Chapter Nineteen
Christie continued “the banks suit is named Charles Speedly, he lives at a rather plush crib out in the new Montford Wharf. He’s living it up with the glitzy types. What’s more he’s home tonight, he’s had a party with a bunch of dames wanting more than just singles thrown their way if you get me, these dames are more whips and chains than rings and pearls, and by this time of night the dames will be gone and he’ll be nursing id imagine more than a sore well.. you get the idea. But don’t worry we checked all the angles before getting here.”
“the money” Jack asked.
“We’ll leave it on your back door step.” Christie replied, “where will my clients be?” said Peggy now with a hint of sarcasm. Both crooks shook their heads “best your pair don’t know— we’ll get in touch with our—” he gave Peggy Malone a look “our attorney when the time comes.”
“How do you know I won’t take my gal and go on the lamb with dough?” Jack playfully asked, pouring himself a whiskey from a handy bedside decanter, pouring a double dose of his usual two fingers.
“two reasons” Joe Christie replied “first your a square dick; and second you’ll want to know who knocked off Rogers by a back plug.” Harmsworth had quietly left a minute before and after a quick nod to the Malone’s did the same closing the door behind him. Jack grinned at his pregnant wife. “Well Mrs Malone how’d you like to go to Europe on sixty thousand and the rest can be ——”
“No thank you Mr Malone, now will you go to Montford Wharf and hurry up about it mister.”
she placed a tiny yet perfectly manicured foot in the small of her man’s back and prodded him out of bed.“now mush”
Jack Malone brought his ‘was’ perfect Buick 465 Coupé to a stop diagonally up the street from a large brick mansion. Getting out he looked back at his car with an odd sort of smile. The poor car was once perfect except for more than a dozen dents, faded paint work and a bust headlight. It had been a weeding present of Peggy, who now wanted her husband to sell the rolling scrap heap to the junker, for a fresher new model, but to the Central City grown Jack this beaten up one eyed Buick had grown on him a little too much, it’s character if a car could have one, oddly enough matched his at his time of life. But sat behind the wheel of this old war horse he often felt free again like the cop of old. He turned the spot on the cars Cyclops like eye letting the beam paint itself onto the white numerals painted on the curb. Then he climbed out and approached the darkened house. It took considerable argument to convince the sleepy butler who answered the door, that the reason for his visit was important and it was worth waking his masters beauty sleep.
But the sounds of the verbal exchange succeeded where reasoning and a bribe failed, for a stubby little man appeared at the head of the stairs and demanded to know what the trouble was.
Jack couldn’t help but notice a handcuff was still attached to his ankle, but ever the professional choose too ignore it, each to his own Jack thought. Before the irritable and over paid servant could speak Jack cut in.
“Mr Speedly I’m a detective, a private one before you ask to see a badge. I have some very urgent business to discuss with you, regarding your place of employment if you follow.”
Speedly gave an astonished grunt and padded down the stairs, his slippers and ankle cuff both jingling and flip flopping on the polished floor. He shunned the butler off with a wave of his hand and tightened the robe around him, quickly stuffing a lose bra back into the robes pocket that had accidentally fallen out onto the floor, and lead Jack into the small reception room off the hallway.
“Now, sir!” he demanded “what business do you have to discuss at this God forsaken hour”
Malone let his eyes sweep over the banker in a cold professional stare. To Jack after all his time on the force and now as a P.I, every man was a con, or a stupid juvie who didn’t know any better, and all had to be dealt with differently and now he had to figure out how to deal with this perverted gent. He figured up Speedly quickly enough, and summarised he was not a man that would have sympathy for others; as there was a cruel tightness around his small thin mouth that suggested both money and cruelty. He stared at the man with a frown, but saw a small hint of fear in the depths of his eyes an it bolstered the private eye, and he made his play accordingly.
“Mr Speedly, if your bank was cracked open, and if your vault was broken like a child piñata it would be a tad awkward from a business point of view I’d imagine.” it was then it hit the banker as his eyes bulged “Robbed? What are you trying to say, come on spit it out!”
“your bank was robbed tonight. The vault cleaned out!”
Charles Speedly collapsed into a nearby wicker chair “Are you from the police?” he gasped.
Malone shook his head “again like I said before I’m a private dick”
“so your representing the insurance company?” the bank manger pleaded.
“I—” the detective put in flatly “represent the crooks who robbed ya’”
Mr Speedly gave a distorted grunt like that of a wounded pig. Then a sweated hand shot for the telephone. But before he could life the receiver a tired and cranky private detective pinned the callers arm painfully behind his back. “slow your roll, wait a minute will you” Jack suggested earnestly “it would be ——beneficial to let me talk okay so listen up.”
“you can’t fucking blackmail me” Charles painfully blurted out.
“Listen Jerk I don’t want to be hear, I got a dame at home with my name on her luscious lips and I'd rather have them lips or her legs wrapped around me, but I’m not and I’m not hear to blackmail you either you putts.” Jack released the man’s arm slightly, he couldn't afford another assault charge or write up for unneeded force on his service jacket especially when his license to be a dick in this town was up for renewal next month, there was enough of them charges on there as it was.
“In my car’s trunk Mr Speedly I’ve got every, cent dime and dollar stolen plus some extra for damages done on well— entry. It was a crackpot play on my part I agree, but its the truth. Mr Speedly like I said it’s the truth but here’s the kicker, the money will be returned to you tonight on the sole condition you don’t report the robbery to the police. I guess like I did on the drive up, when you weigh it all up you’d be advised heavily to agree. If your respectable clients knew that your oh so secure vault could be opened like——” he mocked Joe Christie’s wry smile “like a can of over priced sardines you would lose a lot of business.”
“you have the money with you?”
“like I said in my car. I suggest you chuck on a potato sack on or something and come with me to the bank!”
“what about Ashley Stevens, the watchman” Speedly asked cautiously. “Stevens is fine, so I understand,” Malone assured him “and I’m sure with a small bonus in his salary he’ll clam up and not say a word. So I say we liberate the poor Mr Stevens, get the cash back to bed, and let the whole matter drop. What do you say?”
Speedly shot Jack a look “I don’t know why your doing this—what for a reward or something, come on what?” Jacks patience were starting to wear out on this robed individual.
“No I don’t want a thing from you, and my reasons are mine, except to say that the dame I mentioned before would have my balls in a voice if I didn’t do as I’m told. So I got to keep my girl happy, you follow Mr Speedly. So are you coming or not?”
The banker ran his hand across his sweaty forehead as though all this information was forcing itself painfully into his small mind.
“How do I know this isn’t just a con, to get me to open the bank for you, yourself to rob it blind.” Charles Speedly asked now on the defence.
The private eye simply shrugged “that’s the thing, you don’t, but you can’t afford not to, so throw the dice, place it all on red and see what happens. If someone clocks the banks been hit before we get there to tuck the money back into bed, you know as well as I do the banks customers especially the wealthy ones. Well they�
�ll just walk out on you. So like I said get dressed and snap to it.”
Charles Speedly nodded. “give me five minutes” he promised and waddled off as fast as he could up the stairs.
With the sounds of the bank managers feet flip-flopping back the way he came, Jack lit a cigarette off his shoe and followed his nose for a little snoop, thinking maybe he’d ‘borrow’ a left over bottle of hooch from the depraved party that had hit this residence. Opening an oak door with more garish iron work than the Brooklyn bridge on, he stepped inside, as Jack’s jaw hit the floor. Now Central City was Jacks home turf, andwas rich on the darker element of society in fact some would say sex drugs and all things criminal were the cities national sport, but unlike most of Central Cities citizens Jack was no expert when it came to matters of pillow talk and bed sheet action preferring the norm to well— what lay before him. What he saw shocked him, the room was a huge oval much bigger than it looked when he forgave his eyes and let them wander in this room of sexual sin. Yet despite being an on again off again Catholic Jack had to admit some of what he saw, well the bits he could understand did stir something up inside him, what it was he didn’t know but it certainty was something. Slap bang in the middle of the ornate room was a large Ebony Saint Andrews Cross, with more straps and cuffs on it, that would make a straight jacket look like a child’s play thing. He couldn't imagine why a woman would want to be cuffed to it wand well— he stopped himself thinking on as another horrid thought hit him what if it was Speedly was the crosses occupant. That thought alone forced Jack to walk away and carry on his snoop.
Walking over to a table full of a vast array of contraptions and curios all from what Jack thought was used for one purpose sexual Olympics of one sort or another. His eyes scanned the labels of two boxes nearest to him which read ‘Dr Jung’s Vaginal dilators and probes” and then two a second that looked like some kind of wind up mechanical plug for the other end. Well Speedly had more than a few boxes of both of these. So Jack ever the would be adventurer rather than the hooch ‘borrowed’ them stuffing both boxes in his coat along with a handedly available pair of wrist and ankle cuffs. I don’t think Peggy will mind having a play with me he thought cheekily after all were married. It was then he heard the foot steps of the bank manger make his way back along the landing towards the stairs. So as quietly as possible Jack hurried back out the room, closing the door as quietly as he could, the from the corner of his eye through the closing door jam a small hand of a naked women popped out from a birdcage in the ceiling and wave. Jack didn’t have time to think about it as the footsteps were almost on him closing the door finally as if nothing had happened. Now that’s an idea Food for thought later, he said to himself with a playful grin.
It had taken Mr Speedly ten minutes longer than the five he had promised, not that Jack minded especially after his naughty snoop. Charles Speedly came into the room in a conventional; drab tweed suit, but with an extra bulge on him well more than was his norm. That told Jack that Speedly was now armed, Jack frowned he hated it when untrained fops like Speedly carried guns. With a curt nod, he led the way of the house and across the street to where his car was parked.
Speedly hesitated before getting in, “where’s the money?” he demanded. Jack was tired and didnt need this idiot throwing his considerable weight and fat rolls about, and Speed had just gone beyond the point of annoying, taking off his coat he flung it, along with its contraband onto the back seat, before walking to the cars rear trunk, opening it up. He opened the canvas sack Christie had used and held a beam of a small pocket torch, a gift from Peggy onto the bags contents. It was fit to bulging with currency and negotiable bonds.
“Satisfied” Jack barked.
Speedly bobbed his head, and got into the front passenger seat and sat warily near the door. The Private detective stretched his lanky frame under the steering wheel, depressed the cars starter and brought the coupé to life and motion. The beat up car growled from old age and wear almost mimicking its owners current mood. The half hour drive was made in total silence. The banker still sitting on the extreme end of the seat, and it was quite obvious he didn’t trust Jack Malone one bit, there was nothing either that Jack wanted to talk about with his passenger, plus he waned to time to mull over the oddball situation he found himself in.
Was he simply an easy mark, was he just unwittingly playing the fool, time would tell. But one thing was certain he couldn't trust for a second Christie or his partner. His boat load of experience came at a price and that was trust and the small amount of bottled trust he had remaining at his age was broken and draining away fast. He’d played cop and Dick for two long, to believe the whole honour among thieves hooey. As the drive crept into the city, Jack did his best to find the thread. The one single thread that made sense in the chaos of facts whirling in his head. The facts he had that he could trust were slim indeed. Looking over at Speedly he felt that surge of annoyance grow and he was right there was nothing he had or wanted to discuss with his friend so yes the silence was welcome. But right now as he drove on further he had one thing to do: Marshall the facts. First, Christie and Harmsworth were white shit scared- they had plenty to be scared of too. Both men were criminals and veteran ones too. They had been around the block and were literal craftsman in their chosen ill gained fields, not the modern kill first rob later thugs that seemed to be taking over the city these days. Know he couldn’t trust the criminal’s but he could trust their fear and that was enough to go on for now. But more importantly neither were they shoot in the back assassins either. With all that to hand Jack had to believe the dynamic duo when they said they didn’t kill Rogers. If they had while looting the bank. They wouldn’t be willing to return the dead presidents they had stole. It would be a solid bet they’d have used the cash to get the hell out of the city fast. Not this play, they rolled up with.
Perhaps he was a plain damn fool, and his gut was right. Either way his friend was dead. What’s more a cop was dead that took it to a raw place in Jacks head, he had a fondness for cops and to him they were like a brotherhood, and killing one was like taking a shot at his flesh and blood. Yes he was a cop it didnt matter that Rogers was a cop from overseas and a badge was a badge no matter the county. Same law, same badge, same blue family. Jack wouldn't have believed the news Christie spun him about his pal, but for the truth being heard from the monotone cold female voice of the police broadcaster, a voice that had been circling his mind ever since. But now his wife’s so called clients were being fitted up for the killing to. It was easy for Jack to find motive, Christ he could find it within spitting distance. Both crooks and the so called ‘caped crooks’ might want a cop like the relentless Rogers of the streets and off their hides. Not to mention his venomous alter ego bringing them down at the end of a dart gun. So no it was no surprise that somebody whoever they may have been, had wanted Anthony Rogers out of the picture and taking the Big Easy.
Jack hadn’t worked with Rogers much the odd case here and there, nothing really to write home about and nowhere near as many tales and adventures as the former Queen Of Spades, but the few times he had, was mere mop up. A relentless mop of after a certain exposé orchestrated by the city governor to purge all remnants of The House Of Games! Plus Jack respected and in a way learned lot from him, and in return hope Rogers had done the same. From what Jack could make out most other cops on either side of the Big Blue considered Rogers cold, overly honest and uncompromising when on a case. Rogers nature and love for the job seemed to have made him disliked and in a strange way sort of feared by both cop and crook alike. Its not surprising when Rogers had to voices inside his head both wanting justice one way or another. His voice and the symbiotic venomous viper spirit that made his mind home. That double voice was always at war from what Rogers had told him over a drink, when the law sometimes strayed from the book and letter of the law, the human side of the police detective swore to uphold.
But to the Malone’s he had become a friend of the family. In fact Rogers wa
s on a very short list to be a potential God Parent to the ever growing new brood. But tonight that idea had been rudely cut short thanks to two hot plugs in their friends back. Jack knew first hand knew what it was like to be feared and disliked. He had chucked the badge when things became to raw even for his pallet, and upon the advice of his then girlfriend went private with his own one man set-up. He had made a name for himself quite quickly within his new found profession, cutting his teeth on a trio of juicy and well paying cases, and the soon to be ever watching and powerful matriarchal eyes of his woman invested the resulting cash wisely. Fellow private eye’s and ex-cape friend’s of Peggy’s helped when they could, folk like Dick Castle aka Crimson Fist, gave him tips and advice when they could especially involving crooks of the spandex variety. In fact one drunk night the man once known as the Crimson Fist almost convinced Jack to don a cape and cowl of his own. But that’s what happens after a drunken session at a bar swapping stories of one sort or another. But Jack was a grounded man an in the end shook of the bizarre notion. He was no hero, he was just a regular guy trying to do his bit. One result of Jack’s leaving the forcing was the resulting rubbing up of people the wrong way, people like newly minted and hard nosed Inspector Pelham, who was rumoured to be, but not proven crooked as the day is long. But one thing was iron clad Pelham hated the Malone Family, but mainly Jack, but low and behold neither he or Peggy knew or cared why, to them the feeling was mutual. Expecting and knocking it up to being just an ‘it’s that Central City crowd’ even if Peggy Malone was a born and bread resident of this fair city.
The Queen and The Viper Page 17
