'Oh yes. He had on a yellow and white sweat shirt, and blue jeans.'
'And there was something else that struck you about the fat man?' Terrell said. 'Wasn't there?'
Angel hid her face in the fur of the bear. She giggled. 'Oh, yes. He was a pansy. I know all about them because my friend, Doris, told me. She knows all about them because her brother is one of them. I could tell that was what he was by his walk.'
'Angel!' Mrs. Prescott exclaimed, horrified. 'You really...'
'Please!' Terrell said sharply. 'This is important,' to Angel: 'Just how did he walk?'
The child got to her feet and began to mince around the room. Her imitation of the walk of a homosexual was so convincing that even Beigler had to grin.
She stopped and looked at Terrell.
'Like that.'
'I want you to wait here for a little while,' Terrell said. 'Then I hope you will help me some more.'
'Now I have my bear, I'll help you as much as I can,' Angel said gravely. She went over to the bear and hugged it, looking at Terrell, her eyes adoring.
Pleased, Terrell smiled and got up. He nodded to Beigler and the two men went out into the sunshine.
'Well, you name them, Joe,' Terrell said.
'Jacko Smith and Moe Lincoln,' Beigler said without hesitation. 'Can't be anyone else.'
'Hardy's bodyguard. Looks as if some of the pieces are falling into place. But we have to be sure. The next move is to show Jacko to the child and see if she can recognize him.'
‘What do we do?' Beigler rubbed his jaw. 'Bring him in ... have a line-up and let the kid finger him?'
Terrell shook his head. He looked at his watch. The time was twenty minutes past five.
'We'll drive her to the Coral bar. Jacko usually shows there around half-past six. We'll park within sight, and she can spot him when he goes into the bar. If she recognises him, we'll bring him in and have a line-up.'
They went back to the cabin.
'I want your daughter to come along with us,' Terrell said to Mrs. Prescott. 'It is essential that she identifies this man. You'll come too, of course.'
'Oh no, she won't,' Angel said firmly. 'If she comes, then I won't help you. Just me and Teddy.'
'Now, Baby-girl,’ Mrs. Prescott said helplessly, 'you mustn't be naughty. You can't go alone with these gentlemen.'
'Then I'm not going at all,' Angel said in a decided voice and putting her arms around her bear, she dragged it off the settee and began to move to the door.
'She'll be all right with me,' Terrell said. 'I'll bring her right back, Mrs. Prescott. This is important police business.'
Mrs. Prescott started to say something when Angel said, 'I'll see you later, Mummy,' and walked briskly from the cabin to where the police cars were parked.
'If she was my daughter, I'd...' Beigler began, his face red with indignation.
Mrs. Prescott drew herself up. 'I'm glad she isn't!' she said. 'I don't care for anyone criticising my child and I'll thank you not to pass such remarks!'
Beigler looked helplessly at Terrell, closed his notebook and followed his Chief out and across to where Angel waited for them impatiently.
***
Moe Lincoln lay back in the barber's chair, feeling the keen edge of the razor pass over his black cheek. His eyes were closed, his vicious face in repose as he relaxed to the soft hands of Toey Marsh who had been trying for months to persuade Moe to leave Jacko and come to live with him.
Toey was half Chinese, half Pole: a fat little man, nudging fifty with henna dyed hair, almond shaped eyes and a round fat face. He was considered one of the best barbers in the district and Moe always had an evening shave from him before going out to set the town alight with Jacko.
'What's the time, baby?' Moe asked, keeping his eyes shut.
'Nearly half-past six,' Toey told him after consulting his watch. 'What are you doing tonight? Would you like to come back to my place. I'm throwing a party. Chinese food, and there's a boy ... '
'I've got a date with Jacko,' Moe said who liked to torture Toey. 'Why should I want to go to your crummy joint?'
Toey sighed. He applied a hot towel to Moe's face and leaving him for a moment, he wandered to the shop window to look out on to the street.
'That's funny,' he said. 'What are they doing, I wonder?'
'Who, dopey?' Moe asked, pressing the hot towel to his face and breathing in the menthol fumes coming from the towel.
'The cops ... out there in a car with a little girl,' Toey said, coming over to change the towel.
Moe stiffened. He snatched off the towel, slid out of the chair and went to the window. He stared at the police car. It was in a parking bay fifty yards or so from the entrance to the Coral bar.
"What's the matter?' Toey asked.
'Shut your flap!' Moe snarled. 'Gimme a towel.' Without taking his eyes off the police car, he reached out his lean black hand and snatched the towel Toey gave him. He hurriedly wiped his face and the back of his neck and then threw the towel from him.
He watched: then he saw Jacko Smith come waddling down the street.
Jacko always parked his pink and blue Cadillac at the far end of the street. He believed the short walk from the parking lot to the Coral bar helped to keep down his weight. He came along, a handkerchief in his fat hand, wearing the light blue shirt, and black baggy trousers he had worn the previous night. From time to time, he dabbed at his white unhealthy looking face with the handkerchief.
Terrell said sharply, 'Angel, look down the road.'
Angel, who had been playing with her bear, looked up and saw Jacko as he came towards them.
'That's him!' she whispered excitedly and pointed her small finger towards Jacko who had paused for a brief moment outside the Coral bar.
'Are you sure?' Terrell asked.
'Yes! That's him!'
Moe, watching, saw her point at Jacko and his black face creased into a vicious snarl. He realised at once that this child was identifying Jacko to the cops and this could only mean one thing! This child had seen them enter Henekey's cabin!
Toey standing behind him, and watching what was going on said, 'What is it, honey? She fingering Jacko?'
Moe turned savagely on him.
'Shut it! Wipe it out of your mind! You want to stay alive, Toey?'
As the sight of the murderous gleam in the vicious black eyes, Toey quailed.
'I never saw a thing!' he stammered. 'Honest, I never...'
'Shut it!' Moe snarled.
He watched Beigler start the car engine and then drive away towards headquarters.
Moe paused only long enough to glare at Toey. 'Remember ... if you've seen anything, Toey, I'll slit you,' he said, and then moving fast, he ran across the street into the Coral bar.
Jacko was about to order a shot of whisky and a beer chaser when Moe came in.
Moe said, 'Let's get out of here, Jacko, and fast!'
The expression in Moe's gleaming eyes was enough for Jacko. He waddled after Moe, moving his enormous legs as fast as he could and panting.
The barman watched them go, grimaced, and then returned to his task of washing glasses.
It wasn't until eight-ten o'clock that Terrell drove into his garage. He was feeling hot and tired. Having driven Angel Prescott back to the Park Motel, he was now looking forward to a shower and a good dinner.
His wife opened the front door as he came up the drive. They kissed, then Terrell asked the age-old question husbands always ask, 'What's for dinner?'
'Chicken,' Caroline said. 'It'll be ready in half-an-hour, but you have to call Henry first.'
Terrell walked into the lounge and began to shed his jacket and tie.
'Henry?' He looked at Caroline in surprise. 'What's he want?'
'He said it was important. You call him while I get you a drink.'
Terrell hesitated, then seeing the stern expression in his wife's eyes, he grinned and went over to the telephone. He dialled Henry Thresby's home number, and while he
waited for the connection, he reached out a grateful hand for the whisky and soda, clinking with ice, that Caroline offered him.
Thresby came on the line.
'Frank? I'm sorry to disturb you, but I have something that's bothering me. I thought I would get your advice and hear what you have to say.'
At the sound of Thresby's anxious tone, Terrell became alert.
'Go ahead, Henry. What is it?'
Briefly, Thresby told him about the telephone call he had had from Val Burnett.
'I could be sticking my neck out, but to me, it sounds as if Mrs. Burnett could be in trouble,'
Thresby concluded. 'Now look, Frank, we have to be mighty careful about this. If it means nothing, Travers could descend on me, and I could lose my job.'
'I think you have every reason to be worried,' Terrell said. 'I'm glad you called me. Now look, Henry, you leave this to me. Just forget it, will you? The less you know about it, the better. I'll take care of it.'
'For goodness sake, be careful!'
'You know me,' Terrell said quietly. 'I'll handle it. Did you keep a copy of the numbers of the bills?'
'Yes, of course.'
'Let me have the list. Send it here. That way it won't get into the wrong hands. Okay, Henry, relax. I'll fix it,' and he hung up.
Seeing the furrow between his brows, Caroline knew better than to ask questions. She went into the kitchen to serve up the meal.
Terrell called headquarters. When Beigler came on the line, Terrell asked, 'Got Jacko Smith yet?'
'Not yet. I have men shaking down the clubs. They should pick him up any time now.'
'Have you someone staked out outside Smith's apartment?' Terrell knew he was wasting his breath as Beigler was as efficient as himself but he had to ask.
'Walker and Lucas are covering the joint.'
'I want that fat slob fast.'
'We'll have him before midnight. He's playing cards in some hole. It's just a matter of finding where he's playing.'
'Joe - there's something else,' Terrell said. 'Tell Jacobs to come out here. He's on duty, isn't he?'
'Why, sure.'
'Tell him to hustle over. If he comes fast enough, he can have a chicken dinner with me.'
Beigler snorted.
'If there's one way to get Max to move fast, it's the offer of a free meal.'
As Terrell was sitting down at the table, reaching for the carving knife and fork, the front door bell rang. He grinned at his wife.
'That's Max. Put a plate for him. He must have bust every speed record in the State.'
Max Jacobs, a lean, tall, first-year cop, came into the lounge and looked with round eyes at the perfectly cooked chicken. Terrell pointed with the carving knife to a chair.
'We'll eat first,' he said, 'then talk. I have a job for you.'
Later, when Caroline was washing up, Terrell, his pipe drawing well, told Jacobs about Val Burnett.
'Looks like a blackmail set up,' he concluded. 'We can't move in unless she calls us, but we can be ready. I want you to be outside the bank at nine o'clock tomorrow morning. When Mrs. Burnett leaves, make sure she has the money with her and then follow her. Now look, Max, it is vitally important she gets no idea you are following her, so watch your step. Find out where she takes the money. If she goes back to her hotel, see Dulac and tell him you're from me. Ask him to let you know if anyone goes up to her suite. If anyone does, follow whoever it is. Don't consult the hotel detective, I don't trust him. Got all that?'
Jacobs nodded.
'Okay, Chief, I'll handle it,' and he got to his feet. 'I'll be on the job at nine tomorrow.'
When he had gone, Terrell called police headquarters. He asked Beigler if there was any news yet of Jacko Smith.
'Nothing so far, Chief,' Beigler said. 'I'm getting reports continually, but he isn't in his usual haunts.'
'Send out a State alarm,' Terrell said. 'I want him fast. Turn the heat on, Joe. I'm coming down.'
'Okay,' Beigler said, 'but you don't have to come down. I can handle it.'
'I know you can,' Terrell said, 'but I'm coming.'
***
Spike Calder was a tall, emaciated Negro with flat, snake's eyes and a perpetual grin that revealed big, gleaming white teeth. He ran the Bo-Bo Club on the waterfront that was frequented by queers and gamblers from the dock quarter of Miami.
The big advantage of the club was that it had a secret room for meetings below the main bar and restaurant, so cunningly hidden that the police hadn't so far discovered it.
It was in this room that Jacko Smith and Moe Lincoln were now sitting, whisky and beer chasers on the table before them.
Moe had told Jacko what he had seen and Jacko was now considering what to do.
'We mustn't take any risks,' he said finally. 'We've got to find out if this kid did see anything. Looks like she's at the motel, but we got to find out for sure.'
Moe nodded. This made sense to him.
'You stick right here, baby,' he said. 'I'll get Hoppy to go out to the motel and sniff around.'
'Watch yourself,' Jacko said, patting Moe's arm.
'Don't worry about me, baby,' and Moe went up the stairs, peered through the peephole to make sure there was no one around, then let himself out of the secret room.
Hoppy Lincoln, Moe's younger brother was losing money in a crap game when Moe finally found him. Seeing his brother, he left the game and joined him.
Moe told him what he wanted him to do.
'Take my car,' Moe said, 'and snap it up. I want you back here pronto.'
Hoppy began to whine, but at the sight of the two five dollar bills Moe thrust at him, he suddenly grinned.
'Okay, sweetie,' he said. 'I'm on my way.'
The two brothers left the gambling room and Hoppy went quickly across the street to where Moe had parked his car. He got in and drove away.
Moe moved through the back alleys, avoiding the main streets until he was within sight of the Bo-Bo Club. He paused in the shadows.
Walking towards the club were two police officers. Moe recognised them immediately. He remained motionless like a black shadow and saw them enter the club.
The police officers, Marshall and Lepski, pushed their way through to the crowded bar where Spike Calder was mixing drinks.
At the sight of them, the men and women in the room suddenly became silent. Three or four of them edged towards the exit. The rest stared sullenly at the two officers, their eyes glittering, their hatred showing in their tense faces.
Spike put down the cocktail mixer and eyed the two men cautiously. So far he had never been in trouble with the police, and if he could avoid it, he was determined to steer clear of police trouble.
'Evening, gents,' he said with an expansive smile. 'What'll you have?'
'Seen Jacko Smith?' Marshall asked. He was a short, heavily built man with muscles of a boxer and a hard, battered face.
'Not yet,' Spike lied. 'Maybe he'll be in in a little while, but he hasn't shown yet.'
Lepski, thin, wiry and tough, leaned against the bar counter.
'Listen, Smokey, think twice before you open that drain in your face,' he said softly. 'We're looking for Jacko ... could be a murder charge. If you know where he is, now's the time to flex your tonsils and sing. If we find he's here or he's been here, you're going inside. I'd like to work you over. The best sound in this stinking town to me is the moans of a black boy.'
Spike's smile slipped a little.
'I'd tell you if he was here. Look around, mister, and see for yourself. I haven't seen him since yesterday night.'
The two police officers looked around the big room and then at each other.
'If he comes in, call headquarters. That way you'll keep out of trouble.'
Lepski stared at Spike for a long cruel moment, then jerking his head at Marshall, he left the bar.
Moe, hidden in the shadows, watched the two police officers walk down the street and enter yet another gambling cellar. Like a black ghost, he
slid across the street and down the back entrance to the Bo-Bo Club.
He paused long enough to listen and make sure there was no one about, then he fumbled for the hidden catch that opened the door into the secret room, slipped into darkness, shut the door, then switched on the light. As he came down the stairs leading into the room where Jacko Smith was lolling, Spike Calder came in from the other hidden entrance.
Moe looked at Spike, his eyes alert. Spike ignored Moe and walked over to Jacko.
'On your way,' Spike said softly. 'Up with the fat and dust.'
Jacko stared at him.
'You don't talk that way to me, black boy.' he said furiously. 'When I want to go, I'll go, but not before.'
'You'll leave right now,' Spike said. 'The cops have been here. They're looking for you. I don't cover anyone as hot as you, Jacko. On your way.'
Moe said, 'He stays right here.' He had his broad bladed knife in his hand. 'You want me to carve you a little, nigger?'
Spike smiled.
'You'll have to grow a lot bigger and a lot tougher to carve me,' he said. 'Try it and see,' and a long stabbing knife jumped into his hand.
Moe snarled at him and began to move forward.
'Stop it!' Jacko said sharply.
Moe slid the knife back into its sheath. He moved further away from Spike to give himself the chance to get the knife out again should Spike show signs of attacking him.
'What's biting you, Spike?' Jacko asked with deceptive mildness. 'What did the cops say?'
'Plenty,' Spike said. 'They are looking for you. They're talking about a murder charge. That's too hot for me. On your way, Jacko, and keep clear of me.'
Jacko and Moe exchanged glances. Jacko began to sweat. There was a long pause, then Moe said, 'Okay, Spike, we'll go, but they're nuts. Jacko hasn't killed anyone.'
Jacko heaved himself to his feet. Spike was watching Moe which was stupid as Jacko was much closer to him. With a movement, terrifyingly swift for a man of his size, Jacko grabbed the whisky bottle and slammed it across Spike's face with bone crushing violence. Spike reeled back, dropping his knife. Moe sprang like a black cat at him as he collapsed on the floor. His black hand, holding the gleaming knife, flashed up and down twice, then he got to his feet. He bent over Spike's lifeless body and wiped the blade of the knife dean on Spike's shirt, then he looked at Jacko.
1964 - The Soft Centre Page 10
