by Paddy Kelly
“How do I get a hold of him?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t be downtown at this hour.”
“Is there a way to get him a message?”
“Call the OOD.”
They went back out to the kitchen, Nikki dialled the phone and handed it to Doc.
“Third Naval District, Chief Petty Officer Badowski.”
“Chief, I need to contact Treasury Agent Johnson, Robert Johnson.”
“You’ll have to call back at the main number, tomorrow after zero nine hundred, sir.”
“It’s sort of an emergency, Chief. I have some information for him.”
Nikki leaned over and whispered into Doc’s ear. “Tell him it’s a Micky Mouse priority!”
Doc displayed a puzzled look, covered the receiver and mouthed “What?”
Nikki nudged him in the ribs and whispered loudly, “Tell him!” “Chief Badowski, this message is a Micky Mouse Priority!”
Doc spoke with the authority of the Joint Chief himself.
“Sir, Agent Johnson can be reached at Murray Hill-7-9232. That’s his home phone sir. Please treat it with discretion.”
“Rest assured, Chief, I will.”
Doc replaced the receiver and smiled at Nikki.
“None’a your shit, you! I don’t make them up! They come down from DC.”
“Wanna have some fun?”
“Whatta you gonna do?”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly two. Whatta you gonna do? Tell me!”
Doc dialled the number the Chief gave him, listened as someone picked up, and Doc quickly hung up.
“What the hell was that?” Nikki asked.
“Musta been the wrong number. A woman answered.”
“Probably his wife. Or than again, maybe not.”
Doc redialled and this time it was an angry male voice that answered.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Agent Johnson?”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “McKeown.” Johnson recognised the voice from the wire taps as well as the street encounter.
“Actually it’s the Eve Arden Lady! I understand your supply of roll-on asshole is running low. Time to reorder!”
“Figured I’d hear from you. You’re a real wise-ass, aren’t you, McKeown?” Johnson understood the advantage of not letting on he was caught off-guard. “I hear your old man was a wise-ass, too!”
Doc suddenly felt a surge of anger roll over him as Johnson turned it back on him.
“Sounds like you lost your sense of humour, McKeowen.”
“You want your book, quisling?”
“I’m listening.” Johnson drew satisfaction from hitting a nerve. “This book is like penicillin. We meet tomorrow, I give you the book then, like a venereal disease, you go away.”
“Your place or mine, hero?”
“Somewhere public, just the two of us.” Doc looked at Nikki.
“Amuseum?” she whispered.
“Hayden Planetarium. There’s a one o’clock show.”
“I’ll be there, hero.”
“And Johnson, don’t waste your time wreckin’ my office. It ain’t there.”
“Aw, gee, McKeowen! You shoulda told me earlier. Now I feel bad!”
It was worth a try, thought Doc.
Johnson continued: “By the way, that Federal agent you assaulted? He has a wife and kid to feed.”
“Well, that’s good news. ’cause now he has somebody ta feed him. I guess that puts you a little short a players, don’t it, Bob?”
“We’ll manage! You just show up, Doc.”
“You’ll know me. I’ll be down front wearin’ – ”
“Yeah, I know. A skirt! It’s your day tomorrow, isn’t it? The day when you Irish wear skirts?”
“I’m not Irish,” Doc said in a calm voice.
“Scotts, Irish, all the same to me. Buncha worthless drunks! Same as your old man.”
Doc hung up, slightly pissed off at letting Johnson get to him.
“What’d he say?” Nikki asked. Doc realised for the first time that he was compelled to smile whenever he looked at her.
“He said, ‘Happy St. Patrick’s Day’.”
Nikki took Doc’s hand and led him back out to the bay window. As they sat down and looked down onto Mercer Street, sporadic snow flurries sparkled in the lamplight.
“Should I tell Kate we’re not gonna make the parade?”
“Don’t even think about it! The parade doesn’t start until two. I’ll drop the book off at one and still have plenty of time to meet you, Kate and Louie’s family by two.”
“Louie’s family?”
“Sure. You’ll like them. They’re great people.”
“I like Louie, and I suppose it would be nice for Kate to be around some new people.”
Nikki never saw it coming, but once Doc sprang it on her, she was angry and flattered all at once. “His wife is real nice, too. As a matter of fact, I was thinking… maybe to save some time in the morning, you and Kate could spend the night at Louie’s.”
“To save some time? You’re crazy! It’s two a.m.! Kate’s sound asleep!”
“Look, these guys are not pulling any punches. It would be better if you and Kate were some place else for a day or so. By tomorrow afternoon, this’ll all be over and we can have our lives back.”
“Doc, I don’t know. Stayin’ in a stranger’s house, Kate in a strange bed…” Nikki was startled when the downstairs buzzer rang. “Who the hell is that?”
Doc peered out the window. “Well, whatta ya know? It‘s Louie.”
“You son-of-a-bitch!” She raised her hand. Doc caught her by the wrist and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“That‘s five cents in the swear jar!”
The buzzer rang again.
Chapter Twenty-Four
“Winthrop Pinchnell of Pinchnell Real Estate is doing his patriotic duty. Winth… Mr Pinchnell has agreed to allow the use of his empty lot at the corner of Hudson and West 12th Street for tomorrow afternoon’s rubber drive. So get those old tyres, tubes and garden hoses down to West 12th and Hudson, tomorrow afternoon from noon until six, and ‘Help stun the Hun!’ And remember, if you’re looking for a store, a home or even an apartment, Pinchnell’s will help you ‘pinch’ the most real estate for your dollar!”
Doc rolled over and averted his eyes from the bright winter sun flooding the room. For the second time that week he’d spent the night sleeping on his desk. His radio case was broken, and the speaker hung by a wire, but the black, enamelled Emerson still operated.
He had considered renting a room uptown the night before, but reasoned that they would have searched his office and that they knew he wouldn’t be stupid enough to carry the book with him. So, being sure that Nikki and Kate were safely tucked away at Louie’s, Doc decided it was okay to return to Christopher Street.
“… And finally, this update from the Provincial Chinese capital of Canton. The Chinese Ministry reports that Chan Khai Shek’s Liberation Army has halted the Japanese Imperial forces…” Doc glanced around the room.
Whether or not Johnson and his goon squad actually searched the office for the book was questionable. What was clear, however, was that they left their mark. Not a single stick of furniture remained intact. Files littered the room, all the trophies were broken and Doc’s cot had been slashed apart.
It wasn’t until he finished his futile search for Ira’s file, that Doc saw the piece that didn’t fit the pattern.
There, speared onto the wooden partition with a pearl handled stiletto, was the picture of his father. The knife was carefully stuck between the eyes. He pulled it out of the wall, laid the picture on his desk and put the knife in his pocket. Johnson mentioned his father during their phone conversation: why? What could he possibly know about his father? Doc decided it was probably through the publicity of the case that Johnson knew, and was only using the information to scutch him.
Kicking a path through
the debris, Doc made his way to the sink.
As he began to shave, he felt uncomfortable at the thought that his friends had been sucked into this mess. He then wondered what Johnson’s next move would be. One thing was for sure, there was no chance he was going to let anyone walk away from this. However, with Nikki out of sight, Doc bought himself some time to form a plan. He had three hours.
Halfway through his shave, the phone rang, and Doc immediately wondered who the hell could be calling. Louie knew not to call until he heard from Doc and Nikki was with Louie. The options narrowed. It must have been Johnson. Maybe he wanted to change the meet or buy time to set his trap. Doc let it go for five rings before he decided to pick up.
“Calling to gloat about your handiwork, asshole?” Doc asked as he surveyed the damage.
“No! Calling to warn you about this treasury character, dumbshit!”
“Sullivan! What the hell do you want?”
“It’s Detective Sergeant Sullivan and I already told you what I want! I don’t know what kinda shit you got yourself into, but it’s pretty god-damned deep, boy-o!”
“What the hell you talking about?”
“Apatrolman from the thirty-fifth saw J. Edgar Hoover himself in Central Park with this treasury clown last week and now I catch wind you’re goin’ ta meet him up at the planetarium!”
“And here I thought they jumped me, wrecked my office and murdered my client by mistake.”
“Sounds like they were on the right track wreckin’ your office and kickin’ your ass. Who was this client ya got murdered?”
Did Sullivan know, or was he fishing? “Fuck you, Sullivan!
Why are you callin’? And make it the Reader’s Digest version, I got a date!”
“I’m callin’ ’cause I promised your father I’d keep an eye on you. But I didn’t promise him I’d lose my job for you. So now you come clean, or I’ll send a squad car over and we’ll talk about this dead client down here! If you have knowledge about a murder you’re required by law to come forward. By the way, your licences up to date?” Doc was too tired and irritated to care about Sullivan’s threat. “You got no friends in this department, McKeowen. And most of ’em would throw a ceilidh if you got dusted. So I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to you!”
“Stop it, will ya? I’m gettin’ all misty eyed!”
“You’re a regular wise-ass, you know that?”
“Yeah. Apparently word’s out.”
“I don’t know what the connection is, McKeowen, but you’re running with the big dogs now. This ain’t no divorce case!”
“Thanks for the update, Sully. I’ll be in touch.” Sullivan continued to rant as Doc replaced the receiver on the hook. “This just keeps gettin’ better!”
Sullivan took himself off the drug raid detail the day Doc’s father was killed. So much for the ‘promised your father’ spiel. If Sullivan didn’t know about Ira, why did he call? Whatever it was he called to tell Doc, he was torn between telling him and the consequences to himself if he did set Doc wise.
Doc finished washing up, put on his bomber jacket and ball cap and left, not bothering to turn off the radio.
“Here’s a tip for you parade-goers out there. If you’re packing up the family to go watch the big event, dress warm! That beautiful white stuff you see outside your window right now is going to pick up by parade time, and the Central Park Meteorological Center says there might be a little accumulation.” The hourly NBC chimes sounded, signalling it was ten o’clock.
The Front Page was closed and Doc had to use his key to let himself out through Harry’s. He thought that unusual as Harry didn’t normally celebrate holidays.
“Doc! I been waitin’ for your call! What’s the plan? Where do we meet?”
Louie’s excitement made it more difficult for Doc to give his rookie partner the bad news. Doc had ducked into Feinstein’s Druggists for a hamburger and egg cream breakfast before the big game, and was calling from a phone booth in the back.
“Sorry, Mancino. You’re not in on this one.”
“Doc! You gotta be shittin’me!” Louie was devastated.
“Look, Louie.” Doc chose his words. “This is not what you signed on for. Not your run-of-the-mill PI stuff. This is serious, nasty, the ‘we’ll put your kids and grandmother in prison, drain you dry and make sure you can’t ever earn a living again’ type shit! The kinda stuff that makes Tojo and Tokyo Rose look like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, ya follow?”
“Gimme a break, Doc! If you’re tryin’ ta scare me outta this, it ain’t workin’!”
“Louie! Listen-to-my-words! You have a wife and kids! There are licensing issues here!’”
“Like what licensing issues?”
“Like you ain’t got one! Look, I need you to watch out for Nikki and Kate. You have no reason to do this Am I gettin’ through to you?”
“Jesus, Doc! What better OJT? As for my wife and kids, Doris told me that no matter what happens I have to stay with you until this thing is over. And if I gotta choose ta risk my life or argue with Doris, no fuckin’ contest! This is my chance of a lifetime. And if you’re so worried about loved ones, why are you doing it? Why not let the cops handle it?”
The question about loved ones had never occurred to Doc.
“Because, they killed a client. They killed a client and someone I care about might be next. It’s gettin’ personal.”
“Care about, or love?”
“Don’t push it, asshole! I need you in the back field in case I blow it.”
“Aw, c’mon, Doc! If we don’t come out on top of this, it’s back to garbage trucks for me. Besides, I already got my own brass knuckles!”
“You’re not gonna listen to me no matter what I say, are you, Bonehead?”
“Not a chance in hell. Doc!” There was a long pause on Doc’s end of the line as he realised it was safer to know where Louie was and what he was doing than to risk him meandering about when things got thick.
“Make sure Doris stays in the house with the girls, and doesn’t even think about leaving until she hears from us! You got that?” The ‘us’ part was all Louie needed to hear.
“Roger that, Green Hornet!”
“Don’t start that shit. This is serious.”
“Doc, don’t lose your sense of humour on me, huh?”
“Get over to the office, and don’t move until you hear from me! I’m meetin’ this Bozo at one.”
“I know, at the Hayden.”
Doc thought about Sullivan’s call earlier. “What, did somebody take out an ad in The Times, fer Christ’s sake?”
“Nikki told me.”
“All right, get over to the office. I’ll call and give you an update as soon as I made the drop. And Louie…” Doc hated to say it, but given Louie’s propensity for not being in the right place at the right time, he felt obligated. “I might get myself up the creek on this one, savvy? You need to be there! Got it? Kato.”
“Roger that, Doc! Count on me. And Doc?”
Doc sensed Louie was going to say something sentimental. “What?”
“If you die, can I have your desk?”
“You‘re a sick son-of-a-bitch, Mancino. You know that?”
“Hey, Al. Get a load’a this!” The gate guard perched in his armoured tower high above the fence-line called over to his partner as a black, chrome-plated Chrysler limousine pulled up outside the steel gates of Great Meadows.
“Three guesses who that’s for, and the first two don’t count,” the second guard replied.
From their vantage points, the guards continued to watch as the limo pulled up next to the granite wall beside the gate and Meyer Lansky got out, followed by Socks Lanza.
Both were dressed in silk suits and Lanza carried a clothes bag and a pair of brown wingtips. The two made their way through the gates with no resistance from the sentries, who knew why they were there. In fact, by way of every newspaper in the country the entire New York penal system knew why they were there.
Lucky Luciano had made parole.
An hour later, dressed in his new, charcoal grey suit and shoes, Lucky, escorted by Lansky and Lanza, walked through the gate a free man, sort of.
Even though the parole board granted him parole, they were ever mindful of their political careers. The board, the judge and the Governor attached severe restrictions. Actually, only one restriction. Get the hell out of the country.
Ironically, it was DA Hogan, the Third Naval District and Commissioner Lyons who were directly responsible for Lucky‘s favourable parole decision. Despite the fact that he had up to forty years remaining on his greatly inflated sentence, he was out of prison because of the aforementioned bureaucrat’s refusal to co-operate with the parole board when questioned about Lucky’s contribution to the war effort. Instead of being told that Lucky had or had not made a contribution to his adopted land, the parole board investigators were essentially told it was none of their business. So, by way of showing their authority, and the fact that they had no sense of humour about being told to piss off, they set Lucky free.
“Do you, Charles Luciano, understand and concur with all the conditions of your parole as set forth by the New York State Parole Commission?” The tall, lanky administrator, one of the two who would accompany Lucky to New York City and keep him under close eye until Monday morning, spoke mechanically as he filled out yet another document for Lucky to sign.
“Sure, I understand. You want me to take my boys and go home.”
“Sign here, please.”
Lucky signed and without waiting for his copy of the papers, walked out of prison. The two administrators followed the new limousine in their state issued, 1934 Ford.
“So how long you got?” Lanza asked Lucky as they made their way down the mountain road.
“Forty-eight hours. Then they get ta watch me leave.”
“These rat bastards gonna be with us until Monday morning?” “They might hang around, but sometime tomorrow they’ll take a powder and some INS guys’ll show up. They’re the ones gotta put me on the boat.”
“The boat? Why don’t you fly, Boss? You could go first class! We could a bought you a ticket!” Socks asked.
