Читать книгу Savage City - John Glasby - Страница 6

CHAPTER TWO

TONY VITELLI

There was something uncertain about the city the following morning. I sensed it as I eased the car away from the kerb and headed out in the main stream of traffic. The mist still hung around in patches, shreds of grey stuff which occasionally hid the fronts of the stores and the people going about their everyday activities. I worked my way downtown, keeping my eyes peeled for anything which might give me a lead on what I was heading into. There wasn’t much. I needed another drink, but it was still too early for any but the more flashy bars to be open in this district, although the Golden Horseshoe would have stayed open until around four in the morning, and would be open again once I reached it.

I stopped the car at the end of the dingy street, sat behind the wheel smoking. It still wanted ten minutes to nine o’clock, but on a blind date like this, I needed time in which to watch the joint, I needed to know the entrances and exits, whether the place was being watched by anyone apart from myself; and if so, by whom. More than once in the past, this caution had paid handsome dividends. Some guys had died quickly, if not cleanly, because they’d overlooked the most elementary details and had walked in to death with their eyes shut.

I finished the cigarette and decided that there was nobody watching the front entrance to the Golden Horseshoe. That didn’t mean it was clear, but it certainly began to look as if my unknown informant was on the level.

Five minutes’ wait before I stubbed out my cigarette, checked the Luger in my pocket, then got out of the car. Far enough from the entrance to make things difficult for anybody trying to shadow me in, but close enough if I had to make a run for it. Five minutes more cut out of half an hour. I laughed at myself, nervous and impatient, like a kid fresh out of high school waiting for his first date.

I crossed the street quickly, melted into the shadows on the other side, then cut down a narrow alley which led to the back of the line of buildings. Maybe I’d tagged this guy wrong. Maybe he was a right guy trying to help me along. But there weren’t many who’d do that for Johnny Merak, who had deliberately spat in the faces of the big men of the Underworld and turned his back on them. Anybody helping me was virtually signing his own death warrant if the big boys found out. That was one of the reasons it was so difficult to get information now, why I had to follow every possible lead, taking the risk of it being a trap.

The rear of the buildings, like the front, was no fancy place. I made it through a dark, garbage-strewn alley which angled between a couple of the buildings, spotted the one I wanted, and eased my way quietly along it. There was a high wall at the end of it and I pulled myself over it. My feet didn’t make a sound when they hit the concrete on the other side and I was away into the shadows before any bright boys inside, who may have been on the lookout for me, thought of looking in my direction. After that, it was comparatively easy.

I pushed open the back door and stepped into a narrow corridor. There was the smell of stale beer and tobacco smoke in my nostrils. There was another door at the end of the passage. I felt the comforting hardness of the Luger in my pocket before pushing my way through the door. The bar was half empty. Some guy was seated at the piano in one corner, thumping out a tuneless rhythm on the keys, head dropping forward as if he was drunk or half asleep.

The barman gave me a funny look, sizing me up with his eyes. I could almost hear his brain ticking over. Maybe he recognised me, maybe not. But there wasn’t any doubt he was in the pay of the big boys, and would report anything unusual, no matter how trivial it might seem.

‘Looking for somebody, friend?’ asked the barman too casually, ‘or are you just down for the drink?’

‘Both,’ I said. I knew better than to enlarge on that. Either he would shut up like a clam, or slip off at the first opportunity and phone someone in the Organisation that there was a guy there asking too many questions about the wrong things.

Somebody crushed into the seat beside me. I knew better than to turn round right away. The barman moved away and the voice beside me said:

‘Hello, Johnny. Glad you decided to come.’

I looked round, forced evenness into my voice. ‘Tony Vitelli. I thought I recognised the voice over the phone, but I couldn’t be sure.’

He sat huddled up on the bar stool, staring straight ahead of him into the mirror at the back of the bar. A short, suave guy, well-dressed, but not flashily so like most of the others. From the outside, you’d have taken him for a regular business guy, the kind you meet in the middle of Los Angeles any day around five, going back to a respectable suburban home, a wife, and a couple of kids.

That was on the outside. On the inside, he was a professional killer who had learned his business the hard way in Detroit and Chicago. I knew his past record; arrested twice on suspicion of murder, more times than I could count for illegal possession of dope. But none of the charges had ever been made to stick, and all of that was pretty old stuff from a few years back.

‘Tell me about yourself, Tony,’ I said easily.

‘You in on this case about Caroline Lomer,’ he said. ‘This Federal guy Grenville is pretty sure that it’s a mob slaying, and he’s put you onto the scent to try to smoke out the killer. Right?’

‘Could be. Don’t tell me that the Organisation has given you the job of seeing that I’m kept out of the case?’

The drinks came and I sipped mine slowly. Vitelli threw his over in a single gulp, turning the empty glass over slowly in his hands. If he had felt the insult, he gave no sign, his features never changed, his eyes never wavered.

‘We used to work for the same people, Johnny,’ he said thickly. ‘But that was a long time ago. Things have changed since then. You made the right move at the right time, when Clancy Snow and Dutch McKnight were rubbed out. It isn’t so easy for guys like me. I want to make a little more than salary and cakes, but they’ve got so much pinned on me they’ll never let me off the hook. If they don’t get me themselves, they’ll see to it that the cops get a full dossier on my past, and there’s enough in that to burn me ten times over.’

‘So where do you come in now? What was all that talk over the phone? If you’ve got any information, you’d better let me have it before any of your friends find you.’

Of course, I knew what was coming. Get mixed up in a dirty deal and you meet dirty people.

‘Sure, Johnny. But what’s in it for me? Can you put in a word with this Federal friend of yours, try to get me off the hook if I give you this information?’

‘So that’s it.’ I looked him straight in the eye. A dangerous man in spite of his outward appearance of respectability. A changed guy? A solid, dependable citizen ready to take his place in society? Somehow, I didn’t think so. There was more to this than showed on the surface, but I was damned if I could see it. I fingered the gun in my pocket, saw his glance stray downward, a little muscle twitching in his cheek.

‘You’ll do it for me, Johnny. After all, we’re old friends.’

Like hell we are, I thought savagely, but I didn’t say it out aloud. Tony Vitelli was my only lead, and whether I liked him or not, I was stuck with him if I wanted to get anywhere with this case.

‘I can’t do that, Tony, and you know it,’ I said steadily, watching him narrowly. I saw the sudden stiffening of his face, the sharp movement of his fingers on the polished top of the bar. He seemed to be taking a tight hold of himself, trying to make a decision. In the past, as one of the right-hand men of the big bosses, he had been in the position of giving orders and knowing that they would be carried out to the letter, that if he said someone had to die, then the guy was knocked off and few questions were asked, even by the cops.

‘O.K. Johnny, I guess I made a wrong pitch asking you to come along.’ He slid off the bar stool, moved away.

I didn’t know what was in his mind. All I did know was that here was the only lead I had, and I was determined not to let it slip through my fingers. If I hadn’t been nervous about the men I was dealing with, I may not have been so quick to be rough with a man like Tony. There were a lot of ideas churning away inside me—the memory of a woman lying slain on a lonely sidewalk, the big men hiding in a net of treachery, and vice, fear, tension, and disgust.

Reaching over, I took Tony’s left hand in my right, pressing down hard on his thumb, twisting him round until his wrist was jammed hard against his shoulder blades. He hadn’t made a sound. None too gently, I propelled him from the bar, towards the corridor leading out to the back. I knew it was unoccupied unless they had shifted some of their hirelings into it during the few minutes I had been talking in the bar.

‘This isn’t going to get you anything, Merak,’ he mumbled as I pushed him through the swing door, into the passage.

‘Maybe not,’ I said, shoving his head forward. The barman watched us out of the corner of his eye, but he wanted no part in this quarrel. He knew better than to get mixed up in anything like this which was not his concern. He might get in touch with some of the big men, but not right away, and by the time he contacted them, I hoped to be a long way away.

By the time we reached the end of the corridor, he was making little hurt noises in his throat. I located the gun in his hip pocket and slipped it into my own. Obviously he had come prepared to bargain the hard way if things had gone against him. It still didn’t look like a trap, but I couldn’t be sure and I didn’t want to wait around long to find out. That was why I had to have the answers to my questions—and fast.

‘Going to talk, Tony?’

He tried to nod his head against my arm. Watchfully, I let him free.

‘That’s better. Just what is your connection with this murder? It wouldn’t have been you who pulled it off, would it, Tony?’ It was a definite possibility. It bore the same kind of handmark as some of his past handiwork, but somehow, I doubted it. He gave the orders instead of carrying them out.

‘I work for Callen, you know that, Johnny,’ he said thickly. ‘You don’t have to be so tough.’

‘Then don’t be tricky, Tony. You make me jumpy.’ Harry Callen ran a big advertising agency in uptown Los Angeles, and had a finger in more than a dozen motels strung out along the major highways in the state. All in the open and perfectly legitimate. Behind the scenes, he headed a gang of thugs who managed the protection racket and worked several big syndicates ready to get evidence for blackmail, eager to rustle off anybody who made trouble.

I knew what happened to guys who tried to set themselves up against Harry Callen. They usually disappeared off the face of the earth with no trouble and no fuss, only turning up sometime later when they were dredged out of the river. I didn’t want to be one of those guys, but if I was to get anywhere, this was one of the risks I had to take.

‘Talk, Tony,’ I said swiftly. ‘I don’t want to have to rough you up any more than I have to, but believe me, I will if you don’t tell me what I want to know.’

He rubbed his throat, a crafty gleam in his eyes. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him with one hand tied behind my back, but I wanted to know what he had been so anxious to sell.

‘I know who killed Caroline Lomer.’

‘Go on.’

‘Sure you won’t help me with Grenville, Johnny?’ There was a pleading note in his voice now. A big man whining because he wanted out. A frightened man, wanted for murder ten times over, and trying to find a way around it.

‘Keep talking.’

He shrugged his shoulders. ‘O.K. Johnny. I knew this dame was going to be knocked off. Callen gave the order. Don’t ask me why he wanted her out of the way. Maybe she was getting in his hair. Maybe she knew something and was going to squeal to the cops. All I know is that the order went out a couple of days ago. They tried then, but somehow, it came unstuck. They only managed to get her last night.’

‘Who did the job?’

‘A guy named Torrens, Sid Torrens.’

‘Where can I find him now?’

Vitelli rubbed his chin where I had slammed him hard. He eyed me narrowly. ‘You going to get this guy yourself, Johnny? If you’ve got that idea, be careful. You’ll need that gun of yours and more besides. He’s a killer.’

I believed him, but I didn’t say anything. I waited for him to go on. I knew Tony Vitelli. A hardened killer, but with a flair for talking if you could only get him started and give him the encouragement he needed.

‘He’s hiding out a few blocks from here. I’ll take you there if you like.’

‘No go, Tony.’ I shook my head, smiling tightly. I knew the kind of man this hoodlum was. If he thought there was one chance in a million of taking me unawares, he would jump at it. I could see by the glint in his eyes that he wasn’t quite as scared as he wanted me to believe.

‘Suit yourself. I’ll give you the address if you want it that way.’ He looked sullen as if everything was not going the way he had planned it. There were little beads of sweat popping out on his forehead. He scribbled quickly on a piece of paper, then handed it to me. He looked uncomfortable.

‘Callen will kill me if he finds out about this,’ he said harshly.

‘That’s your trouble.’ I motioned him back over against the wall, turning round with his face to it. Then I hit him expertly behind the left ear with the heel of my right hand and he slumped forward at my feet without a murmur. I didn’t want him running to Callen with the news of my destination until I was ready for them. If possible, I wanted a little while with this guy Torrens before anybody butted in.

I reached my car in a hurry, slipped behind the wheel, and took off. Maybe the bartender wouldn’t bother to take a look in the corridor for a little while, maybe he’d go right away. Whatever he did, time was running short.

I found the address ten minutes later. It looked small but well-kept. Not the kind of place I would have expected a killer like Torrens to own. Maybe that ought to have warned me right away, but it didn’t. I stopped the car, got out and knocked on the door. There was no answer. I had expected none. Without waiting, I pushed the door, found it unlocked, and stepped inside, easing the Luger into my right hand, the safety catch off. It was time to face up to the trouble which I felt lay in store for me today. Sid Torrens. Exposed killer. For all I knew, he might be lying in wait for me in one of the rooms, crouched behind a door, a gun in his hands.

I opened one of the doors swiftly, peered inside. The room was empty, the furniture neat and tidy. A little warning bell was ringing at the back of my brain, but I failed to realise what it meant or what it was warning me against. I knew the ruthless edge of cruelty that was in

Tony Vitelli. He had seemed just a little too free with his information, even with a gun on him. I had expected him to put up more of a fight than that, but he had backed down unexpectedly.

Something moved behind one of the other doors as I walked noiselessly over the carpet. Cautiously, I pushed it open, then kicked it hard so that it slammed back against the wall inside. Going inside, I jerked the gun around to cover the guy who sat on the bed, in the act of pushing himself up onto his elbows.

He was a weedy-looking character, not the killer type, but you could never be sure. I watched him carefully as I eased my way around the end of the bed. If he guessed why I was there, he might try anything.

‘Sid Torrens?’

‘Yes.’ There was fear and astonishment on his face. He looked like a man trying to figure out things which were beyond his comprehension. He leaned forward with a jerk, his face twisting, his mouth working.

‘Tell me what happened last night.’

‘Last night.’ His glance wavered to the gun in my hand, and the muscles of his face were working overtime. I could see that he was getting scared. I steadied the gun and applied a little pressure. The sweat popped out on his face again and he brushed it away with the back of his hand. ‘I don’t know what you mean. Who sent you here?’

‘That isn’t important. Somebody killed Caroline Lomer last night. Pumped half a dozen slugs into her from close range. I had it figured that it might have been a mob killing, and you’re the trigger guy according to the information I’ve been given.’

‘That’s a lie! In God’s name, I don’t know anything about a murder.’

His glaze kept flickering from my face to the gun in my hand and then back again.

‘The finger has been put on you, Torrens,’ I said, half-believing him. I seemed to have drawn a rotten break, but I had to make sure. ‘Stand up!’

He swung his legs to the floor and stood up. Carefully, I checked for weapons, found nothing. He was still scared and I wanted to know why. If he’d made any attempt to go for a gun, I would have slugged him, probably killed him; and he knew it.

‘O.K., you’re clean. But you’re scared. Going to tell me why?’ My words sound as if they had been made of glass, brittle, ready to shatter in his face.

‘I don’t know who told you I was the murderer.’ His words tumbled out in a torrent from shaking lips. This guy was plain scared, I thought, scared spitless, and not only because of the gun on him. There was something more to it than that. Something I didn’t understand just then, but which I knew I would have to understand before things went much further.

‘I knew Caroline Lomer slightly, I’ll admit that. But I hadn’t seen her for almost ten years. I swear it.’

‘But you knew that somebody wanted her dead.’

‘No.’ There was the same taut, frightened insistence. He stood tight and tensed, a little man with a fear inside him which you could feel as if it were electric. ‘As far as I know, there was only one man who might have wanted to kill her, who hated her like he hated the rest of us enough to kill us.’

‘The rest of you?’

He ran his tongue around his lips and made a helpless little gesture with his left hand. I saw him watching me furtively, still not sure of me. For all he knew, I too could be one of the hirelings of the Underworld bosses, probing into everything he knew before killing him. He seemed like a rat running around in a box, not knowing which way to turn, trapped with his back to the wall. Perhaps he’d had second thoughts on how much he was going to tell me. He may even have had me figured as somebody in league with the cops, but I didn’t think so.

Then his gaze flicked sharply to something over my shoulder and I knew instinctively that something was about to break. I half thrust against him, to hurl him to the ground, but I was seconds too late. He went down, sagging to his knees, falling heavily against me, but he was dead before he hit the floor. There was a black circular hole between his eyes, and a vacant look on his thin, pinched features.

Somewhere down in the street, I heard a car start. Anger, such as I had scarcely ever known before, took me by the collar and shook me hard. Dimly, from the window, I caught a glimpse of the car disappearing around the far corner. It was a big black Cadillac, like those which the Organisation used whenever their hirelings carried out their orders. No point in trying to catch up with them, or even to tail them. They would have vanished into the maze of traffic long before I got to the street.

I went back to the body of Sid Torrens lay slumped against the wall. He wasn’t going to tell me anything he knew. There was a sharp taste in my mouth. I had an idea now of how I had been used. They had intended to kill this guy Torrens no matter how it was done, but they had carefully chosen me as their killer and unwittingly, I had almost fallen into the trap. I swore savagely. I wanted to kill them for the trick they had played on me.

Of course, Vitelli had been in on it all the time. It had been a play on his part, pretending to be scared, to want out of the Organisation. He had been briefed well for his part. He had me fooled all the way along the line. The bigshot, acting scared, thinking all the time what a big, trusting fool Johnny Merak was; the guy that Grenville had chosen for this job because he knew all of the mobs’ methods.

I moved a little to one side to take another look at the dead man’s face, then shook my head and stood up. What was the point in standing there looking at him? I didn’t want to look at a man I had seen killed.

I got out fast. Unless I missed my guess, the cops would have been tipped off about the murder within seconds of it having been committed, and they’d be on their way already, sirens wailing, ready to pick up Johnny Merak on suspicion of murder. I’d have a tough job talking my way out of that one. They’d be able to bring forward plenty of evidence to show that I’d been seen talking to Tony Vitelli, a well-known killer, and the barman in the Golden Horseshoe would willingly testify to the fact that he had heard Vitelli give me the address where I might find Torrens.

Sirens were wailing a dismal dirge as I swung the Merc around the corner and headed back to the Office. I needed time in which to think. Events were happening a little too fast for me. Two murders in as many days, one of them in front of my eyes. I felt urged into activity by a new anxiety. Torrens, before he had died, had said that there was one man who hated Caroline Lomer, himself, and the rest enough to kill them.

What did that mean? It seemed highly likely that he had been killed because of what he might have told me. They hadn’t trusted me once Vitelli had given me the address where I might locate Torrens. Wanting him out of the way, playing me for a sucker, they had sent me to kill him. But they had to be sure, and it was possible that here they had overplayed their hand. They had killed him using a silenced weapon, possibly the same weapon as that used to kill Caroline Lomer.

That wouldn’t be difficult to check. But of one thing I felt reasonably sure, Vitelli wasn’t the killer. That dark, shadowy figure still remained in the background. The nearest I had got to him yet was the faint plop of a silenced weapon and a car heading away into the distance.

The Office was empty when I arrived. Dawn was nowhere around. I poured myself a stiff drink and drank it slowly. There were a lot of things which still did not add up, but there was a faint pattern beginning to show among the apparently disconnected facts. The biggest piece of the jigsaw, the most important piece on which the final picture was based, was still missing, still out there somewhere in the city.

A killer on the loose. A dangerous man who had not yet finished killing.