“Don’t get me wrong, please. I love Mama very much. She never asked to be crippled. But I thought when Ollie got out of prison he’d take over caring for her, and for the first time I’d start living for myself. He came in Friday night and it was wonderful. You should’ve seen how Mama perked up. This old dump ain’t never heard so much laughter. I was feeling so good I didn’t even go to work this morning. I was window shopping, making plans. Then I happen to catch one of those news bulletins over the radio.”
The Warren women seemed to have cornered the tears market. Carol’s eyes got glassy and her lower lip trembled as she fought to hold them back. “Find this Tucker, will you, Mr. Benson? Somebody’s got to pay for this.”
He fired up a cigar when he got back in the Caddy. A shot of hundred-proof bourbon would’ve been nice too. He couldn’t help feeling for Bess and Carol Warren. A lot of tears are shed over lost dreams. Their dreams, although separate, had been tied to one ex-con who’d gotten himself blown away three days after his release from prison. The world hadn’t dealt them too many good cards.
He hit three newsstands before he found anyone who knew Dave Tucker and where he could be located. Tucker had a box on the corner of Central and Pine. Copies of the dailies sat on milk crates on either side of the open door. The dude inside was wearing a dingy T-shirt, showing a lot of old muscles that were turning to fat, and flipping through a copy of Penthouse. B. B. King drifted out of the radio on the shelf next to him.
“Dave Tucker?”
His attention came up from the centerfold, a little puzzlement in his eyes, a trench forming across his wide forehead. “You win the sixty-four dollars, mister. What can I do for ya?”
“I’d like to get your opinion of what went down today about Ollie Hymes.”
There was no change in his expression. “Who’s asking?”
Bull told him.
Tucker nodded. “Benson, huh? Yeah, you and Sam Devlin. Well, from one poker player to another, Ollie was the fifth ace in anybody’s deck. What do I think about him getting offed? It should’ve happened years ago. But I kind of get the feeling you knew that.”
“Some folks have said you and Hymes weren’t exactly kissin’ cousins.”
“The folks was right.”
“Did you kill him?”
Tucker tossed the Penthouse aside, rubbed a fist into the palm of his other hand. “Y’know, I’m not too old that I wouldn’t take a swing at you.”
“Yeah, and you’re not too old that I wouldn’t swing back,” Bull said, readying himself, not sure what Tucker would do.
After a moment’s staring contest, Tucker relaxed, grinned. “Ain’t no reason to get physical anyway. I was right here when Ollie got it. I pull a long day on this corner, from six to six. Come by in the morning and check my regulars. They’ll tell you I was here.”
The alibi rolled off like it was rehearsed.
Bull had challenged pat hands before, in games where he was the winner, or when he was holding some strong cards himself. This wasn’t one of those times.
Sam and Chet were waiting for him at Sam’s room at the Lakeside, along with a bottle of hundred-proof Grandad. He fixed himself a double on the rocks and drank half of it before telling them of his conversations with Summers, the Warrens, and Dave Tucker. He and Chet took the two chairs and Sam sat on the corner of the bed.
Chet smoothed his greying moustache with thumb and forefinger. “Well, so far, Bull, you haven’t said anything that’s going to keep Sam out of jail.”
“Yeah. I guess you’re right. What are the chances for bail?”
Chet shrugged. “It could go either way. If they overlook Sam’s association with the notorious Bull Benson and they don’t dig back too many years, we might make it. But there’s always the chance we’ll run into a judge who’ll want to be hard-nosed about it.”
Sam ran a hand over his bald dome. “The way ma luck’s been goin’,” he said in his sandpaper voice, “we’ll get the hard-nosed judge for sure.”
Bull finished the last of his bourbon and let the taste settle in his mouth. “Well, I don’t like the idea of turning Sam over to the cops.”
“It don’t set too well with me either,” Sam said.
Chet leaned forward in his chair. “What other options do we have?”
“Not too many,” Bull admitted. “Let’s go over this thing again. Sam, what time did Hymes get hit?”
“Little after eight-thirty. He said he’d be by my place by nine.”
“O.K. So we got Tucker, who didn’t try to hide his bad feelings for Hymes. But he paraded his alibi so fast he has to be sure it’ll hold up.”
“Yes,” Chet said, “but that doesn’t mean Tucker didn’t hire someone to make the hit.”
“Right. But if Hymes was killed because of the Smith Brothers deal, that throws it back to Lemar Summers. Summers opened his clothing store a year or so after Hymes was sent up. The missing money could have been used to finance that. I couldn’t make my mind up about Summers. He seemed a little too jittery to be the completely honest man he wanted me to believe he was. And his alibi for the time Hymes got it is a little shaky too.”
“Looking at the odds ’tween the two,” Sam said, “Lemar’s our man. He didn’t want to start the partnership up again, and he was waiting for Ollie when he got to my place.”
“But how do we prove it?” Chet asked.
“Yeah, how?” Bull echoed, sitting back and letting the whole thing soak in. There had to be something he’d overlooked, some key that would make it work in their favor. Sam had preached to him endlessly about knowing the odds, about not making any sucker plays. But Sam had got rattled when Hymes fell dead in his apartment this morning. Sam had turned his back on the odds, and they had had to play catch-up all day. But thinking now, paying attention to the odds, there was really only one way it could have happened. He got up and started for the phone.
“Well?” Chet said.
“Well, if I’m right, we’ll make Sam buy us dinner tonight.”
“You better be right about this, Bull,” Vern told him as they walked toward the door.
“Yeah,” Charlie offered behind them, “or you’re heading directly to jail and you ain’t passing Go.”
Bull let it lie. There had been sparks between him and Charlie since day one and he doubted if the situation would ever change.
Carol answered the door and there seemed to be some surprise in her face in seeing them there. A smile started, then faded quickly into a wide-eyed stare. He made the introductions and had her take them to her mother.
“You can stay this time, Carol,” he told her as Charlie slid over and blocked the doorway.
She stood with her back to him for a moment, then moved over to the bureau in the corner, not looking directly at anyone.
“What’s this all about?” Bess Warren asked from the bed. “Did you find Ollie’s killer? Was it Dave?”
He went around to the side of the bed. “No, Tucker didn’t do it, Bess. But I think I’ve got the killer pegged.”
He watched her take in the whole room, her eyes darting from face to face and then settling back on him.
“You and Hymes must’ve laughed a long time, having the cops tear up the city looking for two black dudes — when one of the Smith Brothers was a woman.”
There was no reaction from her at first. Then she gave a slight nod, and a hint of a smile appeared on her thin lips. “Somebody finally figured it, huh?”
“You kind of told me,” he answered. “You said you and Hymes did some pretty wild things. What could be wilder than that? Big hat, phony beard, and gloves — who could tell all that stuff was covering one of the hottest little numbers on the south side?”