“Think it over,” Wilson said, watching Carmody’s troubled face closely. “And remember this; the city’s changing. Big defense plants have come into this town in the last few years, and the men running them pay a houseful of taxes. And they want value from them. Parks, schools, things like that. They don’t want bookies and brothels and bars clipping their workers every week. Neither do the unions. And when you get the unions working with the men who run the companies you got a clout that can stand right up to Ackerman and Beaumonte. Look at Shortall. They made the Mayor can him. And they’ve got others on their list. You’re a tough guy, but don’t get in their way, Mike.”
Carmody had heard rumors of this before, but he hadn’t been too concerned. He still wasn’t, as a matter of fact. He had too abiding a faith in man’s lack of goodness to believe in reform and regeneration. These things were cynical, expedient measures that people forgot all about when the baseball race got tight or the job of being good citizens became a bore.
“Just think it over,” Wilson said. “But don’t take too long about it.”
“Okay, Jim, thanks.”
Carmody went out to his desk and checked the day’s work with Sergeant Klipperman who was going off duty. Everything was quiet; two manslaughters were pending and he sent Abrams and Dirksen out to wrap them up. Myers came in fifteen minutes late, walking fast and trying to look as if he’d been delayed by something important. Carmody glanced at the big clock beside the police speaker but said nothing. He settled in his chair and studied the reports on cases being handled by his shift.
Myers drifted over in his shirt sleeves and made some comment on the weather. Then he said, “That was pretty sharp guesswork on those whiskey bottles last night.” He smiled cautiously, trying to analyze the brooding expression on Carmody’s hard handsome face. “Dirk and I would have caught it, but you beat us to it, I got to admit that.”
Yes, you’ve got to admit it, Carmody thought wearily. A frank generous admission that you’re a dope makes everything just dandy. He started to say something sarcastic but changed his mind. Why jump on Myers? Why jump on anybody? “I came after you’d handled the routine,” he said. “I had a better chance to look around.”
“That’s right, with the routine out of the way you can look around,” Myers said, nodding. He sauntered away, looking relieved.
Carmody worked listlessly, almost hoping for a flurry of something to take his mind off Eddie. Finally, he left his desk and walked across the street to the drug store. He had to call Beaumonte and tell him Eddie couldn’t keep the appointment with Ackerman. Putting it off any longer would only make matters worse.
Nancy Drake answered the phone and it took him a moment to get through her to Beaumonte. She was in a giggling, half-tight mood and insisted on telling him of some hilarious impropriety her dog had committed. Carmody listened impatiently, feeling the heat of the booth settling around him and aware that his temper was dangerously short.
“Great, hilarious,” he said. “Funniest thing I’ve heard in the last two minutes. Now put Beaumonte on.”
“We are in a most pleasant mood, I must say,” she said with drunken dignity. Then she let out a little scream and giggled again. “Dan just whacked me on the tail. Would you do that to a girl, Mike? Come on, tell me.”
Carmody swore softly and rubbed the back of his hand over his damp forehead. Then Beaumonte’s soft rich voice was in his ear. “Mike, she had six brandy punches before breakfast, if you can believe it.” He didn’t sound angry, just tolerantly amused. “When she pickles herself for good I think I’ll put her in a bottle over the mantel. Like a four-masted schooner, only she’s missing a couple of masts.”
Beaumonte had been drinking, too, Carmody guessed. “What’s the deal on Shortall’s resignation?”
“Where you phoning from?” Beaumonte said, after a short pause. “A drug store.”
“Oh. There’s nothing to worry about, Mike. Ackerman will put a man in tomorrow probably. Is everything set for tonight, by the way? With your brother, I mean?”
“That’s why I called,” Carmody said. “He can’t make it.”
Beaumonte paused, and Carmody heard his long intake of breath. “This isn’t good,” Beaumonte said quietly.
“The kid had a date and wouldn’t break it,” Carmody said. “Should I put a gun in his back and march him up to your place?”
“Maybe that wouldn’t have been a bad idea,” Beaumonte said. “When can he make it?”
“Tomorrow night.”
“Okay, I’ll tell Ackerman. But he don’t like being stood up.”
“Don’t worry, he’ll be there tomorrow.”
“I’m not worrying,” Beaumonte said. “That’s your job. Remember that, Mike.”
When Carmody returned to the City Hall he saw Degget, the little man who’d been mixed up in the Wagner Hotel homicide, standing at the house sergeant’s window, collecting his personal effects. Degget recognized him and smiled awkwardly. “Sarge, I know what you did for me,” he said. “They had me down as a murderer until you came in.”
“Well, it’s all over now,” Carmody said.
“No, it won’t ever be over for me,” Degget said, his small mouth twisting with embarrassment and pain. “You know how a small town is. They’ll hold this over me and my family till we’re in our graves. And I don’t even know if my family will want me around any more. It was in the papers, you see. I wired my wife but she hasn’t answered yet.”
“These things blow over,” Carmody said. He squeezed Degget’s thin shoulder with his hand. “It won’t last.” Why should I give a good damn, he thought, watching Degget’s worried hopeless eyes.
“Well, it’s my goose that got cooked,” Degget said. “And I asked for it.” Then he said quickly, “Look, I want to show my appreciation for what you’ve done.” He reached for his wallet but Carmody caught his arm. “Never mind,” he said. “I don’t want—” He paused, remembering Myers’ invalid wife and young daughters. “I’ll tell you what,” he said. “If you want to buy someone a drink, buy one for Detective Myers. Leave something in an envelope with the house sergeant. He’ll see that he gets it. And Myers can use it.”
“I’ll do that, I sure will,” Degget said.
Carmody started for the stairs but stopped and looked back at Degget’s doleful little figure. He winked at him and said, “Cheer up. The boys at home will think you’re a hero.”
“Well, they’ll want all the details anyway,” Degget said, smiling sheepishly.
The afternoon and evening wore on slowly. It was one of those nights when the city seemed to be inhabited by saints. But the inactivity irritated him because it gave him too much time to think. When his shift was finally over he was in a touchy, explosive mood. At his hotel he called the Fanfair and asked for Karen.
When she answered he said, “This is Mike. Did you talk to Eddie?”
“Yes — he’s just gone.” Against the background noise of the bar her voice was high and light.
“What happened?”
“I couldn’t do it,” she said. “I couldn’t tell him I needed ten thousand dollars for an operation.”
Carmody stared at the phone in his hand, his face hardening into cold bitter lines. “This is pretty,” he said. “Did lying to him go against your principles?”
“No one has the right to put that kind of pressure on him. To force him to make that kind of decision.”
“You sweet little fake,” he said savagely. “You didn’t have the right, eh? Well, do you have the right to let him get killed?”