Shield for Murder

9

Nolan watched her hurry across the sidewalk, holding his bundle of money in both hands. He grinned to himself and drove back to the Sixty-fifth feeling that a load had been lifted from his shoulders.

The idea of giving the money to Linda had occurred to him after he’d called Espizito; and he knew it had been an inspiration. Espizito would never tumble to that pitch. He’d be watching banks and safety lockers and Nolan himself; and a lot of good it would do him.

At the Sixty-fifth the time dragged. At twelve o’clock he muttered good night to Sergeant Odell and went downstairs to his car.

He drove South on Seventh Street toward Espizito’s club, passing the shuttered-up shops and markets that transformed the section by day into a rich noisy bedlam. This was an area Nolan knew well. He had fought with street gangs in these alleys, had stolen food and clothing from bearded Jewish tradesmen, and during his days with Petey Felickson, had prowled the neighborhood watching for the rival candidate’s canvassers.

That was when he’d met Espizito. Mike Espizito was an anomaly of that pinched and bitter time. A son of wealthy parents, a graduate of Temple University where he’d made his mark as the campus bookmaker, Mike had taken over a small section of South Philadelphia when he left school, and had serviced it with care and affection. Eventually he got in with Tommy Malone; and inevitably he got on top of Tommy Malone. After those days in the early Thirties, Mike Espizito had handled everything south of Market Street in Philadelphia. He was known as a mild amiable person as long as things were going his way. His only neurosis was a drastic aversion to bad news. He couldn’t tolerate failures or losses.

Nolan parked his car and walked up to the big double doors of Mike’s club, the Neapolitan, a flamboyant joint that featured name bands and the best of food and drink, and catered to the upper-crust of the city’s shadier elements. Tourists dropped in occasionally, and were treated like celebrities at Mike’s standing order. He liked to give simple people a run for their money.

Nolan went in, nodded to a captain of waiters, and walked up a winding stairway to the second floor, where there was a circular bar and a large dining room. He sat down and ordered a bottle of beer and a shot of rye.

Two of Espizito’s men, Hymie Solstein and Laddy O’Neill, joined him in a few minutes. They were both big men, sharply dressed, and they greeted Nolan with a casual confidence that he found irritating.

Hymie was short but weighed nearly three hundred pounds, and his round blunt features had been scrambled in every conceivable fashion. His nose had been broken and rebroken, and his babyishly rounded forehead was studded with a collection of ridges, lumps, and contusions. He had dark thinning hair and the smile of an evil-minded angel.

Laddy O’Neill was taller than Nolan, with huge rangy shoulders and arms as long as a professional basketball player’s. He had been a wrestler for years, and was known to be a bad man with a gun, knife, ice-pick, or anything else that came to hand.

They sat down on either side of him and Hymie thumped his back while Laddy shook his hand.

“The boss is waiting,” Hymie said. “Let’s go.”

“I got a drink to finish.”

“You know how he is about being kept waiting.”

Nolan looked directly into Hymie’s battered face. He didn’t like him or his out-sized shadow, Laddy O’Neill. They were punks with tough-guy mannerisms picked up from the movies. “I know all about how he is about waiting,” he said. “But I still got a drink to finish.”

He tossed off the shot and drank the beer slowly, deliberately. The bartender brushed away his attempt to pay, so he climbed off the stool and followed Laddy’s wide shoulders through the dining room and down a short corridor that ended against a heavy, reinforced door.

Laddy knocked and the door swung inward. A thin, sallow-cheeked man in a dinner jacket glanced at them, then stepped aside and said, “Come in, boys. Hello, Barny.”

The man in the dinner jacket was Slicker Robinson, one of Mike’s top men. Barny nodded to him, and saw that Espizito was at his desk, talking on the phone. Mike smiled a greeting at him. “Won’t be a second,” he said, cupping a hand over the receiver. “Sit down and have a drink.”

Nolan sat down in a deep leather chair before Espizito’s desk, and glanced around, noting the rich green drapes, the custom furniture and the single door that led to the complete apartment Mike used when he stayed in town overnight. Nolan had been here before, but years ago, and Mike hadn’t achieved quite so luxurious a frame for himself at that time.

Slicker Robinson went to the bar, held up a bottle of Bourbon and raised his eyes questioningly at Nolan. Nolan nodded and Slicker poured a drink and brought it over to him.

Espizito wasn’t doing much talking. There was a contented expression on his face, and occasionally he murmured something into the phone in an amused voice and smiled good-naturedly. He was a short man, neatly built, with pudgy hands and glossy black hair. There was nothing of the racketeer in his appearance; he looked like a slightly overdressed bank teller.

Finally he said goodbye and put down the phone. He smiled at Nolan, displaying small even teeth.

“Possibly you know why I asked you to stop by, Barny,” he said.

This was it, Nolan knew. This was his last chance to square things with Espizito. But he didn’t hesitate. He said, “No, Mike, I don’t.”

“I see.” Espizito pursed his lips thoughtfully. He glanced over Nolan’s head, and said, “Boys, step outside for a few minutes, please.”

Nolan heard the door slam as Hymie and Laddy left. Slicker Robinson walked over behind Mike’s desk and leaned against the wall with his arms folded.

“Barny, you shot Dave Fiest the other night, and I thought you might be holding something of his for me,” Espizito said. “I thought maybe you found some money on him and were just waiting to find out to whom it belonged. Well, it belonged to me, Nolan. And I’d like to have it, please.”

Nolan met Espizito’s eyes evenly. “You kind of thought wrong, Mike. I’m not holding anything of Dave Fiest’s for you.”

Slicker Robinson ran his tongue over his lips, and Espizito looked pained. He stared petulantly at Nolan, and the tension became oppressive.

“Let’s go over the facts,” Espizito said, at last. His cheeks were faintly flushed, and Nolan knew he was angry. “Dave Fiest took a bet of mine last week, five thousand on Blue Angel at Sportsman’s Park. Blue Angel won, and paid four to one, which meant that Dave owed me twenty thousand, plus my five. That made twenty-five thousand dollars. He was going to bring that money over here last night. He left a taproom at Broad and Crab Streets at one-thirty, and before he did he showed two friends of mine the bank roll. Outside he met you and got pinched. You walked over to Crab Street and Ellens Lane, where you were forced to shoot him when he made a bold dash for freedom.”

Slicker Robinson smiled as if Mike had said something funny.

Espizito said quietly, “Now what happened to the money, Nolan?”

“How should I know?”

“You know, all right,” Espizito said in the same calm voice. “Now, Barny, I don’t care about Fiest getting killed, understand. I don’t care about any other money he was carrying on him at the time. All I’m concerned about is the twenty-five thousand dollars that belonged to me. I want it, Barny.”

They were both silent, watching each other steadily. Then Espizito stood abruptly and began pacing the floor. He lit a cigarette and drew on it with short nervous puffs.

“I want that cash, you hear?” he said, his voice strong and harsh. “I’m not in business to make punks like you rich.”

“Watch your language,” Nolan said. He slammed his open hand down on Espizito’s desk, and the noise was like a pistol shot. “No thieving spic calls me a punk, by God.”

“Shut up, Nolan,” Slicker Robinson said and put a hand into his coat pocket.

Nolan came to his feet fast, jerking the .38 from the holster at his shoulder. “Get your hand out of your pocket,” he snapped at Robinson.

Robinson obeyed slowly.

Nolan knew he was behaving recklessly, but he didn’t care. He was mad enough to do anything.

“You yapped off quite a bit,” he said to Espizito. “Now, do some listening.” He talked carefully, slowly trying to calm himself down. He didn’t want to shoot, even though he was ready to. “A dozen things might have happened to that money before I arrested Fiest. Think about that for a while. And one more thing: If I see any of your punks too close to me after tonight, I’ll take ’em off your payroll for good.”

Espizito stood perfectly straight and still. “All right, Barny,” he said.

“That’s fine,” Barny said, and put his gun away. “Now, you got anything else on your mind?”

“Nothing at all, Barny,” Espizito said.

“Good.” Nolan turned on his heel and strode across the office. He jerked open the door and went out without looking back. Laddy and Hymie were standing in the corridor. They grinned at him.

“Everything copesetic?” Hymie said.

Nolan went past them and down the stairs without answering.

Espizito was standing quietly at his desk when Laddy and Hymie sauntered back into the office. They glanced from him to Slicker, who was staring worriedly at the floor.

“Hey, what’s up?” Hymie said.

Robinson shook his head in a warning gesture.

Espizito remained standing for a few seconds and then sat down slowly and ran a plump hand through his hair. He was breathing slowly, and there were spots of pink in his cheeks.

Finally he said, in a puzzled voice: “He’s going to try to get away with it, all right. I can’t quite believe it.”

“Don’t worry, Mike, we’ll get it back,” Slicker Robinson said gently, watching him with a concerned expression.

“Oh, yes, we’ll get it back,” Espizito said. “It’s just that the whole thing is puzzling.”

“Me and Hymie will go get it right now, Boss,” Laddy said.

“You and Hymie keep away from him,” Espizito said. “You don’t know Barny Nolan. Right now he’s a dangerous man.”

Laddy smiled and stretched his long powerful arms. “He don’t look no different from lots of guys I seen lying on the floor.”

Espizito glanced at him sharply. “I’m not submitting proposals for your consideration. I’m telling you to keep away from Barny Nolan. Is that clear?”

“Well, sure,” Laddy said, uncomfortably.

Espizito leaned back in his chair and put his finger tips together. “Most people don’t know what makes a man dangerous,” he said, reflectively. “I do, however. A dangerous man is one who will do anything to get what he wants. Lots of men will go pretty far, but at a certain point they stop. Somewhere in their character are brakes which prevent them from going all the way. Nolan has no brakes. He’s going downhill at full speed and he couldn’t stop himself if he wanted to. We’re not going to get in his way.”

“We just sit tight?” Slicker Robinson said.

“Well, not entirely. I’ve already sent Dippy out to his room to look around, and his car was checked while he was up here. But we won’t find my money that easily.” He glanced at Laddy and Hymie. “Here’s something you might look into. Find out if he’s spending any extra money, and on whom. I heard somewhere he’s chasing some girl at the Simba. A singer, I believe. Look into that angle.” He smiled and shook his head. “I don’t want him buying mink with my money.”

“Okay,” Hymie said.

“And keep out of his way. You’ll regret it like hell if you tangle with him. And so will I, which is more to the point.”

“Okay,” Laddy said, with a deep sigh. “But I think you’re overrating him.”

Slicker Robinson shook his head slowly. “You heard Mike. Keep away from Nolan.”