He shook his head. “We don't frame people, not even a whore and a pimp.”
“Fine, then there's no argument. No reason to send for you.”
He sighed. “Don't get you, Barney. If this turns out to be the break in the case, the publicity will make you a big-time agency. Instead of helping us, you start slopping over a pimp, talk like a cop fighter that...”
“Al, don't sell me, or put words in my mouth. You know I'm not a cop hater, and as for this pimp, I haven't any use for him, but that doesn't make him a murderer. Your side is raising the fuss, not me.”
“You don't understand,” Al said, trying to smooth his sandpaper voice. “The big boys downtown hear of your attitude, they can put you out of business. Barney, this can make or break you. Why, withholding evidence is damn serious, but you seem to think...”
“I'm not withholding a thing—came here under my own power,” I said, and looking at Al trying to sell me this bum bill of goods, I thought of what Betsy Turner had said and how right she was—after a while the hunter and the hunted become one. “Al, these people have volunteered information—don't punish them for it.”
“Don't worry, Franzino is a good man.”
“I know, he's got a medal.” I pointed to the box.
Al picked up the medal, said, “Never saw one of these before. —they don't come easy. What's this stuff about Turner being a pimp?”
I told him and he put the medal down and shook his head. “And the way his wife is stacked. Hard to figure these young guys today. Take Turner, breaking his back to get to be a plain-clothes man. Big deal—why, a cop's best protection is his uniform. Not one in a thousand will shoot a cop, but by the time a dick gets his badge out—he'd better get his gun out first and... Hell with talking about Turner. I have to be moving. Say hello to Ruthie. She need anything?”
“Not unless you want to give her your new Caddy.” Al laughed too long. “Barney, you're not only getting good, but funny, too. Just remember, we're all on the same team. Franzino is a good cop. Take my word for it. When you coming out to the house?”
“One of these days. Visiting my cousin Jake tomorrow. Give my regards to everybody at home.”
“Sure thing, strong man.” Al slapped me on the shoulder on his way out.
Like in a one-set play, Franzino came in soon as Al left. He sat down at his desk, propped the chair against the wall. He didn't say anything, and after a moment I told him, “I have an uncle out in Philly. Want to send for him too?”
He smiled. “Not treating you like a kid, Mr. Harris. Called Swan because... I'm not used to arguing with people, especially people I don't have to argue with. Your opinion isn't worth a snowball in hell around here, but at the same time, no point in fighting you. Thought maybe Swan could tell you that better than I.”
I glanced at my watch, stood up. It was six o'clock. A cop stuck his head in the doorway. “Got 'em, Lieutenant.”
“Bring 'em in here—before you take 'em upstairs.”
Three cops walked Louise and Cliff in. Her face was red and puffed—from crying—and she looked older than I'd thought. The lapel of Cliff's fancy sport jacket was torn and his glossy hair mussed. When she saw me, Louise sent me a look of hatred and contempt that turned my stomach. I was about to tell her she'd be okay, when one of the cops tossed a switch blade on the table, said, “He was packing this.”
Cliff asked in a shrill voice, “Where's your warrant? I demand you release...!”
Franzino reached over and slapped him hard across the mouth. “That's my warrant! Take these punks upstairs.”
Cliff's lips were bleeding a little as the cops walked him, and Louise, out of the office.
I picked up the medal, put it between my thumb and forefinger—it bent easily. Tossing it back on the desk, I said, “The gold's real—at least,” and walked out.
There was a candy store across the street and I went in, started to dial New Jersey, tell Ruthie I wouldn't be out— when I got a better idea. I called Mrs. Turner, told her, “This is Barney Harris. Would you do me a favor, Mrs. Turner? I have to call for my kid over in New Jersey at eight. I thought we might have supper together, now, instead of my going to your apartment.”
“I suppose this goes on the expense account?”
“I hadn't thought of that,” I said, just as sarcastically. “Maybe it will, and maybe it will be on me. But if you'll have supper with me, I'd appreciate it.”
“Call for me in twenty minutes.”
She didn't dress up and the effect was good—she looked exactly like what she was, a rather simple and pretty kid of twenty-three. Her hair was in a horse's tail, drawn sharply back from her face. She had on flat ballerina shoes, a purple, pleated, swirling skirt, and one of these white elastic shoulderless things that look like an inverted girdle. It showed off her fine shoulders, the bold outline of her breasts. She had a purple knit stole over one arm, and as we rang for the elevator, she glared at me as if ready to bite my head off. I looked her over, said, “If I was younger, I'd sure whistle.”
She suddenly grinned, the big red mouth splitting her face. “I can't stay angry at you, Barney.”
“Glad of that, Mrs. Turner. I acted like a rough loon last night.”
“Mrs. Turner, Mrs. Turner,” she mocked me. “Going through that again? I could have killed you last night but now...”
“Easy on that kind of talk,” I cut in, only half joking.
“... I realize you were right. I wasn't telling you everything and... What do you mean, easy on that kind of talk?”
“Anybody even vaguely connected with two unsolved murders might be... misunderstood.”
There were other people in the elevator. We walked through the lobby and she nodded at the doorman and when we were in my car, she said, “That was a terrible thing to say. I'm getting mad at you again.”
“Told you that for your own protection. What do you want to eat?”
“I don't care. Anything you want.”
“I want Italian food drowned in melted cheese.”
I drove over to the East Side and down to Twelfth Street, to a place called John's. Mrs. Turner was like me—a good eater— and we put away one of those satisfying heavy meals, from clams Casino to whipped-cream Italian pastry. I told her about Louise and Cliff, Franzino, ended up with, “Maybe Franzino and Al were right. I sure haven't come up with clue one. Only, Louise trusted me and I ...”
“You didn't ask them to.”
“But still, I threw them to the lions. God knows what Cliff is going through right this minute.”
“He's being beaten?”
“Maybe. And maybe I've just got the jitters.”
“Ed once told me how they picked up a Puerto Rican boy for a knifing and they tied him to a chair. When they changed tours, every man entering and leaving, punched him. It was after that I told him to stop telling me about his... job. But you shouldn't feel bad, you're only doing your duty.”
I laughed. “Hey, that's my pitch, don't give it back to me.”
She gave me a hot smile. “I like you, Barney. I liked you from the moment you tried to argue me out of hiring you.”
“Like can mean anything, or nothing. I like this pastry. I like most people.”
“Thanks,” she said stiffly.