Anything But Saintly

Chapter 11

I wondered why Jake Stark would take such a risk when he must have known Little Artie’s reaction would be violent if he ever discovered his right-hand man was deliberately undermining his operation. Then I realized he was in a unique position to get away with it. He would know of any complaints about the girls as soon as Artie received them, because he was constantly with the little man. He was in a position to soothe Artie’s wrath, and even physically restrain him from harming the girls, ostensibly for Artie’s own good. And undoubtedly, he had issued the girls strict instructions never to mention his name to Artie — no matter what happened.

Suddenly another thought occurred to me. Jake had been present when I told Artie about Kitty rolling her out-of-town client. Up to then it was probable that the only information reaching Artie about the rollings had been when Nick Bartkowiak approached him concerning the rumors he had heard. Those must have been vague rumors which didn’t identify by name any of the girls involved, or Artie certainly would have stepped on the actual offenders instead of merely issuing a general warning to all his girls. It was probable that mine was the first definite complaint to reach him about a specific girl.

Jake Stark might have been afraid that Kitty would tell Artie who encouraged her to roll clients. And he might have taken action to shut her up before Artie got to her.

While I was thinking these thoughts, Doll and Jolly were still discussing the murder. But the subject had veered to Doll’s discovery of it and her horrified reaction. There didn’t seem to be any more pertinent information we could get from her. Finishing my drink, I suggested to Jolly that we leave. At the door I said, “Nice to have met you, Doll. Thanks for the drink.”

“Any time,” she said. “Drop in again.”

The words were merely polite, but she looked directly into my face as she spoke and there was a subdued challenge in her eyes. Jolly noticed that the invitation was addressed to me only. But her expression was only amused instead of irked. Probably she would have bridled in feminine resentment if I had actually been her boy friend. But it only tickled her sense of humor to hear Doll wasting the oblique invitation on a cop.

I said vaguely, “Sure, Doll. Maybe I will.”

As we went down the stairs, Jolly threw a speculative look back over her shoulder at me.

“Have fun?” I growled.

“Well, it was effective, wasn’t it? She opened right up.”

We reached the lobby and she waited for me to open the door. I said, “Just a minute,” and walked back beneath the stairway.

There was a door to the basement well out of sight of the front door. As Doll had suggested, the killer could easily have ducked out of sight there until she left the building.

When I returned to where Jolly was standing, she still had an amused grin on her face. Pulling open the door, I said, “Maybe you won’t think it’s so funny when you get the bill from Swartz.”

She gave me a quick glance. “I don’t have any account there.”

“I’ll open one for you. I have a witness to your offer to buy me a couple of suits.”

With a shrug she preceded me through the door. I let it swing shut behind me and caught up with her in time to hold open the car door for her.

When I rounded the car and climbed in behind the wheel, she said, “You certainly treat me like a lady.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” I asked. “Where do you live?”

She gave me an uptown address not far from my own flat. I started the car and we drove along in silence for a time.

Finally she said, “Would you really like some clothes from Swartz, Matt?”

I threw her a disgusted look. “For cripes sake, Jolly, don’t try to make a real pimp out of me.”

She grinned at me. “Just trying to get under your skin, darling.”

“You’ve succeeded,” I said shortly.

Her grin faded. “Don’t be mad at me, Matt. Haven’t I been helpful?”

“Yeah,” I had to admit.

“You know, in a way I’m glad you turned out to be a cop. Or at least I’m glad you aren’t a John. We’d be out of business if it weren’t for Johns, but a girl can’t build much respect for a man who has to buy his women.”

There didn’t seem to be any appropriate answer to that, so I just let it ride. When we reached her address, I cut the engine, went around to the curb side and held open the door for her. She sat still until I got it open, obviously enjoying the unfamiliar sensation of being treated like a lady.

She lived in an apartment building of about the same class as Doll’s, only larger. I walked her as far as the foyer.

“I’m on the second floor,” she said. “Like to come up for a drink?”

“Not tonight,” I said. “I still have things to do. If you hear any more about Kitty’s murder, will you phone me at the Vice, Gambling and Narcotics Division?”

“All right. If I don’t phone, will I ever see you again?” She looked at me wistfully.

“I might give you a ring. Are you listed?”

“No.” She took a small white card from her bag and handed it to me. “My phone number’s on that.”

I put it in my pocket. “What’s your last name?” I inquired, suddenly realizing I didn’t know it.

“O’Day. Susan O’Day. Jolly is just the name I use for business purposes.”

“Okay, Susan. Thanks for your help.”

“You’re welcome, Matt.” Looking at me, she asked, “Going to kiss me good night?”

“Sure,” I said, tipping up her chin with a forefinger and bending my head.

She gave me a quick, cool kiss on the lips, then instantly turned and ran up the steps without looking back.

It didn’t occur to me until I was back in the car and had driven away that she would probably spend the next hour phoning girls to warn them that the heat was on, and not to accept any dates from clients they hadn’t been with before. Momentarily I thought of turning back to nip this in the bud, then I decided the hell with it. The girls weren’t important anyway. What really counted was the ringleader, and we couldn’t touch Little Artie.

At least we couldn’t touch him on a procuring rap. Maybe I could tag him with a more serious charge which would put him away for good.

It was only eleven P.M. when I dropped Jolly off. I decided to drive down to Little Artie’s tavern and see if I could get a few words alone with Jake Stark.

I parked in front of the place just as two men stepped from the tavern. One was a short, dumpy man of fifty with a cranky expression on his face. The other was a tall, unnaturally thin, sad-looking redhead over six feet tall.

Getting out of the car, I said, “Evening, Lieutenant. Hi, Hank.”

Lieutenant Robert Wynn said sourly, “Hello, Rudd.”

Hank Carter merely said, “Hi.” He was always monosyllabic around Wynn.

Wynn looked me up and down. “You certainly pitched us a curve on the Desmond case, Sergeant. Nowak’s day bartender says Little Artie never once stepped outside the tavern since it opened at nine this morning.”

“Jake Stark?” I asked.

“That’s the guy.”

“Jake is Little Artie’s hatchet-man. You can take that alibi with a grain of salt.”

The lieutenant snapped, “It would stand up in court unless we produced a counter witness placing Artie at the scene of the crime. Nowak is sore about us questioning him. He’ll probably complain to Nick Bartkowiak and Bartkowiak will complain to the commissioner. You got any more bright ideas?”

I thought about telling him that I had learned Little Artie wasn’t responsible for the rolling racket and had warned his girls against it. Then I decided he would only demand to know where I had gotten my information, and I couldn’t tell him without violating my promise to Jolly.

I said, “I’m not paid to have ideas about homicides, Lieutenant, I’m a vice cop.”

“Thank God for that. What are you doing down here?”

“Working.”

“On what?”

I didn’t exactly dislike Wynn, but he wasn’t my favorite lieutenant. He was a little brass-happy, tending to act as though he were the army officer and the police sergeants and below were the enlisted men. Wynn and Hank Carter had been a team for years, but the lieutenant never called his partner anything but Sergeant or Carter, and Hank always called Wynn either Lieutenant or Sir.

I said, “When you get transferred to Vice, Gambling and Narcotics, I’ll tell you about all my cases, Lieutenant.”

His face reddened. “Come on,” he said to Carter, and abruptly walked away.

Hank Carter flashed me an apologetic smile and trailed after his sour-tempered partner. They climbed into an F car parked at the curb.