The Iniquitous Investigator (A Nick Williams Mystery Book 8)

by Frank W. Butterfield

  Ben guffawed. "Damn, I hope not. I don't know how this can go more than two."

  Carter grinned. "Just for sake of argument." He looked at his napkin. "Let's say we lose and spend the full ninety days in here."

  I groaned. "I hope not."

  "Me, neither, but bear with me."

  I smiled and nodded.

  "So, if we win, we give him twenty-five grand."

  Kenneth said, "What the hell?"

  Carter put out a meaty hand. "Hold on. If we win, we give him twenty-five grand plus the nine hundred for today through next Wednesday."

  I could see where he was going. I loved how smart my husband was.

  "But if we lose, the daily payout goes down to fifty a day for ninety days and the bonus is only five grand at the end."

  Kenneth and Ben both smiled. I asked, "What's the difference in total payout?"

  "If we win, he gets almost twenty-six grand. If we lose, he only gets ten or so."

  Ben frowned. "Far be it from me to sniff at the sixteen grand difference, but he still gets a hell of a lotta money."

  I nodded and said, "But he gets a big payout next week. He has an incentive to help us win. Of course, I'm not suggesting he do anything illegal. That would be graft of the worse sort." I grinned as I said that. "But it never hurts to grease the skids a bit."

  I looked at Carter who was smiling at me. I leaned into him and quietly said, "You're so smart, Chief." He reached his arm around me and pulled me in tightly. It felt real good.

  . . .

  After we'd all gone over our impressions of the hearing and Ben and Kenneth had made copious notes, I pointed at two large brown bags with the Rexall label on them. "What're those?"

  Kenneth smiled and said, "Two small battery-powered clock radios. Extra batteries. Two bars of Ivory Soap. Plain white toilet paper. Two decks of cards. Two cartons of Camels. Two indelible pens for you to mark your names in all your clothes, so they don't walk away from the laundry. And some hand towels."

  Ben said, "The hand towels were my contribution. You're going to want them, believe me." I wasn't sure what he meant and then I realized what he was saying. Carter did too because he snickered a little.

  Kenneth smiled and looked at Carter and then at me. "Do you want your own beds?"

  I shook my head without looking at Carter. "A cot's fine for me. I don't think we should stand out too much. Periodically getting fresh clothes would be good."

  I looked at Carter, who said, "Yeah. I agree. The guys in my row are regular Joes. Most of them are in for petty stuff. We don't want to lord it over them." It figured that Carter had probably met all of them while I'd been sitting in my cell alone. Like he'd once said, I was a terrible neighbor.

  Ben smiled. "Yeah. The tough guys are at San Quentin."

  Kenneth said, "We'll be back at 10 tomorrow morning." Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small stack of folded bills and handed them to me. "Here. You'll probably need this."

  I examined what he'd given me. It was four ten-dollar bills. Each was folded into quarters.

  "What's this?" I asked.

  Ben said, "That was also my idea. Give one to the guard each shift. Fitzsimmons has probably spread the word that you're both on the V.I.P. list. The guards will be expecting one per shift."

  I nodded as I handed two of them to Carter. We both pocketed them as Kenneth asked, "Anything else?"

  I looked at Carter and said, "Yeah, can you two talk attorney stuff and avert your eyes for a while? My husband needs my attention."

  Ben guffawed and said, "Husband?"

  I watched as Carter stood up. Now that his clothes all fit, he looked handsome. Hell, he always looked handsome. He crossed his arms and said, "Yes. Husband."

  Ben stood up and put out his hand. "Whoa, big guy. No offense. Just never heard one guy say that to another guy."

  Carter leaned down, reached under my arms, and pulled me up to his face. He kissed me soundly on the lips as Kenneth and Ben both gasped. "Then you haven't lived, Mr. Ross."

  We all laughed.

  . . .

  After dinner that night, I met Carter in the common room. There was a ping-pong table set up along with a couple of card tables with folding chairs. There were other mismatched chairs and a couple of sofas that had seen better days.

  A couple of the guys were on the couch, reading magazines. There was a small group of men standing at one end of the room, near a small bookshelf that appeared to be an informal lending library. They were talking and cutting up. There were two Negro men near the gate who were eyeing us and talking quietly.

  We sat down at one of the card tables. Carter broke open a deck of cards and started shuffling them. The two Negroes walked over. The taller of the two, a handsome man with a long scar on the left side of his face, smiled and asked, "What's the game?"

  Carter said, "Hearts."

  I said, "Have a seat." They did just that.

  Carter smiled and said, "I'd be careful. He's a real card sharp when it comes to the game."

  The shorter man chuckled. "Aw, man, I used to play Hearts with my Auntie Ellis back in Tupelo. Now she had X-Ray vision. She always knew where the Queen of Spades was every time."

  By this time, Carter was dealing out the slippery cards. I picked mine up and began sorting them out. We played one hand in silence. I only picked up one trick. Carter picked up six and the two other men each picked up three apiece.

  The tall man shuffled and dealt the next hand. As he did, he looked at me and said, "I seen you in the papers."

  I nodded but said nothing.

  Bringing his voice down to a whisper, he said, "You two run together, don't you?"

  We both nodded.

  "So do me and Sammy, here."

  The shorter one smiled. He was compact but muscular. He had tightly curled black hair and his dark eyes were friendly. He was missing a couple of teeth but, otherwise, he was more handsome than his friend. I said, "I'm Nick and that's Carter."

  We all picked up our cards. The shorter one said, "The one with the bad manners is Lawrence. Everyone calls him Larry." Bringing his own voice to a whisper, he said, "But I call him Baby." The two of them laughed quietly. I could see a look pass between them. It was pure love and made me feel good to see it.

  Whispering back, I said, "I call Carter, Chief."

  "Why's that?" asked Sammy.

  "He used to be a fireman."

  "Oh," said Sammy, getting right to the matter, "You sweet on firemen?"

  Carter laughed as he played the Three of Diamonds. "I'm his one and only."

  Larry played a Seven of Diamonds and said, "Ain't that right? Good to be in stir with your man, am I right, Red?"

  I played a Ten of Diamonds and crossed my fingers. "Why does everyone call him Red? I've never understood that."

  Sammy laid down the Jack of Diamonds and picked up the trick. "They call you Slim?"

  I nodded.

  Larry looked at Carter. "He favors red. It's in his skin tone. See that?" He put his arm against Carter's. "I put my black on his red and you can see it." I looked and he was right. The red in Carter's skin was obvious by contrast. Larry's skin was about as black as any I'd ever seen. He saw me looking at him and asked, "You read Marcus Garvey?"

  I shook my head.

  "He said the black man must move back to Africa to reclaim his heritage. Waddaya think about that?"

  I shrugged. "Do you wanna go to Africa?"

  Larry looked at his cards. He played the Eight of Hearts. "No, man, I don't. Too hot. I like life here. Provided I keep my nose clean."

  Carter played the Ten of Clubs. "What are you in for?"

  Sammy whispered, "Same as you. Vagrancy." He played the Jack of Hearts. He and Larry exchanged a look.

  "What happened?" I asked as I played the Nine of Hearts. Sammy picked up the trick.

  Larry quietly said, "We was walkin' down Bridgeway in Sausalito and this police sergeant, by the name of O'Connor, sees us. He asks us where we
live. We tell him. He pulls us in, doesn't ask no questions, books us, and the judge puts us in jail for thirty days. End of story."

  I looked over at Carter, who asked, "Who was your lawyer?"

  Larry said, "Some clown the judge picked out of court. Didn't even ask either of us anything about what happened."

  Sammy put down his cards. "We were just walking down the street. We didn't do anything." He looked at me and, as he did, a tear ran down his cheek. Larry reached across the table and brushed it away.

  "How much longer do you have?" I asked.

  "Seventeen days," replied Larry.

  "Then what?"

  Larry shrugged. "Who knows? Neither of us has family. We probably both been fired since we never showed up to work. We didn't have no one to call. We had a one bedroom in Marin City. Run-down place from the war. Should be tore down but it was home for us. I don't even know if any of our stuff will be there when we gets out."

  "What row are you in?"

  Carter said, "Larry's in my row. Sammy is on yours."

  I smiled at Carter and then asked Sammy, "You smoke?"

  He nodded. "Hard to get smokes in here, lessen someone bring 'em in for you."

  I nodded. "You two make a list of things you need or want and I'll see if we can get them in for you. Just keep it under your hat." I looked at my cards and threw them in with the rest. "I have some Camels in my cell. You're welcome to 'em any time."

  Sammy looked at Larry. "See, I told you he was like that. Didn't even have to ask."

  Carter looked at me and smiled his sweet, Georgia smile.

  Larry turned his head away from Carter and raised one hand as though someone was shining a flashlight on him. He said, "Damn, boy, you better turn that thing off before some of the rest of us gets into trouble."

  Sammy turned to me and said, "Don't worry, Larry is a one-man man."

  I nodded, looked at Carter for a long moment, then said to Sammy, "So am I."

  . . .

  Sammy walked back to my cell with me. Once we were sure no one had followed us, I knelt on the floor, reached under the cot, and pulled out one of the cartons that Kenneth had brought. To make sure no one dug through the box, I put the old shoes on top of the clothes the jail had given me. Sammy said, "Damn. That's nasty."

  I laughed. "Keeps the rats away, if you know what I mean." I reached in and pulled out a couple of packs of Camels. Standing up, I handed him the pack. "Here you go. One for you and one for Larry."

  Sammy grinned. He took one pack but handed me back the other one. "Larry don't smoke."

  I put the other pack in my pocket and said, "I'd offer you a beer but I don't have any."

  Sammy waved me away. "Don't like beer but the first drink I'm gonna have when we get outta here is whiskey."

  I nodded. "Tell you what, when you do, let me know and I'll introduce you to my friend, Mike. He knows whiskey. We'll have a release party."

  Sam's face took on a worried look. "How do you know that you'll be out first?"

  I sighed and sat down on the cot. I patted the spot next to me. Sammy looked down and then slowly sat, as if he was afraid of getting too close. "I don't know. Our trial is next Monday and I hope it's over then." I sat back against the wall, took out my open pack of Camels, and a pack of matches. I offered a cigarette to Sammy. He took it. I lit the match and leaned over to light his Camel. As I did, he tentatively took my hand and held on to it as his cigarette caught. I pulled my hand away to light my own and could feel the wave of disappointment as I did. Taking in a drag, I asked, "You and Larry. How long have you been going together?"

  Sammy exhaled and said, "Since '50. You?"

  "Three years earlier. Where'd you meet?"

  "Jimbo's Big Bop on Fillmore. Know the place?"

  I nodded. It was high on Carter's list of favorite places for jazz. We hadn't been there in a while, though. "Carter likes jazz. He even met Miles Davis a few years ago."

  Sammy looked at me sideways. He chuckled. "How'd that go?"

  "I wasn't there, but Carter says that Mr. Davis was mostly friendly."

  "He must've been high, then." Sammy took a drag on his Camel. "I never heard tell of Miles Davis being friendly to no white man."

  I nodded. "Be sure to ask Carter about it."

  Sammy jumped up all of a sudden.

  "What?" I asked.

  He shook his head. He took his cigarette and flicked it into the toilet. He motioned to me to do the same, which I did. He walked over to the cell door and slumped down slightly. Turning to me, he said, "Well, I sure do thank you, Mr. Williams. I best best be goin' now. G'night." Without looking at me, he turned and was gone.

  Officer Krauss, who'd been on duty the night before, walked into my cell and looked at me. "I hear you're a V.I.P. That right, Williams?"

  I stood up and said, "Yes, sir."

  "Well, that's good to hear." He smiled and opened his hand without saying anything. I pulled a folded-over ten out of my pocket and let it drop into his hands. I'd heard more than one client talk about getting busted for assault by touching a jail guard. He put his hand in his pocket in a flash and smiled. "We'll get along just fine, then." He looked at me for a long moment. He was about my height, was around 35, had short dark hair and eyes. "Friendly word of advice, Williams."

  "Yes, sir?"

  "When the super hears you been friendly with those Negroes, he's not gonna like it. I'd keep my distance. He won't hurt you, but those two might get roughed up a bit. Know what I mean?"

  I nodded. "Thank you, Officer Krauss."

  He nodded, pulled the cell door closed, and locked it. "Nighty-night."

  Chapter 10

  Marin County Jail

  Wednesday, July 14, 1954

  After breakfast

  I was on my way back from the showers, which were just off the common room, when Officer Brown walked up to me. "Super wants to see you."

  I asked, "Right now?"

  He looked me over. My hair was wet but I was dressed except for my button-down shirt. "Sure. Come on."

  I followed the officer through the gate and down the long hallway. He knocked twice on Fitzsimmons' door. Without waiting, Brown opened the door and said, "Here's Williams, sir."

  The supervisor stood up and smiled at me. "Good morning, Mr. Williams. I hope you slept well. Come in and have a seat."

  As I did so, I said, "I did. Thank you, sir."

  "You can go now, Brown." The man left and closed the door as he did.

  "Well, now." Fitzsimmons walked over and sat on the corner of his desk right in front of me. His left leg was swinging in the air as he put his hand on his belt, which was strained a little from his gut, and put his fingers in just the right place. I tried not to roll my eyes. "I hear you and your man have become friends with those two niggers we have locked up here. Makes sense that birds of a feather flock together. Thing is we try to keep a clean house here and I like to discourage race mixing. You understand me?"

  As he said all of that, he was grinning. Only his eyes held any menace and they were dark and tight as he spoke.

  I nodded but said nothing.

  "I wouldn't want to have put those boys in segregation since the only place we have for them is the hole." He moved his left foot against my leg and said, "That wouldn't be very nice for them, would it?"

  I shook my head.

  "Good." He stood up right in front of me and stretched. Patting his belly, he said, "Well, your lawyers are here. I'll have Officer Kelley bring in Jones and you can get to work."

  He walked back behind his desk. "Don't let me keep you, Williams. You know the way."

  I stood up and said, "Will you be here for the next minute or so?"

  He looked at me like a kid at Christmas. "I will, at that."

  I nodded and said, "I'm sure my attorney has a package for you."

  "Well, won't that be nice?" He laughed.

  I walked over to the door and opened it. "Thank you, Mr. Fitzsimmons."

  He di
dn't reply. I walked into the hallway, closed his door behind me, and opened the visitor door. Kenneth and Ben were at the table. They looked up as I walked in. I asked, "You have it?"

  Kenneth pulled the envelope out of his pocket and handed it to me. He said, "Photo is in there."

  I said, "Thanks," and walked back over to the supervisor's office.

  I knocked on the door. "Yes," was the reply.

  Opening the door, I said, "Do you have five more minutes for me, Mr. Fitzsimmons?"

  The man smiled and said, "Of course, Mr. Williams."

  I walked in, closing the door behind me. I handed him the envelope. He looked inside and counted the bills. Looking up, his face darkened. "What's this?"

  "That's my rent from yesterday and today. A hundred a day."

  "Your rent?" He smiled. "Just seems so small, considering all you know about our needs here."

  I nodded and smiled back. I remained standing. "I figure I owe you a hundred a day for both me and Mr. Jones. And at the end of our trial, there'll be a nice bonus for you."

  "That so?"

  "Sure. If you look in the envelope you'll find a photograph."

  He looked back through the envelope and pulled out a small rectangular photo. He looked at it for a moment. "What's this?"

  I walked over next to him and leaned over. I could hear his breath catch as I got close. The photograph was of two stacks of bound hundreds and five stacks of a thousand each in hundreds. It was on a table and, behind the stacks, was a row of safety deposit boxes. I noticed that it was impossible to tell what bank it was in.

  Without moving, I turned my head, smiled at Fitzsimmons, and said, "That's twenty-five grand that's stashed at a bank somewhere. That's all yours if we win our trial next week. I'll bring you the key and the location of the bank myself."

  He looked at me. His hard eyes softened briefly as he licked his lips. His breathing was getting heavier. "And if you lose?"

  I stood up and walked over to the door. "Then we'll be on a long-term lease so I figure that each day will cost Jones and me fifty a day for the two of us. And you'll get just one of those big stacks at the end, instead of all of it."