Anything But Saintly

Chapter 26

The street in front of Little Artie’s tavern was packed with vehicles. In addition to a number of squad cars and felony cars, there was an ambulance, a fire emergency truck and a hook-and-ladder. Why the last, I don’t know, but one always seems to show at a shoot-out. Somebody must call for it, or it wouldn’t be there. Maybe the theory is that it may come in handy in getting cops to a roof, but I have yet to see a hook-and-ladder perform any function at the scene when some nut has holed himself up and is shooting at cops.

Police had roped off both ends of the street to hold back spectators. I left my car, showed my badge to a uniformed cop and ducked under the rope.

There was no areaway either side of the building housing Little Artie’s tavern. The buildings all ran together, forming a solid front. Consequently Artie, in the flat over the tavern, could cover only the area directly in front of him, unless he made a target of himself by leaning out of a window. A few cops were crouched behind vehicles in his range of view, but most were in doorways or pressed against the front of buildings either side of the tavern.

Oddly, no firing was going on either from the police or from the windows of the flat.

I worked my way up to the center of activity, keeping well in toward the store fronts. Just this side of the tavern, I found Lieutenant Harry Anderson and Sergeant Max Cole in the recessed doorway of a clothing shop. I slipped into the doorway too.

Harry Anderson said, “Hi, Matt,” and Max Cole merely nodded.

“What’s the situation?” I asked.

Anderson said, “We’ve got the back covered as heavily as out here. And we’ve got a man in the tavern. But the only entrance to the flat is a street door, and it’s locked and bolted. We can’t get a battering ram to it because Artie can see the door from his windows.”

“Weren’t a couple of cops inside once, when they tried to arrest him?”

Anderson shook his head. “The door was bolted then. The action started when they pounded on it. Artie opened up from one of the upstairs windows and got one in the leg. We’ve been trying to talk him out, but he isn’t having any.”

“Who’s been doing the talking?”

“Captain Ward. He’s in a doorway the other side of the tavern with a power megaphone. He hasn’t been getting any answers, unless you call an occasional pot at some cop who shows his head an answer.”

I asked, “How’s Artie armed?”

“So far he hasn’t used anything but a pistol, but there’s no telling what he has up there.”

There was the crack of a pistol shot from above, then the whang of a slug grazing the fender of one of the squad cars across the street and skipping off again. I glanced that way in time to see a visored blue cap hurriedly duck out of sight.

A volley of fire from pistols, carbines and one sub-machine-gun answered the single shot. Bits of glass from the upstairs windows tinkled downward. Then there was silence again.

“What’s the plan?” I asked.

“Captain Ward just ordered tear gas. The guy with the launcher should be working his way into position behind the cars across the street any minute now.”

“I know Artie pretty well,” I said. “Maybe he’d listen to me.”

“Want to try the megaphone?”

“I’ve got a better idea. There must be a phone in the flat.”

Anderson stared at me. “You want to phone him?”

“Why not? If he answers the phone, at least I can get him to listen.”

The lieutenant pursed his lips. “Might be worth a try.” Raising his voice, he called, “Hey, Captain.”

“Yeah?” the voice of the head of the Homicide Division called back from beyond the tavern.

“I’ve got Matt Rudd over here. He knows Nowak personally and wants to try phoning him. Want to hold off on the tear gas long enough to give it a try?”

After a moment of silence, the captain said, “I suppose another five minutes wouldn’t hurt.” Then we could hear him talking in a lower voice, but couldn’t make out the words. I assumed he was speaking into a walkie-talkie, issuing instructions to hold the tear gas until further orders.

“There’s your go-ahead,” Anderson said to me. “Now all you need is a phone.”

“The tavern’s the nearest,” I said.

Sticking my head cautiously out of the doorway, I looked upward. There were three front windows to the upstairs flat, all open a few inches from the bottom. They might as well have been wide open, for only a few shards of glass remained in any.

Slipping out of the doorway, I scooted the few yards to the recessed entrance to the tavern. There was no reaction from above. Either Artie hadn’t seen the maneuver, or I had moved too fast for him to get in a shot.

Dinny O’Toole was still behind the bar and a uniformed officer was looking out the front window. I didn’t recognize the officer, but he seemed to know me, because he said, “Hi, Sarge. Little hot out there, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” I said. I went over to the bar. “Give me your bar phone, Dinny.”

The old man was taking all the excitement calmly enough. The sparkle in his eyes suggested he was enjoying it.

“Sure,” he said cheerfully, lifting the phone from the back bar and stretching the cord to set it in front of me.

“Know Artie’s number upstairs?”

“Nope.” He heaved the phone book off the back bar and dropped it in front of me.

I found the number and dialed. It rang for so long, I was on the verge of giving up when the ringing suddenly stopped. There was silence on the other end.

“Artie?” I said. “This is Matt Rudowski.”

The silence continued for several seconds. Then a thick voice said, “What the hell you want?”

“What’s the matter with your voice?” I asked. “You been hit?”

There was a slurred chuckle. “Those guys out there can’t even hit the building half the time. I’m drunker’n a skunk is what’sa matter with my voice, Mattie boy. Been drunker’n a skunk all day.”

His irrational behavior suddenly became understandable, in view of what Dinny had said about his drinking habits. I said, “Thought you never drank anything but coffee.”

“Only when I get a real jolt, Mattie boy. Stuff drives me nuts. Guess I really blew it this time, huh?”

“You haven’t been behaving very normally,” I understated.

“Sonovabitch Nick stabbed me in the back. Your best friend stabs you inna back, whataya gonna do? Have a few jolts is whataya gonna do. Only that makes you mad ‘stead of settling your nerves. Guess I really fixed the sonovabitch, didn’t I?”

“I guess you did, Artie. Now how about calming down instead of making things worse? Why don’t you give it up?”

He emitted a drunken chuckle. “You stupid enough to try to reason with a drunk?”

“What do you hope to accomplish by holding out, Artie? It’s only a matter of time before they take you.”

“What’ll I ‘complish by giving up?” he countered. “They’ll give me the ‘lectric chair.”

“You’ll get a fair trial, and you’ve got money enough to hire top attorneys. But no lawyer can defend you against bullets.”

There was a dull, popping explosion from outside, the tinkle of glass from above, then three more popping explosions from outdoors.

“You sonovabitch,” Artie yelled thickly. “You kept me onna phone while they pumped in tear gas shells!”

There was a click and the line went dead.

Slamming down the phone, I strode to the front door and glared outside. A uniformed cop with a tear gas launcher was just pulling back behind the protection of a squad car. Another was draped across the hood of a second car, directing a sub-machine gun at the flat’s windows.

A series of rapid pistol shots sounded from above. Then the machine gun chattered.

Artie must have rushed to one of the windows and stood erect in full view when he fired off those last wild shots, for he pitched forward right through it. His body dropped right in front of me, hitting the sidewalk with a sickening crunch.

I went outside and looked down at all that was left of Little Artie Nowak. Cops began to close in from all sides. The thick figure of Captain Tom Ward was in the foreground.

In my anger I was on the verge of blasting out a superior officer for jumping the gun and not giving me a full chance to talk Artie out alive. Then I decided there was no use in sounding off. Artie would be just as dead, and I’d only get myself in trouble.

I didn’t even speak to Captain Ward. I stalked off up the street, ducked under the rope and climbed into my car.