Эд Макбейн - Bread

“Better than marriage?”

“Marriage? What are you talking about?”

“You said you and Hemmings were engaged.”

“No,” Rosalie said. “I work for him, pure and simple. I’m a whore, okay? I’m part of a stable, okay? And I’m sick of it. Which is why I threw in with Alfie.”

“How many girls in the stable?” Ollie asked.

“About thirty.”

“All in that building on Saint Sebastian?”

“No. There’re only twelve of us there. Oscar’s got two other places, I don’t know exactly where.”

“Who’s on the take?” Ollie asked.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“Who’s the cop being paid off? You can’t have a steady stream of Johns marching into a building without somebody noticing. Now, who’s being paid off?”

“It’s not a steady stream,” Rosalie said. “It’s a very high-priced operation.”

“How much do you get?”

“Two, three hundred a night.”

“And you say Alfie offered you a better deal?”

“Not that kind of deal. Not prostitution. He promised he’d talk to Oscar and get me out of the life. He said if I stuck with him there’d be lots of money for both of us in the future.”

“Money?” Ollie said. “My, my. And here I thought it was only love.”

“Money, too,” Rosalie said.

“How much money?”

“Alfie said there’d be millions. He said he’d be a millionaire.”

“Where’d Alfie get the five hundred grand he sent to Germany?” Ollie asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Is he in on the whorehouse operation?”

“No. That’s Oscar’s alone.”

“Is Oscar the moneyman behind Diamondback Development?”

“I think so. I don’t know. I really don’t know too much about the company’s finances.”

“Are they buying those buildings to convert into whore-houses?”

“I really don’t know.”

“But you said they’re not into that end of it. That’s Oscar’s alone.”

“That’s right.”

“So what are they into?”

“I don’t know.”

“What’s Alfie’s business with Erhard Bachmann?”

“I don’t know.”

“Was Bachmann expecting you when you got to Germany?”

“Yes. But I used a phony name. Alfie told me to use a phony name.”

“What did Bachmann say when you gave him the money?”

“He said ‘ Danke sehr. ’ ”

That was the end of their little chat with Rosalie Waggener. They figured, by that time, that she had either told them all she knew or all she was willing to tell. They thanked her very much (in English), and asked her to wait in the room down the hall. From what they could gather, Chase and Grimm seemed to be equal partners in the little-wooden-animal business. Without Worthy and Hemmings knowing about it, Chase had paid $500,000 of his own money to Grimm’s packer in Germany, and Grimm (before his devastating warehouse fire) had been ready to pay another $500,000 for the cargo when it reached America. According to Grimm’s own estimate, the resale value of the cargo was one million dollars. The three cops investigating the case knew very little about high-level business transactions involving astronomical figures. They knew only that tangled are the webs we weave when first we practice to deceive, and they further knew that nobody invests a million bucks hoping merely to break even.

It looked like time for a little game of poker.

Ollie found Oscar Hemmings in the apartment he shared with Rosalie, supervising the repair of the broken door lock. The locksmith got very nervous when he saw the gun in Ollie’s hand. He dropped his screwdriver, and then immediately began packing his tools. Hemmings, in his shirt sleeves, the collar of the shirt open, the sleeves rolled up, the monogram O. H. over the breast pocket, very calmly asked Ollie what the trouble was.

“The trouble is murder,” Ollie said. “And arson.”

“I thought you’d already arrested Charlie Harrod’s killers.”

“That’s right,” Ollie said. “But let’s talk about it at the station house, okay? Some of your friends’ll be there, we’ll have a regular afternoon tea party.”

Hemmings shrugged, and Ollie followed him inside, gun leveled at him, while he rolled down his sleeves, buttoned his collar, and put on a tie and jacket. By the time they came out into the hallway again, the locksmith had disappeared.

“He didn’t fix the lock,” Hemmings said conversationally.

“You don’t have to worry,” Ollie said. “Where you’re going, they got plenty of locks.”

Ollie was playing it very big. They already had enough on Hemmings to charge him with Keeping a Disorderly House and possibly with Living on the Proceeds of Prostitution (though here he would most likely claim that even though he was living with a prostitute, he had other means of support — his interest in Diamondback Development, for example). But both these offenses were only misdemeanors, and the cops had decided before embarking on their roundup that they were going for broke. By the time Ollie arrested Hemmings, a peculiar internal metamorphosis had taken place; he had begun believing they already had enough on this whole phony bullshit Diamondback Development operation to charge its partners with arson and homicide.

Hawes fell victim to the same euphoric sense of certainty when he arrested Robinson Worthy. The telephone book listed Worthy’s address as 198 North 27th Street, and that was where he found him at ten minutes past 6:00. Worthy was shaving. He came to the door wearing trousers and an undershirt, his face covered with lather. Hawes was holding a gun in his hand. Worthy said, “What’s that for?”

“We want to ask you a few questions downtown,” Hawes said.

“You don’t need the gun,” Worthy said.

“I know I don’t. We’ve got enough without it.”

“Can I finish shaving?”

“Nope,” Hawes said. “Just wipe it off.”

By the time Roger Grimm arrived at the squadroom, Hawes and Ollie were both riding so high you would have thought the DA had already brought in multiple convictions. Grimm stopped at the slatted railing, looked into the room, saw the detectives sitting at a desk with Worthy and Hemmings, and said, “All right to come in?”

“Please do,” Hawes said. “Glad you could come over, Mr. Grimm.”

He went to the railing, opened the gate for Grimm, and led him in. Grimm had been called earlier and asked if he could come to the squadroom on a matter pertinent to his arson case. He had, of course, readily agreed to be there at the appointed hour. He did not yet know that he was suspected of some high-handed double-dealing with Chase. Had he known, he might have been as apprehensive as Worthy and Hemmings looked. The reason for their nervousness was quite simple. The totally unfounded and somewhat giddy confidence emanating from Ollie and Hawes had completely unsettled the Diamondback partners.

“Ollie,” Hawes said, “this is Mr. Roger Grimm, the man who had the fires.”

“How do you do?” Ollie said politely, and rose and took Grimm’s hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” Grimm said, and smiled weakly. The confidence was beginning to affect him, too. It was as palpable as an electric current racing around the room. If you touched either of these two cops, you could be electrocuted on the spot.

“And these gentlemen are Mr. Robinson Worthy and Mr. Oscar Hemmings, partners in a venture known as Diamondback Development. Mr. Worthy, Mr. Hemmings, Mr. Grimm,” Hawes said, and smiled pleasantly.

The men looked at each other. Since Worthy and Hemmings were partners of Chase, and since Grimm was also a partner of Chase, it seemed obvious to the cops that the three of them had at least heard of each other. But it now also seemed apparent that this was the first time any of them had met face to face. The confrontation seemed to unsettle Worthy and Hemmings even further. Grimm looked a trifle uncertain as he said, “Pleased to meet you.” Worthy and Hemmings nodded, and Grimm’s uncertainty turned to wariness.