He walked around, looked over the scene, stooped to examine the body, and then headed straight for me. I could see in his face that he didn’t want to hear what I had to say, so I just held out my .45 to him. The first thing Komo grabbed was the cannon. The second was his handcuffs. I cooperated, and held out my paws. The cuffs clinked, and tightened around my wrists. Frank called another cop over. They both grabbed my arms, and pulled me out of the hall. Other investigators were showing up. As I passed Joe, I noticed he was gobbling down a couple of aspirins. The police car was outside the joint with the rear door swung open. I was pushed in, and found myself between Frank and another flatfoot. Komo treated me as if he didn’t know me. The shrill siren whistled through the air as the police car sped toward headquarters. I turned my head toward Frank but he was looking straight ahead, and had a face on him like a guy who had a pile of work waiting for him.
I shouted a question to him. “What’s with the grim reaper look?”
No answer.
Trying again, “You still my friend? Or did you suddenly turn into a mute Gestapo?”
Still no answer. Frank acted as if I had not spoken. There wasn’t any sense in me talking to him further, so I sat back for the rest of the ride.
A minute later, the driver pulled up to the entrance of the stationhouse. Frank opened the door, and dragged me out as the other cop watched every move I made. I felt like a convict.
I followed the Lieutenant into the building, and to his office where he ordered me to sit down. Komo turned to his apprentice dismissing him, then turned to me, and yelled, “You know I’m going to have to book you for murder.”
I tried to look shocked, and shot out, “Is that what you’re so worried about? Sticking a murder rap on me?” A smile covered my face. “Stop worrying. It was self-defense.”
“Self-defense my ass. I don’t know who he was, but he still had his gun in his holster. I suppose you’re going to tell me he was going for his gun, but you beat him to it. That’s a hard rap to beat even if it’s true, but I’ll help you all I can though it doesn’t look good.”
“That’s right, he did go for his piece, but unfortunately he didn’t know that I was the “quick draw” of New York. Don’t forget that I also have a witness, and I’ll let you in on a little secret. The crumb I shot was Jaguar John from the West Coast. Now, where’s the murder rap? I should be awarded a medal.
His memory flicked back in time. He had heard of Jaguar John, and his face showed that he was pleased that he might not have to book me. I spent the next hour telling him my side of the story, and answered all his questions. The Medical Examiner and Crime Scene Investigators were at the pool hall. They would update Frank on their take of the situation.
Thinking of the extra work I had made for him, he turned to me and said, “I’ll check with the M.E. and the other detectives, and get back to you. Now get the hell out of here before I murder you myself. Stay local.”
I stood up, mumbled a, “See ya around,” and shuffled out of the building. It was one o’clock by now. The restaurants and cafeterias were still filled with people. My stomach was gurgling from the lack of food, so I crossed the street to a hot dog vendor, and ordered a couple of his specials. While I was gobbling, one of them down, I whistled for a taxi. A cabbie heard my call, stopping in front of me. I hopped in and droned, “Getty Square,” as I downed the other dog.
We were there in two minutes flat. I pawed a couple of bucks out of my pocket, slipped it to the cabbie, and climbed out, noticing that my car was still where I had left it. I thought it would be a good idea to go up, and say something to Joe. After all, this was the second guy I nailed in his joint. I opened the door, and climbed the stairs. He wasn’t behind his desk. Then I saw him down by table four cleaning up. Nobody else was in the place so I snuck up behind him, viewed the pool of blood, and whistled, “What happened? Somebody get a nosebleed?”
Without looking up he said, “Get outta here. The joint is closed.” He then realized it was me, got off the floor, and jokingly but firmly said, “I’m glad you came back. Give me twenty bucks to give somebody to clean this mess, fifty more for a new tabletop, and fifty for me, or I’ll take back my statement that it was self-defense.
This guy couldn’t get mad. I guess that’s why I liked him so much.
I grabbed my wallet, and pulled out three fifties. After all, I did ruin some of his business, and made a pretty big mess. He wouldn’t take it at first, but I finally convinced him by telling him that I’d kill him too, if he didn’t put it in his pocket. He did.
We shook hands, and I turned to leave. Before I left he said, “Mike, you keep killing people like this, and someday they’ll throw you in jail.” I thanked him for the advice.
I dashed to my car, starting it up. My watch read three-fifteen. The two street dogs didn’t quite cut it. If I hurried, I could grab a bite to eat, and then make it to Ragino’s.
A left at Yonkers Avenue, then a right about three blocks down got me on the Major Deegan Expressway going south. The Deegan was moderately thick with traffic. I noticed dark clouds blowing over the city. My hand dug into my pocket, plucked a cigarette out of my pack, and shoved it in my mouth.
I turned off the expressway at Fordham Road, and pulled over to the side. There was a diner on the corner that I had been to a couple of times. I climbed out of the heap, walked through the doors of the diner, and grabbed a stool. My stomach was about to cave in. Those hot dogs had only made me hungrier. I looked on the wall at the menu, and ordered a couple of cheeseburgers.
It didn’t take long to make. I had them devoured, paid the tab, and got back into the car in little more than fifteen minutes.
The engine roared again as I turned the key. I gripped the wheel, and got back on the Deegan. Ragino’s house wasn’t far now.
I didn’t know my way around the lower east side too well but found his place without any trouble. It was a modest duplex with a little lawn in front. I pulled the heap over, and looked at my watch…five to four. I noticed his name on the bottom doorbell, and rang it. Seconds later the door opened. Behind it stood the stocky black haired bruiser. He opened the door wider, and I stepped in. Ragino looked bigger in his clothes than in boxing trunks. I had a feeling he already knew who I was by the way he looked at me. Before I had a chance to say anything I found myself sitting on a comfortable lounge chair in the living room with a bottle of cold beer in my hand. Ragino spoke first. “Mr. Murdock, I’ve slept on your offer, and I have changed my mind. I’ve read about you in the papers, and see that you’re quite an investigator.” He spoke like a college professor rather than a veteran boxer. I just sat, drank my beer, and listened to him.
“It looks like the public is blaming me for killing Krasinski, even though I barely hit him. They need a reason for his death, and I am it. I am having a tough time living with this. I need your help, and I need it fast. I think there was some kind of monkey business going on.”
I interrupted him and said, “Certain facts have come to my attention that the police, as well as the boxing authorities, are unaware of. If you retain me, I’ll have the problem settled within the week.”
His face lit up at my last remark. Hope filled his eyes.
Till now, I hadn’t mentioned a fee. I looked around his pad, noticing the expensive furnishings. I also took into consideration that he was feeling desperate. This guy could afford paying full price. The champ will get his money’s worth. He’ll just be paying a premium.
My next statement was, “I am running the risk of getting my head blown off. There’s some dirty dealing going on, and I am about to jump into the middle of it. It will cost you three grand…lump sum. No extra charges. And no charge if I don’t get results.”
He wasn’t shocked at the fee. Instead, he came over, shook my hand, and offered me another beer. Maybe I should have soaked him for another extra grand.
I turned the beer d
own, stood up, and said, “I’ll have a report for you in a few days. You’ll get your money’s worth.”
He shook my hand again, and opened the door for me. A light rain was now sprinkling the city. Little puddles formed on the streets and sidewalks.
I trotted across the street, and slumped into my bucket seat. I hoped that Lola had made it to the office, and might still be at work, so I thought I’d stop there, and give her a lift home.
The wheels moved, and I turned back onto the Deegan.
My brain ticked away as I drove. It looked to me like Dragon didn’t want to lose any more of his boys so he had arranged for Jaguar John to come into town. I wish I could have seen Dragon’s face when he found out what I had done to his hired gun. The pressure was getting hot on him. The big boys must be breathing down his neck to have somebody bump me off. Maybe it was the head of the syndicate who contracted Jaguar John.
Things were looking up for me. Not only was I feeling confident about getting rid of Dragon and Mr. Big, but by the time I added up all the monies I am receiving from the different parties, I ‘d be pulling in four to five grand for doing it. Not bad for a few days’ work.
I turned off the expressway at Van Cortland Avenue, rolled down to my office, and parked. The rain had stopped, leaving a mist behind it. I closed the door to my heap, and took the stairs to my office. Music came to my ears as I turned the doorknob. There was Lola doing some sort of contortions they called dancing these days, with one of her girlfriends from the office upstairs. They kept dancing when they saw me, laughing, and giggling like a couple of sixteen year olds. I wasn’t really steamed up, but this didn’t look good for business. What if a perspective client walked in and saw these two babbling broads doing the bugaloo. He’d walk right back out.
I walked up behind the hipster from upstairs, put my hands on the hem of her dress, pulled it up over her head, and gripped it there. How cute. She had on a pink garter belt. She was fighting but she couldn’t get her arms outside of the material. Lola stood there dumbfounded. I pulled her friend out to the hallway, gave her a slap on her plump buttocks, and let her go. She was as red as a beet, and ran up the stairs in utter embarrassment. Something told me she wouldn’t be bugalooing down here for a while.
When I walked back in, Lola looked like she expected me to scold her. I grabbed her in my arms, and gave her a deep, affectionate kiss. Her lips were moist. Her mouth was warm and wet. I wished we were home in bed. How does it happen that I get the urge at the wrong times and places? My arms released Lola, and my lips retreated.
Lola came out with, “What’s gotten into you?”
I pointed my finger at her body and said, “That!”
She smiled devilishly and squeaked, “Well, you can have it later, but first I have a surprise for you.”
A paper bag was lying on a chair. She went over, and picked it up. “Look, meat ravioli. I bought it at the store today, and I am going to fix it just for you tonight. Isn’t that great?”
Big deal! One night I came home starved, and she had happened to fix up some meat ravioli. I’m not talking about some homemade ravioli. This is ravioli that comes in a box. The contents are poured into some boiling water. I had exclaimed how good it was, and I have never heard the end of it. She thought she was doing me a big favor, so I played along. “I can’t wait until I get my choppers into these.”
She squealed, and jumped up and down with joy.
I got her coat off the hook, slipped it around her shoulders, and took the bag from her. She locked up as we walked out.
I raced Lola to the car, dropped the groceries in, and opened the door for her. The engine turned over, and we took off.
She didn’t know about the incident at Joe’s, so I told her. Then she started nagging me. “What’s that, the sixth, seventh, or the eighth this week? What’s wrong with you? Sometimes I think you’re the one without any brains.”
She kept flapping her jaws. I turned my head to her and yelled, “Gimme a break! I’m in a hard and dirty business.”
Ah, silence! Sometime I appreciated it so much.
The apartment was right up the street now. I pulled to the side, grabbed the package, and told Lola to take the sour puss off her face. We got out, and took the elevator to our pad.
Lola cheered up by the time we got to the door. She opened it, took the package, and ran to the kitchen. I took off my jacket and shirt, turned on the boob tube, and plunked down onto the sofa.
About a half hour, and a Superman program later, Lola called out “Come and get it.”
I got up to take a seat at the table. She brought the meal over in a covered dish. When she took the lid off the bowl I made my eyes open wide and exclaimed, “Hey, my favorite meal!”
She squeaked some sort of sound of happiness, and clapped her hands with joy.
* * *
CH 13 Lookout Johnny Dragon…”I Wouldn’t Want to Be You!”