they do twitch, stop and be very, very careful.Please!"
He handed the bit of plastic to Fitzgerald, who took it withoutconscious volition.
Then Brink said briskly: "If there isn't anything else--"
"You won't swear out a warrant against Big Jake?" demanded Fitzgeraldbitterly.
"I haven't any reason to," said Brink amiably. "I'm doing all right. Hehasn't harmed me. I don't think he will."
"O.K.!" said the detective bitterly. "Have it your way! But he's got itin for you an' he's goin' to keep tryin' until he gets you! An' whetheryou like it or not, you're goin' to have some police protection as soonas I can set it up."
He stamped out of the cleaning-and-drying plant. Automatically, he putthe bit of plastic in his pocket. He didn't know why. He got into hiscar and drove downtown. As he drove, he looked suspiciously at his pipe.He fumed. As he fumed, he swore. He did not like mysteries. But therewas no mystery about his dislike for Big Jake Connors. He turned asidefrom the direct route to Headquarters to indulge it. He drove to ahospital where four out-of-town hoods had been carried two days before.He marched inside and up to a second-floor corridor door with auniformed policeman seated outside it.
* * * * *
"Hm-m-m. Donnelly," he growled. "How about those guys?"
"Not so good," said the patrolman. "They're gettin' better."
"They would," growled Fitzgerald.
"A lawyer's been to see 'em twice," said the patrolman. "He's comin'back after lunch."
"He would," grunted the detective.
"They want out," said the cop.
"I'm not surprised," said Detective Sergeant Fitzgerald.
He went into the sick room. There were four patients in it, none of themlooking exactly like gentle invalids. There were two broken noses oflong-ago dates, three cauliflower ears, and one scar of a kind that isnot the result of playing lawn tennis. Two were visibly bandaged, andthe others adhesive-taped. All of them looked at Fitzgerald withoutcordiality.
"Well, well, well!" he said. "You fellas still here!" There was silence."In union there is strength," said Fitzgerald. "As long as you stay inone room everybody's sure the others haven't started rattin'. Right?"
One of the four snarled silently at him.
"It was just a accident," pursued the detective. "You four guys areridin' along peaceable, merrily takin' the air, when quite inadvertentlyone of you almost blows the head off of another, and he's so astonishedat there bein' a gun in the car that he wrecks it. And when they get youguys in the hospital there ain't one of you knows anything about foursawed-off shotguns and a tommy gun in the car with you. Strange!Strange! Strange!"
Four faces regarded him with impassive dislike. The bandaged ones wereprettier than the ones that weren't.
"That tommy gun business," explained Fitzgerald, "is a federal affair.It's against Fed law to carry 'em around loaded. And your friend BigJake hasn't been leavin' presents on the White House steps. Y'know, youguys could be in trouble!"
Three pairs of eyes and an odd one--the other was hidden under abandage--stared at him stonily.
"Y'see," explained Fitzgerald again, "Big Jake's slipped up. He hasn'trealized it yet. Its my little secret. A week ago I thought he had melicked. But somethin' happened, and today I felt like I had to comearound and congratulate you fellas. You got a break! You're gonna havefree board and lodging for years to come! I wanted to be the first totell you!"
He beamed at them and went out. Outside, his expression changed. He saidbitterly to the cop at the door: "I bet they beat this rap!"
He went downstairs and out of the hospital. He started around thebuilding to his car.
His eyelid twitched. It twitched again. It began to quiver and fluttercontinuously. Fitzgerald stopped short to rub the offending eye.
There was a crash. A heavy glass water-pitcher hit the cement walkimmediately before him. It broke into a million pieces. He glared up.The pitcher would have hit him if it hadn't been for a twitching eyelidthat had brought him to a stop. The window of the room he'd just leftwas open, but there was no way to prove that a patient had gotten out ofbed to heave the pitcher. And it had broken into too many pieces tooffer fingerprint evidence.
"Hah!" said Fitzgerald morosely. "They're plenty confident!"
He went to Headquarters. There were more memos for his attention. Onewas just in. A cab had crossed a sidewalk and crashed into a plate-glasswindow. Its hydraulic brakes had failed. The trouble was a clean saw-cutin a pressure-line. Fitzgerald went to find out about it. The cab driverbitterly refused to answer any questions. He wouldn't even admit that hewas not insured by Big Jake against such accidents. Fitzgerald stormed.The owner-driver firmly--and gloomily--refused to answer a questionabout whether he'd been threatened if he didn't pay protection money.
Fitzgerald raged, on the sidewalk beside the cab in the act of beingextracted from the plate-glass window. An open-mouthed bystanderlistened admiringly to his language. Then the detective's eyelidtwitched. It twitched again, violently. Something made him look up. Anemployee of the plate-glass company--there were rumors that Big Jake wasinteresting himself in plate-glass insurance besides cabs--wrenchedloose a certain spot. Fitzgerald grabbed the bystander and leaped. Therewas a musical crash behind him. A tall section of the shattered glassfell exactly where he had been standing. It could have been pureaccident. On the other hand--
He couldn't prove anything, but he had a queer feeling as he left thescene of the crash. Back in his own car he felt chilly. Driving away,presently, he felt his eyelid tentatively. He wasn't a nervous man.Ordinarily his eyelids didn't twitch.
* * * * *
He went to investigate a second memo. It was a restaurant, and he edgedthe police car gingerly into a lane beside the building. In the rear,the odor of spilled beer filled the air. It would have been attractivebut for an admixture of gasoline fumes and the fact that it was mud. Mudwhose moisture-content is spilled beer has a peculiar smell all its own.
He got out of his car and gloomily asked the questions the memo calledfor. He didn't need to. He could have written down all the answers inadvance. The restaurant now reporting vandalism had found big Jake'sbrand of beer unpopular. It had twenty cases of a superior brew broughtin by motor-truck. It was stacked in a small building behind the cafe.For one happy evening, the customers chose their own beer.
Now, next day, there were eighteen cases of smashed beer bottles. Thecrime had been committed in the small hours. There were no clues. Therestaurant proprietor unconvincingly declared that he had no idea who'dcaused it. But he'd only notified the police so he could collectinsurance--not from Big Jake.
With a sort of morbid, frustrated gloom, Detective Sergeant Fitzgeraldmade the necessary notes. He put his notebook in his pocket and backedhis car out of the alley. Oddly enough, he thought of a beautifullycarved meerschaum pipe he'd found with the milk that morning. He'dpresented it to an orphanage mainly because, irrationally, he'd haveliked to keep it. There had been other expensive gifts he'd have likedto keep. Bourbon. A set of expensive dry-flies. An eight-millimetermovie camera. Scotch. Shiny, smooth silk socks that would have soothedhis weary feet. He'd denied himself these gifts because he believed--heknew--that they came from Big Jake, who tactfully won friends andinfluenced people by making presents and denying it. In business mattershe was stern, because that was the way to collect protection-money. Buthe was subtle with cops. He had their wives on his side.
Sergeant Fitzgerald growled in his throat. He'd always wanted a reallyfine meerschaum pipe. He'd had one this morning, and he'd had to get ridof it because it came from Big Jake. He felt that Big Jake had robbedhim of it.
He turned the police car and drove back toward the Elite Cleaners andDyers establishment. As he drove, he growled. His eyelid had twitchedtwice, and each time he'd been heading into danger or trouble. The factwas dauntingly coincidental with Brink's comment after giving him ascrap of plastic from the bottom of that crazy mac
hine. These thingswere on his mind. He couldn't bring himself to plan to mention them, buthe needed to talk to Brink again. Brink could testify to threats. Hecould justify arrests. Sergeant Fitzgerald had a fine conviction thatwith a chance to apply pressure, he could make some of Big Jake's hoodsand collectors talk, and so bust things wide open. He only neededBrink's co-operation. He drove toward the Elite Cleaners and Dyers toput pressure on Brink toward that happy end. But he brooded over his owneyebrow-twitchings.
When the cleaning establishment came into view,