Sharky's Machine

  Sharky smiled for the first time since Domino had been killed. “I’m goin’ to con him,” he said. “How do you think I stayed alive on the street for eighteen months?”

  _____________________

  The security guard was in his office watching an old Randolph Scott movie on television when Sharky appeared at the doorway. He smiled and said, “Hi.”

  The guard nodded back. “Everything copesetic up there?” he said.

  “Yeah, sure,” Sharky said. He lit a small cigar. “Old Randy was tough, wasn’t he?”

  The security guard said, “Don’t make ’em like that anymore,” without taking his eyes off the screen.

  Sharky blew smoke toward the ceiling and decided it was time for a long shot. “How long were you a cop?” he asked.

  The guard looked up, surprised, “How’d you know?” he said.

  Sharky took out his wallet and flipped it open, baring his shield.

  “I’ll be a son of a bitch,” the guard said. “You know somethin’? I had a feelin’ all along that story about the elevators was a lot of crap.” He leaned toward Sharky and said very softly, “What in hell’s goin’ on, anyway?”

  “We need to trust you,” Sharky said. “What I’m going to tell you is very confidential.”

  “Hey, I was nineteen years on the College Park force. I’d still be there only I piled up a blue-and-white chasing some goddamn teenagers and almost lost a leg. Had to retire early.”

  “That’s tough,” Sharky said. “What’s your name?”

  “Jerry. Jerry Sanford.”

  “This stays between us, right?”

  “Tellin’ Jerry Sanford is like talkin’ to a grave.”

  “Okay. The boys up there with me, we’re all a special team from burglary. For three weeks now we’ve had a cat burglar working the high rent apartments and condos along Peachtree. He’s very good, driving us up the wall. He always knows exactly what he’s after, who to hit, and who not to hit. He knows when people are out of town. He can pop a double-lock LaGard box easier than opening a can of beans. So far he’s been two feet ahead of us all the way. We figure he’s got to take this place sooner or later.”

  “We got good security,” Sanford said.

  “He’s hit just as tough.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Believe me, this guy is first rate. He’s into tricks we never heard of.”

  “No shit. What’d you say your name was again?”

  “Sharky.”

  “Tell you, Sharky, Raymond Security is tough.”

  “Here’s the thing. We figure he does a real number before he hits. Checks out the residents. Maybe even has a method for scoring financial statements. He usually hits apartments or condominiums where the tenants are out of town for a while. Business, maybe, or traveling. He might even call ahead, ask questions about the tenants. But very clever.”

  “We don’t tell nobody nothin’ about our occupants.”

  “He’s clever, like I said. Maybe passes himself off as a delivery man. A salesman, like that.”

  “No solicitations in the building.”

  “Maybe a door-to-door thing?”

  “Nobody gets by this desk without we check who they’re going to see and get an okay from the occupant.”

  “How long are you on? What’s your shift?”

  “I’m on two to ten right now. The graveyard man takes over from ten to six in the A.M. Then the early man does six to two. We revolve the shift every six weeks. I been on the evening trick for a month.”

  “How about the other men?”

  “First rate, everybody. I’m telling you, Raymond Security is the best.”

  “And there hasn’t been anyone around? No phonecalls?”

  “No, sir.”

  “Nobody suspicious hanging around?”

  “If there was, you’d be the first to know. We’ve had a couple of people looking at apartments, asking about vacancies. The place stays a hundred percent full. We got four on the waiting list now. The two empties are bein’ renovated. They’re both leased already.”

  “Which ones would they be?”

  “Let’s see, there’s 10-B west and 4-C east.”

  “10-B west?”

  “Yeah. They’re puttin’ in the carpeting now. It goes to an elderly lady. A widow. Very well fixed. The other one goes to a young couple. He’s a doctor.”

  “Anything temporarily vacant? You know, people away on vacation, anything like that?”

  “Sure. But we got the list. Let’s see. There’s the Cliffords, 9-C east. They’re in Florida for the holidays. Go down every year. He’s retired. And then there’s Mrs. Jackowitz. She’s in Hawaii with her daughter. They take a trip every year this time. The daughter’s a travel agent. Mr. Jackowitz passed on about two years ago.”

  “Where’s her apartment?”

  “That would be 12-C in the east tower.”

  “That would face?”

  “West. A and B are on the east side of the building. C and D on the west. Four apartments to the floor.”

  “So the Jackowitz apartment is on the twelfth floor of the east tower facing the west tower?”

  “Right.”

  “And the Cliffords?”

  “9-C, east.”

  “Both apartments face the other tower, right?”

  “Right.”

  “And nobody soliciting, no calls, nothing like that?”

  The guard shook his head.

  “Okay, Jerry, thanks. We’ll be in and out for a couple of more days.”

  “You want to stake out one of the empties, it’s okay with me. I got a passkey.”

  “Thanks, we may just take you up on that.” Sharky started out of the office and brushed against a tall corn plant in the corner, its leaves turning brown at the tips. “You’re overwatering your plants,” he said to Sanford. “You can always tell when the leaves turn at the ends like that.”

  “I got the original brown thumb. I already killed one of the Jackowitz plants and two more in here.”

  “You go in the Jackowitz apartment?”

  “Yeah, I water the plants for her. I hate to do it, too. I don’t have the feel for it, know what I mean?”

  “Yeah. When’s the last time you were in there?”

  “Jackowitz? Lessee, it was Sunday. I water them on Sundays.”

  “Thanks. We’ll keep in touch.”

  Sharky started to leave and Sanford suddenly snapped his fingers. “Hey, I just thought of something. There was a call. I just thought about it when you started talkin’ about those plants. It was … uh … day before yesterday. He was with some plant store. I’ll think of it here in a minute.”

  “What did he want?”

  “It was a new service. Plantland, that’s the name of the place. Right up the street. What they do, they water and fertilize plants for people.”

  “Did you tell him anything?”

  Sanford chewed on his lower lip for a moment. “What I did—see, I hate takin’ care of the plants, like I said. I told him to send them some literature.”

  “Who. Send who?”

  “Everybody in the place. I was afraid, you know, I’d forget if he sent the stuff to me.”

  “Did you tell him the Cliffords and Jackowitz were away?”

  “Uh, well, I told him I was having trouble, y’know. I thought maybe he could gimme a tip or two.”

  “Did you tell him they were out of town?”

  “I didn’t say anything specific. I told him they were potentials, see. Send the stuff direct to them but that it may be a little while before they get back.”

  “You gave him the names and addresses?”

  “Yeah, four or five different people who travel a lot, not just them.”

  “But did you mention specifically that the Cliffords and Jackowitz women are out of town now?”

  “Just so he’d know it might be a while before they got back to him.”

  “I see.”

  “I fucked up, right?”


  “Maybe not.”

  “I’ll call them right now, check it out.”

  “No,” Sharky said quickly. “I wouldn’t do that. If it is a possibility you’d just warn them, right?”

  “Oh, yeah. I didn’t think of that.”

  “Let us handle it.”

  “Sure, sure.”

  “I’ll keep this between us.”

  “Hey, Sharky, that’s damn white of you. I appreciate it.”

  “Any time, Jerry. Any time.”

  _____________________

  Forty minutes in the Cliffords’ apartment yielded nothing but bruised knees. Barret was a fanatic. He checked everything. Under the beds, in the commode, behind pots and pans in the cabinets, the disposal, the windowsills, under chairs and couches.

  Forty minutes later he said, “Forget it,” and they headed to the Jackowitz apartment on twelve. Barret told Sharky and The Nosh to stand back until he vacuumed the carpeting around the door and dusted the doorknob. He carefully swept the small camel’s-hair brush on the brass handle, smoothing out the black powder.

  He looked up and grinned.

  “What d’ya know,” he said. “Clean as a new dime.”

  “So?” The Nosh said.

  “So how many people do you know polish off the doorknob when they enter or leave their place?”

  Sharky stepped close to Barret. “You through here?” he asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Then why don’t you step over there out of the way and let Nosh and me take the door, just in case.”

  “Why, indeed,” Barret said and walked ten feet down the hall. The Nosh knelt down and popped the lock with less trouble than it would have taken to open a can of soup. Sharky took out his automatic and, holding his arm close to his side and bent at the elbow, pointed the gun toward the ceiling and slipped the safety catch off. The Nosh took out a snub-nose .38 and leaned back against the wall on the opposite side of the doorway, the pistol nestled in two hands.

  “Here we go,” Sharky whispered and The Nosh nodded. He twisted the doorknob slowly and then pushed the door open, jumped inside and fell flat against the wall in the dark room. An instant later The Nosh came through and kicked the door shut behind him. They waited for a few seconds, listening to each other breathe. “Scares the shit outa me, doin’ that,” The Nosh said finally.

  Sharky clicked on the light. The apartment was empty. They let Barret in. Barret slipped on plastic surgeon’s gloves and went to work. Slowly and methodically he moved through the apartment. The doorknob inside was also devoid of fingerprints. He spot vacuumed the rug, marking each bag of dirt and grit with a small diagram of the room showing the exact location of the sample. He got down on his hands and knees with a flashlight and perused the carpeting. Then he told Sharky to turn off the lights.

  “Kneel down here beside me,” he said. The finger of light skipped across the piling of the carpet. Barret moved it slowly back and forth. “See anything?” he asked.

  “You mean the marks there on the floor?”

  “Um hmm.”

  There were four deep grooves in the rug. Then Barret saw something else twinkling in the rays of the flashlight under the chair. He took tweezers and picked it up. It was a small red oblong pill.

  “Look familiar?” Barret said.

  “Looks like a red devil to me,” Sharky said.

  “Could be, could be. Or some kind of angina medication. Perhaps the woman who lives here dropped it.” He plopped it in a baggie, then turned his attention back to the chair.

  “Somebody swung this chair around in front of the window,” Barret said. “And see here, on the windowsill, those circles. Still damp. It looks like somebody put a glass of water down here.” He looked at it under his magnifying glass. Along the edges of the water ring was a slight red discoloration.

  “When’s the last time anybody was in here?” Barret asked.

  “Last Sunday,” Sharky said.

  “Hmmm.”

  Barret went over the living room in minute detail, then the kitchen and bedroom.

  “Okay,” he said finally, “here’s what we got. Somebody moved the chair. Somebody dropped a pill on the floor. That could’ve happened a week ago, yesterday, or last month. But the water rings on the windowsill—that was recent. No more than a few hours. Still damp. Also there’s water in the sink in the kitchen and one of the glasses is damp. I’d say three or four hours on the outside, or both the glass and the sink’d be dry by now. That red discoloration on the sill could have come from that pill we found on the floor. I took a scraping. The lab’ll confirm that. No prints in the apartment, no recent prints in the apartment. Everything’s latent. Okay, we can expect that. There’s also a trace of oil on the carpet in front of the window. Smells like machine oil but I’ll check that out. It could have been from a gun if somebody laid one there on the floor. The phone is clean. Some old prints and smudges. My guess is somebody wearing gloves picked up the phone. It’s operating, by the way.” Barret went to the window and parted the venetian blinds with two fingers. “Direct view of the other apartment from here.”

  He stopped and for several moments he stared into space, saying nothing. Then he said, “I think he was in here. Somebody was, and within the last few hours.” He nodded to himself, still staring.

  “I have one more idea,” he said.

  He took his brush and vial of black powder and went first to the guest bathroom and kneeling down, dusted the handle on the toilet. It was clean. He went to the other bathroom and repeated the procedure.

  The loops and whorls seemed far away at first.

  Then as Barret dusted them they seemed to jump out at him.

  “Well, I’ll be a son of a gun,” Barret said with a grin. “Bingo! We got ourselves a fresh print.” He looked up at Sharky and The Nosh and winked. “Keep that in mind,” he said. “Nobody likes to wear gloves when they take a leak.”

  14

  From a table near the railing of the Tai Tak Restaurant Lowenthal watched as a beautiful young Chinese woman dressed in a red silk mandarin dress jumped lightly from the sampan and came up the walkway to the deck of the floating restaurant. She was a tiny flower of a girl, barely five feet tall with an almost perfect body and an ebony ponytail that cascaded over one shoulder.

  Wan Shu, the chef of the restaurant, motioned her to the table. He was almost a parody of the stereotyped Chinese, a fat man, Buddhalike, with thin mustaches that drooped down over the corners of his mouth and a perpetual smile on his lips.

  “Is Heida,” he said as she joined Lowenthal and DeLaroza, “from Wanchai section. Three weeks here. Okay?”

  “A splendid choice, p’eng-yu,” DeLaroza said.

  Wan Shu beamed. “You drink before dinner?”

  DeLaroza nodded and turned to Lowenthal. “What would you like?”

  “Would Scotch be irreverent in present company?”

  “Hardly. You forget, Hong Kong is a crown colony. There is probably more Scotch consumed there than anything else. Ice?”

  Lowenthal nodded and DeLaroza gave the order to Wan Shu in Chinese. He rushed away, snapping his fingers and issuing commands to waiters.

  “Where do you live in Wanchai?” DeLaroza asked Heida.

  “On Jaffe Road near O’Brien. I live with my brother who sews for Jau Pun in Kowloon.”

  DeLaroza nodded. “I know him well. One of the finest of all tailors in the city. He has made many suits for me. How old are you?”

  “I am nineteen,” she said in a high, melodic voice. “I have gone to the university for one year. I study history. I hope to work for one year here and save my money so I may finish.”

  “What’re you going to do with the history?” Lowenthal asked.

  “I hope to be a school teacher, perhaps in the British settlement at Tseun Wan.”

  “Very ambitious,” DeLaroza said. “I assume you know the legend of Kowloon and T’un Hai well, then?”

  “Hai. My father told me the story many times b
efore he died. It was a special thing between us.”

  “Mister Lowenthal here does not know the story. Would you honor us?”

  “Of course, nin. It is my honor.”

  “Would you like something to drink first?”

  “Um, dor jeh. I have had too many Coca-Colas already. I will be fat like T’sai-Shen if I am not careful.”

  “Who is T’sai-Shen?” Lowenthal asked.

  “The god of wealth and happiness. He is so-o-o big,” she said, holding her arms in front of her in a large circle.

  “I doubt that,” Lowenthal said with a smile.

  “Should I begin then?”

  “Please,” DeLaroza said.

  She stood bowing, pressing her hands together in an attitude of prayer, and then began reciting the myth in her bell-like voice, acting it out in pantomime, moving slowly in place, each gesture a ballet of grace. Lowenthal could not take his eyes off her.

  “In the land of my father the most wondrous and ancient of all creatures is the dragon, for the dragon represents both earth and water.

  “The dragon has the power of the rains, he puts color in the cheeks of the flowers. He brings the bountiful rice crop.

  “But if the dragon is offended by the misdeeds and dishonor of the emperors, he becomes angry. The rains do not come. It is a time when the earth is like the wrinkled face of the prophet. The crops die in the ground, the rivers become like dusty pathways. The harvest is a time of sorrow and weeping.

  “And so, once a year the ministers and lords of the empire honor Chiang-Yuan, the Dragon of the Ten Toes, and it is a great celebration which is called the Feast of the Dragon Door and they adorn the dishes from which they eat, the robes they wear, even their thrones, with the countenance of Chiang-Yuan.

  “In the time of Fu Hsi, who was by legend the first of all the great emperors of China, a dragon horse arose from the Yellow River and presented himself to the emperor. He was sent by Yu-huang-shang-ti, the August Emperor of Jade, and god of all gods, to serve Fu Hsi and give to him the wisdom of the gods. On the back of the dragon horse was a mystical chart from which all of the written language of China was taken. And in the time of Fu Hsi there was peace in the land and it was a time of plenty.

  “And so, from that time on, the Dragon of the Ten Toes has been the imperial symbol of all emperors.