Ed Mcbain - Fuzz

“Or the orange crate,” Buck said.

“No,” Ahmad said intensely. “He is the brick wall.”

The first break in the case came at ten o’clock the next morning, when Fats Donner called the squadroom.

Until that time, there were still perhaps two thousand imponderables to whatever La Bresca and Calucci were planning. But aside from such minor considerations at where the job would take place, or at exactly what time on March fifteenth, there were several unknown identities to contend with as well, such as Dom (who so far had no last name) and the long-haired blond girl who had given La Bresca a lift last Friday night. It was the police supposition that if either of these two people could be located, the nature of the impending job might be wrung from one or the other of them. Whether or not the job was in any way connected with the recent murders would then become a matter for further speculation, as would the possibility that La Bresca was in some way involved with the deaf man. There were a lot of questions to be asked if only they could find somebody to ask them to.

Donner was put through immediately.

“I think I got your Dom,” he said to Willis.

“Good,” Willis said. “What’s his last name?”

“Di Fillippi. Dominick Di Fillippi. Lives in Riverhead near the old coliseum, you know the neighborhood?”

“Yeah. What’ve you got on him?”

“He’s with The Coaxial Cable.”

“Yeah?” Willis said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, what’s that?” Willis said.

“What’s what ?”

“What’s it supposed to mean? ”

“What’s what supposed to mean?”

“What you just said. Is it some kind of code or something?”

“Is what some kind of code?” Donner asked.

“The Coaxial Cable.”

“No, it’s a group.”

“A group of what? ”

“A group. Musicians,” Donner said.

“A band, you mean?”

“That’s right, only today they call them groups.”

“Well, what’s the coaxial cable got to do with it?”

“That’s the name of the group. The Coaxial Cable.”

“You’re putting me on,” Willis said.

“No, that’s the name, I mean it.”

“What does Di Fillippi play?”

“Rhythm guitar.”

“Where do I find him?”

“His address is 365 North Anderson.”

“That’s in Riverhead?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know he’s our man?”

“Well, it seems he’s a big bullshit artist, you know?” Donner said. “He’s been going around the past few weeks saying he dropped a huge bundle on the championship fight, made it sound like two, three G’s. It turns out all he lost was fifty bucks, that’s some big bundle, huh?”

“Yeah, go ahead.”

“But he’s also been saying recently that he knows about a big caper coming off.”

“Who’d he say this to?”

“Well, one of the guys in the group is a big hophead from back even before it got stylish. That’s how I got my lead onto Di Fillippi. And the guy said they were busting some joints together maybe three, four days ago, and Di Fillippi came on about this big caper he knew about.”

“Did he say what the caper was?”

“No.”

“And they were smoking pot?”

“Yeah, busting a few joints, you know, social.”

“Maybe Di Fillippi was out of his skull.”

“He probably was. What’s that got to do with it?”

“He might have dreamt up the whole thing.”

“I don’t think so.”

“Did he mention La Bresca at all?”

“Nope.”

“Did he say when the job would be coming off?”

“Nope.”

“Well, it’s not much, Fats.”

“It’s worth half a century, don’t you think?”

“It’s worth ten bucks,” Willis said.

“Hey, come on, man, I had to do some real hustling to get this for you.”

“Which reminds me,” Willis said.

“Huh?”

“Get rid of your playmate.”

“Huh?”

“The girl. Next time I see you, I want her out of there.”

“Why?”

“Because I thought it over, and I don’t like the idea.”

“I kicked her out twice already,” Donner said. “She always comes back.”

“Then maybe you ought to use this ten bucks to buy her a ticket back to Georgia.”

“Sure. Maybe I ought to contribute another ten besides to the Salvation Army,” Donner said.

“Just get her out of there,” Willis said.

“When’d you get so righteous?” Donner asked.

“Just this minute.”

“I thought you were a businessman.”

“I am. Here’s my deal. Let the girl go, and I forget whatever else I know about you, and whatever I might learn in the future.”

“Nobody learns nothing about me,” Donner said. “I’m The Shadow.”

“No,” Willis said. “Only Lamont Cranston is The Shadow.”

“You serious about this?”

“I want the girl out of there. If she’s still around next time I see you, I throw the book.”

“And lose a valuable man.”

“Maybe,” Willis said. “In which case, we’ll have to manage without you somehow.”

“Sometimes I wonder why I bother helping you guys at all,” Donner said.

“I’ll tell you why sometime, if you have a minute,” Willis said.

“Never mind.”

“Will you get the girl out of there?”

“Yeah, yeah. You’re going to send me fifty, right?”

“I said ten.”

“Make it twenty.”

“For the birdseed you just gave me?”

“It’s a lead, ain’t it?”

“That’s all it is.”

“So? A lead is worth at least twenty-five.”

“I’ll send you fifteen,” Willis said, and hung up.

The phone rang again almost the instant he replaced it on the cradle. He lifted the receiver and said, “87th, Willis speaking.”

“Hal, this is Artie over at the school.”

“Yep.”

“I’ve been waiting for Murchison to put me through. I think I’ve got something.”

“Shoot.”

“La Bresca talked to his mother on the phone about five minutes ago.”

“In English or Italian?”

“English. He told her he was expecting a call from Dom Di Fillippi. That could be our man, no?”

“Yeah, it looks like he is,” Willis said.

“He told his mother to say he’d meet Di Fillippi on his lunch hour at the corner of Cathedral and Seventh.”

“Has Di Fillippi called yet?”

“Not yet. This was just five minutes ago, Hal.”

“Right. What time did he say they’d meet?”

“Twelve-thirty.”

“Twelve-thirty, corner of Cathedral and Seventh.”

“Right,” Brown said.

“We’ll have somebody there.”

“I’ll call you back,” Brown said. “I’ve got another customer.”

In five minutes, Brown rang the squadroom again. “That was Di Fillippi,” he said. “Mrs. La Bresca gave him the message. Looks like pay dirt at last, huh?”

“Maybe,” Willis said.

From where Meyer and Kling sat in the Chrysler sedan parked on Cathedral Street, they could clearly see Tony La Bresca waiting on the corner near the bus stop sign. The clock on top of the Catholic church dominating the intersection read twelve-twenty. La Bresca was early and apparently impatient. He paced the pavement anxiously, lighting three cigarettes in succession, looking up at the church clock every few minutes, checking the time against his own wrist watch.

“This has got to be it,” Kling said.

“The payoff of the burley joint summit meeting,” Meyer said.

“Right. La Bresca’s going to tell old Dom he’s in for a three-way split. Then Calooch’ll decide whether or not they’re going to dump him in the river.”