Bread

11

Ollie found Oscar Hemmings in the apartment he shared with Rosalie, supervising the repair of the broken door lock. The locksmith got very nervous when he saw the gun in Ollie’s hand. He dropped his screwdriver, and then immediately began packing his tools. Hemmings, in his shirt sleeves, the collar of the shirt open, the sleeves rolled up, the monogram O. H. over the breast pocket, very calmly asked Ollie what the trouble was.

“The trouble is murder,” Ollie said. “And arson.”

“I thought you’d already arrested Charlie Harrod’s killers.”

“That’s right,” Ollie said. “But let’s talk about it at the station house, okay? Some of your friends’ll be there, we’ll have a regular afternoon tea party.”

Hemmings shrugged, and Ollie followed him inside, gun leveled at him, while he rolled down his sleeves, buttoned his collar, and put on a tie and jacket. By the time they came out into the hallway again, the locksmith had disappeared.

“He didn’t fix the lock,” Hemmings said conversationally.

“You don’t have to worry,” Ollie said. “Where you’re going, they got plenty of locks.”

Ollie was playing it very big. They already had enough on Hemmings to charge him with Keeping a Disorderly House and possibly with Living on the Proceeds of Prostitution (though here he would most likely claim that even though he was living with a prostitute, he had other means of support — his interest in Diamondback Development, for example). But both these offenses were only misdemeanors, and the cops had decided before embarking on their roundup that they were going for broke. By the time Ollie arrested Hemmings, a peculiar internal metamorphosis had taken place; he had begun believing they already had enough on this whole phony bullshit Diamondback Development operation to charge its partners with arson and homicide.

Hawes fell victim to the same euphoric sense of certainty when he arrested Robinson Worthy. The telephone book listed Worthy’s address as 198 North 27th Street, and that was where he found him at ten minutes past 6:00. Worthy was shaving. He came to the door wearing trousers and an undershirt, his face covered with lather. Hawes was holding a gun in his hand. Worthy said, “What’s that for?”

“We want to ask you a few questions downtown,” Hawes said.

“You don’t need the gun,” Worthy said.

“I know I don’t. We’ve got enough without it.”

“Can I finish shaving?”

“Nope,” Hawes said. “Just wipe it off.”

By the time Roger Grimm arrived at the squadroom, Hawes and Ollie were both riding so high you would have thought the DA had already brought in multiple convictions. Grimm stopped at the slatted railing, looked into the room, saw the detectives sitting at a desk with Worthy and Hemmings, and said, “All right to come in?”

“Please do,” Hawes said. “Glad you could come over, Mr. Grimm.”

He went to the railing, opened the gate for Grimm, and led him in. Grimm had been called earlier and asked if he could come to the squadroom on a matter pertinent to his arson case. He had, of course, readily agreed to be there at the appointed hour. He did not yet know that he was suspected of some high-handed double-dealing with Chase. Had he known, he might have been as apprehensive as Worthy and Hemmings looked. The reason for their nervousness was quite simple. The totally unfounded and somewhat giddy confidence emanating from Ollie and Hawes had completely unsettled the Diamondback partners.

“Ollie,” Hawes said, “this is Mr. Roger Grimm, the man who had the fires.”

“How do you do?” Ollie said politely, and rose and took Grimm’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Grimm said, and smiled weakly. The confidence was beginning to affect him, too. It was as palpable as an electric current racing around the room. If you touched either of these two cops, you could be electrocuted on the spot.

“And these gentlemen are Mr. Robinson Worthy and Mr. Oscar Hemmings, partners in a venture known as Diamondback Development. Mr. Worthy, Mr. Hemmings, Mr. Grimm,” Hawes said, and smiled pleasantly.

The men looked at each other. Since Worthy and Hemmings were partners of Chase, and since Grimm was also a partner of Chase, it seemed obvious to the cops that the three of them had at least heard of each other. But it now also seemed apparent that this was the first time any of them had met face to face. The confrontation seemed to unsettle Worthy and Hemmings even further. Grimm looked a trifle uncertain as he said, “Pleased to meet you.” Worthy and Hemmings nodded, and Grimm’s uncertainty turned to wariness.

“Well, what do you think?” Ollie said. “Shall we start without Steve?”

They had already decided that the arrival of Chase would be their surprise card, revealed at the last moment, when the stakes were high and the pot was closed. Carella had told them he would be back at 7:00 sharp. They had asked Grimm to be at the squadroom at 6:45 and it was now 6:50 and the game of poker was about to begin. The interrogation that followed was a peculiar one. Ollie and Hawes played the game as if they were holding a pat royal flush, even though they still needed an essential card — Chase. Worthy and Hemmings, frightened by the wild assurance with which the cops were betting and raising, assumed that their own hands were terrible, whereas in fact they weren’t too bad at all. Grimm, sitting with a pair of deuces, watched the proceedings like an out-of-town hick who had been sucked into the game without realizing the stakes were high and the company fast. It was all very peculiar.

“Okay, Mr. Worthy,” Ollie said, “you want to tell us why you spent time with Frank Reardon?”

“I don’t know anyone named Frank Reardon,” Worthy said.

This was good for the cops. He was starting with a bluff.

“That’s not true,” Hawes said. “You visited Frank Reardon several times in the company of Charlie Harrod.”

“Who says so?”

“We have positive identifications from a woman named Barbara Loomis, who’s the super’s wife in Reardon’s building.”

“Well,” Worthy said, and shrugged.

“Were you there to see him, or weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was there. That doesn’t mean anything.”

“It means you went to visit a person who was employed as a watchman in Mr. Grimm’s warehouse,” Hawes said. “Isn’t that right, Mr. Grimm?”

“That’s right,” Grimm said. He looked puzzled, as though trying to determine whether or not his deuces were worth betting.

“Well, Frank Reardon was a friend of mine,” Worthy said.

“Did you know he worked for Mr. Grimm?”

“No.”

“I thought he was a friend of yours,” Ollie said.

“Yes, but I didn’t know where he was employed.”

“Do you know what Frank Reardon did on August seventh?”

“No,” Worthy said. “What did he do?”

“Do you know what he did, Mr. Hemmings?”

Hemmings lighted a cigarette before answering. Then he blew out a stream of smoke and said, “I don’t know Frank Reardon, and I’m sure no one can testify that I ever visited him.”

“That’s right,” Ollie said. “You’re absolutely right. No one ever saw you there. All we know is that Harrod, and Mr. Worthy here, went to see Frank Reardon. But neither of you know what Reardon did on August seventh, is that correct?”

“That’s correct,” Worthy said.

Hemmings nodded and drew in on his cigarette again.

“On that day,” Hawes said, “Frank Reardon put an unspecified amount of chloral hydrate into a bottle of whiskey.”

“He was paid five thousand bucks to do that,” Ollie said. “He was paid on August second.”

“He was later shot to death with a Smith and Wesson 9-mm Automatic owned by Charlie Harrod,” Hawes said.

“Is that true?” Grimm asked, surprised.

“Yes, that’s true,” Hawes said.

“Then you know who killed Frank?”

“Yes, Mr. Grimm, we know who killed him.” Hawes did not bother to explain that they only knew whose gun had killed him. This was no time for playing according to Hoyle, not when so many chips were on the table.

“Then you must also know...”

“Patience, Mr. Grimm, patience,” Hawes said.

“But why was he killed?” Grimm persisted. His deuces were beginning to look good again. He was even contemplating raising the pot a trifle.

“Because he knew exactly how your night watchmen were put out of action,” Hawes said.

“Isn’t that right, Mr. Worthy?” Ollie said.

Worthy did not answer. He had decided to stand pat with an eight-high diamond flush.

“Mr. Hemmings is beginning to feel neglected,” Hawes said.

“We’re coming to you, Mr. Hemmings,” Ollie said. “And your whorehouses. And your high-priced little bimbo, Rosalie Waggener. And her trip to Germany.”

“What trip to Germany?” Hemmings said, calling and raising. He had a full house, aces up, and he was betting the cops did not hold the case ace that would complete their royal flush.

“Oh, didn’t you know about that?” Ollie said. “Gee, didn’t she tell you about that? About her trip to Bremerhaven? About taking five hundred thousand dollars to Bremerhaven?”

Worthy and Hemmings had looked at their cards the moment Ollie had mentioned Bremerhaven, and immediately began studying the huge pile of chips, when they heard about the five hundred thousand dollars delivered there. Roger Grimm, on the other hand, had begun to go pale the moment he heard Rosalie Waggener’s name. He now looked positively ill. He was a man suddenly realizing that a pair of deuces wasn’t worth a rat’s ass in this kind of poker game. Hemmings was the first to regain his cool. His full house might still be good; recklessly, he raised again.

“Rosalie’s never been to Germany in her life,” Hemmings said.

“She went to Germany on July twenty-fifth,” Hawes said. “We’ve seen her passport, and she’s already told us where she went.”

“To where, did you say?”

“To Bremerhaven.”

“Why would Rosalie have gone to Bremerhaven?” Hemmings asked, raising again.

“To deliver that five hundred thousand to a man named Erhard Bachmann,” Hawes said.

“Know him, Mr. Grimm?” Ollie asked.

“Yes, I... yes. He’s my packer. He packs my... my wooden things.”

“How about you, Mr. Hemmings? Know anybody named Erhard Bachmann?”

“No,” Hemmings said.

“Mr. Worthy?”

“No.”

“Only one here who knows Bachmann seems to be you, Mr. Grimm. Do you also know Rosalie Waggener?”

“No,” Grimm said.

Ollie glanced at the clock. It was three minutes to 7:00.

“Why do you suppose she gave five hundred thousand to your packer?”

“I have no idea,” Grimm said.

“You didn’t send her to Germany, did you?”

“Me?” Grimm said. “Me?”

“Did you?”

“Of course not. I don’t even know her. How could I...?”

“Oh, that’s right,” Hawes said. “You couldn’t have sent her to Germany.”

“That’s right,” Grimm said.

“Because Alfie did.”

“Alfie?” Hemmings said, and leaned forward.

“Alfred Allen Chase,” Ollie said. “Your partner.”

“What!” Hemmings said.

“Shut up, Oscar,” Worthy said.

“Alfie gave the money to Rosalie,” Hawes said.

“To take to Bachmann,” Ollie said.

“You didn’t know that, huh, fellows?”

“No,” Worthy said.

“No,” Hemmings said.

“Did you know it, Mr. Grimm?”

“No,” Grimm said.

“But you do know Alfie Chase, don’t you?”

“How would I know Alfie Chase?”

“Maybe because you met him in prison,” Hawes said.

“In Castleview,” Ollie said.

“Maybe because you wrote to each other all the time.”

“Maybe because you worked out a little deal together.”

Worthy, Hemmings, and Grimm looked at each other again. Grimm was beginning to realize that his partner, Alfred Allen Chase, had undoubtedly known about the impending warehouse fire and had not warned him. Worthy and Hemmings were beginning to realize that their partner, Alfred Allen Chase, had been involved in a side deal with Grimm. The cops did not as yet know what that side deal was, but Hemmings and Worthy knew, and the knowledge wasn’t sitting too well with them, judging from the scowls on their faces. It was at this moment that Steve Carella walked into the squadroom with Chase himself. Chase took one look at his multiple assembled partners and seemed ready to bolt for the door.

“This won’t hurt but a minute,” Carella said behind him, and nudged him toward the desk.

“Everybody know everybody?” Ollie said. “Steve, this is Mr. Worthy and Mr. Hemmings, and I believe you know Mr. Grimm. Gentlemen, Detective Steve Carella. And, of course, you all know Alfie Chase because he’s your partner.”

“Everybody’s partner,” Hawes said.

“You son of a bitch!” Hemmings said, and leaped from his chair, and reached for Chase’s throat. His outburst served as the signal for the two other men to spring into action. Worthy came at Chase with a bunched fist, and Grimm simultaneously kicked him in the shin. It was only with some difficulty that the detectives rescued Chase from what might have turned out to be the first squadroom lynching in the history of the Police Department. Ollie slammed Chase down into a swivel chair behind the desk and said, “What’s it all about, Alfie?” which Carella and Hawes thought highly comical, but nobody else even smiled.

The poker game was finished. It was now time to count the chips and turn them in for money — which was, after all, the name of the game.

They questioned Alfred Allen Chase alone in the lieutenant’s office. They told him many truths and many lies. They started off with a lie.

Q: According to your partners, you’re the real heavy in this thing, Alfie. You’re the one who told Charlie Harrod to burn down Grimm’s warehouse, you’re the one who...

A: That’s a lie.

Q: Charlie wasn’t working on your instructions?

A: No. It was their idea. Robbie and Oscar. They’re the ones who got Charlie to do the job.

Q: To burn down Grimm’s warehouse?

A: Yeah, and his house, too.

Q: Why?

A: Because they found out about him.

Q: About the Bremerhaven deal, do you mean?

A: Yeah.

Q: About the deal with Bachmann?

A: Yeah. They really spilled everything, didn’t they? Some partners.

Q: You want to tell us your side of it?

A: My side of what?

Q: The deal with Bachmann.

A: Go ask Grimm.

Q: We’ve already asked him. We want your side of the story.

A: What’d the stupid bastard tell you?

Q: What makes you think he’s stupid?

A: Because he’s stupid, that’s why.

Q: You’re the one who burned him out, how does that make him stupid?

A: I didn’t burn him out, they did.

Q: Why’d they do it, Alfie?

A: I told you. They found out about the deal, and they figured the only way to scare him off was to burn down first his warehouse and then his house. Any other time, they might have let him get away with it, but not now when the market’s so tight.

Q: When did they find out?

A: The end of July.

Q: Who told them? Bachmann?

A: No, why the hell would he? He had his deal, he had his money, he was happy.

Q: Then who told them?

A: Some fink they know in Germany. He put a call through to Robbie, figured he’d do Robbie a favor, get one back from him later.

Q: Told him that Grimm was dealing with Bachmann, is that right?

A: Yeah.

Q: What kind of deal was it, Alfie?

A: I thought you knew already.

Q: No. What was it?

A: Go find out. I thought they already told you. What the hell is this?

Q: We’ve got a call in to the Bremerhaven police, they’re going to search the cargo and get back to us. You might as well tell us.

A: (Silence)

Q: What do you say, Alfie?

A: The contract is in Grimm’s name. For having the animals packed. He’s the one you should hang this on. The contract’s your proof.

Q: You had nothing to do with it, is that what you’re saying?

A: Nothing at all. Nothing with the Bachmann deal, nothing with the fires. I’m clean. Grimm was doing business with Bachmann, not me.

Q: How’d Grimm happen to know him?

A: Well, Diamondback did a little business with him before.

Q: With Bachmann?

A: Yes.

Q: When?

A: About six months ago. I had nothing to do with that deal, either. It was all Robbie and Oscar.

Q: What kind of a deal was it?

A: Penny-ante, hardly worth bothering with. We netted two million three.

Q: We?

A: The company. We put eight hundred grand in the bank and split the rest three ways.

Q: In a safety deposit box?

A: The eight hundred? Yeah. They told you that, too, huh? Jesus!

Q: And the rest you split three ways?

A: Yeah. But I didn’t know where the money came from. I was clean then, and I’m clean now. I thought it was company profits.

Q: And your share was five hundred thousand?

A: That’s right.

Q: Why’d Diamondback keep the eight hundred thousand in reserve? For future deals with Bachmann?

A: I suppose so. But I didn’t know anything about what the company planned. I thought it was a legitimate development company. Those guys are trying to put everything on me, when all along they’re the ones who’re maybe involved in some criminal activity. Man, I’ve been in jail before, you don’t think I’d get involved in anything illegal, do you?

Q: You weren’t involved in any of these deals with Bachmann, is that it?

A: That’s exactly it.

Q: Not even Grimm’s deal.

A: Right.

Q: Then why’d you send Rosalie Waggener to Germany?

A: Who told you that?

Q: Rosalie.

A: Said I sent her to Germany?

Q: That’s right.

A: She’s out of her mind.

Q: She said you gave her five hundred thousand dollars to deliver to Erhard Bachmann.

A: Oh.

Q: Did you?

A: Yeah, but that was a favor to Grimm. He needed somebody to take the money over for him, so I suggested Rosalie. I mean, we knew each other from prison, I figured I’d do him a favor.

Q: That’s not what Rosalie told us. Rosalie said it was your money.

A: Well, how would she know whose money it was?

Q: She said you were going to make millions.

A: Well, I don’t know where she got that idea.

Q: You’re not leveling with us, Alfie.

A: I’m telling you the truth.

Q: No, you’re not telling us the truth. The truth is you were Grimm’s partner in the deal.

A: Who told you that?

Q: Grimm.

A: That stupid bastard.

Q: Equal partners. Five hundred thousand each. Come on, Alfie. We know all about it.

A: (Silence)

Q: What do you say?

A: Can’t trust a goddamn soul. Boy, oh boy.

Q: Were you partners with Grimm?

A: Yeah, yeah.

Q: And it was your money Rosalie took to Germany?

A: Yeah.

Q: Why’d you risk sending her?

A: Nobody knew her there. She was using a phony name, there was no way she could be traced back to me. Besides, who was I supposed to send? That stupid bastard Grimm? Who let everybody over there tip to him in the first place?

Q: How’d he do that?

A: He told me he needed a cover, he needed to make it all look legit. Protection, he told me. So he actually signed a contract for having those wooden animals packed, would you believe it? And he used his right name on it!

Q: What’s so special about those animals, Alfie?

A: Nothing.

Q: The Bremerhaven police are right this minute...

A: What do I care? Grimm signed the contract, not me.

Q: You just admitted you were partners.

A: That’s right, but I didn’t know what kind of business he was doing over there.

Q: What kind of business was he doing?

A: I wasn’t involved in it.

Q: Nobody’s saying you were. What was it?

A: There’s half a million dollars’ worth of heroin inside those animals.

Q: The animals are hollow?

A: Not the other ones Grimm shipped in, but these, yeah. He had them hollowed out, and the dope put inside. The bottoms are plugged.

Q: Then Bachmann’s a dealer, right?

A: A merchant.

Q: And what you did was go to Grimm with a source for dope...

A: No, no.

Q:...knowing he had a way of bringing it in...

A: No, you got it all wrong. I was a businessman making an investment. I didn’t know what Grimm was involved in.

Q: You’re full of shit, Alfie.

A: (Silence)

Q: Alfie?

A: All right, I was trying to make a little money for myself, what the hell’s wrong with that? You know how much that scag would’ve been worth after it was cut? Eleven million dollars! And Jesus, what a sweet setup! I knew where to get the stuff, and Grimm already had a tested way of bringing it in. Every customs official on the dock knew he was running a legit operation, they never so much as glanced at that wooden crap he was importing. Hollow out the animals, stuff them with dope, plug them up again, and we’re home free. Perfect. We used to dream of a setup like that when we were in jail together.

Q: But your partners found out about Grimm, and you decided it was safer to sacrifice him than to...

A: Sacrifice him? He was a stupid bastard. It was his fault they found out.

Q: But you couldn’t risk their finding out it was you who’d double-crossed them in the first place.

A: I didn’t double-cross them. This was business, pure and simple. A two-way split is better than a three-way split any day of the week.

Q: You’re just an enterprising businessman, is that right, Alfie? First you double-cross one set of partners, and then you throw your next partner to the wolves.

A: What’d you expect me to do? You think Robbie and Oscar were kidding around? Getting Charlie to burn down the warehouse was the first warning. The house in Logan...

Q: Why’d Elizabeth Benjamin spend two nights with Reardon?

A: Because he was getting cold feet. They’d already given him five grand, but all of a sudden he was running scared. Liz went over with a little female persuasion.

Q: And the house in Logan?

A: That was the second warning. If Grimm had still tried to bring that shipment in, they’d have had him killed. The way they had Reardon killed after the fire.

Q: Did Charlie take care of that, too?

A: Charlie would’ve shoved his own mother off the roof for a nickel. He was a junkie, man. He needed lots of loot to keep that habit of his going.

Q: Didn’t he make enough with his pornography business?

A: Where’d you guys get all this stuff?

Q: Didn’t he?

A: He used to. But nowadays you can buy porn right in the open, so what’s so special about it? Charlie was on the skids, the Caddy was four years old, the threads were out of style. They supplied him with junk, and he did what they told him to do. In case you haven’t heard, the supply’s a little short these days. Which is why this would’ve been such a sweet deal if it wasn’t for that stupid bastard Grimm. Why’d he go to you guys, would you tell me that? Dumb, that’s why. He’s involved in an eleven-million-dollar dope deal, so he runs to the cops for help.

Q: He wouldn’t have run to us if you hadn’t burned down his warehouse.

A: I keep telling you I didn’t burn it down, they did. Send him back to jail, will you? You’ve got the contract, that’s all you need. Send him away for a million years. He’s a menace to society.

Q: But not you, huh, Alfie?

A: I was only in it for the bread. You’re the ones who taught me, man.

At a quarter past 9:00 Rosalie Waggener asked if it was all right if she went home. The detectives told her it was not all right. The detectives told her that they were charging Hemmings, Worthy, and Chase with arson and homicide, and Grimm, Chase, and herself with attempting to smuggle dope into the country.

“I had nothing to do with any dope,” Rosalie said.

“You paid for it,” Carella said.

“I was only a messenger.”

“For a jig pusher,” Ollie said.

“Knock off that kind of talk, will you?” Carella said.

“What kind of talk?”

“That bigoted bullshit,” Hawes said.

“Bigoted?” Ollie said. “White or black, they’re all the same to me, they all stink. That’s bigoted?”

“That’s not even equal but separate,” Carella said, and Ollie burst out laughing. He slapped Hawes and Carella on their backs, simultaneously, with both beefy hands, almost knocking over Carella, who was off balance to begin with. “I like you guys,” he said, “you know that? I really enjoy working with you guys.”

Carella and Hawes said nothing. Since Ollie had just confessed to a monumental misanthropic outlook, Carella was wondering why he had now bestowed upon them the singular honor of his affection. Hawes, on the other hand, was wondering what mistake he’d made. Had he somehow indicated to Ollie that he’d wanted his friendship? Jesus, had he unwittingly done that?

“You know what I think I’m gonna do?” Ollie said. “I think I’m gonna put in for a transfer to the 87th. I really do like you guys.”

Again Carella and Hawes said nothing. Hawes was thinking they already had an Ollie Weeks up at the old station house, and his name was Andy Parker, and if Ollie transferred to the 87th, Hawes would immediately ask for a transfer to the 83rd. Carella was thinking that Ollie’s addition to the squad would create a fine kettle of fish — Ollie himself, another jewel named Andy Parker, a black cop named Arthur Brown, and a Puerto Rican cop named Alexiandre Delgado. The potential mix was pregnant, so to speak. Carella shuddered at the thought.

“Is it all right to go to the ladies’?” Rosalie asked.

In bed that night, Carella had trouble falling asleep. He kept thinking of Alfred Allen Chase’s last words in the Q and A.

“You’re the ones who taught me, man.”

It was not that he hadn’t understood what Alfie had meant, or exactly whom he was indicting. It was merely that, as a white man, he had enormous difficulty accepting Alfie’s indictment.

When he finally did fall asleep, he tossed and turned a lot, and his dreams were bad.