Peter Rabe - Murder Me for Nickels

I did my part but the cop didn’t do his. First of all, he wasn’t a patrolman. He was a captain. Secondly, he didn’t hitch pants, look weary, act legal, or any of that He looked annoyed.

“You’re St. Louis, aren’t you?”

I nodded and got out my driver’s license.

“Never mind that. Mazullo here says you’re St. Louis.”

He nodded at the patrolman who sat in the car.

“I know him from around the neighborhood,” I said.

“He says you should know.”

“Know what, Captain?”

“What goes on! What goes on here, for chrissakes?”

I looked around, as if confused, which was the wrong thing to do. He wanted to know what the rumble was and I wasn’t being intelligent about it.

“What’s this jukebox crap around here, St. Louis? And don’t act more stupid than you are.”

“The reason I’m here,” I said, “is to find out. Really.”

He thought that was reasonable. He pecked away a little while longer with this question and that-he knew Benotti’s name, Lippit’s, a little about the competition-and then he became reasonable, too.

“This is nothing official, just a straight piece of cooperation. Either you or that Lippit,” he said, “come down to the station. Come down today, anytime before five, and we’ll talk like normal people. Main station.”

I said, “Yes, Captain,” and let him drive away first.

Lippit was going to be wild about this one. Now the cops were interested, before anything had even happened. Once the pay-off play came, they would be watching from the grandstand. The Lippit Plan, the One-Two Plan, was going one-two all the time, but with a sound like a limp.

I found Folsom about ten minutes later. At first, making the rounds, I found nothing. Then I found a small crowd in front of a candy store. We had a jukebox in there because in back of the candy store were a few chairs and tables where the kids would sit and have pop or sodas.

I walked into the candy store, which was long and narrow so that I did not get the whole scene all at once. It turned out very ugly. I saw the cop first, with his back turned to me, and angry He was the same captain who had stopped me a short while ago. Then there was Folsom with his scary leather jacket and with a look on his face as if he knew only innocence. His three goons stood behind him. Behind the candy counter was the young man who owned the store, and he was holding a baby on his arm. He had one hand on the baby’s back and gave it a small stroke every so often. He kept his face blank as he looked at the captain.

“And if it weren’t for that baby there,” the captain was shouting, “I’d haul you in right this second and explain later!”

“Yessir,” said the young man.

He stroked the baby’s back and I could see that he wished the captain would go. But the captain was not through being angry. He may well have been angry with himself for shouting like this, angry about cruising the neighborhood and learning nothing, because his loudness now was that much out of proportion.

“When you call us in for help, we expect to come in for help, not a runaround!”

“Yessir,” said the proprietor.

“You don’t call the police and, when they show up, you grin like an idiot and tell them it was all a mistake!”

“Yessir.”

“But it was,” said Folsom. “Just the way we explained it. We come in to buy candy, the guy doesn’t show…”

“I was diapering,” said the young man with the baby.

“… so Gus goes behind the counter to pick out what we want. You know. Just pick it out and leave the change.”

“That’s right,” said the young man with the baby. “And when I came into the store and saw that man there, this side of the counter, I saw that and just lost my head. Really. I’m sorry.”

The captain just breathed, because every time he wanted to say something he changed his mind and swallowed it. Everybody looked so innocent and everything felt so wrong.

“You just have to say the word,” he said quietly, “and I haul them in.”

“No, sir,” said the young man. “I’m sorry.”

The captain turned and saw me. He stopped, looked surprised, and then mean.

“You come in here for some candy, too?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“That’s one of your machines, isn’t it?”

“It might be. I’d have to look it up on the roster. I don’t…”

“And you don’t happen to know those three animals there and their keeper.”

“No, Captain.”

He nodded and bit his lip. He was feeling like hell in his uniform. Right that moment, I was sure, he would have liked to have been just a plain, irresponsible civilian.

“Did I say five o’clock, St. Louis?”

“That you did, Captain.”

“Make that three o’clock, St Louis. And at one minute past I write out a warrant, get me?”

“I’ll be there.”

He left. When he left, the knot of kids in front of the store left too.

It was quiet in the store, but not peaceful. The three men with Folsom didn’t say anything. They were waiting to be told. Folsom hitched his jacket around, as if it was too tight in the shoulders. He wasn’t quite sure about what I might be thinking. The young man with the baby thought I was a bastard. And the baby looked at me.

I myself was in very keen shape. No sleep, no Benotti, our own apes out of hand. Not to mention the cops. I looked at all the pretty candy and wondered how I could ever have liked the stuff.

“Haha,” went Folsom.

It was strictly a stage laugh, but it fit. We were all lying.

“Saved yourself a lot of grief there,” he said to the young man.

The young man looked at me and it showed how disgusted he was.

“And now to what we were talking about,” said Folsom.

“What was it?” I asked the young man.

He started rocking the baby up and down and wouldn’t answer.

“He,” said Folsom, “is one of the creeps around here what’s worried about us and Benotti. So I was trying to clarify him. Explain, is what I mean, whom to worry about.”

“You mean you.”

“Sure. Us.”

“I want out,” said the young man. “I don’t need that jukebox so much I’m going to get caught in the middle of something, something between one greedy gang and another.”

For a moment he had gotten his spunk back, but then, with all of us standing there, he stopped himself and got sullen again.

“I didn’t used to think that way, about you, Mister St. Louis. You know that.”

Old Home Week, and how we used to feel about each other. I felt edgy and nervous and wished the baby would look someplace else. Folsom laughed his laugh again. Then he stopped and said, “You gonna take that, St. Louis?”

“No.”

As far as Folsom was concerned, this cleared the air. He grinned at me, he grinned at his men. Then he leaned his arms on the counter and watched the one he had called Gus walk behind the counter. Gus went there quite slowly, punched a button on the cash register. The drawer jumped open and Gus took out a quarter. He went back around and put the quarter into the jukebox. He punched three songs.

“Now,” said Folsom. “I’m going to ask you once more, feller.”

“Wait just a minute.” I nodded at Folsom and waited till he came up close. I put my hand on his shoulder and got my head close to his, so that we talked secrets the way they do at the football game.

“The cop,” I said. “He the first one you ran into?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He liked the whispering. It made him feel like we were two heads of state.

“He’s the second one I’ve seen. They were cruising near Baker Avenue too.”

“Bastards.” He said it as if he were thinking about it.

“What do you think we should do?” I asked him.