Andrew Vachss: Two Trains Running

1959 October 09 Friday 23:13

Why was Dioguardi writing to a man like Ernest Hoffman? Sherman held the envelope carefully, his hands encased in surgical gloves. And what’s with the cutout letters? Looks like a damn ransom note.

Sherman Layne sat for several minutes, watching his options spin like a roulette wheel. Finally, he took a deep breath, reached into his pocket, took out his penknife, and carefully slit open the envelope.

1959 October 10 Saturday 10:10

“It had to be Beaumont, Sean,” Shalare said. “Nobody else had the cause. Or the balls.”

“But why?”

“That’s a puzzler. It could be that he wanted us to know that he’s not going to play.”

“That makes no sense,” the bulky man said, shaking his head. “Beaumont’s not just a bad actor, he’s a slick article, too. If he’s dealing with the other side on the votes thing, he’d want to be saving that for a surprise, not putting up a bloody billboard, wouldn’t he?”

“No. No, he wouldn’t. Any chance this was some of Dioguardi’s own people?”

“A palace coup?”

“No, not his local people. The Mafia boys.”

“That’s not their style, either. Why slaughter so many when they could just ask Dioguardi to come in for a sit-down, and plant him where he landed? All this attention, it’s bad for business. Even those people are smart enough to know that dead meat brings flies.”

“What do we do, then?”

“Beaumont’s the shooter, Mickey. But that doesn’t mean he won’t still come along with us on the big thing. See what you can find out. In the meantime, I’m going to send a man to you, just in case.”

1959 October 10 Saturday 10:13

“Yes, I know, Mr. Hoffman isn’t going to come to the phone for some hick-town cop,” Sherman said, not a trace of sarcasm in his voice. “But you tell him it’s about his grandson, see if he’ll talk to me.”

1959 October 10 Saturday 10:19

“Do you think it will work? All that we did?”

“It’s too late to worry about it, Cyn. It’s done now.”

“And that man, he’s gone?”

“Harley said he dropped him off, and he just walked away.”

“But you know where to reach him. Like you did before.”

“What does it matter, honey? Our dice are already tumbling. All we can do is wait to see what we rolled.”

1959 October 10 Saturday 11:26

“Could I come and see you? Tonight, when you get off work?”

“I wish you would,” Tussy said. “I miss you.”

1959 October 10 Saturday 17:49

Sherman Layne drove for four and a half hours, arriving at the Hoffman mansion a few minutes before his six o’clock appointment.

“This is Mr. Cross,” the old man said, nodding his head in the direction of a nondescript man who stood to Hoffman’s left. “He handles my personal security. I assume you don’t mind if he sits in on our meeting.”

“It’s your meeting, sir,” Sherman said, politely.

“May I see the letter?” Cross asked.

“Yes. But please don’t touch it,” Sherman said, taking a slim cardboard box out of his briefcase. “You understand.”

Cross took the box from Sherman without speaking. He opened it carefully, and read the contents without changing expression.

“It’s a kidnap note,” he said to Hoffman. “Whoever wrote it wasn’t going to send it until they already had the baby.”

“How much were they demanding?” Hoffman asked.

“It says, ‘We just want a favor.’ ”

“What kind of…?” Hoffman turned his gaze to Sherman Layne. “You’re certain this is… was Dioguardi’s work?”

“It was on his body, sir,” Sherman Layne said. “But I wasn’t relying on that alone. We’ve got Dioguardi’s prints on file. We didn’t find them on the envelope-it was absolutely clean-or on the cut-out letters themselves. But the paper it was written on-looks like it came from a butcher shop, so it could have been sitting around in his restaurant-it’s got three separate partials. Not enough to convict him in court, maybe. But good enough for me. Sal Dioguardi wrote that note. Or he handled it, anyway.”

“The letter was addressed to me?” the old man said, his eyes laser-focused under heavy, untrimmed brows.

“Yes, sir.”

“And the envelope, when you found it, it was sealed?”

“Yes, sir.”

“And you opened it…?” the old man said, something undefinable in his voice.

“I had to make a judgment call,” Sherman Layne said, calmly. “I wanted to make sure I was doing right by you, Mr. Hoffman. Which is why I called you privately. My chief doesn’t even know. But this is a murder investigation. I had to look before I acted. And now I’m glad I did.”

“Do you have any suspects? In the Dioguardi homicide, I mean.”

“Suspects, sure. I can almost guarantee you that the Dioguardi killing was the work of Royal Beaumont. They’ve been feuding for a long time. Over territory. Beaumont’s territory, Locke City. Dioguardi was trying to move in. A while back, one of Beaumont’s men disappeared. A man named Hacker. Vanished without a trace. Then one of Dioguardi’s collectors gets himself clubbed on the head and left for dead. After that, two more of his men are gunned down in the street.

“Beaumont’s whole crew are mountain men, Mr. Hoffman. They take a feud to the grave. So, whether it was business or revenge, I couldn’t tell you. But it was Beaumont, you can take that one to the bank.”

“What’s your rank in the department, Detective?” Hoffman asked.

“You just said it, sir. Detective. Detective First Grade, actually. But that’s not a rank, all by itself. I draw a sergeant’s pay, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“And the chief…?”

“Jessup. George Jessup.”

“Yes. Would I be wrong in surmising that he and Mr. Beaumont are good friends?”

“No, sir.”

“All right, Detective. You did me a real service this day. Mr. Cross will show you out.”

1959 October 10 Saturday 18:03

The man with the repaired harelip approached the front desk of the hotel.

“May I help you, sir?” Carl asked.

“No. I can help you. A good friend of yours wanted you to have this,” the man said, holding up an attaché case of black, hand-tooled leather. “A gift.”

“It’s beautiful,” Carl said. “But I don’t know anyone who would want to give me such a-”

“Look inside,” the man said. “When you’re alone. Don’t do it here.”

1959 October 11 Sunday 00:13

“Walker, you’re all dressed up. And I’m…” Tussy made a vague gesture toward her outfit, a lumberjack’s shirt over a pair of jeans. She was barefoot, face freshly scrubbed. “We’re not going out at this hour, are we?”

“No. I’m going away.”

“When will you be-?”

“I won’t be back, Tussy. Not unless… Look, I have to tell you something.”

“What?”

“I have to tell you my story,” Dett said. “You’re the woman I’m supposed to tell it to.”

“You’re scaring me, Walker.”

“You don’t have to be scared of me, Tussy. You’re the only person on earth who never has to be.”

“You’re really… going away?”

“Yes.”

“This story you want to tell me-is it that you’re married, Walker?”

“I don’t have anyone,” he said, very softly. “And I never will. Could I tell you? Please?”

1959 October 11 Sunday 00:28

“I’m not a real-estate man,” Dett said. He was seated on the couch, Tussy a cautious distance from him on the chair. “I think you knew that.”

“I didn’t at first,” Tussy said. “Now I know you must be some kind of a… criminal, Walker. But I don’t care. You can always-”

“Let me just tell you, please,” Dett said. “I… I waited a long time for this, and I need to get it right. The truth. Truth as pure as you. Let me just… talk, all right? When I’m done, you’ll know everything. Please?”