Lepski became all-cop. This art treasure couldn’t come on the open market. It would be bought in secret by some kinky collector. His sharp mind immediately thought of Claude Kendrick. Lepski was sure, but had no proof, that Kendrick dealt in stolen art treasures. This icon was just up Kendrick’s crooked alley.
Jumping to his feet, he snatched up the telephone receiver and dialled police headquarters. He bawled to be put through to Beigler.
The cop, handling the switchboard, recognized Lepski’s voice.
“Joe’s busy,” he said. “We’re right up to our eyes in this crap about the stolen icon. What do you want?”
“If you don’t put me through to Joe right this second, I’ll have your goddamn guts for garters!” Lepski snarled.
“Okay, okay.” There was a long pause, then Beigler came on the line.
“For God’s sake, Tom, you’re on vacation,” he said. “What is it?”
“This icon! Are the cops included in the reward?”
“How would I know? The Big-shot said anyone. Maybe cops aren’t anyone. What’s biting you?”
“That fat fag Kendrick! If anyone’s got that icon, he has!”
“Yeah, yeah. Look, Tom, go enjoy your vacation. The Chief thought of Kendrick as soon as the news broke. We have three of our men, plus the FBI, plus the CIA, plus a search warrant going over Kendrick’s gallery right now. Just relax and enjoy your vacation,” and Beigler hung up.
Lepski released a snort that would have brought a fighting bull to a standstill.
Carroll, dressed, swept in.
“What was that disgusting noise?”
“Nothing... nothing.”
“Now go and pack. I’ll see you around three. ’Bye for now,” and Carroll left.
Lepski spent a miserable morning, cramming his new clothes into his new suitcase, wandering around the bungalow, looking constantly at his watch, then driven by hunger, he drove down to a bar, popular with the cops, where he munched a hamburger and drank a beer.
As he was wondering if he should treat himself to another beer, Max Jacoby came in and climbed on a stool at his side. He ordered a cheeseburger.
“Man! This goddamn icon is as lethal as an atomic bomb!” Jacoby said. “The whole coastline has been sealed off. The heat is really something. The Navy is patrolling. The Army won’t let any motor cruiser or yacht out. Owners are blocking our lines with complaints.”
“How about Kendrick?”
“He’s clean. We really turned his gallery over.”
Lepski shrugged.
“Okay. So it could be anywhere.”
“You can say that again, but with the President this mad, the heat’s fierce.” Jacoby sighed. “Man! Are you lucky to be on vacation.”
“That reward? Suppose you found the icon, think you would collect?”
Jacoby laughed.
“I’m not going to find it, Tom, but even if I did, cops don’t get rewards. You told me that once, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but still...”
Jacoby finished his cheeseburger, patted Lepski’s arm and slid off his stool.
“Back to the grindstone. Have a good vacation.”
Lepski returned home. He kept thinking of the two hundred thousand dollar reward. Some creep would eventually squeal and the icon would be found and the creep would collect.
He was piling up the ash tray with cigarette butts when Carroll arrived home. He scarcely recognized his wife: she looked so glamorous.
“Pheeeew!” His whistle could be heard at the end of the street. “Baby! You look gorgeous!” And he started to his feet.
Seeing the look in his eyes, Carroll hurriedly backed away.
“Don’t you dare come near me! Have you packed?”
Lepski sighed.
“Oh, sure.”
“Then what are you doing wearing that ghastly working suit?” Carroll demanded. “You are not travelling in that abortion, and what are you thinking of, wearing your hat indoors?”
“Look, baby, I’ve packed all the new, goddamn clothes.”
“Then unpack them! You are travelling in the sport’s jacket and the dark blue slacks. You are wearing the pale blue shirt and the wine-coloured tie!”
By 17.00, Carroll was also getting fidgety. She kept looking at herself in the lobby mirror, looking at her watch while Lepski, now attired in his new finery, was walking around the living room, humming under his breath.
“Time’s getting on,” Carroll said. “I hope the taxi won’t be late.”
“Taxis are never late.” Then Lepski gave her a double-take. “Taxi?”
“Are you telling me you haven’t ordered a taxi?” Carroll screamed.
Lepski rushed to the telephone. Joe Dukas, who ran the local taxi service and was a good friend of Lepski, told him there was no problem. A taxi would arrive in good time to get them to the airport at 18.00. Smiling smugly, Lepski hung up.
“You know, baby, there are times when you get nervous,” he said. “The cab’s on its way.”
“I can’t understand why you are such a good cop,” Carroll sighed. “You seem to be a perfect idiot in the smaller things of life.” Then she smiled at him. “But I love you, Tom.”
Lepski pointed like a gun dog.
“The taxi will take half an hour, so suppose...”
“Lepski! You should be ashamed of yourself!”
At 17.15, the taxi arrived and a big, smiling black man came up the path.
“Here we go!” Carroll cried excitedly. “Give him the luggage, Tom.”
Lepski handed over the two blue suitcases which the black carried down the path. Lepski was aware that all their neighbours had come out into their gardens. A little boy had a Japanese flag which he was waving. Lepski always referred to him as Denis the Menace, but right now the kid seemed full of good-will and cheer.
Carrying the vanity box, Carroll moved on to the path, feeling like a movie star in her glamorous outfit. Then she paused.
“Tom! Did you turn off the electricity and the water?”
Lepski closed his eyes and released a soft moan.
“Just going to do it!”
He rushed back into the bungalow, watched by the neighbours.
Carroll waited, her smile fixed, her foot tapping, aware of the hum of voices as the news was passed on, over the garden fences, that Lepski had forgotten to turn off the electricity and the water. The know-alls wagged their heads with disapproval.
Sudden violent expletives came from the bungalow. Carroll, horrified by the language, ran into the bungalow to find Lepski nursing a bleeding hand.
“The goddamn, sonofabitch tap won’t turn!” he bawled. “I’m wounded!”
“The tap is already turned off!” Carroll screamed.
“Okay, so the bastard is off, but I’m bleeding!”
Carroll rushed into the bathroom, found a band-aid and slapped it on Lepski’s scratch.
“We’re going to miss the plane!”
Slamming and locking the front door, they bolted down the path and piled into the taxi.
The neighbours clapped and cheered.
“Get moving!” Lepski bawled. “We’ll miss our flight!”
The black cabby turned in his seat and gave a big friendly smile.
“Take it easy, boss. There’s a three-hour hold-up at the airport. You sure have plenty of time.”
The little boy with the Japanese flag came running up and, pursing his lips, blew them the loudest raspberry Lepski had ever heard.
Ed Haddon sat in one of the air traffic controller’s glass cubicles and looked down at the departure lounge that was crammed with irate passengers.