“Don’t worry,” said Sackler surprisingly. “I know what it is and I shall hold out until I’m paid.”
Both Capelli and I looked at him in some astonishment. Capelli seemed stunned that he could know what the article was and so was I. I certainly had no idea what was going on and I was sure I knew as much as Sackler.
Chapter Three
Betting Between Friends
Before either of us could speak however a familiar, roaring voice sounded from without.
“Either you ten cent punks let me in that door or I’ll have three wagon loads of coppers here with a battering ram. By God, I’ll—”
Capelli nodded to Lou who had been leaning against the wall ever since we entered. He said: “Let the inspector in.”
Lou walked across the yielding carpet and turned the doorknob. On the threshold stood Jake and Woolley. Woolley, to judge by his crimson complexion, was in a fine fury.
Jake stood aside and he strode into the office. The first thing his inflamed eyes fell upon was Sackler. He uttered the bellow of a wounded bull. He levelled an accusing finger at Sackler’s concave chest and shouted: “I knew you had your grubby hand in this somewhere.”
Sackler drew himself up and looked supercilious. Woolley glared wildly about the room, embracing both Capelli and Sackler in his gaze, and roared: “You’d both better come clean. What do you know about Freuh? I demand to know.”
Capelli held up a soothing hand. Sackler said: “By what right do you demand to know? Are you a grand jury? Are you even an assistant DA.? You will either shut up or arrest us.”
“I don’t have to consider that choice,” shouted Woolley. “Come on, both of you.”
Capelli stood up. “Take it easy, Inspector. Mr. Sackler’s excited. I’m willing to tell you what I know. Freuh had an appointment with me yesterday. He didn’t keep it. I understand you have his appointment book. Well, he saw Sackler here, and he went to Earnshaw’s right after the pinch. But he didn’t get here.”
Woolley regarded him with distaste. “You seem to know a hell of a lot about it. Have you a pipeline into headquarters?”
“As a matter of fact,” said Capelli, “I have. He left Sackler’s and was picked up by the Treasury men, searched and released. Then he went to Earnshaw’s. He never got here.”
Woolley scratched his head. He seemed to resent Capelli’s information, and he didn’t appear to have enough of his own.
“Well,” he said blusteringly, “you stay where I can get you, Capelli. I’m not satisfied with this. I’m going over to see Earnshaw.”
“I’ll go along,” said Sackler. “There’s one thing I need to straighten out in this case.”
“One thing?” roared Woolley. “There are a half hundred. And I’ve got Washington and the Commissioner on my neck this time.”
“And a fat red neck it is, too,” said Sackler as he strode out of the room.
Sackler’s tactful remark did not improve Woolley’s temper. However, I figured it was that Woolley was so damned baffled about something, that he welcomed Sackler, sharp tongue and all, in the hope that he could be of some aid.
The police car hurtled through the streets to the upper east side and stopped before an expensive apartment house. Woolley pushed past the doorman, got into the elevator and said, “Nine.”
We got out at the ninth floor and followed Woolley to a door where he rang a bell. A scar-faced individual opened the door. Woolley flashed his badge and said: “Police. Where’s Earnshaw?”
“Sick,” said Scarface. “In bed. You can’t see him.”
“The hell I can’t,” said Woolley, and pushed past him.
Sackler and I trailed along through a thickly carpeted hallway and eventually found ourselves in a lushly furnished bedroom.
In the centre of a huge bed was Earnshaw. His head was bald and because of the bandages wrapped around his face was, at the moment, the most prominent part of him.
Woolley stood at the foot of the bed and watched a white clad nurse take a thermometer from Earnshaw’s lips. Woolley put his hands on hips and said: “What’s the matter with you?”
A mumble from the bandages. The three of us cocked our ears toward the bed. I made out the words, “Met with an accident.”
Woolley snorted. “You mean some hoods beat you up. Who?”
Earnshaw shook his head. “I’ll take care of this. I don’t need you.”
“Did Freuh beat you up, yesterday?”
Earnshaw shook his head.
“Well, he was here yesterday, wasn’t he?”
This time the bandages bobbed up and down.
“Did he leave here alive or dead?”
The bandages were still for a moment. Then came an indignant mumble. “He left here alive and I can prove it.”
“By whom?”
“A couple of my boys.”
“They’d swear to anything.”
“Well, they’re witnesses. You have no witnesses at all to the contrary.”
There was a lot more dialogue. Most of it was concerned with Woolley’s trying to find out who beat Earnshaw up. But the bandages weren’t talking. At last Woolley walked out of the room in utter disgust. Sackler and I followed behind.
“I hope,” said Woolley when we got down into the street, “that you found out what you wanted to know. I didn’t find out anything.”
“I think I did,” said Sackler, “However, it may take me a couple of days to clean it up for you.”
“You miserable punk,” exploded Woolley, “it’d take you more than a couple of days to even find out what it was all about. It’s a police secret shared only between us and Washington.”
“And me,” said Sackler, heading toward the subway station.
I lit a cigarette and caught up with him. Deliberately I blew smoke in his face. He sniffed nervously. His nostrils twitched. I did a fast inward gloat. One day wasn’t up yet and he craved tobacco.
He said: “Joey, maybe we’ve been a couple of fools.”
“How come?”
“That silly bet. Neither of us can afford that kind of money. We were foolish. Perhaps we should cancel it. You can’t afford to lose a hundred dollars.”
“I’m not going to. You’re choking now. You’ll never hold out.”
He grunted, but discussed the matter no further.
He spent the next twenty-four hours at his desk apparently engrossed in deep thought. I smoked all day and blew the aroma toward him. He twitched a little but never broke down.
On the following day, he greeted me with a captivating smile. “Joey,” he said, “I have a few chores to do today. Your help won’t be necessary. So what do you think I’m going to do?”
“I haven’t any idea. What?”
“I’m going to give you the whole day off. With pay. You are free to do whatever you like.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “You are a Greek bearing a gift. What’s the catch?”
“No catch. Enjoy yourself.”
I shrugged. I said, “All right,” and picked up my hat. I had arrived at the doorway when he said, “And, oh, Joey?”
I stopped and turned around. “What?”
“About that idiotic bet. I was thinking—”
“Think all you like. Don’t smoke.”
I slammed the door on his curse and went out into the sunlight whistling. I went to two movies and a hockey game.
I hit the office some twenty minutes late the next morning. Sackler had not arrived yet. I let myself in, sat at my desk and ran through the morning paper. I had half finished the sports page when Sackler strolled in.
He carried an oblong package under his arm. There was a carefree smile on his lips and a lilt in his tone as he said: “Good morning, Joey.”
I returned the greeting as he stowed his parcel away in a desk drawer, then locked it. He sat down, drew a heavy sigh and looked at me speculatively.