Operation Underworld (40 page)
“Nothing one of those magic teas of yours wouldn’t cure! Come into the kitchen so we don’t wake Kate.”
She locked the door behind him and followed him into the kitchen.
“Get the book,” Doc instructed and after Nikki set the kettle, she reached into the cupboard and removed the sugar bowl. Removing the lid, she held it over the sink and fished out the small black book. Handing it to Doc, he flipped through it, shaking sugar crystals out onto the table.
Nikki set the tea tray and motioned to be quiet as she led Doc into the front room. She took a seat in the bay window and clutched her tea with both hands.
“Well? Whatta you think?”
“Looks like an ordinary address book. Some sort of nonstandard, internal code. Names, places, dates.”
“So, whatta we do?”
“We make a deal.”
“But…”
“But nuthin’! We make a deal. The book for our lives back. They get it, they agree to leave us alone.”
“And if they don’t, we go to the press or somethin’?”
“I don’t think that’s gonna be an option.”
“So how do we get it to them? Cops?”
“Definitely not the cops! These guys are Feds. They control the cops.”
“You were a cop. Don’t you have any friends left on the force?”
“Not so’s you’d notice.”
“What then? The mail?”
“Ameet, face to face. It’s the only way.”
“Doc, that’s risky!” As Nikki spoke, Doc realised that she was ignorant of Johnson’s involvement in Ira’s murder.
“I’ll call one of the Treasury guys you work with. What’s the name of the head guy? The creep?”
“Johnson, Robert Johnson. Doc, that guy’s bad news!”
“How do I get a hold of him?”
“I don’t know. He wouldn’t be downtown at this hour.”
“Is there a way to get him a message?”
“Call the OOD.”
They went back out to the kitchen, Nikki dialled the phone and handed it to Doc.
“Third Naval District, Chief Petty Officer Badowski.”
“Chief, I need to contact Treasury Agent Johnson, Robert Johnson.”
“You’ll have to call back at the main number, tomorrow after zero nine hundred, sir.”
“It’s sort of an emergency, Chief. I have some information for him.”
Nikki leaned over and whispered into Doc’s ear. “Tell him it’s a Micky Mouse priority!”
Doc displayed a puzzled look, covered the receiver and mouthed “What?”
Nikki nudged him in the ribs and whispered loudly, “Tell him!” “Chief Badowski, this message is a Micky Mouse Priority!”
Doc spoke with the authority of the Joint Chief himself.
“Sir, Agent Johnson can be reached at Murray Hill-7-9232. That’s his home phone sir. Please treat it with discretion.”
“Rest assured, Chief, I will.”
Doc replaced the receiver and smiled at Nikki.
“None’a your shit, you! I don’t make them up! They come down from DC.”
“Wanna have some fun?”
“Whatta you gonna do?”
“What time is it?”
“Nearly two. Whatta you gonna do? Tell me!”
Doc dialled the number the Chief gave him, listened as someone picked up, and Doc quickly hung up.
“What the hell was that?” Nikki asked.
“Musta been the wrong number. A woman answered.”
“Probably his wife. Or than again, maybe not.”
Doc redialled and this time it was an angry male voice that answered.
“Who the hell is this?”
“Agent Johnson?”
There was a brief pause on the other end. “McKeown.” Johnson recognised the voice from the wire taps as well as the street encounter.
“Actually it’s the Eve Arden Lady! I understand your supply of roll-on asshole is running low. Time to reorder!”
“Figured I’d hear from you. You’re a real wise-ass, aren’t you, McKeown?” Johnson understood the advantage of not letting on he was caught off-guard. “I hear your old man was a wise-ass, too!”
Doc suddenly felt a surge of anger roll over him as Johnson turned it back on him.
“Sounds like you lost your sense of humour, McKeowen.”
“You want your book, quisling?”
“I’m listening.” Johnson drew satisfaction from hitting a nerve. “This book is like penicillin. We meet tomorrow, I give you the book then, like a venereal disease, you go away.”
“Your place or mine, hero?”
“Somewhere public, just the two of us.” Doc looked at Nikki.
“Amuseum?” she whispered.
“Hayden Planetarium. There’s a one o’clock show.”
“I’ll be there, hero.”
“And Johnson, don’t waste your time wreckin’ my office. It ain’t there.”
“Aw, gee, McKeowen! You shoulda told me earlier. Now I feel bad!”
It was worth a try, thought Doc.
Johnson continued: “By the way, that Federal agent you assaulted? He has a wife and kid to feed.”
“Well, that’s good news. ’cause now he has somebody ta feed him. I guess that puts you a little short a players, don’t it, Bob?”
“We’ll manage! You just show up, Doc.”
“You’ll know me. I’ll be down front wearin’ – ”
“Yeah, I know. A skirt! It’s your day tomorrow, isn’t it? The day when you Irish wear skirts?”
“I’m not Irish,” Doc said in a calm voice.
“Scotts, Irish, all the same to me. Buncha worthless drunks! Same as your old man.”
Doc hung up, slightly pissed off at letting Johnson get to him.
“What’d he say?” Nikki asked. Doc realised for the first time that he was compelled to smile whenever he looked at her.
“He said, ‘Happy St. Patrick’s Day’.”
Nikki took Doc’s hand and led him back out to the bay window. As they sat down and looked down onto Mercer Street, sporadic snow flurries sparkled in the lamplight.
“Should I tell Kate we’re not gonna make the parade?”
“Don’t even think about it! The parade doesn’t start until two. I’ll drop the book off at one and still have plenty of time to meet you, Kate and Louie’s family by two.”
“Louie’s family?”
“Sure. You’ll like them. They’re great people.”
“I like Louie, and I suppose it would be nice for Kate to be around some new people.”
Nikki never saw it coming, but once Doc sprang it on her, she was angry and flattered all at once. “His wife is real nice, too. As a matter of fact, I was thinking… maybe to save some time in the morning, you and Kate could spend the night at Louie’s.”
“To save some time? You’re crazy! It’s two a.m.! Kate’s sound asleep!”
“Look, these guys are not pulling any punches. It would be better if you and Kate were some place else for a day or so. By tomorrow afternoon, this’ll all be over and we can have our lives back.”
“Doc, I don’t know. Stayin’ in a stranger’s house, Kate in a strange bed…” Nikki was startled when the downstairs buzzer rang. “Who the hell is that?”
Doc peered out the window. “Well, whatta ya know? It‘s Louie.”
“You son-of-a-bitch!” She raised her hand. Doc caught her by the wrist and gave her a quick kiss on the lips.
“That‘s five cents in the swear jar!”
The buzzer rang again.
“Winthrop Pinchnell of Pinchnell Real Estate is doing his patriotic duty. Winth… Mr Pinchnell has agreed to allow the use of his empty lot at the corner of Hudson and West 12th Street for tomorrow afternoon’s rubber drive. So get those old tyres, tubes and garden hoses down to West 12th and Hudson, tomorrow afternoon from noon until six, and ‘Help stun the Hun!’ And remember, if you’re looking for a store, a home or even an apartment, Pinchnell’s will help you ‘pinch’ the most real estate for your dollar!”
Doc rolled over and averted his eyes from the bright winter sun flooding the room. For the second time that week he’d spent the night sleeping on his desk. His radio case was broken, and the speaker hung by a wire, but the black, enamelled Emerson still operated.
He had considered renting a room uptown the night before, but reasoned that they would have searched his office and that they knew he wouldn’t be stupid enough to carry the book with him. So, being sure that Nikki and Kate were safely tucked away at Louie’s, Doc decided it was okay to return to Christopher Street.
“… And finally, this update from the Provincial Chinese capital of Canton. The Chinese Ministry reports that Chan Khai Shek’s Liberation Army has halted the Japanese Imperial forces…” Doc glanced around the room.
Whether or not Johnson and his goon squad actually searched the office for the book was questionable. What was clear, however, was that they left their mark. Not a single stick of furniture remained intact. Files littered the room, all the trophies were broken and Doc’s cot had been slashed apart.
It wasn’t until he finished his futile search for Ira’s file, that Doc saw the piece that didn’t fit the pattern.
There, speared onto the wooden partition with a pearl handled stiletto, was the picture of his father. The knife was carefully stuck between the eyes. He pulled it out of the wall, laid the picture on his desk and put the knife in his pocket. Johnson mentioned his father during their phone conversation: why? What could he possibly know about his father? Doc decided it was probably through the publicity of the case that Johnson knew, and was only using the information to scutch him.
Kicking a path through the debris, Doc made his way to the sink.
As he began to shave, he felt uncomfortable at the thought that his friends had been sucked into this mess. He then wondered what Johnson’s next move would be. One thing was for sure, there was no chance he was going to let anyone walk away from this. However, with Nikki out of sight, Doc bought himself some time to form a plan. He had three hours.
Halfway through his shave, the phone rang, and Doc immediately wondered who the hell could be calling. Louie knew not to call until he heard from Doc and Nikki was with Louie. The options narrowed. It must have been Johnson. Maybe he wanted to change the meet or buy time to set his trap. Doc let it go for five rings before he decided to pick up.
“Calling to gloat about your handiwork, asshole?” Doc asked as he surveyed the damage.
“No! Calling to warn you about this treasury character, dumbshit!”
“Sullivan! What the hell do you want?”
“It’s Detective Sergeant Sullivan and I already told you what I want! I don’t know what kinda shit you got yourself into, but it’s pretty god-damned deep, boy-o!”
“What the hell you talking about?”
“Apatrolman from the thirty-fifth saw J. Edgar Hoover himself in Central Park with this treasury clown last week and now I catch wind you’re goin’ ta meet him up at the planetarium!”
“And here I thought they jumped me, wrecked my office and murdered my client by mistake.”
“Sounds like they were on the right track wreckin’ your office and kickin’ your ass. Who was this client ya got murdered?”
Did Sullivan know, or was he fishing? “Fuck you, Sullivan!
Why are you callin’? And make it the Reader’s Digest version, I got a date!”
“I’m callin’ ’cause I promised your father I’d keep an eye on you. But I didn’t promise him I’d lose my job for you. So now you come clean, or I’ll send a squad car over and we’ll talk about this dead client down here! If you have knowledge about a murder you’re required by law to come forward. By the way, your licences up to date?” Doc was too tired and irritated to care about Sullivan’s threat. “You got no friends in this department, McKeowen. And most of ’em would throw a ceilidh if you got dusted. So I shouldn’t even be talkin’ to you!”
“Stop it, will ya? I’m gettin’ all misty eyed!”
“You’re a regular wise-ass, you know that?”
“Yeah. Apparently word’s out.”
“I don’t know what the connection is, McKeowen, but you’re running with the big dogs now. This ain’t no divorce case!”
“Thanks for the update, Sully. I’ll be in touch.” Sullivan continued to rant as Doc replaced the receiver on the hook. “This just keeps gettin’ better!”
Sullivan took himself off the drug raid detail the day Doc’s father was killed. So much for the ‘promised your father’ spiel. If Sullivan didn’t know about Ira, why did he call? Whatever it was he called to tell Doc, he was torn between telling him and the consequences to himself if he did set Doc wise.
Doc finished washing up, put on his bomber jacket and ball cap and left, not bothering to turn off the radio.
“Here’s a tip for you parade-goers out there. If you’re packing up the family to go watch the big event, dress warm! That beautiful white stuff you see outside your window right now is going to pick up by parade time, and the Central Park Meteorological Center says there might be a little accumulation.” The hourly NBC chimes sounded, signalling it was ten o’clock.
The
Front Page
was closed and Doc had to use his key to let himself out through Harry’s. He thought that unusual as Harry didn’t normally celebrate holidays.
“Doc! I been waitin’ for your call! What’s the plan? Where do we meet?”
Louie’s excitement made it more difficult for Doc to give his rookie partner the bad news. Doc had ducked into Feinstein’s Druggists for a hamburger and egg cream breakfast before the big game, and was calling from a phone booth in the back.
“Sorry, Mancino. You’re not in on this one.”
“Doc! You gotta be shittin’me!” Louie was devastated.
“Look, Louie.” Doc chose his words. “This is not what you signed on for. Not your run-of-the-mill PI stuff. This is serious, nasty, the ‘we’ll put your kids and grandmother in prison, drain you dry and make sure you can’t ever earn a living again’ type shit! The kinda stuff that makes Tojo and Tokyo Rose look like Roy Rogers and Dale Evans, ya follow?”
“Gimme a break, Doc! If you’re tryin’ ta scare me outta this, it ain’t workin’!”
“Louie! Listen-to-my-words! You have a wife and kids! There are licensing issues here!’”
“Like what licensing issues?”
“Like you ain’t got one! Look, I need you to watch out for Nikki and Kate. You have no reason to do this Am I gettin’ through to you?”
“Jesus, Doc! What better OJT? As for my wife and kids, Doris told me that no matter what happens I have to stay with you until this thing is over. And if I gotta choose ta risk my life or argue with Doris, no fuckin’ contest! This is my chance of a lifetime. And if you’re so worried about loved ones, why are you doing it? Why not let the cops handle it?”
