Death of a Pusher

Chapter 3

We checked Polacek out and took him upstairs. The public phone booth was in the far corner of the waiting room. We led the prisoner over to it, and Dollinger looked up Martin Bonner’s number in the book. Stepping into the booth, he dropped a dime and dialed.

We all stood outside the open door of the booth as the district attorney asked for Martin Bonner.

After a moment he said, “Marty? This is Norm Dollinger. Do you happen to know a Benjamin Polacek?”

There was a pause, then: “I didn’t think you would. He’s not exactly your type of client. The police picked him up last night for peddling heroin. We’ve offered him a deal, but he insists on legal advice before accepting it and he chose you as the adviser. I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to him. I’m not asking you to accept him as a client. I just want you to talk to him on the phone for a minute.”

After another pause, Dollinger said, “He’s right here. I’ll put him on.”

Stepping from the booth, he handed the phone to Polacek. The pusher moved into the booth, but left the door open.

“You officers mind going over by the desk where I can see you?” he said. “I don’t want you sneaking up alongside the booth to listen in.”

With a shrug, Dollinger moved over to the desk. Carl and I followed. We stood there, about twenty feet away, watching.

Polacek kept one eye on us as he spoke into the phone. We could see his lips move as he spoke at considerable length, but we couldn’t hear a thing he said at that distance. When he finished speaking, he listened for some time, periodically nodding. Once or twice his lips moved as he injected some comment.

All at once his voice came to us clearly. “Hello! Hello!” He reached up to jiggle the hook, repeated it a couple of times more, then stuck his head out from the booth.

“We got cut off,” he called. “One of you officers got another dime?”

We all felt in our pockets, and I came up with one. Dollinger followed me over to the booth.

When I handed Polacek the dime, he said to the D.A., “What’s that number again, Mr. Dollinger?”

“Channel 7-3241,” Dollinger said.

Polacek dropped the coin, then waved us back to the desk. Retreating, we watched as he redialed and again conversed in a tone too low to hear at that distance. The conversation went on for a good five minutes before he finally hung up and stepped from the booth.

When he came over to the desk he said, “You win, Mr. Dollinger. Let’s go somewhere quiet where we can talk.”

“I told you any reputable lawyer would advise you to go along,” the D.A. said.

Polacek grinned at him. “I figured that. I just wanted advice on how to get the best deal. I thought maybe I could get an agreement of immunity in writing from you, but Bonner says not to push my luck. He says he’s sure you wouldn’t sign anything, but your word is good. That’s good enough for me.”

The district attorney stared at him coldly. “You thought I might sign my name to a written agreement with a criminal?”

“No harm in trying, is there? Bonner said the suggestion would probably make you mad. Shall we find that quiet place?”

We took him upstairs to the squadroom. He took his time settling himself in a chair and getting a cigarette going before he spoke. Then he said, “The name of the wholesaler is going to knock your hats off. Better fasten your safety belts.”

“Get on with it,” Dollinger said impatiently.

“It’s Goodie White.”

All three of us stared at him. “Goodie White?” Dollinger repeated incredulously.

“Uh-huh.”

Goodman White was city councilman from the Twelfth Ward. It didn’t surprise me that the councilman was involved in a racket, because many of St. Cecilia’s politicians were. It just surprised me that he was involved in narcotics.

St. Cecilia isn’t a syndicate town, and there are no protected rackets in the sense that anyone gets paid off to leave them alone. But there is a political hierarchy which operates in a somewhat feudal manner. At the top, the city and county administrations, both parts of the same machine, exercise limited dictatorial power over an army of lieutenants whose influence varies according to the number of votes they control.

Some, such as Goodie White, deliver the vote of only a single ward. Others control whole districts, or even several districts. But both the big and the small operate much as did feudal barons, owing allegiance to the princes who run the machine while retaining a degree of independence to run things as they see fit in their own areas. Many are honest men; probably as many more are involved in rackets of different sorts. As long as the rackets stay within tacitly prescribed limits, the powers that be look the other way.

The prescribed limits are pretty strict. A ward leader can get away with operating a discreet gambling house, a string of bookie joints, a lottery, or a call-girl racket so long as he continues to deliver the vote. He pays nothing to protect such rackets, but any cop unwise enough to interfere with them is likely to be called on the carpet by old Baldy Mason, our politically appointed police commissioner, and advised to stop persecuting Baldy’s political colleagues. Persistence can get you transferred to the sticks.

But two things are out: murder and narcotics. This isn’t because of any humanitarianism on the part of the administration. It’s simply that the machine wants to stay entrenched, and is wise enough to know the public will put up with only so much. Activities which might bring on a clamor for reform aren’t tolerated. No one, regardless of political power, can get away with either murder or dope peddling in St. Cecilia.

That’s why I was surprised at hearing the name of Goodie White. If what Polacek said was true, the councilman had been laying himself wide open to being thrown to the wolves.

Norman Dollinger said, “Can you substantiate this charge?”

“I’m gonna set him up for you, ain’t I? That’ll substantiate it.”

I noticed a pleased glitter in the district attorney’s eyes. For a moment I was puzzled, because I thought the news that a fellow member of the administration was involved in narcotics would upset him. Then I remembered that Goodie White had tried to get the party to endorse another candidate for district attorney in the last primary election. Even though they belonged to the same party, the two were political foes.

Dollinger said, “How does White get supplies to you pushers?”

“We pick up the junk at his bowling alley.”

City Councilman wasn’t a full-time job: Goodie White’s primary career was owner and manager of a bowling alley, restaurant, and cocktail lounge.

“Does he personally handle the sales?” Dollinger asked.

“Sure.”

“Exactly what is the procedure?”

“It’s nothing fancy. When I want to make a pickup, I phone in advance. Goodie arranges to be behind the lane-reservation desk when I get there. Next to the desk there’s a showcase with bowling stuff in it. Balls and bags, shoes and gloves, ball cleaners, and stuff like that. I pretend to be buying some small item, usually a can of ball cleaner. Goodie’s got the junk in a prescription envelope, palmed, and when he drops the can in a paper bag, the junk goes in too. I pass him the money in big bills, plus one single dollar. He palms the big ones, rings up the sale for the ball cleaner, and gives me my change from the dollar. Nobody watching sees anything at all out of the way.”

“What’s your usual buy?” I asked.

“An ounce. That’s a couple of weeks’ supply for my size business.”

I did some mental arithmetic. There are four hundred and eighty grains in an ounce, and the way Polacek cut the stuff, his customers had only been getting a single grain of pure heroin in each package. At three-fifty a pop, he had been grossing sixteen hundred and forty dollars every two weeks.

“What’s Goodie charge for an ounce of the pure stuff?” I asked.

“Four hundred bucks.”

That left twelve-forty profit, or a net of six hundred and twenty dollars a week, roughly six times my income.

Carl said, “With the transaction right out in the open like that, we oughtn’t to have any trouble getting a film. Only thing is, Goodie knows both of us.”

“We’ll teach Hermie Joyce to run a camera,” I said. “We can rig a bowling bag with a camera inside, have him wander in and sit down nearby with the bag in his lap. That’s no problem.”

“How soon can you set White up?” Dollinger asked.

Polacek took a final contemplative drag on his cigarette, looked around for an ash tray; when he saw none, he dropped the butt on the floor and carefully stepped it out. “I just made a buy less than a week ago. He’d be suspicious if I hit him for another before next week.”

The district attorney glanced at me, and I said, “We don’t want to boot this by getting impatient. We’d better wait until Benny’s due to make his regular buy. When will that be, Benny?”

“I usually hit him on a Friday afternoon.”

It was now Wednesday, which meant a nine-day wait before he was scheduled to buy again.

Dollinger said, “That’s a devil of a long time to have this thing hang fire.”

“It took us two weeks to get Benny,” Carl said. “Let’s not take the chance of scaring Goodie off.”

“All right, we’ll wait it out,” Dollinger agreed. “We’ll just hold Polacek until we’re ready to move.”

“Goodie would know something was rotten if I’m out of circulation,” Polacek protested.

“That’s right,” I said. “If we want to use him, we’re going to have to turn him loose.”

“Suppose he runs?” Dollinger objected.

“He won’t be that loose,” I assured him. “He’ll be under observation twenty-four hours a day.”

“All right,” the D.A. consented. “Then it’s agreed that you’ll arrange to make a buy the Friday after next, Polacek. Meanwhile, I want you to understand that the charge against you is still hanging over your head. If anything goes wrong, even if it’s not your fault, I’ll get you stashed away for life. Understand?”

Polacek licked his lips. “Yes, sir.”

“Now we’ll move on to another subject. I want a complete list of every pusher you know.”

Benny Polacek said slowly, “Let me get this straight. If you don’t get a conviction against Goodie White, you’re going to cook me anyway, aren’t you?”

“You can bank on it.”

“Then why should I give you anything until I know I’m in the clear? When the jury brings in a verdict of guilty on Goodie, I’ll unload everything I know. Until then, I’ll sit tight.”

“You’re hardly in a position to bargain, Polacek,” Dollinger said coldly.

“Who’s bargaining? I’m just telling you flat out how it’s gonna be. I’m not gonna spill a lot of stuff, then get sent up anyway. If you don’t like that, throw me back in the can, and we’ll forget the whole thing.”

Dollinger looked at me, and I shrugged. “We probably know most of the pushers he could name, anyway. I have a more important question than that. What’s Goodie’s source of the junk, Benny?”

The pusher shook his head. “That I couldn’t tell you. If I knew I’d buy direct, instead of paying Goodie’s price.”

“O.K. Here’s one you can answer. Who was driving you last night?”

Polacek pursed his lips. After considering, he shook his head again. “The guy’s never been in trouble and he didn’t know what I was doing. He just drove me as a favor because my car was laid up.”

Carl said, “If he’s so pure, why’d he take off like an astronaut when you yelled cops?”

“Oh, he knew I was up to something. He just didn’t know what. I told him to take off if there was any trouble. It wouldn’t do no good to talk to him. He ain’t even in the racket.”

It looked as though we were going to have to settle, at least temporarily, for Goodie White, period. I rose to my feet.

“Let’s go back down to the felony section,” I said. “You can pick up your stuff and go home.”