The Tough Guys Page 10

  When I came back I hurried Terry into a cab and up to the hotel. She cashed $500 in traveler’s checks, gave me the bundle, a smile, and a kiss for good luck.

  “Be careful, Phil. Please.”

  “Don’t worry about me. You’re the one on the spot. I’m an idiot for letting you stand alone, but there isn’t anybody else. If you get in trouble, you call Dan Litvak or the cops. Don’t stop to think it out… just call.”

  “I will. You’ll be back soon?”

  “Two days will do it.”

  She smiled, her mouth softly damp, coming closer to mine. “I’ll miss you,” she said.

  Dan’s call opened the door for me, not too widely, but enough for five minutes of the big man’s time. Cal Porter had turned gray over the years, the leanness of youth lost to the thickening effect of middle age.

  He stood up when I entered and said, “Mr. Rocca?” It was merely a formal question.

  I nodded.

  “Sit down, please.” He turned briefly and smiled at the hawk-faced woman clutching the steno pad. “You needn’t stay, Miss Marie. We’ll finish in the morning.”

  Porter didn’t waste any time. “Dan Litvak said you have something on your mind.”

  “I need some information, Mr. Porter.”

  He reached for a cigarette and lit it without taking his eyes off mine. “Why?”

  “Because it might help me bust a story, that’s why.”

  “This has something to do with you personally.” Again it was a statement.

  “I wouldn’t give a damn, otherwise,” I told him. “I wasn’t exactly rehabilitated in the can, Mr. Porter. I came out with about as much regard for the human race as I have for malaria and, if I had my choice between the two, I’d have taken the disease.”

  Porter let a small, grim smile touch his mouth. “That sounds like a former attitude. What is it now?”

  “I haven’t decided yet. I’m walking the fence.”

  “Any preference which way you want to jump?”

  I shrugged. “I could be influenced.”

  “All right,” he said unexpectedly, “how can I help?”

  Before I could speak he took a deep pull on the butt, poked it out in an ash tray, and leaned back in his chair. “I’ll tell you why I’m interested, Rocca. You may not realize it, but I made my reputation prosecuting your case. Secondly, knowing of your past abilities, I’m quite willing to make use of anything you might have to take another step.”

  “Like over my dead body?”

  “That’s right. If it will take me closer to the tall chair in Albany.”

  “Now you want to be governor,” I said. I could feel my face start to tighten. “You’re awfully friendly, Mr. Porter. I’m a punk, remember? Seven years con time and now a barnacle in tenement row and not a nickel’s worth of whiskey credit.”

  “I’ve kept track.” he told me. “Besides, Litvak is no fool. He thinks you’re up to something. Now what do you want to know?”

  Without sparring around I said, “When Rhino Massley died, what was the condition of the mobs?”

  His expression changed slowly, not so much in his face as in the squint of his eyes and a tightening of his shoulders. He leaned forward on the desk, lacing his fingers together.

  “You can read the papers.”

  “Nuts, buddy. You have more than that. It would have come out except that his kicking off left you holding a half-filled bag.”

  He waited a moment, then: “Very well. The mobs, let’s say, were in good condition. Their activities increased ten times while law enforcement agencies remained at the same level. Crime of every sort has been on the increase about 15 per cent or better each year. When Massley died it was, like now, at a peak. The cost of living index has gone up on all fronts, you see.”

  “Good. Now did Massley’s death put any kind of a dent in mob activities?”

  His fingers were showing white now and there were taut lines around his mouth. For a moment I thought he would hedge, then he looked at me seriously. “At the time nobody was willing to admit that there was such a thing as a Syndicate. The Mafia was active, but under control, and organized gangs seemed to have only local prominence.

  “However, we found out later that in the face of increased activity on the part of such gangs, a close liaison was necessary for obvious business reasons. A large scale pseudo-legitimate setup was necessary to front for criminal deals and an underworld bank sort of thing required to have ready funds for any new enterprise.

  “Massley, we believe, was the banker. When he died there was quite a bit of consternation in various quarters and certain phases of action we had been alerted against failed to come off. The conclusion was that the money wasn’t available for it.”

  “What happened to it?”

  Porter shrugged. “Frankly, we don’t know.”

  “Can you guess?”

  The frown came back again. “I can,” he said. He paused, unlaced his fingers, and folded his arms across his chest. “The ‘bank’ wasn’t really big yet… it was in the trial stage, so to speak. My guess is that whoever took over after Massley had access to the money.”

  I shook my head. “You’re playing games with me now. You want me to try?”

  Porter nodded and sat there waiting. I said, “That was hidden money. Massley alone knew where it was. He didn’t expect to die, so he wasn’t setting himself up as a target for some outside operator to shoot at by making its whereabouts common knowledge or even putting it on paper. Massley was right at his job when he died and that loot is still around.” I grinned at him. “How’s that one?”

  Porter’s face had a courtroom look now. “And you know where it is?”

  “No.”

  “You think you might have a lead?”

  “Maybe. To even bigger things.”

  “Explain.”

  This time I laughed at him. “No, not now, buddy. I have some pretty wild ideas that I’m going to make pay off one way or another. If I’m right and you go along, they can even get you that tall chair in Albany. If I’m wrong nobody gets hurt but me.”

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do, but thanks for talking to me. It was good to see you again after all these years.”

  He scowled but didn’t say anything. I stood up and put on my hat. “There’s one more thing I’d like you to know, Mr. Porter. It doesn’t make any difference any more, but I’d just like to get things straight.”

  “Oh?”

  I grinned at his expression. “The rap you got your reputation on was a bum one, buddy. Massley had me framed like a Van Gogh original and you went the route to make it stick. That’s water over the falls now and I just don’t give a damn about it any more. But it’s just something I’d like you to keep in mind, okay?”

  He knew then. He knew it as well as I knew it, but with him it came too quickly and the thought of it was a little too big to swallow all at once. His face got a pasty white color that was a wordless apology and a soundless attempt at explaining away the naiveté that comes with boundless ambition in public service.

  I grinned again and left his office. Things were looking up again. One of his news items, properly placed in the scheme of things, pointed to an answer. That is, if certain other items fell properly into place.

  I didn’t bother with any baggage. I had been a slob too long to let a change of drawers bother me when I was in a hurry. I grabbed the bus out to Kennedy and picked up a ticket at the desk. I needn’t have hurried because no flight was leaving until 7:50 and that gave me three hours to wait.

  Two newspapers and a magazine later I still had an hour to kill and wandered to the men’s room. That took care of 15 minutes. I unlocked the door to my dime booth, took one step out and thought, in the tiny second I could still think, that my brains went all over the room.

  That took care of another 30 minutes. I was able to convince the two cops that I fell, but the doctor wasn’t buying it. He said nothing, but I knew what he was thinkin
g. The cops were all for throwing me out until I produced my ticket, then they helped me to a bench outside where I could wait until plane time.

  The 30 bucks I had loose in my side pocket were gone. The rest of the bundle was safe way back under my shirt and for once it paid to have a few bindle stiff habits. I cursed silently at the pain in my skull and wondered what kind of an artist was shrewd enough to spot dough riding with a seedy looking character like me.

  When the flight was announced, I got on, took two of the pills the doctor gave me, and didn’t wake up until we hit Phoenix.

  It was hot in Phoenix. I took a taxi to town, had a large bowl of chili at the counter in the bus terminal, then found the address of the Board of Health in the phone directory.

  The girl at the desk was a lovely tanned kid, in an off-the-shoulder Mexican blouse, with a quick smile, who said hello in a breathless way that made me wonder what she was doing working for the city. She took one look at my clothes and said, “Visitor?”

  I said, “I’m trying to find a doctor.”

  “You don’t look sick.” Her mouth hid a smile.

  “What I got a doctor won’t cure, sugar.” She blushed a little and made a face at me. “The doctor I want is a Thomas Hoyt. He was out here several years ago.”

  “Hoyt.” She put a knuckle to her teeth, thought a moment, then said, “I know who you mean. Let me find out.” It didn’t take long. She came back with two cards she had scribbled notations on. She glanced at me, then asked, “Friend?”

  “No.”

  She seemed relieved somehow. “Oh. Well… Dr. Hoyt is dead. He’s been dead quite a few years.”

  “What happened?”

  “I really don’t know, but he died. October second, 1965.”

  The cold feeling hit me again. Inside, everything seems to drop out momentarily and it never does go back into place right. “You’re sure? There wouldn’t be two Dr. Hoyts?”

  She shook her head. “I’m positive.”

  Outside I had the cabby take me down to the newspaper offices and I paid him off there.

  Everybody was friendly in Phoenix. They all smiled and were all glad to help. The young fellow I asked about seeing back issues of the sheet took personal charge and brought back the issue I wanted. I sat down at a table, spread out the paper, and found the story about Dr. Thomas Hoyt on an inside page.

  It was all very simple, very cut and dried. He and a friend by the name of Leo Grant were coming back from a hunting trip in the mountains, tried to take a turn too fast in their jeep, and hurtled off the road. Both were killed and it was several days before the wreck or the bodies were found.

  I just started on the interesting part when the tall fellow in a short-sleeved sport shirt sat down beside me and said, “Howdy.”

  I said hello as politely as I could.

  “My name is Stack. Joe Stack,” he told me. “I handle police stuff.”

  “Really?”

  “Mind telling me what’s so interesting?” he motioned toward the paper with his thumb.

  I got the pitch right away. “Somebody else been reading up?”

  He nodded, his face expressionless.

  There are ways you can play people and ways you can’t and this one I decided to play straight. I said, “I’m Phil Rocca. You might have heard of me. I took a big fall eight years ago and right now I’m trying to catch up.”

  His eyebrows furrowed. “Rocca,” he mused. “Rocca… sure, I remember that trial. I was with a sheet in Boston then. Hell, yes, I remember you. What are you doing here?”

  “It was a bum rap, friend. I’m out to prove it. It might seem silly, but I’d like to get back in the field again and the only way I can do it is to shove that rap where it belongs. That whole deal was wrapped up in Rhino Massley and I’m trying to pick it apart. Rhino’s big club that kept him on top was some damn hot evidence that kept key people in line. When Rhino died he left it somewhere, and that, buddy, I’d like to come up with.”

  I grinned at him and let him have some more. Oh, not too much. If it ever broke it was going to be my story, or at least something I could sell or bargain with. But I leaked enough to make Stack’s eyes go a little bright at the thought of what could come out of the thing.

  When I finished I asked, “Who else was after the paper?”

  “A local boy. He’s new in town and hasn’t got a record, but word came in that he’s a representative for the big ones on either coast. We don’t know what’s in the works, but we know he’s got something going for him. As soon as two people asked for the same issue, Carey over there buzzed me upstairs. Now, what’s the poop?”

  “Hoyt was Rhino Massley’s personal physician.”

  “Yeah, I remember. He has some mob connections back east. He never had an outside practice here at all.”

  Then I pointed to the interesting part. “The friend who was killed in the same wreck is listed as having been a prominent mortician here in town.”

  Stack pulled the paper over to him and scanned the item. “Uh-huh. I knew him slightly. Close-mouthed guy who started up after the war. What about him?”

  “Any way of finding out who did the embalming on Rhino’s body?”

  His eyes pulled tight, then he nodded and got up. He spent a few minutes at the phone down the end then came back and sat down. “It was him. Leo Grant. Rhino’s doctor and mortician were both killed in the same wreck.”

  “Unusual?”

  He shrugged. “Not so. Their fields are related, they worked together with the same patient, they could have been friends.”

  “Any way of finding out?”

  “Possibly. I’ll try. How does it matter?”

  “Let’s say that you come up with the answer, and I’ll tell you how it matters. Fair enough?”

  He flipped a card from his pocket and handed it to me. “You can get me at any of those three numbers. And look, where are you staying?”

  “No place yet, but I’ll find a flop.”

  “Then try the Blue Sky Motel. Harry Coleman is a friend of mine and will treat you right. You on wheels?”

  “No.”

  He picked the card from my hand, scribbled something on it, and handed it back. “Take it to the Mermak garage. They’ll rent you wheels without breaking your back.”

  “Thanks.”

  There was no hitch in getting a car. I picked a two-year-old Ford, paid out three days in advance, got directions from the clerk to the Blue Sky Motel, and drove out to meet Harry Coleman. He was a big, genial guy tanned to his elbows and neck, but otherwise, like most of the natives, a sun-dodger. He put me in a duplex all the way down the row of buildings, brought me a paper, a cold can of beer, and some ice.

  I wondered if I could do it or not. One lousy drink could have set me off anytime a week ago. Somehow now it was different, and sooner or later I was going to have to find out.

  It went down just right. It tasted good and was just enough. I looked at myself in the mirror and winked. Then I flopped down on the bed and let the sleep ooze over me.

  When I woke up I called the desk and found out that it was 7:30 and that I had wasted the whole afternoon.

  Before I left I got the operator and gave her Terry’s hotel in New York. We got right through and she answered on the second ring with a querulous “Yes?”

  “Phil, honey.”

  “Oh, Phil!” She caressed my name the way no one else ever had. “Are you in Phoenix?”

  “Here and working, kitten.”

  “What did you find out?” She said it almost breathlessly and waited for my answer.

  “Nothing I can put in logical sequence yet. I’ve got some ideas but they’ll have to keep.”

  “Phil”… and now she sounded worried, “you will be careful, won’t you?”

  “Don’t worry about me, kid. Now, how did you make out? Anything on Harris?”

  “Well, I went to several places and in three of them she was recognized at once. She had had a stage career right after high
school, went through nurse’s training and, instead of going into a hospital, went back to the stage. She had numerous small Broadway parts, several minor Hollywood things, and some TV work. Between engagements she served as a nurse in several hospitals but would give up nursing immediately for a stage part.”

  “Did anyone know where she could be found?”

  “No, the last address they had on her was Phoenix. In fact, one agency wanted her very badly for a part. I even tried the unions and a press agent from Hollywood who was here in town, but she’s dropped completely out of sight.”

  I let it run through my mind for a minute, then said, “Okay, kid, you did fine. Now stay put until I get back and keep checking on that contact at the Sherman.”

  “How long will you be there, Phil?”

  “Another day at least. Can you hang on?”

  “As long as I know I have you.”

  I grinned at the phone and threw her a kiss. “You have me, baby. I just hope you know what you’re doing.”

  She said so-long with a kiss of her own and hung up.

  I had a fine Mexican supper at the Sign of the Gaudy Parrot and found out what I needed to know by asking just one question… where Rhino Massley’s old place was. In a small way he was a local legend for having left his place to a polio research foundation.

  His old ranch was in the long shadows of the mountains, a compact group of buildings built to give a western touch to modern design. At the main building I blew my horn until lights came on from inside, then went up on the porch and waited. The man who opened the door was bald and in his 70s and not at all friendly like the bunch back in town. He looked me up and down and in no uncertain voice said, “What the hell you want?”

  I let a laugh rumble around in my throat, then pushed the door open and squeezed inside, “Hello, Buster,” I said.

  The gun he was trying to clear from the back of his pants came loose and dangled from his hand. The skin on his face pulled tight until wrinkles showed in his scalp. “How come you make me?”