Summer Cool - A Jack Paine Mystery (Jack Paine Mysteries) (14 page)

Sims said to Paine, "You're in a bunch of trouble, shithead. 'Course it looks like someone already told your face that."

"Did you have a warrant to break into my hotel room?" Paine said, ignoring the comment. He wanted to lie down. Or die.

Sims smirked, taking two folded pieces of paper out of his pocket. "That, and another birthday surprise. I have a warrant for your arrest for the murder of somebody named. .
 
." He unfolded the paper and read from it.
".
. . James Coleman, of Yonkers, New York." He smiled. "You're going back to New York, cop killer."

Martin smiled at Paine, turned to Sims. "Can we eat now, Jerry?" he asked.

C
hief Bryers, with his car and driver, was waiting for Paine at LaGuardia Airport. As they pulled away from Sims and Martin, who had personally flown back with Paine and who stood smiling and waving at the curb outside the American Airlines terminal, Bryers removed Paine's handcuffs.

"Relax," Bryers said. "You're not being charged with anything."

Paine looked at him levelly
_;
there seemed to be a hint of amusement on Bryers’ face behind the bureaucrat's veneer. "Then what am I doing here?"

"There was a time, for about twenty minutes yesterday, when you were directly connected with the murder of Jim Coleman."

"Who issued the warrant?"

Bryers smiled slightly. "I did. Let's just say I was politely asked to do it."

"By who?"

"The U.S. Attorney's office. And let's say he was asked by someone else above him."

"You were ordered to have me sent back to New York?" Bryers said,

"Asked."
The chagrined smile remained.

"Don't you care about being jerked around?" Paine asked.

Bryers’ demeanor darkened. "That's not the way I'd
put it."

"How would you put it?"

"Let's just say a lot has happened since yesterday. A lot of it I have you to thank
for."

Paine waited for more.

Bryers suddenly smiled widely and slapped Paine on the knee. "You're a good man, Jack. You're honest, and you're tough. I'd like you to work for me."

"Didn't Coleman make me an unauthorized job offer a few days ago?"

"This is different. You've helped me clean up the whole department in less than a week, and I'd like to have you around for good. Rank of detective, second class, to start. We can talk about salary over drinks."

Paine studied Bryers’ face to see if he was joking. But Bryers didn't have the kind of face that joked.

Bryers said, "Don't you realize what you've done?"

"You did break into Coleman's house, didn't you? You left no prints but I know it was you."

After a moment, Paine said, "Yes."

"You didn't plant that stuff in the hutch drawer, did you?"

"It was there already."

Bryers almost laughed. "Well, don't you realize that Coleman's log contained the names of every crooked cop in the department, and half the dealers in Yonkers? That would have taken me months, maybe years, to get at. I've got ten indictments already, and another five in the works! And then the department's
clean!"

"That's nice."

"Jack, in twenty years, I've never had a day like this! We even solved Roberto Hermano's murder." He laughed. "Turned out it was a lover's quarrel, if you want to call it that. Hermano was a fag. Apparently he and some other fag named Philly Ramos were an item. When Roberto started fooling around on the side with a sixteen-year-old named Jeff Samuels, Ramos found out about it and killed him out of jealousy. This kid Samuels came to us with his parents. They were white as a sheet, their little boy, good background, all-white school, mixed up with this kind of homo crap. The kid was a wreck, told us everything. He said Bob Petty had
been protecting Hermano, and that after Petty disappeared Roberto wanted to leave New York with Samuels, but the kid wouldn't go with him." Bryers’ enthusiasm dropped a notch. "Jack, I
am
sorry about your friend Petty turning out bad—"

"Who said Petty was involved?"

"His prints were all over the club where we found Coleman's body. So were yours. You tell
me
what to think."

"Was his name in Coleman's ledgers?"

"No. But he and Coleman could have had a separate agreement. Or Petty may have gone on the take recently. Or maybe Petty decided to take over the whole operation."

Paine was silent.

"Look, Jack, you have to be reasonable," Bryers said. "I've got Petty directly connected with a murder in Yonkers, one in Fort Worth, Texas, and now I have an APB in from Tucson for Petty for the murder of someone named Enrique Quinones and his girlfriend. All of the bodies were hacked to pieces and decapitated. I think it's safe to say that Petty is involved, and that he may be out of his mind. What do you think? Of course, you were there, too. And you look like you were in a war. So talk to me."

"I don't know what to think."

"Listen, Paine," Bryers said. "I'd really like you to come back to the department. It would be good for you, for me, for everyone."

"How would it be good for me?"

Bryers showed surprise. "Don't you miss the police force? Your father was a good cop, from what I hear."

"I don't miss the force."

Bryers’ surprise increased. "Do you mean that?"

"Look," Paine said, facing Bryers, letting anger run into his face. "I was a cop once, I was in love with it then, but I'm not a cop anymore."

"But with all the corruption gone—"

"The way I see it, this is your way of keeping the feds happy by putting a lid on me. You know if you charge me with Coleman's murder I'll be out in six hours."

Bryers just looked at him. "There's something else. The U.S. Attorney's office informed me that they're investigating a government leak they think breached national security."

Paine said nothing.

"It's serious stuff," Bryers continued. "They told me five to ten, just for being involved. They'd really like to find the leak."

"All I want to do is find out what happened to Bob Petty."

Bryers suddenly became very formal. He turned away from Paine, staring straight out through the glass partition, through the windshield of the car. "I'm afraid I can't let you do that. Part of the deal I made with the U.S. Attorney's office was that you stay in New York."

"You made the deal, I didn't."

"It's not that simple. If you try to leave New York, I'll have to arrest you for Coleman's murder."

"But you told me—"

"That's right. I told you. But I didn't say it was official. Officially, for the sake of the U.S. Attorney's office, I let the warrant stand."

"I told you it wouldn't stick."

Bryers was humorless, the bureaucrat again. "They've got a job to do. We all do. Is this your office?"

The car had stopped in front of Paine's building. The driver in front sat unmoving, hands on the wheel, waiting. Paine said, "Thanks for the ride."

As he was getting out of the car Bryers put his hand on Paine's arm. "Think about my offer." A hint of a clinically friendly smile came back to his face. "Like I said, it would be good for everybody."

"Good for you?" Paine said, and Bryers removed his hand from Paine's arm.

"Everybody," Bryers said, stonily.

Paine got out of the car and closed the door. He watched Bryers make a motion to the driver, and then the car pulled away from the curb and moved off.

A
ll the lights were on in Paine's office. The door was open. The air conditioner was on, rattling unsuccessfully in the window, making noise, pushing hot air into the corners of the room.

Anapolos was sitting on Paine's chair, behind his desk, going through his mail.

Paine stood in the doorway and said,
"
I
just got out of Police Chief Bryers’ car. You want me to call him back and report a breaking and entering?"

Anapolos looked up at him mildly. "Do what you want, Mr. Paine. We'll let the lawyers settle it. If you read your lease closely, you'll see that I have the right of entrance. I have a key for the premises, and I used it."

"I don't have a lawyer," Paine said. He crossed the room, walked around his desk, and grabbed Anapolos by the shirtfront, yanking him up out of the chair.

Anapolos gasped, his eyes going wide. "Mr. Paine, the lawyers—"

"I told you I don't have a lawyer," Paine said. "I don't need one."

Holding Anapolos tightly by the shirt, Paine danced him back around the desk to the front and dropped him into one of the padded chairs.

"Mr. Paine, Mr. Paine. . ." Anapolos gasped, trying to regain his breath along with his dignity.

Paine sat behind his desk and drew a key from his pocket. Ignoring Anapolos, he fitted the key into the lower righthand drawer of the desk, unlocked it, opened the drawer, and brought out a portable cassette deck. There was a tape in it, and Paine rewound it.

"Listen," Paine said. He pushed the Play button, and both he and Anapolos listened to Koval and Kohl's antics in Paine's office, the threats, the short fight, Koval's whining announcement that Anapolos had sent them to beat Paine up.

Paine turned off the tape recorder, removed the tape, and put it in his pocket. He rummaged in the back of the open drawer, found a fresh tape, unwrapped it and put it in the machine. He put the recorder back in the drawer, slid it closed, locked it, and pocketed the key.

"Anything to say?" Paine said. "Should I get a lawyer?"

Anapolos began to sputter, "I didn't—I did not send—"

"Here's what you're going to do," Paine said. "And you're going to do it of your own free will. I am not blackmailing you. The tape, which I'm going to copy and send to Chief Bryers, asking him not to open it unless I ask him to, is just something I have in my possession. It has nothing to do with you, unless you want it to. Unless you want lawyers going over it.

"What you're going to do is leave me alone. You're going to draw up a new lease, without the right of entrance clause, and the term of the lease is going to be ninety-nine years. The rent will go up with the rate of inflation each year, which is fair. Also in my new lease will be a clause guaranteeing strict maintenance of my office, at your expense. The office will be painted every five years. You will make sure there are no water leaks, no roaches, no rats, no termites. Also, and this will be the first thing you do, you will make sure that either the air conditioner in here is fixed, immediately, or that a new one is installed.

"Have your lawyer witness the lease, get it notarized, and send it to me. Now get out, Mr. Anapolos."

Anapolos sat unmoving in his chair, struck dumb. "Mr. Paine—"

"I've been nothing but fair, Mr. Anapolos. You're an ass
hole and I don't like you, and what I should really do is tell Chief Bryers to play the tape I send him as soon as he gets it. He'll like it. He's a stickler for details. He doesn't like corruption, and scumbags like you offend his sense of order.

"What would happen to you is that you would be arrested and booked, and then spend at least a night in jail while your relatives come up with bail. Then you would go to trial and lose, because Koval and Kohl would testify against you after being promised immunity. And you would spend about nine months in jail, during which time you would be fucked in the rear end until your rectum is wide enough to pass a grapefruit."

Paine stopped as Anapolos scurried for the door, closing it gently behind him. "All right, Mr. Paine," he said, and in a moment Paine heard the elevator wheeze him down to the ground.

Paine turned on the answering machine on his desk. He was checking through the blank tape when the phone rang.

When he put the receiver to his ear, Philly Ramos's voice said, "Hello, Paine." The voice sounded faraway, vague, haunted.

"You want me to help you, Philly?"

"I don't think I can be helped, Paine."

"You sure, Philly? I can take you in, make sure the police take care of you."

"I don't think that's possible. Anyway. . ." He laughed, a pained sound. "Remember how Roberto used to say he couldn't stand to go back to jail again?"