Killer Mine

Chapter Six

Henry Wilder’s dry cleaning place was a hole-in-the-wall operation that catered to the local trade. Enough business kept him from poverty, but he was never going to get rich there. He lived upstairs over his store, a prematurely balding bachelor about fifty with tired lines around his eyes and a nervous flutter to his hands. I caught him on his lunch hour, flashed my badge and got invited in to a shabby room cluttered with junk and three racks of clothes customers had either forgotten about or didn’t have the money to redeem.

When I sat down he fidgeted on the edge of his chair waiting for me to speak. Finally I said, “Ever hear from your brother Gus?”

“That bum!”

“I didn’t ask that.”

“Sometimes I get a letter. He was up on charges in Toledo.”

“Hear from him since?”

Henry Wilder was going to say no, but knew he couldn’t make the lie stick. “Sure... a phone call. After he jumped bail.”

“Where was he?”

He licked his mouth nervously and toyed with the food on his plate. “He ain’t that simple. He called direct”

“Why?”

His eyebrows went up then. “Money. What else? He wants me to send him five hundred bucks. Now where the hell am I supposed to get five hundred bucks? He didn’t even ask. He just told me to get it ready and he’d tell me where to send it”

“Going to?”

Once again, his tongue snaked out. “I... don’t know.” He took a sip of coffee to wet his mouth and added, “I’m scared of him. I always was.”

“He’s your brother, isn’t he?”

Wilder shook his head. “Stepbrother. Hell, I’d sooner turn him in, only it might not work and he’d come after me.” His eyes held a pleading expression. “What am I supposed to do?”

“The cops aren’t the only ones looking for Gus, buddy.”

“I know. That’s what I figured. So I’m caught in the middle either way,” he said.

“Then take a chance and play it right. If he calls you, call us. We have ways of keeping things quiet”

“Can... I think about it?”

“Sure. One way or another he’ll turn up, but like you said, why get caught in the middle? He asked for anything he gets.”

I went to get up, then changed my mind and asked, “You know the girls René Mills had working for him?”

For a second his face took on a startled look, then he nodded. “Rose Shaw and Kitty Muntz. They come in all the time. Rose should be in soon to pick up her stuff. That Mills, he gave ’em the boot before he kicked off.”

“So supposing we go downstairs and wait for her, Henry.”

“In the shop?” He swallowed hard, knowing what they thought of cops around here.

“Don’t worry, I’ll even help out behind the counter.” Rose Shaw didn’t show until ten after three, a flagrant little whore with a hard, tight body encased in a too-small sweater and blouse combination, her eyes showing the cynicism of her profession, the caustic twist to her mouth accentuating it. She threw her ticket down on the counter top with a crumpled ten-dollar bill from a plastic purse and stood there with a hurry-up look on her face.

I got up from the stool where I was sitting while Henry Wilder was collecting her clothes. She made me as fast as Ralph Callahan did, but in a different way. The lids half closed over her pupils and the mouth went into a semi-sneer that spat copper, and she was ready to tell me to stuff it because she wasn’t working a pad at the moment and there was nothing I could lay on her. She was too wise to get trapped by a phoney approach, and wasn’t about to get stuck with a pay off if I was a bad one.

One by one the possibilities ran through her mind, eliminating the wrong ones, and when I still didn’t make a move her face clouded because she couldn’t tap the right answer. Then she got jumpy. There is something peculiar about those on the stiffer sides of the fence, the law and the punks. In some ways they seem to look alike sometimes. They work in the same areas in the same profession with the same people, and it gets to them so they adopt common mannerisms and expressions and deep in the back of their eyes is buried a mutual hatred for each other.

But we had the advantage. We could read them. They could never quite read us. They were the ones who were mixed up, not us.

I said, “Talk or walk, Rose.”

“Look, mister...”

The badge lay in my hand, nicely palmed. “Talk here, walk downtown. Take your pick.”

She said something under her breath and glanced around her. “Screw you, copper. Not in public.”

“You name it then.”

“I got a room at 4430. It’s where I live, not work.”

“Go ahead. I’ll give you ten minutes.”

“Second floor in the back.” She swore under her breath, draped her clothes over her arm, picked up her change and walked out, her face still full of disgust.

I gave her the ten minutes and picked my way down to her brownstone, cut in quickly and shoved the door open. The odor of burned grease and cabbage was heavy on the air, cutting through the mustiness of dirt and decay. The steps were hollowed by the tread of thousands of feet traversing them, creaky with age and littered with odds and ends of callous living. I found her door, knocked once and turned the knob without being asked to come in.

Rose Shaw sat with her feet up on a table, a beer in her hand, deliberately posed so I could see up her dress past the muscular smoothness of her thighs. I said, “Forget the peep show, Rose,” and swung a chair around and sat down with my arms lying across its back.

“Swing me, copper. I’m waiting to hear the pitch.”

“Let’s start with René Mills.”

She shrugged elaborately and took a pull from the can of beer. “He’s dead. What else?”

“Why, Rose?”

“I can think of a hundred reasons. Somebody beat me to it. Kitty too. Hell, she pulled out before René was knocked off. I thought she was dumber’n me, but she saw the signs, she did. She knew what was coming and cut out before she was told to.”

“Where is she?”

“Jersey City. She left yesterday. Her old man let her go back to work for him in a factory. She won’t like it.”

“And how about you?”

“What the hell do you care?”

“I don’t”

“So why the action?” she asked.

“René Mills,” I repeated.

“You seem to know the score. Where do I come in? So I’m puttin’ out for cash, man. It ain’t the best, but it’ll do until something better shows.” She lost her hate for a second and stared at the ceiling. “Would you believe it, I used to be big time. Miami, then, and that was only four years ago. I was seventeen and rolling in the long green. Man, what days.”

“What happened?”

“I got clapped up and handed it out, and like that I was out. Two trips to the medic and I was okay, but the curse was there, man. So what’s new?”

“Get back to René Mills.”

She made a face and finished the beer. “He took me on. Me and Kitty. We was broke, willing and able. The trade was lousy compared to the other, but that’s the breaks. He set up the scene, we split fifty-fifty only we paid all the bills.” She gave another of those resigned shrugs and said, “We made out”

“Why’d he drop you then?”

“Went big time... like ha ha. He always had ideas and they got him dead. So this time he tells us to get lost, lays on a hundred bucks apiece when he’s all grins and new shoes with that watch back on his wrist he stole from some guy in a bar and hocked... got eighty bucks for it from Norman at the hockshop, so it was worth plenty.”

“How, Rose?”

“Who knows, copper? You think he’d spill? Hell, he booted Noisy Stuccio out of his pad a week before, and you know how close they were. Sure, old René had somethin’ going for him all the way.”

“And what would you say it was?”

She reached back over her shoulder, opened the small refrigerator and took out another bottle of beer. She didn’t offer me one. When she jacked the top off she said, “It was fresh money he didn’t expect. It came sudden like, but I’ll tell you this... he couldn’t get his hands on all of it. What he had was plenty, but not the large stuff. He liked to talk big, and kept hinting at what he was going to come into, but I knew that slob too damn well. He was thinking and working on something he didn’t have but sure damn well expected to get one way or another. That bastard wouldn’t let a penny get past him if he could help it”

“Who supplied it?”

“What’s it get me, copper?” She eyed me curiously, waiting for my answer.

“Ask,” I said.

She started to speak, stopped and gave me one more of those shrugs and went back to her beer.

“I can give you advice,” I said.

“Screw your advice,” she told me coldly. “No advice from a cop.”

“I got a friend who makes pictures. We were in the war together. He might be able to use your type if you have the guts to try. Maybe it won’t work, but I can always ask.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

I was starting to feel like a damn dogooder and didn’t like it. Thirty days in the can would probably make more of an impression, but she was from the place I grew up and couldn’t get out and I knew what she felt like.

Rose looked at me, the beer motionless in her hand. “You mean it, don’t you?”

I nodded.

“What’s this world coming to?” she said. “So I’ve tried everything, why not advice from a cop?” The hardness washed out of her eyes and the expression turned serious. “René had somebody stashed in his apartment. Somebody he knew.”

“How did you know that?”

“Because he was buying groceries for two, that’s why. I saw him at the deli, old Pops mentioned it and once I saw the laundry he brought into the laundromat. He bought booze he’d never buy for himself and he had those allover smiles he never had when times was hard.”

“Who, Rose?”

“I never inquired. If I did it would mean a belt in the mouth and I had enough of that, and in my business that would be...”

“Disastrous,” I supplied. “Yeah.”

I got up and pushed the chair back where it was. “I’ll make that call for you. Take it.”

“Okay, copper,” she said. She lifted the bottle to her lips, sipped at it without taking her eyes from mine, then put it down and smiled. “And you know what? I’ll make it, too.” When I agreed with a little grin she said, “Watch out for that Al Reese. He had the bull on René and was pushing him. You’re the copper I’ve been hearing about, aren’t you?”

“Probably.”

“Then watch him. He knew René had dough coming. I saw them arguing one day and it was all on Al’s side. He had René pinned because of something he knew René did, like he does with everybody else, and held it over his head. When René started flashing that cabbage, Al was there, so he put things together and put the squeeze on him. Don’t play that fat boy down, copper. He’s just a precinct captain around here, but dig his place on the Sound and that boat he has and the broads he pays for and you’ll see more. The tax people ought to do him like they did Capone. Where he lives here is only for show to get the votes for the party like he’s one of the boys, but he’s a power, man, a big power.”

“I’ll watch him,” I said.

“He’s smart.”

“So am I.”

“He’s tough.”

“I’m a helluva lot tougher, sugar.”

“But he knows more about René and that’s what you’re interested in, isn’t it?”

“You’re on the ball.”

“I like you, copper. You’re welcome to stay a while if you want.”

For fun I winked like maybe I’d be back, but we both knew what it meant. Twice now I’d been invited to a bed party free by a couple of pros who could make it interesting and twice I kissed off the deal. Too much training, I thought. Too many Army VD films.

Hell, that wasn’t the reason. It was that damn Marty. I kept thinking about her.

The late-afternoon shift was just beginning to drift into Donavan’s place when I got there. This was the straight bunch, the guys still in work clothes carrying lunch pails, having a drink before they had to breech the fortresses of their own homes. The bartender caught my entry and tried to pass the word, but I stopped him with a single look and went back to where Donavan was sitting behind a paper and pulled it away from his face.

“Al Reese,” I said. “Where is he?”

His tone was bland, but forced. “He ain’t been in.”

All I had to do was start that damn vicious grin again.

“Try Bunny’s,” he said in a hurry. He covered his fright by looking at his watch. “He don’t generally come over here until six.”

I said, “You make a call, Donavan, you put the word out and I’ll smear you all over your own joint. You got that?”

“Listen, Scanlon...”

Tough guys I didn’t like. I just grinned again, and he got the message. Whatever he saw in my face scared the crap out of him. “Look... I got my own business...”

I didn’t bother to hear him out.

Bunny’s was a fag joint around the bend. Hell, you’ve probably read about it a dozen times if you keep up with the columns. At night a cop is stationed outside and a cruiser goes by every ten minutes looking for trouble. It was an old place and back when Prohibition was still in effect and the stage door Johnnies were still escorting the chorus babes around as status symbols and it was a genuine saloon, Larry and I were making bucks for eating money holding open car doors for the tux crowd and sometimes steering the lonelies to spots where exciting company could be found in a hurry.

Now it was changed, the exterior was gaudy, the canopy and doorman expensive, the line of taxis unusually long for this area at this time, but the reason plain... it was the convention season, and the out-of-towners wanted a peek at New York in the rough.

I could still feel Larry at my side, laughing at the suckers, knowing what marks they’d be when a forlorn lad was out for a favor and a broad watching to see how expansive her date would be. Hell, that was how he got his loot to go watch all the Tom Mix shows.

Chief Crazy Horse, I kept thinking. Miss you, boy. Of all that big family we had, I miss you the most. One lousy war and a missing in action notification telegram busts us up.

You didn’t miss a thing, Larry. The world went wild after you left. Most of the bunch are dead. Some died with you... some the hard way. Some are still waiting to die. The rest just waiting.

I went inside.

Al Reese was at the bar, his bulk taking up a corner of it Loefert was two stools down with a pretty, but hard-looking B girl beside him, and next to her Will Fater and Steve Lutz were sipping drinks without talking, satisfied with watching their reflections in the back bar mirror.

It was going to be a fun evening. And the night hadn’t even begun.

When I tapped him on the shoulder he turned around, annoyed at the interruption, his chunky jowls ready to chop into me with a wise remark, then all at once he went white.

Everybody was looking when I said, “On the wall, fatty. Hands out, feet back and apart and make a move I don’t like and you’ll catch one.” I let them see the rod in the Weber rig and whatever my face said, they knew I wasn’t kidding. To insure the deal I nodded to Loefert, Fater and Lutz to join him and without a word they took the position. Hell, I knew they’d all be clean, but when you roust you roust and you don’t give a damn. Tomorrow all hell would break loose at HQ when Reese put the squeal in, but right then I was enjoying myself. The customers had a treat, the hired help had a laugh and Al Reese damn near had a stroke when I finally got them patted down, identified and let them go back to their seats. For the others it was an old routine, but for Reese, it was strictly a new experience.

To add to it, I shoved him in the corner and made it quick. I made it loud enough so the bartender would hear it and let it go out on that grapevine that was faster than Western Union and said, “Fat boy... there’s a girl named Paula Lees that you lay off.” I looked over at Loefert and knew he was listening to every word. “If you... or anybody... bothers her I’ll take your ears off. Now I’m not speaking figuratively. I mean take your ears off. One day see Fuchie. Remember him? Remember that goatee he had? Know what his chin looks like now? I did that, fat boy, and the same I’ll do to your ears. Yell all you want and it’ll be like old times in the Tombs with the rubber hose and the hard cell. Think we can’t do it that way now and you aren’t thinking straight.”

I gave Al Reese one hard shot in the kidneys with my fist to punctuate the argument and all the breath went out of him in a long sigh and Loefert turned eyes of pure hate my way while the others played it cool and just looked away.

But they got the message.

Paula Lees got her freedom.

It was that easy. So far.

I was a cop coming home to his old turf who didn’t like what he saw and decided to clean it up. I could hit the punks and take care of the unfortunate. Word would go out and maybe talking to them would be easier. Maybe.

At six I knocked at Marty’s door and heard her run across the room to answer it. She had changed into a skirt and blouse, let her hair down, and the welcome home smile she gave me sent that feeling back into my stomach again. I could smell the coffee and hear chops sizzling in the kitchen and went in licking my lips.

“Hungry, Joe?” She saw my expression and added, “Don’t answer that,” with an even bigger smile. “Grab a beer out of the fridge. Everything’ll be ready in a minute.”

Damn, my place was never like this.

We ate with a peculiar intimacy neither of us wanted to mention, but it hung in the air like a wild perfume. We talked about little things, both of us prolonging the moments we had until it came to an end over coffee. Marty poured a second cup and said, “The boys will kick you out of the club if they know you’ve been consorting with girls.”

“No more. Most of them are dead.”

“Strange, isn’t it?” She put the pot back on the stove and sat down. “Time goes so fast. I can remember chasing you and Larry, trying to get into the game... you sending me on stupid errands so I’d get lost or Larry making like he was going to scalp me with that tomahawk...”

“I was thinking of him before,” I said.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“We were pretty close. We were those kind of brothers.” I shrugged. “Life, kid.”

“I know.”

It had to end sooner or later so I said, “Finish your check today?”

She regretted the sudden switch as much as I did and nodded ruefully, her attitude suddenly professional. “Verbal?”

“That’ll do.”

“Murphy had the most to contribute,” she told me. “He has some people inside their ranks and the word is that there is something hot brewing. The top men are pretty disturbed about something and have been doing a lot of traveling between New York and Chicago. Looked like a high-level series of meetings. There is a definite connection with the mob here and upstate... they’re looking out for Gus Wilder, all right, but that factor isn’t of prime importance. It’s something else... and that nobody is talking about.”

“Still leaves us guessing,” I said.

“Not quite. Orders that came from one of those meetings directed Loefert, Fater and Steve Lutz into this area. We concentrate on them, and we might find out something.”

“Those guys don’t break very easily,” I reminded her.

“Somewhere, they always have a chink in the armor, don’t they?”

“Always,” I grinned. She was beginning to think like a beat cop now and not a social worker.

“Then how do we start?”

“With the first kills. It’s a homicide case, baby.”

“Until now nobody’s talked. Nobody saw anything.”

“I’m glad you’re so damn confident.”

“Kitten, I’ve been at this job a long time,” I said. “There are times when they get ready. All you have to do is prod them a little.”

“Okay then, ugly, I’m ready whenever you are,” she laughed.