The Last Cop Out (28 page)

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Authors: Mickey Spillane

Tags: #Hard/Boiled/Crime

BOOK: The Last Cop Out
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And if it spelled out Mark Shelby,
Primus Gladatori,
old Primus was going to be a
Finis
gladatori.
 
With the repercussions still echoing from the South and Midwest there was enough material to keep the news media satisfied and there was no trouble at all getting them to delay releasing the news of the death of Richard Case and company. As far as anyone was concerned, the dead had simply dropped out of sight temporarily. Case had been separated from his wife for three years so it wasn’t likely that she would make inquiries and his business associates had already been notified via a faked call that he’d be gone for a while.
Robert Lederer and his staff augmented by select personnel from police intelligence units had been going over the reports for the past five hours, trying to make a complete picture out of what had happened, but despite the detailed accounts the final version was more speculation than anything else.
It wasn’t until fifteen minutes ago that anybody had known the whereabouts of Papa Menes. He had voluntarily made an appearance with his lawyer and winesses who verified that they had been on a vacation in a mountain cabin far upstate, completely out of touch with current events.
Both Burke and Bill Long gave Lederer a sour grimace when he made the announcement and the captain asked, “How far are you going to push his alibi, Bob?”
Lederer shrugged and spread his hands. “All the way, but we’re not playing with a kid. Menes’ll have all his tracks covered. I’m not getting enthusiastic about breaking his story down at all. Besides, there’s just the possibility that he’s telling the truth.”
“Balls.” Burke’s tone cut right across the room and heads turned to look at him.
“Okay, Mr. Burke,” the D.A. said, “you’ve been coming up with all the believe-it-or-not kind of details around here, but if you’ve got something to say about this matter, keep it factual.”
“Why should I? It’s more than you can do.”
“Because we’re the ones who are going to draw the conclusions from whatever we get fact or fancy . . . not you, Burke.”
“All right, we’ll stick with the facts then.” He shook a cigarette into his hand, stuck it between his lips and lit it carefully. “You have what’s left of the syndicate sprinkled around the country with their best men shoulder to shoulder in the morgue. You have public indignation at its peak and no matter what move you make against the fucking mob, you can’t be wrong as long as you’re quick. Everybody’s sitting in a political rose garden where everybody can suddenly look good from the uniformed police to the big-shot politicos.”
“That last part is pure speculation, Burke.”
“In the pig’s ass. You know it’s true. The only thing that’s got everybody bugged is the mob’s chain of command and the disposition of their legitimate enterprises. Their billions in business can take one hell of a chunk out of the economy if it falls and nobody quite wants to get stuck with that label.
“Which brings us to another fact. The head man is right here in New York. The next in line is right here too. Everything is up for grabs with winner-take-all and there’s going to be one hell of a war when Papa Menes and Mark Shelby get their troops in line ... and you can bet your sweet behind that right now they’re burning up the phones to every torpedo ready to hire out. The old man’s got money stashed and ready for delivery and so has Shelby. They’ll pull the cork, step back and see who comes out on top. They won’t be around and you’ll never get enough evidence to connect them to the hassle, but it will sure be one hell of a hassle. It’s going to make that fracas in Miami seem like a teen age rumble in the park.”
“Don’t get carried away, Burke.”
Gill gave him a tight grin. “Hell, buddy, I’m trying to
understate
the case. If you think I’m blowing wind, ask your advisers here. Not all of them are yes-man types.”
A quick glance told Lederer that Burke was right. “Of course, you have the solution to this whole thing, I suppose?” His voice was filled with acid sarcasm.
Burke nodded sagely. “Sure.”
“Go on.”
“Kill them,” Burke said.
 
Bill Long handed Burke the plastic cup of steaming coffee and sat on the edge of the table staring out at the city on the other side of the window. Tiny lines seamed the comers of his eyes and he didn’t so much as grimace when he sipped the scalding drink. That same thought was trapped in his mind and he couldn’t lose it. In fact, it kept growing and building, but it was like a tree growing in the darkness. The substance was there, but you just couldn’t see it.
Burke said, “We done for the night?”
The captain nodded, still looking out at the city.
“I’m taking off then. I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
Bill Long heard his feet cross the room, but before Burke got to the door he said, “Gill . . .”
“Yeah, Bill?”
“You meant it, didn’t you?”
After a moment Burke asked, “Meant what?”
“Upstairs . . . about killing them.”
Burke’s laugh was deep-throated and hard. “It’s the only realistic answer, friend. You’re damn right I meant it.”
Long turned and looked at him, his face bland, but his eyes cold and hard. “You considering doing it too?”
For a few seconds, Burke said nothing, his eyes probing those of his friend. But both had their screens up and the walls were too thick to penetrate. Burke said, “Yeah, I’ve been considering ways and means.”
“Find one?”
“Maybe. When I’m sure I’ll call you.”
15
 
 
His careful reconnaissance located only the single stakeout that had been there all day, replaced on schedule every four hours, so Mark Shelby decided that his physical needs justified the risk, and without bothering to call first, he took his usual circuitous route out of the building, picked up a cab two blocks away and gave the driver Helga’s address.
Mark needed the diversion badly. He had to get his thinking straight, his efforts organized so that there would be no chance of anything going wrong.
Tangling with the old man always left him edgy, even when he had everything going for him. The trouble was, there wasn’t any Big Board any longer and nobody to back him up in a power play. Papa Menes didn’t give a shit if they had handed him the operation. Right now Papa was the Big Board, the Little Board and everything else. At least he thought he was. Mark glanced at his watch. By this time he ought to be having a few doubts himself. Mark had gotten the best bid in on a dozen of the top guns in the business and Papa could settle for second best. He knew Papa was making his own contacts, and given time, could come up with a bigger and better army, but Mark didn’t plan to give him any extra time at all. Papa Menes could fall gracefully, his pockets well lined, or he could fall hard and empty.
On the West Coast most of the shattered families had tossed their lot in with Shelby. Instinctively, they knew that Papa Menes had ordered the nearly total destruction of the organization heads, and although they knew he was justified, their resentment was too great to accept the old man as their head.
Besides, Mark Shelby had intimated that he had everything wrapped up and the way he wanted, and knowing Mark for the shrewd manipulator he was, they saw him with a handful of aces. Not wanting to be cut out of the pot, they readily threw in behind him.
The old Midwest bunch still had the mustaches and wouldn’t even spit on somebody who couldn’t converse in the old tongue. Even though they had all been hurt in the upheaval, they threw their weight behind Papa, expecting the conflict to push and shove a little bit, then resolve itself the same way it always had when the big dons were up there where they belonged until the time came for them to personally hand over the reins of control to someone of their choice.
Shelby had sat in on too many intraorganizational squabbles not to know how it would go and who would throw in with whom. It was a new era this time and the name of the game was money. Hired guns didn’t give a shit one way or another who ran the factory as long as they got their pay. The more you paid them, the greater their allegiance and they could smell where the money was. Mark had it all wrapped up and when the sides were chosen and he knew exactly who to cut off, he’d select what he needed out of his vast horde of details, see that it reached the right police agency and the opposition would fall completely and permanently without his hand having been seen by anyone.
Undoubtedly, the old man would have an ace or two up his sleeve, but it couldn’t beat a royal flush. He smiled silently to himself, remembering the way Papa Menes had sounded on the phone earlier. He sure was one pissed-off old fart, but he was a smart old fart too. How the hell he managed to find out he had sent that extra load of artillery down to Herman the German, Mark couldn’t figure. He thought he had covered the deal pretty carefully, but it was a hurried play and the exposure really didn’t matter at this point anyway. Not that he admitted it outright. He had simply laughed and reminded the old man of a few things he could document that would turn a couple of those old-line loyal families against him completely. He finished by saying, “Stalemate, Papa.”
“You think so?” Menes asked.
“All the way, Papa.”
“Mark, you keep forgetting something.”
“And what would that be?”
There was a chuckle first and Mark felt himself frown. It wasn’t the time or place for anything to be funny at all. The old man said, “It’s all there waiting for whoever’s big enough to take it, right?”
“Correct, Papa.”
“And plenty big enough for you to try to get and me to try to hold onto, right?”
“Absolutely, Papa.”
There was another chuckle and the old man said very slowly, “You fuckin’ shithead, you think you know everything and maybe you do, except for the one biggest thing of all.”
Shelby felt a shudder run across his shoulders, then relaxed and smiled. Papa Menes always had that effect on people and now he was trying to psych him out too. With the old man, it was an instinctive thing, with Shelby, it was deliberate, so he made his pitch. “What’s that, Papa?”
But the old man won. He chuckled again and said, “If you can’t figure it out by ten o’clock, give me a call, shithead, and I’ll tell you something that’ll tie a square knot in your cock.”
Before Mark could answer him, the old man hung up. Mark grinned at the dead phone, stuck it back in its cradle and felt good because the days of the whip the old man held were past and dead and the whip would be in his hands now. The only annoying part was that he couldn’t figure what the old slob had been talking about. Hell, it was pretty damn plain now who was the instigator of those initial raids on the organization. Only one hand was behind it ... an experienced old pro who knew everybody’s move and could hire and train outside guns to carry out every damn detail with only one man to each kill. No wonder they could never put it together. But the original premise that came up at the meeting was correct. Only one hand that trained many. Only one motive ... complete takeover of the organization. Government, even the underground one, was being confiscated by a dictator.
And Papa Menes was the only one who could have accomplished it so beautifully. For a second Mark felt the irritation come back again. The dirty old son of a bitch probably even figured his, Mark’s, own reaction and tried to use it against him. Only something went wrong. He was still alive and kicking back from topside.
That was always the trouble with revolutions, Mark thought, some lousy little thing didn’t stay in place, or somebody was late, or somebody decided to take a crap before going to the office and the big scheme never quite came off.
What was the most beautiful of all though, Mark told himself, was that his own plans had gone into operation years and years before Papa Menes had felt his own position jeopardized and decided to do something about it.
The pleasure of the thoughts he had just reviewed was making Mark Shelby horny and he felt himself starting to bulge against his pants. He squirmed so he wouldn’t be so uncomfortable, took a five dollar bill from his roll and when they reached the building he handed it to the driver and told him to keep the change.

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