James Chase - This Way for a Shroud

“Can’t do it, son,” he said gravely. “We’ve got to keep a bargain. You said you’d be satisfied if I told you about Lingle, and we’re late as it is. I’ll tell you about Little Caesar when next I get some time off.”

“Is that a promise?” his son asked gravely.

“Yes, it’s a promise. Now go to sleep. If you want anything give me a call, but no false alarms.”

“Okay, pop,” his son said, accepting the inevitable. He had long learned it was useless to argue with his father. “See you in the morning.”

“God bless, son.”

“God bless, pop.”

O’Brien turned off the light and went down the stairs to the hall. The little house was very quiet. His wife had gone to the movies with her mother. She wouldn’t be back for another hour. O’Brien wondered if he should wash up the supper dishes or take a look at the fights on the television. The fights won after a minor wrestle with his conscience.

He pushed open the sitting-room door, then paused, frowning. He hadn’t remembered leaving the standard lamp on. He was usually pretty good about turning the lights off. He entered the room and shut the door. He had scarcely taken three steps towards the television set when he came to an abrupt standstill, his senses suddenly alert.

O’Brien was a tough, hard cop, with nerves like steel, but in spite of his toughness he felt his heart skip a beat when he saw a small figure in black sitting in an armchair.

The figure was in the shadows, and at first glance O’Brien thought it was a child, but then he noticed the small feet in black suede shoes that hung a few inches from the floor and the spindly legs and bone thin ankles. They had a matured look about them, and couldn’t belong to a child.

He had a sudden creepy feeling that he was looking at a ghost, and he felt the hairs on the nape of his neck stiffen. Then he pulled himself together and took a step forward.

“What the hell…?” he growled, and came to an abrupt standstill as the glittering barrel of a .38 automatic appeared in the light and pointed at him.

“Hello, sergeant,” a husky voice said. “Sorry to have startled you. Don’t do anything brave. At this range I couldn’t miss you.”

O’Brien felt sweat start out on his face. There could be only one owner to that husky, menacing voice. Years ago, when he had been on the New York force as a patrolman, O’Brien had once run into Vito Ferrari. It had been an experience he had often thought about, and there were times when he had gone to bed after a heavy dinner that he had even dreamed about it.

He peered down at the chair, and Ferrari looked up so the fight touched his face. The two men stared at each other.

“I see you remember me, sergeant,” Ferrari said.

“What are you doing here?” O’Brien demanded, not moving a muscle. He knew how deadly dangerous Ferrari was, and his immediate thought was Ferrari had come to kill him. Why, he had no idea, but the Syndicate’s executioner never made social calls. He only paid business visits.

“Sit down, sergeant,” Ferrari said, waving to an armchair opposite. “I want to talk to you.”

O’Brien sat down. He was glad to; his legs felt shaky. He thought of his sleeping son upstairs and his wife due back in an hour. For the first time in his career he was aware that his work was putting his own family in danger, and the thought made him feel sick.

“What are you doing in Pacific City?” he asked, determined that Ferrari shouldn’t know his fears. “It’s off your beat, isn’t it?”

Ferrari put the automatic in a shoulder holster under his coat. This move gave O’Brien no hope. He knew Ferrari could get the gun out and kill him before he could lift himself a few inches out of his chair.

“Yes, it’s off my beat, but I’m here on business. I’ve come for Weiner,” Ferrari said mildly. He crossed his spindly legs and swung one tiny foot backwards and forwards.

O’Brien stiffened, and for a moment he felt relieved. He should have thought of Weiner the moment he had seen Ferrari.

“Then you’re unlucky,” he said. “Weiner’s inaccessible.”

“No one’s inaccessible,” Ferrari returned. “People just think they are. I want you to tell me how I can get at him.”

O’Brien was well aware of Ferrari’s reputation. He knew Ferrari would never make a statement unless he was sure he could back it up.

“What makes you think I’m going to tell you?” he asked in a voice that was far from steady.

“What makes you think you’re not going to tell me?”

O’Brien stared at him. He felt himself change colour, and his great hands closed into fists.

“How’s your little boy, sergeant?” Ferrari went on. “I saw him this morning. A fine boy.”

O’Brien didn’t say anything. He had a sick feeling of being trapped. He could see what was coming.

“Shall we talk about Weiner?” Ferrari asked, after a long pause. “You don’t want me to draw you a map, do you, sergeant?”

“You won’t get away with it this time,” O’Brien said hoarsely. “And you’ll be crazy to try.”

Ferrari lifted his emaciated shoulders.

“Let’s skip talking crap,” he said curtly. “What time does Weiner take a tub at night?

“Ten o’clock,” O’Brien said. “How the hell do you know he takes a tub at night?”

“I always study the background of my clients. It’s little things like a bath-anight habit that makes my work easy. Is he alone when he takes the tub or does a guard stay with him?”

O’Brien hesitated, but not for long. He was being threatened with something much worse than his own death.

“He’s alone.”

“Describe the bathroom, please.”

“It’s like any other bathroom. It’s on the second floor. There’s one very small window with a bar. There’s a shower, a cupboard, a tub and a toilet.”

“Has the shower curtains?”

“You’re wasting your time, Ferrari. Don’t kid yourself. You couldn’t get into the bathroom. A mouse couldn’t get in without being seen. We’ve really got this setup organized.”

Ferrari wrinkled his upper lip into a sneer.

“I can get in. I’ve cased the joint already. There’s nothing to it. I walked around the joint this morning.”

“You’re lying!” O’Brien said, shaken.

“Think so? Okay, I’m lying.” Ferrari ran his bony finger down the length of his nose. “Before Weiner takes a tub is the bathroom searched?”

“Of course it is.”

“Who searches it?”

“Whoever’s in charge for the night.”

“When are you in charge, sergeant?”

O’Brien drew in a deep breath

“Tomorrow night.”

“I was hoping you’d say that. Now listen carefully: here’s what you do. When Werner’s ready for his tub, carry out the search in the usual way, but be damned careful how you look in the shower cabinet. That’s where I’ll be. Understand?”

O’Brien wiped the sweat off his face with his handkerchief.

“You don’t know what you’re saying. You can’t get into the bathroom. I don’t believe you’ve been up there! The road’s guarded so tight a cat couldn’t get through without being seen.”

“I didn’t go by the road,” Ferrari returned. “I went up the cliff.”

“You’re lying! No one could get up that cliff without ropes and tackle!”

Ferrari smiled.

“You’re forgetting I have a certain talent for climbing.”

O’Brien remembered then he had heard that Ferrari’s parents had been circus acrobats, and Ferrari had been trained for the circus. Years ago he had earned a lot of money as ‘The Human Fly’, giving exhibitions of fantastically difficult and dangerous climbs. He had once stopped the traffic on Broadway when he had climbed the face of the Empire State Building for a publicity stunt.