Ed Lacy - Dead End

“How?”

“Well, sir, when I read about his killing the optometrist, I got to thinking. He'd only got fifty-three dollars in cash, so money wasn't the reason for killing. We know he wanted glasses, but why destroy the office records? I told myself he did away with the records because he'd had this eye doctor make him contact lenses, but he wanted us to think he was wearing frame glasses.”

“That's damn good brainwork, Penn, although how could you tell he was wearing contact lenses?”

“I didn't worry about it, sir. I assumed he was wearing contacts but based my identification on his ears and facial structure. I was merely going to hold him for a routine check, but he threw a gun on me. I was lax there. I mean when I frisked him, I should have thought of an ankle holster.”

“Don't worry about it, Penn; you did some real police work. Now let me see; according to your statement, and that of the witnesses, you pulled your gun on him and asked the owner of the laundry to phone the police. Then when Johnson—”

“Sir, in my excitement I accidentally hit him in the stomach with the hose.”

“Yes I know about that accident.” There was a faint hint of sarcasm in sharp-face's voice. “Of course you had to defend yourself, and you're a young cop—that's why you didn't frisk him completely. And if you'd had help, Johnson wouldn't be dead. We wanted to question him about a score of cases.”

I didn't say a word. I was getting angry. I give them the number-one goon on a slab and they're kicking!

“We don't like our men taking needless chances. In this case, if you hadn't been so quick on the trigger, you'd be dead. And so would the rest of the car-wash crew.”

“I don't think I took a needless chance, sir, or any chance. As soon as I made Johnson, I had the owner phone in for help. While I didn't expect Johnson to pull that hidden-gun trick, I was... well... kind of ready for it. I saw a great deal of that sort of gunplay in Korea.”

“Ah, yes. Thanks for reminding me. I see by your record you were awarded the Purple Heart in Korea, twice. Naturally we'll make sure the papers get that. I also note your quick thinking once saved a suicide. And your file says you're quick with your hands, too—a ball of fire with your fists. Off the record, Penn, I'm all for a police officer being tough.”

“Thank you, sir. My wife doesn't believe in posthumous awards.”

“A good line for the papers. Well, that's about all, Penn. Allow me to congratulate you on a very important collar, on some splendid police work.”

“Thanks, sir.”

“Oh, I mustn't forget to tell the reporters you were on vacation, too. Police work is a twenty-four-hour job. But above all, police work is teamwork. I'm not talking about you, understand, merely making a general statement. No room on the force for grandstanding, a going-it-alone attitude. Of course, in this situation, I'm sure there wasn't any other way you could have captured him. Let me shake your hand, Penn. I'm certain you will make a excellent detective and go far in the ranks.”

I shook hands, thinking: Giving me all this smart talk, this hinting—and all he does is park his fat ass behind a fat desk. But it's over. I got a new badge and I didn't let this rat-faced jerk trip me.

It was ten in the morning when I finally got home. It was a good thing I fell over that article dough—I owed another day on the car. The second I opened the door, Elma looked up from the TV, yelled, “Bucky! When do you get the money?”

“What money?” I asked, walking toward the bedroom.

“Don't hand me that 'what money' line! You think I'm blind—it's all over the papers.”

I started to undress, wondering how she could possibly know about the money I got for the article. I told her, “Hon, I've been up for over twenty-four hours. I'm groggy for sleep. I don't know anything about money or—”

“The papers say there was a five-thousand-dollar reward for his capture!”

“There is? I didn't know that. And if there is a reward, it will go to the police fund. Now let me sleep.”

“Bucky Penn, are you holding out on me?”

“Stop yapping like a damn fool; There isn't any dough for me. A cop can never claim a reward. But I'm a detective now. That will mean a raise and—”

“Sure, a great ten bucks a month. Here I was dreaming of using that five grand to buy... Nothing works right for us.”

“I'll be damned!” I said, undressing fast, too pooped to take a bath. “Here I been busting my hump to get a raise, risk my life to finally get one, and all you can do is gripe about a reward I can't touch,” I added, determined not to tell her about the money I had in my pocket.

Elma shrugged, a weary motion with her rolls of fat shaking. “Hurray! Hurray! You're a hero! No—I don't mean that. Of course I'm glad you made good. It's just that—Oh, I was so certain we had the reward. Want some breakfast?”

“I'm full of coffee and sandwiches. All I want is sleep,” I said, getting into her bed.

“I'll keep the TV down low. Say, your friend Shep, the eye man, called. Said he wanted you to phone him.”

“Later,” I said, dropping off into a wonderful deep sleep. I vaguely remember Elma shaking me awake once, telling me some radio program wanted me “at once” for a noon interview. She said, “You'll get a wrist watch for appearing. What shall I tell 'em?”

“Tell them I'm bushed. Anyway, I have a watch.”

“Yeah, I'll tell them you have a toy watch! Come on, they're on the phone, what shall—”

“Just let me alone,” I mumbled, sinking back into the lush softness of sleep.

The next thing I knew she was shaking me awake. “Bucky, Mr. Harris is here to see you.”

I yawned, feeling great. “I told you to let me sleep.”

“My God, the phone has been ringing all the time. Ollie called. So did your platoon sergeant. Reporters phoned. This Mr. Harris—Shep—has called about five times. I kept telling him you were in bed but he... You know you're all over the afternoon and evening papers and on the TV news? Why, one reporter even came up here to talk to me.”

“Evening papers?” I repeated, staring at the drawn shade. “What time is it?”

“Around six. Want supper? I went out and got a steak for...”

I yawned again. “What did you tell the reporter?”

“Which one?”

“The one who came here.”

“The same as I told those that called. That you took a chance with your life and it was a shame you aren't getting the reward.”

“From now on keep your trap shut,” I said, getting out of bed. “The department might not like your opinions. Tell Shep I'll be with him in a minute.”

I came wide awake under the cold-water faucet in the bathroom. It was ten after six on my pug watch. I slipped on my old ring robe and went into the living room. Shep blinked at me behind his powerful glasses as I told Elma to get some beers.

“We haven't got any.”

“Run down to the store, Honey. Shep, guess you've met my wife, Elma.”

“Yes. I've been talking to her on the phone most of the day. Bucky, I can do without beer. I want to—”

“I want some. Elma's been cooped up in the house all day,” I said, giving her the sign to scram. She didn't like it.

When she left, I slapped Shep on his narrow back, told him, “Well, I'm a tin hero, thanks to you.”

“That's what I've been trying to talk to you about,” he said, his hands shaking as he lit a cigarette.

“I was up all night,” I said, sitting on the couch. “What's there to talk about, Shep?”

“Well—” he began, blowing smoke down at our worn floors. I never got around to waxing them any more. And I wished he hadn't seen Elma. “Well, it's like this: All this publicity and—My wife thinks I should be part of it!” The words came rushing out.