Anything But Saintly

Chapter 2

The Leland is St. Cecilia’s top hotel. On a cop’s salary you don’t get into such places often, but the previous fall I had spent a week there at city expense on an undercover assignment, so I knew the place fairly well. The day bell captain, whose name was Ernie, remembered me.

“How are you, Mr. Rudd?” he said politely when we stopped at his desk. “Nice to see you back.”

My former tenancy at the hotel had been merely part of a front I was putting on to impress a female member of the marijuana set, and hadn’t involved the hotel itself. Apparently the employees were still under the impression that I was a New York playboy. I disillusioned Ernie by showing him my badge.

“You’re a cop?” he said with his mouth open.

“Uh-huh. Like to look at your log for last night.”

“You are Mr. Rudd, aren’t you?” he asked, puzzled.

“Sergeant Rudd of the Vice Squad. I don’t feel like going into a lot of explanations, Ernie. Just get the log.”

Still looking amazed, he pushed a loose-leaf notebook toward me. “Be my guest, Sergeant.”

The pages of the loose-leaf notebook were divided into three columns. The first showed time of day, the second room number and the third the number assigned to the bellhop who had answered the call. The previous night’s log showed that bellhop number three had been sent to room 318 at 11:03 P.M.

“Who’s number three?” I asked.

Ernie wasn’t familiar with the night crew assignments and had to look it up in a card file. “Henry Poole,” he announced.

“Got his address on that card?”

“Sure,” he said with a grin. “The Hotel Leland, room 102.” He pointed. “Right down the hall.” Then his grin faded. “Is he in some kind of trouble the management ought to know about?”

I said, “If he is, we’ll let the management know. Don’t run to tell tales. Okay?”

He shrugged. “If that’s the way you want it.”

“That’s the way we want it,” I assured him.

As we started down the indicated hall, Carl said, “You’re a nicer guy than I am.”

“How you figure?”

“I wouldn’t worry about a bellhop who runs whores on the side being called on the carpet to explain why cops are looking him up. I’d figure that’s a hazard of his sideline.”

“I’m not any nicer than you are,” I said, “just smarter. I want something to hold over the bellhop’s head in case he doesn’t feel like talking. He probably wouldn’t give us the time of day if he thought he was going to lose his job anyway.”

We stopped in front of room 102 and I rapped on the door. A few moments passed before it was opened by a little guy with tousled red hair and a sleepy expression. He wore a robe over pajamas. I didn’t remember him, and if he remembered me, as a former guest of the hotel, it didn’t show in his expression.

“You Henry Poole?” I inquired.

“Uh-huh.” He rubbed his eyes. “You know it’s only ten A.M. and I work nights? You woke me up.”

This wasn’t literally true, because he was still only half awake. I showed him my badge, which woke him up the rest of the way. A wary expression came over his face.

“Want to invite us in?” I asked.

“Sure,” he said, hurriedly stepping back from the door.

We walked in and he shut the door behind us. Apparently the rooms along this hall were reserved for hotel employees, for this one wasn’t nearly as elaborate or big as the one I had occupied at city expense. It was clean enough, but it was about the size of a large closet and was furnished with nothing but a single bed, a wooden chair and a small dresser.

Henry Poole waved vaguely in the direction of the unmade bed and the chair next to it. “Sit down, officers.”

“We’ll stand,” I said. “According to the bell captain’s log, you took a call from room 318 just after eleven last night.”

Poole’s expression turned even more wary. “I might have. I don’t remember all the calls I take.”

“You remember this one,” I assured him. “The guy wanted a woman. You sent him one named Kitty.”

A patently phony look of amazement crossed his face. “Me? The Leland don’t allow that kind of stuff.”

I said in a bored tone, “We know they don’t allow it. We also know you’re out of a job if they find out.”

He ran his fingers through his tousled red hair. In a rueful voice he said, “Maybe I’m already out of a job. You get my name from Ernie, the bell captain?”

“Uh-huh.”

“You might as well have gone to the manager. Ernie will be in his office now, passing the word that a couple of cops are in my room. I’ll be in the front office trying to explain it as soon as you leave.”

I shook my head. “Ernie’s been instructed to keep his mouth shut.”

“Yeah?” he said with raised brows. “That was nice of you.”

“No, it wasn’t,” I told him. “We weren’t trying to be nice. We just wanted a weapon to hold over your head. We’re not going to fool around with you, Poole. Give us a hard time and we’ll get you fired by reporting to the manager that you’re procuring on the side. Co-operate and we won’t have to talk to him. Provided you weren’t an accessory.”

“Accessory to what?”

“This Kitty rolled her client for five hundred clams.”

His eyes widened. “Why the dirty little... Listen, officer, you don’t think I’d set up a thing like that, do you?”

“You tell us.”

“I was just trying to do the guy a favor,” he said in an earnest voice. “I don’t even get a kickback for furnishing girls. It’s just a little extra service all us bellhops give male guests. Hell, the management knows we do it. As long as we handle things quiet, they look the other way. But if you turned me in, I’d get canned because they’re not about to admit to a cop they know what’s going on. How about a break?”

Carl said in a bored tone that matched mine, “Don’t try to con a couple of old pros, Poole. You get a commission on every girl you bring into the hotel. But we’re not after procurers today. We want Kitty. Come up with her last name and her address.”

He ran his fingers through his hair again. “I don’t know who they sent. I just phoned in the room number. I never even saw the girl.”

“Phoned in to who?” I asked.

He hesitated, then said reluctantly, “A guy named Artie Nowak.”

Carl and I looked at each other. If Little Artie Nowak had furnished the girl who rolled Harold Warner, it changed the whole complexion of the case — Artie was a little man with big political connections.

St. Cecilia’s police department isn’t graft-ridden, despite what the general public thinks. But it is subject to pretty heavy political influence, because the police board is politically appointed. In most areas of law enforcement the department functions honestly and efficiently. There aren’t any “protected” rackets in the sense that police officials receive pay-offs to let them alone, but there are certain rackets we overlook because of the political influence of the racketeers.

Little Artie Nowak’s call-girl operation was such a racket. The Vice Squad regularly arrested streetwalkers and raided independent cat houses, but we left Little Artie’s girls strictly alone. Pulling in one of them could get you demoted and transferred to a beat in the sticks.

The bellhop caught our exchange of glances and it gave him courage. He said, “I guess you know the name, huh?”

“We know it,” I said.

“Then you know how much pull he’s got. Little Artie don’t like his boys pushed around.”

Carl said, “You’re not one of his boys. You’re just a two-bit punk with a phone number to call. He probably doesn’t even know you’re alive. How’d you like a bat between the horns?”

“I didn’t mean nothing,” Poole said hurriedly. “I’m co-operating, ain’t I?”

I said, “What do you know about this Kitty?”

“Nothing. I told you I never even saw her.”

“You must know the name. Don’t push your luck, Poole, or I’ll drag you right across the lobby in your pajamas to the manager’s office.”

“Honest,” he said earnestly. “I don’t know any of the girls either by name or sight. I just phone in the room numbers of guys who ask for women. I wouldn’t hold back on you.”

I looked at Carl and he shrugged. I said, “Anything else you want to ask him?”

Carl shook his head.

I pulled open the door, then turned back to the bellhop. “You want us to come back and see you again?”

He examined me dubiously, shook his head. “Not particularly.”

“Then I’ll give you a tip. Pick up a phone to let Little Artie know about our conversation, and we’ll be back for more conversation.”

“I’m not planning any phone calls,” he assured me.

“You’re brighter than I thought,” I said.

I continued on out of the room. Carl followed, pulling the door shut behind him.

Out in front of the hotel Carl settled his lanky frame behind the wheel of the car and asked, “What now?”

“Drive down to Little Artie’s place.”

Carl looked at me with raised brows. “You tired of being a sergeant?”

“I’ve been working under Captain Spangler for years,” I said. “Some of his tact has rubbed off. I’ll be so diplomatic, it will turn your stomach.”

With a shrug Carl shifted into drive and pulled away from the curb.