*
*
CHAPTER 12
The following day, Saturday September 13th, 1947, dawned dull and overcast, but as the hours went by, the sun was able to defeat the steel-gray curtain in the sky to once again let the rays of life play across the mean streets of Mooresburg City.
After a late morning on the sofa bed and the entire A.M. period spent working on a relaxing, low-stress case - staking out a husband suspected of two-timing his wife - Sally returned to the office with her trusty box camera, a low tide in her latest pack of cigarettes and a gnawing hunger in her gut that could only be quashed by some of Sternbach's sandwiches or a visit to Norton's Diner.
The hands of time zoomed across the clock face at alarming speed, so there would be no time to frequent the rail-car diner over at the corner of Foulton and Twenty-sixth Street. A quick telephone call to Sternbach & Sons Delicatessen took care of that part of her lengthy agenda, but it still had half a dozen other important items on it that needed to be sorted before the day was done.
One of which was the carpenter who was presently working on the demolished door under Sally's strict supervision. A sweaty, balding, portly man in his late forties, the wood-wizard performed miracles on the doorframe and the lock's metal workings that had been thoroughly destroyed by McGarrigle's goons during the attack.
Sally had resorted to borrowing a cigarette from the carpenter, but the Buzzaros he smoked were even worse than the horrible Mantonaris - as witnessed by their derogatory nickname Buzzard Bait - so the experience wasn't a pleasurable one. The tobacco was low-grade, coarse and had a strange aftertaste, but at least the smoke that filled her lungs was pretty much the same as all other cigarettes so she kept puffing hard to get the most out of it.
---
A familiar silhouette that became visible through the frosted pane a short hour later made Sally let out a whoop and stub out the next of the horrible cigarettes in her overfilled ashtray. Stepping around the hard-working carpenter, Sally opened the squeaking door to greet her friend with an enthusiastic wave. "Hiya, toots! Why, ya sure is a sight for sore eyes, lemme tell ya! Oh, and those fabulous smokes there look even better… aw, they sure smell real swell, too!"
Vicky let out an amused chuckle as she looked down at the metal coffee pot and the mugs and napkins she carried on a tray. A brand new pack of Serrano's Special Blend had been placed in the middle of the tray as a crown jewel. "Sally, the cigarettes are inside the pack. You can't smell anything!"
"Sure I can, sugar! And they smell like paradise," Sally said as she grabbed the pack of Serrano's, tore it open and tapped out the first of the far better cigarettes. Her gas lighter was ready for action in an instant, and the flame and the tobacco were soon joined in a fiery marriage.
The deep puff that followed made her lips crease into a cheesy grin around the white cylinder. "Yup. Like I said. Paradise," she said as she stepped aside so Vicky could see that she needed to circumnavigate the portly carpenter. The desk was soon reached so the tray could be put on it. "And speakin' of which… today's fragrance sure ain't bad neither, doll. Lemme guess what it's called. Okay?"
"Be my guest."
"Amazon Warrior!"
Vicky let out a strangled chuckle as she carried the tray over to the desk. "Why, I sincerely hope you're not saying I smell of horses and old leather!"
"Naw, nothing like that, toots… it's a warm, rich scent… sorta like… cinnamon! Yeah, a hot cinnamon roll!"
"You think I smell like a pastry?" Vicky said and adjusted her glasses. "Well… that's certainly more poetic than saying I smell of horses. It's called Tears Of A Princess."
Sally had been about to add another quip when she came to a halt and scratched her chin instead. "That doesn't fit that scent. But who gives a stuffed seagull 'cos the scent fits you, doll."
"Thank you. Let's get back on track. And my name's Vicky!" - Sally just winked and whistled through her teeth.
After Vicky had distributed the items and poured coffee into her mug, she took a sideways glance at the carpenter who knelt by the door. Though the man seemed occupied fixing the woodwork, she leaned forward so she could speak for Sally's ears only: "I only heard the first half of the story earlier today… so you met Grazziani by the pool hall?"
"Yeah," Sally said and went over to the drawer in the filing cabinet labeled 'W.' She let out a dark grunt when she realized there was hardly anything left of the 4-Leaf Clover Irish whiskey, but at least the Black Knight scotch still had plenty. Shrugging, she grabbed the cheaper bottle instead and returned to the desk.
When nothing further came out of the private investigator, Vicky adjusted her glasses several times in barely hidden anticipation. "And?"
"We talked and drove around a little. Then he let me off and I took a taxi cab home," Sally said and poured herself two fingers' worth in the cleanest of the used glasses. She glanced at the carpenter before she moved her eyes over to Vicky to signal they had better wait a short while.
Vicky caught the hint and settled for sipping her coffee instead. Her nose crinkled at the unusual scent that seemed to exist in the office. "What's that peculiar odor in here? Almost like… wet soil?"
Sally broke out in another cheesy grin as she pointed at the squashed butt of the Buzzaro in the ashtray; then she moved her index finger over to point at the carpenter.
"Oh… I see. Well. To each their own," Vicky said and folded her legs to the side in a very lady-like fashion. She fell silent for a moment to enjoy the hot coffee before she continued: "There was a tangible buzz on the streets this morning. When I bought the daily round of newspapers for Mr. Birnbaum on my way to work, the fellow at the newsstand had already pushed the first editions aside. He told me it was because he'd been alerted there would be a major extra edition at lunch."
"Sounds interesting," Sally said and took a deep puff of the Serrano's. A column of pale-gray smoke rose from the glowing tip of the cigarette; as it went past her eyes, they were revealed to be even more focused than usual. "Do you have a radio next door that I could borrow? Mine's busted."
"Well…" Vicky said and adjusted her glasses - it was clear by the puzzled look she shot her friend that she didn't quite make the connection between her own news update and the question. "We do, but it's an old one. It still works, but it needs to warm up for several minutes before any sounds come from it."
"Sounds like you need to change the vacuum tubes," Sally said and took a swig of the scotch before she chased it down with the hot coffee. She fell quiet again which left Vicky in an even more puzzled state.
Nothing further came out of the private investigator who instead turned to her paperwork. Vicky scratched her neck a couple of times resigning herself to the fact that sometimes it was best simply to let the mercurial Sally Swackhamer do her thing.
---
Another short hour later.
Once the carpenter had worked his magic on the doorframe - and had received $80 plus a five-dollar tip for his bother - Sally strolled back to the desk and poured herself the last, lukewarm drops of the coffee from the pot Vicky had brought.
An old-fashioned, Art Deco-style box radio from the mid-1930s had been placed atop one of the metal filing cabinets. Golden light shone through the central dial to prove it was warming up; while it did so, Sally arranged the antenna it needed to get in touch with the radio waves. Vicky had been called back to work so the office was quiet save for the hum and low static produced by the vacuum tubes inside the radio's wooden box.
The suspicion that something major was brewing down on the street seemed to be confirmed when familiar cries of 'Read all about it!' were made by paperboys who had been called back to work. The young men roamed the streets of Mooresburg City to inform the public at large that something major had occurred, and that they would get the best and most in-depth articles if they bought the newspaper they sold, be it the Bugle, the Gazette, the Tribune, the Echo or even the Times, and not the rag that everyone else sold.
Sally stood by the windows overlooking the street. A good portion of the pedestrians had bought the extra editions and had come to a stop in clumps to read them. Commotion by the newly repaired door prompted her to spin around and stare at the frosted pane in case it was one of the bad people who had come to express his grievances through the use of hot lead or cold steel, but the tall, sculpted silhouette could only be Vicky's.
'Sally? Sally, you'd want to see this!'
"Comin', toots!" Sally said and strode over to the door. She worked the two locks and slid the safety chain back in order to usher in her friend - a guffaw escaped her when she clapped eyes on the pile of extra editions Vicky had bought. "My, my… did you become a major shareholder in a paper mill all of a sudden? Wotcha doing with all those newspapers?"
"Someone further up the money chain called Mr. Birnbaum and told him to hold off accepting further wagers for the time being. After calling around a little, Mr. Birnbaum told me to go out and buy one of each of the special editions. Well, I bought an extra of each so you could have one as well."
"Gee, thanks, doll! You're such a swell gal… you spoil me rotten! So, lessee what made the scribblers antsy enough to spend the dough on more ink," Sally said and craned her neck to look at the loud headlines.
"The FBI has conducted several large-scale raids against the criminal underworld of Mooresburg City!" Vicky said in an excited tone as she held up the Times.
"Yeah? Lemme see," Sally said and took the next one which happened to be the Echo. She read the headline before she folded the newspaper in half to read the article.
"And not just against the Calabreses," Vicky continued, "but all the major syndicates like McGarrigle's waterfront crew, Harry Hankins' gang and even the Kovak outfit. Many of the latter's gambling parlors have been raided and shut down… and apparently his back-alley bordellos too… or so it says." - The glasses were given a quick adjustment at the last bit of news to make room for the slight blush that tainted her cheeks.
"Gee whiz, the Feds even got Max Kovak's girls and boys? I'll bet the ol' geezer's about to pop an artery. Couldn't happen to a nicer palooka," Sally said before she fell quiet to concentrate on reading the article.
A pensive mask fell over her face though the news was somewhat positive. She read the article in the Echo before she put that down and took the Gazette - it was more of the same under a different byline indicating that all the reporters had been fed the same official statements by the Bureau's press people. The Gazette was soon swapped for the Bugle.
Vicky adjusted her glasses and shot her fiend a puzzled glance. "Now what's wrong, Sally? I thought you'd celebrate this kind of news…"
"Yeah, I do… kinda. But, sugar, you need to understand that these waterfront thugs, the gambling dens, the cat houses and whatnot, they're just the littlest fishes out there, see? Okay, it seems that two dozen street toughs were arrested on various charges, but… again. Street toughs?" Sally said and let out a long sigh.
The private investigator shook her head before she continued: "Street toughs sure ain't the big fish from the ledger, toots. We gave the Feds plenty and on a silver platter, too. We gave them the real sharks and they went for random bruisers and brawlers instead. And look, recognize that name?"
Vicky craned her neck to look at the name Sally pointed at. "Oh, my! I do! That night-court judge is listed in the ledger! And the FBI still used his court to process several of the arrests. But… I don't understand. Didn't they read it? Did you even remember to mail it?"
Sally had been about to speak when she broke out in a loud laugh instead. "Why, thank you for the vote of confidence, doll! Yes, I did put it in the big, red mailbox and everything… at least, I think I did… maybe it was a trash can instead? Gee whiz, maybe I need glasses."
"Now you're just being silly, Sally," Vicky said with a wink.
Another laugh escaped the 'silly' private investigator before she took The People's Voice independent newspaper and went back to the desk. On her way there, she cast a glance at the radio that seemed to have warmed up sufficiently to produce random noises of the melodious kind. "Let's hear if anything can come out of this old box," she said and made a beeline for the radio.
After fiddling with the volume and tuning knobs, the voice of an overly excited reporter suddenly broke through the speaker in a tinny, scratchy quality. Sally tried to adjust the knob that would scan the radio waves to gain a better reception, but no matter what she did or which way she twisted the knob, the tinny, scratchy quality never improved.
"Geez, the way that fella uses his voice, I'm gettin' a flashback to the Hindenburg disaster," she said under her breath as the reporter behind the microphone was in the middle of an enthusiastic live broadcast from an undisclosed location somewhere in Mooresburg City.
'-Nearly eighty Special Agents from the FBI have carried out Operation Iron Fist over the course of the night and the early hours of the morning. Reports are being filed on more than twenty simultaneous stings and raids on everything from illegal casinos to barber shops all over Mooresburg City. We've yet to receive any details beyond the initial official statement that simply explained the basics, but it seems the raids were carried out in accordance with the new and wide-ranging anti-racketeering law that was passed last week. Also, we've been unable to get a clear answer on whether or not the operation has been concluded or if it's still ongoing. A press conference has been scheduled for three PM so we're hopeful we'll learn more at that time. To the best of our knowledge, Operation Iron Fist has been conducted without loss of life, but a Special Agent was admitted to hospital after a brief firefight against members of the feared McGarrigle gang in the northern borough near the international quays.'
"Operation Iron Fist," Sally said and let out a chuckle. "Well, why not. Operation Stinky Cheese sure don't have the same ring to it. I wonder if the decrepit, old Franco Scardamaglia has been told or if his men hold it back from him 'cos they worry it might kill him? Can you imagine Vittorio Grazziani as the new Don of the Calabreses? Christ." Grunting, she moved over to the desk where she tapped a Serrano's out of the pack and lit it at once.
Vicky chewed on her cheek as she went over to the radio; the old thing had wandered off the station, but no matter what she tried, she was unable to get the reception back to the way it had been only minutes earlier. Shrugging, she turned it off for good. "I have a theory, Sally. What if the FBI used this as a smokescreen? Maybe they had the big operation planned for a while but couldn't find the right moment to strike? Once they had the ledger, they could execute the raids and use the new anti-racketeering law as an excuse. I mean, as long as the press is so focused on all these little fish, the big sharks might think they're still safe and, uh, swim directly into the FBI's net… so to speak." - Vicky adjusted her glasses to cover for the somewhat embarrassing quip.
Sally swiveled around to shoot a proud gaze at her friend. "Gee whiz, doll… I sure like the sound of that notion. Yeah. I'm a little too cynical to believe it, but… well, who knows. Let's see what happens. At least none of it can be traced back to the ledger or us… or Count Gennaro for that matter. Yeah. You want a scotch?"
"Ah, that would be a 'no,' Sally. I need to get back to work," Vicky said and moved away from the old radio. "I'll be back later with some more coffee… if you'd like some, of course."
"If I'd like some? Toots! How can ya even ask me that? You make the best damn coffee in all of Mooresburg City… of course I want some!" Sally said and pretended to tip her hat.
Vicky let out a snicker before she assumed a mock scowl. "Flatterer. And my name is Vicky! Won't you ever learn?"
-*-*-*-
A little later on in the afternoon, a special kind of nervous energy flowed through Sally. The resulting restlessness made her unable to stay focused on the paperwork she had spread out across the desk:
Casefiles needed to be updated, a letter written as a follow-up to a previous job needed her signature at the bottom of the neatly typed page - Vicky's steady hand at the typewriter had once more proven invaluable - and she needed to compose and jot down a reply to a different letter she had received from a concerned woman asking for advice. That particular case revolved around a suspected marriage swindler who had moseyed in on an elderly lady who just happened to be a wealthy spinster.
In addition to all that, Sally had just put down the receiver after the photo shop had called to inform her the pictures she had dropped off earlier in the day had been developed and were ready to be picked up. She closed her indispensable notepad and got up from the swivel-chair. The final puff of a Serrano's Special Blend was taken before it was squashed in the overfilled ashtray.
She strolled over to the hallstand to get her coat and her fedora, but her brief rush of enthusiasm surrendered to the restlessness all over again which left her stranded halfway between the desk and the hallstand. She sucked on her teeth a couple of times before she turned around on her heel and strolled back to the desk.
The paperwork hadn't grown any less tiresome since she had left it twenty seconds earlier, but she soon doodled her signature on the follow-up letter and put it in the 'out' tray. Though she knew she needed to get on with it, her hand refused to listen and couldn't be bothered to reach for the next item.
She knew exactly what caused the annoying restlessness and the persistent itch that had invaded her skin at the back of her neck: they were both caused by the individual who had yet to be brought out into the open with regards to the FBI's major sting operation - none other than her 'special friend,' Lieutenant Conrad Garrett.
All the judges, lawyers and politicians who were named in the copied ledger would take time and a hefty amount of evidence to remove from their positions, even for the hard-working Special Agents of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, but the law enforcement officers who had overstepped the thin line and had ventured into the proverbial heart of darkness could be removed or at least suspended from duty within hours of the initial suspicion.
The irony was thick enough to cut with a knife: the leader of the police task force supposedly dogging the members of Mooresburg City's criminal syndicates and independent street crews was as dirty as the people they were trying to stop. If he wasn't, his name wouldn't have been in the ledger. How far he would go in avenging his exposure was anyone's guess, but Sally knew he wouldn't let it slide. She hadn't heard the last of Conrad Garrett, she knew that for a fact.
A sudden flash of worry and even anxiety rolled over her; it caused her to grab the armrests of her swivel-chair and hold on tight until it receded. The sense of dread that lingered after the flash had burned out made her get up at once, head over to the drawer labeled 'W,' find the 4-Leaf Clover Irish whiskey and take a huge hit of the amber liquid straight off the bottle.
"What the hell was that all about?" she mumbled while the silky smooth - but potent - liquor made its way down her gullet and into her stomach. "Dammit, Sally… this is no time to be losing your cool. Smoke… I need a smoke," she continued as she moved back to the desk and rummaged around for her Serrano's. The pack Vicky had brought her earlier in the day had already been reduced to the last three cigarettes, but it didn't stop her from tapping one out and igniting it at once.
As she clicked her gas lighter shut and drew a deep puff, she decided she had better put both hands on the proverbial steering wheel or someone else might drive her to ruin. The best way to do that was to pull out the drawer containing her Brownings, the FN Herstal, the cleaning kits and get to work.
---
A short fifteen minutes later, the cleaning process was interrupted by the telephone ringing. The receiver was soon pinned down between her shoulder and her ear so she could have her hands free for the important matters. "Talk to me," she said while she inserted the firing pin into the second of her Hi-Powers.
All she heard at the far end of the connection was random background noise - it wasn't the first anonymous telephone call she had received in her career so her instincts took over at once.
Straining her hearing, she tried to extract as much information as she could of the noises that were just barely audible. It was a constant din broken by occasional clinks and clangs like those heard in any bar, be it a back-alley speakeasy in the Prospects or a high-class establishment on the upper-crust Park Avenue. A muted cheer that prompted an image of a card player celebrating a winning hand was heard at one point a few seconds into the silent call. That hinted at a lower-end bar and not a proper restaurant.
A sigh of impatience escaped her after half a minute of nothing at all. "Gee whiz, buster… if ya too shy to talk to a gal, may I suggest ya send 'er a buncha flowers instead? Red roses always do the trick, see?"
Click.
Grunting, Sally put down the receiver and leaned back in the creaking swivel-chair. Calling without speaking was a known scare tactic among the shady elements of Mooresburg City - she had even used it herself on a number of occasions when she had tried to rattle a suspected grifter's cage. That particular instance had worked as the con artist had made a critical mistake which had led to his downfall, but she was determined not to grow too anxious and stumble into any traps so soon in the game.
She let out a grim chuckle as she reached for the cigarettes once more. "The S-O-B coulda said his name or at least his affiliation… I have so many bogies breathin' down my neck it coulda been anybody."
The task of getting her weapons ready had suddenly been given new weight, so she concentrated on assembling the Hi-Power while smoking her second-to-last Serrano's.
---
Another short half hour went by before Vicky's familiar silhouette appeared on the other side of the frosted pane holding the ubiquitous tray. Sally let out a sigh of relief at the great news of getting some coffee and having someone to banter with, so she got up and made a beeline for the door.
"Hiya, toots! Oh, look at those goodies!" Sally said as she took in the sight of not only a coffee pot and the usual remedies, but four wrapped Turkish rolls as well. "Where 've ya been all my life?"
Vicky furrowed her brow as she noticed the heavily armed Sally: the private investigator carried her Browning Hi-Power as well as three spare magazines in the shoulder-holster. The bulge further below at her ankle proved she had the FN Herstal pistol tied to her leg as well. When she turned around to shut the door, it was revealed the other Browning had been stuck down the waistband.
"What in the world?" Vicky said as she entered the office and walked over to the desk with the latest round of delights. "Sally, did the Department Of Defense draft you or something? What's up with all that-"
"Oh, I just feel naked without 'em, sugar. Don't bother your pretty head with that. Yeah? C'mon, let's get some coffee and a good mood goin'. I'm all out of cigs. You wouldn't happen to have an extra-"
"I'm afraid not. I didn't think you'd get through the other pack so soon…"
"Aw, darn. Gee whiz, I better stop smoking, then. Unless I can glue enough butts together to create a whole," Sally said and let out a chuckle.
Vicky kept standing at the desk while her friend walked around it and sat down on the creaking swivel-chair. "Sally, are you drunk? You seem a little-"
"Drunk! Ha! Not even close, sugar. Nah, I'm just happy you're here 's all. Why, I haven't seen ya for days on end! Or so it feels, anyway."
The nut-brown frame was adjusted several times before Vicky shrugged and poured hot coffee into the mugs they always used. "If you say so. All right," she said and pointed at the wrapped food. "These are from a Turkish takeout parlor just down the street. I've yet to try them, but I believe they're rather spicy so we need to take care when we eat them."
"Always lookin' out for me, eh? I ain't got a clue what I'd do without ya, toots. Okay, let's wrap our gums around a hot roll."
Before Sally could reach for the first of the dürüm rolls that featured kebab meat, lettuce leaves, sweet peas, whole peppercorn and slices of bell peppers laced in a chili seasoning sauce, the telephone on the desk rang. A grunt escaped her as she took the receiver and leaned back on the chair.
When the old game of silence was replayed yet again, she rolled her eyes and reached for the hot roll. She made such a big number out of smacking noisily on the food for the unknown caller's benefit that the individual at the other end of the line pulled the proverbial plug and hung up.
"What was that all about?" Vicky asked while she held her mug.
"Oh, just some boob or another. Forget it."
Vicky took a long swig of her coffee before she reached for her wrapped dürüm roll. Studying her friend's pensive expression and her somewhat odd behavior, she arrived at the only logical explanation: "That wasn't the first call, was it?"
"No," Sally said and let out a dark chuckle. "You know me too well, my friend."
"I'd like to think so. How many calls?"
"That was the sixth. They all come from the same bar. I can hear the typical noises and stuff in the background." Sally tapped her fingers on the armrest of the swivel-chair for a short moment before she clenched her fist and thumped that onto the woodwork instead. "I'll bet a sawbuck it's that charming fella, Conrad Garrett. The Loo. He must be feelin' the heat from upstairs so he needs to vent in my direction."
"The ledger…"
"Probably," Sally said and grabbed her own spicy roll once more. "Toots, I think you hit the bullseye earlier when you said the Federales might have used their operation as a smokescreen. Yeah. I'll betcha that's exactly what they did. And now all the nasties feel the pressure." Grunting, she took another large bite of the Turkish dish and champed on it like she hadn't eaten all day.
Vicky nodded and took another swig of coffee to prepare for her first bite. "And so do you," she said as she searched for an easy way into the spicy dish.
"Maybe a little. If he's trying to intimidate me, he's playing a losing hand. Peeved is what I am. Peeved and gettin' more so for each damn call. And when I get peeved, I get P.O.'ed. And, doll, when I get-"
"I get the picture," Vicky said with a smile. Finding a corner of the roll that didn't look too fiery, she took a tiny nibble at it just in case it wasn't to her liking.
A second later, her eyes grew to twice their regular size behind her lenses; tears sprang forth and filled the ice-blue orbs to the extent that several salty droplets ran down her cheeks. "Oh… Goodness me, I- I- I can't-" she croaked as she hurriedly swapped the dürüm roll for a napkin. Wearing a horrified grimace, she spat out the bite she had only just taken and wrapped it in the napkin.
Sally chuckled and held up the trash can so her friend could get rid of the tissue containing the incendiary device. "Doll, maybe I'm barkin' up the wrong tree altogether, but I'm guessin' it's a bit too fiery for ya?"
Vicky just blinked as she gulped down her coffee instead.
"So ya wouldn't mind if I had the rest of yours, too? I'm kinda hungry."
"Be my guest," Vicky croaked before she took off her glasses to dab her leaky eyes.
Sally chuckled and finished off her own Turkish roll in fine style. As she reached for Vicky's, the telephone rang again. Though chances were great the invisible man had decided to give her yet another ring, she picked it up and listened. Five seconds later, she pressed her finger on the hook to disconnect the conversation that wasn't. The receiver was soon put next to the telephone before she grabbed Vicky's roll and went on another tear. "The seventh call," she said around a big bite.
---
By the time the coffee and the spicy rolls were gone, Sally put the receiver back on the telephone. Two seconds later, it rang again with yet another anonymous call. "That stinkin' coward," she mumbled as she pressed the hook once more and left the receiver next to the telephone. "I'll bet he's getting so juiced up in that bar he can't even walk straight. And he's either wasting all his nickels and dimes on calling me, or he has commandeered the bar's private telephone. I'm telling you, he'll create plenty of bad blood wherever the hell he is."
A worried expression fell over Vicky's face as she took in the news. "But are you certain it's the lieutenant? Couldn't it be Jimmy McGarrigle's right-hand man wanting to get even for what happened yesterday?"
"Mista Flatnose… Declan somebody? I suppose it could. And that's the most frustrating part, doll," Sally said and rubbed her chin. "Hell, for all I know, it could be one of the two-timing husbands I've exposed!"
Sally tapped her fingers on the desk's only uncluttered section before she cast a dark gaze at her friend. "Vicky, there's another lead storm brewin'. It's gonna get ugly sooner or later. Real ugly, see? I don't want you around when it happens. Tell your boss Mista Birnbaum that you're coming down with something and need to go home early today. Do it now, before it's too late."
"Will you wait a minute," Vicky said and sat up straight. "I can make my own decisions, Sally! I'd rather stay. Someone has to call the police or the FBI if-"
"No, you need to listen to what I'm tellin' ya, Vicky. No matter which of those palookas is gonna waltz down that hallway… maybe it's the dirty copper, maybe it's the flatnosed wharf rat, maybe it's Angelo Corrado out to settle a score… but either of those bastards won't hesitate hurtin' you to get to me if they find ya here," Sally said before she got up and strode around the desk. She took Vicky's arm and held it in a gentle but determined grip. "In short, you need to skedaddle, sugar. Now. Please."
The mask that fell upon Vicky's face proved the message - and the way it had been delivered - had been received loud and clear. Nodding, she rose from the chair and turned toward her friend. She paused for a moment before she put out her arms to pull Sally into a hug. "You're right. Please call me once it's all over. Promise."
"I promise, toots- I know, I know… your name is Vicky," Sally said with a wink and a smile to put just the tiniest amount of sugar coating on the increasingly bitter pill.
Vicky's own smile was a nervous affair that didn't amount to much more than a slight creasing of her lips. Nodding, she left the detective agency's office to go next door and tell her employer she had come down with the fastest working and most debilitating flu ever known to mankind.
*
*
CHAPTER 13
Sally was in the process of washing her hands after spending some time in the bathroom - the Turkish kebab rolls had taken the express route through her system - when the telephone on her desk rang for the umpteenth time that day.
Groaning out loud, she let it ring while she dried her hands. The telephone insisted on disturbing the peace and torpedoing her good mood, so she stomped out of the bathroom and went straight for the desk cursing Graham Bell and his stupid invention every step of the way there.
She whipped off the receiver and put it to her ear. Although more silence followed, she noticed at once the background noises had changed. Whoever the caller was, the person had moved from the bar and onto the street. The typical noises created by traffic came through unfiltered indicating it was one of the new-fashioned open public telephones rather than the traditional closed booths.
"Listen here, buster," she said in a growl, "this wasn't fun to begin with, but now it's gettin' close to bein' Goddamned-"
'Keep your trap shut, dick,' a very familiar male voice suddenly said at the other end of the line. 'I have someone here I'll bet you wanna hear from…'
A few fumbles were heard over the connection before a familiar voice came on - Victoria Prince. 'Sally? It's me… I'm… I'm sorry… he waited for me… ov- over on-'
'That's enough… clever girl!' the crude male voice said as the man apparently yanked the receiver out of Vicky's hands - a small 'Ow! You brute!' could be heard in the background.
The undercurrent of raw fear in Vicky's voice was unmistakable; hearing it sent a bucket of ice water splashing over Sally's head. A moment later, the ice turned to a river of lava inside her. "Don't be a fool, Garrett," she said in a hoarse voice. "If ya harm her, I'll chase ya down and kill ya stone dead, ya sonovabitch!"
'So you finally bought a clue, dick? You certainly took your sweet time getting there. Oh, and I'll decide when to harm this broad. When. Not if.'
"What the hell do you even want?!"
'The bastards suspended me today. Me! The leader of the task force! And they made sure to humiliate me in front of the entire squad! What I want, dick? Nothing you can give me… no, that's not true. I wanna share the misery, chump. Is that too much to ask for?'
"So find a Goddamned church and confess your sins to some frock-wearin' priest, Garrett! Vicky ain't got nothin' to do with this!"
'I've looked her up. She's the telephone girl for some bookie… that's grounds enough to slap a charge of suspected knowledge of criminal activities on her. Then we got sewer rats like you that she's known to associate with. And you associate with all factions of the Mooresburg City underworld. Even better. All in all, I've just scored a freebie goose back to active duty… well, this goose has a nice rack and gams a mile long. I'll bet she's gonna look a million even in prison fatigues.'
"You rotten bastard! Garrett, like I told ya-"
'Shut up! I'll give you one chance to settle this face to face before I book this bird by way of a citizen's arrest! The bastards higher up even provided the perfect excuse through their raids. Dontcha love the irony? Meet me in half an hour at the switching yard close to Thorsgaard Bridge. By yourself, obviously. Get that, chump?'
"I got it. I'll be there. Put Vicky back on!"
'No.' - Click.
"Asshole!" Sally barked into the dead receiver. She slammed it onto the telephone before she stormed over to the hallstand to don her shoulder-holster for a second time that afternoon - she couldn't wear it while dealing with the aftermath of the kebab rolls.
After checking the Brownings and the spare magazines, she found the Lupara and tightened the strap that went around her shoulder. She didn't bother with her sports blazer; instead, she threw on her trench coat before she grabbed the nicer of her fedoras - the brown one was still marred by the ugly bullet hole.
She clenched her jaw hard and glared at nothing in particular while she tied the coat's belt. She left the knot loose so it wouldn't slow her down in a situation where she needed a speedy draw.
"Call the Feds or don't call the Feds?" she mumbled as she glared at the telephone that had caused her so much grief over the past few hours. A quick check of her wristwatch proved she didn't have time to call the cavalry - she needed to leave right away to make it all the way north to the railroad switching yard by Mooresburg City's enormous freight terminal before the thirty minute deadline was reached.
A long, pained sigh escaped her as she left the office, worked the new locks and stormed down the hallway to get to her battered Ford Coupe downstairs in the inner courtyard.
---
Cutting through the late-afternoon traffic soon deteriorated into an exercise in abject frustration. The concept of patience had never been Sally's favored subject nor her greatest virtue - it meant the packed lanes of cars and other vehicles that greeted her on every street she turned onto made her want to bite chunks out of the steering wheel.
Her right foot begged her brain to be taken off the leash so they could increase their pace from Average Lazy Snail to Land-Speed Record Attempt At The Bonneville Salt Flats, but she knew she needed to rein in her inner daredevil. If an officious motorcycle cop caught her speeding along, it would only take a single glimpse of the horrendous state of the vehicle for him to pull her over and confiscate the keys - with everything else that had been going on, she hadn't even had time to cover up the smashed rear window.
Worse, if she was in fact pulled over, one look at her formidable arsenal would be enough for the traffic cop to call for backup from every available unit within the greater Mooresburg City area. If that happened, she could forget about ever reaching Vicky in time.
A long groan escaped her when she realized she still had twelve city blocks to go until she'd reach Thorsgaard Bridge that spanned the switching yard near the railroad depots. Once she got there, she would need to find a way down onto the tracks and then search for Conrad Garrett and Vicky.
The little patience she'd had at the start of the run had been whittled away by the dog-slow traffic all around her. As she came to yet another stop halfway between two sets of traffic lights, she glanced at herself in the rear-view mirror in the hope it would help her make up her mind. "Twelve blocks…" she mumbled before she checked her wristwatch. "Twelve stinkin' blocks and twelve stinkin' minutes… dammit."
She tapped her fingers on the wooden steering wheel for a few moments. Then she craned her neck to look as far ahead as she could. All she could see for half a mile was cars, cars and more cars. A long sigh escaped her when it became painfully obvious that the equation could only be resolved if she did something drastic. "This Mary Sweet Lamb act just ain't gonna cut it!" she growled and looked at her wristwatch again. Down below, her foot made the decision for her.
Stomping on the gas pedal, it counted on the rest of Sally Swackhamer to follow its lead - she did, by spinning the wheel to the left so she could clear the stalled lane. Once she had turned her Ford across the center stripes so she faced the oncoming traffic, she kept her gum-shoe glued to the floorboards which made the battered and bruised Ford Coupe shoot ahead with all the speed and noise it could muster.
A loud concert of honks acted as her theme music on her way past the cars that kept the line gridlocked. She came up on the intersection at a high rate of knots, but no cars had yet to come the other way. Her good fortune only lasted for another three seconds before a smoking, lumbering moving van made a right-hand turn onto the wide street not thirty yards in front of her.
The appearance of the elephant-sized vehicle in her path made her let out a howl and spin the steering wheel to the right. She zoomed back across the center stripes and into her original lane - fortunately, the distance she had gained meant she was near the front of the line of cars. A pair of bold maneuvers later, she found herself racing across the troublesome intersection and speeding off into the distance.
The next few city blocks were far less congested than what she had just been through. It meant she was soon well on her way toward her destination at the Thorsgaard bridge - and she kept her gum-shoe to the floorboards all the way there.
-*-*-*-
Mooresburg City's railroad yard was by far the largest among the cities dotting the landscape along the northern seaboard. Close to a hundred tracks came from all directions to form at the same point in the city's industrial zone. The tracks of the vital east-west and southbound overland lines were in constant use and were controlled by a dozen smaller centers that in turn were connected to the main traffic control tower - a ten-story building that was even larger than its counterpart out at Mooresburg City's International Airport.
While the prestigious intercity passenger trains with their streamlined steam locomotives and silver-and-red carriages drove straight through en route to the historic Grand Central Station near downtown, the lumbering, ten-thousand ton freight trains veered off to the vast switching yards that could be reached through scores of branching points. Local freight lines led to and from the national and international quays at the docks, the steel mills, the warehouse district, the meat packing plants, the yards for livestock, coal and lumber and all the other heavy industries on the outskirts of Mooresburg City.
No matter what the weather was like elsewhere in the city, the air at the switching yards was always heavy and hazy - the pollution was created by the coal smoke pouring out of the huffing and puffing shunter locomotives that raced back and forth on switching duties.
Akin to tug boats, the small but supremely powerful engines pulled standard box cars, open-topped cattle cars, refrigerated units, tankers and flatbeds from one track to the next to assemble the sheer endless freight trains that would soon leave for the other cities along the northern seaboard.
Thousands of people worked in three shifts at the yards to keep up with the constant flow of cargo that went through Mooresburg City: beyond the controllers whose working conditions inside the traffic centers were never less than warm and dry, hundreds of locomotive engineers, train assemblers and brakemen had to endure the weather and the immediate dangers of a live railroad yard.
The men working on the numerous fire patrols had perhaps the most important and dangerous job of all. Constantly walking along the myriad of tracks, they had to stomp out all the inevitable flash fires that were created by hanging brake shoes, the dumping of glowing coal and releasing of excess, boiling-hot steam to ease the pressure in the fireboxes. Even more hazardous were the cascades of sparks that spewed from the smokestacks at regular intervals when the shunting locomotives were forced to perform at - or perhaps beyond - their maximum capacity. For the men of the fire patrols, a week with only a single fatality among their ranks was a good one.
On the street above the vast landscape of rails and ties, Sally's Ford Coupe turned hard left off Thorsgaard just before she made it to the bridge that spanned the switching yards. Another hard right followed before she drove through what appeared to be an entrance reserved for trucks and delivery vans.
She raced along a wide concrete path that ran through an open depot and past a huge warehouse where dozens of road vehicles were lined up at loading bays. Up ahead, she spotted a wire mesh fence that made her stand on the brake pedal. The battered Ford came to a screeching, nose-dipping halt at the fence that wasn't just closed but padlocked as well.
"Goddammit!" she roared as she opened the door and jumped out. Though the light was dim and hazy due to the many switching locomotives in the vicinity, she was able to make out that the concrete path continued beyond the fence for at least another 150 yards. After that point, it turned left and went out of sight - most likely down to the actual tracks.
She spun around to look for another access to where she needed to go, but found none. It was time for another of her infamous drastic measures, so she jumped behind the steering wheel and slammed the Ford into reverse. After going backwards for eighty yards or so, she stopped, selected first gear and stomped her gum-shoe hard onto the gas pedal.
The padlocked fence came up at an alarming rate but she kept her foot in it and crashed the gate at forty miles per hour. The front bumper, the headlights, the fenders and the hood all suffered varying degrees of damage as the Ford barged its way through the wire-mesh gate, but she had cleared the obstacle and that was the most important.
The left-hand turn was soon reached and navigated. As she had expected, the pathway led down to the tracks. Moments later, she flew across a gravelly section that made her old Ford bounce up and down as it raced along. The constant clattering of the loose gravel peppering the Ford's undercarriage made her wince, but there was little she could do about that now.
She needed to stand on the brake pedal once more when she came to the end of the gravel path. An accessway into the actual switching yards did in fact present itself to her, but it consisted of simple, wooden boards that had been integrated across the tracks as level crossings - that would be a little too adventurous for the battered and bruised Ford, even for the incomparable Sally Swackhamer, so she abandoned the car and ran over to the edge of the first set of tracks.
"Garrett, you miserable bastard! Ya had to pick the worst hellhole in all of Mooresburg City… sonovabitch!" she roared as she stared wide-eyed at the scores of tracks she would need to cross to get anywhere. Each of the countless tracks was home to constant activity by either the petite switching locomotives that zipped back and forth pulling various rail cars, or gigantic, multi-axled freight locomotives that rumbled past like fire-breathing dragons made of iron.
"Crap, this ain't gonna end well," she croaked as she took off her fedora and wiped her damp brow on her sleeve. She checked her wristwatch again and found she still had a few minutes to spare before the deadline would be reached. "I swear to every God who listens," she growled as she plonked her hat back onto her locks, "if that sonovabitch as much as tears Vicky's Nylons, I'm gonna cut 'im in half! They gonna hafta bury him in two stinkin' caskets!"
At the exact same moment she cursed the Lieutenant, flood lights were turned on all over the range to signal that evening would soon be upon them. When the clouds of steam and coal smoke produced by the locomotives were illuminated by the light that shone down from the numerous tall lamp posts, the haze grew diffuse and impenetrable.
Creepy shadows and ghostly shapes were soon formed by the smoke that billowed between the box cars and across the open sections; the locomotives gained a demonic quality as their dim running lights and the bright orange sheen from the smokestacks and fireboxes seemed to be evil eyes in the mist - even the constant ringing of the brass bells seemed to ebb and flow like the tide rolling in.
A sudden signal from a flashlight somewhere out on the range caught Sally's eye. She tried to fan some of the coal smoke away from her to see better, but it was to no avail. "Dammit," she mumbled as she stepped onto the first set of rails. A rumble that went into her foot and up her leg hinted at an approaching locomotive so she upped her pace to clear that set before the train would intercept her.
The next two sets of tracks were easier to navigate as the smoke lifted just enough for her to see a hundred yards in either direction. Reaching the fourth track from her starting point, she needed to duck behind a semaphore signal while a switching engine zipped past her pulling two standard box cars. Even the small locomotives were huge and created plenty of side-draft in such narrow confines, so she held on tight to the metal mast until she was alone once more.
Stepping forward, she caught another glimpse of the flashlight some distance ahead of her. She was about to let out a long, heartfelt blue streak when the smoke parted to give her a good view of Lieutenant Conrad Garrett who wore a dark-brown overcoat. He seemed to hold a revolver in his right hand so Sally reached for her Hi-Power at once. There was no sight of Vicky.
Clenching her jaw, she looked left and right several times before she sprinted across the next three sets of tracks. The final set of rails sent a rumble up her legs, and the cause was revealed at once when a heavy-duty freight locomotive of the eight-axled kind approached from her right pulling what had to be fifty refrigerated cars; all were white and carried the familiar logos of St. Catarina Gourmet Seafood. The iron monster was still seventy yards from her and not going particularly fast, but the mere sight was enough to make her grimace and hurry up.
She upped her tempo even further and raced across the next four tracks. One of the fire patrols somewhere off to her left spotted her just as she crossed the fourth and final set of tracks in that group. They shouted several angry words at her, but the constant noises produced by the hissing engines and the ringing brass bells rendered her unable to hear what was said.
Having no time to do anything but look ahead, Sally saw Lieutenant Garrett for a second time using the buffer of a stationary box car as cover. That car and two others had been parked on a staging track all by their lonesome while they waited to be hooked onto a freight train.
She kept up her pace until she reached the end of the brown box car. When she got there, she could still smell the lieutenant's characteristic odor despite all the other sources of air pollution that permeated the area. She initially scoffed at the notion, but had to admit - with a grim chuckle - that she could indeed smell her deadly opponent.
A quick peek past the corner of the box car yielded nothing save for more billowing smoke and creepy shadows. Moving back, she worked the action on her Browning Hi-Power so it was ready. There was little point in approaching with stealth considering the constant background noises that assaulted her ears from all sides at once, so she stepped away from the box car and walked along the crunching broken stones that supported the tracks and the ties.
The sliding door of the first box car was closed and sealed so she moved further along its side. Just before she reached the buffers between the cars, she crouched down to look through the undercarriage to see if anyone tried to sneak away on the other side - or if the fire patrol had zeroed in on her location. Nothing happened on the far side of the box car so she got up once more and moved onto the next one. Unlike the first, the next in line was pale-blue and carried the star-shaped logos of InterFreight on the sides and the sliding door.
She came to a halt when she spotted a broken seal on the ground; looking up, she studied the sliding door that was closed but no longer sealed or indeed locked. A tiny gap between the door and the frame was a strong hint of the lieutenant's whereabouts.
Shouting from somewhere out of sight made Sally whip her head around and let out a grunt. "Oh, hell… it's high time to end this nonsense…" she mumbled before she drew a deep breath to shout: "Hey, Loo! I'm here! Now let Vicky go so you and me can deal with this face to face like you said!"
Bumps and scrapes were soon heard from inside the box car from InterFreight. A moment later, the door slid aside to reveal Conrad Garrett holding his service revolver in one hand and a bound and gagged Vicky in the other - her glasses had been lost somewhere along the sequence of events which meant she had an odd, distant look in her eyes. "Throw your gun up here, dick. You're under arrest," he said in a slurred voice that proved he had knocked back his fair share of shots while he made all the threatening telephone calls to the detective agency.
Sally shook her head and kept her Hi-Power ready. "No. You throw yours down and let Vicky go. Then we can talk, see?"
"Like hell I will!" Garrett barked and yanked Vicky closer to him. "She's my ticket back to my job!"
Sally's jaw was given a strenuous workout as she glared at her opponent. When she let her eyes fall onto Vicky's pale face, she softened her expression. "How ya holdin' up, doll? This won't take long. That's a promise."
Garrett let out a disdainful snort. "Don't make promises you can't keep, dick. This is gonna end badly for you. Not for me. Hell, no! Not for me. I'll get my job back and make glorious headlines… you'll just get a headstone. Now be a good, little girl and throw that fire rod up here!"
"No."
The tension almost became tangible at the InterFreight box car as the lieutenant took an even firmer grip around Vicky's arm. He swayed a little like his drunken state threatened to overpower him at the wrong moment, but he straightened himself out and pressed the muzzle of his revolver against the back of Vicky's head. "I think you should, dick. Unless you want me to decorate this dump with her brains, of course. Once your gun is up here in the car, I'll come down there so we can talk. Right?"
The news made Vicky break out in a shiver and her eyes grow impossibly wide. Although she couldn't see much without her glasses, she zoomed in on Sally's blurry shape down below to send a message of mercy.
Sally clenched her jaw hard. She glared at the drunken, dangerous lieutenant knowing he had almost reached the end of the tether that kept him anchored to reason and logic. Sighing, she worked the safety of her Browning and moved over to put it on the edge of the filthy floor planks by the sliding door. She kept a keen eye on Garrett's maniacally grinning face as she took a step back. "I've done my part, pal. You do yours and we'll all be happy, see?"
"I knew you'd come around, dick," Garrett said and wobbled over to the edge of the door so he could lean against it while kicking the Browning back into the darkness of the pale-blue box car.
Before either of them could carry out their next move, angry shouts from somewhere behind Sally upset the entire script. Spinning around, she stared at five railroad workers who stomped toward the scene in their heavy boots and all-weather coats. Two of them carried coal buckets and shovels while the other two had fire beaters over their shoulders - they were the fire patrol that had finally caught up with her.
The fifth man who walked up front was older, burlier and clearly a supervisor of some sort. Drawing a deep breath, he began to shout in a coarse voice meant to scare the intruders into surrendering at once: "Whaddahell you people doin' he'? Dontcha understand ya might get creamed? This is off limits, ya dumb schmucks! All right, ya comin' back with us and then we gonna call the coppers!"
The copper who was already there lost his patience with the shouting brute and let out an otherworldly roar; then he fired off two quick rounds at the fire patrol. One clipped the supervisor in the shoulder and sent him sprawling while the other slug went wide and buried itself deep into the side of the box car behind the one from InterFreight - the rest of the members of the fire patrol dropped their tools and scattered to all four corners of the world.
Sally tore open her trench coat, reached behind her to grab her second Hi-Power and worked the action - it had all happened in a single, fluid motion. She aimed the pistol at Garrett's head, but the risk of accidentally hitting Vicky was extreme so she held off firing.
Vicky screamed under the gag, but the tightly-bound cloth meant the sound turned into a grotesque gurgle that only made the situation even creepier.
All this had happened within a space of five seconds.
"Garrett!" Sally roared at the top of her lungs. "Don't be a fool! Throw down that pea-shooter! If you kill someone now, you'll get the chair, not a promotion!"
"Shut up!" Conrad Garrett barked back and pulled the trigger to send two further rounds downstairs at Sally - one created a shower of sparks as it ricocheted off the broken stones and the other went clean through the side of the fluttering trench coat.
Sally quickly rolled to her right; it sent her fedora flying, but she had to live with that for the time being. The stunt ended with her entering a kneeling position that she exploited to the fullest by whipping up the Hi-Power and keeping the lieutenant firmly in her sights. "I said drop it, you boob! Now! You already popped off four, pal, but I ain't even thrown one slug yet! I got thirteen here, you got two! How'd'ya like them odds?"
Upstairs in the pale-blue box car, Vicky wiggled every which way she could to break free of the firm grip Garrett had around her arm, but she was unable to. A strong jerk from the drunken man meant she stopped resisting for the time being.
Garrett let out a frustrated roar as he realized Sally was right. He glared at the revolver like it had been the guilty party and not the finger that had pressed the trigger; then he sent another fiery glare at Vicky.
A moment later, he and his hostage retreated into the deepest shadows where he gave her such a violent shove she ended up on her hands and knees down on the filthy floor. Spinning around, he slammed the sliding door shut once more.
Though Sally let out a roared "Garrett! You yellow-bellied sonovabitch!" it wasn't enough to lure her opponent back outside. She raced over to the closed door to force it open, but the angle was all wrong and she was unable to get enough leverage to slide it aside.
Holstering the Browning in a hurry, she grabbed the Lupara with the intent to use the metal barrel as a push-rod to manipulate the door. When that failed as well, she mouthed a long line of juicy curses and moved away from the box car.
She ran the entire length of the car to find an alternative route inside, but came up short - literally, as the only gap, up near the car's roof, was so far out of her reach it might as well have been on the moon. Running back to the sliding door, she spotted a loose board that she pressed her face against to see what went on inside.
Even in the inky darkness inside the box car, Conrad Garrett was able to crack open the service revolver with little drama, but the lack of light and his drunken stupor meant he fumbled and bumbled transferring the spare bullets he had in his coat pocket to the tiny chambers in the .32 short-barrel. Several rattled onto the floor before the gun was fully loaded and clicked shut once more.
Down on the floor, Vicky groaned through the gag as stabs of pain rose from her knees and palms. She had no time to assess the damage done to her various parts before the lieutenant grabbed hold of her arm and jerked her upright all over again.
"Same game, same players… but new stakes, bitch!" he said in a slurred voice as he yanked his hostage toward him.
The threat made the peeping Sally growl deep down in her throat. Although she held the Hi-Power in a firm grip, it would be far too risky to aim it blindly through the narrow crack between the loose boards.
The gag covered Vicky's mouth but left her nose free - it meant she was forced to breathe in the rancid odors that streamed off the lieutenant. She grimaced at the cruelty but found herself unable to struggle hard enough to break free.
Sally needed to pull back when she heard the wounded supervisor moan, groan and call for help. The burly man had tried to crawl away but hadn't made it too far - he was still only twenty feet from where Sally stood at the InterFreight box car that acted as the lieutenant's makeshift bunker.
Her experienced eye told her the bullet fired at the burly fellow had shattered at least one bone in his shoulder. Plenty of blood had tainted his coat crimson and the arm dragged limply on the ground as he continued to attempt a crawling escape.
Movement further along the tracks proved to be the members of the fire patrol who had dared to come out of hiding. Sally kept a firm eye on the proceedings as the men reached the supervisor and carried him out of the firing line and off to safety.
The sound of the sliding door being opened made her jump back to the side of the box car and raise her Browning. She let out a raspy curse when she realized the situation had reverted to the worst case scenario: Garrett pressed the muzzle of the service revolver against the back of Vicky's head. Another curse left her when she saw the state of Vicky's bleeding knees and scraped palms.
She swallowed the barb she had already lined up; instead, she tried a more mature approach: "You wanted to talk, Loo. So let's talk. Why the hell did someone like you end up on Grazziani's payroll?"
"You're not in a position to judge me, dick! You worked for Grazziani and the Don as well!"
"Only because you couldn't recover the missing ledger. Yes, I got the damn thing. I read it, too. Cover to cover. A buncha doozies in there, pal. Judges, lawyers and whatnot. Politicians. Yourself and many other uniformed coppers and plainclothes flatfeet."
Hearing that Sally had recovered the important book made a pitch-black scowl explode onto Conrad Garrett's face - it seemed the news made several pieces of the puzzle fall into place for him.
"Look, Garrett," Sally continued as she made a slow approach, "the brass already suspended you! Don't make it any worse on yourself by carryin' out this cockamamie plan of yours whatever the hell it's meant to be. Let Vicky go and maybe we can talk about allowin' ya to slip into the night… destination unknown. Yeah?"
Conrad Garrett remained buttoned up. A hard, angry glare full of hatred and disgust shone from his eyes; it all streamed down toward Sally. "It was you… you leaked the ledger to the brass… or the Feds? Yeah… the Feds. Operation Iron Fist, my ass." He fell quiet and looked at the shivering Vicky whose eyes were as wide as saucers.
As always when it came to being on the receiving end of supposedly intimidating glares, Sally stood her ground and gave as good as she got. "Whatever you're thinking… don't. Quit while you're ahead, Loo," she said in a growl. She locked eyes with Vicky to try to convey that everything would be all right, even if the situation was grim and only getting worse with each passing moment, but the dazed look she got in return was worrying.
In the far distance, the unmistakable sounds of police sirens could be heard over the constant noises of the switching locomotives, rumbling of rolling carriages, and tracks which themselves creaked, whined and groaned as heavy trains ran between one siding and the next.
Conrad Garrett heard the sirens as well. Another flash of hatred raced across his face before he cocked the hammer with his thumb - Vicky gasped under the gag. "Hey, dick… you cost me everything. Now I'll repay the favor. I hope you kissed your doll goodbye, 'cos trust me, ya don't wanna get anywhere near her skull once I put a slug in it."
Time slowed down to a crawl as Garrett's index finger began to tighten. Reacting on instinct alone, Sally let go of her second Hi-Power, whipped up the Lupara and cocked both barrels.
Teetering on the edge of the box car's filthy floor, Vicky pulled up her right leg and thrust it down with tremendous force - the next second, her hard heel was planted squarely on Garrett's toes.
As the police detective let out a howl and released his grip around the arm of his hostage, time resumed its normal speed.
Vicky took full advantage of her newfound freedom by jerking forward and throwing herself head-first out of the InterFreight box car. A loud crack behind her proved to be Garrett firing the .32 revolver at his fleeing hostage; the lead slug screamed through the air and snipped a large tuft of auburn hair off her head not half an inch from her ear. The clumsy landing onto the coarse ground was far heavier than she had anticipated, and it knocked all the air out of her - she could do nothing but lie still and moan.
A split second later, Sally roared out a resounding "No!" as she pulled both triggers. The Lupara responded by letting out a deafening boom and spewing hot death in the shape of two fully packed shells of buckshot. The pellets tore through the air on a direct collision course with Conrad Garrett's chest and midsection.
Although the corrupt detective managed to get another shot off in Sally's direction at the exact same time, the buckshot won the day by ripping the man to shreds and sending him flying backwards into the box car like a discarded rag doll.
Smoke continued to seep from the Lupara's barrels, but Sally let go of the instrument of death to have her hands free for Vicky Prince. After rushing over to where Vicky had ended up half-buried in the broken stones, Sally threw herself onto her knees and wrapped her hands around her dear friend.
Working with surprising gentleness, she rolled the motionless woman over onto her back. "Vicky… sugar? Sweetie… are… are you still alive? You better be…" she said in a strangled voice as she caressed Vicky's smooth cheeks.
Nothing happened at first, but Vicky soon let out a pained groan and opened her ice-blue - and somewhat unfocused - eyes. "I must be… I'm aching all over," she croaked. "Please… help me sit up. These stones are sharp… and icy!"
Sally let out a deep sigh of relief as she reached behind her friend and helped her into a better position. "Better? Oh, Vicky, you're bleeding everywhere… your knees… hands… and you have a cut on your brow… but at least you still have a brow that can bleed," she said before she began rummaging through all her pockets. "Sit still, I have a… a… hankie somewhere around here… somewhere…"
"Can you see my spectacles anywhere? I had them when we got here, but the bad man took them so I couldn't run away," Vicky said in a croak.
"No… no, I can't see 'em," Sally said after extending her search for their various missing items. "And I can't find a hankie either, dammit! Typical! When you finally need me, I can't help ya worth a damn!"
"Sally, are we safe? What happened to-"
"We're safe, doll," Sally said and caressed Vicky's cheek again. "Yeah. We're in the clear. Dontcha worry 'bout a thing."
"But Garrett…"
"Aw, he should be arriving at Lucifer's banquet right about now," Sally said and let out a snort.
Vicky blinked several times before she moved her head in a knowing nod. "Thank you," she said in a small voice.
"You're welcome," Sally said with a smile. She looked at the bruises on her dear friend's face as well as the short line of blood that dripped off her brow. A shiver rolled over her before she leaned down to place a nice, little kiss on Vicky's lips just because - it earned her a little squeak and a luminous smile in return.
Voices from further along the side track where the three box cars waited to be processed proved to be a second group of railroad employees. They soon came into sight carrying lanterns and flashlights in addition to their regular buckets, shovels and fire beaters.
Sally let out another sigh of relief as she pulled back to get the bigger picture of the mess they were in. "We got help comin', sugar… sorry, I mean Vicky. Right?"
"That's my name, yes," Vicky said and broke out in a brief snicker before the myriad of little aches and pains grew too strong for any kind of humorous quip.
When Sally was sure Vicky could sit unassisted, she retrieved her second Browning and stuck it down her waistband. Then she closed the trench coat and tied a knot on the belt so nobody would get the wrong impression of her. "Youse guys! We're over here!" she cried and waved her fedora high in the air. "Any of you fellas got a hankie a gal in need might use? Preferably a clean one, but a little snot is okay as long as it ain't too green!"
"Ohhhhh-Gawd, Sally!" Vicky said and rolled her unfocused eyes several times.
"Those guys will be right over, see… or maybe not, as the case may be. Tell ya what, I'll look for your glasses and my other Hi-Power in the meantime. Yeah?"
"I'd appreciate it… thank you," Vicky said before she turned to look at a group of blurry shapes that came ever closer to her.
---
Ten minutes later, Vicky's nut-brown spectacles graced her regal nose once more. The lenses and the frame had survived the ordeal unscathed, but they had needed a thorough rinsing after being coated in Conrad Garrett's blood and guts.
The burly railroad workers had carried the aching Vicky over to a Packard ambulance that was parked next to the demolished Ford Coupe. Much to her delight, she had been put on a soft stretcher while a medic cleaned some of her wounds and scrapes.
Over by the Ford, Sally scrunched up her face as she took a glance at the pool of oil that had stained the gravel pitch-black underneath it. A single look under the hood proved the '38 Coupe was no more - the literal gate-crashing had proven to be its swan song.
A host of uniformed police officers swarmed around the scene which sent the railroad supervisors present into the red zone. They'd had to hold back several important freight trains and even one of the streamlined Expresses so the corpse could be retrieved from the InterFreight box car, and the shades of red etched onto their faces proved the clean-up couldn't go fast enough.
Sally whistled through her teeth as she strolled back to the ambulance and Vicky. "Hiya, toots! Why, ya sure is one swell dame. To react like that even after all the hooplah you've been through tonight is nothin' short of breath-takin'. This is why you're the best secretary I've ever had, see? Always thinking on your feet… and with your feet."
"Oh, ha-ha," Vicky said and adjusted her glasses. "I'm just grateful I'm still here. It must be my lucky day… and to have it fall on the thirteenth of the month is just astounding."
"Lucky thirteenth, eh?" Sally said with a grin; it faded as she looked at the coroner's van where Garrett's remains was stored for the time being. "Well, I guess it wasn't so lucky for other folks. He brought it upon himself, the big S-O-B. He shoulda left well enough alone and done a runner when he could."
"I wish he had. Enough about him. Please."
"Deal, toots."
Vicky soon broke out in a shy smile as she snuggled down on the stretcher. "I'll take the Sunday off, thankyouverymuch. Either you need to make your own coffee tomorrow… or…"
"Or?" Sally said while she reached for her gas lighter and her cigarettes. She let out a long groan when she remembered she had run out and that she hadn't had time to buy a new pack.
A cute blush spread over Vicky's face. Her eyes went on a brief tour of the interior of the ambulance before they returned to the grinning Sally. "Or you could come over to my place and look at my stamp collection… or something…"
"Gee whiz!" Sally said as she pushed her fedora back from her brow. An even broader grin soon spread over her face. "Your stamp collection, eh? Make room on the couch, doll, 'cos I'm your gal!"
"Haw… and my name's Vicky!"
"I know… toots." Sally paused for a few beats before she winked and broke out in a loud laugh that earned her a long groan - and another cute blush - in return.
Their banter needed to take a back seat when several high-ranking police officers and a couple of suit-wearing Special Agents of the FBI approached the ambulance in search of answers. It was nothing Sally Swackhamer, Private Eye, couldn't handle, and she and Victoria 'Vicky' Prince were soon reveling in each other's company once more…
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THE END.