Anything But Saintly

Chapter 17

It was twenty-eight minutes after two when I arrived at Little Artie Nowak’s tavern for the second time that night. Even though it was only two minutes until closing time, the customers hadn’t lessened in number nor the noise in volume. The jukebox still blared and conversations were being shouted above it.

This time Jake Stark was nowhere in sight, but Little Artie stood at the end of the bar in the same spot Jake had occupied earlier. That meant that Jake must be downstairs dragging the poker game, as Artie wasn’t likely to leave it unsupervised. The same dumpy brunette who had been talking to Jake was now coyly looking into Artie’s face.

As I wormed my way through the mob toward Artie, I noted that old Dinny still sat at his corner table. He made a cordial gesture for me to join him. Shaking my head, I kept on going.

Little Artie gave me a cold look when I stopped beside him. But there was no sign of surprise on his face, which momentarily threw me for a loss. I had expected him to react as though he were seeing a ghost.

The dumpy brunette said, “The cop with the big brown eyes again. Jake wouldn’t introduce me. Will you, Artie?”

Both Artie and I ignored her. He merely continued to examine me coldly and I stared back with equal coldness.

“Let’s take a walk,” I shouted above the bedlam, jerking a thumb in the direction of the kitchen.

Turning, he swaggered toward the kitchen door, looking for all the world like a strutting bantam rooster. An aisle miraculously opened before him as customers melted to either side. For all his littleness, Artie Nowak drew a lot of respect on his home grounds.

Following behind him, I caught the swinging door in time to prevent it from breaking my nose, pushed on through and let it swing shut again. In here you could still hear the noise from the barroom, but at least it was muted.

Artie leaned against a table and looked at me. “Well, Rudowski?”

His tone suggested he wasn’t pleased with me. Usually he called me Matt. I thought it was a little unreasonable for him to be angry because I wasn’t dead. Walking over to within inches of him, I glowered downward.

“The only reason you’re not flat on your back, Nowak, is I bate to hit pipsqueaks I outweigh by eighty pounds.”

He looked surprised, but not the least frightened. “Try your luck and see who ends on the floor,” he suggested.

I was tempted to, but I controlled the urge. There’s a rule against cops hitting suspects except in self-defense or in overcoming resistence to arrest. “Maybe you’ll resist arrest,” I said hopefully.

His eyes narrowed. “Come again?”

“You’re under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder,” I said.

He looked up at me indignantly. “First you sick those homicide dicks on me, now you’ve got the crust to accuse me yourself. You’ll never pin Kitty’s kill on me, copper. All you’ll do is get yourself back on a beat.”

I bent to put my nose an inch from his. “I’m not talking about Kitty, little man. I’m talking about the two goons you sicked on me. You should have picked more efficient killers. They’re both dead and you’re on your way to the clink.”

He stared up at me, his eyes now reduced to slits. “Maybe you’d better tell me what you’re talking about. We seem to be on two different subjects.”

He sounded as though he really didn’t know what I meant. As a matter of fact, his reactions ever since I had entered the place had been puzzling me because they weren’t those of a guilty man. Straightening up, I examined him contemplatively; doubt was beginning to erode my nice simple theory that Artie was behind the assault on me.

I said, “Maybe we’d both better simmer down long enough to get on the same subject. I’m accusing you of hiring Ray Zek and Whisky Joe Glapa to burn me tonight.”

His face registered absolute astonishment. “You must be off your rocker. Why the hell would I do a thing like that? I’ve got a beef against you, but it isn’t that serious.”

“What beef have you got against me?”

He made an impatient gesture. “I just told you. You sicked those homicide dicks on me. They wanted to know if I’d strangled Kitty for rolling a John. That tip couldn’t have come from anybody but you. I figured you must be tired of being a sergeant.”

I had been getting myself in the mood to discuss things intelligently, but this crack started to make me mad again. I gave him a bleak smile. “Your political influence couldn’t even get me called on the carpet when a murder is involved, Nowak. You know the brass in this town draws the line at murder. Nick Bartkowiak would throw you to the wolves so fast, your head would still be spinning when they strapped you in the chair.”

He glared at me. “Want to test my political influence?”

“Suit yourself,” I said with a shrug. “Of course, if you backed me into a corner, I’d do my damnedest to tag you for the kill whether you pulled it or not. I’d have to in self-defense. I think the brass would listen when I told them that a while back you warned all your girls you’d beat hell out of any of them you caught rolling a client.”

His face grew still. “Who told you that?”

“Never mind. I can prove it on the stand if I have to. Still want to flex your political muscles?”

After staring at me for a moment, he said, “This is a silly argument. Let’s get back to your beef. What makes you think I sent Zek and Glapa after you?”

“Oh, you know them?”

“Sure I know them. I’ve used them for a little strong-arm stuff on occasion. So have a half dozen other guys in town. But I sure as hell didn’t sick them on you tonight. Why should I?”

I said, “So you wouldn’t have to sweat out tomorrow night’s deadline.”

He looked genuinely puzzled. “What deadline?”

“Didn’t Jake tell you about our conversation earlier?”

He gave his head a slow shake. “He never even mentioned talking to you. When was this?”

He wasn’t acting. I was sure of that. There wouldn’t be any point in his pretending not to know what I was talking about, because I could blow apart the pretense simply by dragging Jake into the conference.

“Jake downstairs?” I asked.

Pursing his lips, he examined me doubtfully.

I said, “If you’re worried about admitting your basement poker game to a cop, forget it. I’ve got more important things on my mind. Get him up here.”

He stared at me in silence for a time more, then walked to the swinging door leading to the barroom and opened it. Above the hubbub he yelled, “Hey, Hank!”

Down in this area when Artie Nowak raised his voice, people listened. There was instant silence in the barroom.

“Yeah?” the bartender said.

“You announce last call?”

“Sure. Five minutes ago.”

“Then clear the house and come back here.”

Artie let the door swing shut again. Going to a cupboard, he took out a cup, crossed to the stove and poured from a simmering pot of coffee.

“Coffee?” he inquired.

I shook my head.

He carried the cup to the table, added sugar and cream and stirred. The door from the barroom opened and the aproned night barkeep came in.

“You couldn’t have gotten them out that fast,” Artie said.

“They’re leaving. I told Dinny to leave last and pull the door shut behind him. I set the spring lock and I’ll bolt it later.”

“Okay,” Artie said. “I’ll take care of closing up. Get down cellar and take over dragging the game. I want Jake up here.”

The bartender looked surprised, but he didn’t make any objection. Stripping off his apron, he hung it on a hook, opened the basement door and disappeared downstairs.

A few moments later the basement door reopened, bull-necked Jake Stark stepped out and closed it behind him. He glanced at his employer, then looked at me and did a double take. Slowly his face drained of color.

“Surprised?” I inquired.

Licking his lips, Jake flicked his gaze to his employer, then back to me. He didn’t say anything.

“You wait long at Cybulski’s Tavern?” I asked.

He still didn’t say anything.

Jake Stark was big enough so that it wouldn’t hurt my conscience to push him around. Walking over to him, I gathered a handful of shirt front and slammed his back against the basement door.

“You punk,” I growled at him. “Come up with a fast explanation of why you set me up for a kill.”

“A kill?” he squeaked. “All I did was phone you. I didn’t know it was going to be a kill.”

“You instructed them to be gentle, I suppose.”

“I didn’t instruct nobody to do nothing, Sarge. All I was doing was following...” He came to an abrupt halt and threw a quick sidelong look at Little Artie. Then he continued lamely. “I mean I didn’t know what they was going to do.”

Artie said in an unnaturally quiet voice, “Turn him loose, Matt. I’m as interested in answers as you are, but I think I can get them faster.”

All of a sudden we were back on a first-name basis, I noted. Glancing at the little man, I saw that there was no belligerence in his expression. As a matter of fact, he wasn’t even looking at me. His gaze was fixed on his assistant. Obviously he hadn’t meant his words as an order to turn Stark loose. It was a request.

I decided he probably could get faster answers from Stark. Releasing my grip on the man’s shirt front, I stepped back.