All shot up

Chapter 15

It was four o’clock when Casper got finished with the brass and the half-brass. He had had it with the chief inspector, the inspector in charge of the Homicide squads, Lieutenant Brogan and a detective stenographer from Homicide, and two lieutenants from the Central Office Bureaus.

They had handled him gently, with all due respect for the tender sensibilities of a vote-getting politician, but he had been through the wringer nevertheless.

What they had hammered on mainly was the mystery of the leak. One or the other kept pointing out that the hoods got the tip-off from somewhere, that it didn’t come from heaven, until Casper blew his top.

“I tipped them!” he had exploded. “I leaked it. I said come on and get it. Knock oat my mother-raping brains and kill a couple of people. Is that what you think?”

“It could have been somebody in your organization,” the chief inspector had said.

“All right, it was somebody in my organization. Then go out and arrest them. All of ’em! Start with my two secretaries. Haul in my associates. Don’t forget my field workers. Not to mention my wife. Take ’em all downtown. Give ’em the third degree. Tickle ’em with your mother-raping loaded hose. And see what you get. You’ll get nuttin’, because they didn’t know nuttin’. At least if they did, they didn’t get it from me, because I didn’t know the payoff was coming through when it did my own damn self.”

No one had batted an eye at the outburst.

“Grover Leighton said he told you several days ago that he’d bring it up Saturday night,” the chief inspector had said quietly. “He doesn’t remember the exact day.”

“He doesn’t remember because he didn’t do it,” Casper had raved. “Maybe he thinks he did. But Grover has the whole fifty states to think of; and if you think he can remember every goddam little thing he has done you’re giving him credit for having a mechanical brain.”

They had let it go at that.

Now Casper had a headache the likes of which would have made his professed coma preferable.

A colored trainee nurse had come in to straighten up and remove the saucers filled with cigar butts. She had opened the French windows to clear the air, and sight of the heavy fall of snow added to Casper’s fury.

“Now they’ll send in Canadian trackers,” he muttered.

The little girl glanced at him apprehensively; she didn’t know whether she was supposed to answer or not. She began edging toward the door.

The telephone on the night stand rang. He snatched up the receiver and shouted, “Tell ’em I’m dead!”

The cool, controlled voice of the reception nurse asked, “Do you care to see the press? Our lobby down here is packed with reporters and photographers.”

“Tell ’em I’m still in a coma.”

“They’ve seen the police leave.”

“Then tell ’em to go to hell. Tell ’em I’ve had a relapse. Tell ’em I’ve developed brain fever. No, don’t tell ’em that. Tell them I’m resting now and that I’ll see them at eight o’clock.”

“Yes, sir. And there is a telephone call for you from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Shall I put it through?”

He hesitated for an instant, waiting for his sixth sense to work; but it lay dead.

“All right, I’ll take it,” he said.

A calm, soothing-type voice said, “Mister Casper Holmes?”

“Speaking,” Casper said.

“I am Herbert Peters from the Pinkerton Detective Agency. Mister Grover Leighton has been in contact with us, and he has engaged us to arrange for an ambulance under guard to transport you from the hospital to your home.”

“Why not a baby carriage?” Casper growled.

Peters chuckled faintly. “If you will give us the approximate time you will be checking out, we’ll make all the necessary arrangements.”

“I’ll arrange for my own transportation when I leave,” Casper said. “But I’m not thinking of leaving for two or three days.”

“Then you think you will be checking out on Tuesday?”

“That’s what I think. But I don’t think I need any of you. If I can’t get from here to my own house, I need to go back to the nursery.”

“That’s not exactly the situation, sir,” Peters said. “It is not a matter of your ability to take care of yourself. One of our men has been killed, and, unfortunately, you are a witness to the murder. As long as you are alive, the murderers are in danger of-”

“You ain’t just saying it,” Casper cut in.

“So Mister Leighton feels it is essential that we give you the protection necessary for a public figure whose life is in danger.”

“Mister Leighton has already made one mistake by going ahead on his own,” Casper said.

“That’s why he doesn’t want to make another,” Peters said. “That’s why we are requesting your co-operation in advance.” He paused for a moment, then added, “We will have to cover you in any event, whether you like it or not; but it would be much better all around if we had your co-operation.”

Casper conceded. “All right. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you when I’m checking out. Will you be there?”

“If I’m not, someone else will.”

“Okay, give me the number.”

When he had hung up, he waited for a minute, then dialed the number he’d been given.

An unfamiliar voice said, “Pinkerton Detective Agency.”

“Let me speak to Herbert Peters.”

“Who’s calling, please.”

“Casper Holmes.”

A moment later Peters’ calm voice said, “Yes, Mister Holmes?”

“I’m just checking,” Casper said. “Being as I can’t look through the telephone and see just who really is phoning me.”

“I understand, Mister Holmes. Is that all, sir?”

“That’s all.”

Casper cradled the receiver and sat up in bed, thinking. The trainee had finished and closed the windows and left, but he hadn’t noticed.

He lifted the receiver and told the switchboard operator not to put through any more calls.

“If some one telephones, what shall I say?”

“Say that I am sleeping and ask them to phone back after eight o’clock.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And give me an outside line.”

When he heard the central office buzz, he dialed a number.

A woman’s voice answered. “Hel-looo?”

“Marie?”

“Yes. Is that you, Casper?”

“Yeah. Is Joe in?”

“Yes. I’ll call him. How’s your noggin?”

“Palpitating. Let me talk to Joe.”

He heard her calling, “Jooooe! It’s Casper.”

Joe Green was the biggest numbers banker in Harlem; he had a part of three lotteries.

“Casper, how’s the boy?” he greeted in a husky voice.

“Ain’t nothing that a little sleep won’t cure.”

“Can’t hurt you hitting you on the head,” Joe said. “But snatching all that long green off you must have given you a running fit.”

“It wasn’t mine,” Casper said. “They didn’t hurt nothing but my feelings.”

“And you’ll never forgive the mother-rapers for that.”

“Now that’s for sure. But what I called you for is I want to borrow a couple of your boys for later in the day.”

“For bodyguards or running errands?”

“I’m going to check out here at seven-thirty in one of Clay’s hearses-”

Joe chuckled. “Just don’t go by the way of the cemetery, daddy.”

Casper laughed. “By way of Clay, neither. Naw, I’m going home. I want to dodge the newsboys; I got a pop call to make on the way. I just want them to trail me.”

“It’s done,” Joe said. “How ’bout Big Six and George Drake in the Cadillac? They ought to handle any situation that might jump up. Or do you want another one?”

“Naw, they’ll do. I want them to pick up the hearse at Clay’s and stay with it, but not too close. I don’t want it looking like no procession.”

“I got you, daddy. What time?”

“I’m leaving here at seven-thirty. They’d better get to Clay’s by seven.”

Joe hesitated. “Can’t you make it earlier, daddy? If this snow keeps coming down like it is now, ain’t much going to be moving by seven-thirty.”

“I’m going to be moving,” Casper said.

“Okay, daddy, I got you covered,” Joe said. “Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.”

“It’s made then,” Casper said. “I’ll see you in church.”

When the connection was broken, he began dialing another number without putting down the receiver.

A proper male voice said, “H. Exodus Clay’s Funeral Parlor. Good afternoon. May we be of service to you?”

“I don’t want to be buried, if that’s what you mean,” Casper said. “Just let me speak to Clay.”

“Mr. Clay is resting; he’s having his customary after-noon nap. Perhaps I can help you.”

“Wake him up,” Casper said. “This is Casper Holmes.”

“Oh, Mister Holmes. Yes sir, right away, sir.”

A few moments later Clay’s thin, querulous voice came over the wire, “Casper. I was hoping to do some business with you.”

“You are, Hank, but not the kind you want.” Only a few people in Harlem knew that the H in Clay’s name stood for Henry; most people thought it stood for either Heaven or Hell. “I want to hire a hearse.”

“For yourself, or for a friend?”

“For myself.”

“The reason I asked, I have three hearses now. I use the old one for poor folks, the middle one for rich and the new one for celebrities. I’ll give you the new one.”

“Naw, give me the middle-newest. I don’t want to attract any attention to myself. I want to slip away from this hospital without anybody seeing me. And let Jackson drive it; nobody going to look at him twice.”

“Jackson!” Clay echoed. “Listen, Casper, I don’t want any shenanigans with my hearse. I never will forget the time Jackson was running all over town dodging the police with my hearse full of dead bodies.”

“What are you beefing about?” Casper said. “He made you a lot of business.”

“I’d rather get my business in the normal way; I’m not expecting a depression.”

“All right, Hank, have it your way. I just want to get this hearse over here at the back door at seven-thirty sharp.”

“The streets will be snowed under by that time,” Clay complained. “Can’t you make it earlier, or wait another day?”

“Naw. Just put some chains on it. And there’s going to be some boys of Joe Green’s following it. So don’t let that worry you.”

“Boys of Joe Green’s!” Gay exclaimed apprehensively. “Listen, Casper, if anything happens to my hearse, I’m going to bill the national party for it.”

“Okay, you do that. And tell Jackson to drive me first to my office on One-twenty-fifth Street.”

“Tell him yourself,” Clay said, losing interest and already drifting back to sleep.

Casper cradled the receiver and picked up his wrist watch from the night stand. It was thirteen minutes past five o’clock. He peered between the drawn curtains at the drifting snow. Everything that met his eye was white, except the gray sky. He selected a cigar, clipped it carefully, stuck one end between his lips and rolled it about. Then, he put it down on the edge of the night stand, picked up the receiver again and began dialing.

“Do you want an outside line?” the operator asked.

“What the hell do you think I’m dialing for,” he said.

He waited for the dial tone and began over. He heard the phone ringing at the other end.

A cool, contralto voice said, “Yes.”

“Leila. Casper,” he said.

“How are you, sugar,” she said in the same tone that she had said yes.

“Listen, I’ll be home around eight o’clock,” he said. His voice was as impersonal as hers. “I want you to stay there until after I get there-or say until nine o’clock. Then you can go wherever in the hell you want to. Understand?”

“I’m not deaf.”

“Naw, but you’re dumb sometimes.”

“That blow on your head hasn’t changed your disposition,” she observed.

“If anybody phones me, tell them I’m still in the hospital and won’t be home until Tuesday. Tell them I’ve had a relapse and am in a coma again. Get that?”

“Yes, sugar, I got it.” Under her breath she added, “And I’m going to keep it, too.”

“What’s that?”

“I didn’t say anything. Somebody must be talking on your end.”

“All right. And for once keep your lip buttoned up.”

“Is that all?”

He put down the receiver and reached for his cigar. Before he could pick it up, the phone rang. He picked up the receiver again.

“What is it?”

“Washington, D.C. calling,” the operator said “A Mister Grover Leighton. Shall I put him through?”

“Yes.”

Grover’s sunshiny, glad-handing Pennsylvania voice came on. “Casper. How are you?”

“Fine. Just resting. It’s all I can do at the moment.”

“That’s the thing to do. Just keep it up. We’ve all been worried about you.”

“Nothing to worry about. You can’t hurt an old dog like me.” Casper’s voice had taken on a subtle obsequious quality.

“That’s what I told them,” Grover said cheerfully. “And don’t you worry, either. We’ll come through again soon with the same score.”

“Oh, I’m not worrying about that,” Casper said. “But some of the city brass here have been making it a little rough.”

“For you?” Grover sounded slightly shocked. “Why so?”

“They’re trying to figure out how the hoods got the tipoff,” Casper said. “And the chief inspector claims that you told him that you had told me sometime early last week that you were stopping by last night with the payroll.”

There was a pause as though Grover was trying to remember. “Well, I guess I did tell him something like that,” he said finally. “But I thought I told you about it Wednesday, or was it Thursday, when we talked on the phone about the precinct units.”

“Listen, Grover, I want you to think, try to remember. Because I’m sure you didn’t tell me then. You might forget a thing like that, but I wouldn’t. All I’ve got to think of is my little group in Harlem, while you’ve got the whole country on your mind. And I’m sure I wouldn’t have forgotten your telling me that, because that’s what starts the cart to rolling.”

“Maybe you’re right,” Grover conceded. “It was in my mind to tell you, but it must have slipped. But that’s not important, is it?”

“Not to you and me; but the brass here are insinuating that the leak came from me.”

“My God!” Grover sounded really shocked. “They must be crazy. They’re not trying to push you around, are they?”

“Naw, it’s not that. But I don’t like all the innuendo, especially at the beginning of a campaign.”

“You’re right. I’ll telephone the chief inspector and put an end to that. And when they’re arrested we’ll find out where they got their information. But I telephoned you about another matter. I have asked the Pinkerton Agency in New York to keep an eye on you; we don’t want a duplication of this business, and we certainly don’t want anything to happen to you. And they are involved now also, since they lost one of their men.”

“You know I’ll co-operate, Grover. Be glad to. It’s as much to my interest as to anyone’s.”

“That’s what I told them. I asked them to arrange for an ambulance with a guard to take you home when you leave there-unless, of course, you have arranged something else.”

“Naw, I haven’t made any arrangements,” Casper said. “That suits me fine. One of the men phoned from the agency, said you had spoken to them. I told him I’d let him know in advance when I planned to leave.”

“Well, then, it’s all settled.” Grover sounded relieved. “Take care of yourself, Casper. We don’t want anything to happen to you. The Harlem vote is going to be mighty important in this coming election. It might mean the balance that will swing the whole state of New York in our favor.”

“I’m going to take damn good care of myself from now on,” Casper said.

Grover laughed. “Good fellow! Let us know if there is anything we can do for you.”

“Nothing at the moment, Grover. Thanks for everything.”

“Don’t mention it. We’ll be thanking you before it’s done with.”

When they had hung up, Casper lit his cigar and sat smoking it slowly, looking thoughtful.

“It’s in the fire now,” he said to no one, and picked up the receiver again.

“Give me a line, honey,” he said.

He dialed a downtown number.

“Now who can this be?” a voice of indeterminate gender asked with an affected lisp.

“Let me speak to Johnny.”

“Oh, and not with me?”

Casper didn’t answer.

“And who shall I tell him is calling, dear?”

“None of your God-damned business.”

“Oh! You’re rude!”

He heard the receiver dropped on a table-top. After what seemed to him much longer than was necessary, a pleasant male tenor voice said, “Hello, Casper, it couldn’t be anybody but you who’d be so unkind to Zog.”

“I’m going home around eight o’clock,” Casper said “I want you to come up later.”

“I knew they couldn’t hurt you,” Johnny said, and then “How much later?”

“Around ten o’clock. Use your own key and come on in.”

“Will do,” Johnny said.

When Johnny had hung up, Casper jiggled the hook and asked the operator to have the supervising nurse come up to his room.