Росс Томас - The Fools in Town Are on Our Side

“There’s only one thing wrong with it,” I said.

“What?”

“It’s a little longer than I’d counted on.”

There was no reason to be polite to the press anymore and Necessary wasn’t. A dozen reporters crowded into the office and we ignored them until the television cameras were ready.

“This live?” Necessary asked.

“That’s right.”

“I got a statement to make.”

“We want to ask you some questions, Chief. Why did you throw Mayor Robineaux out of your office?”

“What’s your name, sonny?” Necessary asked his questioner, a prominent local TV personality. It hurt his feelings. “Campbell,” he said. “Don Campbell.”

“Well, Don Campbell, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to throw you out just like I did the mayor.”

Two newspapermen and a wire-service reporter tittered.

Campbell whirled quickly to his camera and sound men. “You get all that? Did that go out?”

“We’re getting you right now, stupid,” the cameraman said.

Necessary stood up behind his desk. “I have a statement. It’s not prepared, but I’ll make it and then you can ask some questions.” He cleared his throat and stared into the lens of the nearest camera. “Through the efforts of the men of this police department, the city of Swankerton has been spared the horror of a serious riot. The brutal murder of William Morze could have provoked a tragic disturbance — the kind they have up North. It didn’t. And we can thank the good common sense of our colored population — and the efforts of Swankerton’s policemen — that it didn’t. I would like to announce that we know who the killers of William Morze are. They will be arrested within a few hours. In the meantime, law and order will prevail in Swankerton.” Necessary started to sit back down, but instead came back to the microphone, said “Thank you,” and then he sat down.

“Why did you throw the mayor out of your office?” Campbell asked.

“The mayor is ill. He was helped out of my office.”

“He said that he was going to have you fired.”

“Like I said, the mayor is ill and isn’t responsible for what he says. Next question.”

“How long have you known who killed William Morze?”

“Not long.”

“Can you reveal their identity?”

“No.”

“How many armed robberies have been committed in the white section of Swankerton today?”

“More than usual.”

“How many?”

“The last figure we had was one hundred three.”

“Jesus Christ!” a wire-service man said.

“Would you call that a crime wave, Chief?”

“I would, but I’d rather have a crime wave than a race riot and that was the choice we had to make.”

“What’s been the total take so far?”

Necessary looked at me. “Close to a quarter of a million,” I said.

The wire-service man said Jesus Christ again.

“The mayor says you’re more interested in protecting blacks than you are in protecting whites and their property.”

“The mayor’s sick,” Necessary said.

“What’s wrong with him?”

“Ask his psychiatrist.”

“Has he got one?”

“If he doesn’t, he should.”

“He says he’s going to call the National Guard in.”

Necessary smiled and circled his ear with a finger. I watched the cameras zoom in on that for a close-up and then I rose and said, “That’s it, gentlemen. The press conference is over.”

“Hey, Dye,” a wire-service man called to me, “You think the mayor’s nutty?”

“As peanut brittle.”

“Can I use that?”

“I hope you do,” I said.

It was nearly 5 P.M. before the call came from our man who was watching the Lee-Davis Hotel. “They’re coming out now,” he said, his voice tinny over Necessary’s desk telephone speaker.

“How many?” Necessary asked.

“I counted thirteen.”

“Schoemeister with them?” Necessary said.

“He’s in the first car. They got three cars.”

“Okay,” Necessary said.

“You want me to follow them?”

“No,” Necessary said. “We know where they’re going.”

He switched off the speaker and looked at me. “How long’s it take to get from the Lee-Davis to that old house of Lynch’s?”

“Fifteen minutes,” I said. “Maybe sixteen.”

He nodded. “You’d better tell Ferkaire that I want every ambulance in town there in forty-five minutes.”

“When’ll we get there?” I said.

“When do you think?”

“In about forty-five minutes,” I said.

Carol Thackerty came in a quarter of an hour later and told me: “I didn’t know any place else to go.” She looked at Necessary. “I saw you on television, Homer. You came over well.”

“I know,” Necessary said. “Sincere.”

“Extremely,” she said.

“I wonder if it’ll go network?” he asked.

“Why?” I said.

“Well, I’d just sort of like the wife to see it.”

The second call came from a plainclothes detective that we’d stationed in a house across the street from the Victorian one that Ramsey Lynch had once occupied. It was now home for Giuseppe Luccarella and nearly two dozen assorted friends.

Necessary turned on his desk telephone speaker again. “Okay, Matthews,” he said. “We just want you to tell us what you see — not what you guess. I’m not going to interrupt with any questions except this one: You know what Schoemeister looks like?”

“He’s the one with the mustache and the funny looking lips.”

“That’s right. It’s all yours now.”

“Well, there’s not a hell of a lot to see. Sometimes one of them will come out on the porch and look around and then go back inside. I figure that there’re maybe a couple of dozen of them in there — at least that’s what I counted since I’ve been here and that’s been since ten this morning. Luccarella got here about noon, I guess. I haven’t seen him since. Wait a minute. There’re some cars coming down the street now — three of them. They’ve stopped in front of the house now. About four guys in each car — maybe five in the back one.

“It looks like Schoemeister in the front car getting out on my side. Two guys are getting out with him. One of them’s got what looks like a pillowcase. He’s waving it around and he seems to be yelling something at the house. Let me get the window open and maybe I can hear what he’s yelling.”

We could hear Matthews’ grunts over the phone speaker as he tried to open what must have been a stubborn window.

“I got it,” he said. “He’s yelling for Luccarella to come out. That they want to talk. The pillowcase must be some kind of a truce flag or something. Anyway, they’re still waving it. Now somebody’s coming out of the house — a baldheaded guy. He’s carrying some kind of white handkerchief or something. He’s yelling something about halfway — that they’ll meet halfway.

“I guess that’s okay with everybody. The door to the house is opening and it looks like Luccarella — let me get the glasses on him. Yeah, it’s Luccarella. Schoemeister’s moving around his car now — the two guys with him. One of them’s carrying the pillowcase. They’re on the sidewalk now and Luccarella’s at the porch’s screen door.”

We heard it then. It was the long crack of a submachine gun. “Oh Jesus Christ Goddamn sonofabitch!” Matthews moaned over the speaker. “Jesus Christ! Oh, God!”

“Quit praying and tell it!” Necessary snapped.

“They shot ‘em. They shot all three of them. Luccarella dove back through the door and they used a submachine gun and they got all three of them. I mean Schoemeister and the guy with the pillowcase and the other one. Schoemeister’s guys are firing at the house now and a couple of them are dragging Schoemeister back to the car. The one with the pillowcase is crawling back. They shot the baldheaded one on the steps. He was one of Luccarella’s. I think he’s dead. I know goddamned well Schoemeister is. They’re dragging him into the car and still firing at the house. Aw, Christ.”