Ed Lacy - Strip For Violence

I looked like hell, so I drove to the yacht basin, took a shower and a shave, changed my clothes and felt better— but still half asleep. I put on an old pair of shoes—the kind with a metal shield over the toes—used to prevent industrial accidents, and as good as brass knuckles for kicking.

It was a little before noon when I returned to the office. Shirley and Bobo had done a good job, things almost looked normal again. Bobo had the afternoon papers for me—they had a picture and a one-column story on Anita. Shirley said, “You've had quite a few calls. All requested you phone them back.”

She handed me a list of every dance hall I was working for. Bobo said, “What's the pitch? Odd they should all call.

“Beats me,” I said, reaching for the phone.

I made exactly eighteen calls—they were all the same, nearly word for word. Soon as I'd say, “Hello, this is Hal Darling,” a frightened voice at the other end would say, “Darling? I'm canceling our contract—at once!” I'd ask “Why?” and the hall owner would say nervously, “Can't say why, Hal, but everything's off. Sorry.” And they would hang up. Some of them skipped the “Sorry” finish.

When I was done I told Shirley, “Don't buy anything on the installment plan....”

She tried to smile. “Knew this job came too easily.”

“Well, I have enough in the till to keep us going for a few months, but I sure as hell can't understand this. Bobo, you stick around the office, I'm going to have a chat with a few of these characters.”

I drove up to see Eddie Logan and when he saw me he got pale, wouldn't explain a thing except, “Hal, leave me alone. Somebody big is pressuring me.”

“Who?”

“You expect me to risk my life by telling you. Maybe I told you too much as is...”

“Stop this movie dialogue... risking your life. Don't make sense or...”

“Hal, I like you, all I can say is I was surprised myself at the pressure. I mean, all this trouble for a lousy thing like a policing job. Now do me a favor—get out of here!”

I didn't bother calling on the others. I still had the dizzy feeling I was running around in circles. I had to stop, sit back and wait for a break, something that made sense would give me direction. But there was one more chore to handle.

4

I drove to 60th Street and First Avenue. There were two bars near the corners. The first joint didn't look like a place where you'd eat supper—and Anita had said she had a supper date. I showed the barkeep her picture in the Paper, asked, “What time was this girl here last night?”

“Wasn't here last night, or any other night.”

“Who's on at night?”

“Me. This is my place, run it myself. Who are you?” I flashed my badge too fast for him to read it, said, “I know she was here last night, she was to meet me. I couldn't make it.”

“Not here, bud. Maybe she stood you up too. I'd remember her if she'd been in.”

“Why would you remember her?”

“Because she looks under age and I wouldn't have served her.”

The minute I walked into the other bar I had a feeling this was the one... it was a big place, with tables and a waiter, couple men eating lunch. The barkeep was a well-built lean fellow. When I asked if he was on last night about six, he kept on washing shot glasses, finally asked, “What you selling?”

I flashed my badge but he grabbed my hand, said, “A private copper,” and didn't seem much impressed. “Spill it, what's on your mind, snooper?”

“Who was on at supper time last night?”

“Let's say I was on.”

“Work long hours, don't you?”

He started drying the glasses—this was a high-class bar. “I'm not kicking.”

I put the paper on the bar, pointed to Anita's picture. He didn't blink an eye. “Ever see this girl before?”

“No.”

I slid a folded ten-dollar bill on the counter. “Sure?”

He grinned. “Save your green, mac. You asked me and I told you—I never seen her, except in the paper.” He walked down to the other end of the bar, started slicing oranges and lemons.

I stepped into the phone booth, checked on the liquor license. It was owned by a corporation that was a front for “Cat” Franklin, but the “Cat” owned plenty of bars.

Stopping at the bar on my way out, I said, “Tell the 'Cat' hello.”

The barkeep bent down and picked up a big sleeping tomcat from behind the bar, said, “Tell him yourself.” He laughed at me—with his eyes—as I walked out. He was a sharp joker.

5

I FELT SO RESTLESS, baffled, I didn't know what to do. I drove over to East 28th Street, to a studio gym run by Prof. Amatu, an old Japanese man with a face as wrinkled as a prune who was my judo teacher. After I got into my judo clothes, I did some warm-up exercises, practiced a few falls, and he took me on. He was about my height and even though I was half his age, he threw me twice in succession, jarred the tired restlessness out of me.

Then we worked on a hold I was specializing on—use it to get my Second Degree Belt. This was a variation of the overhead throw, where you sit down, pulling your opponent with you, your legs kicking into his gut, sending him sailing over your head. Only now I suddenly let go of his shirt or coat, got a neck grip. If I held on to his neck right, the force of his own body going over would snap the neck.

After we'd worked out in slow motion Prof. Amatu said, “Now you work with dummy-man—this much too dangerous.”

I worked with a full-sized dummy and the old man watched, said, “Very good, very fast.”

“And frustrating as hell. I'm curious to see if this will really work.”

He said softly, “Never be curious about death, my student. I pray you will never have need of this hold.”

“Sure but... seems silly to perfect something and never use it.”

“No, a weapon is a force in itself, without ever being put into use. A gun need never be fired to be an effective force. Remember, knowledge is the greatest weapon of all.”

I didn't feel up to hearing a lot of philosophical cracks, so I showered and went back to the office. Bobo said Shirley was out to lunch. I hardly touched my can to my desk chair when the phone rang. A man's voice obviously disguised, said, “Darling?”

“Yeah, this is Hal Darling.”

“You've lost your girl, your business. When you going to smarten up, play ball?” There was the click of the guy hanging up.

Bobo said, “Sure a short call. Who was it?”

“Wish I knew. Some punk telling me to play ball.”

“Jeez, Hal, what's going on here? Anita killed, office looking like a wastebasket, jobs called off and... Hal, you working with the cops? I mean, don't try to play badge like Anita was...”

“Can it, Bobo. Sure I'm working with the cops, but... I also am doing everything I can, too. As for the rest of this puzzle, your guess is probably better than mine.” I took out a scratch pad, wrote down the name of every person I'd seen or heard about yesterday, today. It sometimes stirs your brain, but now it didn't do a thing. Will Johnson's name popped up three times, “Cat” Franklin was down twice, seeing him at the club last night, being in his bar this morning... but it didn't mean anything.

As I was playing around with names, the phone rang and I motioned for Bobo to grab the extension on Shirley's desk as I picked up my receiver. A man said, “This the Darling agency?”

It wasn't the voice that called before. “Yeah, Hal Darling speaking.”

“I'm Edmund Winn, Mr. Darling, manager of the Light Fantastic. Would you be interested in bidding for the police concession in our hall?”

“What? I sure would!” The Light Fantastic was the biggest dance hall in the city, used two dozen guards every night.

“I've heard of your good work, am favorably impressed. If you'll kindly send me your bid today, I'll give you my decision in a day or so.”

“Be in the mails within an hour.”

“Splendid. Good day.”

I hung up. Bobo yelled, “What is this? They usually hire the big outfits like Pinkertons, Burns. What a break this can be for us!”

“First my business is taken away, then I get the biggest deal of my career. Somebody is playing cat and mouse with us, and I have a strong hunch who the cat is. Franklin own the Light Fantastic?”

“Everybody knows that.”

“Wanted to be sure.” This was the third time the 'Cat's' name had come up in less than twenty-four hours. It was two-fourteen. “Bobo, ask around, find out where Franklin's office is. Going to pay him a visit.”

“That smart move, Hal?”

“I got to stop this running in circles. Get going, I have to wait here till three—the postman is coming.”

“What postman?” Bobo asked, getting his cap.

“Some... eh... crummy case we got in yesterday. Be back by three-thirty.” I was really playing this too close to the cuff, not telling Salts; or even Bobo about the rock.

6

When Shirley returned, I sent off the bid to the Light Fantastic, then showed her the forms for checking our nightly patrol service—so far no storekeeper had canceled that—and the rest of the office routine. She was good, caught on fast.

Bobo returned at three, said the “Cat” had offices under the name of the City Amusement Agency over on Fifth Avenue and 43rd Street. I waited till three-thirty, called Will's house. Thelma said, “Oh my, Mr. Darling, he must have been so excited he forgot to call you. Will's rehearsing!”

“He's what?”

“It's all so wonderful—he was picked this afternoon for a TV program! Out of all the people in New York, they picked my Will. You know, the postman, the forgotten man, and all that And he gets a hundred dollars and...”

“He be home for supper?”

“Oh no, he'll be their guest for supper and...”

“Damn it, this is serious. I must see him. Soon as you hear from him, tell him to call my office at once.”

“You mean you've found something about the stone?”

“Not a damn thing!” I said, dropping the receiver in its cradle.

Bobo said, “How not to win friends and influence clients!”

“Got to stop blowing my top. Come on, let's see the big shot.”

“Maybe I'd better stay here.... I mean, never know what will come up, who'll pay us a visit?”

“Shirley will be okay. Whatever they were looking for, they know it isn't here. And we'll return soon.” But Shirley worried me, we weren't playing with kids in this deal. I told her, “On second thought, best you lock up now, call it a day.”

“I'm not afraid to...” she began.

“Bobo is right. See you tomorrow morning.”

“Suppose this mailman calls?” Bobo asked. “I'd better stay here and...”

“What's wrong with you, Franklin got something on you?”

“Naw, ain't that,” Bobo said, fingering his suit. “I look kind of shabby and...”

“So what?” I asked as Shirley got her hat and I set the lock on the door. We walked her to the subway, then kept on walking toward Fifth Avenue. Bobo puzzled me, seemed frightened. After a few minutes he said, “Hal, Franklin's bodyguard is... is Lefty Wilson.”

“The champ who kayoed you? Thought I'd seen him before.”

“I... eh... just as soon not see him. There was a mess about the rematch, lot of bad feeling.”

“I remember now, your manager held out for 40 per cent of the gate and the whole deal went up in hot air. Shame, would have been a two hundred grand gate at least.”

“Biggest payday in my career. Some managers, you know how greedy they are,” Bobo said. Suddenly he stopped walking and when I turned, he said, “Hal, that's all a lie. I run out on Lefty. I was scared shitless of him!”