Ed Lacy - The Best That Ever Did It

I began worrying about tomorrow—that .38 they gave me. Irv sure had a couple of swell protectors—a blind old man and a would-be detective!

I fell asleep on that one, and the next thing I knew the alarm was ringing, each ring like a needle in my sore head. It was a cold, dark morning, and if there's one thing I hate, it's getting up early. I took a quick shower, got into a pair of coveralls, and drove to the garage. I got out the jeep—and it needed a ring job—picked up Danny in front of the precinct house. We had breakfast of wheat cakes and coffee—I quit when he started on his fourth stack—with Danny bulling me about the time he wrestled Strangler Lewis back in 1916.

When we picked up Irv, he was pretty gay. He said, “This is as exciting as my first mission in a B-24. Let's get moving— adventure calls.”

“You crocked?” Danny asked.

“You've heard of punch-drunk slobs—well, I'm scared-drunk. Let's go before it all ends in one big scream.”

We reached the garage at six-thirty and Irv took off in his cab, with Danny as a passenger. Across the street, in front of the loading platform of the post office, a couple of “mailmen” stood around and talked, while near the garage entrance, a small mail truck was parked. It would be monotonous for the two guys cooped up in there all day.

I had the garage to myself and I couldn't get the gun comfortable, kept switching the holster around under my coveralls. I decided I might as well really look the part of a mechanic, do some work. They had a '48 Oldsmobile on jacks and I took the motor apart, worked all morning on it. Except for a call from Franzino, to see if I was on the job, not a damn thing happened.

At noon Danny came in—in a cab driven by a city detective. The old man had coffee and sandwiches for me, and as we ate he said things were quiet. Nobody had tailed Irv's cab, although he had driven all over the city. At Times Square there had been a show for the TV camera—man-on-the-street interview—in which Juanita had kissed Irv, told the world how glad she was that the case was over, that she and Irv were applying for passports right away, and were going to be married at sea to save time. There were also pictures and stories in all the afternoon papers, or so Danny had been told, playing up the “romance.” Brown and Smith should go into action—if they were still around.

I said, “Surprised Juanita is so co-operative.”

Danny laughed. “Got me, too. She has her angles—figures all the hero publicity will help Irv when he gets out of college. She's probably trying to put her hooks into the pudding company to do something for Irv, too. Think this sort of publicity sells pudding? Heard their publicity men are working overtime with the cops.”

“Maybe—the idea of publicity is to bring the name of the product before the people,” I said, going back to work on the Olds. Danny wandered around the garage, tapping with his cane. After about an hour, he was able to walk around without touching the cane to the floor. When asked how he did it, he said, “I can get the layout of a place down fast. All blind people can. In my room I walk around like I had eyes, but I had to keep telling my landlady never to move any furniture—that fouls me up. This is a snap, unless you should move one of these cars, or that jack over at that side.”

At two, a cab with Al Swan as a passenger picked Danny up. I finished timing the Olds motor, found a battery, put some gas in the carburetor, and gave her a test run. I hadn't cleaned the oil pan and it must have been lousy with carbon specks; she stuttered and backfired till the gas gave out. I went out on the sidewalk for a moment, to get some fresh air, lit a cigarette. One of the “mailmen” came over, asked if I had a spare cigarette, then whispered, “Hear anything?”

“No. Didn't you guys hear the racket I just made with a car?”

“Not a sound. Old garage—walls are pretty thick.”

“That makes things real ducky.”

I went back inside the garage, gave the Olds a grease job, then washed up and read an old paper lying around. Being below the street level, the garage got dark by four and I turned on the lights. Danny returned a few minutes later, and the dick who drove him went back downtown. Danny had nothing to report except that there had been another TV interview, in which Irv told a group of “cabbies” he was applying for a passport in the morning, and the “cabbies” were talking about giving him a send-off in the garage.

At five I called Betsy and Ruthie was okay. As I hung up, a cab turned into the top of the ramp and stopped. Two men got out of the front seat and started down the ramp. They were both roughly dressed, hard looking. One was short and bandy-legged; the other was tall and heavy. Danny muttered, “Two guys coming.”

I said “Yeah!” and my insides started turning over. They didn't look like what I imagined Brown and Smith would be— they were older—but still...

I called out, “What's on your mind?” and started up the ramp.

They stopped, not far from the door, and the small one asked, “This where they going to have the party for Irv?”

I nodded.

The bigger one looked around, said, “I don't get it. How come Irv switched companies all of a sudden? Yesterday he was working for...”

“Friends of Irv Spear?” I asked, thinking what a damn fool target I made.

“We know the kid,” the short one said and for a moment I thought there was a twang in his voice. “Hear on the TV in a bar about the party, so we thought...”

At that moment half a dozen “mailmen” suddenly came running down the ramp, all of them with guns drawn. One of them snapped, “Keep your hands in sight, or we'll drill you!”

The little cabbie went pale, asked, “What the hell is this?”

They were quickly frisked and didn't have any guns. Danny came tapping up the ramp, said, “Neither of them is Brown.”

The cabbies were explaining how and why they'd come, and the dicks herded them out, removed their cab. The last I saw of them, they were being hustled into the post office across the street.

One of the “mailmen” returned, said, “Don't be such a hero, Harris. This was a false alarm, but next time have your gun handy.”

“You bet,” I said, feeling for the holster. When the guy left I closed the overhead door, ran over to the Olds and picked up the holster and the .38 from the front seat.

I walked over to Danny and I was still sweating as I said, “That was almost it.”

He started to laugh, deep belly laughter. “Jeez, them two hackies must think the world has gone nuts! Mail carriers pulling guns on 'em! What they going to do with them now?”

“I don't know. Have to hold them, or the word will get out that the whole deal is a setup. Damn, my heart is still beating wildly.”

“I knew it wasn't them soon as I heard 'em,” Danny said. “Hey, got any beer hidden around here?”

I said no and he asked for a cigarette, and we smoked in silence for a few minutes. The phone rang. An FBI guy with a crisp voice told me Irv would drive into the garage at six-thirty. Two cars would escort me as I drove Irv home in the jeep. I told him to honk twice, and I'd open the overhead door for Irv. When I hung up, I got into the jeep, had just about turned it around when there were two cough-like sounds, and then the light tinkle of glass as the garage lights went out.

For a moment I didn't realize what had happened, that the lights had been shot out with silencers. I switched on the jeep lights and for a split second saw the two men on the ramp, then the orange flame flashes, and the sound of the headlights breaking as they went out. Another flash and the windshield splintered, and I dived out of the jeep and nearly kayoed myself on the cement floor. It took me a long second to come to, get my wind back. I tugged at the .38, finally got it out. The garage was pitch black and tense with silence. I heard the small noise of somebody crawling toward me, and a terrible chill filled my guts till Danny's big hand squeezed mine.