“Newly reinstated Officer Booth, take Banner back to his cell, will you? Make sure he's uncomfortable until we return. Sam, can you please escort the shyster to the dock?”
As Doakes went with Booth, both men dragged the unconscious Banner back to his cell. Costner spoke directly at the new division's legal team.
Part Five
“Your honor, Mr. Foreman, you'll both listen to the conversation as part of a panel. If you feel we have a solid case, you can act any way you see fit within the bounds of the law, of course. But we are all on the same side now, so if you don't find a solid case, you are totally at liberty to refuse, and none of us will complain, retaliate or act on it. Please do not worry. But I warn you. As you know, until moments ago, we weren't sanctioned, so the testimony may not strictly be admissible.
But my friends, I wager you'll feel justified in voting a straight up indictment, and are freely able to give us the necessary warrants to proceed with our investigations.” Morgan said full of confidence, taking a moment to light a cigarette, offering one to Stroller who declined.
At least he’s not totally against the idea.
Doakes appeared at the court’s doorway and thrust Collins into the court, center stage. The pathetic lawyer had been beaten bad, blood mottled his face his nose was broken and eyes were black, but he could still talk. He stumbled, caught his balance and glared coldly at Morgan. He opened his mouth to speak. It hurt, thanks to a Booth. His broken jaw sagged. His left eye could barely open. The other bulged and looked sick. Before he could find a way to weasel out, Costner took his chance to control the situation.
“Collins, you're in a court of law. You know these gentlemen at the head table. The man in the center is my Commander Sean Costner, but I think you knew that. So, we can skip the pleasantries and get down to business. Lieutenant Doakes can you swear him in?”
Doakes walked the few feet to the table and picked up a battered, brown leather bible that had a piece of paper clipped to it. He turned and stood directly in front of the weasel.
“Marcus Collins, raise your right hand and place your left on the Bible. If you are unable, I'm sure as hell not going to help you, but I'm sure your friend in the cells would be more than happy.”
“Mr Doakes, that will do.” Kent spoke now playing the right role, one of redeemed judge. Well, that's what he told himself anyway.
“Sorry, your honor. Where was I? oh yes. Marcus Collins, raise your right hand and read what’s on the piece of paper aloud.”
Collins’ jaw trembled and he let out a low, inaudible acknowledgment. Doakes applied pressure to his foot with his boot heel, making Collins sing aloud for all to hear.
“I solemnly swear by almighty God that the evidence and statements I shall give will be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” With that done, Costner stood up and read out the charges. “Marcus Collins, you are not only a criminal lawyer who disrespects your profession in every way possible, but you are, in fact, a lawyer criminal with known associations with criminal elements in this our fair city. The present charge against you is simple. Conspiracy to commit murder!”
Stroller was next to stand. “How do you plead?”
“Not guilty. This is crazy!” cried the attorney. “What kind of half-baked, dime store frame-up is this anyway? It doesn't matter what your new friends do. You won’t get away with it, Aleg—” He stopped himself finishing that sentence.
“Very well, let the trial begin,” Stroller said officially.
“You’re all out of your god damn minds. This is a sick joke.” Costner coolly spoke, looking Collin's square in his green eyes.
“The day before yesterday, Allegra Renetti sent three of her dames out to gun a rat from the Razorback street gang in the area commonly known as the Tanneries. From talks with a Mr. Binky Mason, who is also affiliated with Miss Renetti, we unearthed evidence that you were in on that plot. You were the middleman who advised the two gun molls to drop the machine guns in the river when the job was done. However, your target pulled a Jim Thorpe and got away clean, from what we understand. Instead of the hood, a helpless child was murdered, an innocent bystander. You have that young child's blood on your hands, just like all the others. So, Collins what do you have to say?”
“I say again, you’re all plain crazy,” shouted Collins, waving his arms like a baboon. “You can't prove a damn thing.” He then turned to face Kent.
“You can’t get away from this, Kent. I'll have...”
Kent was stuck in a deadly catch 22. Both sides could and probably would cause him trouble down the line, but this shrewd judge sensed which way the wind was changing and crossed sides quickly. He used his diplomacy to show his new colleagues the same.
“Are those things true counselor?” he demanded, now using all he had to bully the defendant.
Collins gasped “You can’t get away with this,” he shouted for the second time, but his tone began to lack conviction.
Stroller came to the judge’s aid. He stood up and cleared his throat.
“Can you prove...”
Morgan just grunted. He took out a packet of Chesterfields and lit one of the slim cigarettes.
“One of the gun molls, a dame named Lisa something or other, confessed to the whole thing. She sang like a canary and told us her boss ordered them to do it after a conference with the jolly defendant over there!”
“You tortured Lisa!” Collins interrupted hysterically. “You can’t use that kind of testimony.”
“We are gentlemen. We did no such thing. We just sat her down for a nice chat, found out what you and your boss had on her, and sorted it out and as payment. She told us everything, you see. Oh, and by the way, your honor, I feel we should add blackmail and extortion to the list of offenses. Seems only fair” he could fix the source of this so called new blackmail evidence later, if Stroller or Kent thought to ask Morgan thought, and if he couldn’t, he knew one of Booth’s associates could He took a deep inhale from his cigarette.
“Lisa swore to Doakes and has provided a signed statement, proving partner that did all the shooting. Lisa was just the forced getaway driver. Lisa then went on to say it was her partner that killed the little girl. Then, they drove over the East Side Bridge out of the Tanneries and dropped the gun in the river. They hoped it couldn’t be traced back to them. Lisa here's involvement kind of ends as another pair of gun molls took a sawed-off shot gun and killed one of Grayson Tomb's razorback's to complete the job. Well your honor, we managed to fish the gun out of the river. We can now prove that it was Collins and Allegra Renetti that ordered the hit. Plus, with the help of a ballistician from the C.C.P.D. You know, the guy that can tell you which gun fired which bullet? Despite the reputation the court system gives these science types, we found the guns partial serial, part filed away in an attempt to hide its history, anyway it was discovered that the gun bought by the defendant here was also responsible for at least four other murders that we know of thanks to the partial number. But that’s another case. My partner also has vital evidence he would like to share with the court, your honor.” Doakes strode next to the judge’s table. He took out a notebook.
“Under caution, myself and Officer Booth interviewed at length one Binky Mason (a.k.a. Three Socks) and now that this case centers on the death of a minor, the gun moll’s testimony isn’t really enough. However, Binky was very forthcoming and told me and Officer Booth that Collins has a safe deposit box in the First National Bank under an alias of Jack Castle. I feel strongly that searching the contents of this box will help cement convictions as well as push any further investigations further. Therefore, Chief Costner, Judge Kent, I officially request you grant myself and Booth a search warrant or better yet a forthwith subpoena to secure this vital piece of evidence.”
Collins began to shriek. “You can’t do this! You all know you can’t. It isn’t legal. will bring real genuine charges against all you.” Morgan stepped up and planted a solid backhand to Collin’s weak jaw, maki
ng the lawyer fold like a carpenter’s ruler.
Kent wiped his brow with his gown’s sleeve. “This isn’t exactly right...” he began helplessly.
But the lion was back in the court. “I demand you fulfill the detective’s requests, Judge Kent, issue the subpoena to Detective Doakes right now. Have you any more witnesses, Captain Morgan?” Stroller said confidently.
“Plenty,” said Morgan with a dark chuckle. He looked at Doakes and smiled. “Take Collins back to Booth and bring another. Your choice.”
Kent sighed heavily. “Where is this going to end, captain?”
“It’s going to God damn end judge when me and the boys get the goods, enough evidence to take to every court in this state and country to make every paid off legal rat, and weaslish official jump ship to protect their own hides. When our little outfit has enough legal evidence to get a warrant to go legally after either one of the Renetti's or both, preferably just Allegra. His father’s still connected and that’s a war none of us are ready for. Then, when the Renetti’s are behind bars or on the farm, I'm gunning for the Razorbacks the same way. I don’t give a damn about the flimsy warrants, I just don’t want all our hard work to be in vain and the wasters to all die martyrs. Get your pen ready, Kent. The sun will be up in a few hours and I want my boys to be at the bank nice and early do make a fair and legal withdrawal, with a subpoena and a nice, plump warrant signed by you.”
But after Stroller talked to him, the bank’s representative was encouraged strongly to hop on the band wagon, and became the new C.C.P.D’s account examiner and informant.
It was late afternoon when the work was finally completed.
Exhausted, parched, and gaunt, but still with more fire in him than most people expected, Stroller pushed aside another growing pile of papers before him and looked at a brooding Morgan.
“Captain, this is special and I really mean that. This will shock the bedrock of our city. Make everyone think again. At least a truck load of the so-called Central City elite will go to the penitentiary. That is something to celebrate, do you think?”
Morgan nodded, but it was obvious something was still on his mind. “You know what, Stroller? You’re right. It is special but this was just the warm up. Now the real job begins.” He turned to Doakes.
“Go get our friend Binky.”They hauled Binky Mason in front of the court. Thanks to Booth, all Binky's swagger and bravado had been broken and taken from him. he was now nothing but a shadow of the man who was only days ago.
“Three Socks, I'm turning you loose!” Morgan said.
“But he will warn Allegra and the gang,” Stroller burst out.
“That's exactly what I want him to do, pal,” he said putting a hand on Stroller shoulder. He hated to admit it, but he had come to like Alan Stroller. He had come to see him as one of the men he could trust and, moreover, a friend. More surprisingly was the tryst that had developed between the former gun-moll and Stroller who had left his ball and chain for Lisa and hadn’t looked back.
These were new times indeed. People were changing for the better. Morgan just wished the same could be said for Judge Kent. Morgan looked at Costner, who seemed to be getting ready to drop the bombshell.
“Binky, we the judicial board along with the other officers present want you to tell your boss, Allegra Renetti, that Harry Morgan, Sam Doakes, Finlay Booth and Sean Costner, are coming for her. Tell her we have legit warrants courtesy of her former employee Judge Kent, who is now under our protection along with Mr. Stroller. Tell her these warrants are for her and all her lieutenants both man and dame. Please be a gent and tell her if she submits like a good doll, and walks to us peaceably for an arrest, we shall take her alive and unharmed and then sentence her the right way, whatever this board decides is fit. Now, get out. Officer Booth, please file this man out of this court”
“Sir, come on. Ya' heard the boss file out” Booth said grabbing the man and escorting back to the entrance and the city outside.
Binky left behind deathly silence until Stroller broke in.
“Morgan, you deliberately warned Allegra. You lit a total knock-down, drag-out fight!”
Morgan stood erect. “I hope I did Stroller,” he growled
“I can still see poor Chloe every time I close my eyes, so you’re damn right I want a fight.
That little girl deserves justice one way or another.”
Grayson Tombstone Tombs made no grandeur of his base of operations. Christ, everyone in the city knew where it was, and most avoided it. Where his rival Allegra preferred the shadows and silence, and the seclusion of the city's so-called finest in the residential quarter, Tombs preferred it down and dirty with his men around him. He put up a faux front and ran a small tavern turned parlor. It was a tough joint, a place where all manner of hell could happen over something as mad as a stolen beer or bad football call, but normal service would always resume after a fist fight. The music was tolerable but loud and the food was substandard but in excess. To Tombs, this was nirvana.
That night, Tombs sat at his favorite spot near the bar and a gaggle of scantily clad dames with gams that reached heaven and very little to cover what they led to. He ate a steak like an animal and drenched it down his gullet with a warm beer. Next to him sat one of the dames he drawled over a floozy blonde with no brains and big breasts. This dame was as loud as the music and as rude and blue as the food. Her man wolfed down his food. He had loosened his belt in anticipation of more eating and had a hand the under the table for his gal when one of his trusted Razorback henchman came to his table.
“Boss, Allegra’s on her way over here!”
Grayson gagged, belched, yanked his girl’s hands out from his crotch and sat bolt upright. “Her? Comin' here?” Knowing he could trust the news bearer, he shouted, “If that posh-nosed, daddy’s girl wants trouble, bring it, eh? Okay, call in everyone and make sure they’re all packing heat.” The henchman shook his head. “Word is, she don't want trouble, Grayson. She's in a tight fix. Says we all are. Somebody’s snatched Chief Banner...”
“Banner,” Tombs gasped
“And Binky Mason, Judge Kent and his lapdog, Stroller, and the Parisian is—”
Tombs stopped him. “Somebody's gone off the reservation!” he growled. “But if this is a frame-job let’s be ready. Get our man, Scot and Harlem, to get behind them palms over there. You know each side of the dance floor. Get them there with knives, no guns. Guns make noise. Make sure they are ready to ghost anyone if they have to. I will have a sit down with Allegra here. Pablo, clean table up this mess is everywhere. Oh, and Jeff, get the good hooch from the back room. Let’s make sure we are ready either way.”
The blonde with the big chest and wandering hands started to tidy herself up and put back on her clothes, ready to get up and leave. “Well, thank you for the salad and the drink Grayson. Call me when you’re free. I just remembered I got to see a dog about a man someplace. You know how it goes.”
“What’s the matter, Trix? You scared?”
“Uh-huh,” said the now dressed woman. “Really, it’s just my stomach. I can’t stand the taste of blades or hot lead.” She blew her man a kiss and moved away into the cold Central City night. Grayson would normally have stopped her, but something at the beer joint’s door caught his eye first.
Allegra stepped into the big room, followed closely by five dames, all dressed to kill and all packing heat under their skirts, impractical in reality, but a must for barely dressed woman on the go. All six girls were in the open and their well-manicured hands were in plain sight, as it should be when trying to broker a temporary truce. Allegra took her bearings, trying not to touch any of the greasy walls, or even greasier men that seemed to leer at the feminine forms that had just walked in.
When she saw Tombs she raised her hand, telling her bodyguards to relax and walked to the table where he sat. As she walked, her women fell in step behind. It was then Tombs’ boys swarmed in like cowboys at little big horn, storming in from every corner of
the room. Allegra ignored them, looking down on them like petulant children. She paid no attention to a single one. She did not make an attempt to shake Grayson's hand. Instead, she just simply spoke.
“Hello Mr. Tombs. Can we talk someplace other than this?” Tombs watched as she took a handkerchief from her bosom and wiped the seat before sitting. Tombs looked in the direction of his men and nodded, telling them all to relax.
“Sure, hun. We can sit. Here is fine. I trust all my boys here. No one will squeal if that’s what you’re worried about.” Both crime bosses sat down with their hands visible as a sign of good faith.
When the tension between the two died to an ember she spoke again.
“Do you know Captain Harry Morgan and his lapdog, Detective Sam Doakes?”
Tombs nodded.
“Sure. They’re the cops you canned for not playing ball.”
“No, they quit,” Allegra corrected him politely. “Well, Mr. Tombs, they it seems, have pulled a Miller and snatched a fair few of my most loyal men and killed at least one just to send a message.”
“What? You want me to cry tears of sorrow for your loss, leggie baby? I don’t think so!”
“The only God damn reason I came to your so called establishment and sat with you, Tombs, you mindless oaf, is because we're in a spot. Frankly, its not just my boys, but Collins, Kent, Stroller and every key person other than those with me now that keeps my organization going. Maybe the fed's are behind this. Maybe it’s Morgan. I don’t know. But we need to find out.”
“What do you mean we?”
“Yes, we, Mr. Tombs. My loss may not mean much to you, but maybe this other piece of information will. They got Banner. We both know that leaves you in a hole with no one to look the other way while you peddle dope and broken dreams to the tourists who think Central is the next
Welcome To Central City Page 19
