Ellery Queen - Cop Out

“Hello?” Malone said.

“This Malone?” It was the cougar voice, the cougar voice, pitched in a mutter.

“Yes? Yes?”

“This is Hinch. You know. Look, I can’t talk long, I had to wait till they were corked off good before I could use the phone. I’ll make a deal.”

“Yes?”

“I want out. I’ll turn state’s evidence. Do I get a deal?”

“Yes,” Malone said, “yes.”

Secco came running in noiselessly. He put his lips to Malone’s ear and whispered, “Ask him where they are.”

“Yes,” Malone said again. “Where is the house?”

“I don’t know where, I mean the street. Some crummy back road. It ain’t far.”

“Telephone number,” Secco whispered.

“What’s the phone number there?”

“7420.”

“7420.”

Secco wrote it down.

“Can you get my girl out of there, Hinch?”

“Fure took all the artillery. Anyways, Goldie’s got her sleeping in with her and she locked the door.”

“Then don’t try anything. Stay put. We’ll be out there. If you see a chance after we show, make a break for it with Barbara. Anything happens to my daughter it’s no deal, Hinch, you get the book thrown at you. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” Hinch muttered. He hung up.

Malone hung up.

He sat back and looked at the chief. Secco said briskly, “Don’t sit there, Wes. Hand me the phone.”

Malone handed it to him.

Secco dialed 411. It took a long time for the local information operator to answer. He waited patiently. When she answered he said, “This is John Secco. Who’s this, Margaret?”

“Sally, Chief.”

“Sally. This is an emergency. Who in town has the number 7420?”

He waited again.

“Thanks, Sally. Keep quiet about this.” He hung up. “It’s on Maccabee Road, the Thatcher place. They closed it up for the winter. Wes?”

“I’m listening, John,” Malone said.

“Why don’t you go up and tell Ellen about this? I’ve got a police department to round up.”

“John.”

Secco stopped in the act of picking up the phone again. “What, Wes?”

“Maybe one man could get in and cover Furia before he can wake up-”

“You mean you.”

“Give me a gun.”

Secco shook his head. “You said yourself Furia sleeps like a cat, so no one man’s going to take him in bed. Anyway, Wes, you’re too involved, you’d be sure to mess it up. This is going to be a delicate business even with a squad. Let me handle it regulation procedure. It’s the right way. The only way.”

“She’s my child-”

“And you’re one of my officers, Wes. One of them.”

“All right,” Malone said. “But, John, I swear to you, if anything goes wrong-”

“How well have you done by yourself?” John Secco asked.

They stared at each other.

“Loney? What’s going on down there?”

Malone went upstairs running away.

Malone went into action chewing on doom. I have no part or place in this, I知 the only one without a uniform or a gun, John doesn稚 trust me, I should never have gone to him, Ellen was right, it痴 not John痴 fault what else can he do it痴 his job, the fault is all mine I had no business becoming a cop. Being a cop is like being a Marine and what kind of Marine did I make. I should have handled this by myself all the way through. How could it have come out worse than this?

They were a force of twenty-two men, eight New Bradford officers besides Chief Secco and Malone, and a dozen troopers. They were packing shotguns and carbines and tear gas launcher attachments and gasmasks from the state police barracks and enough ammunition to face down a riot mob, no missing ingredient but the barricades.

And all for what. They don’t begin to realize the kind of kill-crazy kook they’re up against, a show of force like this is going to put his back up like a skunk and make him piss his stink, he’ll see all the dreams he dreamed of hate and glory in whatever shit pile he was dragged up in come true and he’ll go out blazing away and taking Bibby with him and me too I’ll be there I’ll be there to go with her. And what Ellen gets out of the deal is two graves side by side in New Bradford Cemetery. Poor kid. You rate better.

Unless… unless Hinch wants to live more than he’s scared of Furia. And wanting will find the brains he wasn’t born with to figure out a way to get on top. Get the better of Furia before it’s too late. You’re my ace, Hinch. In this hole I’m in.

One man one vote. That’s what it comes down to. Furia against Malone. Furia against Hinch. Not Furia against twenty-two law officers creeping up with funk in their mouths and guns in their hands.

“Don’t worry, Wes,” Chief Secco said. “It’s going to be all right.”

“Give me a written guarantee?”

“What you are and how you operate,” Secco said. “That’s the only guarantee there is, Wes.”

There was no communication after that.

The cars were left a quarter mile from Maccabee Road and they made their professional approach in the predawn lugging their weapons and ammo and masks to the Thatcher place like a platoon of grunts on search-and-destroy, every man’s face tight as a secret, every tongue tasting the death of somebody else. Can’t John see that? They’re disciplined and they’re set to follow orders but let Furia draw blood and see what happens.

John John. Bibby…

Come on Hinch.

Chief Secco’s operational plan was an attack in force while the enemy’s guard was down. Furia was not aware that his hideout was blown, he had no reason to post a lookout, they would have all the advantages of near darkness and a sleeping or sleepy foe, and overwhelming surprise would carry the day. A noiseless entry front and back, coordinated, the main group with rubbers over their shoes sneaking upstairs, Secco knew the old house well it was built in 1799 the chestnut floors were all creaked out and the stairs heavily carpeted… one burst into Furia’s room, heave a couple of gas cans, and that would be it. The child was sleeping with the woman in another bedroom according to Hinch, an auxiliary force would handle that at the same time. The woman was too smart to try anything foolish and Hinch was spoken for. If Furia elected or was able to shoot it out he would be blasted into a better world by a dozen guns before he could get his weapons up.

The sky was turning gray and there was just enough light to see by. Chief Secco had had the men synchronize their watches and every eye was on a second hand. There were eight men behind trees to the front of the house, eight men behind trees at the rear, and three men to each side hiding in shrubbery.

The men behind the house could see the back door broken half off its hinges where the gang had got in. The problem was the front door. It was shut and probably locked. They had debated whether to make entry in a body through the back door but decided to carry out the original plan. Sergeant Louis Lombard of the troopers had a picklock for tumbler locks and a can of 3-in-l to oil the hinges as a precaution against squeaks. The men at the rear were to give him forty seconds to get the front door open before they made their move.