Show of Evil

  Vail and his team knew what Shoulders was up to, but they could not make the city connection. Without it, it was just another bust. By tying it to the city hall gang, they could do real damage to a corrupt bunch that had run the city for too long. Vail needed a linchpin, a witness or evidence that would tie Shoulders directly to city hall. The break came when a three-time loser named Bobby Bellinger was arrested for assault with a deadly weapon. Facing life without parole, Bollinger, who was only thirty-three, decided to toot his whistle in exchange for immunity and a ticket out of town. He called Stenner, who had arrested him his third time down. Stenner got him off the street and holed him up in a run-down hotel on Erie Street. Then Bollinger became troublesome.

  'Bollinger is waffling,' Stenner told Vail one morning.

  'What's his problem?'

  'Perks.'

  'We gave him perks.'

  'He's suffering from the "more" syndrome.'

  'What else?'

  'Witness protection out of state. A job making one hundred thou a year. Name change and we clear his record. A new car. He says they'll be able to trace his Corvette.'

  Vail chuckled. 'No yacht?'

  'He says that's less than he's making now on the docks.'

  'Does he also say he's guilty of a felony? Has three priors? He goes in for good this time.'

  'I think he's forgot about that.'

  'Remind him.'

  'How far are you willing to go?'

  'I'll go with the witness programme and the name change goes with it. We can probably arrange something out of state. His record goes into limbo with his old name, so he gets that. But no hundred grand. We'll support him for three months while he's in a retraining programme. After that he's on his own. And he can ride a bicycle.'

  'What if he still says no?'

  'We'll max him out with the judge; he's a three-time loser.'

  'He came to us, Marty.'

  'He came to us because if he stays around here, he's a dead man. He's looking for a ticket out and a free ride.'

  'He says he can give us the link we've been looking for.'

  'That's what he says. Look, I'm not going to buy a conviction for one hundred grand a year. Tell me I'm wrong on this, Abel.'

  'I don't know. His way, we bring down the city hall bums, get rid of Bollinger while we're at it. Let some other state put up with him.'

  Vail stopped and lit a cigarette. He walked around in a tight little circle for a minute or so.

  'He'll also stand up in court,' said Stenner. 'Part of the deal.'

  'Christ, I never know how you're gonna jump on these things, Abel.' Vail leaned against the wall and blew smoke towards the floor. 'I don't like Bollinger. I don't like doing business with him. No matter where he ends up, he's always going to be up to something. He wouldn't know how to straighten out. And I'm still sceptical about whether he can link our case up. But… okay, give him my proposal first. Scare him with the options. If you have to, twenty-five thou for six months. And no car, that's out. Tell him to dump the Vette and use the take for a down payment.'

  'Maybe I can sell that.'

  'Give it a shot then. It gets sticky, we'll good-guy, bad-guy him. He already has you pegged as the negotiator, so you play the hero. Take Flaherty for the bad guy.'

  'Flaherty?'

  'I think he'll surprise you, Abel. Let him play it his way. When he takes over, stand back, let him do it.'

  Flaherty looked tough enough to play a mean cop. He bordered on handsome with coal-black hair and dark brown eyes, but his rugged, brooding Irish features were marred by a slightly flattened nose and a scar over one eye.

  In the fleabag hotel, Stenner sat talking to Bollinger, a grungy redhead with bad teeth and a worse attitude. Flaherty sat in a corner of the room watching the proceedings, wearing a .38 under his arm.

  'Shit,' Bollinger snapped, 'I'm giving up everything, man. Friends, my place, my car, every fuckin' thing, and he's pissin' about one hundred grand a year and a car to replace my Vette!'

  'I'll tell you what you're not giving up,' said Stenner.

  'Oh yeah, what's that?'

  'The rest of your life, Bobby. No parole. And when we do nail down this case, you'll be hauled in again for aiding and abetting. You won't see daylight until my son runs for president and my son hasn't been born yet.'

  'This is great, just fuckin' great, man. I come to you with a reasonable — '

  'A hundred grand a year and a new joy waggon is not reasonable. Sell your vehicle. Get something nice with the down payment.'

  'What are you, my business manager?'

  Stenner said, 'You could look at it that way.'

  'I do this, I'm on the dodge the rest of my life.'

  'Then it's Joliet. They'll pop you there - if not before. You're running. This way, we make the reservations and pick up the tab.'

  'Well, then, I guess it boils down to how bad you want my information, huh?'

  'No, it boils down to how bad you want to stay alive. You want to shoot craps with your life for a damn car?'

  Bellinger's lips were getting dry. He licked them nervously. That fucking DA is calling my hand.

  'How long's this gonna take?' he asked.

  'As long as it takes. Could be a year before we put the case together and get into court.'

  'A year! In this fuckin' funeral parlour!'

  'Christ, why don't we find him a nice place out in the goddamn country,' Flaherty snarled.

  Bellinger looked over at Flaherty, who was clipping his fingernails. Who the hell is this guy He looked back at Stenner.

  'No pie for a fuckin' year?' he whined.

  'Pie?'

  'You know… the old ying-yang,' Bellinger said with a lascivious grin. 'I deserve that much.'

  Flaherty suddenly exploded. He threw the fingernail clippers across the room and charged at Bollinger with such fury that he surprised even Stenner. He shoved past the detective and loomed over Bollinger.

  'You don't deserve shit,' he snarled.

  He slid an easy chair over with his foot and sat down in front of Bollinger, leaning forward with his face an inch from the mobster and spoke in a low, nasty monotone.

  'I know all the tricks, Bobby. Know why? Because I've been there. I know what you're thinking right now. I know what you're gonna say before you say it. I'm hip, Bobby. Understand?'

  Bellinger's eyes bulged with uncertainty.

  'The major, here, tries to treat you like a decent human being, what'd we get? A cheap brand of grift. You been playin' us like a fiddle for two days. Well, I just took your goddamn bow away from you. Forget the fuckin' Corvette and the fuckin' one hundred grand job. You're off the goddamn sleeve. Do you understand? Am I getting through that fat head of yours?'

  'I got myself—'

  'You got yourself to blame, that's what you got yourself. Now here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna give up everything. Names, dates, times, places, whatever the action was, you're gonna give it up. Try to con us, you lose your ticket. Dodge the questions, you lose your ticket. You tell us one goddamn lie, you lose your fuckin' ticket.'

  Bollinger turned to Stenner for help. The quiet man ignored him.

  'And after we make the bust, you're gonna stand up in court and sing on these guys like the canary you are—'

  'Goddamn you, I had a deal working -' Bollinger started to interrupt.

  'You didn't have shit. You don't cooperate, you know what we're gonna do? We're gonna drop the charges on you and turn you out on the street, and just before we do? - just before they open up those pearly fuckin' gates? - we're gonna drop dimes all over this town that you jumped on the stoolie wagon. You'll be a dead man. They'll whack you before you get to the corner.'

  Stenner sat back and watched Flaherty's performance with awe. He knew the Irishman had been a street kid, but he had never seen him in action before, not like this. Flaherty began jabbing home his points with a forefinger. 'So we're gonna start over because right now you don't have a goddamn thing. You
made some talk and we made some talk, but nobody said "yea", and nobody said "nay". Nobody said bullshit. Now what's it gonna be, Bobby? Do I turn on the tape recorder, or do you take a trip to the icebox?'

  Bellinger looked pleadingly at Stenner.

  'Man's got a point,' Stenner said casually.

  'Let's hear your story,' Flaherty said. 'Now.'

  Bollinger looked back and forth between his two captors and then said, 'I was the bagman.'

  'For who?'

  'Shoulders.'

  'And who?'

  Bollinger hesitated for a moment, then said, 'Roznick.'

  'Vic Roznick? The city manager?' Stenner said with surprise.

  'How many Roznicks you know?'

  'How did you make the delivery?'

  'I get a call. I go to the Shamrock Club on West Erie. Shoulders has an office on the second floor. He gives me a briefcase fulla twenties and fifties. I take it to a parking lot on Illinois near the Trib. The trunk's unlocked. I put the case in, that's it.'

  'How do you know what was in the case?' Stenner asked.

  'Christ, Jake counted it out right in fronta me. Tells me there's a fuckin' dollar missin' it's my ass.'

  'And it was Roznick's car?'

  'Sometimes. I sat in my car half a dozen times and watched him come out, dip into the trunk, and split with the case. Other times it was Glen Scott, Eddie Malone, Pete Yankovitch.'

  'City staff?'

  'Yeah. Different places for them. Shoulders had 'em all over a barrel. Stuff they did years ago. Videotape. Audio. Photos. Get 'em on a hook, then make the deal. They cooperate, he pays off and lets 'em off the spike.'

  'Once they're in, they never get out,' Stenner said.

  'I even shot some photos.'

  'Why?' Stenner asked.

  'To cover my ass, y'know, just in case.'

  'You mean to do a little blackmailing of your own, don't you?' Flaherty suggested.

  Bollinger shrugged but did not answer.

  'You got pictures of these pickups?' Flaherty asked.

  'Yeah. They oughta be worth a little extra.'

  'Part of the deal,' Flaherty snapped back.

  'I, uh… I got sompin' else maybe worth a new Vette.'

  'It better be good,' said Flaherty.

  'There's paper out on your boss.'

  Stenner stood up, his eyes narrowed. 'Who you talking about, Yancey?'

  'No, man. The piranha.'

  'Piranha?' Flaherty asked.

  'Vail. They're scared shitless of him. Can't be bought. Never know where he's gonna jump next.'

  'You saying there's a contract out on Martin Vail?' Flaherty said fiercely. 'Who?'

  'Do we have a deal on the Vette?' Bollinger asked with a smile.

  With a growl, Flaherty pulled the .38 out of his shoulder holster. He jammed it under Bellinger's nose.

  'Don't fuck with us. Who put out the contract and who's doing the job? You say it now or I swear to God I'll throw you out the damn window.'

  'Hey, hey…' Bollinger said, turning pale.

  Stenner reached out and laid his hand over the gun. 'Answer those two questions right now, Bobby,' he said sternly.

  'Shoulders. It's like two hundred K.'

  'Shoulders ordered the hit?'

  'Yeah, but I think maybe they're all in on it. You know, the whole gang chipped in.'

  'Who's the shooter?' Flaherty said. His voice had gone dead.

  'You better cover me on this.'

  'Who's the fuckin' shooter?'

  Bellinger sighed. He was beginning to sweat. 'It's a cop, does Shoulders's tricks.'

  'A cop?' Stenner said. 'What cop?'

  'Look I… I…' Bollinger stammered.

  'What cop?' Flaherty demanded.

  'His name's Heintz,' Bollinger babbled.

  'Lou Heintz? A sergeant?' Stenner said.

  'That's the one.'

  'You know him, Major?' Flaherty asked.

  'Oh yes, Lou Heintz. Doesn't surprise me a bit. When is this supposed to go down?'

  Bollinger shrugged. 'Whenever. It's paid for.'

  'My God,' Stenner said, and headed for the phone.

  'This better be the McCoy,' said Flaherty.

  'Who the hell are you, anyways?' Bollinger whimpered.

  Flaherty smiled for the first time. 'I'm the guy who's gonna make you the greatest song-and-dance man since Fred Astaire,' he said.

  And he had. It had taken eighteen months, but Flaherty had successfully prosecuted Shoulders, two of his henchmen, three department heads, the city manager, and an assistant city attorney and set in motion Meyer's successful cases against the two city councilmen. All of them were still in prison.

  Bollinger was in Oregon with orders never to set foot east of the Mississippi River.

  Lou Heintz, the killer motorcycle cop, had vanished. And Stenner had immediately become Vail's bodyguard, picking him up every morning, delivering him to meetings, watching his back constantly, usually delivering him home at night.

  About a year later, Heintz was found dead in an abandoned car in Pittsburgh with four .22s in the back of his head. It was written off as a gang hit. Nobody would ever know whether it involved the contract on Martin Vail or not.

  But Stenner never stopped his surveillance. He had been Vail's constant companion ever since, except at those times when Vail managed to shake him. Like the night before.

  Vail was still deep in reminiscence when Stenner pulled up in the car. He glared up at his boss and shook his head.

  'Right out in the open,' he said as Vail got into the car. 'Alone. Perfect target.'

  'Please, Abel. That's over. Heintz is dead, Shoulders is doing ten years.'

  'Once warned…'

  'Okay. You know I appreciate your concern. I just need a little privacy every once in a while. Kinda like sneaking out when you were a kid.'

  'I never sneaked out when I was a kid.'

  'I think I knew that, Abel.'

  Stenner looked at Vail's wrinkled suit and twisted tie. 'You want to go home and change?' he asked.

  'Hell with it,' Vail said.

  'You're in court this morning and Naomi says you have a lunch with Paul Rainey.'

  'Butterfly's, Major. I want breakfast. Anyway, it's not my case, it's Parver's. I'm just going to sit in the back of the courtroom and spectate.'

  'How about the lunch with Rainey?'

  'I'll pick up the tab. He won't care what I'm wearing.'

  Seventeen

  When Vail and Stenner arrived at Butterfly's, Naomi Chance and Dermott Flaherty were already there, immersed in the morning papers. Naomi looked disapprovingly at Vail as he sat down.

  'Didn't get too close to your razor this morning,' she commented.

  He couldn't think of an appropriate answer, so he said nothing. Instead he turned to Butterfly, who loomed over the table staring down at him.

  'Two poached, sausage, white toast,' he said.

  'Poached,' she snarled. 'God!' And slouched away.

  'And that suit -' Naomi began.

  'I don't want to hear about my suit or shaving or anything else,' Vail said.

  'You can grab a quick shave in your private bath,' Naomi said.

  'Screw my private bath. It's not a bathroom, it's an afterthought. They put a sink and a shower in a broom closet and called it a bathroom.'

  'It's convenient.'

  'It's the size of the can in an airliner.'

  'There's a clean shirt and a tie in one of your file cabinets and your grey pinstripe is in the closet, take you fifteen minutes before you go down to court,' Naomi said, scanning the front page of USA Today.

  'What is it with everybody today?' Vail grumbled. 'I'm not posing for GQ, you know. Why don't you pick on Flaherty? He wears that same black suit every day.'

  'I have four black suits,' Flaherty said without looking up from his paper. 'I don't wear the same one every day.'

  'Don't you find it a little bizarre that he dresses like Johnny Cash every day ' Vail
said. 'Why don't you pick on him?'

  Stenner said, 'I think some variety might be in order.'

  'I'm comfortable in black,' Flaherty said, ending the conversation.

  Further discussion was cut short by the arrival of Okie Okimoto, who looked smug and important as he approached the table. He was carrying his briefcase.

  Butterfly frowned at him. 'We don't serve sushi in here,' she growled.

  'I have no desire to eat here, Madame Butterfly. Hopefully I can survive a cup of coffee.'

  'Smartass,' she muttered, and dragged her feet into the kitchen.

  Okimoto sat down at the round table, opened his case, and took out a file folder.

  'I have here the report on the famous landfill kill,' he said, almost with a snicker. 'Or perhaps I should say infamous landfill kill.'

  'What's so funny?' Stenner asked.

  'All the fuss,' he said. 'Where's Harvey? I want him to hear this from my own two lips.'

  'Must've overslept,' Naomi said.

  'Hmm. Perhaps I should wait.'

  'I don't think so,' said Vail. 'You've gone this far, you better finish.'

  'Okay. I'll skip the anatomical details and the long medical terms for now and just give you the essence,' Okimoto said, opening the folder. 'By the way, Eckling doesn't have this yet. I assume you will be discreet with the information for at least an hour.'

  'Sure. Just get on with it,' Vail answered.

  'They froze to death,' Okimoto said with a smile.

  'What!' Flaherty said, finally looking up from his paper.

  A deadly quiet fell over the table as Stenner, Vail, Flaherty, and Naomi stared at Okimoto, waiting for the details of his surprising announcement.

  'Well, the two males froze to death and the woman suffocated,' he said to the stunned group.

  'Froze to death?' Stenner repeated.

  'You want my expert opinion?' said Okimoto. 'I think what happened was, they crawled into a Dempsey Dumpster somewhere, probably burrowed under the junk to keep warm - this was several weeks ago, early to mid January, we had a helluva freeze for about two weeks right after New Year's if you'll remember - and by morning two of them were dead and the woman was too weak to move. They pick up the Dumpster, haul it out to the landfill, and unloaded it. The woman suffocated in the garbage, probably after she was in the dump.'