Hail to the Chief (87th Precinct), page 6
“Say it,” he said to Pacho, asking for the password even though he undoubtedly recognized Pacho as one of the gang.
“The nutter is our dame,” Pacho said, or at least something that sounded like that. It made no sense whatever to Carella.
“Who’re these two?” the second Death’s Head asked.
“Detectives Carella and Kling of the 87th Squad,” Carella said. “Who are you?”
“True Blue.”
“Nice to meet you,” Carella said. “Where’s True Green?”
“I didn’t get the name from no damn cigarette,” True Blue said.
“Where did you get it?” Kling asked, looking somewhat less than fascinated.
“Eduardo gave it to me. Because I was loyal.”
“Eduardo in charge around here?” Kling asked.
“Yeah, but he ain’t here right now,” Pacho said.
“Are you expecting him back?”
The two boys exchanged a glance as transparent as a diamond. “Sure,” Pacho said, “but we don’t know when.”
“We’ll wait,” Carella said.
“Anybody else we can talk to meanwhile?” Kling asked.
“Henry is here, he’s the secretary.”
“Well, let’s talk to Henry then, okay?”
“Where is Henry?”
“In there,” True Blue said, and gestured with his head toward a doorless jamb down the corridor.
“Would you like to announce us, or shall we go right in?” Kling said.
“I better tell him you’re here,” Pacho said. “Otherwise you might get hurt.”
Carella yawned. Pacho went up the corridor and disappeared into the room. True Blue kept looking at them.
“Any heat in this building?” Carella asked.
“No.”
“Any water?”
“No. We don’t need no heat or water. We’re Death’s Heads.”
“Mmm,” Carella said.
“We improvise.”
“I’ll bet you do,” Carella said. “What’s going on in there? Big conference about the fuzz from downtown?”
“I didn’t think I recognized you from this precinct,” True Blue said.
“You know all the detectives in this precinct?”
“Most of them. They know me, too.”
“Mmm,” Carella said, and Pacho came out into the hallway.
“Okay,” Pacho said, “he’ll see you.”
“Nice of him,” Kling said to Carella.
“Very nice,” Carella answered.
The room they entered had been decorated with photographs of nude women clipped from various girlie magazines, and then varnished over to protect them. The walls were covered from floor to ceiling with these glossy cutouts, and various and several parts of the ladies’ anatomies had been territorially claimed by different members of the gang, their names scrawled across breasts, buttocks, thighs, groins, and grinning mouths. In the midst of this pulchritudinous photographic display, sitting like a wizened priest on a fat red-velvet cushion, was a bespectacled young man wearing a Fu Manchu mustache and toying with a twelve-inchlong bread knife. Carella assumed the boy was Henry, and he further assumed that Henry was a fearless type; possession of such a utensil in circumstances such as these could presumably have led to a bust. Henry had known the cops were outside and coming in to pay a little visit; he could easily have tucked the blade under the fat pillow that cradled him.
“You’re cops, huh?” he asked. He was delicately pressing one forefinger against the curved top of the knife’s handle, the blade against the naked floorboards, trying to balance it on its tip. The knife refused to stay balanced. Each time it toppled over, he picked it up and tried again. He did not look up at the detectives as they came into the room.
“We’re cops,” Carella said.
“What do you want? We ain’t done nothing.”
“We want to know about Eduardo Portoles.”
“He’s the president.”
“Where is he?”
“Out.”
“Out where?”
“Big city, man,” Henry said, and picked up the knife, and tried to balance it again, and again it fell over on its side. He had still not looked up at the detectives.
“How about Constantina Portoles?”
“Yeah, his sister.”
“Know where she is?”
“Nope,” Henry said, and the knife fell over again. He picked it up.
“She a member of the gang?”
“Yep.”
“But you don’t know where she is, either, right?”
“Right, man,” Henry said, and tried his balancing act again. This time he came almost close. But the knife toppled over again. “Shit,” he said, and still did not look up at the detectives.
“And the other sister?”
“What other one is that?” Henry asked.
“Maria Lucia. The little sister.”
“What about her?”
“Got any idea where she is?”
“Nope,” Henry said.
“We know where she is,” Kling said.
“Yeah, where is she?”
“Right now she’s at Washington Hospital, being treated for near-starvation.”
“What?” Henry said, and looked up for the first time.
There was no disguising the genuine surprise in his eyes. If Carella was reading Henry’s face correctly, then Henry did not know the little girl had escaped the Sunday-night massacre. That had to be it. No matter what Henry had read in the newspapers, he had automatically assumed that the killers had wiped out the entire Portoles family, including little Maria Lucia.
“That’s right,” Carella said, “she’s in the hospital. And before that, she was up in the squadroom telling us all about what happened last Sunday night, when Eduardo and Constantina Portoles got killed.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Henry said. He was wearing thick glasses, and his eyes looked inordinately large behind them. Now that he was looking directly up at the detectives, he refused to take his eyes from them, as though this were as great a challenge as trying to balance the knife on its tip.
“What’s the cover-up for?” Kling asked. “We’re trying to find who killed them.”
Henry did not answer.
“You know they’re dead, for Christ’s sake, you had to have seen those pictures in the paper.”
“I didn’t see nothing,” Henry said.
“What’re you going to do, Henry? Go after them yourself?”
“I ain’t going to do nothing,” Henry said.
“Are you the leader of this gang now?”
“I’m the secretary. I thought Pacho told you that.”
“Pacho’s full of shit, and so are you. You’re the president now, or the acting president, or whatever the hell they choose to call you till they can elect a new one. Eduardo’s dead, and if you don’t know who did it, you’ve got some pretty strong suspicions. You’re going to try to handle this yourself, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know anything,” Henry said. “I got no suspicions about nothing.”
“Murder’s murder, Henry. Whether somebody else does it, or you do it, it’s still murder.”
“So?”
“He’s saying keep your nose clean,” Kling said. “Leave this to us. We’re working on it, and we’ll take care of it.”
“Sure you will,” Henry said.
“Be smart, Henry,” Carella said. “Instead of causing a lot of trouble for yourself, why don’t you help us?”
“I got no help to give you,” Henry said.
“Okay, fine,” Carella said. “We’re heading over to Gateside Avenue, to talk to the Scarlet Avengers. Maybe they’ll feel differently about it. Maybe they’re not as dumb as you are.” He turned his back on Henry and started for the door.
“They’re even dumber,” Henry said behind him.
We got the bug from one of these mail-order catalogs. You can get all kinds of surveillance equipment just by sending away for it. We paid for the bug with funds from the clique’s treasury. We put the bug in the Gateside clubhouse long before I ordered the double-hit, and we put it in because it was essential to know what the other side was doing. We tried to get a bug in the Heads’ clubhouse, too, but their security was tighter. It was a good thing we had that bug on Gateside, though, because that was how we kept track of the Scarlets’ movements. Also, we heard the whole conversation you guys had with their war counselor.
We sent three guys to put in the bug, all of them minors. The reason for that is we figured if they got caught, if the Scarlets decided to blow the whistle and bring charges or whatever, then you guys would be dealing with three little kids, you dig? Like the courts go easy on little kids. And we figured if just these little kids were involved, it would be considered nothing more than a caper, and also you wouldn’t be able to hang nothing on the rest of us. Because we’re of age, you see. We would have to pay if we got caught doing something like that. It’s illegal, ain’t it? Putting in a wire? Ain’t that illegal? Anyway, that’s what we figured, and that’s why we sent Little Anthony and two other juniors. It wasn’t easy, putting in that bug on Gateside, I can tell you. They took a tremendous risk. They did it because they knew our clique was trying to make peace, and that it was essential to get all the information we needed. Here’s how we brought it off.
We stoned the building.
That was our diversion, to get the Scarlets out so we could get in. We already had the wire strung up over the roof. All we had to do was get in the clubhouse some way, and plant the bug. We done this just before Christmas. Man, we busted every window on the face of that building! Them Scarlets came running out of there, man, you’d think the place was on fire! They chased us up the block while meanwhile Little Anthony and the other two juniors rigged the wire. You know that big piece of cardboard they got nailed to the wall? With their club rules on it? They stuck the bug right behind their rules. I got such a laugh when they told me where they put it! That was adding insult to injury, am I right?
The bug was very valuable to us. It was through the bug that we found out the president of the Scarlets was staying home with his wife on the night we planned the hit. We didn’t know they had a baby. Them Scarlets like to keep themselves secret and private, as if they got a lot to hide. The baby was just an accident. If we’d picked up anything about a baby on the bug, we probably would’ve tried to hit Atkins in the street. The hit wasn’t designed to get no innocent bystanders. But you make a protective hit like that, you can’t expect absolute accuracy all the time. Besides, like I told you, Chingo thinks maybe a wild shot from Atkins’ own piece was what killed the kid. You should hear some of the stuff we picked up on that bug. I always knew those niggers were bums, but some of the things they done in their clubhouse were unbelievable. Dirty, you know what I mean? Just plain dirty.
The day you went to Gateside, I was listening personally. I heard the whole conversation you had with the Scarlets’ war counselor, this guy who calls himself Mighty Man. He never wanted peace from the beginning. He kept saying he wanted peace, sure. But it was his kind of peace. And what kind of peace would that have been? Our clique wanted the kind of peace that would last forever. That’s what we were trying to achieve. Right from the beginning. We didn’t create what’s in this neighborhood, you know. We inherited it. And it stunk, and we were trying to find a decent, honorable way out of it. If the Scarlets and the Heads had been trying to find the same kind of peace, we wouldn’t be having all the trouble we’ve got now. I got nothing to be ashamed of. What I done was right. It was the other cliques who couldn’t understand and who wouldn’t cooperate. It’s honor that was at stake. The clique’s honor and my own honor as the president. But just try to explain that to some of these dopes.
Anyway, the day you went up there, I was listening. And it went just the way I figured it would. The Scarlets wouldn’t have nothing to do with you, they wouldn’t give you the right time of day. They knew who was responsible for what happened to their president, and they were going to take care of it by themselves, without no help from the fuzz. And I heard you when you told them you’d got the same reaction from this four-eyed kid Henry who’s running the Heads, and I heard you when you said they were all being stupid and just asking for trouble. I don’t like the Scarlets, and I don’t trust none of them as far as I can throw them. But I got to admit they done the right thing that day when they told you to keep out of it, it was none of your business.
I didn’t know at the time exactly how they planned to handle it, but I figured it would be some kind of retaliation strike. I wasn’t worried. I knew we could take whatever the Scarlets and the Heads together had to dish out. We’re a strong clique, man. We got the biggest arsenal in all Riverhead, second to none. There’s a clique in Calm’s Point just about as strong as us, but that’s it in the whole city. We got the power, and we also got the restraint to know when to use it and when not. That’s a big responsibility. When you left Gateside that day, I figured we wouldn’t have no trouble from you, we wouldn’t be linked in no way by anything either the Heads or the Scarlets had told you. We were clean and away, and we were capable of standing up to anything either of the two cliques could throw at us.
But that was before Midge made her second dumb move, and changed the picture entirely.
The police in the bordering state found the body of the dead girl in a clump of woods outside the little town of Turman. Her throat had been slit from ear to ear, and her back was welted with what appeared to be marks left by a lash or a strap. An alert detective, recalling an all-points bulletin from across the river, noticed that the girl was wearing a wrist locket with the name MIDGE engraved on it. He checked his memory back at the office, and put in a call to the 87th Squad.
The River Harb was icebound almost shore-to-shore when Carella and Kling drove across the Hamilton Bridge early that Friday morning, January 11. Kling was driving. Carella was on the seat beside him, trying to adjust the heater in the ancient car. The automobile, one of the three assigned to the squad, had seen far better days. Either of the detectives would have preferred driving his own car, except that putting in chits for gasoline expenditures had become a big departmental hassle in recent weeks, and it was simpler to drive one of the assigned Police Department vehicles, which came equipped with a full tank of gas in the morning.
“I think I figured it out,” Kling said.
“The whole case, or what?” Carella asked.
“What he meant.”
“Who?”
“Pacho. When he took us up the stairs, and this other kid challenged him. Remember? True Blue, the other kid.”
“Yes, I remember.”
“He asked Pacho for the password, remember? And Pacho said, ‘The nutter is our dame.’ It’s been bothering me, but I think I finally doped it out.”
“Yeah?” Carella said.
“Yeah. They’ve got gargoyles painted on the backs of those white coats, am I right?”
“Uh-huh.”
“Okay, so where do you find gargoyles?”
“On buildings.”
“What kind of buildings?”
“All kinds of buildings.”
“Steve, which building in the whole world is the most famous for its gargoyles?”
“I have no idea.”
“Come on, you know the building.”
“I do not know the building.”
“Notre Dame,” Kling said. Proud of his deductive feat, grinning, he turned his eyes momentarily to Carella. “You get it?” he said.
“No,” Carella said.
“The nutter is our dame,” Kling said, looking again at the road ahead. “The notre is our dame. You get it now?”
“That’s ridiculous,” Carella said.
“I’ll bet it’s what he meant.”
“Okay, fine.”
“Anyway, it was bothering me, and it’s not anymore.”
“Good. What’s wrong with this heater, would you happen to know that?”
“No. Something else has been bothering me, too, Steve.”
“What? I know, don’t tell me. You’ve been trying to learn how to balance a knife on the tip of its blade.”
“No. It’s Augusta. I’m thinking of asking her to marry me.”
“Yeah?” Carella said, surprised.
“Yeah,” Kling said, and nodded.
He was referring to Augusta Blair, a red-headed photographer’s model he had met nine months ago while investigating a burglary. Carella knew better than to make some wise-ass remark when Kling was apparently so serious. The squadroom banter about the frequent calls from “Gussie” (as Kling’s colleagues called her) had achieved almost monumental proportions in the past two months, but they hardly seemed appropriate in the oneto-one intimacy of an automobile whose windows, except for the windshield, were entirely covered with rime. Carella busied himself with the heater.
“What do you think?” Kling asked.
“Well, I don’t know. Do you think she’ll say yes?”
“Oh, yeah, I think she’ll say yes.”
“Well then, ask her.”
“Well,” Kling said, and fell silent.
They had come through the tollbooth. Behind them, Isola thrust its jagged peaks and minarets into a leaden sky. Ahead, the terrain consisted of rolling smoke-colored hills through which the road to Turman snaked its lazy way.
“The thing is,” Kling said at last, “I’m a little scared.”
