McBain, Ed - Killer's Payoff

Gumpy’s was jumping that Saturday night. In the space of twenty minutes, O’Brien was approached and propositioned five times. He turned down each proposition. He felt only pity for Gumpy’s clientele, and so he turned down each proposition with a simple shake of his head. The people he despised were those who came to watch the display.

At eight ten, Lucy Mencken arrived.

She seemed quite flustered, quite beyond her depth. She sat at a table in the corner and instantly surveyed the room. The man in the brown sharkskin suit had not yet arrived. She ordered a drink and waited. O’Brien ordered a drink, which he did not touch, and he, too, waited.

At eight twenty-five the man in the brown sharkskin suit entered the bar. A copy of the Times was rolled under his right arm. He looked around, his eyes passing over Lucy Mencken and then the rest of the room. Then he went to sit at her table. A few words passed between Lucy and the man.

O’Brien got off the bar stool. Casually he walked to the table. Casually he caught the man’s brown sharkskin sleeve with his right forefinger, twisting the sleeve, capturing the man’s wrist in a makeshift handcuff.

“Police,” he said flatly. “You’re coming with—”

The man started to get out of his chair. O’Brien very casually hit him. The clientele of Gumpy’s started an ungodly shriek.

“Go home, Mrs. Mencken,” O’Brien said. “We’ll take care of him.”

Lucy Mencken surveyed O’Brien with a hard, flat stare. “Thanks,” she said, “you’ve just ruined my life.”

THE MAN IN THE sharkskin suit was Mario Torr.

In the Interrogation Room of the 87th Precinct, he said, “This is false arrest. I don’t even know why I’m here.”

“We know why you’re here,” Carella said.

“Yeah? Then suppose you tell me why. I’m an honest citizen. I’m gainfully employed. I stop into a place for a brew, I see a pretty dame, I try to pick her up, and next thing I know I’m getting the rubber hose.”

“Has anybody laid a finger on you, Torr?” Hawes asked.

“Well, no, but—”

“Then shut your mouth and answer the questions!” Meyer snapped contradictorily.

“I am answering the questions. And somebody did lay a finger on me. That lousy big Irish bastard who put the collar—”

“You resisted arrest,” Carella said.

“I resisted, my ass. I just got out of the chair. He didn’t have to hit me.”

“What were you doing in Gumpy’s?” Meyer asked.

“I told you. I stopped in for a brew.”

“Do you always go to fag joints?” Carella asked.

“I didn’t know what kind of a joint it was. I passed it, so I stopped in for a brew.”

“You called Lucy Mencken this afternoon, didn’t you?”

“No.”

“We’ve got a tape of the whole telephone conversation.”

“It must have been three other guys,” Torr said.

“Where are the pictures?”

“What pictures?”

“The pictures you were using to extort money from Lucy Mencken.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Did you follow me the other night?” Hawes asked.

“I didn’t follow nobody any night.”

“You followed me and hit me. Why?”

“I hit you? Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Where are the pictures?”

“I don’t know anything about pictures.”

“Were you and Kramer partners?”

“We were friends.”

“Did you kill him to get him out of the set-up?”

“Kill him! Holy Jesus, don’t tie me into that rap!”

“Which rap do you want, Torr? We’ve got a lot of them.”

“I had nothing to do with the Kramer kill. So help me Jesus.”

“We can make it look pretty good, Torr.”

“You ain’t got a chance.”

“Haven’t we? Try us. What’ll you go for? Extortion or homicide?”

“I stopped for a brew,” Torr insisted.

“We’ve got your voice on tape.”

“Try to make that stick in court.”

“Where are the pictures?”

“I don’t know anything about pictures.”

“Why’d you follow me?” Hawes asked.

“I didn’t follow you.”

“The tape said you’d be wearing a brown sharkskin suit. It said you’d be reading the Times. Guess what you’re wearing, and guess what you were carrying.”

“It ain’t admissible in court,” Torr said.

“Who were the big marks?” Meyer hurled.

“I don’t know.”

“Kramer’s bank account had forty-five grand in deposits. Was that only half of it, Torr? Did the total amount to ninety grand?”

“Forty-five grand?” Torr said. “So that’s—”

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“That’s what?”

“Nothing.”

“Was Lucy Mencken paying more than the five bills a month?”

“Is that all she—?” Torr stopped abruptly.

“Hold it,” Hawes said.

The other men looked at him.

“Hold it a minute.” The light of pure inspiration was on his face. “This son of a bitch doesn’t even know how much Lucy Mencken was paying! I’ll bet he doesn’t even know for what she was paying. You didn’t know there were pictures, did you, Torr?”

“I told you already. I don’t know nothing about it.”

“You son of a bitch,” Hawes said. “You’ve been conducting your own little investigation, haven’t you? You’ve been following the bulls of this squad to get onto Kramer’s marks!”

“No, no, I—”

“The only thing you knew was that there were marks. And with Kramer dead, you figured to latch onto them. But you didn’t know who or how much.”

“No, no, I told you—”

“You followed us to Lucy Mencken and then called her to say you were taking over from Kramer. She was so scared she automatically assumed you knew all about the pictures. That was when she began snooping around, trying to locate them. Kramer was something she knew how to deal with. But you told her there’d be changes, and she didn’t know how far you were planning to go—and so she made a last try to get those photos.”

“I don’t know what you’re—”

“When you followed me the other night, you were looking for more of Kramer’s marks.”

“You’re crazy.”

“How does this sound, Torr? You knew Kramer had a sweet deal, and you wanted it. You were tired of being a laborer, earning whatever the hell you earned a week. You wanted the big loot. Kramer probably talked a lot about big living. You were green with envy. You got a rifle, and you got a car. And then you—”

“No!”

“You killed him,” Hawes said.

“I swear—”

“You killed him,” Carella shouted.

“No, for Christ’s sake, I—”

“YOU KILLED HIM!” Meyer bellowed.

“No, no, I swear to God. I followed you, yes, almost every one of you, yes, I hit you the other night, yes, I tried to get in on the Mencken squeeze, yes, yes, but Jesus Christ, I didn’t kill Kramer. I swear to God, I didn’t kill him.”

“You tried to extort money from Lucy Mencken?” Hawes asked.

“Yes, yes.”

“You hit me the other night?”

“Yes, yes.”

“Book him for extortion and felonious assault,” Hawes said.

Torr seemed happy it was all over.

16.

IT SEEMED EVIDENT at this point that Lucy Mencken and Edward Schlesser, the soda-pop man, had no further worries. Neither did the third, eleven-hundred-dollar mark who had contributed monthly to Kramer’s checking account. Extending this further, now that Kramer was dead and the sham extortionist Torr exposed, the big mark had nothing to fear, either. The big mark who had furnished Kramer’s apartment, bought his cars, and paid for his clothes, and then swelled his bank account to $45,000 was off the hook. Kramer was dead. No one had inherited his lucrative racket.