Death of a Pusher

Chapter 16

I was driving my own car, not a police undercover car, so I couldn’t get police calls. I happened to have my car radio on, though, so I heard the special bulletin.

The announcer broke into the middle of a recorded tune to say, “We interrupt this program to bring you a news flash. One hour ago, at nine-thirty A.M., two masked men held up and robbed a payroll truck which was transmitting the weekly payroll of the Whittington Steel Company from the Merchants’ and Traders’ Bank to the steel plant. Payroll guard Arthur Prentiss, thirty-three, was shot and killed by one of the bandits.

“The well-planned robbery took place in midblock on Twenty-first Street between Dover and Spence Streets. According to the driver of the payroll truck, John Kendall, a heavy truck roared out of the alley as he started to pass it, and it struck him broadside, driving the armored car up on the sidewalk and into a brick wall. The force of the collision caused the rear door of the armored car to open. As the truck driver, wearing a stocking mask over his head, leaped from the cab and covered Kendall with a sawed-off shotgun, a similarly masked bandit came up from the alley on the opposite side of the street. As guard Arthur Prentiss, probably dazed by the accident, started to emerge from the rear door, the second bandit shot him down with a revolver.

“As the truck driver covered Kendall and several pedestrian witnesses with his shotgun, the second bandit carried two large payroll bags from the armored car to a car parked in the alley. Both bandits then leaped in their car and drove away.

“Eyewitness descriptions of the bandits varied. Estimates of the truck driver’s height range from five feet six to five feet ten, estimates of his weight from one hundred seventy-five pounds to over two hundred. The second bandit is described as from five ten to six feet and weighing from one-fifty to one-seventy-five. All witnesses agree that the truck driver was heavy-set and the other man slimly built, however. Both men wore tan coveralls, painter’s caps, and white cotton work gloves.

“Police believe the truck was probably stolen and are checking its registration. No figure on the amount stolen is yet available. Further details will be reported by this station as they come in.”

More work for Robbery Division, I thought. It sounded as though it would be a tough one. It had all the earmarks of a highly professional job, which probably meant out-of-towners, because there weren’t any local guns slick enough to pull such a smooth job.

Because I had just been discussing him with Boxer Wilshire, it fleetingly crossed my mind that it would be coincidental if Charles Kossack had been one of the bandits. I dismissed the idea, though, because according to his past record, and also according to Boxer’s estimate of the man, a big-time job such as this was out of his class. He was more the type to knock over filling stations and liquor stores. It hardly seemed likely that a joker stupid enough to get himself arrested twenty-six times would suddenly develop enough organizing ability to plan this professional a score.

I’d once had a few dates with a girl who lived at the Axton Apartment Hotel, so I knew the place fairly well. It was a somewhat run-down building of three stories. Once it had been an exclusive address, but as the residential section moved west, newer and more modern apartments had lured away the Axton’s monied tenants, and its management had been forced to adjust the rents downward to attract a less social-register class of tenants. Rent for a three-room furnished apartment with maid service now ran only sixty a month. Of course the furnishings were thirty years old, the management no longer ever redecorated, and the maid service was rather hit-or-miss. In short it had become something of a dump.

There was a different man on the desk than there had been when I used to call there. He was a fat man of about fifty wearing a dirty sport shirt.

I said, “What apartment is Charles Kossack in?”

“Two-eleven,” he said. “But he’s not home. He went out about eight this morning.”

“Any idea when he’ll be back?”

The fat man shrugged. “He didn’t say. He usually stops at the desk for his mail about noon, but that’s usually on his way out. I’ve never seen him up this early before. Want to leave a message in his box?”

“No thanks,” I said. “He live alone?”

He gave me a suspicious look. “If you don’t know, you must not be very well acquainted with him.”

“I’m not.” I took out my wallet and showed him my badge. “My name is Sergeant Matt Rudd. Who are you?”

After staring at the badge for a time, he said, “Marvin Johnson. I’m just the day desk clerk, Sergeant. You want I should phone the manager?”

“That won’t be necessary, Mr. Johnson. I’m not planning to raid the hotel. I just want to see one of your tenants.”

“I hope Mr. Kossack isn’t in any trouble.”

I said patiently, “I just want to talk to him. Does he live alone?”

He looked a little uncomfortable. “He’s the only registered tenant in two-eleven. But a friend stays with him off and on.”

“Who’s the friend?”

“He’s never introduced her.”

“A woman, eh?” I said. “She there now?”

“I really don’t know. If she is, she came in last night when I was off duty. She wasn’t with him when he left this morning.”

“I’ll go ring the bell,” I said. “If he comes in while I’m upstairs, don’t mention that he has a visitor.”

“All right,” he agreed. “We have orders to cooperate with the law.”

There was an elevator, but I took the stairs to the second floor. No one answered the door at apartment 211.

Downstairs again I used the desk phone to call the squadroom. Captain Spangler answered the phone.

“Matt Rudd, Captain,” I said. “Any messages for me from Lieutenant Wynn?”

“Nope. Haven’t heard from him.”

“I’m at the Axton Apartment Hotel,” I said. “Charlie Kossack lives here. He’s not home, so I plan to stick around until he shows. Want to take down this phone number, in case Wynn wants to reach me?”

“Go ahead.”

I read the number from the dial. “Tell the lieutenant if Kossack doesn’t show by noon, I’ll check back in by phone.”

“O.K., Rudowski. I’ll give him the message.”

I had been sitting in the lobby about a half-hour when an attractive but hard-faced blonde of about thirty came in, carrying a suitcase. She was overdressed and over-painted, but she had a nice figure.

She set down the suitcase at the desk and said, “Mr. Kossack will be along soon. He asked me to get his key from the desk and wait for him in his apartment.”

The desk clerk’s glance flicked in my direction, but fortunately the woman’s attention was distracted at that moment by a male tenant stepping from the elevator, crossing the lobby and going out the street door. The clerk handed her the key, and we both watched as she lugged the suitcase to the elevator. It wasn’t large, but it seemed to be heavy, for she bent over to one side carrying it.

When the cage door closed and the indicator showed the car was moving upward, I went over to the desk.

“Do me a favor, Mr. Johnson,” I said. “When Kossack shows, don’t look my way. You almost tipped off that woman that the place is staked out.”

“Sorry,” he said apologetically. “I’ll watch myself.”

“Was that his usual visitor?” I asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Looks as though she plans to stay a while.”

“She never brought a suitcase before. Usually just an overnight bag.”

I went back to my seat.

Fifteen minutes before noon, Charlie Kossack finally appeared. I recognized his long, thin frame and slicked-back hair the moment he entered through the street door, but of course he didn’t know me. The only time I had ever seen him was at the morning show-up the time he was picked up as a robbery suspect, and from the stage the suspects can’t see the cops who are observing them because the audience section is dark.

He gave me only a casual glance as he passed me on the way to the desk.

Fat Marvin Johnson made a point of not looking my way this time. He said, “No mail today, Mr. Kossack. Your lady friend is upstairs. She said you told her to get the key and wait in your apartment.”

“That’s right,” Kossack said. “Another friend of mine will be along soon. Send him up too.”

I was on the verge of rising and putting the arm on him, but his words made me pause. I decided I might as well wait to see who the expected friend was. With Kossack’s record, there was a good chance any friends of his might be on the Wanted list.

Kossack got into the elevator and went upstairs. I continued to sit and wait.

At noon the desk phone rang. After answering it, the clerk called, “For you, Sergeant.”

Going over to the desk, I took the phone from his hand. It was Lieutenant Wynn.

He said, “Captain Spangler gave me your message, Rudowski. Kossack showed yet?”

“Yes, sir,” I said. “He’s up in his apartment now. I haven’t moved in yet because he told the desk clerk he’s expecting a friend. I thought I’d wait to see who the friend is.”

There was a short period of silence. I suppose he was deciding whether or not to disapprove of my waiting for the friend. Apparently he decided it wasn’t a major bit of original thinking, for all he said was, “Think you’ll need any help?”

“What for? I’m only bringing him in for questioning. He’s not likely to put up a fight.”

“O.K.,” Wynn said. “I’m going to lunch now. If I’m not back in the squadroom when you bring in the suspect, have me paged in the headquarters cafeteria.”

“Yes, sir,” I said and hung up.

With my back to the door, I hadn’t been aware that someone had entered the lobby. I didn’t realize it until I started to turn and from the corner of my vision glimpsed the bulky figure only a couple of feet behind me.

The man recognized me before I did him. His hand darted to his armpit and swept out a thirty-eight automatic while I was still reaching for my hip gun. I froze in position, then slowly raised my hands. The automatic centered on a point between me and the desk clerk.

I hadn’t seen Casmir Kuzniki since we were both eighteen, and he had changed a lot. He’d been heavy-set even as a kid, but now he was almost as broad as he was tall. He must have weighed two-fifty, and not much of it was fat. He had a round stomach, but it looked as rock-hard as the rest of him. His face hadn’t changed much, though. He still had the same moon-shaped face, flat nose, and little pig eyes.

“You must be slowing down, Matt,” he said. “First time I’ve been able to take you.”

Kuzniki had been a member of a gang of juvenile delinquents called the Green Penguins when we were kids together on the South Side. A couple of times when we were both in our early teens he had jumped me for daring to walk through his gang’s territory, and both times I had knocked him silly. I assumed his reference was to those long-ago episodes.

I said, “I didn’t know you were in town, Cas. Our word was that you were somewhere on the West Coast.”

We got regular bulletins on Cas from the FBI, because he had recently gained the distinction of making their Ten Most Wanted list. Along with a varying number of partners, all of whom were now behind bars, he was credited with knocking over some ten banks during the past couple of years. The jobs had all been done on the West Coast, though, so the St. Cecilia force hadn’t been actively looking for him.

The bank robber, deciding that the lobby was no place to chat over old times, after a quick glance around, ordered Johnson from behind the desk and herded us both into the public rest room off one side of the lobby. Inside, he made me lean against the wall while he removed my gun and dropped it into his coat pocket. After shaking down Marvin Johnson and finding no weapons on him, he told us both we could lower our hands.

Then he said, “I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation on the phone, Matt. Who were you planning to bring in for questioning?”

“Nobody you’d know, Cas.”

“Who was he getting ready to move in on?” Kuzniki asked the desk clerk.

Marvin Johnson was so scared his body was shaking. When he didn’t immediately answer, Kuzniki centered the gun on Mm. The man turned paper white.

“Mr. Kossack,” he squeaked.

Kuzniki frowned in my direction. “You must have just been making a routine check, cop. You couldn’t know, or you wouldn’t have walked in here alone.”

This went over Marvin Johnson’s head, but I knew instantly what he was talking about. As a matter of fact, the moment I had recognized him in the lobby, I knew who had pulled the Whittington Steel payroll job. By sheerest accident I had walked alone right into the bandits’ hideout.

I felt like kicking myself. I had even thought of Charles Kossack as a possibility for one of the bandits, then had dismissed the idea as absurd. It hadn’t occurred to me that perhaps the other bandit, one big-time enough to plan that sort of score, might have recruited Kossack as an assistant.

Kuzniki said, “Long as you want to see him so bad, I guess I’ll let you. You too, Fatty. Let’s the three of us go quietly up to Charlie’s apartment.”