Jerry Labriola - Murders at Hollings General

And he needed one other thing for his foray into the seamy end of the city where he hoped to rub elbows with hookers, pimps, winos and other denizens of a local sub-culture whose infrastructure was a steady stream of illicit drugs. Once again, he needed Musco's assistance.

"You awake, Musc?" he said.

"Your thoughts are keeping me awake. I can almost hear them."

"Mind if I ask you a personal question?"

"Don't ask, I don't have one."

"One what?"

"A sex life."

David had a ready supply for the opening he'd been given but he was too preoccupied even to fake a smile. "I realize you never stopped hacking even though you own the business. What do you normally take in on a busy Monday when you handle some fares yourself?"

Musco arched up and replied, "You mean in money?"

"Yes, and you don't have to answer if you don't want to. I could probably figure it out myself."

"Oh … maybe two hundred clams, give or take a few."

"I'll double that if you can help me a couple more hours-say till about four."

"Doing what?"

"I want you to show me around the North End."

"Double? You're in a doubling mood today, but I gotta say no."

David felt the start of a facial contortion when Musco added, "That's too much dough to shell out."

David relaxed his face, "Okay, then, you buy lunch when we're halfway home."

"Forget what I said," Musco retorted, joining David in a raucous laugh.

David had two phone calls to make. He was not concerned about Musco's listening in and, moreover, he knew no questions would be asked. Besides, the talk of narcotics would save explaining about their upcoming visit to the North End.

He called Kathy at police headquarters and informed her of the drug find and dagger sheaths. After expressing an emotion of equal parts of shock and joy, she said, "Do you think we should go ahead and nab him?"

"No, not yet." David never conceived of advising her on police procedural matters. He referred to the Tactical Plan and elaborated on getting burnt on the red motorcycle issue.

"Speaking of motorcycles," he said, "did you ever ask Nick whether it had been confiscated?"

"Yes, and you were right-no one ever did. He said it just disappeared."

"He didn't take it, did he?"

"David, let's not go into that again."

He hadn't totally dismissed Nick as a suspect. "Okay, I won't just now, but I'll tell you one thing. Whoever has that red cycle is our killer. I'd swear to it."

"I'd go along with that," Kathy said, unconvincingly. David sensed she didn't want to spar.

"Next question, Kath. What's with your geologist friend?"

"I was waiting for you to finish before I told you. He called and you were right again-and on both counts. The stuff you vacuumed from the car matched the material from the construction site, and the powder on the gloves is definitely fireclay."

"Figured." David was less satisfied with the news from a forensic point of view as he was from deducing it as another reason why Kathy sounded so deferential. He had had no doubt about the match but had hoped the powder didn't prove to be fireclay. Great, that means Spritz was tinkering with someone's safe. Whose, and why?

"Now back to Bernie's apartment before I forget," he said. "He's in Boston, remember, and is due back late tomorrow. Can you have his Manhattan place staked out beginning-let's see-say about two tomorrow? And give your man … sorry … person … my cellular number and have him … that person … call me soon as Bernie arrives."

"Got it. That's outside our jurisdiction but I can arrange for one of our off-duty people to run down. And, darling …"

"What?"

"Oh, never mind."

No sparring, more deference. David then requested photos of Nick and Sparky from the department's administrative files. He explained why he needed them and held his breath.

Without editorializing, she agreed to provide them, and also added, "But how strange. Nick said he's going up there, too. He asked for directions to Townsey Street. Said he might mosey around after work today."

David didn't comment vocally. Strange, indeed! But why announce it, if there were something clandestine going on?

Kathy continued. "You be careful, David. There's more crime up there than you can shake a stick at. And that includes drive-by shootings."

"And drugs."

"Of course, and drugs."

"And," David said, "I think, more than ever now, that drugs-drug trafficking on a big scale-were behind all the killings. Know what I'm saying? Not an illicit love affair, or not having a contract terminated, or not getting a Chief of Staff position. They could have figured in, depending on who we're talking about. But it's the goddamned drugs. That's why I'm checking out the North End-I've got to exhaust every possible drug angle."

"Is Musco going with you?"

"Yes."

"That'll help. But still watch your flanks."

"You bet. And if I'm not back in a week, send out a search posse." There was no response, so he tried again. "But don't worry. When I stop by there to pick up the photos, I'll bid you my last farewell."

"Very funny," Kathy said.

David hung up the phone and Musco leaped to say, "You know, I couldn't help hearing what you said."

"No kidding."

"Yeah, about drugs. I don't care about them other things like the red bike, but drugs kill people, or people kill for drugs. Either way, it's bad business. Real bad. That's why I thank my god I was never zonked out or hooked. And I was never a connection. Even after all the time I spent up on Townsey Street and King Street. Booze was my thing. But man, I saw plenty up there."

David had placed a call to Belle at the Hole as Musco wound down his commentary. He learned that the hospital was phasing out services except for the Emergency Room and a skeleton crew in Radiology and the lab. And that Victor Spritz's funeral was scheduled for Wednesday morning. Belle stated she would arrange for Foster's and Corliss' photos to be delivered to police headquarters in time for his arrival there.

Hollings' North End was a twelve-square block enclave of junkies, hookers, pimps, alcoholics, vagrants and other assorted skid row types-a kernel of humanity the crime busters couldn't bust. The area's only stability centered around mom-and-pop businesses whose native proprietors felt they could survive nowhere else, much like over-institutionalized criminals or patients. Its destructive social dynamics had been on autopilot for as long as David could remember.

The late afternoon was hazy, the kind of day normally reserved for springtime when it was about to rain and you could see the air. And smell everything that hung in it.

David and Musco drove past an old African-American woman on a corner. She was arranging red and white flowers in burlap bags which were tied together and slung over a bicycle.

"She's still around," David said. He knew that "Rose Lady" marked the beginning of the North End district.

"She'll always be around," Musco said. "She was around when I was growing up in these here parts. Taught me a lot, too."

"Like what?" David drove slowly, leaning forward on the wheel, taking in both sides of the street. The Mercedes' top was up.

"Like stay out of other people's business. You live longer-especially up here."

At Musco's suggestion, they veered up a hill past, in turn, a medical clinic, a bar, a soup kitchen and shelter, a bar, a cheap-looking hotel and another bar. David glanced down side alleys strewn with faceless bodies already bedded down beneath newspapers or ragged blankets. He shook his head, touched by the realization that each lay alone with his pneumonia, too weak to cough effectively, destined before winter's end to be replaced by others on the way down. Musco pointed to a graffiti-wrapped warehouse where he had often slept, describing with sober disgust its empty rooms with rotted floorboards.