And if you're afraid to come after me, then I'm going after you. Maybe I'll know what I'm like then. Maybe I'll find out what's going on in my mind and why I keep on living when fat cold-blooded killers and nice warm-blooded killers are down there shaking hands with the devil!
I pulled the green card out of the cigarettes and matched it to the one from the wallet. They fitted--Twins. I put them in my shirt pocket, grabbed my coat and hat and slammed the door after me when I left the office.
At a little after ten I pulled up outside the brick building that was the house of the law. Here was where the invisible processes went on that made cops out of men and murderers out of clues. The car in front of mine was an official sedan that carried the D.A.'s sticker and I smoked a butt right down to the bottom before I decided to try to reach Pat even if the fair-haired boy of the courts was around.
I should have waited a minute longer. I had my hand on the door when he pushed through and it looked like a cold wind hit him in the face. He screwed his mouth up into a snarl, thought better of it and squeezed a smile out.
Strictly an official smile.
He said, "Morning."
I said, "Nice day."
He got in his car and slammed the door so hard it almost fell off. I waved when he drove by. He didn't wave back. The old guy on the elevator took me upstairs and when I walked into Pat's office I was grinning.
Pat started, "Did you . . ."
I answered with a nod. "I did. We met at the gate. What got into the lad; is he sore at me?"
"Sit down, Mike." Pat waved his thumb at the straight-back wooden chair reserved for official offenders about to get a reprimand. "Look, pal, the District Attorney is only an elected official, but that's a mighty big 'only.' You put him over a barrel not so long ago and he isn't going to forget it. He isn't going to forget who your friends are, either."
"Meaning you."
"Meaning me exactly. I'm a Civil Service servant, a Captain of Homicide. I have certain powers of jurisdiction, arrest and influence. He supersedes them. If the D.A. gets his hooks into you just once, you'll have a ring through your nose and I'll be handed the deal of whipping you around the arena just to give him a little satisfaction. Please quit antagonizing the guy for my sake if not for your own. Now what's on your mind?"
Pat leaned back and grinned at me. We were still buddies.
"What's new on the dockets, chum?"
Nothing," he shrugged. "Life has been nice and dull. I come in at eight and go home at six. I like it."
"Not even a suicide?"
"Not even. Don't tell me you're soliciting work."
"Hardly. I'm on a vacation."
Pat got that look. It started behind the pupils where no look was supposed to be. A look that called me a liar and waited to hear the rest of the lie. I had to lie a little myself. "Since you have it so easy, how about taking your own vacation with me? We could have some fun."
The look retreated and disappeared altogether. "Hell, I'd love to, Mike, but we're still scratching trying to catch up on all the details around here. I don't think it's possible." He screwed up his forehead. "Don't you feel so hot?"
"Sure, I feel fine, that's why I want a vacation while I can enjoy it." I slapped my hat back on my head and stood up. "Well, since you won't come I'll hit the road alone. Too bad. Ought to be lots doing."
He rocked his chair forward and took my hand "Have fun, Mike."
"I will." I gave it a pause, then: "Oh, by the way. I wanted to show you something before I left." I reached in my shirt pocket and took out the two green cards and tossed them on the desk. "Funny, aren't they?"
Pat dropped my hand like it had been hot. Sometimes he gets the damnedest expression on his face you ever saw. He held those cards in his fingers and walked around the desk to close and lock the door. What he said when he sat down makes dirty reading.
"Where'd you get these?" His voice had an edge to it that meant we were close to not being buddies any more.
"I found 'em."
"Nuts. Sit down, damn it." I sat down easy again and lit a smoke. It was hard to keep a grin off my mouth. "Once more, Mike, where'd they come from?"
"I told you I found them."
"Okay, I'll get very simple in my questioning. Where did you find them?"
I was getting tired of wearing the grin. I let it do what it wanted to do and I felt the air dry my teeth. "Look, Pat, remember me? I'm your friend. I'm a citizen and I'm a stubborn jerk who doesn't like to answer questions when he doesn't know why. Quit the cop act and ask right. So tell me I handed you a line about a vacation when all I wanted to get was some information. So tell me something you haven't told me before."
"All right, Mike, all right. All I want to know is where you got them."
"I killed a guy and took it off his body."
"Stop being sarcastic."
I must have grinned the dirtiest kind of grin there was. Pat watched me strangely, shook his head impatiently and tossed the cards back on the desk. "Are they so important I can't hear about it, Pat?"
He ran his tongue across his lips. "No, they're not so important in one way. I guess they could be lost easily enough. They're plenty of them in circulation."
"Yeah?"
He nodded briefly and fingered the edge of one. "They're Communist identification cards. One of the new fronts. The Nazi bund that used to operate in this country had cards just like 'em. They were red though. Every so often they change the cuts of the edges to try to trip up any spies. When you get in the meeting hall your card has to match up with a master card."
"Oh, just like a lodge." I picked one up and tucked it in my coat pocket.
He said, "Yeah," sourly.
"Then why all the to-do with the door. We're not in a meeting hall."
Pat smacked the desk with the flat of his hand. "I don't know, Mike. Damn it, if anybody but you came in with a couple of those cards I would have said what they were and that's all. But when it's you I go cold all over and wait for something to happen. I know it won't happen, then it does. Come on, spill it. What's behind them?" He looked tired as hell.
"Nothing, I told you that. They're curious and I found two of them. I'd never seen anything like it before and thought maybe you'd know what they were."
"And I did."
"That's right. Thanks."
I put my hat back on and stood up. He let me get as far as the door. "Mike . . ." He was looking at his hand.
"I'm on vacation now, pal."
He picked up a card and looked at the blank sides of it. "Three days ago a man was murdered. He had one of these things clutched in his hand."
I turned the knob. "I'm still on vacation."
"I just thought I'd tell you. Give you something to think about."
Swell. I'll turn it over in my mind when I'm stretched out on a beach in Florida."
"We know who killed him."
I let the knob slip through my fingers and tried to sound casual. "Anybody I know?"
"Yes, you and eight million others. His name is Lee Deamer. He's running for State Senator next term."
My breath whistled through my teeth. Lee Deamer, the people's choice. The guy who was scheduled to sweep the state clean. The guy who was kicking the politicians all over the joint. "He's pretty big," I said.
"Very."
"Too big to touch?"
His eyes jumped to mine. "Nobody is that big, Mike. Not even Deamer."
"Then why don't you grab him?"
"Because he didn't do it."
"What a pretty circle that is. I had you figured for a brain, Pat. He killed a guy and he didn't do it. That's great logic, especially when it comes from you."
A slow grin started at the corner of his eyes. "When you're on vacation you can think it over, Mike. I'll wrap it up for you, just once. A dead man is found. He has one of these cards in his hand. Three people positively identified the killer. Each one saw him under favorable conditions and was able to give a complete description and identification. They came to the police with the story and we were lucky enough to hush it up.