William Bernhardt - Nemesis - The Final Case of Eliot Ness

“I just wanna talk to you!” Merylo shouted, but the man did not stop, did not even slow. He had been ten feet ahead when this chase started and he was at least thirty feet now. Merylo had a hunch this was not going to end well.

“Police! I order you to stop!”

As if that were going to do any good. The twerp must’ve had a reason for running and that reason wasn’t going to be assuaged by the knowledge he was being chased by a police officer. Skinny little runt, who knew what he had done?

Sure could run, though.

He headed toward another fence and Merylo hoped that might slow him down, but the kid vaulted over as if he were walking on air. Merylo knew that if he tried that, he’d fall flat on his face. It was hopeless. This chase was over. He’d have to try another-

“You wanna talk to this guy?”

Merylo stopped short, leaning breathlessly against the fence, panting for air.

Zalewski was holding the punk by the collar, his service revolver pressed into the kid’s side.

“Where’d you come from?”

Zalewski shoved his captive up against the fence. “When he took off running, you took off after him. But I knew that alley emptied out onto Euclid and I knew the fences and hills would slow him down. I grew up around here. So while you did the line drive I circled around to where I knew he’d have to come out.”

Merylo nodded, slowly regaining enough breath to speak. “Next time I’ll circle around. You do the chasing.” He grabbed the breathless punk by the collar and shook him. “I already know you were Flo Po lillo’s pimp, Adler, so don’t bother lying about it. We’re not from vice, and I’m sure you’ll say you were only trying to protect her.”

The skinny man in the oversize sport coat jumped on that opening like a cat on tuna. “It’s not just about the protectin’. It’s about the huntin’.”

At least the man was talking. Now if he could only say something that made sense. “Hunting?”

“For clients,” he explained slowly, as if he were teaching ABCs to a toddler. “Paying clients.”

“Like Arthur Dollarhyde?”

He didn’t deny it. “That was brilliant. Great stroke of luck. I knew Flo could charge a man like him three times what she normally got. She had something that Dollarhyde dude really liked.”

“A strong back.”

“What?”

“Never mind. If Flo was making so much money, why did she have to work days?”

“Well, she had a bad habit, if you know what I mean.” He made the gesture of drinking from a bottle. “Most of my girls do. Don’t know why.”

“If I had to work for you, I’d be a drunk, too,” Merylo said, tightening his grip. “Who were her other clients?”

“Not sure they’d appreciate my sayin’.”

“You think I care what that dirt wants? Talk!”

Adler held up his hands. “Keep your shirt on, mister. I’ll give you names.”

“Was one of them a guy called Andrassy?”

Adler thought for a moment. “Don’t recall that I ever heard that name.”

“Be sure!” Zalewski showed him the picture. “Ever seen him around?”

“No. Never. I’m sure.”

Merylo swore beneath his breath. “Know of anyone who might want to kill Flo?”

“Nah. Everyone loved Flo. She was cheap.”

“See any suspicious characters hanging around her?”

“Have you been to that bar where she worked? Everyone there is a suspicious character.”

“Have any idea how this might’ve happened? How she got tangled up with a violent murderer who’d want to hack up her body? That’s a pretty tough way to go.”

“Way Flo lived, there was no other way to go but bad. Didn’t expect her to get hacked to bits. But she couldn’t go on long the way she was.”

Merylo sighed, then threw the man back against the brick wall of the alleyway. This was getting him nowhere. Like every other one of the hundreds of interviews he’d conducted since this case began. “Don’t suppose you ever thought about helping her? Trying to get her straight?”

“Hey, she chose her life.”

“And you wrung it dry.”

“I didn’t do nothin’ I didn’t have the right to do!” Adler protested. “She was mine, man! I owned her!”

Merylo and Zalewski both stared back at him. “Case you haven’t heard, punk, slavery has been abolished. People can’t own other people. It ain’t legal.”

“That’s a load of bull.”

“It’s true.”

“You sayin’ a wife ain’t supposed to do what her husband tells her? That the man ain’t the boss of the family?”

Merylo wagged his head. “That’s different, and besides, you’re not her husband.”

“No, but I met the man. And he sold her to me, for twenty-two dollars, cash. I owned her. And I had a right to recoup my investment.”

Merylo and Zalewski were shoulder to shoulder as they entered the downtown post office.

“Did you know about this guy?” Zalewski asked.

“Honest?”

“If you’re in the mood.”

Merylo frowned. “I didn’t even know Flo was married. I thought Polillo was her maiden name.”

“Thanks for being honest.”

“There’s no shame in it, though it isn’t exactly a source of pride, either. I’ve talked to dozens of people who knew Flo. None of them knew she was married.”

“How could that be?”

“We’re about to find out.” Merylo spotted the man he sought behind the counter. He’d made sure in advance he’d be on duty.

He flashed his badge. “Peter Merylo, Homicide Department. Are you Andrew Polillo?”

The mail clerk’s shoulders sagged. “Wondered how long it’d be before you boys came round.”

Merylo nodded. “So I guess you’re not denying that you were married to Florence Polillo?”

“Don’t ’spect there’d be much point in it.” His face was pocked and he looked undernourished. He was one of the lucky few who still had a job, but Merylo got the impression that his life had not been easy and probably never would be.

“Care to explain why you left your wife?”

“Left her? We’re divorced. Her idea. Didn’t you know?”

Merylo and Zalewski exchanged a glance. “Just checking. How long have you been divorced?”

Polillo thought a moment. “Must be almost three years.”

“Since you… sold her to a man named Chink Adler?”

Polillo did not deny. He did not even seem particularly perturbed. “She was already hookin’. What difference did it make? Seemed like I was entitled to get a little somethin’ out of the marriage. It cost me enough.”

“So you sold her to a pimp.”

“What I hear, workin’ with a pimp is a lot safer than workin’ on your own. Women in that line get roughed up when they don’t have someone lookin’ out for them.”

Merylo didn’t argue the point. “Bitter about it?”

“Not bitter enough to kill her, if that’s what you’re gettin’ at.”

“Someone did.”

“It wasn’t me.”

“Why’d you dump her?” Zalewski asked, injecting himself into the conversation.

Polillo fidgeted with his date-stamp. “I loved Flo. I really did. Loved her like I’ve never loved anyone. Took care of her. But she was always a hard drinker. Didn’t leave much room for me-she was in love with the bottle. I told her I’d had enough. She was going to have to give up the drinking, or give up me.”

“And that was the end of it?”

“Not quite. She was sympathetic at first. Cried and everything. Showed me a side I’d never seen before. Said she was going to go visit her mother for two weeks to get herself straight. I said fine. So she went away for two weeks-and didn’t come back. Few days later I saw her go into a restaurant right here in town with another man, some big husky guy who had his hands all over her.”