Then Nolan heard tires squealing away from a curb down the street from behind him.
In the alley he found a back door, still open, where the killer had hot-footed it from the drug store to a car parked along the side street. Nolan could see it in the distance, blocks down. It was a dark blue Cadillac having no trouble at all disappearing.
He stood there for a while thinking, cold as hell and just as he was wishing he’d brought his cigarettes along, a blue-and-white squad car sidled up next to him. “Chelsey Police” was written on the door in small print, as if they were ashamed of it.
A man in a nicely-pressed light brown business suit stepped out of the squad car, flanked by two uniformed officers. The plainclothes cop had a tanned, weathered face, a shrewd, tough cop’s face, and that was one of the worst kinds. The cop being a plainclothes meant he was probably one of the smartest, most experienced officers of the Chelsey force. Which didn’t necessarily mean much. Nolan figured being a top cop on Chelsey’s force was an honor akin to being the harem’s head eunuch.
The cop motioned the uniformed pair up the ’scape and into George’s apartment, everyone obviously knowing just what to expect. A few minutes after they went in, one of them, a scrubbed-faced type, looked down at the cop who was standing below with Nolan and said, “Yup.”
The cop smiled. “What’s that you got in your hand?”
“It’s a gun.”
“You got that filed with the city?”
“I got,” Nolan said, stuffing the .38 in his waist band, “a closed mouth till I see a lawyer.”
“I’d tell you to keep your shirt on, pal, if you were wearing one.” The cop’s tough face broke into a wide grin. “I sure hope you haven’t fired that thing lately.”
Nolan didn’t say anything. Why didn’t the cop take the gun from him?
The cop kicked at the loose gravel in the alley, like a kid kicking pebbles into a stream. “You might be interested to know that within the past hour, hour and a half or so, the fair city of Chelsey has been seriously blemished. Blemished by three, count them, three... murders. Murders committed, strangely enough, with a .38.”
“Who’s dead?”
“So you decided to open your mouth? I don’t see any lawyers around.”
“Who?”
“You’re a regular owl, aren’t you? Okay mister, I’ll tell you. The Police Chief, one Philip Saunders, found dead on the floor of his apartment, a bullet in the head. An alleged musician at the Third Eye, one Broome, no other name known, found dead on the floor of his dressing room, a bullet in the head. And I assume we have a similar problem with George Franco, up there. You might say fat George has a weight problem — a dead weight problem.”
“You might say that,” Nolan said, “if you were a fucking comedian.”
“You’re getting nasty, mister, you aren’t in any position to get...”
“I got an alibi.”
“Swell,” he said.
“An on-the-level alibi. She’s got a name and everything.”
The cop’s mouth twisted. “You really do have an alibi, don’t you?”
“That’s right.”
He scratched his head, shrugged. “Well, then... you’re free to go. Nice talking to you... mister, uh, Nolan, isn’t it?”
Nolan froze.
“It’s Webb,” he said. “Name’s Earl Webb. From Philadelphia.”
“Tell me all about it.”
“You going to charge me with something?”
The cop scratched his head again. He did that a lot. “I would, but I can’t make up my mind between breaking-and-entering, carrying a handgun without a permit, and, well, murder. You got a three-sided coin on you?”
“Take me in or don’t take me in.”
“What if I said I got a deal to make with you, mister... ah... Webb. And that if you keep your side of the bargain, I’ll let you walk. Without so much as a citation for loitering. Interested?”
“Maybe.”
“You got somewhere private we could go?”
“Maybe.”
The cop was through talking. Now he was waiting.
“Okay,” Nolan said. “Let’s go.”
2
The cop’s name was Mitchell. Nolan introduced him to the now fully awake, fully clothed Vicki Trask, who looked much fresher than four-o’clock in the morning. She was wearing a blue and red candy-striped top and a white mini skirt.
“I’m sorry to barge in on you so late, Miss Trask.” Mitchell tried to look embarrassed and was fairly successful.
“That’s all right, Mr. Mitchell. Would you two like anything to drink?”
“Something soft would be fine,” Mitchell told her, “if it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“Cokes, Vicki,” Nolan said.
The girl walked to the bar and iced two glasses. Mitchell and Nolan sat, the cop wondering with his eyes if they should begin speaking and Nolan shaking his head no. When Vicki brought them the Cokes, Nolan told her quietly to wait for him in the bedroom and she followed his command, scaling the spiral staircase wordlessly and disappearing into the balcony above.
Mitchell said, “I’ll put it to you straight, Nolan. You are wanted for questioning in half a dozen states... Illinois one of them. Matter of fact, it’s kind of a coincidence, because just this afternoon I was glancing at a bulletin on you...”
“Can it.”
“What did you say?”
“I said can it. I’m not wanted for a goddamn thing.”
The cop bristled. “Who the hell do you think you...”
“Okay, Mitchell. You want to haul me in?”
“I...”
“You don’t have a thing on me.”
“I have half a dozen circulars...”
“Bullshit.”
“Now wait just a damn...”
“Bullshit! How’d you know who I was?”
Mitchell swallowed thickly. “Anonymous tip late this afternoon. We were told you were in town. Of course we recognized the name...”
“Oh? What’s my real name?”
“Your real name?”
“My real name. You don’t know it. How about military service? Got anything on my distinguished service medal?”
“Of course I know about your medal, what do you take me for?”
“I take you for a piss-poor bluffer,” Nolan said. “When I was in the service, I got a little mad and beat the hell out of a military cop. Got a bad conduct discharge. That was under my real name, which nobody I can think of knows outside of me. And even I forget it sometimes.”
“You’re a real smart fella, Nolan.”
“You aren’t. What do you want?”
Mitchell’s jaw was tight, his teeth clenched. “I could run your ass out of this town so quick, your head’d spin...”
“Then do it.”
“What?”
“Do it. Run my ass out. Make my head spin. Put any more pressure on and I’ll leave on my own.” Nolan leaned forward and gave the cop a flat grin. “But I don’t think you want me to leave.”
Mitchell’s face split into a wide smile and he helped himself to one of Nolan’s cigarettes in the pack lying on the table. “Okay, Nolan. I guess I’m too used to dealing with punk kids who scare easy. You see through me like a window. You’re right. I don’t want you to leave.”
“What do you want from me, Mitchell?”
“Your help, in a way. Look, I got no bulletins on you, but I sure as hell know about you. A lot of cops across the country’ve heard the scuttlebutt about you and your one- man vendetta against the Chicago outfit.”
“It’s no vendetta.”
“I heard...”
“You heard wrong. I steal from them. That’s it. I get a kick out of upsetting their applecarts. For money. And I’m staying alive when they send people to kill me.”