“That's right. I'm running her hips out of here,” Franzino said.
“Why?” Danny almost shouted. “She ain't hurting nobody.”
“Because she's a whore and whoring is against the law. Maybe it shouldn't be, but I don't make the laws—just enforce as many as I can. And I intend to run every whore I know of out of my district.”
“Wasn't you getting your lousy two-bit cut? I got a good mind to wring your goddamn neck,” Danny said, flexing his powerful arms. “And I can do it, too.”
Franzino leaned back in his chair, said coldly, “No you can't, because I have a badge that gives me the legal right to use a gun or blackjack. You create a disturbance here and I won't hesitate a second to split your hard head open, or shoot you. Do I make myself clear?”
Danny muttered, “Man gets little enough enjoyment out of life without some snooper...”
“Stop slobbering all over my office,” Franzino said, as if enjoying his own toughness. “If she gave you a dose you'd be the first one trying to kill her. As it is, she may be the cause of two murders.”
“Louise is a clean woman, a law-abiding good woman!” Danny snapped.
“You law-abiding citizens give me a pain in the ass,” Franzino told him. “You're always trying to see how many little laws you can break. Like smoking in the subways or littering the streets. When we come to you for help, you act like we were the crooks. Two of your fellow citizens have been murdered, and when we ask your help, you start sniveling about a whore. You and that other noble citizen, Irving Spear, make me want to puke. Crime isn't only our task—it's everybody's job. You don't want to help us, then stop wasting my time. Get the hell out of here!”
Before I could put in a word, Danny said, “You hide a big mouth behind that badge. Who doesn't want to help? What you talking about?”
“I haven't had time to tell Mr. Macci about our plan,” I said.
“You—you got time to listen to this slop about a hustler, and guzzle beer. Smell like a gutter, Harris.”
“Mr. Macci had to be convinced about certain things before he would discuss anything else. As it happens I haven't been drinking beer—I've been bathing in it.”
“What's all this jabber-jabber about?” Danny asked. “If you and this snotty-voiced cop want something of me, ask for it like men.”
So like men we told him what we wanted. Did he still feel positive he could recognize Brown's voice? Was he willing to take the chance, and the rest of it? He listened, his rough face even listening. Then he turned to me, “This the ten-bucks-a-day deal?”
“What ten bucks a day?” Franzino asked.
“Why... eh... I offered to pay Mr. Macci for his services. Come off my expense account,” I began. “Thought it would be best that way.”
Danny drew up his massive body as straight as he could, said with real dignity, “Frankie was a friend of mine. So is Irv. You don't have to pay me to protect a friend or find his murderer. Hell, ain't as if I'm losing time from a job, or something.”
“Fine,” Franzino said, his voice suddenly soft and polite. “I'll have Spear brought in and we'll get started. Lot of wheels to get in motion; maybe be able to plant the stories in the evening papers. Danny, you have to keep quiet about this. One leak and we could have a couple more stiffs on our hands—including you.”
“You can't even tell Jimmy,” I added.
“How will I explain to him about the job—my being away from the bar for a day or two?”
“The job fell through, and you got a sudden pain in your stomach, have to go to a hospital for observation,” Franzino said. “Something like that. Only don't make it too complicated. Barney will think up something bright—he always does.”
We were to report back later in the afternoon for further details, and as I drove Danny to a cafeteria for lunch, the old man said, “That cop sure had me scared for a time. I stole a traffic stanchion about a week ago—you know, one of them big ones with a concrete base—and I was sure he was wise to me.”
“What did you steal that for?”
“To work out with—can't afford no bar bells,” Danny said, as though I'd asked a stupid question.
They rigged out an elaborate setup to protect Irv—even he was satisfied. On the theory that the killers didn't know the cab company he worked for, the cops and the Feds took over a small garage on One Hundred and Fifty-fourth Street, overlooking the Harlem River, and across the street from a post office—-which gave them a legitimate place to hang out, watch the garage. There were a couple of independent cabbies operating from the garage, but they were out all day and most of the night. Instead of having me ride around with Irv, I was to be the mechanic inside the garage, while Danny and an assortment of dicks would be Irv's passengers.
It was a dingy little garage, with a ramp leading down from the sidewalk, and an overhead door with a smaller door cut into it. During the baseball season they made some dough parking cars, and I figured the garage held about thirty-five autos when packed to capacity. Irv was given an old cab, but it had a small sending set under the dashboard which was in contact with police cars, and supposedly would pick up even a pin-dropping sound. I had a tow jeep and I was to drive Irv home at six, with Danny beside me. A couple of young cops were assigned to his classes in college, and two more were stationed around the clock in his mother's apartment where he lived. Three buttons had been installed in the garage—one push— and they'd bring the boys across the street on the run. They gave me a .38 police special to wear under my coveralls, but I wasn't sure I knew what to do with it.
The stories broke in the evening papers—broke in big headlines. A Tommy Wills had admitted shooting both Andersun and Turner, said he'd been drunk at the time and sore at Turner for roughing him up on a previous drunk-disorderly-conduct arrest. They had a picture of a ragged-looking guy, shielding his face from the cameras, and a lot of blah about the police commissioner being “highly gratified” at the excellent and relentless work of the Homicide Squad. At the end of the piece, there was a statement from the pudding company that they had given Franklin's one thousand dollars to his sister, who was going to use the money for a honeymoon trip to Europe with her fiance, Irving Spear. There was a picture of Irv and Juanita kissing. It made good reading—two killings solved, and a honeymoon coming like a happy ending.
I immediately phoned Betsy and warned her that if any reporters called her, to say she was glad the case was finally solved and nothing more.
I still felt uneasy about things and when I called for Ruthie, she jumped up on my lap and gave me a great big hug and one of her little hands hit the bump nestled in my hair, and I screamed and saw stars—technicolor ones. Ruthie asked a million questions and insisted upon kissing it—which hurt like hell.
Then when I talked to May Weiss about picking Ruthie up at school for the next day or so, staying with her at night... May said she was behind in her homework and her folks gave me a speech about not sacrificing their daughter's future for a few bucks. I didn't get the connection, but the answer was a large no. Of course Ruthie immediately suggested Betsy and there wasn't anything else left to do but phone her. She not only agreed but said it would be easier if Ruthie lived at her house. For a while. I didn't bother to ask Ruthie if she was in favor of the idea.
Jake called as soon as I hung up, said he'd read in the papers about the case being solved and was glad, although it didn't seem as if his tip had helped much. He sounded disappointed.