Эд Макбейн - Hail, Hail, the Gang’s All Here

“Want to get him, Dick?”

“Right,” Genero said, and walked off.

“I hate to start my day like this,” Phelps said.

“Grisly,” Forbes said.

“All I had this morning was a cup of coffee,” Phelps said. “And now this. Disgusting.”

“Nauseating,” Forbes said.

“Least have the decency to put on some goddamn clothes before he jumps off the roof,” Phelps said.

“How do you know he jumped off the roof?” Willis asked.

“I don’t. I’m only saying.”

“What do you think he was doing?” Forbes asked. “Walking around the backyard naked?”

“I don’t know,” Willis said, and shrugged.

“Looks like a jumper to me,” Phelps said. He glanced up at the rear wall of the building. “Isn’t that a broken window up there?”

“Where?”

“Fourth floor there. Isn’t that window broken there?”

“Looks like it,” Forbes said.

“Sure looks like it to me,” Phelps said.

“Hal, here’s the super,” Genero said, approaching with the old man. “Name’s Mr. Dennison, been working here for close to thirty years.”

“How do you do, Mr. Dennison? I’m Detective Willis.”

Dennison nodded and said nothing.

“I understand you found the body.”

“That’s right.”

“When was that?”

“Just before I called the cops.”

“What time was that, Mr. Dennison?”

“Little after six, I guess.”

“Know who it is?”

“Can’t see his face,” Dennison said.

“We’ll roll him over for you as soon as the M.E. gets here,” Genero said.

“Don’t do me no favors,” Dennison answered.

Unlike patrolmen, detectives — with the final approval of the chief downtown — decide upon their own work schedules. As a result, the shifts will vary according to the whims of the men on the squad. For the past three months, and based on the dubious assumption that the night shift was more arduous than the day, the detectives of the 87th Squad had broken their working hours into two shifts, the first beginning at six in the morning and ending at eight in the evening, the second beginning then and ending at six the next day. The daywatch was fourteen hours long, the nightwatch only ten. But there were more men on duty during the day, and presumably this equalized the load. That some of those men were testifying in court or out on special assignments some of the time seemed not to bother any of the detectives, who considered the schedule equitable. At least for the time being. In another month or so, someone would come up with suggestions for a revised schedule, and they’d hold a meeting in the interrogation office and agree that they ought to try something new. A change was as good as a rest, provided the chief approved.

As with any schedule, though, there were ways of beating it if you tried hard enough. Relieving the departing team at fifteen minutes before the hour was a mandatory courtesy, and one way of avoiding a 5:45 A.M. arrival at the squadroom was to plant yourself in a grocery store that did not open its doors until six-thirty. Detective Andy Parker found himself just such a grocery store on this bright October morning. The fact that the store had been robbed three times in broad daylight during the past month was only incidental. The point was that some detective had to cover the joint, and Andy Parker fortuitously happened to be that detective. The first thing he did to ingratiate himself with the owner was to swipe an apple from the fruit stand outside the store. The owner, one Silvio Corradini, who was sharp of eye for all his seventy-two years, noticed the petty larceny the moment it was committed. He was about to run out on the sidewalk to apprehend the brigand, when the man began walking directly into the store, eating the apple as he came. It was then that Silvio realized the man could be nothing but a cop.

“Good morning,” Parker said.

“Good morning,” Silvio replied. “You enjoy the fruit?”

“Yeah, very good apple,” Parker said. “Thanks a lot.” He grinned amiably. “I’m Detective Parker,” he said, “I’ve been assigned to these holdups.”

“What happened to the other detective?”

“Di Maeo? He’s on vacation.”

“In October?”

“We can’t all get the summertime, huh?” Parker said, and grinned again. He was a huge man wearing rumpled brown corduroy trousers and a soiled tan windbreaker. He had shaved this morning before eating breakfast, but he managed to look unshaven nonetheless. He bit into the apple ferociously, juice spilling onto his chin. Silvio, watching him, thought he resembled a hired gun for the Mafia.

“lei è italiano?” he asked.

“What?”

“Are you Italian?”

“No, are you?” Parker said, and grinned.

“Yes,” Silvio answered. He drew back his shoulders. “Yes, I’m Italian.”

“Well, good, good,” Parker said. “You always open the store on Sunday?”

“What?”

“I said—”

“I only stay open till twelve o’clock, that’s all,” Silvio said, and shrugged. “I get the people coming home from church.”

“That’s against the law in this state, you know that?”

“Nobody ever said anything.”

“Well, just because somebody’s willing to look the other way every now and then, that doesn’t make it legal,” Parker said. He stared deep into Silvio’s eyes. “We’ll talk about it later, huh? Meantime, fill me in on these holdups, okay?”

Silvio hesitated. He knew that talking about it later would cost him money. He was beginning to be sorry he’d ever told the police about the holdups. He sighed now and said, “It is three times in the past month.”

“Same guy each time?”

“ Two of them. I don’t know if it’s the same. They are wearing — come si dice? Maschere. ”

“Masks?”

“ Sì, masks.”

“Same masks each time?”

“No. Once it was stockings, another time black ones, the third time handkerchiefs.”

Parker bit into the apple again. “Are they armed?” he asked.

“If they did not have guns, I would break their heads and throw them out on the sidewalk.”

“Handguns?” Parker asked.

“What?”

“Pistols?”

“Yes, yes, pistols.”

“Both of them armed, or just one?”

“Both.”

“What time do they usually come in?”

“Different times. The first time was early in the morning, when I just opened the store. The next time was at night, maybe six, six-thirty. The last time was around lunch, the store was very quiet.”

“Did they take anything but cash?”

“Only cash.”

“Well,” Parker said, and shrugged. “Maybe they’ll come back, who knows? If you don’t mind, I’ll just hang around, okay? You got a back room or something?”

“Behind the curtain,” Silvio said. “But if they come back again, I am ready for them myself.”

“What do you mean?”

“I got a gun now.”

He walked behind the counter to the cash register, opened it, and removed from the drawer a .32 Smith & Wesson.

“You need a permit for that, you know,” Parker said.

“I got one. A man gets held up three times, nobody argues about giving him a permit.”

“Carry or premises?”

“Premises.”

“You know how to use that thing?” Parker asked.

“I know how, yes.”

“I’ve got some advice for you,” Parker said. “If those hoods come back, leave your gun in the drawer. Let me take care of any shooting needs to be done.”

A woman was coming into the store. Without answering, Silvio turned away from Parker, smiled, and said to her, “Buon giorno, signora.”