Little Men, Big World Page 10

  “Well, it doesn’t matter,” said the Commissioner. “I’m no Beau Brummel. Everybody knows it. However, the Judge has gone to a lot of trouble to honor me. Maybe I ought to go home and put on my good blue suit.”

  “May I say something?” asked Reisman.

  “Yes. Certainly.”

  “I think the blue suit is a very good idea.”

  The Commissioner looked down at himself. “Hm! That bad, eh? My wife tried to tell me ... All right. I’ll do it.”

  “I’ll drive you home, Commissioner. Right on my way.”

  “All right, Reisman. First, I’ve got to use the phone.”

  “Want me to go outside?”

  The Commissioner merely shook his head, then he sat down and called his wife to tell her about the change of plan. Apparently he got quite an argument. Reisman looked away, tried not to hear.

  “… All right, all right,” the Commissioner was saying, “I know you told me—but it can’t be helped now. I’ll be right home. Won’t take me ten minutes to change—save you driving down here to pick me up. All right, all right. Anyway, I understand it’s fashionable to be late. I don’t care what all the others will wear. What’s that? What difference does it make what I wear? You wear what you please.” The Commissioner shook his head impatiently from side to side. “Stop splitting hairs. I’ll be right home. We’ll talk about it then. Goodbye.” The Commissioner hung up, then he sat smiling at the desk for a moment. “Reisman,” he said finally, “do you know anything about women?”

  “No,” said Reisman bluntly. “I’ve only been married fifteen years.”

  “Well,” said the Commissioner, “you wouldn’t believe what this party means to my wife. New dress, nervous as a girl. And yet she always says it’s a waste of time to go to parties, and things like that.”

  “It’s so they can get you going and coming, Commissioner,” said Reisman. “If you want to go to a party, they can say it’s a waste of time. If you want to stay home, they can say you never take them any place. It’s a kind of feminine game. A little hard for a man to understand. Like poker to most women.”

  They drove along in silence for some time. It was a very hot night and there was hardly a breath of air stirring. The pavements were still hot from the day’s glare and the huge town had a dusty, stale smell, somewhat like a long-closed attic room.

  Finally Reisman spoke. “If you go north, Commissioner, this town just won’t be the same.”

  “It’s getting along without Theo. Hardy. It can certainly get along without me. I won’t be around forever, in any case. I’m not growing any younger. Still ... I don’t know.”

  “Oh, it will get along all right. No doubt about that. But it will be so much easier for the boys to operate.”

  “I’m not so sure. There’s a new temper in the town. It’s been coming. I guess I’m just a reflection of it.”

  Reisman glanced at the Commissioner, but said nothing. Did he mean it? Was he an incurable optimist? Did he really think that aside from Hardy, now out of the picture, there was another public servant in the city of the selflessness, the determined honesty and decency of himself? Plenty of good men, of course. But all flawed—by ambition, or laziness, or a bad marriage, or an ineradicable weakness, like drink, or by ideological confusion, or by dangerous tie-ups... The Commissioner was, at the moment, literally one man in a million, or seemed so to Reisman, who had been around for a long time and had watched the public servants come and go, like actors striding for a brief space on a stage they couldn’t hold.

  “Well,” said Reisman, “all I know is, the boys are mighty happy at the news that you’re going north.”

  The Commissioner glanced at Reisman. “Is that a fact?”

  “A cold fact.”

  8

  ABOUT eight o’clock that night a long-distance call came through for Arky. He was lying on his bed, smoking a cigar and talking to Anna, who had young Orv in her arms, bouncing him, trying to get him to go to sleep; he’d been wakeful since his six o’clock feed. Arky motioned Anna out of the room, and finally, after a long wait, Leon came on.

  “Leon? What did you ditch the car for?” asked Arky without preamble.

  “Didn’t Rudy pick it up?”

  “No. Haven’t you seen the papers? Lots of people think you’re dead.”

  “I’m close. You are too. Keep your head down, Arky. That goes for everybody.”

  “The Mover, too?”

  “Yes. They know who he is, and I swear to God they didn’t get it from me. I told Kelly the Mover knew who he was, like you told me to. Kelly laughed. He says: ‘I got news for you. It’s mutual. I’ve known about your pal for two years.’ That’s the straight truth, Arky.”

  “When you coming back?”

  “Never.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You heard me. Rudy’s all ready to take over for me, if it’s okay. But I don’t know why he didn’t pick up that car.”

  “Are you crazy? It will all blow over, Leon.”

  “No. Not this time. The Big City boys think the Mover pulled the dirtiest double-cross of all time on them.”

  “What was it?”

  “Getting the Commissioner moved up, after Kelly was just starting to work on it. Kelly figures he gave you the idea and you and the Mover beat him to the draw. This means war, Arky. With the Commissioner out, anybody with enough drag and money can operate, not just us.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. Besides, Kelly didn’t give us the idea. Me and the Mover had already talked about it. What makes Kelly think anybody could work that fast?”

  “I’m only giving you the facts. And another thing. Kelly’s got a lot of friends in town. He’s already got a partial fix running.”

  There was a brief pause, then Arky said: “Well, you finally outfoxed yourself, didn’t you, Leon?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Horsing with the Big City boys. Now you’re out in the cold.”

  “I’m just happy I’m alive. But naturally they’d come to me first. I wasn’t horsing.”

  “Stop kidding. We know all about the Bandbox deal.”

  “All right. I’m not arguing with you, Arky, I’m just trying to tip you off. Keep your head down. You’re playing in the big league now. Goodbye…”

  “Wait a minute. Where can I call you?”

  “No place. But I may call you later.” He hung up abruptly. Arky was deeply puzzled and sat lost in thought for a long time. What was Leon’s game? He knew Leon well enough to feel pretty certain that he hadn’t just called up to warn them. If Leon was out for good, what did he care! Maybe there was going to be trouble; maybe Leon was certain of it and had taken a runout and was sweet-talking both sides; then after the smoke cleared, he’d have an “in” no matter who won. Sounded likely.

  The more Arky thought about the situation the less he liked it. As it was an odd hour and an odd day, he felt that he should not bother the Mover, so he put in a call for the Paymaster.

  “You caught me just in time,” said King. “I was leaving. What’s all this nonsense about Leon?”

  Arky explained at some length, then he said: “I’d sure like to talk to the Mover, but it might not be convenient for him.”

  “It definitely wouldn’t be,” said King. “But I can get him. I’ll call him right away. Stand by, Arky. Call you back.”

  “Make it strong, now. I know there’s no way in the world to scare the Mover or make him cautious. But put it on strong. This might be serious, damn serious.”

  Arky hung up and waited, pacing back and forth nervously. In a few minutes Anna put her head in the door.

  “Are you busy? Can I ask you something?”

  Arky glanced at her in irritation. “All right. What?”

  “Suppose, just for instance,” said Anna, slowly, “that Milli didn’t come back…”

  Arky stared blankly. “What the hell are you talking about? Don’t bother me with that nonsense now.”

  “Well, she’s bee
n gone three hours, and she never stays away over half an hour—scared to be out.”

  “She probably got lost a block from here and we’ll have to send out a rescue squad.”

  “Ark, I think she got a letter today. You know how she always grabs the mail—waits for it downstairs?”

  “I don’t know nothing about it.”

  “Well, I’m telling you. She’s so crazy, if that sap, Chuck, wrote to her, told her where he was, she might run off and leave the baby. Suppose she does?”

  The phone rang. Arky motioned for Anna to go away but Anna persisted.

  “Suppose she does, Arky?”

  Arky reached for the phone. “Then you’re stuck with him. Beat it.”

  Anna rushed over to Arky, kissed and hugged him, knocking him off balance, then she turned and hurried out, slamming the door, laughing and crying at the same time.

  Arky shook his head slowly from side to side as he picked up the receiver. “Yeah?”

  “I talked to him, Arky,” said the Paymaster. “No use. Just wasting my breath. He’s got nothing but contempt for the boys—thinks they are all yellow cowards…”

  “Yeah, but a yellow coward can shoot you in the back.”

  “You don’t have to sell me, Arky. But take my advice—don’t call the Mover. He was even annoyed with me. By the way, Rudy Solano’s the Front Man till further notice—which won’t be long in coming, I hope. Rudy means well, but that’s all. Leon’s a genius compared to him. You keep the same schedule. Rudy’s running the Club Imperial. And by the way, in case you don’t know it, due to a newspaper story in the Examiner the boys have got Rudy down at headquarters sweating him over Leon’s disappearance ... Rudy’s going to get a big build-up now. The new underworld boss—same old newspaper stuff.”

  “You got any idea why Rudy didn’t pick up Leon’s car at the airport?”

  “Yes. A couple of dicks from downtown were hanging around the airport all day for some reason or another. And a fellow from the D.A.’s office—named Radabaugh.”

  “H’m! You think they saw Leon blow?”

  “I don’t know how they could miss him.”

  “What was Rudy worried about then?”

  “He didn’t like the set-up; anyway, it doesn’t matter. Just makes more noise, more stories in the newspapers about Rudy and Leon. And that’s what they get paid for, more or less.”

  Arky considered for a moment. “You sure there’s no way to make the Mover see that there might be real trouble?”

  “Take my advice—do nothing. Don’t bother him, except about routine business. It’s no use, Arky. I’ve known him for years. He doesn’t know what the word fear means. He just laughs, or gets irritated.”

  After he hung up, Arky sat smoking thoughtfully for a long time, looking out at the dark river and all the lights clustered along its banks; finally he made up his mind what to do. If the Mover found out later, well, then he himself would have to take the consequences, whatever they were. It was up to him to protect the Mover whether he liked it or not.

  He put on his hat, went out into the hallway, opened the door and started down the stairs. When he was halfway down, he met Milli coming up. She was flushed and panting as if she’d run a mile uphill. With a gasp, she flattened herself against the wall to let him pass. Her obvious fear of him always irritated Arky. What had he ever done to the damn-fool girl but feed her and give her a place to stay?

  “Where you been?” he demanded.

  “I go ... movie,” gasped Milli. “So late!”

  “Anna’s looking for you.”

  Milli stared at him in open fear for a moment, then she tore past him, took the stairs in a couple of bounds, and tried frantically to open the apartment door—but it was locked. Swearing quietly to himself, Arky went back and unlocked the door for her. Milli gave a hurried bob of her head and a sort of stumbling curtsy, then she disappeared.

  “I don’t know,” said Arky, starting down the stairs again. “Maybe it would be better if she did run away. Looks to me like Anna’s going to be kind of disappointed to see her.” He laughed to himself.

  Big Brannigan was on the desk at the Pier 7 Station House when Arky entered, and several police reporters were playing hearts at a table just below his desk. They all looked up and stared at Arky, who smiled at them in easy friendliness and nodded.

  “Well, Arky,” said Brannigan, “finally decided to give yourself up, eh?” The big Irishman laughed and hit the desk with his hamlike fist.

  “Yep,” said Arky. “It’s been worrying me for years. Can’t sleep nights. Captain here?”

  “Yeah, he’s here.”

  “I got a complaint to make and I want to talk to the Captain.”

  The reporters began to prick up their ears. Joe Pavlik came over.

  “Say, let us in on this, Arky.”

  “All right,” said Arky. “No secret about it. Them young hoodlums—got so we can’t handle ’em any longer. We just had a bad fight down at the place. I want it on record just so maybe if Zand knocks somebody’s head off, the Captain will know the reason.”

  Pavlik’s interest faded. “Yeah,” he said. “I had-a run-in with a couple of ’em myself last night. I caught ’em fooling with my car.”

  “You better talk quiet. They always gang you. You haven’t got a chance.”

  Brannigan got the Captain on the inter-com, told him about Arky’s complaint, then he turned to Arky. “Captain says come right in. He’ll see you. But he’s only got a minute.”

  Arky thanked Brannigan, then turned and went down a dark hallway to the Captain’s office. The reporters resumed their game, sighing. Hoodlums, hoodlums, young hoodlums! The papers had been full of them for weeks. Everybody had a bellyful of them, from editors to subscribers.

  The Captain, in uniform, was sitting at his desk, smoking a cigar and drinking coffee from a paper carton. He needed a haircut and his big head had a savage, shaggy look to it. He showed no expression at all and did not even speak until Arky had closed the door.

  “You’re taking a big chance coming here, Ark,” the Captain said finally.

  “It’s important. Didn’t want to talk on the phone. Relax, I put ’em all to sleep out front.”

  “You even had me wondering for a minute. Well?”

  “We got to protect the Mover.”

  “That bad?”

  “Could be. Might be. And if anything happens to him it’ll be our fault.”

  “Take it easy, Ark.”

  “You heard me. Our fault. He won’t look after himself—never would. I don’t have to tell you that. I guess you’ve known him longer than anybody.”

  Dysen ran his big, fat, powerful hand wearily over his face, and sighed, sounding like a hippopotamus in distress. “I guess' that’s right, Ark. All right. How do we do it?”

  “That’s up to you. You’re a copper. Protecting people is your business.”

  “Sure, but we got problems. The Mover lives to hell and gone from my precinct. I can’t send prowl-cars; they’re bound to bump into the ones that belong there … then we got questions from headquarters. Foot patrol … worse. The only thing I can see is plainclothes men, and we still got problems.”

  “Well, let’s solve ’em fast,” said Arky impatiently. “Time’s passing.”

  “Why don’t you get Rudy to dig up some boys? Wouldn’t that be easier?”

  “No,” said Arky emphatically. “First place, them boys are no good. They’d take your money and then soldier on the job. Second place, might tip off the Mover to a wrong one.”

  “That’s right,” said the Captain. “Let me think. I could give some of my best boys an open fugitive-warrant—in case they ran into some boys from headquarters. That’d explain what they were doing in a faraway precinct. But even so ... round the clock, day and night, it’s going to look bad…”

  “Don’t worry about daytime,” said Arky. “Just from sunset to sunrise. And they don’t have to stand guard, for God’s sake. It’s a quiet neighborho
od. Damn few strangers go there. Can’t they comb ’em?”

  “Sounds all right.”

  “Besides there are special police in the neighborhood, hired by the people who live there. Retired coppers—old guys, you know. Not much use against real tough boys, but they can keep their eyes open, can’t they? Why don’t one of your boys contact ’em, give ’em any cock and bull story you like about suspicious characters in the neighborhood? Use the fugitive gag. This may all blow over in a few days.”

  “All right, Arky,” said the Captain, sighing again. “I’ll do the best I can.”

  There was a short silence, then Arky spoke. “I don’t really think the fellows have got guts enough to try to take care of the Mover. All the same there is one pretty big boy mixed up in this and he don’t impress me as the kind of boy who would let much of anything stop him.”

  Arky got up and walked to the door. “I’m counting on you, Captain.”

  Dysen nodded wearily as Arky went out.

  Commissioner Stark was glad he had not worn his rusty old Tuxedo, and he kept reminding himself that he must thank Reisman at the first opportunity. The columnist had saved him from considerable embarrassment. In his good dark-blue serge suit he felt more or less at ease, even though he was the only man at the reception not in evening clothes.

  A steady stream of elegantly dressed people were introduced to him and he stood sipping his punch, nodding and smiling, and wearing himself out conscientiously shaking hands. Not being a practiced politician, he had never learned the trick of pressing an outstretched hand and then getting away before his own hand was pressed or squeezed or pumped. It was amazing to him how many men seemed to enjoy holding on to his hand as they talked. His right shoulder began to feel numb, his hand ached, and now his feet were beginning to hurt.

  Why did nobody sit down?

  He glanced at his wife. In her new black evening gown—a little low in the neck, wasn’t it?—she was having the time of her life, bowing, talking, laughing.