Ed Mcbain - Fuzz

And tomorrow night, forewarned, the mayor would nonetheless die.

Six months ago when the deaf man had begun the preliminary work on his scheme, several rather interesting pieces of information had come to light. To begin with, he had learned that anyone desiring to know the exact location of the city’s underground water pipes need only apply to the Department of Water Supply in Room 1720 of the Municipal Building, where the maps were available for public scrutiny. Similarly, maps of the city’s underground sewer system were obtainable at the Department of Public Works in the main office of that same building. The deaf man, unfortunately, was not interested in either water pipes or sewers. He was interested in electricity. And he quickly learned that detailed maps of the underground power lines were not , for obvious reasons, open to the public for inspection. Those maps were kept in the Maps and Records Bureau of the Metropolitan Light & Power Company, worked on by an office staffed largely by draftsmen. Ahmad had been one of those draftsmen.

The first map he delivered to the deaf man was titled “60 Cycle Network Area Designations and Boundaries Lower Isola,” and it showed the locations of all the area substations in that section of the city. The area that specifically interested the deaf man was the one labeled “Cameron Flats.” The mayor’s house was on the corner of South Meridian and Vanderhof, in Cameron Flats. The substation serving South Meridian and Vanderhof was marked with a cross in a circle, and was designated “No. 3 South Meridian.” Into this substation ran high-voltage supply cables. (They’re called feeders,” Ahmad said) from a switching station elsewhere on the transmission system. It would be necessary to destroy those supply cables if the mayor’s house was to be thrown into darkness on the night of his murder.

The second map Ahmad delivered was titled “System Ties” and was a detailed enlargement of the feeder systems supplying any given substation. The substation on the first map had been labeled “No. 3 South Meridian.” By locating this on the more detailed map, the deaf man was able to identify the number designation of the feeder: 65CA3. Which brought him to the third pilfered map, simply and modestly titled “65CA3,” and subtitled “Location South Meridian Substation.” This was a rather long, narrow diagram of the route the feeder traveled below the city’s streets, with numbers indicating the manholes that provided access to the cables. 65CA3 passed through eleven manholes on its meandering underground travels from the switching station to the substation. The deaf man chose a manhole approximately a half-mile from the mayor’s house and wrote down its number: M3860-120’SSC-CENT.

The last map, the crucial one, was titled “Composite Feeder Plate” and it pinpointed the manhole exactly. M3860 was located on Faxon Drive, a hundred and twenty feet south of the southern curb of Harris, in the center of the street — hence the 120’SSC-CENT. The high-voltage cables passing through that concrete manhole were five feet below the surface of the street protected by a three-hundred pound manhole cover.

Tomorrow night, Ahmad, Buck, and the deaf man would lift that cover, and one of Buck’s bombs would effectively take care of the cables.

And then …

Ahhh, then …

The really beautiful part was still ahead, and the deaf man smiled as he contemplated it.

He could visualize the mayor’s house at 10 A.M. tomorrow night, surrounded by policemen and detectives on special assignment, all there to protect the honorable JMV from harm. He could see himself driving a black sedan directly to the curb in front of the darkened brick structure, a police flashlight picking out the gold lettering on the front door, Metropolitan Light & Power Company (pressure-sensitive letters expertly applied by Ahmad to both front doors of the car, cost eight cents per letter at Studio Art Supply, total expenditure $4.80). He could see the car doors opening. Three men step out of it. Two of them are wearing workmen’s coveralls (Sears, Roebuck, $6.95 a pair). The third is wearing the uniform of a police sergeant, complete with a citation ribbon pinned over the shield on the left breast (Theatrical Arts Rentals, $10.00 per day, plus a $75.00 deposit) and the yellow sleeve patch of the Police Department’s Emergency Service ($1.25 at the Civic Equipment Company, across the street from Headquarters).

“Who’s there?” the policeman on duty asks. His flashlight scans the trio. Buck, in the sergeant’s uniform, steps forward.

“It’s all right,” Buck says. “I’m Sergeant Pierce, Emergency Service. These men are from the electric company. They’re trying to locate that power break.”

“Okay, Sergeant,” the cop answers.

“Everything quiet in there?” Buck asks.

“So far, Sarge.”

“Better check out their equipment,” Buck says. “I don’t want any static on this later.”

“Good idea,” the cop says. He swings his flashlight around. Ahmad opens the tool box. There is nothing in it but electricians tools: a test light, a six-foot rule, a brace, four screwdrivers, a Stillson wrench, a compass saw, a hacksaw, a hammer, a fuse puller, wire skinners, wire cutters, gas pliers, Allen wrenches, friction tape, rubber tape … “Okay,” the cop says, and turns to the deaf man. “What’s that you’re carrying?”

“A volt-ohm meter,” the deaf man answers.

“Want to open it for me?”

“Sure,” the deaf man says.

The testing equipment is nothing more than a black leather case perhaps twelve inches long by eight inches wide by five inches deep. When the deaf man unclasps and raises the lid, the flashlight illuminates an instrument panel set into the lower half of the case, level with the rim. Two large dials dominate the panel, one marked “Volt-Ohm Meter,” the other marked “Ammeter.” There are three knobs spaced below the dials. Factory-stamped lettering indicates their use: the two end knobs are marked “Adjuster,” and the one in the middle is marked “Function.” Running vertically down the left-hand side of the panel are a series of jacks respectively marked 600V, 300V, 150V, 75V, 30V, and Common. Flanking the dials on the right-hand side of the plate there are similar jacks marked 60 Amps, 30 Amps, 15 Amps, 7.5 Amps, 3 Amps, and Common. Another jack and a small bulb are below the second adjuster knob, and they are collectively marked “Leakage Indicator.” In bold factory-stamped lettering across the length of the tester are the words “Industrial Analyzer.”

“Okay,” the cop says, “you can close it.”

The deaf man snaps the lid of the case shut, fastens the clasp again.

“I’ll take them inside,” Buck says.

“Right, Sarge,” the cop says, and the trio goes up the walk to the house, where they are stopped by a detective at the front door.

“Sergeant Pierce, Emergency Service,” Buck says. “These men are from the electric company, here to check that power failure.”

“Right,” the detective says.

“I’ll stick with them,” Buck says, “but I don’t want no other responsibility.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, if the mayor trips and breaks his ankle while they’re on the premises, I don’t want no static from my captain.”

“We’ll keep the mayor far away from you,” the detective says, and smiles.

“Okay, where you guys want to start?” Buck asks. “The basement?”

They go into the house. There are battery-powered lights set up, but for the most part the house is dim, the figures moving through it are uncertainly defined. The three men start in the basement, going through the motions of checking out circuits. They go through every room of the house, never once seeing the mayor in the course of their inspection. In the master bedroom, the deaf man shoves the testing equipment under the huge double bed, ostensibly searching for a leak at the electrical outlet. When he walks out of the room, he is no longer carrying anything. The “Industrial Analyzer” is on the floor under the mayor’s bed.