Murder Me for Nickels Read online

  “And Balowski here, they broke the windows in his truck. And Epsen, they threw his tools all over the street and kicked him right there. Show him, Epsen.” But Epsen didn’t want to get up.

  I said, “When did all this happen?”

  “Today. And my boys and me, we don’t like it.”

  I didn’t like it either. I looked at the lawyer and he nodded. “Benotti started this all at once, looks like. First I heard of it, anyway.”

  I had thought that Benotti had just been scaring the jukebox operators, an easy mark like Morry perhaps, and a little guy like Louie.

  “In other words,” said the lawyer, “there’s more organization behind this than we thought till now.”

  “Or maybe Benotti is stupid,” I said.

  “No. More like, he’s bigger than we thought.”

  “And Mister Lippit,” said Folsom, “is of that same opinion, once I talked to him.”

  I just nodded. The picture was getting worrisome.

  “And I just hope,” said Folsom, “Mister Lippit is doing the right thing. I know he’s going to take care of this thing but I hope he’s doing it right.”

  “What he means,” said the lawyer, “we had this argument here. Folsom…”

  “Fight fire with fire,” said Folsom, as if he had a big audience.

  “Yeah,” said the lawyer. “Anyway, Lippit wants to first try it nice. Talk things over.”

  “Where is he?”

  “I just gave you the address. You should join him.”

  I looked at the slip and saw that Lippit had gone to Benotti’s. To try it nice and talk things over.

  “Christawmighty,” I said, and then I left right away.

  There weren’t so many children out on Benotti’s street any more and the lawn sprinkling was over, but there were people sitting on most of the porches. They sat and smoked or they talked in the dark. There was nobody on Benotti’s porch.

  I didn’t see Lippit’s car and had the quick, useless thought that maybe he hadn’t come after all. Then I parked a little ways down, walked back, and went up Benotti’s drive. Maybe they would all be sitting in the kitchen again.

  The kitchen was lit but empty. Then I heard the heavy thunks in the back of the house, which had to be Lippit walking. He had a very hard footfall when in a certain mood. He came down the hall, then into the kitchen, and when he walked through there he knocked into the table. He kept right on walking and left the table standing at an off-angle. Lippit was that big and that mad. He kicked the screen door open and so he would know I was out there before the door came flying shut with a racket I said, “Hello, Walter.”

  He stopped, caught the door and closed it very gently.

  I said, “You-uh, spoke to Benotti?”

  Lippit didn’t answer. He just took a deep breath.

  “I’m sorry I’m late, Walter.”

  “ Late? ”

  “Yes. I was…”

  “You got here before me, didn’t you?”

  Then he opened the screen door again and then slammed it shut.

  Lippit, when his mood demanded, would bellow his words for a while and then would be done with his rage. That, and slamming that door, did it for him and he felt visibly better.

  “Yessir,” he said. “I came for a calm, friendly talk. Yessir.”

  “Didn’t work, huh?”

  He looked me up and down, but didn’t bother to answer.

  “I talked to Folsom,” I said. “The way he acted, I am glad to see that you aren’t taking all this with the same…”

  He bent to the floor and picked something up.

  “You’re missing a button,” he said. “This the one?” And he gave it to me.

  The gesture raised hell with the argument for a cool, peaceful procedure I was going to offer. Not that I was the reasonable one and Lippit the oaf needing special guidance. Except, the case was special for me. I just wished Lippit wouldn’t start going too fast.

  “How’s Benotti?” I said. “Is he in bed?”

  Lippit went down the porch steps and said, “Yeah. He’s in bed.”

  “That’s a help, isn’t it? Now he’ll be out of touch for a while and…”

  “Yeah,” said Lippit, and then he turned and went back into the house. The screen door slammed shut, his steps clunked down the hall, but then he was back almost immediately. He came out on the porch, took my arm, and walked me around to the street.

  “What was that just now, Walter?”

  “You got your car here?”

  “Yes. But what did…”

  “Meet me at my place. But soon, Jack. I mean tonight, soon.”

  “Sure. What was that at Benotti’s just now, one more good-bye?”

  “No. I tore out his phone.”

  Chapter 6

  Walter Lippit, I knew, was not a phone-out-of-the-wall tearer, or door kicker, or anything like that. If he should kick a door it was because the door didn’t open and he wanted in. If he tore a phone out of the wall, it meant he didn’t want anyone to use it.

  So while Benotti would be pretty much out of touch, Lippit meant to hustle.

  I took him so seriously, I got to his apartment before he did. Because when I rang the bell Pat opened the door and when she saw me she slammed the door shut again.

  “No!”

  “Pat, listen. You listening, Pat?”

  “Walter is going to be home any minute,” she said through the door, “so you better beat it, Jack.”

  “I know he’ll be home any minute. That’s why I want…”

  “I know what you want and you must think you’re pretty good.”

  I know that she wanted to slam the door right then except it was closed already. I heard her walk away and knew just when she’d get to the living-room door, to slam that one, but nothing happened. I knocked again and said, “Pat?” when she suddenly opened up.

  “What changed your mind?” I asked her. “I mean, aside from the fact that you just can’t help yourself.”

  I walked in but she didn’t answer. On the way to the living room I looked at her once but she just smiled back.

  I mean, I was used to No’s from this girl. Not counting an overwhelming gambit like that zipper deal, this girl was Lippit’s, she could say no in her sleep, and our boss was due any minute. In addition, of course, Pat was a great calculator. She had on a nightgown and a robe over that. She held it tight where it mattered and left it loose where it mattered and without make-up on she looked soft and sleepy. It made me think of a warm bed.

  “Sit down, Jack, won’t you?”

  She took an attitude on the couch and patted the place next to her. I said, “Thank you,” and sat down on an easy chair.

  “I’m glad you’re back,” she said. “Everything go all right?”

  “Yes. So far.”

  She pulled her shoulders up for a moment, slid her hands up her sleeves, then let her shoulders relax again, soft and casual. I liked that sight so much, I was now very suspicious.

  “When’s Walter coming, Jack?”

  None of this made very much sense, unless she wanted Lippit to catch me in flagrante delieto so to speak. Not that I knew what the term really meant, except that it was something no good, and Pat, with her hands up her sleeves, wasn’t up to any good either.

  “You look extremely sleepy, dear Pat. Really. You should go right back to bed.”

  “Sure, Jack.”

  What a compliant girl, I thought, and so suddenly. Except that I didn’t know what she was compliant about. Lippit, I hoped, would be here any minute.

  She leaned forward and got a cigarette out of the crystal thing on the table and then she closed her robe again. “Was nice before, wasn’t it?” she said.

  “Oh yes. You want a light?”

  “Please.”

  I had to come around the coffee table and unless I wanted to stand there like a jackknife and look down where her robe didn’t make it and she was holding it closed just under the breasts so that they curv
ed in the damnedest half-naked way-I sat down on the couch and held the lit match up between us.

  She made no fuss about lighting up and got it on the first drag. I think she wanted to talk.

  “I want you to know that I had a very good time on this couch here,” she said, “and I want you to know that doesn’t mean a damn thing for the future, Jack.”

  It was a fine time to make this point, the way she was sitting there.

  “Really, Pat,” I said. “I wouldn’t presume.”

  “When you get formal like that,” she said, “I know you’re lying.”

  “I’m under a strain, is all.”

  She liked that and shifted a little, just to show how live everything was and how real. Then she laughed.

  “I love seeing you strained like that. It shows how you’re loyal to Walter, how you’re devoted to me…”

  “That’s not the word, Patty. Devoted isn’t the word.”

  “… and how you’re not at all flip and distracted.”

  “You want a drink? I’m going to get me a drink.”

  “No. I’m going to bed soon, Jack.”

  “That’s right. Yes.”

  “And with all those qualities,” she went right on, “I understand how you and Walter are making out so well.”

  “Yes, Patty.”

  “And have a lot in common.”

  I almost said, “Like whom?” but I said, “Like what?”

  “Business. Because you’re in business together.”

  “Of course we’re in business together.”

  “Really, Jack,” she said, “don’t be so nervous,” and she folded her robe across in front and held it that way.

  Then she put her cigarette out and kept holding the robe while she leaned over the table. She looked serious and off-handed all at the same time.

  “I just thought about it,” she said, “because of what you mentioned.”

  I had no idea what I had mentioned and was getting nervous about it. When she explained herself, it didn’t make me feel any better.

  “I’ll just have to ask him about it,” she said, “Walter, I mean. Because he never said anything about Blue Beat before.” She looked at me with no guile whatsoever, or with none of it showing. “Because he does talk to me about things which have to do with his business.”

  I sighed and said, “Yes. With me too,” and wished he was here to talk business. About mayhem, extortion, gang war, and beatings. Anything like that.

  “And of course he knows about my singing career, it goes without saying, and what it needs to get helped along. So it’s strange he never said anything about Blue Beat, don’t you think?” Then she looked at me and said it again. “Don’t you think, Jack?”

  “Ah-no.” I got up and stood in the room, looking at her, at the furniture, all for the touch which showed how little this bothered me. “Not strange at all,” I said, “because he and I don’t have anything to do with that outfit.”

  “Then why did you mention it?”

  “The better to get you with, little Red Riding Pat,” and then I laughed to keep her from answering and then she laughed too, light and merry, because the door in the hall opened right then and next Lippit was there.

  “What are you doing up?” he said to Pat.

  “I had to open the door for Jack. He was early.”

  “Yeah. He keeps doing that today.”

  “We were talking,” she said.

  “And laughing. Go to bed, huh, Patty?”

  “Jack was telling me something about little Red Riding Hood. And the wolf. Remember that story, Walter?”

  “Yeah, sort of.”

  “The wolf got clobbered,” she said and went off to bed.

  Lippit made two drinks and I sat on the couch now, relaxing a little. He came over and sat down too and when he gave me my drink he said, “Let’s talk business,” and I said, “Christ, yes.”

  He sipped on his drink and I took one gulp of mine and let the rest of it warm while I told him how all of it looked to me. That Benotti was no smalltime repair man, and also not somebody crazy who thought he could buck Lippit’s set-up. But that he was somebody smart, with backing, who thought he could buck Lippit’s set-up. I told him that the tie-in might be Chicago, and that Lippit, with his background, should be able to check it from there. He said yes, he would, though for the moment it made little difference to the way he would handle this thing.

  “We’re going to do this up brown,” he said. “We’ll clobber him.”

  It wasn’t Lippit’s kind of word, but like a lot of things, Pat had just put it into his head. I myself wished he hadn’t used it.

  I said, “You know how big Benotti is?”

  “He lives in a frame house with used furniture.”

  “So is your furniture.”

  “But I don’t live on the East Side.”

  “He’s been living on the East Side I don’t know how long and has been running a repair shop all that time, and we haven’t paid any attention to him for just that reason. That’s why he’s been running it that way.”

  “Likely,” said Lippit, and looked at the ceiling. “And I just told you, Jack, that his size makes no difference right now, the way we’re going to clobber.”

  “His size would make a difference in how hard we have to-er, clobber.”

  “Not for long,” he said and took a nip from his glass. “What we’ll do is this.”

  Lippit often said “we” when he didn’t mean it. I put my drink down, put my cigarette out, and sat back. What came next would be mostly instructions.

  “He’s big enough,” said Lippit, “or thinks that he’s big enough, to buck our servicing. With Stonewall he’s also tried putting a machine in the place, which may be a sign of what he plans for the future. But right now what he’s setting up for is to buck our servicing. Then he’ll take over.”

  “Hm.”

  “Just listen. Therefore, first off we fix it so he doesn’t have anything to service with.”

  “Tit for tat?”

  “Right, but don’t talk like a baby. Here’s how, Jack. We hit the workers; we hit his goons, and we hit the supplies. One, two, three, get it? One, two, three days, and no more Benotti.”

  I just nodded, because I didn’t like it.

  “Here’s one at a time,” he kept on. “I was late because I arranged about the workers already. I called Folsom. He’s getting a team set up to sit at the phones. They’re gonna call up Benotti’s service men-we know some of them-and give them a hard time with those telephone calls.”

  “At three in the morning.”

  “Sure at three in the morning. Don’t you know it’s much scarier at three in the morning? Imagine you’re asleep in bed and the phone rings. There’s this voice, like from a beast, and it says…”

  “I know. I know.”

  “And Benotti’s got all non-union labor. I checked this out through Folsom between the time at the club and now. He’s got six men, it looks like, and they all do moonlighting on the side. So we tighten up on the closed shop arrangements. They either get fired right off, or Folsom pulls a strike or a slowdown on the shop and they get fired then. Unless, we explain to them, they quit Benotti’s shop. And that takes care of the servicing he’s planning to do on our busted machines.”

  I lit a cigarette and waited for the other two arrangements he had in mind. Because one of them worried me.

  “Second, the goons. We got our machines all over, but Benotti’s been concentrating on the West Side. The operators are closer together, they’re little guys, maybe scare easier. What we do, Jack, we get a gang in that bar at Liberty and Alder Road, another bunch in Morry’s bowling alley, and a third in that place with the malteds and ice cream concoctions, Third and Liberty, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “And we got the area triangled off. An operator has troubles with Benotti’s bums anywhere, he calls one of the three places, and a flying squad of our very own bums comes barreling down for a free-for
-all. Nice?”

  “Ak-”

  “Whadda ya mean, ak? ”

  But he was in no mood to listen, because he had one point to go.

  “Third, we maul their supply.”

  “Their what?”

  He was starting to sound like a general and I was getting more nervous.

  “Hough and Daly,” he said. “Suppliers of electric and electronic equipment.”

  I knew damn well who Hough and Daly were.

  “Didn’t you know Benotti’s got space rented there? His five trucks use the same ramp; his equipment shop is right next to Hough’s storage rooms, not to speak of the fact that he buys his supplies from them.”

  “So do we, Walter. In case you’re thinking of messing up Hough and Daly.”

  Lippit folded his hands in his lap, which looks weird and dainty because of his size, and then he cocked his head at me and talked very patiently.

  “Jacky,” he said, “sometimes you talk like an idiot, you know that, Jacky?” and then just with a little bit of a change in his voice, “Or like a stockholder in Hough and Daly, perhaps, do you know that?”

  I wasn’t a stockholder in Hough and Daly, and it was nothing that simple.

  “No workers,” said Lippit, “no equipment, no more operators all scared by his goons. Good?”

  “I thought for a minute you were going to say, no more operators.”

  He slapped his thighs, got up, and let out a big sigh.

  “St. Louis,” he said, “something is bugging you, St. Louis.” He went to the liquor cabinet and brought back the bottle. He sat down with it and kept it in his hands. “What, Jack? What is it?”

  For a fact, Walter Lippit wasn’t running a democracy or anything like that, but he and I, some of the time, split the jobs, talked this and that over, gave each other a hand. I liked Walter Lippit Rolling his girl on the couch had nothing to do with that. I liked Pat, too.

  “Something’s no good, Jack?”

  “Yes,” I said. “All of it.”

  He looked at me and then down at the bottle. “Just a minute,” he said, and poured himself some. I held out my glass and he gave me some too.

  Then I said, “Your beating up Benotti isn’t…”