Trick Baby (2 page)

Blue leaned toward him and said, “Mr. Murray, I appreciate your sentiments. Unfortunately, I don't share them. Christmas is just another day to me. Besides, wouldn't it be at least slightly out of line for a robbery detective and a mere carny spindle-man to exchange gifts?

“In my opinion, such a gesture would not be wise, but stupid to the extreme. After all, I'm not a heavy gee. Cheer up, Mr. Murray, you have almost a week to find a heister or safecracker to share your Christmas sentiments.”

Blue glanced at his wristwatch, turned to me, and said, “Son, we better hurry. I'm afraid we'll be late for our appointment.”

Blue took a sawbuck from his raise and put it on top of our eight-dollar check. He started to rise. I rose with him. We made it to the aisle. I stood behind Blue. He reached for our hats and coats on the chrome rack at the top of the booth.

He looked down at Dot and said, “Well, Mr. Murray, the chances are I won't see you again before Christmas, so best wishes to you for the holidays.”

Dot still sat there grinning. He looked straight ahead as we struggled into our coats. Then, without turning his head, he casually said, “Blue, I can't miss seeing you again soon. I'll duck into the homicide bureau and enjoy your morgue shots, maybe as soon as tomorrow. I'll count the ice-pick holes in your black lard ass. You and your trick baby partner could be walking corpses.”

I cut in. I was hot as hell. I said, “Goddamnit, Mr. Murray, I was no trick baby. My mother was no whore. She married a white man. Do I have to pin her marriage license on my chest? And Blue and I haven't done anything to wind up dead.”

He said, “I'll believe a license when I see it. I'm bullshit proof. Get wise and sit down. You high-powered grifters could save your lives. You two greedy bastards took off dangerous dough today.

“Like I said before, old sentimental Murray just wants to exchange early Christmas presents. Now you're interested as hell, I betcha.”

Before the blast Blue was handing me my hat. Now, he was crushing it lopsided. He turned and looked up at me. His face had turned gray. His big nose was dewy. For an instant I didn't get it.

Then I thought, ice-pick stabs! We took off dangerous dough!
Mary, Mother of Jesus! It just couldn't be! It couldn't be true! The cop was kidding us. Yes, that was it. The outfit, the syndicate wanted us dead? It had to be hokum. We weren't idiots. We would never cross them.

Blue stood silently looking down at the top of Dot's head. His eyes were almost closed like a condemned man in prayer. I wondered why his magic tongue was taking such a long vacation. I fell into the booth. Dot's eyes stared into space over my head.

I said, “Mr. Murray, somebody's sold you a phony steer. Neither Blue nor I are in outfit trouble. It's impossible. Only a rank sucker would gamble against that kind of fate. We're smarter than that. We like steaks, clothes, dames and breathing too much to commit suicide.”

He didn't say anything. The waitress came to clear our plates away. She gave Blue a warm two-dollar smile as she brushed by him in the aisle.

Blue sighed and floated his right hand before my face. He rippled his fingers through the air like a kid making waves in a creek.

The seat of my pants was damp. My wet palms oared across the cool leather. Blue dropped heavy anchor beside me. We waited for Dot's lead.

He said, “Boys, I had to be the luckiest sonuvabitch in the department today. There I was cruising down Roosevelt Road. I felt lousy as hell. I had a hangover and six dollars in my pocket a week before Christmas.

“I stopped for the red at Kedsie, near Roosevelt Road. Who should go roaring across the intersection but old man Frascati. You know, the old dago fence who owns the secondhand clothing shop. Guess who his passenger was?”

Dot paused and chortled. I was paralyzed. Blue was rigid beside me. Frascati was the mark we had played for the ten grand. Dot had seen Blue lugging the old man to me for the kill.

He continued his fun, “It didn't register until I passed the old
man's shop on Madison. It was closed. Frascati had to be awfully excited to do that in midday.

“It was too late to pick up the trail so I staked out the shop. I figured the old man would come back on the send for his money. I knew he hated banks. He kept a bundle stashed inside his shop somewhere.

“All the Westside heisters knew about the stash. But the old man's loot was safe. Ten years ago two foolish heisters from out of town raided his cash register. Two days later they were found in an alley. They were ice-picked from head to toe. Their butts had been sliced off to the bone. The Westside heisters knew what you dough-crazy grifters were too stupid to find out before you played for Frascati. Do you know who the old man's sister happens to be? The mother of Nino Parelli, that's who! Nino loved the old man. He set him up in the clothing shop.”

He gaped his mouth open and bucked his eyes wide in mock terror. He just sat there with that creepy look frozen on his face. I didn't need his grim clowning to chill my blood.

Blue looked at me. I looked at Blue. There wasn't a hustler on the Southside who hadn't heard of Nino Parelli.

He was a fast rising talent of terror and murder in the outfit. His dominion was the lush policy wheels and dope operations on the Southside. His spine-tingling reputation kept the black figureheads in a state of trembling honesty.

Blue's usually silky voice was ragged. He said, “Mr. Murray, on the face of it I admit things do look dark for me. Believe me, White Folks was not involved in the Frascati affair. In fact, I was a mere dupe myself.

“But I've got connections. My position is reversible. I'll make a phone call tonight, and walk in the sun again. Give me a solid reason why I should hold still for your shakedown?”

Joy lighted Dot's face. He said, “Blue, I thought you'd never ask. The greatest connection on earth couldn't get you a stay of
execution once I fingered you. Listen carefully and I'll give you rock-hard reason.

“When the old man got back to his shop he rushed to the phone in the front window. I could tell he was happy and excited as he talked. He hung up. Then he did an odd thing. He scrambled into that heap of his and drove toward the Loop. I tailed him to hockshop row at Van Buren and State.

“He was beginning to really puzzle me now. The old man never fenced anything but whiskey from hijackers and clothes from smash-and-grab store burglars. He had been a former tailor in Rome. He was smart to traffic in items he knew.

“He parked his jalopy three feet from the curb in a red zone on State. I parked maybe fifty feet in front of the jalopy on State. I kept watch in my rear-view mirror.

“He hustled into Jerry Profacci's joint. I knew that Jerry was Chicago's top hot-ice dealer. Blue, at that instant I got the thought that you had stepped into the heavy rackets.”

Dot paused and stuck his index finger into his ear. He rapidly jiggled it like an itchy mutt scratching at fleas. He rolled his eyes in the ecstasy of it all like a dame in orgasm. With that squeaky, high voice of his and all, a fellow would have to wonder about him. Even so I could pity the fruit hustler who tried to put the strong-arm on him.

Blue shifted his bulk and glanced nervously at his watch.

I looked over Dot's head at the frostbitten chumps passing the window. I envied them now. They would go on living and at least die a natural death.

Dot was sharp for a juice head. He sensed out tenseness. He said, “Now, Blue, don't get jumpy. Nino's not wise yet that you are the dirty bird who fouled up the old man.

“Anyway, after ten minutes or so, I got restless and walked by Jerry's to the corner. There was only a clerk at the counter. I knew the old man was in the rear transacting business with Jerry.

“On my way back to my car, the old man staggered out to the
sidewalk. He was in a bad way. He was in a shocked daze. He looked right into my face. His eyes were blank. It was spooky because he had known me fifteen years. I walked by him. I went back to my car to take up the tail when he pulled out.

“The gears screeched when his heap careened into traffic. A southbound streetcar skidded a shower of sparks. I knew it couldn't stop in time. The streetcar crushed in the driver's side of the jalopy. The old man flew through the window like he had been shot from a cannon.

“His head busted wide open against the street. It sounded like an ax splitting a two-by-four. I sat there helpless. I knew he was dead.

“I was sitting there long after they took him away. Blue, I knew that in some way you were responsible. At first I couldn't tie you in. Then when it hit me, it was easy. The old man had gotten bad news at Profacci's.

“He had been in high spirits when he left you. What was the news that put him into that fatal daze? Profacci bought hot rocks. I knew then it was rocks, phony rocks that he thought were real!

“I was sure you had swindled him on some twist of the rocks con. Profacci had broken the bad news to Frascati. Boys, I believe that score was no less than fifteen-G's. I want five-G's no matter what it was.

“A million dollars couldn't cool Nino if I tipped him. But you're lucky at that I'm the only one who can put a finger on you. Give me the five-G's now and walk out that door. Don't give it to me and I rush my finger to Nino.”

I
had to admire the way Dot had spun the steel web. Dot gazed at us. His body had the floppy looseness of a card hustler who had dealt himself a mortal cinch.

I started to take a cold steam bath inside my overcoat when Blue said, “Mr. Murray, your eyes told your brain a lie. It's true you saw me with Frascati. But I didn't get a nickel for myself. Too bad he isn't alive to support the truth.

“You must understand, Mr. Murray, that I was just a good Samaritan when you saw us together. This whole unfortunate affair revolves around a certain white gentleman of now stainless reputation who was a former inside man on the big con. He's been a true friend through the years. His name would flabbergast you if I were not pledged to secrecy. I am sure even Nino would be impressed to hear his name.

“As a matter of fact, so powerful is he that on occasion he has influenced police department policy. In a manner of speaking it could be said that you, Mr. Murray, under certain circumstances, might be affected by this influence, for better or for worse.

“This gentleman had been doing soft-goods business with Mr. Frascati and a score of others here in the city. Like you, Mr. Murray, I have not been free of sinful interest in a fast buck.”

Blue paused and looked over the booth top toward the waitress. He waved. She came and waited for the order. Blue ordered cognac. Dot, Cutty Sark, triple shot, straight. Cutty Sark had been my favorite drink long ago. Now I didn't dare touch a single drop of alcohol. I ordered Seven-Up.

The glamour dust in her hair reminded me of how blocks of silicon jeweled the granite markers in a cemetery on a sunny day.

She brought the drinks. Blue lit a cigar and slowly sipped his cognac. He looked at Dot and winked at me.

Dot's eyes were locked shut. He poked out his angry bottom lip between gulps of the straight Scotch. He was crawling his fingers over his glass like vipers at the rim of a pit.

I wondered if, under the strain of everything, Blue was off his rocker. Didn't he realize Dot plus the Scotch could be almost as dangerous as Nino? I didn't know Blue's full angle yet, but at this point I was ready to tear my pocket off in haste to pay off.

Blue continued, “Now, Mr. Murray, to make a short story shorter first I must make you understand that I too was a victim of the white gentleman's disregard of principle. It was inhuman of him not to mention that Nino was Frascati's nephew.

“I didn't know that Mr. Frascati existed until I received a call from my white friend. He had discovered a distressing number of sub-par garments among a delivery made to him by an agent of Mr. Frascati the day before.

“Unfortunately, he had been generous and advanced Mr. Frascati a sizeable sum of money a week ago. The gentleman explained to me that whether Frascati had willfully cheated him or not was not really important. He had to give the old man a lesson.

“He wanted the old man to use careful respect in future dealings with him. He told me he really liked the old man. But he couldn't let even the small timers cheat him with impunity. It made sense to me.

“You're a robbery detective and you read the papers. They said a
cat burglar made a hundred-and-fifty-gee score from the room of a jewelry salesman in a downtown hotel several days ago.

“The gentleman located a Southside whiskey hijacker who had done business with the old man. The hijacker must have electrified the old man with the story that the hotel score had been made by an amateur.

“The amateur was a maid at the hotel with sticky mitts. She had taken it on impulse. Now she wanted to get rid of it fast. She would take fifteen-G's. The hijacker was her agent. Right away the old man called my gentleman for advice. I was there when the call came through.

“The gentleman said it was a great deal if the merchandise was really the Loop loot. But a body had to be careful when dealing in rocks. There was phony stuff around, an inexpert eye couldn't detect from the genuine.

“The gentleman told him he would send an expert ex-con jewel thief to go with him to look at the stuff. I played the role of that expert. Mr. Murray, I was indebted to the gentleman. How could I refuse him?

“Before the old man hung up he got the gentleman's promise that if the ice tested out he would lend him eight-G's to go with the seven he had in hand. He swore the old man to secrecy. I took a cab to the clothing shop.”

Blue leaned back and puffed his cigar end into a fiery eye. I was beginning to feel better. Maybe Blue's tale would get us off the shakedown hook.

Those feet sledging against the floor had stopped. There is something about solid con that wraps the mind in a pleasant cocoon-world of unreality that replaces the world of reality. I almost believed Blue's tale myself.