“This guy who pulled the hijack was waiting when the driver holding the loot came out of his motel, stuck a gun in his ribs, made him drive to a spot where he had a car parked, belted him cold, took the money and ducked out”
“Recognized?”
“No, he was masked, but when he pulled the gun out a five-dollar bill and a piece of paper came out of his pocket with it. There was a phone number on the paper listed to a candy store run by Sigmund Jones in your neighborhood.”
“I know the one. René Mills kept a pair of whores upstairs over it.”
“Making sense?” Mack asked me.
“It’s there, all right. Does Gus Wilder tie into it at all?”
“When you check the dates it does. Wilder jumped his bond two weeks before the Montreal robbery. He might have known what was cooking inside the mob and was on the spot when it happened to pick up some hideout money. Wilder was damn hot. He knew the mob wasn’t going to let him stay alive if there was any indication that he’d talk about their activities. At the same time he didn’t want to take a big fall. If he didn’t talk, the upstate department was going after him on other charges, so the only choice he had was to jump bail.”
“So the mob detailed their boys to look him up,” I stated.
“That’s the picture we’re getting here. All he got is his brother to turn to.”
I said, “He called Henry asking for five hundred bucks.”
“Could be reasonable, Joe. He wouldn’t want to throw hot money around just yet. That, or he asked for the money before the hijack. Check out the dates on your end, will you?”
“Tonight I’ll call you back after I see Henry Wilder.”
“Right. See you later.”
I hung up, closed the call box and went back to McNeil and Marta. The wind had come up a little stronger and I felt the touch of a raindrop against my face. McNeil said, “Anything I can do, sir?”
“Just keep your eyes open. I got that funny feeling that something’s going to break.”
“Sure will.” He started to walk away, stopped and turned back. “Incidentally, Benny Loefert and Will Fater had a long talk with Al Reese tonight”
“Where?”
“In the back room at Bunny’s place.”
“Who passed on the word?”
“A little guy named Harry Wope.”
“I know him.”
“He thought you might like to know.”
“Tell him thanks.”
McNeil saluted again and went back to his beat.
Henry Wilder didn’t appreciate the interruption. Since I saw him last he seemed to have curled up inside himself and reluctance was in every word he spoke. Gus hadn’t contacted him again and as far as he was concerned he hoped he never heard from him. When I got around to asking when he had the last call he thought about it a minute, then placed the day. I ran it through my mind and let it fit the pattern. Gus’ call had come after he jumped his bond and before the Montreal job, so Mack Brissom could have hit it right. Gus had no place to go and headed back to the only place he knew where he thought he’d have a reasonable place of security, buried in the anonymity of a decrepit section of the city.
So what happened? I thought. If Gus had lived here he’d know his way around and the people who lived here. It was doubtful that he’d trust anybody, even his stepbrother, so before he moved in on him he’d hole up somewhere else long enough to feel Henry out. Trouble was then, René Mills saw him and knew about him skipping his bond and made a deal with him. If Gus was packing the Montreal money, René would have wanted it for himself and set up the scene to grab it. He would have had Gus move in with him where he could be on top of everything and his greed bought his own death.
It fitted, all right, even to Doug Kitchen. Doug was a gregarious kind of guy who knew everybody and was always there with a ready hello and handshake. Gus was gone from the neighborhood long enough to warrant a greeting upon his return, and Doug died because he recognized him. From little acorns do big oaks grow. A corny cliché, but true.
We told Henry Wilder good night and went downstairs to the street again. The sidewalks were just starting to take on a sheen from the light rain that had started to fall. While we walked I gave it to Marta in detail and let her process it mentally the way I did and her conclusion agreed with mine.
“I think you have it, Joe.”
I shook my head and turned my collar up against the wind. “I don’t know,” I said. “Something’s loose in the picture. I want everything to fit tight”
“Does it always?”
I grinned and looked at her. “Most of the time.”
We got to Papa Jones’ candy store as he was closing. Most of the lights were out and he was stuffing his daily receipts into his pocket when we walked in. He gave Marta a smile, but when he saw me his face went suddenly tight and his shoulders jumped under his too-loose suitcoat. He was remembering me from a long time ago and the time when he broke my nose with the awning rod and I promised to come back and tear him up but never got farther than breaking his front window with a rock.
“Ease off, Papa.” I said. “The past is past. It’s different now.” To prove it I let him see my badge in the wallet and his face went sideways in a curious change of expression. He finally swallowed hard and croaked, “Joe?”
“Nobody else.”
“A... cop?”
“Haven’t you heard? I’ve been around a few days.”
“I... been out,” he said. “Ronnie’s been taking care... of things.”
Marta turned around and explained, “Ronnie’s his nephew.”
Papa Jones glanced at both of us nervously, his fingers fumbling with the buttons of his coat. Cops always make them nervous. “So... what do you want with me? I’m closing up.”
“Remember Gus Wilder, Papa?”
His false teeth clicked and he nodded. “Sure, I remember him.”
“See him lately?”
“He left here a long time ago. He...”
“I didn’t ask that”
Papa Jones took on new confidence then. “I ain’t seen him since.”
“Know him pretty well, Papa?”
He tried to get my angle, but couldn’t figure it and said, “So enough. He used the phone here all the time. Bought cigarettes and things like that.”
“Phone number been changed lately?”
He scowled and shook his head. “Same since you kids used it. The phone got changed, but not the number, why?”
“No reason.”
“So what’s the phone? Everybody uses it. That René Mills, Stuccio... hell, the whole neighborhood uses it. Who got their own phones around here?” he demanded defensively.
“Sure, Papa. Well look, if you see this Wilder, you call us, hear?”
“Yeah,” he said, but didn’t mean it. “Why don’t you ask his brother where he is?”
“That’ll be taken care of. Just do like I said or I’ll keep that old promise. You remember it?”
He did, all right. “Damn bunch of bums, you kids were,” he muttered. Then his face got a little pale and he watched me closely.
I grinned and took Marta’s hand. “Come on, kid.”
Papa Jones slammed and locked the door the minute we were out and yanked the shade down fast. Marta said, “You make quite an impression.”
“I always did with him.”
“What did you make out of it, Joe?”
“It’s tightening up. Like he said, everybody uses the phone. Gus Wilder could have done just that and been spotted by René. He would have waited until Gus came out so Papa Jones wouldn’t see them together and tapped him then. It even explains why Gus had the phone number in his pocket... a secondary number he knew in the neighborhood if he wanted to make a contact in case his brother’s phone was tapped.”
The sky rumbled again and the lightning flashes moved closer. The main force of the rain was starting to sweep in on the city, driving the inhabitants indoors to their sanctuaries. We hugged the sides of the buildings to get out of the bite of the storm, heading across to Bunny’s place. The street was empty, traffic light, just an occasional cab going by, a couple of trucks, a few private cars looking for a way out of the place.