Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 7, No. 5, October 1960

Ten-Cent Alibi by Robert Wicks

All the alibi needed was a little more cement... to hide the flaws in a brutal slaying.

Nick Amico propped himself against a dew-dampened lamp post and stared back into the black cavern of the alley. Nothing moved. The tightness in his chest eased a little and his breathing became more regular. He looked down at his shoes. Under the pale circle of yellow light they still shone with a patent-leather gleam.

Why not he thought, grinning inwardly. I get me maybe fifteen free shines a week running numbers. Only, Augie ain’t gonna be around no more to slap the sole of my shoe and say, “There, ‘Alibi,’ you can see your face in ’em now.”

He ceased to gloat suddenly, becoming conscious again of the weight of the switchblade in his coat pocket. Got to get rid of it, he told himself. Straightening up he glanced down the street in both directions. No traffic.

At a corner he slipped the knife into a paper-clogged storm drain. Under another lamp post he paused to glance at his watch. He frowned, his mind working with cautious calculation. Three hours to go before the shops open. Got to do a fade out till then, and come up with a chrome-plated alibi.

He grinned again. The circle he moved in didn’t call him ‘Alibi’ Amico just to flatter him. His motto? Always make it perfect! But there hadn’t been time to plan this one. No noisy and over-crowded party to slip away from and return to undetected. No theater ticket stubs to back up a friend’s story that they had gone to the show together.

And only three hours to rig up something — less, if the boys with the silver badges picked him up sooner.

His mind went back to the last time they had tried to book him. He could still see Detective Lieutenant Nelson’s fat, rumpled face and the lawyer arriving with the writ. Nelson had been all set to hustle Nick from station to station.

Nelson had turned the writ slowly over in his hand, his voice edged with anger and contempt. “They equipping lawyers with radar these days?” Then he’d turned and glared at Nick. “Look, mister. One of these days you’re going to show up with an alibi that’s got a hole in it too wide to plug. And we’re going to get you up in front of a jury. With that reputation of yours they won’t even have to leave the box.”

Nick had grinned. “You ain’t even found grounds to book me yet.”

“One little hole,” Nelson had flung back warningly. “Just one.”

Headlights bathed the side of a building, and narrowed down to two bright discs as a car braked to a stop on a side street. With instant wariness Nick darted into an all-night cafe.

A sleepy-eyed man in a soiled chef’s cap looked up as he came through the swinging doors, and headed for the counter.

“Coffee — black.” Nick pushed a crumpled dollar across the counter. “And some dimes right now.”

The man took the bill, rang up ten cents on the cash register and handed Nick a fistful of change. Nick collected the money and slipped into a phone booth.

The overhead light didn’t work. So much the better, thought Nick. He fed a dime into the box and dialed a number. The phone on the other end buzzed in his ear. It buzzed eight times. Then he heard the receiver lift.

“Yeah?” said a low voice.

“Hi, Marvin,” Nick answered.

“Amico?”

“Yeah.”

“Trouble?”

“Same as before. Guy’s name was August Fromm.”

“It just came over the radio car alert. I just happened to be listening in. You still loose?”

“So far. Can you serve a writ on ’em before they can play musical jails with me?”

“No sweat. I got an ear at the precinct. Hope you got a good alibi.”

“I’ll get me one.”

“See you in jail,” the lawyer said and hung up.

Nick pressed the phone cradle down for a moment, then dropped another dime down the chute and fingered the dial. The phone buzzed longer this time.

“What the hell time is it?” a sleepy voice demanded.

“It’s morning,” said Nick.

He heard the sliding of metal on wood. A pause. Then, with angry reproach: “Six o’clock. A helluva time to wake a guy up.”

“Look, Steve, I got myself into a little trouble.”

“This you, Amico? Is it about Augie Fromm? I was afraid you might try to—”

“Hey, careful!”

“Take it easy. This is one line that isn’t bugged.”

“He was holding out on the take,” Nick explained. “Claimed he had to pay off the cop on the beat.”

“Maybe he did.”

“Then why didn’t he say so before?”

“Don’t seem like much of a reason to get the cops down on us again. What did you do? Never mind — don’t tell me. I’ve got a pretty good idea. You don’t carry a rod, so I expect it was a knife job—”

“Well, one thing led to another. Cops will probably be there to question you.”

“You know better than that, Amico.”

“Yeah, you got friends.”

“Let’s say I’m a respected citizen.”

“That’s why I called you, Steve. I need a water-tight alibi. If you was to come forward, and say I was with you all night—”

“Look, Amico. I told all you runners I don’t get mixed up in these things. I’ve made that plain enough — time and time again. I’ve got enough worries as it is.”

Nick’s mouth went dry. “Yeah, I know. But Steve, I gotta have somebody to back me up — somebody who pulls a little weight where it counts.”

“I thought you always had a perfect alibi.”

“Look, Steve, this thing just... well, it just went out of control. I gotta work fast before they pull me in.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line. Nick was standing very still, listening to his heart pound, when the answer finally came.

“Like I said, Nick, I don’t get mixed up in these things. It’s too goddamned risky.”

The receiver clicked in Nick’s ear.

Another dime and he was listening to the buzzing again.

“Hello.” It was a woman’s voice this time — yawning, husky.

“Hi, Flo. This is Nick Amico. Hope I didn’t get you out of bed.”

“No, I was just brewing up some coffee. It’s Monday, you know. Monday I like to get out of the house for the whole day. Go to the park, a movie. You know.”

Monday, Nick thought, seeing a way to play it to his advantage.

“That’s why I called you so early,” he said quickly. “I thought maybe you’d like to go out somewhere with me.”

She laughed. “Well, you haven’t exactly been a steady caller these past few weeks. I’d about decided you’d written the place off.”

“Nothing like that. ’Course, if you don’t want to go out with me...”

“You’re not kidding? I mean, you really want to, and you understand it really is my day off?”

“Sure. We’ll just go out for a good time. Maybe a boat ride around the harbor, or out to the island.”

There was a short pause, before Flo capitulated. “All right, hon. Give me an hour to shower, and get dressed, eh?”

“Sure thing. Oh, while I think of it. Lieutenant Nelson hasn’t been around looking for me, has he?”

“No. Should he be?”

“Well, I hear there was a little scrape down the boulevard a short while ago. He might be checking around on all the guys.”

This time the pause was longer. “And what should I tell him if he does come around?”

“Well, I don’t know. Just to be on the safe side you might tell him I spent the night there, and just stepped out for a shave. If he still wants to see me, I’ll be right back.”

“You know, Nick,” she said, “you almost had me believing you really wanted to go out with me.”

“I do, baby, I do!”

“Goodbye, Nick.”

“Wait a minute, Flo—”

“I’ve done all the waiting I intend to do for you. See you around — during business hours.”

“But if Nelson—”

“That’s your problem. I think I’ll go to the zoo, and watch the monkeys in the cages.”

The click in Amico’s ear was quiet but firm.

Another dime, another voice — old, tired.

“Hello.”

“Hi, Pop.”

“That you, Angelo?”

“Nope. Nick.”

“Nick?” The old man seemed puzzled. “What do you want?”

Nick tried, without success, to put a chuckle in his voice. “Now, what kind of way is that to greet your own son?”

The old man measured his words out slowly, but with an embittered vehemence. “I only got one son. His name’s Angelo.”

“Pop, it’s been three years. Three long years. Time we unmuddied the waters between us. I ain’t just a kid stealing cars anymore. That’s all in the past. I’m getting to be a big man now. You probably read about me in the papers.”

“I don’t have to read about you. I know all about you just from the way folks greet me around the neighborhood.”

“Pop, I’m kinda, well — a business man now.” He had to clear his throat. “I got me a little money set aside. I could do a lot of things for you — things a son ought to do for his dad?”

“I know how you get your money. It just came in over the radio. All about knifing.”

The phone was wet in Nick’s hand. “That’s what I really called you about. Has Lieutenant Nelson been around to talk to you?”

“No, but he will be. He calls at least once a week now. Like my neighbors, he thinks you hide out here when the dogs are barking.”

“Look, Pop. I didn’t have nothing to do with that knifing. But the cops have to be convinced. And, well, I can’t account for where I was when it happened. If you was to say I spent the night there and get Angelo to back you up.”

“Why should I?”

“Pop, I’m your son, your own flesh and—”

“I only got one son. Name’s Angelo. A good boy.”

“But, Pop!”

“Good luck, Nick — and goodbye.”

Amico slowly replaced the phone. Who else? Not any of the runners. Their word would be worse than no alibi. Maybe if he tried Flo again.

There was no answer when he dialed Flo’s number. He tried Steve again. No answer. Pop — no answer.

He remained standing very still in the phone booth for a long time. Finally, he went to the restroom. He washed up as best he could with liquid soap and paper towels, straightened his tie, smoothed his lapels and returned to the counter.

Lighting a cigarette, he stared into the shiny blackness of his coffee cup. Now what? Beat it out of town? They’d have every route covered.

He pulled on his cigarette. No, he thought. Steve was right. They got nothing on me. No evidence. No witnesses.

The tension went out of him. His fears of the night were being dispelled by the brightness of morning. For the first time I won’t have an alibi. I don’t need one. So Nelson books me. If he does, the judge at the hearing will have to toss the case out. I’ll never have to face a jury in a town that hates the name, Amico. So where are you, Nelson? He picked up his cup. I’m waiting.

As if in answer, the door swung open. A cold shock wave enveloped Nick’s stomach. Lieutenant Nelson, flanked by two uniformed police sergeants, stood there quietly regarding him.

“Hello, Nick.” Nelson said, sitting down on the stool next to him. “Coffee smells good.” The detective caught the eye of the man in the chef’s hat. “Cream and sugar.”

“Look, Nelson,” Amico said. “I just heard about it on the radio. I didn’t have nothing to do with it. This time I’m clean. I don’t even carry a knife anymore.” Held up his hands. “You can search me.”

The detective smiled and stirred his coffee.

“Look, we were the best of friends.” Nick’s mind raced. “I got an alibi,” he stammered.

“I know,” Nelson was still smiling. “We been checking up on you. You got a perfect alibi.”

Nick felt his stomach relax. He picked up his cup again, sipped his coffee. He avoided looking at the detective.

“In fact,” Nelson continued, “you got the most perfect alibi I’ve ever heard. You slept all night in three different places!”

Nick swallowed. His coffee was cold.