Death of the Too-Cute Prostitute [= Man Alone]

Chapter Six

The morning shrouded the city in a pall of mist that dripped down the windows and laid a slick on the streets. A fog smelling of factory refuse and polluted river water crept in from the west, touching everything with its clammy fingers.

It was a death day out there. You could see it and feel it and taste it. It was the old man with the scythe taking his seat in the coliseum to watch the bloody action he knew would be there.

People hurrying to work had their heads down against the damp, eyeing each other suspiciously, dodging the sharp points of umbrella ribs and snarling over their shoulders when they were almost impaled. The tires of the cars hissed against the pavement and the taxis moved impatiently searching for riders. It wasn’t bad enough for anyone to fight for their services yet and the drivers jockeyed toward the corners hoping to catch one of the undecided by stopping in front of them.

I grabbed one and packed Madaline in it and told the driver her office address, telling her I’d call later. She didn’t want to leave, but realized she couldn’t stay and kissed me goodbye gently, her fingertips caressing my face as she did. “Is it for real, Regan? Am I fooling myself?”

“It’s for real, baby.”

“Then there will be some changes made, darling,” she told me. “I’ll see you later.”

The next cab past stopped for me and I told him where to go in Brooklyn.

Nobody was at the Lazy Daisy club except a porter who was carrying out the cartons of empty bottles and accumulated night’s trash to the garbage cans beside the building. At night the place would be a garishly lit hangout for the wild money and the slum crowd from across the bridge looking for excitement, but by early daylight it was a drab, peeling slop-chute with all the earmarks of a sucker trap for the tourist trade.

The porter made me with one look and tried to get out of the way, but I yanked him back and said, “Don’t duck, pops. I don’t want you and there’s no squeal.”

“So what’cha want? I ain’t...”

“Helen the Melons. She works here. Where does she live?”

The old guy shrugged. It was none of his business and she wasn’t important enough to clam up for. “She got a pad at Annie Schwartz’s house. Two blocks over.” He gave the street and told me to look for the sign, then went back to his work after almost spitting on my shoes. He didn’t like cops either.

Annie Schwartz was a beer-bloated woman with too-yellow hair and bad teeth who took one casual glance at me and spat out, “Cop.”

“Right, Annie.”

“Don’t try rousting me, mister. This place is clean.”

“Enough to stand an inspection from the fire department? Or how about a review of...”

“What’re you after?”

“Blonde named Helen who works at the Lazy Daisy.”

“Upstairs. Number three.”

I walked past her and up the creaking stairs, found the door with a metal 3 tacked to it and knocked. Nobody answered and I tried the knob. The door swung inward on a wall of heavy perfume hanging in the musty air and the gentle rumble of Helen’s snore.

She was stretched out on a bed completely naked, the covers kicked to one side, her mouth open and slack. Her nickname described her well. If she had been larger topside she would have had to walk on all fours. I pulled the covers back over her and shook her awake, listening to her mouth obscenities.

Finally, her eyes focused on me, her mind worked up a tirade to throw at me, then she recognized me and tried to shrink down beneath the blankets. Her voice was almost a whisper. “Regan... what... I didn’t...”

“Don’t sweat it, Helen.”

She got a little more nerve then. “What right have you got to... listen, you got a search warrant or something? You looking for...” Then she saw the expression on my face and whimpered.

“What’s your deal with Al Argenio, Helen?” I asked her quietly.

“Al? What’s it to you?”

“If I ask you again it’ll be the hard way. No trouble making a nice soft twist like you speak up. You should know that.”

Helen tried to swallow but her mouth was too dry. She shook her head trying to get the meaning of things and failed. “Nothin’s with him and me. So he chases after me alla time. I got tired of it. Alla time breaking things up when I got somethin’ goin’ with somebody who’s got some dough. A dozen times I got a guy who’s willin’ to spend it on me and he steps in and busts it. Alla time promises from him and that’s all. I got tired and told him to blow. Him and his promises. Thinks he’s gonna make it big and gimme what I want. Like hell. He ain’t gonna make nothin’. So whatta I get? Lousy stocks he gimme for a present. Thinks they’re hot stuff and it’s paper. If he’d blow it on the ponies he might make it, but them damn stocks. You wanna see what he gimme? Look in that top drawer.”

I took her advice and pulled open her dresser. A bundle of blue certificates held together with a rubber band were in the corner. Oil, gold, uranium stocks issued by strange-sounding companies were in the packet, all paying for somebody’s exploratory work and a paid vacation. Buddy Al had a vice, all right. There were thousands like him that kept the sharpshooters in Cadillacs and fancy apartments.

“He find you yet?” I asked over my shoulder while I jotted down the stock names.

“If you did, he will. Now I got more trouble. He wants me he better come up with somethin’ real. Right now I got a guy...”

“Save it,” I said.

As I went out she yelled, “You tell him...”

But I shut the door on her and went back downstairs. Annie Schwartz was waiting with her fat arms crossed over her heavy chest trying to force a scowl through the fat wrinkles that seamed her face. “Quick, wasn’t it?” I said.

Once I got back to Manhattan I called Jerry Nolan at the precinct station and asked him how he was making out.

He sounded tired and irritable. “Nothing in the files here. I’m checking out the departments upstate and in Jersey but it’s going to be a while before I get anything.” He paused, took a breath and added, “How long can this thing wait?”

“It can’t, Jerry. Stay on it. Argenio there?”

“He came and went.”

“Alone?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Just curious. I’ll call back later.”

I held the receiver down, dropped in another dime and dialed the Police Academy building. The officer at the PBX board who took my call told me Argenio had left a few minutes ago. I said thanks and hung up without giving him any more information.

Then I stood there and grinned a little bit. The bits and pieces were falling into place very neatly.

Going past the guys who worked in the lab wasn’t easy. Until the trial that afternoon was over I was still a suspended cop better to stay clear of, no matter how good my record had been. A few nodded hello and two stopped to talk a minute, but most discreetly ducked out of the way and left me alone.

Ted Marker was over by the window, picking the charred remains of clothes from a cardboard box that was labeled as having come from a burned vehicle. I said, “Hi, Ted.”

He grinned and pushed the box away. “You got plenty of nerve, Pat.”

“For this job I need it.” I reached in my pocket and took the slugs out I had dug from my wall and held them out to him.

“Comparison job?”

“Nope. Chemical analysis of the powder and metal.”

“Against what?”

“They were fired through a silencer. Unless it was cleaned thoroughly, which is unlikely, the same traces will be on the silencer.”

“Maybe,” he said. “Where’s the gimmick?”

I told him and watched the funny expression come over his face. “You’d better be sure, Regan.”

“What can I lose? You can get to it, can’t you?”

“No trouble. It makes me feel squeaky, that’s all.” He looked at the slugs again, his mouth tight. “What can it prove?”

“A link in the chain.”

I went to turn away when I saw his books on the shelf. One had a slip of white paper marking off a page and I caught the word SENTOL on it. Ted said, “All the available information is right there.”

“And you don’t think it was Sentol?”

He gave a slight shrug. “You never should have passed out. I told you that. Not unless you had a bellyful of aspirin.”

I swung around. “What?”

“Aspirin has a nullifying effect on the stimulant effect of Sentol.”

“Ted,” I said. “I had six aspirins before I went into the Climax that night.”

His eyes tightened up again. “You sure?”

“Hell, I can prove it. I bought them and took them right there in the drug store on the corner of the block. The clerk gave me a drink to wash them down.”

“That could have done it, then. But where did anybody get that damned drug?”

I let out a small laugh. “I bet I can guess. Want to work it out with me?”

“Damn right.”

“When they found the FS-7 at the Ross and Buttick warehouse, see who was on the detail. The records of assignment are available. Then check and see if any Sentol was in that consignment.”

Ted gave me a startled look and snapped his fingers. “Wait a minute, Regan. For that last part I don’t have to look. I remember it because we tested it in the lab. I was on vacation, but I saw the reports my assistant made out. Damn, I had forgotten about that.”

“Then get on the first part.”

“Will do.” He paused, cleared his throat and said, “The trial’s today, isn’t it?”

“This afternoon. Three o’clock.”

“Check back afterwards.”

“Either way it goes?”

“Either way.”

I reached George Lucas’ office just before noon and caught him at his desk going over his arguments in my behalf at the trial. He looked up, waved me to a chair and said, “We got a rough one here.”

“Argenio going to appear?”

“He doesn’t have to. His signed report is enough.” He put his pencil down and stared at me. “Why?”

I told him what I thought and watched him absorb it with interest. When I was done he said, “You’re taking long chances with guesswork.”

“It fits.”

“Wait till it’s proven.”

I threw the notes I had taken from Helen the Melons’ room on his desk. “How can I get some fast advice on those stocks?”

“Try your other lawyers, Selkirk and Selkirk. They’re in that business.”

“Give them a call.”

I listened while George put the call through and rattled off the list. There was a short wait while the elder Selkirk fed him back the information, then he hung up. “They said don’t buy in. It’s junk. Goes at a high price and brings back nothing. Like trying to pull an ace out of a deck with one try. Occasionally one comes through, but the odds are against it, sucker stuff.”

“What was the stuff worth?”

“About twenty grand worth in that list. That all?”

“As much as I know about.”

“The trap is tightening,” he smiled mirthlessly. “You think there’s more?”

“You can ask around. He might have a safety deposit box. If you want I know a guy who owes me a favor and wouldn’t mind going through his place looking for it”

“Don’t take the chance.”

“Maybe we won’t have to.” I got up and reached for his phone. “Mind?”

“Help yourself.”

I told his secretary to get me Jerry Nolan at the precinct station and perched on the desk while I waited for him to answer. He came on and said, “Nolan here.”

“Regan. What’s new?”

“Nothing. Now let me eat my lunch.”

I said, “You remember the dentist that confirmed the false teeth he made for Marcus?”

“Dr. Leonard Shipp. Now can I go eat?”

“Sure. See you later.”

I hung up and told George I’d be back in an hour to go over things with him. He wanted me to stick around, but there wasn’t enough time left any more. Things were beginning to move and I had to keep them going. I found Dr. Shipp listed in the directory and grabbed a cab to his West Side address, made him leave a patient to come out and talk to me, smelling of whatever was going on in his sterile white-tiled room.

He was a tall, angular man with impatient eyes behind his bifocals, annoyed at the interruption and wanting to get it over with quickly. He was the type who took the word “Police” at face value and didn’t bother to ask about a badge.

“You had Leo Marcus as a patient for some time, didn’t you?”

“I thought that was all over.”

“Other pertinent details have come up.”

His head jerked in a curt nod. “Mr. Marcus was a patient for some years. I extracted all his teeth and made the plates for him. There was no doubt about it. They were specially made and quite expensive. In fact, I made two sets for him.”

“Oh?”

“Very common procedure. A lost or broken set can be very embarrassing.”

“No difference?”

“They were identical.”

“Thanks, doctor.”

I left him and went back outside. One thing I knew. I had seen all of Leo Marcus’ personal effects when they escorted me through his house to have me reconstruct my actions as far as possible, and there were no other plates among them.

Regardless of George’s advice, I contacted Walter Milcross at the run-down hotel he called home, a four-story corner building on Eighth Avenue that was due for demolition soon. He was in and working on the junk jewelry he palmed off to the tourists as hot merchandise worth a lot more than the asking price, trading on people’s naturally larcenous instincts. From the color TV and the new suits hanging in his closet he was doing pretty well at it.

A long time ago I had gotten him out from under a bum rap with a lot of off-duty work and he never forgot it. When I told him I wanted him to go through Argenio’s apartment he looked a little startled, but figured that it would be an easy job as long as nobody was there. A quick check with headquarters got me the information that Al was out in Freeport, Long Island, processing some detail of the Scipio case and wouldn’t be back for a few hours. That was enough for Walter. I told him what to look for and if anything else turned up that didn’t look kosher, to hang on to it. Walter dropped his tools, picked a jacket from the closet, tucked a pair of gloves in his pocket and walked me downstairs to the corner where we split up.

I looked at my watch. It was almost one o’clock.

Overhead the grey sky that seemed to cut the taller buildings off at their middle rumbled like a tank being split and the rain filtered down to wash the arena clean enough for the slaughter to begin. I walked across town to George’s building and went up to his office. He hadn’t come back yet, so I went into his office and picked up his phone.

But Jerry Nolan had gotten back. The tiredness had gone out of his voice, replaced by a guarded tone. “Got something this time, Regan. Guy from Jersey City who answers the description is missing. He was an itinerant stevedore who went heavy on the booze. Just before he disappeared he was flashing a big roll around, but never said where he got it”

“How close does it fit?”

“Perfectly. He had a medical record on file with a local doctor, but no identifiable physical characteristics. His prints were in the F.B.I., file from having worked the shipyards during the war. There are police photos in the mug books and some newspaper full-length shots taken when he was arrested in a barroom brawl over there.”

“It’s coming, Jerry.”

“You know what I feel like?”

“I know.” I said softly. “It stinks. It always does.”

Whatever it was, it rose up in me, that hot, tingling feeling that was pure hate. My hands were wrapped into tight knots that would hardly come loose to dial another number. It was me they wanted, but it wouldn’t be me they’d get. The whole skein was coming unraveled, laying itself out so you could see it in its entirety and not hidden inside a tight ball of fluff.

Ted Marker answered my ring and I knew that he had come up with it even before he said, “It checked, Regan. I found the gimmick where you said it would be and the chemical analysis nailed it. The detail assignments were in the files and he was there, all right. Do I pass this on?”

“Not yet, Ted.”

“Why, Regan? Damn it, we can’t let him go roaming...”

I stopped him. “Because that doesn’t get me out, that’s why.”

“Hell, they can’t try you again. They...”

Once again, I cut him off. “One more call to make. I have to find that stuff I collected on Leo Marcus. It’s the only thing to shake off the negligence angle they’ll slap me with at the trial. I want it all straight and in the record.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing,” he said. “Where are you?”

“Safe enough. In George Lucas’ office.” I hung up.

George Lucas came through the door and piled into his chair behind the desk. He saw my face and drew back at what was written there. “Regan...”

“It was Al Argenio who took that shot at me. He got the silencer from one of the exhibits of confiscated weapons at the Police Academy and tried to pot me.”

“Proof?” he asked simply.

“Availability. He was seen coming out when he returned it to the case.”

“But he probably wasn’t seen doing it. He’d make a point of that.”

I shook my head and looked out the window. “He was assigned to the detail that searched the warehouse where the FS-7 and the Sentol was uncovered. He got hold of some of the stuff and delivered it to the right people for a price.”

“Conjecture, Regan.”

Slowly, I turned my head and looked at him. “He had made a broad a gift of stocks worth twenty grand.”

George leaned back, not wanting to get too close to me for some reason. “He was on the force long enough to save that much if one of his investments did pay off. It’s not impossible and it’s damn near unprovable. He could claim that money came from anywhere.”

He was saying things that put a sour taste in my mouth. “It was a vice with him. Some have it for gambling... cards, the ponies... some have it for dames or liquor... he was one of the funny ones who got eaten alive by playing the stock market. It was a joke around headquarters. His paper was always turned back to the financial page.”

George shook his head. “If he wore gloves when he shot you a paraffin test would show nothing. Loose stock investments would show nothing. It won’t hang together, friend.” He cleared his throat and went on. “If he boobytrapped your place with that sleep gas you’d need witnesses. Argenio is as much a pro as you are. He knows all the angles. He wouldn’t let himself be seen. No, Pat, the only thing that will save your tail is finding that Marcus evidence in his possession.”

“I’m waiting for something on that,” I said. But that sinking feeling was there nevertheless. George was right. It wasn’t enough, after all. I got up and stared out the window peering through the rain at the little people going to their seats to see the circus, not knowing what show was about to play and not caring either. Any show was good enough. Tomorrow the papers would headline it and they’d have a vicarious thrill at having been in the same locale where it had happened.

The phone rang sharply and George picked it up. He said something then turned to me. “For you, Pat.”

I said, “Hello?”

“Walter Milcross, Mr. Regan. I’m down the street from his place. Easy job, but I didn’t find nothing. Couple of stock certificates I lifted, but none of them papers. The place was clean. I would of spotted any place he stashed them only nothing showed.”

All the life seeped out of me. “You’re sure now, Walter?”

“You know me, Mr. Regan. Nothing in that place that even was off color outside the finger in the ink bottle.”

“What?”

“Yeah, crazy, ain’t it? I poked in this here inkwell... people stash keys in them for safe-deposit boxes sometimes thinking nobody wants to get dirtied up with ink and I pulled out a finger. A real one. Damndest thing I ever saw.”

“Where is it, Walter?”

“In my pocket wrapped up in an envelope. Like maybe he’s queer for fingers? I knew a guy once...”

“Bring it over here, Walter. You give it to George Lucas.”

“Sure, Mr. Regan, but about them papers... you want me to...”

“You did enough, friend.”

I hung up. The hot feeling was back. I didn’t need the rest. George sat there patiently while I dialed Ted Marker. I told him what I had and told him to contact Jerry Nolan with the information. George heard it all and his face had a sickly white pallor around the nostrils. Then Ted said, “Pat... Argenio got back about an hour ago. He was in the file room and saw the papers with the detail assignments on them and wanted to know what it was about. Edson didn’t know what was going on and told him I had requested them. I already checked around for Argenio and he’s nowhere to be found. Edson said he looked like he was ready to kill somebody.”

I dropped the receiver back slowly, my teeth grinding against each other. “He got wise,” I said. “He’s on the run.”

“Where can he go?”

“Not where I can’t find him.”

“The trial’s in an hour.”

“Screw the trial. Get it postponed.”

“Maybe you’d better spell it out slowly for me, Pat.”

“Marcus took the Syndicate for a bundle. He proved his worth by getting Al Argenio to search my place for my documents and plant that money there.”

“Argenio was being paid off by him?”

“For a long time, apparently. Who knows what favors he did. He was in a position to do plenty here and there. One of them was spotting the potential of the Sentol and the FS-7 when he was on the warehouse detail. He delivered some of it to the Syndicate through Marcus. Trouble was, he blew his wad on bad investments and always needed more. Once he was hooked by those guys he was in all the way.”

“Go on.”

“While I was under house arrest, Marcus used the Syndicate money to refinance the operation along the east coast. Or at least part of it. A big chunk went to his own use. He thought he could cover it later, I guess, but they don’t take chances when that much is involved and double checked his accounts. When he came up short he was put on their dead list and a contract to eliminate was given to a couple of out-of-state hoods.

“Marcus got wind of it someplace... he probably had his own informers inside the organization, and had to cut out so both the law and the Syndicate would be off his back. He lined himself up a pigeon that looked just like himself physically. Remember... he had no outstanding physical characteristics. He was big and fat, bald and toothless, but no scars, tattoos or bone breaks.”

“That would take time, Regan.”

“Money would buy out enough time. Anyway, he found his pigeon. He promised him something, got him in his house, waited for his plan for me to go into operation because I was big mouthing about getting back at him for putting me on the hook, knowing I’d make the perfect patsy... and there I was.

“Hell, I wasn’t hard to follow. I made no bones about what I was doing while I was on suspension. Maybe it was Argenio who tailed me, maybe somebody else. I’d like to think it was Argenio, the bastard. Marcus had been cozy with Mildred Swiss and primed her for the job. He had her standing by to feed me that Sentol. Most likely he promised her the moon and she fell for it...a trip to Europe with him and all the trimmings. She doesn’t know what she’s doing, but goes along with it, anyway.

“At that party Popeye Lewis and Edna Rells threw I was ready, the timing was perfect and I was suckered. I had one thing on my mind... to get Leo Marcus before the department trial came up. Once I had gotten dosed the idea really took hold and I ran off at the mouth but good. The only lucky break I had was taking six aspirins earlier. It offset one of the effects of the Sentol. Maybe I would have killed the guy who was made up to look like Marcus, I don’t know. I do know I was supposed to have been found there still conscious but appearing drunk with a gun in my hand.

“Anyway, I got up those steps and was admitted inside. This part I don’t remember. All I know is what did happen. I could have been carried in. When I couldn’t do the job somebody... either Marcus or Argenio... took my gun and pumped six bullets into the decoy’s face destroying everything he had. My gun was put back in my hand reloaded, then fired so a paraffin test would show a positive. A burned log and a dumped slug would never be found. They threw the body face down in the fireplace so the flames would burn the prints off his hands, smashed up an extra set of Marcus’ dental plates and scattered the bits around and let it lie.”

“What about the finger?” George asked me.

I got up and paced between the desk and the window. “That was Marcus’ unfortunate accident. When the guy saw what was happening he put his hand up to protect himself and a slug took the pinky off his hand. That part was going to show when they examined the remains. A finger was missing, because Argenio found it and kept it They had to leave a finger there for the police to find.”

George looked sick again.

I said, “There are doctors around who have lost their licenses who would do the job for a price. Marcus would know them. One came up, amputated his finger, a shot was fired at the end to make it look like a bullet had done the job and the finger was wedged under the mantle. In fact, it even made the case for Marcus’ death better. One of his own fingers was there for the nearly irrefutable proof of his death.”

“But the finger was in Argenio’s place.”

“Insurance, George. Al played it smart. He kept the decoy’s finger and Marcus would have to keep him alive. They were both eyewitnesses to a murder they had planned and executed. Marcus had plenty on Al, now Al had the key to keeping Marcus in line and feeding him with the money he needed from the new enterprise Marcus had arranged for.”

George nodded. “Then we find the doctor who did the job and...”

“The hell with the doctor,” I said. “I want the other two, Argenio first.”

“He can’t get far.”

It was done. Tied up. I grinned, picked up the phone and dialed Madaline’s office number. She was going to be glad to hear the news. While I waited for the call to go through I told George, “Get on the other phone and start calling. There isn’t time for that damn trial.”

He nodded and left for the outside office as the voice on the other end said, “Sturvesent Agency, Miss Stumper’s office.”

“Pat Regan calling. Madaline there?”

The voice hesitated, then said, “Why... no. Isn’t she with you?”

I had to force out the words. “Is she supposed to be?”

“But... an hour ago... there was a call from downstairs. They said it was a policeman friend of hers who wanted to see her. She said it was you and she probably wouldn’t be back.”

Damn it all to hell! The scene had come bright and clear in his mind and now he was pushing the destruct button. “Check that call back and get a description of the person who met her. Don’t let anybody leave there until I get there. Got that?”

The urgency in my voice froze her, then she said, “Yes, sir.”

At my belt the weight of the.45 was like a living thing talking to me and I ran out of the room. George was talking on the phone and I stopped him. “He has Madaline.”

“Who?” George looked startled.

“Argenio. Call my office and have Jerry Nolan get an APB out and a squad working. Give him the details I gave you and hold onto that finger when Walter gets here.”

“Pat... where are you going? Damn it, Pat, you can’t...”

But I was out the door by then.