christmas, Ernie. I hope you’re alive to share it with them. But if you reach for that gun, so help me God, you’ve had it.”
He stared into my face. For the first time in his police career, he saw something in my eyes that made him back down. Maybe it was going to sit wrong in his gut the rest of his life. But he saw I would have shot that halo off the top of his head.
He stepped into the room, away from the door. He kept his hands out at his sides.
“Ernie, you’re getting real smart.”
His voice showed his sickness. “You’ll never get away, Mike.”
“I’ll get where I want to go.”
I stepped out into the corridor. It was empty, a light burning at the far end. I took three giant steps across to the stairway and went down them. I heard Mitchell yelling in the office upstairs. I heard the pock-pock of heels on the tile hallway.
I came out of the stairway at the blind man’s coffee shop. It was closed at this hour. A uniformed patrolman was lounging against the front wall. I shoved my gun in my pocket, kept my finger on it.
I nodded to him.
He said, “Well, that didn’t take so long, did it, Lieutenant?”
“They didn’t want much. Just my hide.”
I went out the rear exit and into the alley. It was dark out here, and chilled. The chill got inside me. I was shaking by the time I reached the corner of Halsey Street and walked around it.
There was a cab in front of the lunchroom. I was afraid the driver was having coffee inside. I cut across the street. I saw him, sitting with his head back, under the steering wheel.
I got in the back, slammed the door so hard he woke up and jumped erect.
I gave him Tino Gonsmart’s address out in Bellevue Park.
He looked at me, owl-eyed, not fully awake. “Sure, Lieutenant.”
“It’s official business,” I said, staring past him at the station and the cops spilling out of it. “So you can forget the speed laws.”
“Just what you say, Lieutenant.” He was fully awake now. He started the car, wheeled it around in the middle of Halsey Street, gunning it.
I looked behind me. Ernie Gault ran out into the street, waving his arms and yelling.
I settled back in the seat, for the first time thinking about myself and the spot I was in. Nothing to sing about.
Chapter Twenty
Hell, what did I care about Earl Walker now? I’d never cared about him. He was just a poor slob who got up one morning on the wrong side of a dirty deal.
I was an ex-cop now. Mitchell would give orders to have me shot if I resisted arrest; maybe the fact I was fugitive was enough. The fact that he knew I had the truth about his tie-in with Luxtro was enough. Too much. I was a dead pigeon.
Then why was I still chasing after Tino Gonsmart?
I sat there, with the city racing past me in the night, wailing windily by the cab. I knew what it was. It was everything in God’s world that I was. All I’d ever been, dreamed, thought, become. It was all the wrongs and hurts bottled up with my own sins and misdeeds, the evils I’d committed, and I didn’t blink at them. It was all of that, everything that brought me to this moment: ex-cop, fugitive. Maybe all along I’d known that when I went down I was going to take the temple crashing down with me. Move over, Samson.
It was Peggy, too. Sure, I’d never had her. Now I never would. I could have had her. Only it wouldn’t have been perfect, and we had to be perfect. If we ever got together, it had to be perfect.
The driver skidded the cab into the curb before the swank apartment building where Tino lived as Raoul Lemaire.
I looked at that driver, knowing they were going to radio him in. I had one chance. If they’d been unable to get his number, or the cab name when we took off from Halsey Street, I might have as much as ten minutes longer.
I thought fast. I said, “Look, fellow. There’s something you’ll have to do for me. I’m tied up here. But there’s a message that I’ve got to get to the bartender out at Mamie’s Road Place. You know where that is?”
“Sure, Lieutenant. About twenty miles
out Three-oh-one.”
“Right.” I took a pad from my pocket, ripped out a page, wrote a phony telephone number on it. I folded the paper and shoved it across the seat to the driver with a ten spot.
“See that the bartender out there gets this,” I said. “It’s the most important thing I ever trusted anybody with. Don’t give it to anybody else. He’ll know what to do. If he doesn’t call that number in the next hour, I won’t be responsible for what happens.”
“Good Lord, Lieutenant, I’ll take care of it. You got nothing to worry about.”
That’s what he thought.
I got inside the apartment building, went up the elevator. I rang Tino’s number a dozen times. My time was running out, and there was no answer.
Had they gotten Tino out of town by now?
Why had I thought they’d wait? I knew by now they no longer trusted me, that Luxtro had sent out one killer to get me, and would have others as soon as he could pick up my trail.
I beat my knuckles against the door. I was just turning away when I heard something inside. I was afraid for a minute it was imagination. It sounded like a cat’s mewling.
I tattooed the door again with my knuckles. I pressed my ear against it, listening. Whatever it was in there was mewling.
I didn’t give it a second thought. I was going into Tino’s apartment; breaking and entering didn’t worry me just then.
I put my heel against that sleek door. It took five hard raps. The lock tore loose from its catch and the door swung back.
I stepped inside, closed the door behind me.
All the lights in the apartment burned. It was beautifully furnished, if rather small.
I looked around for the mewling cat—and found Tino.
He was sprawled behind the divan in a pool of his own blood.
I walked over, knelt beside him. He was mewling all right. He was almost dead.
I got up, went to the telephone, called a cab company.
“This is Raoul Lemaire,” I said. “Send a cab immediately.” I gave Tino’s address. “It’s an emergency.”
Brute In Brass Page 12
