Can Ladies Kill?, page 15
Brendy is sittin’ in the big chair with his feet up on the table smokin’ a ten cent cigar an’ lookin’ like an old owl. O’Halloran is lyin’ on the settee with a bottle of bourbon by his side, smokin’ that goddam pipe of his. The room is so fulla smoke that I feel I would like to put a gas mask on.
I talk to ’em.
“Now look, Brendy,” I say, “here’s the way it goes: All this business is sorta comin’ to a head. We got ideas, but we don’t know just how far we’re right, or just how far we’re wrong, so we’ve gotta start something. We’ve gotta get tough. Now here’s the angle. The first thing we’ve gotta do is to have a complete search of Rocca’s offices at The Two Moons Club an’ of his apartment, an’ we’ve gotta have a search of Rudy Spigla’s place, just in case we find somethin’. At the same time we have gotta nose through the offices, garages, trucks an’ everything else connected with the Rocca Truckin’ Corporation, because I tell you what’s in my head.
“This runnin’ contraband silk looks like a lotta hooey to me. Everybody’s talkin’ about runnin’ contraband silk so much an’ so openly that it looks to me like they’re tryin’ to cover up something else. All right, there’s only one way that we can get this searchin’ business done quickly, an’ that’s by a raid. We got to put a raid up to-night. We gotta raid all the places at once, The Two Moons Club, the offices, the trucks an’ the garages. We gotta synchronise that business. I’m goin’ to suggest it should take place at twelve o’clock. You can find some excuse for that raid, Brendy, somethin’ that won’t get ’em thinkin’ too much.
“When you’ve raided these dumps you pull in Rocca an’ Spigla, an’ anybody else who’s kickin’ around. You take the whole durn lot of ’em down to the Hall of Justice. We can hold ’em there until to-morrow anyway. We can let ’em out in time for ’em to go to Sunday church if they feel that way.
“Now while you are raidin’ these places, Brendy, O’Halloran here an’ me are goin’ to be searchin’ the Rocca an’ Spigla apartments. I wanta look around an’ see if I can get my hooks on anything.
“After we have done this search O’Halloran will rejoin you at police headquarters, but I am goin’ straight along to have a little talk with this Oklahoma Joe who runs this flop house, this place where some mysterious person tells me Joe Mitzler is hangin’ out.
“Say, Brendy,” I ask him, “what do you know about this Oklahoma Joe?”
“Plenty,” he says, “an’ it’s funny that his name should come inta this business, because he is about the only guy in this man’s town who ain’t afraid of Jack Rocca. The story is that he an’ Rocca had a little argument in the old days. They settled it with guns an’ they both got pretty badly hurt, since when they’ve had a sorta respect for each other.
“The thing I can’t understand,” says Brendy, “is why Mitzler should choose Oklahoma Joe’s place for a hide-out, because if Joe Mitzler has been workin’ for Spigla it seems durn funny that he should take some place for a hide-out that is owned by an enemy of Rocca’s.”
“Maybe that ain’t so funny, Brendy,” I tell him. “Maybe there’s a good reason for that. O.K. Well, that’s how it is. You go off an’ fix all that business, Brendy, an’ you phone through to me here when you’ve got it straightened out. When the cars go out to raid these dumps O’Halloran’ll proceed to give the once over to the other places.”
I turn around to Terry.
“Your business, Terry,” I say, “will be to fix it so that at twelve o’clock to-night we can somehow get inta the Rocca an’ Spigla apartments, do what we wanta do an’ get out again without the whole world knowin’ about it. Now have you boys got that?”
They nod.
“I get it,” says Brendy. “It looks to me like you’re goin’ to start a small war in this man’s town to-night. Do you realise that if we’re goin’ to raid all the Rocca places together we’ve gotta put up about thirty raids. I reckon there will be so many police sirens shriekin’ their heads off to-night that somebody will think somebody has declared war on somebody.” He sighs.
“Still, Lemmy,” he says, “I always heard tell you had a whole lotta brains an’ you always knew what you was doin’, so I suppose I will have to see this job through the way you say.”
I grin at him. “O.K., Brendy,” I say, “I reckon we’re goin’ places this time. Now you boys scram outa here an’ get busy, because I wanta do some quiet thinkin’.”
They scram.
It is just before twelve midnight when we get goin’. Brendy an’ O’Halloran have been doin’ some sweet staff work an’ they have fixed these raids just as good as I coulda done it myself.
At ten minutes to twelve, by an arrangement we have got with the telephone company, all lines connectin’ all the Rocca dumps an’ offices, an’ the truck garages, have been disconnected just so’s nobody who does get wise to what we are at can get through on the telephone an’ wise up any other guys.
There is just one place we ain’t raidin’ an’ that is Oklahoma Joe’s. I reckon that directly the raids are well under way the old underworld grapevine will get to work an’ they will know all about what is goin’ on at Oklahoma Joe’s. That is the time when my little playmate Joe Mitzler is goin’ to feel good that he is in an enemy flop house. He will be very happy that he is not at any of the Rocca dumps.
That is supposin’ he is at Oklahoma’s, but I ain’t worryin’ very much about this. I reckon that he is there all right, an’ just when he is feelin’ good about bein’ there an’ not around at The Two Moons he is goin’ to see my sweet-lookin’ pan appear-in’ round the corner, after which I reckon some sweet fun an’ games are goin’ to start.
Sittin’ in my car are Brendy an’ O’Halloran, a police sergeant and four cops. We have got shotguns just in case anybody thinks they wanta start a war but we are not lookin’ out for any real trouble because I reckon that Jack Rocca is goin’ to come quiet when he sees that we mean business. I make a note at the back of my head to have a few minutes quiet talk with this bozo about one or two things directly I get the chance.
We bust through the entrance of The Two Moons Club before the guy on the door knows what is happenin’. He don’t get a chance to give anybody the low-down. In a minute Brendy is standin’ in the middle of the dance floor bawlin’ his head off. People are scuttlin’ like hell for the back way out, but that won’t do ’em any good because there are two more police cruisers waitin’ round there to collect ’em that end.
“Keep your hair on,” says Brendy. “There ain’t anything to be scared of—this is a police raid not a hold-up. Now stick around folks an’ just give your names an’ address to the officers. We’ll keep the guys we want an’ the others can go home an’ explain to their wives how they come here to see a sick friend. Get busy, boys!”
With O’Halloran at my elbow I scram across the floor an’ through the doors leadin’ to the passage an’ lift on the other side. Just as we get there in the passage the lift comes down an’ Rudy Spigla gets out.
“Hi’yah, Rudy!” I tell him. “Come along an’ have a nice piece of can. I’m goin’ to stick you in the cooler for a bit an’ how’dya like that?”
He looks at me like I was a bad smell.
“So you’re around again, Caution,” he says. “I reckon you’re goin’ to make some trouble for yourself before you get through. You may be a Federal officer but you can’t get around doin’ this sorta stuff an’ get away with it.”
“Oh no,” I tell him. “Well bozo, I’ll proceed to show you somethin’ else I can get away with.”
I smack a hearty one across the kisser an’ he hits the wall with such a bump that he almost leaves the imprint of his head on it. He gets up. He looks pretty fierce. He puts his hand around to his hip, but Terry pulls a gun on him an’ sticks him up. He then frisks him an’ produces a .32 Colt outa his hip.
“You gotta permit for this gun?” says Terry.
“Sure I gotta permit,” says Spigla.
He pulls the permit outa his coat pocket. Terry looks at it an’ then tears it up.
“You ain’t got a permit now,” he says, “an’ I’m pinchin’ you for carryin’ a gun without a permit.”
“This is a lousy frame-up,” says Spigla. “There’s goin’ to be plenty trouble about this. What’re you raidin’ this club for. There ain’t anything illegal goin’ on around here an’ you. know it.”
“We ain’t raidin’ this club because we think there’s anything illegal goin’ on, Unconscious,” I tell him. “We’re raidin’ this club on the grounds that (a) the drainage system don’t confirm with the city ordinances, (b) that you are sellin’ short-weight portions of spaghetti to Eskimos thereby infringing the Federal Weights and Measures Code, an’ (c) because we ain’t got anything better to do. If you want some more reasons just you ask the D.A. an’ maybe he’ll give ’em to you in duplicate.”
“In the meantime,” says Terry, “I am goin’ to give you a good poke in the snout for bein’ insolent to my colleague,” sayin’ which he smacks Rudy another one across the pan that you coulda heard on the other side of the Golden Gate.
“Just before you get goin’, Mr. Spigla,” I tell him, “you can hand over any keys you got about you because I am about to run the rule over your sleepin’ apartment at the Mulberry Arms up on the hill, just to see if you are keepin’ white mice there.”
“Damn you, Caution,” he says. “I’m goin’ to get you for all this. You can’t search my apartment. You haven’t got a search warrant.”
“Right, Gorgeous,” I tell him, bustin’ him another one on the ear just to keep this party nice an’ sweet. “You are dead right. I ain’t gotta search warrant, but I have got adenoids an’ a strawberry wen on my left knee owin’ to Mrs. Caution bein’ fond of fruit just before my first birthday, an’ I reckon that them two things entitles me to search your little nest, honeybell, so sew up your mouth an’ hand over the keys.”
Just as he is handin’ ’em over, Jack Rocca with a couple of cops comes down in the lift. Rocca is smilin’ like an angel. He is takin’ everything nice an’ quiet. I reckon Jack has got brains.
He takes a look at Rudy an’ sees that there has been a little trouble because Rudy has gotta bruise on one side of his head that looks like a baby pumpkin, an’ the last smack across the snoot that I gave him has marked him plenty.
“Why don’t you be your age, Rudy?” says Rocca. “What’s the good of arguin’ with cops? Take it easy.”
“That’s the stuff, Rocca,” I tell him. “You got sense.”
He grins. “Look, Caution,” he says, “what’s behind this raid? I’m not pullin’ anything in this city. I told you that an’ it was the truth.”
“An’ I believed you, Rocca,” I tell him, “but the trouble with some of you guys is that you cannot even smell something that is goin’ on right under your nose. So long, bozo.” The cops take him off.
O’Halloran an’ I ease upstairs. Outa the window we can hear the police sirens shriekin’ as the boys start the raids along California Street, an’ down on the back areas on the Embarcadero.
We turn out Rocca’s office an’ we turn out Spigla’s. There is not a durn thing to be seen. Just a lotta innocent business papers an’ receipts and what nots.
“O.K., Terry,” I tell O’Halloran. “Here’s where we split. You get along to Rocca’s place an’ give it the works. Turn the durn place upside down but get your hooks on anything that looks like something we want. Me, I’m goin’ to take a look around Spigla’s apartment. When you’re through get back to headquarters an’ check over the reports from the other raids. Don’t forget to check on the trucks. Stick around there until I come back after I been to see my little playmate, Joe Mitzler.”
“O.K., Lemmy,” he says, “but you be careful of Joe. That palooka don’t like you an’ he is the type of guy who would take a lot of pleasure in stickin’ a hand-gun right into your navel an’ pullin’ the trigger just to see if you was made of sawdust inside.”
“You’re tellin’ me,” I crack back at him. “But if anybody is goin’ to be pullin’ triggers it is goin’ to be Mrs. Caution’s little boy Lemmy. I’ll be seein’ you.”
I scram downstairs an’ out the front way. Around the block there is a car waitin’ for me like I arranged. I get inta it an’ shoot off up to the hill. It is one o’clock when I get to the Mulberry Arms.
I flash my card at the night guy an’ tell him that I’m goin’ to take a look over Mr. Spigla’s apartment an’ that I do not wanta be disturbed. I go up in the lift an’ a coupla minutes afterwards I am inside Rudy’s dump.
Is it swell, or is it? I’m tellin’ you that this Spigla is not only a neat guy but he has also got so much taste that it almost hurts. Everything is spick an’ span. The place is so well laid out that I reckon if Sam Goldwyn had ever met up with Rudy he woulda made him head of the art department right away.
There are two compactums full of clothes. Suits an’ suits all on hangers an’ stretchers. There are silk shirts an’ silk pyjamas, an’ there are also half a dozen new ladies’ nightdresses which is a thing that causes me much pain to see as it looks as if Rudy has not been concentratin’ on business all the time.
Hangin’ around the walls, which are painted a sorta primrose colour with pink wall lights, are a lotta pictures of dames. I take a lamp at these frails an’ I’m tellin’ you that some of ’em is so easy to look at as regards shape that they coulda won the beauty competition down at Bunkbille Pa. with sacks over their faces. Most of these pictures have got lovin’ messages written on ’em such as—“To darling Rudy from Annabelle.” Another one says—“I am well lost for love,” an’ a third one says—“To Rudy who has all my heart.” This last one was lucky because knowin’ Rudy I am wonderin’ why he had only pinched the dame’s heart.
I get to work. I start goin’ over this place most efficiently. I turn everything out an’ over. I start lookin’ in the most unlikely places leavin’ the likely ones till the last.
An’ I do not find a durn thing. There is not one little thing that teaches me anything.
I sit down in a big chair an’ I relax. I do a little quiet thinkin’ an’ I get around to considerin’ just how funny it is for a guy like Spigla—who is anyway nothin’ but a mobster pretendin’ to be a club manager—to have a swell dump like this an’ to be so neat an’ nice. I get to tryin’ to remember other thugs who I have known an’ who are inclined to be nice about their apartments an’ their clothes. I try to connect these guys up in my mind. I am endeavourin’—if you know what I mean—to find some common denominator that fits all these palookas just to see if I can get a line on Rudy’s mentality through usin’ that process. The result is nix.
I light myself a cigarette an’ get up an’ start lookin’ around at the pictures of the molls on the walls. I am just lettin’ my mind wander nice an’ easy because I have always found that it is when you are not really lookin’ for somethin’ that you discover what you are not lookin’ for. Got me?
I’m tellin’ you some of these dolls are the icin’ on the cocktail glass. Boy, are they honeys or are they honeys? There is one dame with a faraway expression an’ a Gainsborough hat who woulda been just what the doctor ordered so far as I was concerned. There is another dame in a bathin’ costume with such swell legs that I am half a mind to pinch this picture an’ give it to Brendy so that every time he looks at his wife’s under-pinnin’ he can start singin’ “What Might Have Been” in a high falsetto, consistin’ of one part rage an’ two parts disappointment.
Way down at the end of the wall near the big carved desk that is standin’ across one corner of the room there is a big picture. It is evidently the likeness of some baby that Rudy was specially stuck on because there is a little electric light that you switch on just over the picture that illuminates it. I switch this light on an’ I look at the picture.
Boy, here is a dame. She has gotta face that you can’t forget. There is a faraway look in her eyes that makes her look like she was achin’ for some big he-man to give her the big run-around with bells on.
Written at the bottom of the picture I see this:
“To Rudy who gave me such sweet sleep, such sweet dreams.”
Now I ask you? I reckon a dame who would write a thing like that ought to be smacked with a hot fryin’ pan an’ what do you think?
I go on. I take a look at the desk which I have left until the last because it is the most likely place where I will find somethin’. There is a sweet blotter on the top an’ another picture of some frail with frills. I try all the drawers an’ they are all locked.
I get out Rudy’s keys an’ start openin’ up the drawers. There ain’t anythin’ much in ’em. Just a lot of letters which I read an’ which don’t mean anything, an’ a lot of old race track cards an’ programmes an’ things. These drawers look to me to be the most untidy things in this apartment.
I got through the lot an’ there ain’t anything.
Sittin’ at the desk I let me eyes wander around the room. I told you that the room was a swell place with concealed lightin’ on the walls. I notice that there is a concealed light just above the picture of the last dame I looked at an’ I wonder why, havin’ regard to the fact that this light is there, Rudy has had another light fixed over the picture.
