Thin legs crossed. High-heeled ankle-strapped pumps. She looked about nineteen years old, but Ollie was laying a lot of heavy muscle on her. Carella figured he knew why. What he was trying to arrange was a little téte-à-téte for later on. Let the girl go for now, but tell her she owed him one. Drop by when he got relieved, ask her to pay her dues to Big Fat Daddy here.
It was now almost four-thirty. Ollie actually looked up at the wall clock, checking the time, almost licking his lips, leaning in closer to the girl, whispering to her now. The girl kept nodding. She was understanding how much trouble she was in.
She was listening to every word Ollie said. Ollie was her salvation. Yes, her head was saying. Yes, later. Yes, here's my address. Ollie was smiling like a crocodile about to eat a rabbit.
He wrote something on his pad. The girl got up, nodded, said something to him, looked at the clock, and swiveled out of the squadroom on heels far too high for her.
Ollie came over to where they were sitting at the other desk.
"What can I do for you?" he asked, smiling.
"Get it all set up?" Carella asked.
"I don't know what you're talking about.”
"You know what I'm talking about.”
"Whatever you're talking about, it's none of your business," Ollie said.
"What do you know about a man named Gofredo Cabrera?" Carella said. Make this short and sweet, he thought, get the hell out of here. The less time you had to spend with a cop like- "Who wants to know?" Ollie said.
"Two people who are shagging your fucking case,”
Meyer said.
"Oh, listen how tough they're making them these days," Ollie said.
He meant Jews. Meyer wanted to kill him.
"Ever hear about interdepartmental cooperation?" he said. - "What's a fuckin spic got to do with anything went down before?" Ollie said.
"Do you know him or not?”
"I know everything about everybody in this precinct.
Even a fuckin spic dumb enough to be living up here.”
Up here.
That said it all.
There were rules up here. You stay on your turf, I'll stay on mine. You come messin' up here, you got trouble, mister.
"Then you know who he is, right?" Carella asked.
"Sure.”
"Who?”
"A penny-ante gun-runner.”
"Who told you that?”
"Common knowledge. You guys work silk stocking, you don't know what it is to ...”
"Cut the shit, Ollie.”
Ollie looked at him.
"You hear me?" Carella said.
"I hear you.”
"So cut it. We're not silk stocking, and you know it. Just tell us whatever you know about Gofredo Cabrera. If you don't know anything, put us onto whoever does.”
"I know everything goes on in this fuckin precinct," Ollie said. "I'm gonna be lieutenant in this fuckin precinct one day, so don't give me I don't know anything about Cabrera. What do you wanna know?”
"Whatever you've got.”
"He lives up here 'cause his business is guns. And niggers need guns. Period.”
"Have you got anything that would connect him to Tilly?" Meyer said.
"No. Have you?”
"No, but ...”
"Tell me, wise man.”
He was treading the thin edge of open anti-Semitism. A wise man was a rabbi.
But Ollie knew that if he called Meyer "rabbi," he'd be searching for his teeth on the squadroom floor. He was a cautious bigot, Fat Ollie. Meyer was close to hitting him, anyway.
"We think Tilly was hired to kill Emma Bowles," he said, controlling his anger.
"Ah yes," Ollie said, "Emma Bowles, ah yes," falling into his W. C.
Fields imitation, hoping to charm Meyer out of his anger.
"And we think Cabrera sold a gun to the new boy in town ...”
"Ah yes.”
"Andrew Denker ...”
"Ah yes.”
"And also helped him find a room.”
"Wonderful connection, ah yes," Ollie said.
"We don't know how wonderful it is,”
Carella said, "but it's a connection.”
"Or a coincidence," Ollie said, abruptly dropping the Fields routine.
"Maybe not.”
"What'd Ballistics say about the gun killed Tilly?”
"A Hi-Standard Snub," Carella said.
"How does that tie with the gun this punk sold Denker?”
"It doesn't.”
"Want to tell me what kind of piece it was? Or is that a state secret?”
"A Colt forty-five.”
"Sure.”
"Sure what?”
"Coincidence. The guns don't even match.”
"Have you got any reason to believe Cabrera was tied to Tilly in any way whatever?" Meyer asked.
"None.”
"Sold him a gun maybe?”
"I got no evidence of that.”
"Or knew him in some other way? Dope maybe?”
"Why? Was Tilly doing dope?" Ollie asked.
"Not that we know of.”
"So what's all this shit you're pulling out of thin air?" Ollie said, and looked up at the clock.
"She'll wait," Carella said.
"I'm in no hurry," Ollie said, and grinned again.
10.
She called him at a little before eight that Saturday night. She sat listening to the phone ringing on the other end, once, twice, gripping the receiver tightly in her hand, three times, and then his voice came onto the line-"Hello?"- startling her into silence for a moment so that he said, "Hello?" again, somewhat impatiently this time.
"Yes, hello, it's me," she said.
"Who's me?" he asked.
It occurred to her that this was the first time he'd heard her voice on the telephone.
"Emma," she said. "Emma Bowles.”
"Oh, hello," he said. "How are you?”
She visualized him smiling, lying on a bed someplace. A rented room someplace. The lights out. Neon flashing downstairs someplace.
He was living down there near the bridge someplace, he could probably see the lights of the bridge from his window, Calm's Point glittering in the distance. Lying on the bed. Smiling.
"The reason I'm calling," she said, and hesitated. "Well ..." she said, and hesitated again. "You see, when Martin got home from the office yesterday, he told me he had to go out of town for the weekend ...”
"Oh?”
"Yes. Up to Boston," she said.
"Must be cold up there," he said.
"Yes.”
She hesitated again.
"Anyway," she said, "I was thinking of going to a movie tonight.”
"What do you mean?" he said at once. "You don't mean alone, do you?”
"Well, yes, that's why I'm calling. I know how serious you are about your job, although with Tilly dead ...”
"I am serious," he said.
"Yes, which is why I'm calling to tell you not to worry. In case you decided to call and got no answer. Because I told you I'd be home all day today ...”
“Yes, you did.”
"... but that was before Martin decided to go out of town all of a sudden.”
There was a silence on the line.
"I really don't like this," he said at last.
"Oh, I'll be fine, don't worry about it.”
"I'm not so sure about that. What time does this movie start?”
"Nine-something, I'll have to look it up. But I'm sure you've made other plans.”
"No, I haven't made any. ...”
"Which would be perfectly understandable. I did tell you I'd be ...”
"Yes, but I haven't made any plans, really. I'd be happy to come up there and ...”
"Well, that's ...”
"... make sure you got home safe.”
"That's very nice of you. Although, as I said, with Tilly dead there's nothing to worry about anymore.”
"Well, I haven't seen a movie in a long time," he said.
"Well, if you really ...”