Rogue Cop

5

Carmody slept uneasily that night and was up early in the morning. One thing had occurred to him by then: Why were Ackerman and Beaumonte worried about Delaney? This was something he should have checked immediately, and he realized that his emotional concern over Eddie was ruining his cop-wise judgment. What had Beaumonte said? That if Delaney talked it would cause trouble. But for whom? Ackerman or Beaumonte?

Carmody sat down at the phone, a cigarette between his lips, and began a cautious check on Delaney. He talked with two Magistrates, a Judge and half-a-dozen bookies, trying to learn something from casual gossip. The word was around, he soon realized; they knew Delaney was threatening to sing and that the big boys were worried. But no one cared to speculate on the nature of Delaney’s information. Carmody gave it up after a while, but he wasn’t discouraged. The clue might be in Delaney’s past; Delaney had been a muscle boy in the organization when Ackerman and Beaumonte were on-the-make hoodlums instead of semirespectable public figures. That would be the angle to check.

Delaney’s evidence must be something tangible and conclusive; otherwise, his threats to sing wouldn’t bother Beaumonte and Ackerman. The job was to find that evidence and destroy it; that would pull Delaney’s stinger, take the pressure off the big boys and leave Eddie in the clear. It wasn’t a simple job and it had to be done quickly, but Carmody wasn’t worried; he knew how to handle this kind of work. The city couldn’t keep any secrets from him; he had studied it too long for that. A map of the city blazed in his mind; he knew the look of a thousand intersections and could reel off the houses and shops on each corner as easily as he could the alphabet. He knew politicians from the Mayor down to precinct drifters, and he understood the intricate balancings and give-and-take of the city’s administration. The brothels and bars, the clubs and cliques, the little blondes and brunettes tucked away in handsome apartments in center-city, guys on the make, on the skids, on the way up — Carmody had them all indexed and cross-indexed in his formidable memory.

No, finding Delaney’s source of pressure wouldn’t be impossible, he thought.

Carmody went into the bathroom to shower and when he came out the phone was ringing. He picked it up and said, “Yes?”

“This is Beaumonte, Mike. Can you get over here around four? Ackerman wants to see you.”

“Four? Sure, that’s okay,” Carmody said easily. He stood with his feet wide apart, a towel around his middle feeling the drops of water drying on his big hard shoulders. “What’s on his mind?” he asked. “My brother?” It was a stupid, dangerous question, but he had to know.

“Some friend of his wants to open a handbook in West,” Beaumonte said. “Ackerman wants you to take good care of him.”

“Sure, sure,” Carmody said, releasing his breath slowly. “Four o’clock then.”

“Right, Mike.”

Carmody went out to lunch and got back to his hotel at three o’clock. He washed his hands and face, changed into a dark-gray flannel suit and was on his way to the door when the phone stopped him. A high-pitched irritable voice blasted into his ear when he raised the receiver. “Mike Carmody? Is that you, boy?”

“That’s right. Who’s this?”

“Father Ahearn. I want to see you.”

“I’m just on my way out, Father,” he said.

“I’m down in the lobby. This won’t take long.”

Carmody checked his watch and frowned. “Okay, I’ll be down. But I’m in a hurry.”

“I’ll be waiting at the elevator so don’t try sneaking past me.”

Carmody hung up, finding a grim humor in the situation. The old priest acted as if he were talking to one of his altar boys.

When the elevator doors opened Carmody saw that the last eight years had been hard on the old priest. At his father’s funeral, which was the last time Carmody had seen him, Father Ahearn had been lively and vigorous, a tall man with gray hair and alert flashing eyes. But now he was slightly stooped and the tremors of age were noticeable in his heavily-knuckled hands. His hair had turned almost white but his eyes hadn’t changed at all; they still flashed fiercely above the bold strong nose. He looked incongruous in the smart glitter of the lobby, a tired, bent old man in a black suit which had turned a grayish-green with age.

Carmody shook hands with him and suggested they take a seat at the side of the lobby.

“You want to go off and hide, eh?” Father Ahearn said.

You never manage him, Carmody remembered. “What’s on your mind?” he said, edging him tactfully out of the traffic flowing toward the elevators.

“What’s the trouble with you and Eddie?”

“That’s a personal matter, Father.”

“None of my business, eh? Well, when one brother strikes another in my parish I make it my business.”

“Eddie told you I hit him?”

“Yes. I could see he’d been hurt. But that’s all he would tell me.” The old priest tilted his head and studied Carmody with his fierce eyes. “What was it? The girl?”

“I suppose you could say that.”

“And what makes it any of your business?”

“I’m his brother.”

“Ah,” the old priest said softly. “His brother, is it? His keeper, you are. Isn’t that a new role for you, Mike?”

Carmody felt embarrassed and irritated. “Look, there’s no point talking about it,” he said. “What’s between me and Eddie doesn’t concern you or the church.”

“Now you listen to me, boy. I don’t—”

But Carmody cut him off. “It’s no use, I’ve got to be going, Father.” He didn’t like doing this to the old man and he hated the hurt look his words brought into his eyes; Father Ahearn had been a family friend for years, and had done them a thousand favors. He had got him summer jobs, had sent him to college on an athletic scholarship and had seen that Eddie stuck out his last year of school after the old man died. But that was long, long ago, in time and in values; it belonged to another world.

“All right, I’ll not keep you,” Father Ahearn said.

“I’ll get you a cab.”

“Never mind, you go on about your important affairs. But don’t interfere with Eddie and his girl.”

“You’ve met her, I guess?”

“What have you got against her?”

She’s fooled him, Carmody thought. Probably had a cup of tea with him and smiled at his Irish stories. “There’s no point going into it,” he said.

“Very well. Good-by, Mike.” The old man walked away, threading through the group of expensively dressed men and women. Carmody watched him until he disappeared, and there was a small, unhappy frown on his hard face...

He got to Beaumonte’s at ten of four and found Nancy alone in the long elegant drawing-room. She wore a black dress with a full flaring skirt and junk bracelets on her wrists.

“Where’s everybody?” Carmody asked her.

“Everybody? Don’t I count?”

“I mean Ackerman and Beaumonte.”

“Are they everybody?” she asked, smiling at him, her eyes wide and thoughtful.

“No, you count, too,” he said.

“Sometimes it seems like they’re everybody,” she said, sighing sadly. There was a comic quality to her gravity; with her swept-up blonde hair, jingling bracelets, she was hard to take seriously.

“Don’t get deep now,” he said.

“You’re like them, in a way.”

“That’s a compliment, I hope.”

“You wouldn’t care whether it was or not.” A frown gathered on her smooth childishly round forehead. “That’s what frightens me about all of you. You just don’t care. Not like other people do. Everything in the world is just to use. A girl, a car, a drink, they’re all the same.”

“What got you into this mood?” he asked her.

“Too many drinks, I guess. That’s Dan’s analysis for all my problems.” She put an expression of mock sternness on her face and pointed a finger accusingly at Carmody. “ ‘You’re a lush, you lush.’ ” Relaxing and sighing, she said, “That’s his daily sermon. It’s supposed to fix everything up dandy.”

Carmody was touched by the unhappiness in her face. “You shouldn’t worry so much,” he said. He wondered why she stuck with Beaumonte. The same reason I do, he thought. The money, the excitement of being on intimate terms with power and privilege. Weren’t those good reasons?

“The trouble is I don’t feel like a girl any more,” she said, making a studied pirouette on one small foot.

“Well, what do you feel like?”

“Like a faucet,” she said, making a faster turn on her other foot. Her skirt flared out from her beautifully shaped, silken legs. “Look, I can dance. I’m a faucet,” she said again, continuing the pirouettes. “Something Dan turns on and off, on and off. Whenever he wants to. Don’t I dance gorgeously?”

“Just great.”

She stopped spinning and looked at him, her eyes bright and excited. “I love to dance. Even when it was my work I loved it. Mike, how about taking me on a picnic some day?”

Carmody laughed. “Sure. We could stage it on the roof and have it catered by the Park Club. What gave you that idea?”

“No, the Park Club won’t do,” she said, sighing. “They’d send over ants in little tiny cellophane packages to give it a realistic touch. Excuse me. We need ice. Then I’ll make us a couple of unwise drinks.”

“Never mind me.”

She looked at him thoughtfully. “How come you don’t drink. I mean, get blind and drunk like the rest of us.”

“I guess I don’t want to be anyone else,” Carmody said. “That’s why people get drunk, I imagine. To forget what they are.”

“That’s a gloomy idea,” she said. “It kind of hurts, too. Well, to hell with it. I’ll get the ice and be somebody else. Maybe an ant at a picnic, who knows?”

A moment after she’d gone a key sounded in the front door and Beaumonte walked in, followed by Bill Ackerman and his huge watchdog, Johnny Stark, the ex-heavyweight. Something in their manner warned Carmody; Beaumonte, massive and immaculate in a white silk suit, looked sullen, and even Ackerman, who normally gave nothing away, was frowning slightly. Johnny Stark walked past Carmody and sat down in a straight chair with his back to the terrace windows. He flicked his eyes around the room but kept his good ear cocked toward Ackerman like a wary dog.

“More bum tips?” Carmody asked Beaumonte.

“We weren’t at the track.” Beaumonte stared bluntly at him, his eyes narrowed and unfriendly. “I’ve got more to do than sit on my tail in the clubhouse.”

“I know you’ve got it rough,” Carmody grinned.

“Don’t be a comic. I’m in no mood for jokes.”

“I worry a lot about your moods,” Carmody said easily. “Sometimes they keep me awake all of five or ten minutes.”

The silence stretched out as Beaumonte walked to the coffee table, picked up a cigar and faced him from the fireplace. This put Carmody in the middle of a triangle, with Ackerman standing before him, Beaumonte at his side, and Johnny Stark at his back. A faint warning stirred in him. Trouble was coming; he could sense it in their deliberate manner and hard watchful eyes.

“I expected to see your brother last night,” Ackerman said. He was in a businesslike mood, his eyes frowning and black, his even features set in a closed, unrevealing expression. “What happened?”

“I explained that to Beaumonte.”

“Explain it to me,” Ackerman said coldly.

“My brother had a date and wouldn’t break it.”

“You’re sure he hasn’t changed his mind?”

“Of course not,” Carmody said.

Ackerman smiled faintly but it didn’t relieve the expression about his eyes. “I wanted to hear you say that, Mike.” He glanced at Beaumonte. “There it is,” he said.

“Yeah, there it is,” Beaumonte said.

Ackerman opened his mouth but before he could speak Nancy came bouncing into the room, carrying a drink in one hand and humming a song under her breath. “Hello, Danny boy,” she said, and skipped toward him with a series of intricate little steps. “I was dancing for Mike. He thinks I’ve got talent. Don’t you Mike?”

Beaumonte swore violently at her and pulled the glass from her hand. Liquor splashed on the front of her skirt and over the tips of her black velvet pumps. She backed away, staring at him guiltily. Her face was white and her hands came together nervously over her breasts. “Why did you do that, Dan?” she asked in a small voice.

“Dancing! You’ve also been swilling my liquor like a pig.”

“You said it was all right today.”

“And now I’m telling you different,” Beaumonte said, and hurled the glass across the room. It struck the wall beside one of his oils and shattered noisily. “I’ll kick you back to the gutter if you can’t stop acting like a rumhead.” He caught her arm and shoved her toward the wide doors of the dining room. “Get out of here and sleep it off, you hear?”

“Don’t shout at me, please, Dan,” she said, regaining her balance. “I’ll go, please.”

Carmody said softly, “Your manners stink, Beaumonte. Why don’t you try to match them up with your paintings and imported wines?”

“Keep out of this, Mike,” Beaumonte said, staring at him with hot furious eyes.

“Everybody relax,” Ackerman said, and the words fell ominously across the silence. Johnny Stark came quickly to his feet and moved in on the group, responding like a dog to Ackerman’s tone. Nancy backed slowly to the bar as Beaumonte mopped his red face with a handkerchief. “Okay, we’re relaxed,” he said, breathing deeply and staring at Ackerman. “Let’s get this over with.”

“Okay,” Ackerman said, in the same dangerous voice. He swung around on Carmody. “You’ve lied to us. You made no deal with your brother. We talked to him this afternoon and he threatened to arrest us if we didn’t clear out of his house. Got anything to say to this, you smart bastard?”

“I was working on him,” Carmody said slowly. Talking would help nothing; they had him cold. But he went on, anyway, stalling for time. “He didn’t like the idea, but I was softening him up. I could have brought him around.”

“You lied to us,” Ackerman said. “You were crossing me up, Mike. There’s a lot at stake in this deal but you couldn’t take orders. Well, I got no room around me for guys like you. You beat it now, and beat it fast.”

“You aren’t talking to a bellhop,” Carmody said. He didn’t know where this was heading and he didn’t care. “I don’t come and go when you press a button.”

“You’d better listen when I press a button,” Ackerman said. “We’ve got a file on you a foot high. When it goes to the Superintendent you go to jail. Keep that in mind, bellhop.”

It’s a bluff, Carmody thought, watching Ackerman. But he knew he was kidding himself. Ackerman never bluffed; he had a leash on every man who worked for him. It was the fundamental rule of his operations.

“I don’t trust anybody,” Ackerman said, as if reading his thoughts. “And least of all the cops who work for me. You’ve already sold yourself once when you start using your badges as collection plates. And you’ll sell me out if I give you the chance.”

“Let’s go, Mike,” Johnny Stark said, moving toward him with his slow, flat-footed walk. “You heard Mr. Ackerman.”

“Okay,” Carmody said, looking about the room, letting his eyes touch Ackerman and Beaumonte. “I’ll run along.” He picked up his hat from the chair and walked to the door, feeling the silence behind him and aware of their looks on his back. With his hand on the knob he paused a second. He was alone now, cut off from everyone. There would be no help from any quarter; Karen, Ackerman, Father Ahearn, even Eddie himself, they were all ranged against him, watching his futile efforts with contempt. But I’ve always been alone, he thought, as a gentle, pleasurable anger began to stir in him; he had thrown away the hollow props of faith and family because he had to stand alone. Turning his head slightly he caught Ackerman with his cold gray eyes. “What about my brother?” he said.

“We’ll take care of that,” Ackerman said.

Carmody let his hand fall from the knob. For an instant he stood perfectly still, his big body relaxed and at ease. Then he turned and walked slowly back into the room. “What does that mean, Ackerman?” he said quietly.

“Don’t make a big mistake now,” Ackerman said. “Just beat it. I’m tired of talk.”

They can’t push me this last step, Carmody thought. I’m a crooked cop with thieves’ money in my pocket, but I won’t look the other way while they murder Eddie. Drawing a deep breath, he felt nothing but relief at reaching a line he wouldn’t cross.

“There’ll be just a little more talk,” he said coldly to Ackerman. “And you’d better listen good. Nothing happens to my brother. Get that straight.”

Ackerman looked at Johnny Stark and said irritably, “Take him out of here.”

“What?” Johnny asked him anxiously.

“Get him out, you deaf ape,” Ackerman yelled. “You think I want lip from a stupid flatfoot.”

“I told you to listen good,” Carmody said, and the hard bright anger in his face brought a nervous slack to Beaumonte’s lips. Johnny was moving in on him, his massive chin pulled down into his neck, but Carmody kept his eyes on Ackerman. “Nothing happens to my brother. Figure out some other way to get off the hook.”

“I heard you,” Ackerman said. “I’ve listened to loud mouths like you before.”

“Not like me, you haven’t,” Carmody said gently. “Remember that.” Then he laughed and swung around to face Johnny Stark, his eyes alive with fury. “Now throw me out, sonny boy,” he said. “Earn your dough.”

“Mike, you and me don’t want to fight,” Johnny said.

“Why not? That’s what you’re paid for.”

Johnny hesitated, a sheepish smile touching his wide pale face. Without taking his eyes from Carmody, he said, “Mr. Ackerman, Mike carries a gun.”

“Don’t let that worry you,” Carmody said. He took the gun from his shoulder holster and flipped it suddenly to Johnny. “Now you’ve got one.” While Johnny was turning it around gingerly in his massive hands, Carmody stepped in and hit him with a right that knocked him sprawling across the coffee table and into the fireplace.

Ackerman and Beaumonte scrambled aside, and at the bar Nancy screamed softly and put her hands to her mouth.

Johnny wiped his bleeding lips with the coat sleeve as he got slowly and purposefully to his feet. His little eyes were mean and hot. “You shouldn’t have done that, Mike,” he said, mumbling the words through split lips. “Now I’m going to hurt you.”

“Come on, sonny,” Carmody said, waiting for him with his hands on his hips. “You’re no street fighter. I’ll give you a lesson for free.”

Johnny didn’t answer. He came in fast, hooked a left into Carmody’s side and tried for his jaw with an explosive right. It missed by half an inch but he recovered instantly and crowded Carmody back toward the wall with a flurry of punches that came out like pistons from his heavy shoulders. Carmody took a blow in the stomach and another that loosened a front tooth and sent a spurt of blood down his chin. Then he erupted; he could have handled it from a distance, cutting Johnny to pieces with his left, but that wouldn’t have appeased his wild, destructive rage. He battered his way back to the middle of the room, trading punches with savage joy; he didn’t want to do this the smart way, he wanted to be hurt, he wanted to be punished.

They stood toe-to-toe for half a minute, slugging desperately, and then Johnny broke it off and backed away, his breath coming in sharp whistles through his flat nose. He was cut badly around the mouth and there was a look of cautious respect in his narrowed eyes.

“Ackerman fixed your fights,” Carmody said, grinning. “Didn’t they ever tell you that.”

Johnny leaped at him, swearing, and Carmody stepped back and let a punch sail past his head. Moving in fast he speared Johnny with a left and caught him off balance with a tremendous right that drove him across the room. Johnny bore back recklessly, but the right had weakened him; his breath was coming hard and he was down flat on his feet. Carmody hit him with another right and when it landed he knew the fight was over; the blow smashed into Johnny’s throat and spun him around and down to the floor. Johnny screamed once in a desperate choking voice and his legs threshed as he fought to squeeze air into his lungs. He got enough down to quell his panic and then lay perfectly still, concentrating his strength on the painful work of breathing.

Carmody picked up his revolver, put it away in his holster and looked at Ackerman, his big chest rising and falling rapidly. “Remember what I told you,” he said. “Nothing happens to my brother.”

Ackerman smiled very carefully. The ingredients of death were in the room, he knew, and another jar might explode them in his face. “Maybe we can figure out something else,” he said.

Beaumonte cried suddenly, “We don’t want to hurt him, but the crazy sonofabitch hasn’t got the brains of a two-year-old.”

He had used the wrong word and he knew it instantly. Carmody walked toward him and Beaumonte said, “Now look,” but that was all he got out; Carmody snapped a left up into his big padded stomach and Beaumonte’s mouth closed on a sharp, disbelieving cry of pain. He sank to the floor slowly, settling like a punctured balloon, his face flushed with anguish and fear.

“It was just a manner of speaking,” Ackerman said, still smiling carefully.

“It’s a manner I don’t like,” Carmody said.

Nancy laughed suddenly, like a happy, delighted child, and skipped over to sit beside Beaumonte. She crossed her legs, spread her skirt out prettily then leaned forward and smiled into his crimson face.

“Daddy got a tummy ache?” she asked him merrily. “Or is Daddy over his ration?” Beaumonte stared furiously at her, his face squeezed with pain, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly. “Look, it’s sloshing in the scuppers,” she cried, and raised her glass ceremoniously and poured the contents over his head. “See it slosh, Daddy? And what the hell are scuppers, anyway? I’ve always meant to ask.”

The liquor darkened the shoulders and lapels of his white silk suit and dripped down onto his lap, but he paid no attention to it. He sat awkwardly, hunched over like a Buddha, staring at her with murderous eyes.

Ackerman smiled at Carmody. “There’s still time to settle our problem smartly.”

“The time ran out,” Carmody said, moving toward the door but keeping his eyes on everyone in the room. “Remember what I told you, Ackerman. The guy you send after my brother has got to come through me first. He won’t like that, I promise.”

Ackerman shrugged slightly, and Carmody knew the break was clean and final. When he stepped from this room he wouldn’t have a friend in the city. Okay, I don’t need friends, he thought. I’m enough by myself, I’m Mike Carmody.

With a cold smile on his lips he turned and walked out the door.

Ackerman stood quietly for several seconds, frowning thoughtfully at the wall. Then, without looking around, he said, “Dan, did you get everything set with Dominic Costello?”

“He sent us a guy,” Beaumonte said, his voice small and hoarse. “He’s already on young Carmody’s tail.”

“Tell him to go to work,” Ackerman said. “And you’d better figure out something to keep Carmody out of the way. Nobody will have a chance to get at his brother while he’s around.” His voice was flat and disgusted.

“Okay.” Beaumonte still sat on the floor, watching Nancy. She smiled unsteadily at him as a slow fear began to work through her drunkenness. “I didn’t mean it,” she said in a sad, little girl’s voice. “Honest, Dan.”

Ackerman looked around then, his eyes dark and furious. “Maybe you can handle my business better than you handle your women,” he said to Beaumonte. “You’d better, that’s all I can tell you.”

Johnny Stark climbed slowly to his feet, massaging his neck with both hands. “He caught me in the windpipe, Mr. Ackerman,” he said in a squeaking voice. “I’d of got him if he hadn’t caught my windpipe.”

“You couldn’t take him with an armored tank,” Ackerman said, glaring at him. “What do I pay you for? To listen to birds singing?” Turning abruptly he walked to the door. Over his shoulder he said, “Don’t bother coming along, Stark. I’m safer alone.” He walked out and slammed the door shut behind him with a crash.

“Give me a hand, Johnny,” Beaumonte said.

“Sure, sure,” Johnny said quickly, glad to be useful to someone. He got behind Beaumonte, put both hands under his armpits and hauled him to his feet. Beaumonte swayed and put his hand for support against the mantel. “He could have killed me,” he muttered. “He could have broke something inside me.”

“Yeah, he can hit,” Johnny said, nodding earnestly.

Nancy put a hand timidly on Beaumonte’s forearm. “Look at me, Dan.” She was pale and trembling, sobered by her fear. “It was just a joke. You do things like that to me sometimes, don’t you? I was drinking too much, like you said. But I’m going on the wagon, I promise, Dan.”

Beaumonte turned away from her, pulling his hand free from her arm. “You’re going back where I found you,” he said slowly.

“Dan, please!” She tried to turn him around but he shook her off with a twist of his big round shoulders. “Please, Dan! It was just a crazy joke,” she said, beginning to weep.

“Johnny, you know where Fanzo’s place is?” Beaumonte said to Stark.

“Yeah, sure, Mr. Beaumonte.”

Beaumonte drew a deep breath. “Take Nancy there, take her if you have to break her legs and carry her,” he said, in a slow empty voice. “You got that? I’ll phone him so he’ll have the welcome mat out.”

“Dan, what are you going to do to me?” Nancy cried, backing away from the two men. She brought her hands to her mouth and the bracelets on her wrists jangled noisily in the silent room.

Beaumonte looked at her then for the first time since he’d got to his feet. “Why did you do a thing like that with Ackerman watching,” he said thickly.

“I told you it was just a crazy gag.”

“I’m going to pay you off good,” he said. “You got no more loyalty in you than a stick of wood.”

“Dan!” she cried softly, as Johnny Stark put a massive hand on her wrist. Her eyes were wild and unbelieving. “You aren’t going to do this to me. It’s a joke, I know. Tell me it’s a joke, Dan.”

“Get her out,” Beaumonte cried. “Get her out of here.”

When they were gone, Beaumonte drew a deep ragged breath and began to walk about in small aimless circles. Finally, he stopped and went quickly to the bar. He made himself a brandy and soda, slopping the ingredients into the glass, and then sat down in a deep chair and stared at the long silent room. For several minutes he remained motionless, his body slumping forward slightly, and then he moaned deep in his throat and began to pound his fist slowly against his forehead. But the sound of her weeping stayed loud in his mind.