Hooligans Part 25

28.

THE SINGING ROPE.

It didn't take me five minutes to get dressed. As I hurried through the lobby toward the garage, the Black Maria roared into the motor lobby and screeched to a stop. The front door swung open and I crawled in. Stick dropped it into first and left an inch of rubber in the drive.

"I hope to h.e.l.l the place isn't far," I moaned.

"Ten minutes," he said, putting the red light on the top of the car and flicking on the siren. It was the longest ten minutes of my life. We boomed south along the river, where late-returning shrimp boats were reduced to streaks of light.

The place was near Back O'Town, a row house that had been converted into pleasant apartments facing the small river they called Hampton Run. Flat roof, fancy front door; a cla.s.sy-looking place. There were a lot of police cars parked haphazardly in the narrow street in front.

Cowboy Lewis was standing by the door, looking very unhappy.

"I f.u.c.ked up," he said tightly. "They got by me."

"Who got by you, Cowboy?" I asked.

"Whoever did them in," he said, looking at my feet.

"Them?" Stick said.

"There's two of 'em," he said, jabbing a thumb over his shoulder toward the building. "Second floor in the front."

"Who else?" I asked as we headed for the door.

"Della Norman," he said.

A new name!

"Should that mean something to me?" I asked.

"She was Longnose Graves' favorite lady," said Stick.

"Yeah, but she was in bed with Logeto when he got hit," Lewis added.

I whistled through my teeth.

The mess was in a second-floor bedroom.

"The singing rope," I said, looking at the man's neck.

Dutch's "Huh?" told me he had never heard of the trick.

"That's what the Vietnamese call it, the singing rope. A knockoff of the Thuggee knot."

It was also known among the British as the Bombay Burke-Bombay because the Thuggee stranglers operated in India, Burke being British slang for strangulation, named after an Englishman who tried to kill Queen Victoria, failed, and had his neck stretched for his trouble.

It had been more than a dozen years since I had last seen that particular kind of bruise. It was blood red and about the size of a half dollar, in the soft place at the base of Logeto's skull on the back of his neck. The deep, gnarled, b.l.o.o.d.y ring around his throat filled in the picture.

"Anybody else here?" Stick asked Dutch.

"Salvatore," Dutch answered. "He's out checking the neighborhood."

"I haven't seen a mark like that since Nam," I said.

"Beautiful. What in h.e.l.l next?" said the weary lieutenant.

Cowboy Lewis filled the doorway, the handle of a Cobra .357 looming from the front of his pants, right over the fly.

"If that goes off accidentally, you're gonna have to change your name," Dutch said. Lewis didn't say anything. "Okay," said Dutch, "let's have the long and short of it."

"It's SOP, Logeto coming over here. It's every Monday night, rain or s.h.i.+ne, six o'clock or close to it. He usually stays an hour, hour and a half. He had two limos and four shooters. He goes in, the four goons start pitching coins in the hall. Two hours later the mark's still there. About eight thirty I started getting nervous. Finally I decided to take the door, have a look."

"By yourself, with four gorillas between you and Logeto? That don't call for backup in your book?" Dutch demanded.

Cowboy shrugged. "I had buckshot loads in the Magnum. I go in, start up the stairs, get some s.h.i.+t, show the cannon. 'You wanna get picked up in a dustpan, f.u.c.k around' is all I told 'em. I put my ear against the door, give a call or two. Nothin'. So I kicked it in."

He swung his arm casually around the room, indicating what he had found.

The bed looked like a plowed field. Covers and sheets half on the floor, pillows on head and foot. The woman lay on her side naked, her hair sprawled across her face. Logeto was on his face, fully dressed, both fists clutching the sheets, his feet hanging off the bed but not quite touching the floor.

"So that's Della Norman," I said. Even in death, you could tell she was a dish.

"Apes.h.i.+t," Stick said.

"He means Longnose ain't gonna handle this too well," Dutch said, and shook his head ruefully. "A new wrinkle," he went on. "What in h.e.l.l was Tony Logeto doin', shacked up with the Nose's favorite lady?"

The arrival of Chess, the ME, broke his thought train. Chess was short and on the tubby side, wearing old pants and a pajama top stuffed half in and half out of his pants. He was not too happy about being there.

"And who do we have here?" he asked.

"Tagliani's son-in-law and Longnose Graves' girlfriend."

Chess looked up with a lascivious grin. "Isn't that interesting," he said. "It's the best part of the job, y'know, the inside stuff. I wonder how Longnose is going to take this."

"Badly," Stick chimed in.

Chess put down his black satchel. "Ladies first. Let's get some pictures before I mess things up."

The photographer appeared, shot the room top and bottom, and was gone in ten minutes. The doc stepped in and started his work, jabbering continually as he did.

"We got a simple strangulation here, on the woman. From the front I'd say. See the thumbprints here on her larynx. Death was quick. My guess's her carotid, jugular, the whole shooting match in her throat is crushed. Powerful set of hands at work here."

He kept probing, talking while studying the corpse.

"You gotta slow down there, Dutch. The freezer downtown is full and we don't have but five people in pathology and I got a vacation comin' up in three months. It would be nice to be finished by then."

"Ho, ho, ho," Dutch said, his sense of humor wearing thin, as was all of ours.

I looked around the apartment while the ME continued his work. It occupied the front side of the building. The living room, bedroom, and kitchen all faced the street. The place was decorated in early nothing. Expensive furniture that didn't go together. Her closet had enough clothes in it to start a salon.

The bathroom and several closets were adjacent to an alley that ran along the side of the building. There was only one door into the apartment, the one we had all come in through.

I ambled into the bathroom. It was large, with a double sink, commode, step-in tub, and stall shower.

The window over the commode was open and the curtains s.h.i.+fted idly in the breeze. I took a look out.

Straight up to the roof, straight down to the street.

I went back to the scene of the crime.

A new face had appeared. His name was Braun, out of homicide, a short, slender, hawk-faced man with age spots on the backs of his hands and dark hair turning white.

Braun said in a nasal voice, "I hear, Dutch, that you're planning to retire tomorra. There won't be anything left for you t'do."

Dutch said, "Don't make me laugh too hard, I'll wet my pants."

"How many is this between last night and tonight?" Braun asked, continuing to needle the big man. "Got enough for a football game yet?"

"Just do yer job, okay, Braun? Leave the comedy to Bob Hope."

The homicide cop looked at Della Norman.

"Lookit that spook's t.i.ts. Bet there was some good p.u.s.s.y went through the window when she blinked out."

"You want maybe we should all step out in the hall for a minute or two while you get a little?" Dutch chided.

"Up yours," Braun said.

All cla.s.s.

Chess finished his work on the woman and turned to Logeto.

"What've we got here?" Chess said. "Looks as though there's been a hangin'."

"Jake here says this job looks like an old Vietnam trick called the singin' string or something."

"D'they learn it on The Lawrence Welk Show?" Braun asked.

"It's called the singing rope," I corrected. "The way it works, you take a rope, tie a knot halfway down it, and tie a small stick in the end. The Arvies would come up behind their target, whip the rope around his throat, catch the stick, and twist. The knot pops the main nerve in the back of the neck and paralyzes the mark. After that, all it takes is about sixty seconds or so to finish the job."

"You like havin' the Feds do yer thinkin' fer yuh?" Braun asked.

Cowboy Lewis made a growling sound deep in his throat and balled up his fists. Dutch laid a gentle hand on the big man's shoulder.

"Anybody touch anything up here?" Chess asked.

The Cowboy s.h.i.+fted from one foot to the other.

"I used toilet paper when I phoned in it. No prints," Cowboy said.

"Excellent, m'boy. I see you teach them right," Chess said to Dutch.

"Yeah, all yuh gotta do now's teach 'em to talk," Braun said.

"Cowboy, g'downstairs, see what you can shake outta those dago coin-t.o.s.s.e.rs," Dutch said, probably saving Braun a trip to intensive care. When Lewis was gone, Dutch said to Braun, "What's your problem, putz?"

"You and your special headquarters and s.h.i.+t," said Braun. "So far looks t'me like all you've done is f.u.c.k up."

"You make a lot of noise for somebody with six unsolved murders in his lap," Dutch said.

Braun said, "We got enough bodies downtown for one night."

"Braun, you cry too much. You can't see straight through all the tears," Dutch said.

"f.u.c.k you," Braun said.

Tension crackled in the room. Chess broke up the witty repartee.

"Well," he said, "if you two s.h.i.+rley Temples are tired of goosin' each other, I'd like to get this pair down on a slab and start work."

"It ain't my beat anymore," Dutch said. "I get 'em alive, putz here gets 'em dead."

"What's your guess about the time, Doc?" I interjected, hoping to ease things a little.

"I'd guess-and I'm guessing, remember, don't hold me to this-I'd guess they were both killed close together, the girl first. Three to four hours ago, give or take."

It was ten thirty-five.

The ME turned Logeto's body over and the dead mobster lay on his back, staring sightlessly at the ceiling with his tongue stretched out of his mouth. The corpse was nattily dressed. His tie wasn't even loose.

An idea or two began to brew in my head.

I ambled out into the hall, found the stairs to the roof, and climbed up them. The door to the roof was unlocked. I checked it out, looking down to the open bathroom window and giving the brick wall a close check. There were three grooves in the ledge above Della Norman's bathroom window.

As I came back down I saw the Stick talking to one of the four coin-t.o.s.s.e.rs, a weasel-faced little hood who stood sideways, looking off down the street someplace as he spoke, as if the Stick were not there.

Stick finally nodded and left his stoolie, entering the building and joining me on the second floor.

"I got sidetracked," he said. "That little s.h.i.+t I was talking to, his brother's in the dock waiting to be sentenced for pus.h.i.+ng. He's hoping I'll go to bat, get the b.a.s.t.a.r.d a reduced sentence. But he doesn't know s.h.i.+t about what happened and neither do the other three. What he says, Logeto came here at six fifteen. They saw him go into the girl's apartment, which is usual for Monday night. They heard some bedsprings rattling a coupla minutes later, figure Logeto was so h.o.r.n.y he jumped right to it. They made a couple of jokes, then pitched dollars until Cowboy Lewis showed up and busted in."

"Go take a look inside."

We went back into the apartment together. Della Norman's body was already wrapped up and on a stretcher. The ambulance lads worked a body bag over Logeto's feet and wheeled both bodies out. Braun followed them into the hall and Dutch, Stick, and I were alone in the room.