Judge Me Not

Chapter Eleven

There was nothing sinister about his attitude. He had the aplomb of an invited guest. “I’m Weiss,” he said, smilingly. “Commonly known as Windy. I’ll leave the coat here on the chair if it’s O.K.”

“Of course,” Powell said.

Weiss was a trim-bodied man with the crisp balance of a boxer. His pale gray suit was cleverly cut to minimize the shortness of his neck. His round head sat squarely on his shoulders. Sparse blond hair was combed straight back. A thin blond mustache helped give him the look of a prosperous young real estate broker. The only remaining signs of his one-time trade were the white-line scars in his brows, thickness of lips, convexity of upper eyelids, hoarse faraway voice.

Weiss walked confidently into the living room. He extended cigarettes with an unspoken question, lit one for himself with a crisp click of his lighter, sat down and pulled a gray trouser leg up a bit as he crossed his legs.

He exhaled and smiled at them. His smile flashed quickly and disappeared at once, without ever changing the expression of the light blue eyes.

Marcia and Powell sat on the couch, facing him. Teed leaned against the mantel, hands in his pockets.

“Your daughter, Mr. Dennison, is a very gutty little lady.”

“Say what you came to say,” Powell said heavily.

“Now don’t go into the heavy act, folks. This is a little business conference. Your daughter came to have a talk with us. She’s pretty worried about Morrow, here. Seems he has himself in a jam. She’s anxious to have him cleared, you know. She thinks a lot of him.”

“You people won’t get away with this,” Powell said.

“Get away with what? I don’t understand you, Mr. Dennison. Your daughter isn’t being restrained. She can come home any time. She just doesn’t want to. Not until she gets a promise that Morrow here will be left alone. And we can’t see our way clear to give that promise until you do us a little favor, Mr. Dennison.”

“Resign, I suppose,” Powell said.

“We don’t want you to resign. You’re doing good work for Deron, Mr. Dennison. We’re all in back of you. We just think you get a little too eager sometimes. You know. We think you ought to stick to getting the City Hall running efficiently.”

“What do you expect me to do?”

Weiss took two folded sheets of paper out of his pocket. He got up quickly and took them over and handed them to Powell, returned to his chair. He said, “We want you to copy those in your own handwriting and date them a month ago like it says, and sign them. That’s all. It’s very simple.”

Powell read them quickly. His face did not change expression. He handed them to Teed.

The first one was to Mayor Carboy.

The second letter was to Judge Kennelty, and was dated three days after the first letter.

Teed could easily see the diabolical cleverness of the scheme. Once the letters had been written, there was no longer anything to fear from Dennison. He would be permitted to continue in his job, but if, at any time, he attempted to clean out the Raval group, the letters would be made public. They would show clearly that Dennison had been receiving a rake-off, that Felice Carboy had been the courier, that Morrow, in meeting Felice, had received money and instructions, had sent back Dennison’s communications through Felice.

And, in implicating the woman who could not deny her part in it, it made an inference of motive.

Weiss said softly, “And don’t think that you can memorize the letters, write copies, and repudiate them. We’ve explained to your daughter, Dennison, that unless she denies any knowledge of all this, friend Morrow will still be clobbered.”

“We can tell her that you sold her a bill of goods,” Teed said. “There’s no case against me.”

The flashing smile came and went. Weiss dug in his pocket again and pulled out a three-by-five glossy print. “We showed her this, Morrow. She damn near passed out.”

Teed took the picture. It was like looking into nightmare. He sat propped against the wall by the bathroom door, chin on his chest, bottle beside him, the print so clear that he could read the label on the bottle. In the lower left corner of the print, inches from his naked foot, was the swollen horror of Felice’s dead face.

“Why didn’t you use it before?” he asked, and his voice did not sound like his own.

“A thing like that, it makes the court wonder who took the picture. Besides, you’re the small fry, Morrow. We were just fiddling around, trying to get a lever to use on Dennison here. You know what I figure? Everybody has a button. On some people it’s obvious, and it has got a sign on it that says money. But no matter what it says, the button is there if you can find it. It just took longer than usual, Mr. Dennison, to find out how to make you jump through the hoop.”

“And you had to kill Felice Carboy anyway,” Teed said.

Weiss gave him a quick look. “She was getting a little big for her panties. If that’s what you mean.”

“Why take this picture if Seward was already tipped off?”

Weiss shrugged. “Just in case he believed you and tried to cover for you. You did good, Morrow. Everybody got a hell of a shock when she turned up in the dump. You can keep that print if you want it. Keep it under your pillow at night.”

“You expect me to copy out those letters and sign them?” Powell asked.

Weiss’s eyebrows shot up. “What the hell else can you do?”

“And if I refuse?”

Weiss laughed. “Man, you can’t refuse. That kid of yours is nuts about Morrow. If we told her to lay down in front of a truck to help Morrow, she’d do it.” His voice hardened. “Anything we tell her to do, she’ll do. Get it?”

Teed glanced at Marcia. Her face was gray and there was a sheen on her forehead and her upper lip. She looked on the verge of being ill.

“He’ll do it,” Marcia whispered.

“I don’t want to have to draw pictures for you people,” Weiss said. “I don’t want to have to act like a hard guy. But if you don’t play, that kid may get pretty ashamed. So ashamed she won’t ever want to come home. We can slip a few studio prints of her into that high school. Kids go for that kind of art work, Mr. Dennison.” Weiss’ tongue flicked quickly across his lower lip.

Weiss leaned forward. “And we’ll give you a break. You get stubborn and we’ll bring you a few prints to show you what we mean. Understand, nobody will be forcing her. If you don’t break down then, we’ll bring you some action shots, and if you still got a stone head, we’ll send her on the road and by then she’ll be goddam glad to go and if you ever trace her she’ll tell you to go to hell because by then she won’t be any kid any more, and you can start wondering when we’ll find a way to make this other girl of yours volunteer.” He began to spit out the words, with a spray of spittle. “You stonehead Christers amuse the hell out of me. You think the law is God sitting on a big bench. Wake up. In this town, we’re the law. And we’re getting bigger and stronger and tougher and smarter every year. We’re expanding, Dennison. We’re buying into more legit stuff all the time. And no stonehead like you can stop us. If you want to, you can toss that pretty kid of yours to every hunky with two bucks in his pocket, but it won’t slow us down. Now make up your mind and make it up fast and stop acting like this was a big tragedy. This is a business deal. Write those out and she’ll be home in half an hour.”

Weiss leaned back and took a handkerchief out of his pocket, wiped his lips.

Powell leaned forward. He stared at the floor between his feet and his clenched fists were on his knees. His head had a palsied tremble. He stood up, his face blank.

“Give me the letters, Teed,” he said. He took them and walked into the study. In the silence they heard the rustle of paper, and then the scuff of his pen as he began to write in his bold distinctive hand.

Weiss said, “Token resistance. Isn’t that what they call it?”

“You’re a filthy sonofabitch,” Teed said softly.

Weiss lit another cigarette. “There’s a lady present, Morrow. Are you a lady, sugar?”

Marcia said, “He’ll resign, you know. He won’t keep on with the job.”

“We got a guy to put in when he quits, sugar.”

Marcia stared at him, intensely curious. “What can turn a human being into a thing like you, Mr. Weiss?”

Surprisingly, Weiss flushed. “I’m no different than a million other guys. The only friend you got in this world, sugar, is money. No hard feelings. Your sister’ll be home safe and sound in a little bit. I’ll take the car over to the Ca... over to where she is and bring her right back. Give her a pill and put her to bed and she’ll be fine in the morning.”

Powell came out with the letters. He seemed remote. There was no more anger in him. Weiss glanced briefly at the letters, folded them and tucked them in his pocket.

“O.K., folks. Thanks, Mr. Dennison.”

“You’re welcome,” Powell said dully. Teed looked at Powell, and it seemed a hand closed suddenly on his heart. This was the shape of defeat. This was the smell of resignation. Powell even picked up Weiss’ coat and held it for him as the man shrugged into it, hitching the collar into place. Weiss grinned as he buttoned his coat.

“Don’t take it hard,” Weiss said. “We’ll all get together one of these days and figure out a program. No reason why we can’t all work together.”

“No reason at all,” Powell said.

“No reason why you should live on peanuts, Dennison. Lonnie is pretty generous when things go right.”

“I’ll be glad to talk with him,” Powell said.

They went into the hall with him, to the front door. Marcia stood back several feet, one hand reaching up to hold the railing.

Weiss went out onto the porch, turned and gave his flashing, meaningless smile. The big car at the curb, behind Teed’s, picked up high lights from the street lamps.

As Weiss turned back to go down the steps, a deep-throated, booming explosion smashed the night into fragments. The explosion had come from the end of the porch, to the right of the door.

Weiss reacted as though someone had caught him in the shoulder with the full-arm swing of a maul. He smashed sideway through the railing, turning in the air, diving out onto the narrow lawn. Teed turned and saw the bulky figure that clung to the railing at the right end of the porch. It dropped lightly to the grass below and ran silently across the yard.

It stood over Weiss and fired again. The impact made the body appear to leap up off the grass before it settled back. The dark figure turned and in the slant of a distant street lamp, Teed saw the long, heavy-boned face of Mayor Carboy. He turned and walked briskly off. Not fleeing. Not frightened. It was the firm tread of a man who has set himself a complicated mission and is anxious to complete it.

Powell put out a slow hand and supported himself against the doorframe. Marcia had not moved. Her expression was that of a person attempting to identify a distant, puzzling sound. Teed ran lightly down the steps, knelt beside the body.

A raw, plaintive, nasal female voice came through the darkness. “George! I say that was shots! Why don’t you call the police or something? George!”

The man’s irrritated mumble sounded in the background and a door shut.

Teed sat on his heels beside the body. He touched the arm tentatively and then wiped his hands on his thighs. Enough night vision came to him to make his stomach turn heavily, to bring a sour taste to his throat. The second shot, apparently, had caught Weiss at the nape of his stubby neck. The head was all but severed. This was the end, then, of the tight-moving body, the balanced precision, the husky-hoarse fighter’s voice.

Powell spoke softly. “The police will come. I think those people are going to call.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Get those letters. The inside jacket pocket. Teed. I’ll call Raval and tell him he can have the letters.”

“And say that Carboy walked up and shot Weiss? Who do you think we can sell that to?”

“Get the letters, Teed.”

Teed put his hands under the body, flipped it over, withdrawing his hands quickly. He parted the coat, opened the jacket. He reached in, felt wetness and felt metal, cool against warmth, against fading warmth. He took the slim automatic out of the holster, pulling against the spring, wiped it flat against the grass and put it into his side pocket. He wiped his fingertips on the grass and felt for the letters. They were undamaged. Powell had gone into the house. The street, at two-something on a Monday morning, was dark and silent. A street light two blocks away turned from red to green, a patient methodical robot controlling traffic that was not there.

Teed grasped Weiss’ ankles and backed across the lawn, across the sidewalk, to the sedan that Weiss had come in. The coat turned back under the shoulders and the head rested on the coat, lolling loosely over the irregularities in the yard. The loose arms rode with elbows out, hands above the head, palms upward.

Teed opened the back door of the sedan on the curb side. He pulled Weiss in as far as he could, hurried around the car, opened the back door on the other side, reached through and grasped the ankles again, pulled him all the way in. The dome light did not go out until both doors were shut. He leaned against the sedan for a moment, his knees trembling. He bent and looked through the front window. The street light touched the keys, hanging from the ignition.

The porch light went on and Marcia came out, looking out toward the two cars. He went to her. “Get back in the house. Get the lights off. I put him in his car.”

Powell was hunched over the phone. He said in a low voice, “But I tell you we have the letters.” He listened, then looked up at Teed with a helpless expression.

Teed picked the phone out of his unresisting hand. “Who is this?” he asked.

“This is Miss Trowbridge, Mr. Raval’s secretary,” the sleepy irritated voice said. “And I can’t make head or tail of what...”

“This is Morrow. I’ve met you. The time Lonnie zeroed in on your head with the golf ball. I’ve got to talk to him, Alice.”

“He doesn’t like to be...”

“This is important. Wake him up, dammit!”

He heard her yawn. “Hold the phone, then. I don’t know anything about any letters.”

Teed leaned against the wall and waited. He fished a cigarette out of his pack. Marcia came over with a lighter. He saw her wince and followed the direction of her glance. His right hand was blood-smeared, with bits of grass clinging to the stains. But her hand didn’t tremble as she held the light for him.

“Who the hell is this? Morrow? What do you...”

“Look, Raval. Just let me talk. Weiss made Dennison a proposition tonight. Don’t act like you never heard of it.”

“I haven’t heard of it. Keep talking.”

“Dennison agreed. He did what Weiss asked him to do. Now he wants the other end of the bargain kept, Raval.”

“So that’s up to Weiss. I got nothing to do with him. I barely know the guy.”

“Look, Lonnie. This isn’t being recorded. I know you sent Weiss here.”

“You’re nuts!”

“Something has changed the picture. We still have what Weiss came after. Who do we give them to?”

“Why don’t you give them to Weiss? Whatever they are. From what I know about him, he keeps an agreement once he’s made it.”

“Weiss is dead.”

Teed heard Raval’s grunt of surprise. Raval said angrily, “Friend, that’s one hell of a way to conduct a negotiation.”

“But listen! Dennison didn’t...”

“Shut up, Morrow. You make a choice and then you don’t like it. The hell with that noise. That’s no way to act.” There was righteous indignation in Raval’s voice.

“Give me a chance to...”

“Tell that Dennison bastard he had his choice. Tell that Dennison bastard that it isn’t any negotiation any more. Now it’s personal. And tell him he can take those letters and he can...”

“Will you listen to me!”

“Go write up a petition, you son of a bitch.” The line clicked.

“Raval! Carboy did it. Raval! Hello!”

He hung the phone up slowly. “Hung up on me. Wouldn’t listen. Apparently he thinks we killed Weiss. You or I. He’s sore. They’re going to take it out on Jake.”

“No!” Marcia whispered, the back of her hand at her lips, eyes wide.

“Call back,” Powell said heavily. The number was scribbled on the phone pad. Teed dialed again. The busy signal was a fast, acid bleat. He waited a few minutes and dialed again. After the phone rang six times, the Trowbridge girl answered.

“Let me talk to Raval again, please.”

“I’m sorry. Mr. Raval has left.” She hung up.

“I’ll move that car,” Teed said. “Turn the house lights off, Marcia. We’ve got to have time. If the police come and take us down for questioning, we won’t...”

“Where will you leave his car?” Marcia asked.

“I don’t know. I’ll find a place.”

“I’ll follow you in your car and bring you back.”

“Good girl. Powell, while we’re gone, see if you can get hold of Captain Herb Leighton. Get him over here, alone.”

He gave Marcia his keys. He started the big sedan and swung around her. In the rear-vision mirror he saw the lights of his car following. There was a sickish sweet smell inside the sedan. He rolled the window down, moved to the left so that the cold wind struck his face. Moving Weiss’ body had reawakened the soreness in his abdomen, the pain of damaged muscles.

He avoided main streets, zigzagged through the dark old residential section. He found a gas station with cars parked behind it, a night light over the pumps. He turned in behind the station, eased the sedan into a space between two cars. With his handkerchief he wiped the steering wheel, starter button, window crank. He got out and wiped the door handles he had touched. Marcia had parked across from the gas station, lights out, motor running.

When he opened the door, she slid over away from the wheel. As he started up, he thumbed open the glove compartment, took out two fresh packs of cigarettes, dropped them in her lap.

“If the law is there when we get back, we went out to buy those.”

“How can we find her, Teed? How can we know where to look?”

“Maybe Leighton will know. That’s what I’m hoping.”

“And if he doesn’t know? If we can’t find her?”

“Don’t think about it, Marse. We’ll find her.”

He turned the last corner. A car was parked in front of the house. Teed pulled in behind it and they got out. As they went up on the porch, he looked through the glass door and saw the men who talked to Powell. Boyd, with the tape white across his nose. Pilcher with the battered hat shoved back, the match bobbing as he talked.

Teed caught Marcia and pulled her back. “I’m getting out of here. When and if Leighton comes, whisper to him. Tell him that Rogale will know how to get in touch with me. I’ll phone Rogale when I get to some place where I can phone.”

He walked quickly away from her, cutting across the yard, instinctively avoiding the place where Weiss had fallen.

The door of the police car opened. “Hold it, you!” a voice said.

Teed recognized the tall young patrolman he had seen on the morning, a million years ago, when he had gone across to headquarters to check Miss Anderson’s rumor about Felice Carboy. He couldn’t remember the patrolman’s name.

“Come over here. Where are you going?”

“What’s the trouble, Officer?”

“We’re investigating,” the man said importantly. “Somebody heard shots around here. Say, you’re Morrow, aren’t you? Don’t you get tired of having your neck out, mister? Go on in the house.”

“I want to show you something, Officer. Over here in the yard, below the broken railing. It might be blood.”

“Blood, eh?” the policeman said. “Well, let’s have a look.”

He made Teed walk ahead of him. Teed pointed to the spot. The man stared into the darkness, then bent down, reaching his fingers toward the indicated area. Teed pointed with his left hand. He took the automatic out of his pocket with his right hand and swung the flat of it against the side of the patrolman’s head, over the left ear. It made a crisp sound. The man dropped to his hands and knees, moaned softly, and toppled over onto his side. Teed sprinted for his car, shoving the gun into his pocket. He had the car in motion almost before he slammed the door. He went down the street and gunned it around the corner, wheels spinning on the dry pavement.

The fear of the consequences of the act was a small thing compared to his fear for Jake Dennison.