A Deadly Affair
Page 14
“I couldn’t stand worrying,” Helen cut in, her eyes looking at me softly. “It’s cockeyed to try things alone, so I … had to go to the police.”
I relaxed and grinned at her. As usual I was confused. London had risked his life for me, the young cop had torn an expensive uniform, and Artie had a broken head. All for me. Yet I also felt anger at them all. If I had not been a Latino they would have believed my story, never have put me through the wringer. I felt both anger and shame. I suddenly recalled a line of Luis Muñoz Marin my father liked to quote. “Wisdom is what makes you ashamed and what makes you proud.” Wisdom? I was not certain I had gained any knowledge from all that had happened. But there was some shame in my thoughts. They had gone through danger for me … even if they had also put me in that same danger. I was far too tired to think it out.
London shrugged his wide shoulders, rubbed the two day whiskers on his solid chin. He said, “I’m going to give you some advice, even if you don’t pay any attention to it. Your wife is right, you can’t go on being suspicious of all of … us. I’m a police officer, I damn well know you islanders are being rooked up here. But every new group went through the same thing. The Germans, the Irish, Italians, the Jews. My grandfather died of TB working in a stinking East Side sweat shop. I’m not saying it’s right, or has to be, Joey, but only that it takes time. There must be an adjustment on both sides. Unfortunately, due to air travel, the Puerto Rican influx has been faster and greater than the others….
“The guy you carried out, he was the one?” I asked, far too weary for any lecture about myself from him.
London nodded. “Pick and shovel laborer. The crane operator was a buddy, had been showing him how to work the machine. Figured in time he might work his way up. When the strike was called the day before yesterday, this fellow hung around and decided to practice—try his hand at the crane. The fool didn’t know what he was doing. The crane got out of control—he hooked Harry by a tragic freak. Strictly an accident. Then the guy panicked, yanked the wrong lever, lifting Harry and banging him against the side of the factory. Harry fell onto the warehouse roof. Doc says Harry was dead seconds after the hook tore into him on the handball court. Anyway, this dumb slob managed to work the big crane back to its first position, climbed out of the cab unseen, and went off on a roaring drunk. How did you ever come up with the crane idea, Joey?”
“No wonder he was praying for rain—to wash the blood off the hook!” I said, thinking aloud.
“You know him?” Suspicion returned with a rush to London’s voice.
“No. But I stumbled upon him in one of the cellars, among the leveled buildings, this afternoon … yesterday,” I said, confused on the time. “He was drunk and kept asking if it looked like rain. That’s all.”
“The fool was only facing manslaughter, now it’s attempted murder—if he lives. But what made you think of the crane?”
“Seeing a fisherman jerking his line, down on the Drive. Sent his eel high up into a tree. When I noticed the hook on the crane, well, how else could Harry have possibly been flung up on the roof?”
London yawned. “We tried the crane deal for size, too, but let it go when we checked the regular operator and found he hadn’t left his apartment that morning. So it was those fishermen. We saw you down on the Lower Drive talking to Helen, of course.”
“You knew all the time where I was?”
“Hell, never go hiding in bushes. One of our squad had to stop the post cop from running you in. Easy to spot a joker running about the bushes, in a city.” London gave me another tired grin as he pulled out his pipe. He made a face at it and stuck the pipe back in his pocket. “Sick of this; must have smoked up a whole damn pound of tobacco. Sure I knew, that’s why I left myself open for you to sock me and take off: it was what we wanted. We had a tail on you every step of the way. You see, Joey, I really don’t hate Spanish. If I … was the kind of a guy you think I am, I could have gunned you down. You gave me the perfect excuse.”
“Why did you lie about Rastello not having heard me? Why did you torture me with the thought my baby was alone?”
Helen said, “Hon, must you start all that … now?”
London shrugged again. “No, best he gets it off his mind. I’ll tell you why, Joey, it’s part of my job. I knew Rastello was blind soon as you mentioned the folded money. Coins they can easily feel the difference, but paper dough they fold. And don’t forget, he never said he heard you at the playground, merely that he heard two men playing ball. Look, from the jump I felt you didn’t do it. This was far too complicated a crime for you to do, amigo.”
I tried to wet my swollen and numb lip. These blancos—in the same sentence they can call me a friend and a dummy! “Detective, why do you not come right out and say that being a stupid Puerto Rican I couldn’t have even done any crime but a mugging!”
“Joey, lay off me. I’ve had a rough night, too,” London said.
Helen cut in with, “I think we should go now, if we can.”
“Sure, you can leave any time. I’ll have a squad car ride you home,” London told her.
“We’ll get a cab,” I said.
London laughed out loud. “Come on, Joey, relax a little. I admit I was rough on you, but then look at things from where I was standing. First of all, it was only when morning came and the blood spot was seen on the factory wall, that I was certain you couldn’t have done it—alone. Also, it was all a weirdie from the go: you coming in with the crazy bit about fat Harry vanishing from the handball court, which I thought was all in your mind. Then we find the battered corpse. The point I’m making is, we haven’t much time to give each case. I’m not handing you a song and dance, or excuses, when I say the police are overworked, so we have to take any short cuts. Listen, kid, remember what I said about taking the exam for the force? In a week or so, soon as you’re better, come to see me. While I can’t give you any inside dope or pull strings, I can tell you what to study. I’m trying to say, when you’re a police officer you’ll understand what we’re up against. Every job has its lousy side. After all, I didn’t beat you or rough you up, even though I did try to trick you. Joey, you understand what I’m getting at? I’m too bushed to explain it any clearer.”
“Yeah.” I nodded at Helen and we started for the door. Walking was painful but it felt good to be leaving. London and his smooth explanations! If Helen was not with me I would have reminded him of the terrible things he said about her, all the dirty cracks. The hell with him: it was over.
London called after us, “Remember, drop in to see me—any time. And please, use the squad car waiting for you.”
“We will,” Helen told him.
Walking through the arched doorway of the old precinct house, Henry still asleep in her arms, I winked at my Helen and whispered, “You were very right about one thing, and about this I will take your advice: being a la jara—a cop—they can keep that job!”
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Text Copyright © 1960 by Ed Lacy
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Names, characters, corporations, institutions, organizations, events, or locales in this novel are either the product of the author’s imagination or, if real, used fictitiously. The resemblance of any character to actual persons (living or dead) is entirely coincidental.
eISBN 10: 1-4405-4200-7
eISBN 13: 978-1-4405-4200-8
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Ed Lacy, A Deadly Affair