"We'll find out when we get there."
"Aren't you hungry? What about dinner?"
"That can wait. Maybe we'll have dinner with the biggest mobster in town."
"Don't bet on that."
"Maybe he has gone a little straight, like he said."
I shook my head, opened my coat and unhitched my shoulder harness and .45. I put them in the centre drawer of the desk and locked it up tight.
"What are you doing that for, Ed?"
"Don't be foolish, Mel. When Geronimo invites you into his camp, you don't bring along a tomahawk. It's a peace parley, remember. Anyhow, his door squad will frisk me anyway. I wouldn't even try to sneak a toothpick into that place."
"You're probably right." She shivered but she looked excited. "Working for you is never dull. I'll say that much for it"
"A ball," I agreed. "Come on. To the guillotine, Madame Du Barry. The tumbril awaits."
"Aren't we going to take a cab?" she laughed.
We did. It must have been about the tenth one for me that week. It's foolish to run around New York in your own heap when you have to spend so much time finding a place to park. Besides, this time it would make great sense. The cab driver would be a witness to the fact that he had dropped me and Melissa off at Augie French's private residence. I had to remember to tell Augie that. Being who he was, he would appreciate the neatness of my thinking.
It was like old home week.
When the cab dropped us off, with the driver's name and number carefully tucked in my memory, we got the full treatment at the front door. French hadn't been kidding about owning the whole building. It was a five storey Tudor style home set back from the Drive with a very nice view of the Hudson River and the Jersey Palisades. On a clear day you could see forever. But it was night now. Dark and overcast with no stars to light the water. Just the neons on the far shore laying amber and purple and red across the waves.
Only the top floor of the building was ablaze with light. The lower floors were dark. Big black windows, flanked by dormers and buttresses, made the joint look medieval, bordered as it was by an apartment house and a corner automobile agency. There was a short wide flight of thick stone steps and a wide double-panelled door. The door looked like the entrance to a fortress. It was studded with brads of copper. A grilled slot at the top of the door might have been the gun slit on an armoured car. Maybe it was just Augie French's home-away-from-home, wherever that might be. He probably had a country estate in Larchmont or Rye or maybe Long Island. He certainly had the loot. From my reading about him, he could afford to buy Connecticut.
Melissa huddled at my side, arm linked in my elbow. I didn't have to knock. The lookout, a man in a tuxedo and black tie, opened the door for us. He didn't smile. He didn't have to. He was about six feet six and he said his name was Perry.
Perry took my hat and coat and Melissa's leather Mod three-quarter job. I held up my arms patiently. Perry smiled tightly and patted me down like an expert. Melissa handed him her dark handbag and he explored it briefly. Then he handed it back and waved us on into the house. There was no doubt where to go. The hall had a parquet floor that led towards a high-entrance archway. From that direction came the sound of voices. A glass clinked like crystal. I heard a bark of sound that reminded me of French on the telephone. This must be the place. Behind us, Perry took up a patient vigil at the doorway. He did not sit down. Just stood there like a suit of armour. The upper levels of the house were all in darkness. Still, there was a fine, cheery men's club atmosphere to Augie French's home. It was warm, woodsy and very hail-fellow-well-met. The only things missing were baronial shields and battleaxes.
We paused in the archway, waiting.
Augie French looked up from the head of an oaken table that was nearly as long as the room. It was an executive suite. A place of business. Not even the bar behind him or the one lone painting on the wall to his left could dispel that aspect. The occupants of some of the other chairs looked up too. The gang was almost all there.
"Hi, Noon," Memo Morgan mumbled, as out of place as ever in his plaid suit and checkered tie. He looked hangdog and beat even though a brand new cigar, unlighted, jutted from his thin mouth.
Across from him was Sister Truth Ruth, clad in her usual miniskirt of sequins and fantastic white. Her gaunt haunting face was troubled even though an odd smile tugged at her lips. She waved a bangled sleeve at me, and then concentrated her attention on Melissa Mercer. I heard her catch her breath. Melissa is a knockout but to the Truth Ruths of this world, she must have seemed like an angel in mufti.
Brother Tod Crown, his usual smile larded over with sobriety, nodded towards me resignedly. He hadn't changed his suit since the afternoon in the penthouse. He looked sharp and fine, like he belonged in an executive suite.
The other two people in the room didn't.
The Ice Man and Raf Bunker glowered at me with mutual hatred in each set of eyes. They were sitting at the far end of the table, as far away as possible from Augie French. Close to the door and to us. The Ice Man's thin features were expressionless, save for his eyes. Pock-faced Bunker was nervously studying his fingernails.
Augie French lifted a ring-studded right hand.
"Girl Friday, huh? What did you bring her for?"
"Girl for every day of the week. By the way, our cab driver's name was Alfred Lanigan, Number One Five Three Five Seven. He lives in Brooklyn, has a bum knee and he knows he dropped us off at this address. Can we sit down now?"
Augie French laughed. It wasn't a funny laugh.
"Smart operator, huh? Okay. That suits me fine. Sit down and we'll clear up this little matter right away. I got a plane to catch at midnight and I don't want this hanging over me when I get back. I also don't want it getting out of hand."
We sat down. Melissa took a chair about three away from The Ice Man and I took a Wild Bill Hickok chair that faced the archway a little. French noticed that and shook his head. I looked at him and wondered what was so familiar about his face. I had seen newspaper pictures of him before but I hadn't quite remembered the peculiar shape of his head and features. His nose was almost a beak that barely tipped over a mouth even more of a gash than Morgan's. His face was wide and doughy, despite the vacations and sun tan lamps he could afford. His brow was wrinkled, heavy black eyebrows above two eyes that seemed to stay open and surprised. He always looked as if you had just astonished him. His hair was a thinning brush of swept-back hair just barely standing up.
"Drink, Noon? You and the lady. Help yourself. We got a fine bar."
"We'll skip it this once. You were saying."
He looked surprised again but it was only his curious face. He leaned across the table, arms hunched. It was hard to tell how big a man he was but his shoulders were broad.
"Okay. To cases. We been kicking it around before you came so everybody's up to date. At my special invitation and escort, the rest of this crew got here earlier. Okay. So it boils down to this. This Guru whatchamacallit got himself killed. No skin off my nose. But not anymore. I got word that two of my boys are muscling around town using my good name and making noises about how I'm so all-fired interested in getting my hands on some heroin that got lost, strayed or stolen. Now I'm surprised at that. I told you on the phone, shamus. I got all I need. From legit stuff. The numbers, the races, the dames, the clubs. Who needs more? I certainly don't need any income from a dope racket that could get me locked up for life and throw the key away. You get my meaning?"
"All right if I smoke?" I reached into my pocket for my Camels.
"Smoke your head off but listen. I want you to hear me clear and loud. This mess is coming to a halt right now. The Ice Man and Bunker got ambitious. They saw a chance to make some dough—turn this Temple operation into a profit for themselves. Without my sayso. Repeat—without my sayso. I want that understood right now. All on top of the table. I got no interest in the horse. As for my two fine flunkies, I'll take care of them. You cross Augie French only once. But they're
good men and I won't go too hard on them. I've been greedy myself now and then. It's the sign of an ambitious man."
"Augie," The Ice Man said stiffly, "we told you—"
"Never mind!" Real power and anger shot out of Augie French. "No more excuses. You got caught with your hand in the till. Don't alibi for a mistake. How many times I tell you that? Bunker, I didn't expect brains from. He's muscle. But you, Godkin—" He shook his head and his eyes travelled back to me. "You believe what I'm telling you, Noon?"
"Do I have a choice?" Before he could bridle at that, I pushed on. "All right. So you're clean, so these two operated without your approval. Why call this meeting?"
His eyebrows hadn't moved but the owlish look was there again.
"I'll tell you why. I want you to co-operate with Crown and the broad here. Find their missing junk, get rid of it—I don't care if you hand it over to your cop pal—locate the killer of their leader and just leave me out of it. It's worth twenty-five grand to me if you do. I'll mark you off as a business expense."
"Just like that? Nothing else?"
"Nothing else. Crown and his girlfriend have promised to forget about peddling junk now that they know I was never interested. All they really want is for you to catch the killer. What could be sweeter than that? You're a private cop, aren't you?"
"It says so on my licence."
"Sure it does. Well, we got a deal?"
The painting behind the bar had caught my eye. I should have noticed it right away. It was the bloody red owl again. A perfect match, size, frame and rendering, of the one I had seen in Truth Ruth's pad on West Fifty Fifth Street. There was obviously more than one copy of Louis La Rosa's red period.
Ruth saw me look at the painting and a smile curled her lips. Tod Crown was looking at me. Memo Morgan just looked plain unhappy.
"What Mr. French says is true, Brother Edward. Without his patronage, we are no longer concerned with the heroin. Except to disavow all connection with it. We only want Louis' murderer."
Melissa shook her head at me ever so slightly. I smiled and drew deliberately on the Camel. Everybody was looking at me now. Particularly the gangster that looked like an owl.
"Come on, shamus," he growled. "I ain't got all day. My plane—remember?"
"So you want to find Louis La Rosa's killer, Augie. That's very commendable. Why?"
"I told you. I want this mess cleared up. I don't want any connection with missing dope."
"You've already proved that. You called The Ice Man and Raf on the carpet. Ruth and Crown are agreeing with you. Finding the killer won't necessarily locate the dope. And then what's the difference? What you don't have can't hurt you. Besides, the Guru who hated the idea in the first place probably dumped the heroin in the East River—or the Hudson—or burned it. Maybe he just dumped it down the nearest sewer where it belongs. No, Augie. There's something else. Something you're not telling us. Why the hell should you, with all you have and own, be interested in the death of a fat slob who ran a Temple movement for a bunch of kids?"
His wide open eyes tried to narrow. "Don't talk like that."
"Why not? It's the truth, isn't it? Louis La Rosa was a fink. A fat fink who smelled dirty and lived off the nickels and dimes of kids who didn't have enough sense to come in out of the rain. Why do you feel sorry for a dirty no-good—"
It worked.
Augie French rose to his feet, fists clenched, owl face reddening quickly. Truth Ruth had begun to banshee and scream curses for the dung I was heaping on dead Louis but it was nothing compared to the flaming rage that mottled the face of Manhattan's biggest crime czar. Tod Crown had somehow managed to look pale. French thundered.
"Shut up!" he bellowed. "Shut up! Don't talk about him that way—"
"Why not?"
"Because he was my kid brother, that's why! And he was twice the man you'll ever be! You're not fit to kiss the soles of his sandals. Don't ever say that again—"
"I won't," I said, settling back in my chair. "You told me what I want to know. Now we can stop playing games and get down to cases. Sure, I'll help you find Louis' killer. I want anybody's killer. Because nobody has the right to kill anybody."
All the hot words and the cool ones rolled around that room, leaving forget-me-nots where they fell. The sudden truth was a bombshell.
I wondered if Louis La Rosa's murderer heard the words. And understood them.
Chapter Fourteen
THE BIT, THE GIG
AND THE BAG
□ Augie French cooled down.
He suddenly realized what I'd done and what he'd admitted without my twisting his arm. He subsided in his chair and waved off The Ice Man and Raf Bunker who, trying to get back in his good graces, were on their feet flanking my chair like bookends. Melissa Mercer sat there marvelling at me, wondering for the ninety-ninth time how I had stayed alive as long as I had. Sometimes I wonder myself.
"Cut it out," French muttered, still spluttering a little. "Don't you understand what he did? He suckered me and I bit like a greenhorn. Smart, very smart. I guess the shamus earns his reputation. I'm surprised at myself. I never intended to tell anybody about Louis."
"Don't feel so bad," I said. "It's hard to sit still when somebody is raking somebody you like over the coals. I didn't know Louis at all. From what little I started to know, I almost liked him."
He frowned at me. "Like what?"
"Like hating war, eating himself fat to prove a point and chasing those Black Muslims with a gun. I liked that."
"His Italian blood," he said proudly. "Just like Papa. I was proud of him when I read about it. But—" French scowled around the table, looking at each of us, one by one. "What I just spilled, it don't go past this room. If it does, I'll know one of you talked and I'll remember. Remember that."
Tod Crown was still in awe at the revelation. "You and Louis? That's hard to believe, Brother Augie."
"Don't hand me that Brother crap. I had only one brother and he's dead." He targeted in on Truth Ruth. "Well, Sister. You keeping your trap shut too?" Morgan was still buttoned up tight.
"I don't talk to nobody about nothing," Truth Ruth said. "Bogart here is talking enough for all of us. Out of the side of his mouth and everything. Smokes as much, too. Man what a scene he puts on, don't he?"
Augie French ignored that. He nodded, satisfied somewhat by what seemed a unanimous agreement from his audience. He put his hands together like he was praying and looked at them.
"Cat's out of the bag now so you might as well get the facts straight. The family name is La Civetta. That's Italian for owl. Me and Louis were the only kids in the family. Our old lady was dead before we could remember her. The old man was a construction worker. All over town. One day he didn't come home. He got in the way of an I-beam they were swinging and it knocked him off a girder. About fifteen floors to the sidewalk. I was just getting outa high school and Louis was going on eight or something like that. After that, he went to live with an aunt. I sort of found my way in the rackets. That's enough of the family set-up. Anyway, I lost touch with him. You know how those things are. And then when I had some of this—" he waved an arm to include his wealth, power and organization—"I got around to finding him. And where was he? A long-haired kid painting in the Village, writing poetry, running some kind of hick newspaper. Full of a lot of junk I never understood and still don't. That was Louis. He had changed his name to La Rosa. Not for the same reasons I changed mine. He was ashamed of me, wanted no part of me. We had a big argument and he practically threw me outa his flop. What a joint. No furniture, wall full of scribbles, no hot water or gas." French shuddered. "I washed my hands of him. But he did send me that."
He jerked a thumb at the canvas of the owl.
"Neat, huh? I don't know about Art but I like it. I think it's good. Oh, I got the picture. I knew what my baby brother was telling me. That I was a Civetta all right. A bloody owl. A disgrace to the family name. I'd changed my name because I didn't want to be no Italian gangster like
you see in the movies. It didn't help. Everybody knows what I am. Blood will always tell, huh?"
"He made two paintings like that," I said. "Truth Ruth has the other one."
"Yeah?" He glowered at Ruth. "You never said so. You were maybe wondering, eh, what a big shot like me had in common with your Guru?"
"It made me feel funny," she said. "And that's all."
He waved that down too.
"Anyhow, the baby brother went overseas, won himself some medals, came back and before I knew it, he was some kind of big man with this Temple gimmick. I sat back and watched. Waiting. I wanted to see how far he could carry the ball. Then he got so fat and—" He made a sour noise in his throat "And now he's dead. All the family I had left. Get me, Noon. I could double the price if you get Louis's killer for me, I owe it to him, to my father and my mother, rest her."
"Maybe you do," I agreed. "Either way, like I said, it's always open season on killers."
"You got any ideas at all? If you're thinking it's one of these two, let me know. I can sweat them."
"No, Augie. Crown couldn't kill a fly even if he is getting some ideas about being the new Father Divine. And Ruth—look at her. She'd need help to break a breadstick in half, let alone hoist a three hundred pound man on to a meat hook."
French winced at that. "What a way to go. Like a hunk of meat. Somebody's gotta pay for that. It's disgraceful. But this Twiggy could have got some of her young punks to help, couldn't she?"
"She could have but she didn't."
Truth Ruth flung her head back and whistled through her teeth.
"I don't need you to swing for me, baby. But what the hell makes you so sure I'm lily-white?"
"Lily-white you're not but you didn't kill Louis La Rosa."
"And I'm asking—why not?"
"Simple logic. You couldn't have. Whoever killed the Guru planted my P.I. card on him. When I saw you at the Temple, it was for the first time. At least, it sounded like that when you got the drop on me when I was talking to Brother Crown. You couldn't have possibly got the card after that because you never touched me and then we both went on that sleigh ride through the floor."
The Flower-Covered Corpse Page 12
