Rockabye County 5 Page 5

  ‘He’s heavy, Mr. Counter, a regular high-power,’ answered English cautiously. ‘Or, as we British say, a right tearaway.’

  ‘He’s also dead,’ Alice countered.

  ‘Poor bleeder. I’d take off me titfer and show me respects, only I ain’t wearing it.’

  ‘Who’d he work with, English?’ drawled Brad.

  ‘I did hear as how him and Paco Sanchez had teamed up for two-handed stick-ups. Thought of letting. you know.’

  ‘Would the same Paco Sanchez be slim, about five ten?’

  ‘That’s him, miss. Have you seen him around?’

  ‘Riding with Angers in a white-walled wagon with red crosses on the side. Brad and I saw him on his way.’

  ‘Sounds like a bleeding massacre,’ commented English.

  ‘Where’d they hang out?’ asked Brad.

  ‘They’ve only been in town a few days. ’Fact I only heard about them last night. Word is they settled in to live case-o with a couple of right judies—’

  ‘How about putting that into English?’ Alice requested.

  ‘Blimey, miss. With all due disrespect, we invented the bleeding language,’ snorted English indignantly. ‘They picked up with a couple of hookers, Rose and Betty Goldberg and were sharing their home address. That’s the Shaftesbury Hotel on Grant Street.’

  ‘Any word on Colismides, or Mikos Papas, English?’ Brad inquired, knowing the little man to be the best-informed stool-pigeon in Gusher City.

  ‘If there had been, you’d’ve heard me hollering it. I had a cousin shot on Murder Mile in Nicosia by that EOKA scum.’

  ‘So there’s nothing on them?’

  ‘All I know is that the Greek Syndicate have passed word for everybody to help Colismides’ bunch all they can.’

  ‘I’ll call Hogarth and ask to have one of their girls waiting for me,’ Alice remarked. ‘We’ll go visit the Goldbergs, but two of them might be more than I can handle alone.’

  ‘Not if all I’ve heard about you is true, miss,’ beamed English and his eyes showed admiration as he watched Alice cross to the phone booth. ‘A lady, Mr. Counter, sir. And a credit to her sex.’

  ‘Why sure,’ Brad agreed and took out his wallet to drop payment for the meal and information on the counter. ‘Keep on the ear, English. Let me know as soon as you get even a whisper.’

  ‘Count on me for that, sir,’ replied English, scooping the money away.

  The relationship between a lawman and his informers was a strange one. Every peace officer involved in detection work gathered stool-pigeons during his career, or did not get far. Brad inherited his from Tom Cord, and of all the half-dozen, English could be most relied upon for city-wide information. What had brought English to Texas and caused him to settle down in Gusher City, or what quirk of fate turned him into a stool-pigeon, Brad never asked. The big deputy liked English and treated him as a friend. Some peace officers professed to despise their stool-pigeons, but not Brad. He followed the rule laid down by Tom Cord, that as long as he accepted and made use of the stool-pigeon’s information, he had no moral right to look down on the giver. Even when not seeking information, Brad liked to visit the Tea Shoppe and listen to English’s stories of law-breaking in Britain just after World War II. He knew he could rely on the little Cockney to pick up news of Colismides’ presence, even in the face of the Greek Syndicate’s demands for assistance.

  Collecting their car, which had been parked some distance from the Tea Shoppe to protect English’s good name, Alice and Brad drove through the Bad Bit—its official name being the Hogarth Police Division—in the direction of the Shaftesbury Hotel. On arrival, they found that Hogarth had moved swiftly in answer to Alice’s request for assistance. An undercover car was parked before the hotel and its occupants, a male and female detective, climbed out to greet the deputies.

  ‘Hi, Rachel,’ Alice said. ‘Have you met my partner, Brad Counter?’

  Woman Detective Rachel Winters nodded. With her black hair slightly longer than B.W.O. regulations stipulated, Rachel looked like a big, buxom housewife. However, like Alice, she carried a gun in her shoulder bag and could look after herself in a scrap.

  ‘Seen you around, Brad,’ she said in a deep, husky voice, then indicated the big, heavily built male detective. ‘This’s Dave Bulpin.’

  ‘We’ve met,’ Bulpin grinned. ‘Brad shot rings around me on the International last week.’

  ‘Shucks, there was only four points in it, Dave,’ Brad objected.

  ‘If he’s another gun-nut let’s get to work before they start talking,’ Alice put in, knowing the danger of allowing Brad to become involved in a discussion on combat pistol shooting.

  ‘You’re the boss,’ Brad grinned. ‘And it shows.’

  In its day, the Shaftesbury Hotel had been a pretty nice place, but in the opinion of most peace officers in Gusher City its day ended the moment the first guests walked in. Built in the wild, wide-open days, and financed by gang money, the hotel did not look too bad a place. However the Sheriff’s Office and Hogarth police knew more assorted criminals used it as their home than occupied any other place in town, with the possible exception of the local jail.

  The desk clerk gulped nervously as he studied the new arrivals. Recognizing Bulpin and Big Rachel as local fuzz, he doubted if their companions came in looking for accommodation.

  ‘The Goldberg sisters,’ Alice said, flipping open her wallet and confirming the clerk’s suspicions.

  ‘216,’ he replied and cast a wistful glance towards the telephone.

  ‘Are they alone?’

  ‘Of course they’re alone! What sort of place do you think this is?’

  ‘I’d hate to tell you,’ Alice sniffed. ‘Don’t bother to announce us.’

  ‘Just for the hell of it,’ drawled Bulpin, leaning a big elbow on the desk, ‘I’ll stay here and see he doesn’t.’

  ‘It’d be best,’ agreed Alice; as senior officer present, the decision rested on her. ‘We heard that Angers only worked two-handed. Which means the girls ought to be alone.’

  A reasonable enough assumption—unless the third man from the car happened to be rooming with the sisters. However, even if he should be there, the law had the element of surprise on its side and he would find himself up against two women skilled in the use of firearms and a man who had just shown himself prepared to shoot to kill.

  Attracting customers who had no wish for an elevator jockey clocking their comings, goings and visitors, the Shaftesbury operated a self-service machine. Once inside the elevator, Alice spent the time taken to ride up to the second floor putting Rachel in the picture. The elevator stopped and its doors slid open. Seeing its occupants, a small, weedy-looking man just leaving an apartment stepped hurriedly back and closed the door.

  ‘Not this time, Willie,’ smiled Rachel. ‘Willie Schenk. We’ve pulled him in for 1437’s vii more times than I can count.’

  ‘Is he heavy?’ asked Brad.

  ‘Never carried a piece in his life. I’ve picked him up twice and he came along as quiet as a little lamb. Picking pockets and stealing from parked cars is his game.’

  They forgot the minor villainies of Willie Schenk on reaching the door of 216. Once again Alice and Brad stood on either side of the door, Rachel with Alice, and knocked from a position where a bullet fired through the door could not hit them.

  ‘Yeah?’ called a sleepy female voice, muffled by the still closed door. ‘Who is it?’

  ‘This is it,’ Brad thought. ‘If Papas’s in there, we’ll for sure soon know about it.’ Then he raised his voice. ‘Law here. Open up!’

  A short silence followed, then came the sound of a lock clicking and the door opened on its chain-bolt. A pretty, sleep-rumpled girl’s face peered out through the gap.

  ‘Who’d you say it was?’ she asked.

  ‘All right, Betty,’ said Rachel, moving out to where the girl could see her. ‘Quit stalling and open it up.’

  ‘Oh. It’s you, Miss Winters,’ th
e girl replied in a loud voice, rubbing her eyes but making no attempt to obey. ‘Cheez! You dragged me out of the sack.’

  ‘Kick it in, Brad!’ Alice ordered.

  ‘Hey!’ yelped the girl in the apartment. ‘Hold it a second, will ya? So I’m opening. Let a girl wake up first. I’m not dressed yet.’

  ‘That’s all right,’ Alice replied. ‘Brad isn’t coming in and both Rachel and I’ve seen a girl in her nightie before now.’

  ‘All right, already!’ the girl answered, speaking even louder. ‘Don’t bust the door in. That crud downstairs will make us pay for a new one.’

  Both deputies and the detective felt their suspicions rising, for the girl spoke too loud. Clearly she was trying to drown a faint scuffling noise from in the room, but her raised voice only served to draw the peace officers’ attention to it.

  Brad did not stop to think of traditional Southern chivalry, nor to worry over the propriety of entering a young lady’s room with her in a state of undress. Swinging to face the door, he dropped his shoulder and hurled forward in a charge that slammed his powerful frame home with considerable violence. The door might have withstood the impact, being built strongly, but the chain bolt tore free. As the door burst inwards, it struck and knocked the girl staggering. Although she wore only a brief shortie nightie, and presented an attractive picture as she landed rump first on the floor, Brad barely gave her a second glance. Drawing his gun, he dashed across the room towards the bedroom door.

  With Alice on his heels, Brad reached the door, looked in and saw the reason for Betty Goldberg’s attempting to stall them.

  ‘Hold it!’ Alice snapped, her Cobra emphasizing the command.

  The girl in the bedroom retained her natural black hair, as opposed to the bleached blonde of her sister who answered the door, and like Betty wore only a shortie. Studying her attitude and what she held in her hands, the deputies concluded that Rose Goldberg was trying to take advantage of one of the hotel’s exclusive features.

  When the Shaftesbury was being built, it had received certain innovations and additions not found on the official plans, being designed with the interests of its criminal clientele in mind. Each room held a built-out fireplace and chimney, although the official plans claimed these to be inoperative. The fireplaces had a decorative, and apparently solid, front. From what the deputies saw, Room 216’s fireplace could have its front opened to reveal a fair sized, but secret, storage cabinet.

  Rose Goldberg stood before the cavity, trying to place in it a suitcase so hurriedly packed that the sleeve of a jacket trailed out of it. A second suitcase, just as hastily packed, stood on its edge in the cavity.

  ‘Put it down and step clear, Rose,’ Alice ordered. ‘Brad, tell Rachel to fetch Betty in here, and you stay in the other room.’

  ‘Yo!’ answered Brad and holstered his gun.

  Any relief Rose Goldberg might have felt at seeing Alice died when she heard the words. All too well she knew the advantage her race gave when dealing with an Anglo-Saxon officer. However Big Rachel was also a Jewess and there was nothing she hated more than one of her people who became a hooker.

  Rose put the case on the bed and threw a warning glance at her sister when Rachel brought Betty into the room. Like Rose, Betty knew the advantage of being a member of the world’s second most important minority group, but had not learned when the advantage could be used, or must be forgotten.

  ‘What’s the big idea?’ Betty screeched, rubbing her bruised hip. ‘You c—’

  ‘Where did Angers and Sanchez meet up with Papas?’ Alice interrupted.

  ‘Don’t ask us,’ Rose replied, throwing another warning glance at her sister.

  ‘Who do the cases belong to?’ Rachel inquired.

  ‘My uncle from Big D,’ viii Betty spat out.

  ‘My, isn’t he a messy packer?’ Alice said, lifting the trailing jacket sleeve. ‘And dig that crazy closet, Rachel.’

  ‘You’ve got no right to open that case without a search warrant!’ Betty warned as Alice reached for the catches and clicked them open.

  ‘So write to the Mirror, they’re always willing to listen to complaints,’ Alice replied and raised the case’s lid. ‘Get dressed.’

  ‘What if I tell you to go take a jump?’ Betty sneered.

  ‘I might just do it,’ Alice told her.

  ‘Yeah? Well put up your piece and tell Big Rachel to go out of the room.’

  ‘You shouldn’t let her watch girl wrestlers on the television, Rose,’ Rachel commented. ‘Now make with the dressing.’

  ‘You do it!’ Rose snapped.

  ‘Who do the cases belong to?’ Alice asked. ‘And don’t hand me any guff about your uncle from Big D.’

  Noticing the cold way Rachel watched her, Rose held. back the comment she intended to make. Not even the intellectual and liberal Gusher City Mirror would believe her if she accused another Jewess of being anti-Semitic; a charge it readily accepted, without going into the affair to learn the true facts, when leveled at an Anglo-Saxon peace officer.

  ‘A friend asked us to hold them,’ Rose explained.

  ‘Don’t snow me!’ Alice snapped. ‘Angers had your address in his wallet.’

  Not that Alice expected a tough, experienced girl like Rose to fall for such a corny old trick, having been around and learned a thing or two. However, as Alice expected, Betty could not resist the opportunity to show the officers their mistake.

  ‘He emptied his wallet before—’

  With a hiss of fury, Rose lashed her arm around and drove her knuckles full into her sister’s mouth. Flinging Betty backwards on to the bed, the blow also chopped off her incautious words.

  ‘Too late, Rose,’ Rachel commented, thrusting the screaming Betty down as the girl bounced erect with fingers crooked ready to claw. ‘Now stop fussing before you rile me. Get dressed, we’re taking a ride.’

  ‘What’s the charge?’ Rose asked in a sick voice.

  ‘Harboring a known fugitive, and there’ll be others.’

  While the girls dressed, Alice opened the cases and examined their contents. She lifted out the jacket and checked its size, deciding it would fit Angers. On checking, she discovered another suit that would be the second man’s size, but nothing to indicate that a third person had stored clothing in the apartment. Most damning evidence of all were two boxes containing .38 Special bullets and a carton of Remington Shur-Shot 12 gauge buckshot shells. The Firearms Identification Laboratory might be able to tie in the empty cases found in the Rambler with those in the carton. An oil stain on the bottom of each case next caught Alice’s eye. If S.I.B. found the stains compared with the oil on the sawed-off shotgun, a further link would be forged in the evidence chain.

  ‘Who were Angers and Sanchez working with?’ Alice asked, closing the case.

  ‘So ask them,’ Rose replied.

  ‘They’re dead. We dropped Angers, but their partner gunned Sanchez rather than take him to a doctor.’

  Holding her swollen, blood-trickling mouth, Betty glared at her sister, but remained silent. It began to sink into her head that they might face something a damned sight more serious than an arrest for prostitution.

  ‘He did that?’Rose hissed.

  ‘I can show you the scene-of-the-crime photographs,’ Alice assured her.

  ‘I’d help you if I could,’ Rose stated. ‘But all I know is that somebody called Frankie came here last night late. He said he and Paco were going on a caper, took three of my nylons, and said we should be ready to alibi for them. They didn’t show, and when we heard you knocking, I thought it was fuzz from V. and G. I didn’t want them to find Frankie and Paco’s clothes, so Betty went to stall them while I stashed the cases.’

  Although questioned some more, Rose clung to her story that she did not know the third man involved with Angers and Betty gave her agreement to the story.

  Eight

  ‘So search my rooms,’ an aggrieved male voice was saying as the female officers escorted the si
sters from the bedroom.

  ‘Hey, what’s this?’ Betty squealed, seeing Brad and Bulpin standing in the other room in the company of Willie Schenk. ‘You think this is maybe the squad room, bringing two-bit punks like him in here?’

  ‘The squad room should smell so good,’ Bulpin answered. ‘I caught Willie here leaving, Rachel. Fact being, he was in such a hurry that I just naturally brought him back up here.’

  ‘So go ahead and search my rooms!’ insisted the little man. ‘I know you don’t have a search warrant, but go ahead. That’s how clean I am.’

  ‘Let’s go do it, Dave,’ Brad suggested. ‘Including behind the fireplace.’

  Instantly Schenk lost his air of injured innocence. ‘Say!’ he squawked. ‘I was only kidding.’

  ‘Trouble with me is, I’ve a lousy sense of humor,’ Brad drawled. ‘Let’s go take a look.’

  ‘You got a warrant?’

  ‘Why, Willie,’ grinned Bulpin. ‘You invited us to take a look—in front of all these witnesses.’

  Taking Schenk by the arms, Brad and Bulpin led him from the girls’ apartment and across to his own.

  ‘Let’s be friendly about this, fellers,’ Schenk offered in his most winning way as they stood in his living room.

  ‘Let’s us open up the fireplace,’ Brad replied.

  ‘If I give you something hot, will you let me go? I’ve a heavy date down on The Street and don’t want to miss .it.’

  ‘Try us and see,’ suggested Bulpin.

  ‘Those two hookers are shacking up with a pair of red-hots—’

  ‘Who’re both dead, as the newscasts just announced,’ growled Bulpin.

  ‘Make with the fireplace, Schenk,’ Brad ordered.

  ‘I know something else. I know that Angers and Sanchez had a meet to fix up a contract this morning.’

  ‘All right, spill it.’

  The story came out with a rush. After an unprofitable evening, Schenk had been returning home when he saw a car standing in a side street. Stealing from parked vehicles formed his second line of defense and he approached the car hopefully. Too late he discovered the vehicle held passengers and after hearing only a few words he knew better than make his presence suspected by the occupants.