Уильям Макгиверн - Rogue Cop

When they reached the river he parked in a grassy, picnicking area. The water sparkled with sunlight and in the distance he could see the tall buildings of center-city, shrouded with mists of fog and smoke. It was a pleasant summer scene; a few boys were playing at the river bank and sparrows hopped along through the thick fragrant grass. Carmody twisted around in the seat and got out his cigarettes. “I made no impression on Eddie,” he said. “So now it’s your turn. But first I’ve got to tell you something. I told him about us.” He went on hurriedly as she turned sharply on him, a touch of angry color appearing in her pale face. “Now listen to me; I told him to ask you about the scene we played last night. He took a swing at me and I had to hit him. Then I told him I’d been lying about you and me. Whether he believed me or not I don’t know.”

“You told him about us, and then you hit him?” She shook her head incredulously. “In God’s name, why?”

“I had to,” he said stubbornly.

“You had to! Who made you? Who forced you to?” She stared at him, her eyes blazing.

Carmody looked through the windshield at the city in the distance. Then he sighed heavily. “I don’t know, it just happened,” he said. “But I’m trying to save his life. I struck out, so it’s up to you.”

“What kind of threats will you use now?” she asked him bitterly. “He knows about Danny Nimo, and you told him about us. You don’t have anything on me now. So what comes next? A session of arm-twisting? A gentle slapping around?”

“Unless you want him killed, you’ve got to help,” Carmody said. Her words had stung him but he felt no anger at her, only a heavy dissatisfaction with himself. “Tell him you need ten thousand for an operation and you may save his life.”

“Supposing it doesn’t work,” she said, watching him. “Then what will you do?”

“What can I do?”

“You’re a detective, aren’t you? Why don’t you arrest them?”

“That’s a pretty picture,” he said, smiling ironically. “A pretty picture right out of a fairy tale. Will you see Eddie tonight?”

“Yes, at eight.”

“Okay,” Carmody said, switching on the ignition. “He leaves for the station around eleven-thirty, I guess. So I’ll call you at twelve.”

“All right,” she said quietly.

“I’ll drop you home. I’ve got to get to work.”

“The nearest cab stand will do,” she said. “Thanks, anyway.”

“Okay,” Carmody said, and rubbed his forehead tiredly. He wished this were over, with Eddie alive and Ackerman and Beaumonte satisfied with the way he’d handled it. He’d had no idea it would be so tough.

It was three o’clock when Carmody checked into Headquarters. He nodded to Dirksen and Abrams, who had come in early, and walked into Lieutenant Wilson’s office.

Wilson glanced at him briefly. “Sit down, Mike,” he said.

“Sorry I’m late,” Carmody said, taking a chair and loosening his tie.

“What kept you? The Fairmount Park murder?”

“No, a personal matter.” Carmody was becoming annoyed. Wilson was a short, powerfully built man with curly black hair and a set of belligerent, no-nonsense features. He seldom hounded Carmody because he knew there was no point in it. But now he was acting like a truant officer with a boy who’d been playing hooky.

“I said I wanted to see you this morning,” he said, pushing aside a report. “Didn’t that mean anything to you?”

“Frankly, not a hell of a lot,” Carmody said. “I was off duty and I had some personal matters to take care of.”

Wilson’s face hardened as he left his desk and closed the door of his office. “You didn’t see a paper this morning, I guess,” he said looking down at Carmody.

“No. What’s up?”

“Superintendent Shortall resigned. Because of his health.”

Carmody started to smile and then he saw that Wilson was serious. He whistled softly. “Well, well,” he said. There was nothing wrong with Shortall’s health; he was sound as a hickory nut. The significant thing was that Shortall had been Ackerman’s man. “Who’ll get his job?” he asked Wilson.

“Somebody honest, I hope.”

“You think that’s likely?”

“Listen to me, Mike,” Wilson said, sitting on the edge of his desk and studying Carmody with serious eyes. “I’ve known and liked you a long time. I don’t understand why. Maybe it’s because you were the best cop in the city for a half-a-dozen years. But, anyway, I’m giving you a tip; don’t be a smart guy too long. There comes a time when a city values a bit of dumb, old-fashioned honesty.”

Carmody lit a cigarette and flipped the match at the ashtray on Wilson’s desk. “What’s on your mind, Jim?”

“Just this; I’m tired of the fix, I’m tired of guys like you and Shortall. And if they put an honest man on top of this department I’m going to turn in an unfitness report on you.”

“Why the advance warning?” Carmody said, smiling slightly.

Wilson’s face was troubled. “I told you, damn it. I like you, Mike. And here’s the rest of my deal. If you start right now being a full-time cop again, I’ll forget that report.”

Carmody was silent a moment, staring at the curl of smoke from his cigarette. It would be a relief, he thought, to have nothing on his mind but being a full-time cop. He knew that this edgy feeling had grown from his concern over Eddie, but that didn’t help him to shake it; how could he relax while his brother was stubbornly asking for a ticket to the morgue?

“Think it over,” Wilson said, watching Carmody’s troubled face closely. “And remember this; the city’s changing. Big defense plants have come into this town in the last few years, and the men running them pay a houseful of taxes. And they want value from them. Parks, schools, things like that. They don’t want bookies and brothels and bars clipping their workers every week. Neither do the unions. And when you get the unions working with the men who run the companies you got a clout that can stand right up to Ackerman and Beaumonte. Look at Shortall. They made the Mayor can him. And they’ve got others on their list. You’re a tough guy, but don’t get in their way, Mike.”

Carmody had heard rumors of this before, but he hadn’t been too concerned. He still wasn’t, as a matter of fact. He had too abiding a faith in man’s lack of goodness to believe in reform and regeneration. These things were cynical, expedient measures that people forgot all about when the baseball race got tight or the job of being good citizens became a bore.

“Just think it over,” Wilson said. “But don’t take too long about it.”

“Okay, Jim, thanks.”

Carmody went out to his desk and checked the day’s work with Sergeant Klipperman who was going off duty. Everything was quiet; two manslaughters were pending and he sent Abrams and Dirksen out to wrap them up. Myers came in fifteen minutes late, walking fast and trying to look as if he’d been delayed by something important. Carmody glanced at the big clock beside the police speaker but said nothing. He settled in his chair and studied the reports on cases being handled by his shift.

Myers drifted over in his shirt sleeves and made some comment on the weather. Then he said, “That was pretty sharp guesswork on those whiskey bottles last night.” He smiled cautiously, trying to analyze the brooding expression on Carmody’s hard handsome face. “Dirk and I would have caught it, but you beat us to it, I got to admit that.”

Yes, you’ve got to admit it, Carmody thought wearily. A frank generous admission that you’re a dope makes everything just dandy. He started to say something sarcastic but changed his mind. Why jump on Myers? Why jump on anybody? “I came after you’d handled the routine,” he said. “I had a better chance to look around.”