Уильям Макгиверн - Rogue Cop

“Let me go,” she whispered.

“When you understand me, bright eyes.” He studied her pale, frightened face, hating her pretence of maidenly fear and virtue. She acted as if his touch would contaminate her innocence. What gave her the right to that pose? He kissed her then deliberately and cruelly, forcing his mouth over hers and pulling her slim struggling body against his chest. For a moment he held her that way, locked tight against his big hard frame, knowing nothing but violence and anger and bitterness. And then, slowly, reluctantly, there was something else; her lips parted under his and the anger in him was replaced by a wild urgency. Carmody fought against its overwhelming demand and pushed her roughly away from him. They stared at each other, their breathing loud and rapid in the silence. “Does that prove it, bright eyes?” he said thickly. “Does that prove we’re the same kind of people?”

She twisted her arms free and began to pound her small fists against his chest. “You can’t say that, you can’t say that,” she cried at him.

Carmody took her arms and put her down in the chair. “Take it easy,” he said, still breathing hard. “It’s a little late to start fighting for your honor.”

She turned away, avoiding his eyes, and struck the arm of the chair with the flat of her hand. “You pig, you animal,” she said in a trembling voice. Tears started in her eyes and ran down her pale cheeks. “Why did you do this? Have I ever hurt you? Am I so dirty you think you can wipe your feet on me?”

“Take it easy,” he said again, running both hands through his hair. Her tears made him angry and uncomfortable. He hadn’t meant to hurt her; in spite of his deep cynicism about people, he had held on to an old-fashioned idea that women should be treated gently. He waited until she got herself under control. Then he said, “You think I’m a heel. Well, okay. But if I’m rough it’s because this is no Maypole dance we’re in.” He realized that he was apologizing obliquely to her and this puzzled him. “Look, I don’t care if you and Eddie get married,” he said. “That’s none of my business. Maybe it will work out great. But you can’t marry a body in a morgue.”

“Will they kill him? Are they that important?”

“Yes, they’re that important,” he said. “So let’s get serious. Supposing you told Eddie you needed money, a lot of it. Would he try to get it for you?”

“I don’t know,” she said, shaking her head slowly.

“We may have to find out,” he said. Glancing down at her slim legs, Carmody lit a cigarette and frowned thoughtfully. Then he said, “Supposing you told him you needed eight or ten thousand dollars for an operation? A spinal operation, or a series of them, to keep you out of a wheel chair. It ties in with your accident logically enough. How about it? Would he try to raise the dough for you?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know,” she said. “But I couldn’t tell him that. I couldn’t ask him to turn himself into a liar and a thief.”

Carmody took a long drag on his cigarette, and watched her with narrowed eyes. “We can all do things we think we can’t,” he said quietly. “Does he know about Nimo?” When she refused to meet his eyes, he said, “I didn’t think so. Would you like him to find out about that? And what happened here tonight?”

She shook her head wearily. “Don’t tell him about that. He thinks everything of you. And of me. No, don’t tell him, Mike.”

“We’ve made a deal then,” Carmody said. “I’ll see him tomorrow and make one more pitch at him. If I can’t wake him up, then it’s your turn. You’ll have to put the pressure on him for money. And the only way he can get it is by co-operating with me.”

“He won’t do it,” she said. “He’s too straight to do it.”

Carmody looked at her appraisingly. “Don’t worry about that. He can bend a little to keep you out of a wheel chair. Will you be here tomorrow afternoon?”

“I can be.”

“I’ll call you.” Carmody paused to light a cigarette. “You’ve got everything straight now?”

“Yes. Won’t you go?” she said in a low voice. “Won’t you please leave me alone?”

“Okay, okay, I’m going,” Carmody said. He pulled the door shut behind him and strode along the corridor to the elevator. A noise stopped him; he turned, listening again for the sound. It had been a small helpless cry, distinct and lonely, like that of someone in pain. But the silence of the building settled around him and he heard nothing but his own even breathing and the beat of his heart.

The phone woke Carmody the next morning at nine-thirty, it was Lieutenant Wilson. “What happened to you last night?” he demanded.

Carmody raised himself on one elbow, completely alert; Wilson’s tone warned him of trouble. “I told you, I was working on that Fairmount Park murder.”

“Did you make any progress?”

“I’ve got a lead.” Carmody frowned slightly; he didn’t like lying to Wilson. They had gone through the police academy together and had been good friends for several years. Wilson was a straight, efficient cop, a family man with kids in school and a home in the new development at Spring Hill. He was everything that citizens expected their police officers to be, intelligent, fair and honest. Carmody wondered occasionally why Wilson still liked him; they were on opposite sides of the fence, and Wilson normally had no use for cops who drifted toward the easy buck.

“You got a lead, eh?” Wilson said. “Well, supposing you get in here and tell me about it. I’ll give it to someone to run down.”

“What’s the big hurry?”

“Damn it, Mike, do I have to send you an engraved invitation when I want to talk to you? Get in here.”

“Okay,” Carmody said, glancing at the alarm clock. He intended to see Eddie as soon as possible, and then, if necessary, Karen. “I’ll be in at four o’clock,” he said. “That’s when my shift goes on.”

“I want to see you now, right away,” Wilson said.

“Okay, okay,” Carmody said. He wasn’t going in so there was no point in arguing about it. “How did that Wagner Hotel job turn out?”

“You struck gold, you lucky ape,” Wilson said in an easier voice. “It was the bellhop, Ernie. Seems he brought a bottle up and found both Degget and the girl out cold. He was going through Degget’s wallet when the girl woke and began to yell copper. He tried to talk her into a split, but she was too drunk to be sensible. Anyway, he got scared and shot her. He’s put it all down on paper, so that winds that one up.”

“The poor damn fool,” Carmody said. “Why did he shoot her? You’d think a bellhop, of all people, would be smart enough to keep away from the big rap.”

“He’s not smart,” Wilson said. “He’s been in and out of trouble since he was a kid.”

“This will be his last then,” Carmody said. “How about the girl?”

“We got in touch with her mother. She’s flying in to claim the body.”

“It’s a senseless mess all around,” Carmody said. He glanced at his watch. “Well, get my name right for the papers.”

“You’re all right when you work at it,” Wilson said. “I’ll see you pretty soon, eh?”

“Sure.” Carmody ordered his breakfast sent up, then showered, shaved and dressed. Eddie had worked twelve to eight and would still be asleep. Carmody decided to give him a few hours; he might be in a better mood if he had some rest. After coffee and orange juice he left his suite and drove across the city to the Midtown Club where he played three furious games of handball with a trainer. It was a punishing workout; the trainer had once been a semifinalist in the Nationals and he gave nothing away. Carmody was satisfied to win one of the three games and make a close fight of the other two. He baked out in the steam room afterwards and took an alcohol rub. Sitting in the dressing room later, a towel across his wide shoulders, he looked critically at himself in the mirror, noting the flat tight muscles of his stomach and the deep powerful arch of his chest. In good shape, he thought. The handball hadn’t even winded him. Carmody’s own strength and stamina had always surprised him slightly; his body simply ran on and on, meeting any demand he put on it, always more than equal to the occasion.