Hymie Schmidt appeared from the study, one hand in the pocket of his coat, his dark excited eyes switching from one side of the room to the other. Ackerman nodded toward the front door and Hymie moved to a position where he could cover anyone who entered. “All right now,” Ackerman said to Beaumonte. “Go ahead.”
Beaumonte walked across the room and opened the door. Mike Carmody stood in the corridor, his big hands at his sides, a faint cold smile twisting his lips.
“Hello, Dan,” he said gently.
Beaumonte took an involuntary step backward. “We were hoping you’d show up,” he said, breathing heavily.
“Sure,” Carmody said. He walked into the room, and nodded to Ackerman and Hymie Schmidt, whom he knew to be fast and dangerous with a gun.
“You can relax, Hymie,” he said, and smiled unpleasantly at him. “We’re all friends here.”
“I never relax,” Hymie said, returning his smile. “The doc says it’s bad for my nerves.”
Beaumonte moved to Carmody’s side, keeping carefully out of the line between the detective and Hymie Schmidt. “I’m sorry as hell about your brother, Mike,” he said. “Ackerman told you that it wasn’t our job, I know. But I want you to know I’m sorry.”
“Sure,” Carmody said, nodding. Nothing showed in his face. He had come here because it was essential to convince them that he was back on the team. Only by re-establishing that relationship could he set himself free to rip them apart from the inside. But it would take a hard, careful control to play this out, he realized. More than he had maybe. A dozen hours ago he had stood here fighting for Eddie’s life. He had sworn that his brother wouldn’t die and Eddie was now laid out in some undertaker’s back room. But nothing else had changed; Beaumonte and Ackerman were still healthy and alive, making plans to perpetuate and enjoy their power and rackets. Only the poor grown-up choirboy was gone from the scene.
This went through Carmody’s mind as he stared into Beaumonte’s anxious eyes. “Well, it’s all over,” he said. “Talking won’t bring the kid back.”
“I told you we’ll find the killer,” Ackerman said. “When we do he’s all yours. That’s settled.” He lit a cigarette and glanced through the smoke at Carmody. “Now, we’ll get on to something that isn’t settled. I had a call from Fanzo. He tells me you beat hell out of him. What’s the story there?”
Carmody smiled slightly. “He called me a name I didn’t like. Also, he wasn’t being helpful. I traced Nancy to his place, and asked him about her. He got lippy so I had to calm him down.”
Beaumonte put a hand on his arm. “What did you find out about her, Mike?”
Carmody turned to him and shrugged. “Nothing at all,” he said. He was slightly surprised at the pain in Beaumonte’s face. He must have loved her, he thought. The imitation lady, the little bottle girl, Beaumonte’s true love. It was almost comical.
“Fanzo had no lead on her?” Beaumonte asked him anxiously.
“He was no help.”
“She shouldn’t have run off, damn it,” Beaumonte said, rubbing his forehead.
“She was at your hotel, Mike,” Ackerman said. His eyes were on Beaumonte, warning him to keep quiet.
“Was she?” Carmody said, turning to Ackerman. “I’m sorry I missed her.”
Ackerman studied him for a few seconds. “One of the cleaning women saw her. But the elevator boys didn’t know anything. Probably she just went through the lobby.”
“That’s odd,” Carmody said, making a mental note to take good care of the elevator boys. Then he shrugged. “What’s all the fuss about? She’s raddled from too much booze, and scared to death after the job Fanzo’s boys did on her. She’ll turn up when she’s had a night’s sleep. Can’t you wait a day or so until she comes to her senses?”
“No, we can’t,” Ackerman said. “Beaumonte wants her back right away because he thinks she’s a cute kid. I want her back for another reason. She walked out of here with a bundle of bills, Mike, sixty-two thousand bucks to be exact. I want it back, and fast.”
“Now that makes sense,” Carmody said. He tried to keep the excitement from showing in his face. When they started lying they were scared. “How’d she get her hands on that kind of money?”
“Dan left the numbers pay-off for Northeast laying around,” Ackerman said, shaking his head disgustedly. “So we’ve got to find her.”
“Sure,” Carmody said. “I’ll let you know if I hear anything. By the way, Myerdahl’s set to clamp down hard. I guess you know that.”
“Let me worry about it, Mike,” Ackerman said. “This is the seasonal slump in our racket. There’ll be raids, arrests, public displays by all the reform groups. Our boys will have it rough for a while. But these things blow over.”
“I wouldn’t mind a fight,” Beaumonte said. “We’ve made some of the biggest men in this town. If they try to unload us I’d like the chance to ruin the bastards.”
“There isn’t going to be any fight,” Ackerman told him coldly. “I’m not tossing this city up for grabs. Remember that.”
Carmody couldn’t help marveling at their cool arrogance. The city was their private hunting ground, created and maintained for their express pleasure. They fed on it. Like protected vultures. How did they do it? he wondered. Just how in God’s name did they do it? He remembered a phrase of his father’s; in weakness there is strength. The old man had used it to spur them on in school. If you were weak at something, but worked like the devil on it, you would become strong through the weakness. Ackerman used a variation of the principle; the city’s weakness was his strength. The average citizen’s indifference, cynicism and willingness to compromise, was the weakness that Ackerman used as the foundation of his power.
“You’ll keep in touch?” Ackerman asked him as he picked up his hat. “Remember, nothing’s changed.”
“Sure, nothing’s changed,” Carmody said. Just Eddie, he thought, forcing a small smile to his lips. Yesterday he’d been alive, today he was dead. That was the only change. “I’ll keep in touch,” he said to Ackerman. “Don’t worry.”
Downstairs in the lobby Carmody put through a call to Lieutenant Wilson. “I’m just checking,” he said, when Wilson answered. “Any progress yet?”
“No. We’ve got seventy men in the street and they haven’t turned up a lead. But I’m glad you called. A guy has phoned here three times wanting to talk to you. He says he’s got some information you can use. He wouldn’t tell me anything else, except that he was phoning from a drug store and not to bother tracing the call. I gave him your hotel number, and the number of your brother’s home. He said he’d try both places till he got you.”
“Okay,” Carmody said. “He’s probably a gravestone salesman. Now look; I suggest you start digging into Ackerman’s background immediately. There’s a loose end in his past that can trip him up, I think.”
“The D.A. has covered that ground before, Mike. Ackerman always kept in the clear. You know that.”
“I don’t run the department, it’s just a suggestion,” Carmody said. “But take it to heart, Jim. I know what I’m talking about.”
Wilson hesitated. Then he said, “I’ll pass that upstairs. You got anything specific in mind?”
“No, that’s the trouble. It could be anything, any time.”
“I’ll pass it on. Keep in touch.”
“Of course, Jim,” he said.
Half an hour later Carmody parked his car before Eddie’s home in the Northeast. It was almost noon then. Sunlight filtered through the chestnut trees along the block, and faded to a softer tone as it struck the pavements and lawns. The kids playing ball in the street stopped their game to watch Carmody with round solemn eyes. They all know Eddie’s dead, I guess, Carmody thought. He was probably a big favorite with them.