“Okay, boy. You call it.”
“Not me, Inspector. Not me. I don’t work into real upper echelons. I’m a cop, plain and simple. But I’m just cop enough to blow off a job I don’t want to get fixed into.”
Captain Oliver said, “Joe...”
It was a long time before I tied myself together, then I grinned and said, “Okay, okay. I’ll sucker myself. I’ll be a real slob.” My grin got bigger then. “But the first boy that doesn’t back me up gets chopped. Quick and hard. Understood?”
“Sure,” Bryan said. “Now stick around. We want that killer.”
“Suppose we hit politics?”
Bryan’s grin was an even bigger one. “No matter who or how,” he said.
Then he walked off and I was standing there by myself.
Downtown was ready for me. The desk sergeant spotted me coming in, got up and introduced himself as Nick Rossi, then had me meet the rest of the shift that was still there. From the curiosity in their faces I could see that somebody had given them a build up on the deal.
The sergeant took my arm and pointed to the room behind the desk. “We have the files drawn and sitting on the desk. There’s more stuff in those six folders than Hoover had on Capone.”
“Six?”
“The Kitchen job was just completed. Bryan said to have it ready by this morning.”
“He didn’t give you much time.”
“Two days, but it was enough. Hell, the guy was clean. Only offense was a drunk charge in ’46. You can get through the clean ones easy.”
“I hope I can do it just as fast.”
“This a big one, Lieutenant?”
“Who knows. You have a look at the reports?”
“Only the index cards when I pulled them. Kitchen’s I went over.”
“Marty...”
“Send Marty in,” I said.
When he went out I closed the door, turned on the fan and sat down. The .38 riding my hip in a Weber rig was uncomfortable, so I sprung it out and laid it on the edge of the desk.
Rossi wasn’t far off in his description of the dossiers. They were thick with everything that included birth, graduation and death certificates. In each were ballistics and kill photos and what little data there was surrounding the crime. That was as far as the police detail went. The rest was a compilation of every event that transpired in a person’s life. A lot of it was familiar to me, and in each one my own name showed up in the pre-report briefs.
Like a cast of characters, I thought. A damn play.
The phone rang and I picked it up and said, “Scanlon, homicide,”
The voice on the other end was deep, yet soft. “Commissioner Arbatur speaking, Lieutenant. Is everything satisfactory there?”
I let out a soundless whistle. This was the hurry-hurry boy on the other end. “Fine, Commissioner. We just got rolling. I’m going over the reports now.”
“That’s good.” He sounded too damn paternal.
I said, “How far up does this thing go?”
“Quite far, Lieutenant. I imagine you are getting the picture?”
“Well... so far each kill has been an individual item for the sheets. No press boy tied them in.”
“Then the gun is our secret.”
“And if it slips out?”
“Panic, Lieutenant. You know that. A killer is having a field day in an area where there are twenty thousand strong pro-administration voters.”
My voice got real edgy. “Tell you what, Commissioner,” I said, “tell the voters to go shove it. You too. I’m after a killer. He’s got only certain potential victims. They’re the ones I’m concerned about. Not voters. Not even you. Got that?”
“Lieutenant...”
“Shove it, Commissioner. Brace me once and I’ll bump the sheets. They’ll tear you apart and I’ll help them. Stay out of my hair.”
Before he could answer I hung up. Outside, a few mouths would be open around the switchboard and in the commissioner’s office the word would go around fast. But I wasn’t kidding. I never did like political appointees who came out of cloak and suit shops.
So now I had a killer and a politician to buck. Great. Just great.
I went back to the reports and started sifting through them. I used the gun as a paperweight to keep the fan from blowing them around and had it in my hand when there was a rap on the door. I yelled, “Come on in.”
And a startling voice said, “Going to shoot me with it, Joe?”
She wasn’t just tall. She was great big. She was honey blonde with the mark of the Valkyrie and her mouth was curved in a moist, lush grin because my eyes swept over her so fast. Her body seemed to want to explode, and only the tailored suit kept it confined.
My mind kept reaching, but I couldn’t quite make her, then she said, “Plainclotheswoman Marta Borlig reporting, Lieutenant,” and the grin got even bigger.
“Well, whatta ya know.” It was all I could think of to say.
“You might tell me how much I’ve grown,” she smiled, “everybody always does.”
“Might say you filled out a little too.”
She walked toward me, her hand out, and I stood up and took it. “Nice to see you again, Joe,” she said. She only had to look up a little bit to meet my eyes.
“So you’re Marty.”
“I’m Marty. But we keep it quiet. Joe. Special detail.”
“Now how the heck can you be kept quiet? You’re bait for anything that’s got eyeballs.”
“I understand you didn’t exactly relish me as an assistant,” she said impishly.
“My memory was twenty years old.” I looked at her again, unable to take my eyes from her. “Little Giggie.”
“Don’t let’s dredge that name up again.” She strode to the aged leather chair by the wall and folded up into it. For a girl so big she had the lazy poise of a fat cat. “I often wondered what happened to you, Joe.”
“Very little.” I dropped into my chair and leaned back. “Two years of college, the force, the war and back on the force again. Study hard, work up the ladder. You know.”
She squinted at me, puzzled. “No home life?”
“No wife, if that’s what you mean. Never had time, I suppose.” I let out a short laugh. “Now, if we’re supposed to be playing footsies, what does your old man do to help the act?”
“Old man?”
“Well, I don’t feel like being a corespondent in a divorce suit, kiddo. I’d sooner he had a script.”
The smile started at the corners of her eyes and reached her mouth a few seconds later. It was a lopsided laugh, full of humor. “I think we can ad lib this one, Joe. You see... I’m sort of a spinster lady.”
“Oh, no,” I said.
“Oh, yes,” she laughed. “I seem to overwhelm people. I scare them.”
“I’m strangely unafraid,” I laughed back.
“That’s because you always were a clod. Clods don’t think, scare easily or get married. You’re a big, ugly clod. How big are you, Joe?”
“Six-two. Weight, two-oh-two, age, up there as you damn well know. How about you?”
“Three inches smaller, four years younger and forty-two pounds lighter.”
“At least it’ll be a big team. We can tear the top off things,”
“Just like the old days,” she mused. “What happened to everybody?”
I stared out the window and shrugged. “Gone. If they had any sense they got out. All eleven kids in my family took off. The three youngest can’t even be located.”
Her eyes had a faraway look in them. “And Larry... do you hear from him?”
“Chief Crazy Horse,” I said softly. “No, he’s gone... someplace. We met once during the war. It was by accident and we were both drunk. You can guess how that was.”
“You were funny brothers, Joe.” She curled her feet farther under her. “Who was the oldest?”
“He was.”
“Chief Crazy Horse,” she repeated. “Those were the days. It was a fight just to stay alive. I can remember when eating was a luxury, not to be taken too lightly.”