Anything But Saintly

Chapter 5

The captain was still a bit piqued that Bartkowiak had chosen to confide in a mere sergeant instead of in him, but he tried not to show it. With exaggerated politeness he asked both of us to have seats.

When we were seated, I said, “Nick just gave me the go-ahead to move in on Little Artie Nowak’s call-girl operation.”

Spangler looked startled. “You sure you heard him right?”

“He has reasons,” I said. “I’m not supposed to tell you the whole background, but I take orders from you, not Nick Bartkowiak.”

Whereupon I repeated my conversation with the politician word-for-word and added my theory as to his motive.

When I finished, Captain Spangler was frowning and Carl Lincoln looked incredulous.

“Who the hell does this cheap hood think he is?” Carl inquired. “Does he think he can walk in here and use the police department to straighten out his hired help?”

“He knows he can,” I informed him. “A word from Nick and the police commissioner could put us all back in harness.”

Captain Spangler’s frown deepened. He didn’t like the situation any better than Carl or I did, but he wasn’t constituted to fight City Hall. He also disliked having it baldly brought out in the open that the department was subject to political pressure. Although he was about as wily a back-rubber as there was on the force, he preferred to pretend that no one ever received preferential treatment from the police for political reasons.

He said somewhat defensively, “Of course it isn’t as though Mr. Bartkowiak is asking us to do anything illegal. He’s merely requesting us to enforce the law, which is any citizen’s privilege.”

“Enforce it within limits,” Carl said. “Arrest the girls, but let Little Artie alone.”

“That’s more than we’ve been able to do up to now,” the captain said reasonably. “Why look a gift horse in the mouth?”

Carl said, “I vote that we forget the whole thing.”

Spangler examined him sourly. I could almost see his mental processes working. In principle he agreed with Carl, but he was forming a mental image of Nick Bartkowiak phoning his political crony, Commissioner Baldy Mason, to complain about the efficiency of the Vice Squad in following up complaints.

He said dryly, “Fortunately this division doesn’t operate on a democratic basis, Corporal Lincoln, so your vote doesn’t count.” His tone became decisive. “Both of you had better shift to night duty and nail as many of these girls as you can before Bartkowiak suggests we stop.”

Carl grunted and rose to his feet. I got up too. The captain examined our faces.

“It is your job to arrest prostitutes,” he said.

I didn’t say anything. I just walked out of the office. Carl trailed behind me.

Outside in the squadroom Carl said disgustedly, “Why do we put up with this crap, Matt? Why don’t we quit and move to some town where cops are allowed to be cops?”

“You couldn’t breath air without soot in it,” I told him. “If we’re going to have to work tonight, let’s log out and take the rest of the day off.”

We logged out at two P.M. We were moving toward the door when the phone rang. I turned back to get it.

“Vice, Gambling and Narcotics,” I said. “Sergeant Rudd.”

“Hi, Sergeant,” a slightly thick voice said in my ear. “I just found a note here to phone you.”

“Mr. Warner?”

“That’s right. Sorry I didn’t call sooner, but I just got your message from the desk. We were having an after-luncheon party in the cocktail lounge.” He emitted a little giggle.

I said, “We got your money back, Mr. Warner.”

“You did?” he said in a surprised voice.

“Uh-huh. You going to be around for a while?”

He was silent for a moment. Then he said, “How’d you get it back?”

“We traced the girl through the bellhop. How long will you be there?” There was another period of silence. Finally I said, “You still on the line, Mr. Warner?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I was just thinking. I’m due in a meeting right now. I’ll be tied up right to six o’clock, then we have a dinner at seven. You want me to run over there between six and seven?”

“I won’t be here,” I told him. “I’ll drop by the hotel about six-thirty.”

“Fine, Sergeant. I’ll meet you in the bar.”

Carl was waiting for me at the door. He said, “Warner?”

“Uh-huh. He’ll be in the Leland bar at six-thirty. You may as well meet me there too, and we’ll have dinner somewhere before we start to work. You got a better suit than the one you’re wearing?”

“What’s wrong with this one?” he asked in an offended tone.

“For one thing, you must have been using it for pajamas. You look like you’re on relief. You’re supposed to look like you can afford fifty-dollar call girls. A girl would spot you as a cop the minute she looked at you.”

“In this town a cop’s salary is the next thing to being on relief,” he said. “I’ll get a press job if you’re ashamed of me.”

I didn’t have Carl’s clothes problem. The forty-nine-fifty suit I routinely wear to work isn’t any dressier than his, but I have a reserve wardrobe for special occasions. I acquired it at the time I was working the undercover job at the Leland, though not at city expense. A private citizen, who was sore at the marijuana set for involving his daughter, had footed the bill as a bonus for getting her off the hook. So when necessary I can dress quite respectably.

At six-thirty P.M. I walked into the Leland all dressed up in a two-hundred-dollar suit. I found Carl already waiting for me in the lobby. He wore the same suit he had that afternoon, but it was freshly pressed and his shoes were shined. With his long, knobby build, he looked like his namesake Abe Lincoln, all dressed up to attend a square dance.

He flushed slightly when I looked him up and down. “Do I meet your excellency’s approval?” he growled.

“You’ll never pass as a business executive,” I told him. “Better pose as a rich eccentric.”

He made an unflattering noise.

We found Harold Warner in the bar with some fellow convention delegates having a cocktail before the scheduled dinner meeting he had mentioned. Calling him aside, I gave him the five hundred.

“I certainly appreciate this,” he said. “How’d you ever manage it?” Apparently he had sobered up during the afternoon, for his tongue was no longer thick.

I said, “I told you over the phone.”

“Oh yeah.” His voice became a little apologetic. “I was kind of stoned this afternoon. Something about the bellhop, wasn’t it?”

“Uh-huh.”

“The girl give you any trouble?”

I shook my head. I didn’t see any point in telling him we had never even seen the girl, but had recovered the money from her procurer. That would have sounded as though the police had some kind of business arrangement with the procurer. “She was happy to avoid a prostitution rap. We couldn’t have charged her anyway, of course, without your signature on the complaint, but she didn’t know you wouldn’t sign.”

He laughed a trifle self-consciously. “I must say your department goes all out to make a good impression on visitors. You’ve made a fine one on me. May I buy you and your partner a drink?”

Before I could answer, Carl said in a sour tone, “We’re in a hurry.”

Warner gave him a brief glance suggesting he still didn’t like him. He said to me, “Can I offer you a reward, then?”

“Just tell your friends in Houston what a nice town we have,” I said. “That’s reward enough. I would like a receipt for that money, though.”

He looked surprised, but he didn’t question the request. Taking a pen and a small notebook from his pocket, he jotted down the date, then wrote: “Received from Sergeant Rudd recovered stolen property in the amount of five hundred dollars ($500.00) in cash. Harold Warner.”

Tearing out the sheet, he handed it to me. “Okay, Sergeant?”

“Just fine.” I stuffed it into my pocket. “Good-by, Mr. Warner.”

As Carl and I walked back through the lobby, he said in a mimicking voice, “Just tell your friends what a nice town we have. You dumb Polack. We might have split a fifty-dollar bill.”

“That would put me in a higher income-tax bracket,” I told him. “You bring your car?”

“Uh-huh. It’s on the hotel lot.”

“So’s mine. You can follow me. We’ll need both cars, because we’re going to work separately.”

“Lead on,” Carl said, “and head for the nearest restaurant. I’m getting hungry.”