I said to Sackler, “Have you any idea what this is all about?”
“A glimmer, Joey. A faint glimmer. It’s not too bad. There may be a dollar or so in it.”
Jake and Lou remained allergic to conversation. In concert they said, “Shut up.”
We cut right on Fourteenth Street and headed toward the River. We came to an eventual halt before a pair of huge warehouse doors, a stone’s throw from Washington Market. Jake, who apparently had a high regard for monosyllables, said, “Out.”
We got out. Lou locked the car and joined us. We were escorted through a narrow alley at the side of the building. We were stopped before a narrow door with a bell set in the bricks at its side. Lou pressed the bell.
A moment later the door opened. We went into a tiny foyer at the end of which was a flight of wooden stairs. We mounted on Jake’s orders. At the top, Lou banged against a door panel. A suave voice said: “Come in.”
I gasped as the door opened. The room which I viewed was vast and lavishly furnished. It was not the sort of thing one expected in a warehouse hard by Fourteenth Street. The rug on the floor felt as if it had been stolen from the lobby of Radio City Music Hall. The walls were panelled. The chairs were chrome and red leather. At the far end of the room was an oblong mahogany desk which would have awed anyone but a corporation vice-president.
On one side of the room an open door revealed an elaborate bathroom. There was a man in there, bending over a green washbasin. As I moved forward into the room I recognized the figure and noted what it was doing.
The man was Joseph Capelli. And he was washing the barrel of an automatic with soap and water.
I didn’t know which of these facts surprised me most. First I had never heard of anyone laving a gun. Second, I failed to understand why a man of Capelli’s subtle and devious talents should stoop to something as obvious and unnecessary as kidnapping. If he wanted to see Sackler all he had to do was promise him a dollar bill plus his cab fare.
Lou said: “O.K., chief. We got ’em.”
Capelli came out of the bathroom, his automatic still in his hand. He tossed it carelessly on the desk, waved cheeringly to Sackler and myself and sat down.
Capelli was a man of about thirty-five. His hair was dark and curly, his face was dark, and his eyes black and liquid. He had begun life in Little Italy and by dint of a ruthless hand and a quick wit had eventually established himself as the top racket boy of the town.
All his life he had cleverly avoided publicity, with the net result that only the coppers, the police reporters, and a harassed D.A.’s office which had never obtained enough evidence to convict him, knew of his activities. The general public had never heard of him.
“Now,” he said to Sackler, “I’ll tell you what I want.”
“Will you?” said Sackler bitterly. “I’ll tell you what you’re going to get.”
Capelli lifted his dark eyebrows. “What?”
“Arrested. And indicted this time, too. You can’t get away with this.” Sackler removed his gaze from Capelli and transferred it to me. “If I’d had an adequate bodyguard your two hoods would be dead now.”
Capelli grinned at me. “Take it easy,” he counselled. “You don’t want to have me pinched, Sackler. I’ve brought you here to give you some money.”
Sackler’s indignation fell from him like a. strip teaser’s brassiere. “I am objective enough,” he said primly, “to keep my personal feelings out of a business affair,”
“Good,” said Capelli. “First, how about a smoke?”
He lifted the lid of an intricately worked silver box to reveal tiers of fat cigars. “I import them,” he said. “You couldn’t buy them for a buck apiece retail.”
I helped myself to set an example and prayed that Sackler would follow suit. He stretched forth his hand, then remembered. He looked at me. He said sweetly: “Cigars don’t count, do they, Joey?”
“Try one and see.”
He sighed and withdrew his hand reluctantly. Capelli looked at him oddly and closed the box. He said, “I want you to do something simple for me. There’s a grand in it.”
Sackler forgot he had been deprived of a free dollar cigar. His eyes glittered and a beatific expression wreathed his face. He said curiously: “If you wanted to offer me a fee why did you bring me here at gun point?”
“A fair question,” said Capelli. “It seemed the best way to do it. First, it would do me no good to be seen in your office, and it would do you no good at all for me to be seen there. Moreover, if it came to the ears of the coppers they might knock you around to find out why I wanted to see you and you might crack and tell them. I don’t want them to know.”
“My relations with my clients are confidential,” said Sackler with dignity.
“Naturally,” said Capelli without conviction. “Moreover, had I phoned you, you may have made the appointment part of your office records. I don’t want that done. This deal is just between us. No one is to know of it. Your are not to record it on your books. I am a direct man and it seemed simplest to send two of the boys to bring you in.”
“Very well,” said Sackler. “What do you want for this thousand dollars? And when do I get it?”
“The moment you have completed the assignment. I want you to find some thing for me.”
“What?”
“The personal effects of a man named Arthur Freuh.”
“Ah,” said Sackler, nodding his head and looking as if this was exactly what he had expected.
“This man, Freuh, was murdered last night. I don’t have any idea where he lived. But he must have lived somewhere. I don’t have any idea what he owned. But he must have owned something. Clothes, toilet effects and things like that at least. I want you to find out where he lived and bring me his personal possessions. If you do that I will pay you a thousand dollars. If, among those effects, there is an item I want very much to get my hands on, I will double the fee.”
“And what is that item?”
Capelli shook his head. “That’s a trade secret. It’s better for both you and me that you don’t know.” He glanced down at his wristwatch. “Can you have the stuff here in an hour?” Sackler looked startled. “I’m good,” he said, “But not that good. You expect me to find Freuh’s address in sixty minutes? Starting from scratch?”
A shadow of disappointment crawled into Capelli’s eyes. “You mean you don’t already know it?”
“I do not.”
“He didn’t give it to you when he called on you yesterday?”
That was an illuminating question. What Capelli was really doing was offering Sackler a grand for Freuh’s address. He hadn’t believed that we would actually have to go out and find it.
“He didn’t give it to me,” said Sackler. “He only said he’d come back and see me.”
Capelli’s eyes narrowed. “Did he give you anything else?”
“Only my fee.”
“For what?”
Sackler hesitated for a moment, then he said. “That’s a trade secret.”
Capelli made a gesture of impatience. “Very well, how long will it take you to do what I ask?”
Sackler’s shoulders shrugged. “Who knows? Isn’t it likely that his landlady will hear or read he is dead and hand his stuff over to the coppers?”
Capelli shook his head. “It isn’t likely his landlady knows him under his right name.”
“No,” said Sackler thoughtfully, “of course not.”
“Well, will you do it? And quickly?”
Sackler nodded. “You have hired my brain,” he said in a tone which implied Capelli had all the best of the bargain.
“O.K. I’m sorry I can’t tell you what that special item is. You’ll have to take my word on it when it comes to the bonus.”