Tiger by the Tail
Page 16
O’Brien lifted his eyebrows.
“That’s quick work.”
“Yeah. I’ve always said if Donovan was given a case worth a damn, he would show what he was made of. In the next hour or so he will make an arrest.”
“Who did it, then?”
“Kenway Holland, a young bank clerk. It’s an open and shut case. We have enough evidence to put him in the chair three times over.”
“But you haven’t arrested him yet?”
“My men are at his house now. He may have lost his nerve and skipped, but it’s just a matter of time before we get him.”
“That’s damned good work,” O’Brien said without any enthusiasm. He looked over at Howard. “You’ll let me have the report and see the evidence?”
“You’ll get the papers tomorrow morning,” Howard said curtly. He looked worried, and having seen what his wife was up to, O’Brien wasn’t surprised. “You’ll excuse us. I want to get back to headquarters. Now we have got so far I don’t want any slip-up.”
“I keep telling you we can leave it to Donovan to handle,” Motley said impatiently.
“I’m going back, even if you aren’t,” Howard snapped, and nodding to O’Brien he went down the steps and towards the parking lot.
“Your sister is amusing herself with a guy in a car,” O’Brien said softly. “Watch the Commissioner doesn’t spot her.”
Motley swore under his breath.
“I’ll break that little bitch’s neck one of these days,” he said. “Why the hell can’t she wait until Howard has left?” He went off hurriedly after the Commissioner.
O’Brien stroked his jaw thoughtfully. Just like that numbskull Donovan to find the wrong man, he thought. What was the evidence they were talking about? They seemed pretty certain that they had enough on this guy to convict him.
He leaned against the verandah rail while he thought about Johnny. If this Holland guy was caught and convicted, it would let Johnny out, but sooner or later he would get into more trouble. Now he had him under lock and key it would be flying in the face of providence not to be rid of him.
He watched Howard and Motley drive out of the parking lot, then, his mind now made up, he went down the steps towards his car.
II
Before going to his office, Adams looked into the charge room.
“Anything new?” he asked the desk sergeant, who stiffened to attention at the sight of him.
“The Commissioner and the Captain are on their way over, sir,” the sergeant said. “This guy Holland hasn’t been picked up yet. We have a couple of men and Detective Duncan waiting for him at his house. Sergeant Donovan has just come in and is waiting for the Commissioner.”
Adams grunted.
“I’ll be in my office if the Commissioner wants me,” he said. “Nothing else?”
“Nothing that’d interest you, sir. Paradise Louie is in trouble. He was picked up ten minutes ago on a vacant lot on West Street. Someone has
given him the treatment. O’Sullivan, who found him, reports he isn’t likely to live. He’s had a beating, and whoever beat him hit him a little too hard.”
Adams remembered what Darcy had told him. Paradise Louie had told Johnny where he cold find Fay Carson and now he had been beaten up. A coincidence?
“Where is he?” he asked sharply.
“Ward Six, County hospital,” the sergeant told him.
“Tell the Commissioner if he wants me I’ll be back in an hour,” Adams said, and went quickly back to his car.
He got over to the County hospital in five minutes.
“Manchini ?” the house surgeon said when Adams asked him if he could talk to Louie. “Not much hope for him. He has an abnormally thin skull. Someone hit him with a bicycle chain. I doubt if he’ll last the night.”
“Is he conscious?”
“No, but he might come round at any moment. One of your men is with him. You can go up if you want to. There’s nothing more we can do for him.”
Paradise Louie lay in bed, his bruised and broken face swathed in bandages. Detective Watson sat glumly at his side. He got up hurriedly when he saw Adams, nearly upsetting his chair.
“Is he conscious?” Adams asked.
“Yes, sir, but he’s pretty bad.”
Adams bent over the still body.
“Louie ! Wake up!” he barked, and shook Louie’s arm.
Louie opened his eyes and stared up at Adams.
“Leave me alone, can’t you?” he snarled faintly. “Get the hell out of here!”
Adams sat on the edge of the bed.
“Who did it to you?” he said.
Watson automatically opened his notebook and waited expectantly.
“I’m not talking, copper,” Louie said. “Leave me alone.”
Adams took out a box of matches, struck one and held the flame to Louie’s hand while Watson watched, goggle-eyed,
Louie snatched his hand away, his lips coming off his teeth.
“Next time I’ll hold your wrist,” Adams said quietly. “Who did it?”
The thin, ruthless face that hung over him scared Louie.
“Tux and Whitey,” he mumbled. “Leave me alone, can’t you?”
“Why did they do it?”
“I don’t remember,” Louie said, but went on hurriedly as Adams struck another match. “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you.”
He gave Adams a watered-down account of his attempt to blackmail Gilda. It took some minutes, but Watson got it down after Adams had made Louie go over it again.
“Did you give Johnny Fay Carson’s address?” Adams demanded.
“I told him where he could find her.”
“Where was that?”
“I told him she went to the Blue Rose most nights.”
“You didn’t give him her address?”
“I don’t know it.”
“What time did you tell him?”
“About eleven, I think it was.”
“So Tux works for O’Brien?” Adams said, aware he had made an important discovery.
“Yeah. O’Brien has always been his boss.”
Adams looked at Watson.
“Got it all?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Louie, you’re going to sign this.”
He read Louie’s statement over to him, held the book while Louie scrawled his signature on each page, then he got Watson also to sign each page.
“I’ll take it,” he said to Watson, and slipped the notebook into his pocket. “Come on, you don’t have to waste any more time with this punk.”
Outside in the passage, he went on, “Keep your mouth shut about this statement, Watson. There’s a political angle to it that could be tricky. Understand?”
“Yes, sir,” Watson said blankly. He didn’t understand, but he had long ago learned it wasn’t safe to ask Adams questions.
“Okay. Come with me. I have a job for you.”
Bewildered, Watson followed Adams down the steps and across the sidewalk to his car.
III
It took Ken forty minutes to reach the waterfront. He was afraid to get on a bus or take a taxi. Adams had said every cop in town was looking for him by now, and he wasn’t taking any chances of being recognized.
He kept to the back streets, walking close to the buildings and shops where the shadows were darkest.
From time to time he spotted ahead of him a patrolling cop, and he hastily turned down a side street to avoid passing him.
When eventually he arrived at the waterfront, the rain that had been falling began to ease off.
It was dim, damp and smelly by the water. On the street side was a row of cafes, popcorn stalls, shops selling fishing tackle and nets, a dingy hotel and an amusement arcade.
Ken stood on the edge of the wharf and looked across the broad stretch of oily water to the distant estuary. It was too dark to see if any boats were anchored out there, but Darcy had said that was where Willor Point was, and Ken had no reason not to believe him.
But before he tried to find a boat, he had to know exactly where Willow Point was anchored.
He looked over at the lighted amusement arcade, hesitated, than walked slowly across the wet street and glanced in.
There were only a few youths playing the pin-table machines. A girl in a grubby white overall leaned against one of the machines while she cleaned her long painted finger-nails with a chip of wood. She was white-faced and tired; a kid of about eighteen, old in sin and experience if he could judge from her hard expression. She had a leather satchel for giving change hung over her shoulder.
He walked into the arcade and, going to a pin-table machine near where the girl was standing, he began to play, shooting the balls up the channel, watching the coloured lights spring up as each ball tapped the pins.
After he had shot off a complete row of balls, he paused to light a cigarette, and he was aware the girl was looking curiously at him.
He met her blue, dark-ringed eyes and he smiled.
“Some way to waste an hour, isn’t it?” he said.
She lifted her shoulders indifferently.
“No one’s asking you to do it.”
He left the machine and came over to her.
“Would you know anything about the boats anchored in the estuary?” he asked. “I’m looking for Willow Point.”
Surprise and suspicion jumped into her eyes.
“I’m not stopping you,” she said, slid her hand through the opening in her overall and scratched herself under her arm.
“Would you know where it’s anchored?”
“I might. Why?”
“I want to find it,” he said patiently.
“Are you sure you do, handsome?” she asked, leaning her hips against the pin-table machine. “Do you know who owns Willow Point.”
He shook his head.
“Tux,” she said, “and he’s a guy you want to keep away from.”
“I’ve got to find the boat,” Ken said.
She studied him.
“Look, handsome, hadn’t you better go home? You’re likely to get into trouble if you start messing around with Tux.”
“I’m in trouble already,” Ken said.
“Well, I don’t have to be,” she said, and abruptly moved away to give
change to a fat man who was tapping impatiently on the glass top of a pintable machine.
Ken lit a cigarette and went back to his machine. He began to play again, watching the girl out of the corner of his eye.
She moved around the arcade aimlessly, and after about five minutes she came slowly back to where he was standing.
She leaned against the machine he was playing and began to clean her nails again with the chip of wood.
“Won’t you help me?” Ken said, keeping his voice low. “Won’t you tell me where Willow Point is?”
She gave a little shrug.
“Last time I saw it, it was anchored off North End.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything. I don’t know the river. How far out?”
“Half a mile. North End is the light you can see from the wharf.”
He looked up and smiled.
“Thanks.”
She shook her head at him.
“You’re heading for trouble, handsome. Tux is a mean guy.”
He shot another ball up the channel before saying, “I want a boat, but I can’t pay for it. I’ve got to go to Willow Point.”
“What do you expect me to do?” she asked, not looking at him. “Steal one for you?”
“I’d do that myself if I knew where to find one.”
“Does Tux know you’re coming?”
Ken shook his head.
“How hot are you?” she asked. “Is it the cops?’*
“Something like that.”
“You’ll find a boat under the jetty. The guy who owns it leaves around dawn, so you’d better get back before then.”
“Thanks,” Ken said.
“Watch your step, handsome. Tux doesn’t like unexpected visitors. He’s tough.”
“I’ll watch out,” Ken said, and walked out into the drizzling rain.
He found a dinghy berthed under the jetty. A rod, can of bait, an oilskin and oars lay in the bottom of the boat. He swung himself down into the boat, cast off and began to row towards the distant light that she had told him was North End.
It seemed to him he rowed for a long time before he saw some way ahead of him the shadowy outlines of a cruiser, silhouetted against the dark skyline.
Ken rested on the oars and watched it, wondering if it were the Willow Point. As he sat in the gently bobbing boat he heard the sound of a distant motorboat engine. He looked quickly across the waterfront, half a mile from him.
He saw a powerful motorboat leaving the jetty. It headed towards him. He wondered in alarm if it were a police boat. He began to row away from the course set by the motorboat, then shipping his oars, he crouched down in the boat so his head and shoulders weren’t outlined against the skyline.
He watched the approaching motorboat anxiously.
It was coming fast, but he saw with relief it would pass him by some three or four hundred yards unless it altered course.
The boat roared past him, and its wash sent his boat bouncing violently.
He heard the engine suddenly cut out. The motorboat vanished into the darkness of the cruiser’s side.
Ken straightened up, grabbed the oars again and began to row. It took him over ten minutes to come within forty yards of the cruiser. He rested on his oars and let the boat drift while he examined the deck of the cruiser for any sign of life.
He spotted the motorboat tied up to the cruiser. He could see no one on deck, and he began to row again until he came up alongside the cruiser. He stared up at the deck rail while he listened.
He imagined he heard the faint sound of voices, and he wondered if he should take the risk of climbing on board. If anyone came up on deck his boat would be seen. He decided against the risk.
Rowing slowly and quietly, he passed under the stern of the cruiser and came up on the port side.
One of the port-holes showed a light, and as he let his boat drift silently up to the cruiser, he heard a voice coming from the port-hole say, “It’s time we had a straight talk, Johnny. You are in no position to dictate terms. You either accept my conditions or you’ll stay here until you change your mind.”
Ken quietly paddled his boat up alongside the cruiser and shipped his oars, taking care to stop the boat from bumping against the cruiser’s side. He caught hold of an iron bracket near the port-hole, steadied the boat while he stood up and took a quick look into the cabin.
The tall, fair, good-looking man he had seen outside the Blue Rose nightclub the previous evening was lounging on a bunk facing him. A tall, dark man in an expensively cut suit leaned against the wall, smoking a cigar.
Ken drew back quickly; then, keeping his boat steady, he listened to what was being said.
IV
Solly caught the rope O’Brien tossed to him, held the motor-boat steady while O’Brien scrambled aboard.
“Tux here?” O’Brien asked abruptly.
“Yes, boss,” Solly said, startled that O’Brien had brought the motorboat over himself.
“Where is he?”
Tux came out of the shadows, buttoning up his shirt. He had been asleep, but had wakened when he heard the motorboat and had scrambled, cursing, into his clothes.
“I want you,” O’Brien said curtly.
Tux led the way down the companion ladder, along the dimly lit passage to his cabin. He sat on his bunk, stifled a yawn and looked enquiringly at O’Brien.
“Did you fix Louie?” O’Brien asked.
“Sure,” Tux said, looking a little uneasy. “Whitey hit him a shade too hard.
”
O’Brien stared at him, his eyes intent.
“What does that mean?”
“I don’t reckon Louie is feeling too good right now,” Tux said guardedly. “He’s got a dome like an egg-shell.”
“Does that mean he’s dead?”
Tux lifted his shoulders.
“He could be. He spilt a lot of brain.”
O’Brien rubbed his jaw.
“This set-up is getting out of hand,” he said, took out a cigar and bit off the end. “It might be a good thing if Louie did croak.”
Tux looked relieved.
“It’ll surprise me if he doesn’t.”
“We don’t want any death-bed confessions.”
“He was too far gone to talk when we left him.”
O’Brien lit his cigar, blew smoke to the ceiling while he eyed Tux thoughtfully. This was the beginning, he thought. Rough stuff again after four years. Well, it couldn’t be helped. He had to keep control of, the situation, and if guys were a nuisance they must expect trouble.
“I’ve decided to get rid of Johnny,” he said, lowering his voice.
Tux was surprised, but he didn’t show it.
“Anything you say, boss.”
“I want him planted where he won’t be found,” O’Brien went on. “He must never be found.”
“I can fix that,” Tux said. “I have a barrel on board that’ll fix him, I’ve plenty of cement, too. He won’t be found.”
O’Brien nodded.
“You mustn’t slip up on this, Tux. I’ll go along and talk to him now. I’ll let you know when to do it.”
“Tonight?” Tux asked, thinking longingly of his much-needed sleep.
“It’ll be tonight. Better get that barrel and the cement ready.”
“I’ll tell Solly.”
“Do it yourself,” O’Brien said sharply. “Solly is to keep out of this. I’ll take him back with me. I don’t want him to know anything about it. Only you
and I are to know about it, Tux.”
Tux grimaced.
“That barrel’s going to be goddamn heavy. I can’t handle it alone. I’ll have to have Solly.”
O’Brien took his cigar from between his lips, stared at the glowing end, then said, “Please yourself, but if you have Solly, you’ll have to take care of him. He’ll have to go the same way.”