The Last Stand Read online

  “You’re already involved, Moore. I tailed you to Morgan’s tonight. Don’t bother denying it.”

  His eyes flared behind the glasses. “Are you insane, man? If you want to get yourself killed, that’s your affair. Leave me out of it.”

  “The D.A. and that lawyer, Bacon, were friendly associates of Mayes Rogers. But what about a guy they call Shark?”

  He was trembling now. I had him.

  I said, “You’re a friendly associate of Shark’s, too, aren’t you, Moore? You checked in with him tonight. Why?”

  He said nervously, “I’m not in that thing. I just…somebody told him you’d been to see me yesterday, and he called and ordered me in. To explain. I said I hadn’t told you anything.”

  That was true enough.

  “Tell me now,” I said.

  He nodded and wiped the sweat from his brow. “It’s money from Chicago. They’re buying the town and Shark is their man, and D.A. Graham is his man. Those that play ball will profit handsomely, everyone else is out. I’m handy to them because I have a spotless record. I can juggle books and make one person look crooked when he isn’t, and another look honest when he’s not.”

  “So eventually everyone in local government of any standing is in the Syndicate’s pocket.”

  He nodded.

  “What was your reward to be?”

  “A special election. I’m to take Mayes’ place.”

  Like he’d always wanted. Poor little fool had visions of grandeur.

  “And of course,” I said, “you’ve kept this from your brother, who thinks you’re a great guy who got screwed over.”

  He nodded again, looking like he might bust out crying.

  Moore had told me all he knew. I didn’t care about any other names—with Bacon gone, I was only interested in those other two bastards, Shark and the D.A.

  I got up and was heading out, but Moore had something else to say.

  “Mr. Dexter…Captain…believe me, I didn’t know these efforts would include murder. Dirty politics is one thing, but wholesale homicide is nothing I bargained for, even with somebody like Mayes Rogers.”

  “I believe you.”

  He swallowed, his eyes swimming with tears. “I might as well tell you this also,” he began. “These people have done something I want no part of. Shark has brought in a man to do his dirty work—a professional killer. He’s supposed to be very good at what he does.”

  “I appreciate you sharing that.”

  He nodded. “Think what you will of me, but I don’t believe in murder.”

  “Well, you’re in bed with people who don’t just believe in it—they revel in it. So take my advice and pack a bag. Get out of Gantsville.”

  But I doubted he would—even if he could. These slobs had made a little man feel big, and now he’d traded his integrity for the privilege, never realizing the price tag might be death.

  * * *

  I left the pad upstairs to go back down to my apartment to raid the fridge. I had hauled the six-pack of Pabst out when the knock came to the door.

  With my hand on the .38 on my hip, I cracked the door and peeped out at the two men. Two uniformed cops. I knew them both well.

  “Rod,” one said as nicely as he could. “We hate to do this, but we have orders to bring you in.”

  “What for?”

  “Suspicion of murder.”

  “What the hell you talking about?”

  “George Moore,” he said.

  That hadn’t taken long.

  “Give me a minute,” I said, and shut the door on them. I removed the holstered .38 and put it in drawer of the stand by the door. Maybe carrying a gun without a license was small stuff compared to murder, but why court trouble? I got a sports jacket out of the closet and a tie. Made myself presentable.

  When we got to the station, I was taken to an empty office that smelled of sweat and fresh paint. I recognized the office because it used to be mine.

  A guy who was clearly a plainclothes cop walked into the room, a stone-faced character built like a construction worker and about as humorous as a preacher at a funeral. I’d never seen him before.

  “I’m Captain Culp,” he said.

  “I guess you know who I am. They tell me George Moore was murdered and I’m a suspect.”

  “That’s right, Mr. Dexter.” He rested half of his ass on the edge of my former desk. “Witnesses saw you leave the Moore house shortly before he was reported dead.”

  Shark must’ve known I was there last night. He’d had Moore killed to throw the blame on me. I was really getting to them.

  I asked, “Who reported the death?”

  “I’ll ask the questions.”

  “I’ve got more right to ask a sensible question than you have pinning a false charge on me. Your so-called witness wouldn’t be an anonymous phone tip by any chance?”

  He was getting steamed. I knew his game, probably better than he did.

  He asked, “Why were you at Moore’s house last night?”

  “Who says I was? Neighbors? If so, give me a lineup and have them pick me out. Come on, Culp. You have to be a better cop than that. I’d hate to think they gave my office to a moron.”

  His eyes tightened and he reddened a little. “You are inches away from a jail cell, my friend.”

  “I’m not falling for your crap because you haven’t got any evidence. Book me or spring me. Because if you throw me in the can, I know a lawyer who will tear you to shreds.” This poor excuse for a cop suddenly had the damnedest look on his face. He’d received his instructions from somewhere and now didn’t know what to do with or about me. At least he had enough sense not to get rough.

  “Okay,” he growled. “But don’t think you’re getting away with anything. I’ll drag you back in here as soon as I’ve got enough to put you in a cell.”

  “Captain Culp?”

  “Yes, Mr. Dexter.”

  And I made a suggestion that was physically impossible, but his reaction was fun to watch. I left the station, refusing a lift back, and walked to a cab stand.

  Hate was boiling up inside me, but satisfaction was, too—they were getting very damn nervous. The people in this city who were inviting the Syndicate in were getting scared. Who could say what I’d expose? Or who I might kill next? Nobody had the balls to act, afraid of their masters and afraid of me, afraid they’d get the same thing Rogers got, or Bacon. They might think they were little gods now, running this town or soon to. But they were just humans. And humans die.

  In my borrowed apartment, I slept till noon again, decided to get up, and went back to my own pad and downed breakfast. I was about to shave when the phone rang. It was Ginger.

  “Business this time, darling,” she said. “Doris came across some papers that belonged to Mayes. Interested?”

  “Sounds worth the trip. Any excuse to see you.”

  But I only saw her briefly. Marsh, the butler, let me in. Ginger was sitting in the living room with her sister, who handed over a packet of papers and then gave me a nod of dismissal. Ginger and I traded private smiles, and I headed back.

  It was night now and I was stretched out on my bed, going through the papers Doris provided. They were mostly the type of letters politicos usually receive, kiss-up stuff and mealy-mouthed requests for funding. There was one real interesting missive, though—from Jean Banner’s father.

  Evidently her daddy and Rogers were close friends. The letter was a sort of contract, headed “Memo of Agreement.” It said if anything happened to Jean’s father, Mayes Rogers would see after the daughter. He did see after her, all right—to diddle and drop her.

  The letters and papers were otherwise of little value. I tossed them aside and swore aloud, only to be interrupted by the ringing of the phone.

  The voice on the other end said, “It’s Fred.”

  “You still loafing, flirting with nurses?”

  “Naw, they sprung me. Thought I’d give you a ring. Got the word about your visit to the stat
ion, and heard something you’re gonna be interested in—a guy named Luke Mason confessed to Moore’s murder.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Just a young punk. Came in and copped to it. Claimed it was self-defense.”

  “Who’d have to defend himself from that mousy guy!”

  “Kid said Moore invited him over and made a sex play. When the kid said no dice, Moore pulled a gun on him and they struggled and…you know the rest.”

  “What a load of horseshit.”

  I heard him laugh. “Yeah, Rod, but it puts you in the clear. I think your buddy Shark sent him. And he sent a top criminal lawyer to represent this nearly indigent kid, who will no doubt walk. Fix seems in. Anyway, Shark must’ve realized they couldn’t pin it on you, so now the heat’s off.”

  “Beautiful.”

  “Yeah, and something else. Culp said you really were at Moore’s house. That right?”

  “Yeah, but I didn’t tell him that.”

  “And you, uh…you really are innocent?”

  “Of that one I am.”

  His voice lowered to a whisper. “You get the package I sent you?”

  “With that little reminder of old times? Yeah.”

  “Well, this isn’t old times. You aren’t a cop anymore, remember. Watch your tail.”

  Calling from the PD as he was, Fred said he better cut it short, but just before he hung up, he asked, “Say, Bob Bacon’s reported missing. Seen him around?”

  “Not today,” I said.

  CHAPTER 5

  I gave the chimes on the door a quick ring and stepped back. For a change, I didn’t have to wait long. A tall, sharply dressed man opened the door—not a butler, a business associate, maybe a male secretary. He was in his thirties and his expression was pleasant.

  I asked, “John Graves available?”

  He cleared his throat at my bluntness. “Is Mr. Graves expecting you?”

  I shook my head. “Just tell him Rod Dexter.”

  He studied me momentarily, as if the name maybe meant something, then nodded and disappeared, still leaving me at the ajar door. So I walked in and found a button-tufted black leather chair in a book-lined study off the cavernous entryway. This place made the Rogers house look like a dump.

  He didn’t take long. I was sprawled out studying the latest Life magazine when he came confidently in, his hair still blond, the smile still the same…and it was as though no time had passed between us at all.

  “Johnny boy,” I said, rising to shake his hand. Our grip was firm, our expressions warm.

  “What brings you around, Rod?” His voice was soft and pleasant—he really sounded glad to see me.

  “I’ve put off this visit too long, buddy. Glad to see you finally made the big time.”

  We both sat, John choosing a nearby matching black leather couch and not putting the desk between us. But the smile had left John’s face.

  “I’m glad to see you after these years, too, Rod. But don’t pretend you made the trip just to congratulate me on my new position.” He paused, then added, “Not that I wouldn’t relish that.”

  “You’re right. Maybe you heard. Things have been going rough lately.”

  “I read the papers. I know what that PD job meant to you. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” I put in. “It’s not looking like a town I much want to work in anymore. I got bounced while working on the Rogers case. I started poking around and pretty soon I had hold of a toe belonging to pretty damn ugly beast.”

  He sat back, appearing interested. If he knew what I was talking about, he didn’t show it.

  I went on. “The Syndicate is moving into this state, Johnny. Gantsville is just the start. Anybody who doesn’t join the team gets knocked off—that’s what happened to Rogers. I wanted to warn you—a guy in your position could face the same thing.”

  “You know this to be true?”

  I nodded. “I got it from insiders, one of whom was murdered last night. A state rep like you, they’re bound to come after. And you know better than to run for help, because you just might find they are the help.”

  “Then where would you suggest I turn?”

  “You need protection.”

  “I have staff.”

  “Not with my skills. Look, Johnny, maybe you don’t think you need help, but I need it—by way of a paying job. Hire me on as your bodyguard. That’ll get me a gun and a license.”

  He said nothing, just mulling it. Then he said, “The Syndicate in Gantsville? And in a rural state like ours? That’s big city stuff, Rod.”

  “They pick a starting place. A mid-size town like Gantsville makes a good one.”

  I filled him in about Shark. He listened intently, then said, “Wouldn’t the best way to protect my future be to straighten out Gantsville today?”

  “My thinking exactly. When do I start work?”

  He laughed, stood up, and said, “Okay. I’ll make you legal. But I can’t make you smart.”

  “Understood,” I said, and we shook hands again.

  I left John’s house and gunned my Ford toward home and thought about the old John Graves.

  We’d been raised in the same small town, gone to the same schools, shared each other’s troubles and laughter. Though great friends, we’d also been rivals, each trying to outdo the other. Johnny was drawn to the world of politics, but I wanted to make a difference in the real world. Or maybe I just wanted to carry a gun.

  Maybe you’ve guessed that what came between us was a girl—a beautiful one, probably the most beautiful I’ve ever seen. Jill Raymond. But she belonged to John. I was his best man and assigned to escort her to the city where the wedding was to be held.

  We had stopped on the way for a couple of drinks. Jill seemed to want one last taste of freedom. We drank too much. We got in the car and she climbed all over me, whispering things in my ear. I kept telling myself it was the booze making her say those things, but somehow I knew it wasn’t. As the lovely girl flung herself at me, part of me responded while another part told me I could never tell John. He would have to find out about her the hard way.

  Maybe it was a blessing that he never did.

  All I remember is that it was raining, and even after I started driving again, Jill was all over me, nuzzling at my neck, hands fumbling at my lap. The drink must’ve dulled me because all I could see were two big headlights and then came the impact. My last conscious thought, seeing the twisted scarlet shapeless lifeless thing next to me, was that Jill Raymond wasn’t beautiful anymore.

  Took three weeks for me to come around, and then another six to recover. John never blamed me, but our friendship ended there.

  We didn’t see each other again until three years ago.

  I had just made captain when a derelict was brought in for murder. He was babbling about not even knowing the victim, but the odds were stacked against him.

  Nobody recognized him. They saw a bum calling himself John Smith. But I saw John Graves, a once-distinguished man in politics. When he saw me, his eyes filled with tears and also with hate and bitterness. Still, putting my new promotion on the line, I made every effort to clear him, and succeeded.

  I didn’t see him for another year. When he came around to seek me out, he was a different man, a man back on his way to the top, the hate and bitterness gone. We didn’t have any long conversation—he just shook my hand and spoke two words: “Thanks, buddy.”

  But he did say something else before we again parted company. “I was in the worst kind of hell and you pulled me out, Rod. If you ever find yourself burning, call me.”

  That was the marker I’d called in today.

  * * *

  After I got back, I put in a call to Fred at the PD and asked if he could meet me at our regular spot. He said he could but didn’t sound thrilled about it.

  I’d just dropped a dime in a jukebox when he walked in. He took a chair at a table in back and waited expressionlessly till I joined him.

  “Hope it’s impo
rtant,” Fred said. His face wasn’t swollen or bandaged anymore, but it had a patchy look. “My new captain might get suspicious.”

  We both ordered coffees and when they came, I asked, “What’s happening on your end?”

  “If you mean the Rogers case, what do you think? Big fat nothing. I haven’t been pulled off, but my desk has plenty of other stuff piled on to keep me occupied.”

  “I’m surprised a patsy hasn’t walked in and confessed like the kid that copped to the Moore kill.”

  He smirked. “Everybody from the D.A. on down is satisfied with that one.”

  “It stinks. Self-defense my ass.”

  He grunted a laugh. “It would’ve been your ass if they thought they could risk arresting you and keeping a lid on what you know.”

  “They’ve got other ways to try to shut me up.” I dropped the small talk and got to the point. “John Graves hired me today—as his bodyguard.”

  He took a long swallow of black coffee and muttered, “What’s that going to prove?”

  “It proves an ex-cop has to make a living like anybody else.”

  “So, what? You’re moving to the state capitol?”

  “Not just yet. I’m looking after Johnny’s interests in this part of the state for the time being. In the meantime, he made some calls, and I have a P.I. ticket and a license for that thirty-eight caliber gift you sent me.”

  Fred tried to look stern but it wasn’t taking. “You haven’t given up on the Rogers thing.”

  “Why, you want me to? Last week you got your can trashed because you tried to help. Did it change your mind about what’s worthwhile in life?”

  “They’ll kill you, Rod.”

  “They’ll try.”

  He shook his head and downed some more coffee. “You’re right about what’s worthwhile in life. Like my wife and kids. I can’t afford to shoot off my mouth and get fired. And I don’t want make a widow and a bunch of orphans out of them. Policing in this town is turning into a lousy way to make a buck, but right now it’s all I got.”

  “You’re a family man, Fred. I get it. Me, I’m a loner. I only dream of settling down. And maybe I’ve finally got a shot at getting something worthwhile out of life myself. But only after I finish with this.”