William McGivern - Savage Streets

“That’s exactly what we’re avoiding,” Malleck said eagerly; he seemed pleased and flattered by Ward’s endorsement. “Let me just run through it once more so there won’t be any misunderstanding. Even from the ladies,” he added, with a clumsy attempt at courtliness. “You see, Norton got beat up for no reason at all to start with. He comes to Det’s home because he’s in bad shape. So Det and me take him to the police station to make a complaint. And on the way — on the way, mind you — we spot Duke. It’s just a lucky break. Norton piles out of the car, intending to arrest him which is his right as a private citizen in these circumstances.” Malleck shrugged his heavy shoulders. “Well, you know the rest of it.”

“I think that — well — version, will give great comfort to Janey,” Grace Ward said. “I mean, it’s completely legal, isn’t it? Wayne wasn’t doing anything wild or foolish. Janey will like that.”

Farrell said: “Yes, it’s nice and legal now, Grace. That’s a cheery thought.”

She looked at him coldly. “I don’t believe you understand what we’re trying to do.”

“You’re trying like hell to get to England. Is that a fair guess?”

“That’ll be enough from you, John,” Ward said. He seemed genuinely angry. “What right have you got to be riding Grace? You started this whole mess, remember? Everyone in this room is in trouble because he tried to help you.”

“That’s right,” Farrell said slowly.

“Well, for Christ’s sake, keep that in mind, then. We don’t need any wisecracks or sarcasm tonight. This is a dead serious business.”

“I want to ask a question,” Farrell said. “Do you all agree with Malleck?”

“That’s a stupid question,” Grace Ward said. “Haven’t you been listening?”

Detweiller sighed and said: “Well, John, I didn’t like lying to the cops. But Malleck talked first, and I backed him up. That’s your answer, I guess. I’m backing him up, but I don’t like it. Which makes me what? A guy straddling the fence, I guess.”

“Let’s don’t make a big tiling out of who did what first,” Malleck said gently. “You showed some guts at the station, Det. Don’t try to sneak a foot into the other camp now. You can’t be half with Farrell and half with me. Get that into your head.”

“I just said I didn’t like lying.”

“I heard you,” Malleck said. “And it sounded like a whine to me. You didn’t mind lying about the gun, did you?”

“I was mistaken, I wasn’t lying.”

“What’s all this?” Ward said.

Detweiller reached for his cigarettes. “It’s not important,” he said. “I mean, it doesn’t affect anything.” He shrugged, and then smiled with obvious effort; his lips were very stiff and dry. “Bobby didn’t steal that Luger of mine,” he said. “Well, he took it, that’s true enough, but he simply hid it in the basement. I found it there two nights ago. He was so scared about what had happened to the other youngsters that he had a crazy idea of protecting himself if anyone bothered him. When I originally discovered that it was missing he was too scared to tell the truth. So he invented that cockeyed story about selling it to some kid for five dollars.”

“And you didn’t tell the police?” Farrell said.

Malleck stood up so swiftly that his chair toppled over backward. “You’ll go on talking until everybody forgets what matters here,” he said in a deceptively gentle voice. “Well, let me remind you what’s important. Norton’s dead. Do you realize what that means? He’s lying in a cold, busted-up heap in an undertaker’s parlor. The last meal he ate is already rotting in his stomach.” Grace Ward said, “Oh, please,” in a faint voice, but Malleck didn’t take his burning eyes from Farrell’s face. “I’m going to talk about what’s important for a change. That woman upstairs. Norton’s widow. When she wakes up her bed will be empty. And it will be empty forever because Norton’s dead. Get that into your stupid skull. And the boy upstairs. His daddy’s gone for good. Do you want to go up and tell him that’s not important? There won’t be any more bedtime stories or fishing trips and nice days on the beach with his daddy, because his daddy is dead.” Malleck’s voice became a straining whisper. “Norton’s dead. And Duke killed him. Nothing else matters.”

Farrell rubbed his forehead; Malleck’s hatred was like the heat from a blast furnace. “Duke’s important,” he said. “He’s important too.”

“That little bastard isn’t worth saving.”

“Then none of us are,” Farrell said slowly.

“Oh, cut it out,” Ward said in a tense and irritable voice. “I’m not buying that cloudy crap. I’m with Malleck. You asked a question. There’s your answer.”

“I am too,” Grace Ward said. “Honest, John, I wish Barbara were here to hammer some sense into your head. She’d understand. But I doubt if it would help. You... well, you’re a failure, that’s your trouble. You’ve had the same opportunities as Sam, but he’s making twice the money you are. He has a brilliant future ahead of him, which he’s worked like the devil for, if the truth were known, while all you’ve got...” She shook her head, lips tightening with exasperation. “I don’t know what you’ve got, to be frank about it. It can’t be very important if you don’t value it above this miserable creature who killed Wayne.”

“Amen,” Malleck said. “Amen to every word of it.”

Detweiller said, “Now let’s all calm down. Everything was going all right for a while. Cool and easy. I think we’d better keep it that way. Look, would anyone like a drink?”

“I don’t mind,” Ward said.

“Coming right up.” Detweiller returned from the kitchen and gave Ward a glass. He sipped his own drink and began to pace the floor. “Now everybody’s been jumping on Farrell, and I don’t see the sense of it. Maybe I can clear things up a bit, John, at least as far as my own stand is concerned.” Detweiller seemed to be gaining confidence as he talked; he was gesturing with the glass, and there was more color in his normally ruddy face. “You want to play it by the book, John, but the point is, what do we gain and what do we lose by taking that position? Do you understand? The big thing is, Norton is dead and Duke killed him. That much is established. So why should we risk our reputations, and all the things we’ve worked for, to establish a lot of unimportant details?”

It was a fitting bit of irony, Farrell thought, that their collective lie would force him to tell the truth. If they hadn’t tampered with the facts — if they had allowed Duke a self-defense plea — he might have kept his mouth shut. For Janey’s sake — for all of them — he would have kept Norton’s secret. As long as it was irrelevant to Duke’s defense.

The phone began to ring and Ward picked up the receiver. He listened for a moment, and then said, “My name is Sam Ward, I’m a friend of the Norton family. But I’m sure you realize Mrs. Norton is in no condition...” He paused and raised a hand for attention; it was an unnecessary gesture because everyone was watching him closely. “Well, I don’t have any comment for the newspapers,” Ward said. “There’s always a hundred dollars’ worth of gossip for every dollar’s worth of fact in a case like this. You can tell me what you’ve heard, but don’t expect me to confirm or deny it.”

Farrell stared over the heads of the group. In the windows that faced the quiet street he saw a reflection of Chicky’s small blonde head and a stretch of the smooth gray carpeting that covered the living room floor. Outside the darkness was defined in precise rectangles by the yellow beams of street lights.