Ed Lacy - Sin In Their Blood

“You just told me—I can hear. I'll tell her.”

“Thank you. I'll be back tomorrow—before noon.”

I walked back to the bus stop. I was lucky when I was a cop—I was never assigned to this district like most rookies. It's a tough beat for any cop—white or colored. Whenever the brass or city hall wants to swell the records, they order a round-up in “dark town.” Since this happens most of the time, there's no love between the cops and the people—not that there ever really is in any section of town. Then, of course, you have some cops who are raised on hating Negroes, try to make history down there—and usually end up dead.

It was a little after five when I reached the house and I was tired and hungry. I'd forgotten all about my afternoon nap. Mady was sitting in the living room and I could smell the whiskey before I saw her. She wasn't tanked, merely high. She said, “Hello, darling,” and grinned at me weakly.

I kissed her lightly, tasting the whiskey. “Supper ready?”

“Gee, Matt, I forgot all about that.”

There was a heel of last night's bottle left and I poured that down the sink and she said, “You're angry with me.”

“What if I am? I hate a liquor-head and I can't stand you drinking—it shows you're unhappy about something. What's the matter?”

“Joe. I'm sorry I forgot about the steak. Go and get one now, still time to make a fine supper and...”

“What's wrong with your brother?”

“How do you know he's my brother?”

I touched my sore eye. “We met yesterday. What's up?”

“He's stony. Last night Ruthie, that's his wife, or do you know that too? She had a fainting spell last night and he had to get a doc. No money. He's in some kind of swindle, won't talk about it. Thinks I have Billy's insurance. Only I haven't.”

“Spend it?” She didn't look like the kind that could have gone through ten grand in a year—certainly hadn't spent any of it on clothes.

“He never took out any insurance. I didn't want him to. I don't know why, but insurance seemed to...to be an omen that he wouldn't return,” she added gently.

Billy the cocky jerk, not even bothering about free insurance! I didn't believe Mady's “I didn't want him to” bunk. I asked, “What's Joe going to do?”

“Wish I knew. He always used to brag about his job not being much but at least he had security and now.... I gave him what money I had. Told him to wire Pete, our younger brother, for a touch. I'm sorry, Matt, but I felt too low and beat down, I took a drink to relax and...”

“And it's always the next drink that's the relaxer. Okay, go out and get us some supper,” I said, giving her another ten. “Can you make it to the store?”

“Oh, I'm not drunk. Air will do me good.”

She put on an old jacket and I stood at the window and watched this tall, gawky girl walk down the street, trying to hold herself in, walk steadily. There was something drab about her; she wore clothes the way you throw a towel around yourself as you rush from the shower to the phone. She was the type to grow fat and thick, maybe have a floppy Hitler-should-have-them-as-tonsils bosom. Yet, although my eyes called me a liar, she was beautiful, even voluptuous to me. It was almost funny—with Flo and the other sharp chicks I'd been fooled by their beauty, and it took me time to realize they didn't have much else, that beauty alone is empty as a gaudy paper bag. But with this clumsy kid I first went for her honesty, her warmth—and then suddenly realized she was a beauty. Maybe this is what they call love, I told myself, only one thing has to go— the bottle. A lush drives me wild.

I stood there, thinking about Joe and how he probably had my ten bucks and what a poor slob he was, when I got a cute idea. I went to the phone and changed my mind. Harry was the kind of sharpie who might have his phones tapped and I didn't want the call traced here. Somehow his even knowing about Mady would dirty her. I went down to the corner drugstore and dialed, wondering if he'd be in at this hour. A whining voice said, “America! America!”

It was the creep. “Amen. Harry in?”

“Who's calling?”

“This is personal.”

“Who is this?”

“Mind your own damn business and put Harry on.”

“I will hang up unless you tell me who is calling.”

“Tell him Matt is calling. And be very careful, Thatcher, I've got my eye on you—lots of people are watching you,” I added, knowing it would worry a backward joker like him.

“What do you mean?” There was a pause, then Harry's smooth voice asked, “Hello? Matt?”

“Harry, I'm in a small jam. Can you lend me a hundred?” It tickled me to take some of Joe's dough away from Harry and give it back to Joe.

“Want to work for me, Matt?”

“I only want to put the bite on you.”

“Sorry. Be more than glad to give you the dough, Matt, but the way you act, don't know if you're on the bum or not... might as well put my foot down before you make this a habit. You understand, chum. Now, if you want to work, I'll advance you...”

I cursed him and he giggled like a school girl—it always pleased him to be called certain names. It was an unfortunate giggle—for him—it gave me a real bang-bang idea.

I went back to the house and called Joe, told him to park in front of the house at seven sharp, I wanted to talk to him.

“What about?”

“Tell you then. Don't let Mady know you're parked,” I said. It wasn't impossible Harry was tapping Joe's phone too. You worry about a phone tap and you can go crazy. I said, “You might be able to stop paying off the mutual... eh... friend of ours.”

He said, “Oh,” then, “I'll be there, Matt.”

Mady returned with bags of food and a lot of talk. Some people try to pull themselves together when high by chattering. She was complaining about the high prices of food and I sat in the big chair in the living room and watched her moving about in the kitchen. I felt tired, missed my afternoon nap. I must have dozed off, for the next thing I knew she was shaking me, telling me supper was on.

She wasn't a bad cook—although it's hard to spoil steak—and we ate and she asked, “You find out what you wanted to in town?”

“Nope,” I said, weighing how much to tell her. If Saxton got wind of what I had in mind, he'd kill anybody who was in the know.

She was waiting for me to go on, so I said, “1 suggested to the cops—to my buddy Max—that the Wilson murders ought to be checked over again. He didn't think so.”

“What do you mean, checked over again?”

“As you said, Henry Wilson wasn't the type to kill his wife. I merely thought there were a few angles might be looked into... just to be sure,” I said carefully.

“Well, I still can't believe he did that horrible crime. Why won't the police look into it?”

“Because it's all wrapped in a neat package and they don't want to bother untying the pink ribbons. Too busy with parking tickets.”

“Seems to me if you have ideas about a crime, the police...”

“When a man becomes a cop he changes. They say a criminal is outside the law. Well, a cop is worse off, he's outside everything. He's either hated or sluffed off by the public. Any law enforcement officer is nothing but a human blackjack... and even if a sap is a tool, it's hardly anything you have any love for, or real use.”

“Like a gun...”

“Don't interrupt the professor. No, a gun can be a thing of beauty, a lot of fun at target practice, but a blackjack... you can only use it as a club, and it's always ugly. That's the way a cop gets. His job is so big —if all the laws were enforced—and he knows he's hated, so he does only what he can do the easiest and best in the hours he has. Guess that isn't too clear.”