Уильям Макгиверн - Rogue Cop

The stubborn old fool, Carmody was thinking, as he got ready to leave. He’d been sure he had a strangle hold on happiness and eternal bliss. Everything was settled, all problems were solved in advance by his trust in God.

I’d like to see him handle this problem, he thought bitterly. The old man would tell Eddie not to worry, to make a novena and do what he thought was right. That would be great except for the fact that Ackerman and Beaumonte didn’t believe in novenas. Prayers were a waste of breath in their league. The old man couldn’t save Eddie with a lifetime on his knees. But I’ll save him, Carmody thought. Without prayers. That’s my kind of work.

The Empire was a quiet, respectable apartment hotel in the Northeast section of the city. Carmody got there at two-thirty, parked on the dark, tree-lined street and walked into the tiled lobby. He found her name printed in ink on a white card and rang the bell. There was a speaking tube beside the row of cards. She answered the third ring.

“Yes? Who is it?”

“This is Mike Carmody. I want to see you.”

She hesitated a moment, then said coldly, “It’s a bit late, don’t you think?”

“Wait a minute. What’s wrong with a friendly chat?”

“You don’t see anything wrong with coming up here at two-thirty in the morning?”

“People will talk, eh?” he said dryly. “Well, that’s okay. I don’t mind.”

“Please, Mike, you’re dead wrong about me,” she said, her voice changing.

“Save all that,” he said. “This concerns Eddie. Now press the buzzer before I get mad.”

“Is this how you get what you want?” she said. “By kicking people around?”

“Press that buzzer,” Carmody said. “I’m not kidding, bright eyes. Your virtue, such as it is, won’t get a workout Open up, damn it.”

There was a short pause. Then the lock clicked sharply. Smiling slightly, he opened the door and walked down a short carpeted hallway to the elevator.

She was waiting for him at the doorway of her apartment, her small head lifted defiantly. She wore a blue silk robe and a ribbon held her hair back from the slim line of her throat. Without make-up her face was pale, but her steady blue eyes were bright and unafraid.

Carmody walked toward her, still smiling slightly. She would play this on a very high level, he guessed. All poise and dignity. She created an illusion of strength and dignity, but Carmody wasn’t impressed. He had worked too long as a cop to be impressed by externals. Underneath that thin crust of confidence he knew there was nothing but guilt. What else could there be?

Smiling down at her, he said, “Thanks for letting me come up.”

“I had no choice,” she said shortly.

“That’s a dull way to look at it.”

She turned into her apartment and he followed her and tossed his hat into a chair. The living room was impersonal but comfortable; a TV set stood in one corner and a studio couch, made up now with sheets and blankets, was pulled out a few inches from the opposite wall. There were chairs, lamps, a coffee table with copies of Variety and Billboard on it, and a tall breakfront in which he saw shelves of dishes.

“Cosy,” he said, nodding.

“You said you wanted to talk about Eddie.”

“We’ll get to him in a minute.”

She shrugged lightly. “We’ll do it your way, of course.”

“That’s right,” he said.

“It’s been a long day,” she said. Her expression changed then, relieved by a tentative little smile. “Don’t you have any soft spots? I’d be grateful if you’d make this brief and let me go to bed.” She tilted her small head to one side. “How about it, Mike?”

“I’m covered with soft spots,” Carmody said. “Sit down and be comfortable. This won’t take long.”

She moved to a chair and sat down slowly. The limp wasn’t obvious; it was only suggested by the careful way she held her body — as if she were crossing a floor on which she had once taken a bad fall.

“What do you want?” she asked him.

Carmody sat down on a footstool in front of her, his big hands only a few inches from the folds of her robe. “Don’t you want to guess?” he said.

“I expected you to be subtle about it,” she said evenly, but a touch of color had come into her cheeks. “Flowers maybe, and a few kind words. But you’ve made this pretty cheap. Was that what you wanted?” Then she shook her head quickly and tried to soften his eyes with a smile. “You’re wrong about me, Mike. What do I have to do to prove it?”

“Relax,” Carmody said. “I’m here about Eddie. Listen now: he had the bad luck to identify a murderer last month, and the guy is important. Has he told you anything about this?”

“No.”

“Well, Eddie stumbled on a shooting. The murderer got away, but was picked up on his description. At the trial next month Eddie can send him to the chair. But that can’t happen. Eddie’s got to refuse to make the identification. Unless he agrees to that he’s in bad trouble. Do you understand this?”

“Yes, I think so,” she said slowly. The color had receded from her cheeks. “It’s always the same, isn’t it? Important people can’t be bothered going to jail.” She studied him with a fresh awareness. “And you’re a friend of the important people?”

“One of their best friends,” Carmody said. “But Eddie’s my brother and I don’t want him hurt. That’s why I need your help.”

“What can I do?”

“To start with, answer my questions. I know he’s crazy about you. But how do you feel about him?”

“I like him a lot. He’s good-natured, gentle, he’s straight and dependable, and—”

“Okay, okay,” Carmody said, cutting across her words impatiently. “I don’t want a litany. Do you love the guy?”

“Not yet.”

Carmody looked at her in silence, trying to keep a check on his temper. Who in hell was she to dilly-dally with his brother? To play the shy maiden with an honest guy like Eddie?

“What’re you waiting for?” he asked her coldly. “Butterflies in your stomach and stars in your eyes?”

“What right have you got to be sarcastic about it?” she said, leaning forward tensely. “It’s none of your business. You don’t have any authority to barge in here and grill me about Eddie. I’m not a suspect in one of your cases.”

“Now listen to me, bright eyes,” Carmody said, standing suddenly, and forcing her back into the chair with the threat of his size and power. “I know who you are and what league you played in. As Eddie’s brother that gives me plenty of rights.” Staring down at her he saw the fear in her eyes, the guilt that lay beneath her crust of angry innocence.

“You were Danny Nimo’s girl, right?” he said coldly.

“That’s right.”

“That’s right. Is that all you’ve got to say?”

“What else is there to say?”

“Where’s the rest of it? Didn’t he hold the mortgage on the family estate? Wasn’t he trying to lure your sister into the white slave racket? Where’s the cute story of how you got mixed up with him?”

“There’s no cute story,” she said in a low voice. “No estate, no lily-pure sister. I liked him, that’s all.”

“That’s all?” Carmody felt a thrust of anger snap his control. He caught her thin arms and jerked her to a standing position. “You had to have a reason,” he said, his voice rising dangerously. “What was it?”

“Let me go. Take your hands off me,” she cried, struggling impotently against the iron strength in his hands.

“Did you tell that to Danny Nimo? Did you tell him to take his hands off you?”

She was beginning to cry, her breath coming in rapid gasps. “Damn you, damn you,” she sobbed. “Why are you doing this to me?” Carmody shifted his grip and held her effortlessly against him with one arm. “Cut it out, bright eyes,” he said. “There’s no need for a big act. I know you, baby, we’re the same kind of people, the same kind of dirt.” With his free hand he forced her head back until their eyes met and held in a straining silence. “Now look,” he said softly, “I’m going to use you to save Eddie. You’ll do what I say, understand?”