Well, well, well, in this chapter, Law has to confront Beedle and the mysterious Anderson. How do you think he'll do it? Who do you think he's going to call for help? I think this is going to be quite a chapter. Enjoy!
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NOTE: Check out my other stories in the Sci-fi / Fantasy Section Crown Vic to a Parallel World From Whence I Came Stolen Love
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Wasted Life a Law Edwards Mystery by Sam Stefanik
26 A Showdown Surprise
A couple hours later, after Bea and I had been to the stationary store, we had a simple bluff worked out. The help that I'd called arrived and lowered his bulk into the visitor's chair that wasn't occupied by Bea.
"Edwards," Herb Marshall said to open the conversation in his usual manner, "you still a Nancy Boy?"
I teased my old boss right back. "I haven't been a Nancy Boy in a long time." I replied and tried to sound indignant. "I'm a Nancy Man."
Marshall grinned as he allowed himself to enjoy the banter. He didn't get carried away though. He knew he was there for a reason, so he cut the fun short and got down to business. "What do you have?" He asked.
I explained the situation in general terms and Bea added the technical details. Marshall grasped the plot with the quick certainty of a man whose spent his life around crime. "So, you need to get them to show their hand or to do something incriminating so I can arrest them." He said when we'd finished. "Otherwise, they'll get off easy, maybe entirely. I'll play along with that. What's your plan?"
I explained. "We have two carboard tubes. One of them has the blueprints and other documents in it. You take charge of that one. No matter what else happens, you turn that one over to the Navy. Even if the criminals don't get punished, we have to stop any more of those unarmored ships from leaving the dock.
"The other tube has a cover sheet and a bunch of blank paper wrapped inside for bulk. That's the one I'll try to sell to Beedle and Anderson. I'm going to demand a big pile of money. If that doesn't provoke a reaction, nothing will. You be nearby as a witness and to back me up if one of them gets rambunctious."
Marshall asked a cautious question, which was exactly what I would expect from him. "What do you think they'll do?"
"I really don't know." I admitted. "Something incriminating, I hope."
"You got artillery?"
"I've got it covered." I assured Marshall and patted the long-nose .38 revolver that I'd strapped in a holster against my ribs. My other gun, the snub-nosed cousin of the long-nose .38, was in my left pocket.
When Bea and I got back from the stationary store, I'd prepared myself with the only two firearms I owned. I knew I was going to go up against Beedle and the mysterious Anderson, and I didn't plan to do that with just my fists for protection. I didn't know if the men would be armed, but I suspected at least one of them was a murderer, so didn't put it passed them to be.
Marshall praised my foresight. "I'm glad you're prepared. Where are we gonna do this?"
"Somewhere nice and public, and in your jurisdiction. I think Marconi Plaza."
"Sounds fine." Marshall agreed. "Make your call."
At eleven thirty, the agreed meeting time, I was sitting on a bench in the wide-open plaza. I was facing the cast bronze Christopher Columbus statue up on its granite plinth, and I had my back to Broad Street. A few people milled around, but not many. The plaza didn't lead anywhere except to the greater green space beyond the paved memorial where I sat. A lot of people moved up and down Broad Street, but they were ten or so yards away from me and not much of a concern.
As I waited, I kept my left hand around the butt of the .38 in my jacket pocket while the right rested on the cardboard tube that sat next to me on the bench. I wasn't as good a shot left-handed, but I figured that if I kept my right hand in my pocket, it would give away the fact that the hand was wrapped around a gun. I also knew that if I had to fire, whatever I was shooting at would be standing close enough that I could hit it without aiming.
Behind me, parked wrong way to the curb, was an unmarked police car with Marshall and Bea in it. I'd objected to Bea's presence at the showdown on the grounds of her safety, but she refused to be left out of what we hoped was the climax of the investigation. I exacted a promise from her to hit the floor of the car if any shooting started and a further promise from Marshall to keep her safe no matter what happened to me.
Marshall had a couple `plain-clothes' men positioned around the plaza. He'd only told them to wait for his signal. He hadn't told them what they were waiting for or anything about the case. I'd seen Marshall give the men their instructions. I didn't know any of them, but I enjoyed the quick, professional session. It reminded me of my time on the force and that I had liked working for Marshall.
Since then, I waited on my bench. As I waited, I brooded. The waiting gave me too much time to think. I used that time to think about Walt and his goddamned rhetorical question from that morning. Peter and David alternated in my mind as I tried to define the relationships that I'd had with each of them.
I struggled over it. I always told myself that I'd loved Peter and David, but Walt's question, when he asked me if it was love or something else, flashed in my head like an insistent advertising sign. I wondered if what I'd felt had been something else, and if it was, what that something else might be.
Along with my brooding over Walt and his questions, I also brooded over Walt and his persistent offer of affection. In all the years I'd known Walt, I never defined the relationship that I had with him as one based on love. Still, having just spent the night with him, I had to admit that whatever the relationship was, it was much more than sex. Walt was familiar and comfortable, but he was also physically exciting. He was kind and thoughtful, but also passionate and compelling. The night he'd given me had been a reminder of how well we knew each other, and not just in bed.
From the other time I'd spent with him over the years, I came to know other things. I knew how he liked his plates stacked in his cabinets. I knew that the wet dish towel should always be draped over the open oven door for the heat of the pilot light to help dry it. I knew when he wanted to be alone and when he wanted company. I knew how happy he could be when good things happened, how sad he could be in bad times, and how angry he could be when he was hurt...when I hurt him.
Familiarity wasn't the same as love or even affection, but that's not what the problem was. The problem was that Walt wanted me, and when I slept with him, I realized how much I wanted him. That didn't change the fact that I was no good for him.
I thought about the love I had, or at least thought I had for David and Peter, and I knew it had been an impossible love. That knowledge didn't make it any easier for me to be without them. I still missed watching the powerful grace of David as he tended bar, or the feeling I got from a gentle kind word from sensitive Peter. Both men had been beautiful, pure people. Maybe they didn't love me, but they were kind to me at a time in my life when no one else was. That was enough. It was enough that they let me love them.
"LAW!" A smooth, syrupy voice shouted and snapped me out of the daydream that I'd drifted into. Beedle and the bulldog I'd seen with him before were crossing the square. Beedle waved and smiled like he was overjoyed to see me. The bulldog plodded next to and just a little behind him. I wondered if the large man had to be taught to heel or if it was instinct.
"Where's Anderson?" I asked as I shook hands with Beedle. I'd stood from my bench as the two men approached and maneuvered so they stopped next to the base of the statue and roughly faced Marshall's car. I wanted Marshall to see every move they made because I assumed he'd have to testify to their actions in court.
Beedle stood closest to the base of the statue and smiled like he wanted to show off fresh dental work. "I didn't introduce you before, but this is Anderson, Mister Morgan Anderson."
Ah,' I thought, partners all the way.' I nodded at the bulldog and said it was a pleasure. The bulldog said nothing and gave no physical acknowledgement he'd heard or even seen me.
Beedle's smooth voice flowed over the meeting like a burbling stream next to a mountain path. "I can't imagine why you wanted me to bring him or how you knew his name, but I see my property on that bench, so I suppose it doesn't matter. Here's the two-fifty as promised." Beedle drew an envelope from the inside pocket of his immaculate suit jacket and passed it over.
I didn't touch it, though I very much wanted to. I stayed in the character of a man who thought he had the upper hand. I needed to generate animosity, preferably anger in the men opposite me. Only if they were angry, would they make a mistake, hopefully one serious enough for Marshall to arrest them. I pressed the advantage of the knowledge I'd gained.
"Sorry, Frank." I said through a smug grin of my own. "It's not going to be that cheap now. I had a little look inside that tube. The kid left some notes, and I did a little research. I know what you've been doing. I know the secret of the mild steel. It doesn't bother me that you're getting yours, but I want mine." I jerked my chin at the envelope in Beedle's outstretched hand. "Keep the small money. I want ten thousand."
Beedle's face fell and set itself into a stern mask. Anderson smiled like someone who'd just caught a joke that everyone else has already laughed at. His lips parted to expose a mouthful of uneven, stained teeth. "He's just like the fuckin' kid." Anderson said with a voice that sounded like his chest was full of gravel. "But he only wanted a grand. Probably should've paid him instead of puttin' his lights out."
"What are you saying?" I asked the growling bulldog that was Anderson.
Beedle answered my question while Anderson stood grinning. "Young Preston figured out what was going on and decided he wanted to `get his,' to use your phrase. I asked Mister Anderson to take care of him. I never intended for Morgan to kill him, but it seems that's what he did."
Anderson took over the tale while he grinned his disturbing grin all over his face. "He was fuckin' dumb, like you. Called a meeting, like you. Brought the drawings in a tube, like you. I made him wait while I watched him wait. Eventually, the kid gave up and led me right back to his shitty hotel. I shot him and took the tube. I didn't notice he fucked me until I got back to the Navy Yard. The tube was full of old racing forms. I figured we were fucked until you showed up."
Beedle used his smooth voice to finish the story. "We, that is me and Morgan here, thought it possible that you would be able to locate our missing property, and you did." Beedle offered me another smooth smile and made his pitch. "I would like to offer you one thousand dollars instead of the two hundred and fifty we previously negotiated."
The sound of Anderson's cruel, relentless voice and Beedle's smooth one, both used to tear Preston down, was physically painful for me. My insides lurched and started to cramp. I pulled the snub nose .38 with my left hand and pointed it at Anderson. I waved it at Beedle, then I decided Anderson was the more dangerous of the two and kept the gun on him. "You're a liar." I accused the evil man.
Anderson shook his big, bulldog head. His smug smile didn't fade at the sight of my gun. "I don't have a reason to lie, and you know it. I also know you're not fuckin' dumb enough to fire that noisy gun in a public place. Put it away and give me what I want."
I didn't say anything. My stomach crawled and tied itself into tight knots. The pain was so intense, I knew that soon I'd have to hold my teeth clamped to keep from heaving. Anderson seemed to realize that I was stuck. He ignored my gun and moved around me to take the tube from the bench. He broke the tape that held the end closed and drew the papers from inside. I stepped back and sat on the bench. I trained my gun on Anderson.
"This better be all of it." Anderson growled as he struggled to unroll the papers between his clumsy hands.
The bastard,' I thought as I hated the large man's guts, he's telling the truth, they both are. Preston wasn't anything like Bea said, wasn't anything like David. It was all bullshit.'
Anderson dropped the tube and the blank sheets. The tube made a hollow thud as it fell to the pavement and the sheets rustled and started to scatter in the breeze. Anderson grabbed for his pocket and pulled a .22 pistol from it. It looked very much like the one that had been in Preston's hand, but this one didn't have a silencer. He didn't point it...yet. "Spill." He commanded.
I opened my mouth to speak, but a spasm hit me and stole my breath. The cramp passed quickly, but it gave me time to think. I came up with a way to make the men angry, to make them react. I held my idea as the pain passed off, and I managed to turn my grimace into a grin. "You're fucked, both of you." I grunted through the waning pain. "I gave the real papers to the cops along with the kid's notes. Who's guilty?' they asked. The men who signed,' I said."
I tried to keep myself together, but the battle I fought with the pain was a losing one. Beedle and Anderson still hadn't done anything actionable, and I knew I was running out of time. I hoped my idea of using a partial truth to bait them would see quick results. I needed to make something happen.
Anderson scowled at the information, but Beedle grinned. I didn't understand the grin. "That might not be true, Law. Only one of us need be blamed. With the tight schedules the Navy demands, we all have to trust each other. My story will be, Mister Anderson checked that the correct materials were used, and I simply signed what I was given. I'll lose my position, but I won't go to jail. That won't bother me much. I'm sitting on quite a nest egg. Maybe it's time to retire."
Anderson turned his scowl on Beedle. "And what am I doing while you're playing innocent?"
"You will be dead." Beedle said through his grin while he kept his eyes on me. "Law has his gun on you, and you have your gun in your hand. If Law were to shoot you in self-defense, you won't be around to argue. I won't go to jail, and Law will receive a gratuity of ten-thousand-dollars for a very small movement of his index finger."
The bulldog's scowl relaxed. His expression became a dangerous neutral. In one motion, he raised the .22 pistol to his partner's temple and fired. The report of the small gun was softer than an automobile backfire. It drew no attention from the passers-by in the plaza. Beedle crumpled to the ground in the shadow of Christopher Columbus.
Much of what happened was blocked from the view of passers-by between the base of the statue and Anderson's barrel-like body. "Unless you commit suicide over your guilt." Anderson growled at the dead man.
A car door opened and shut behind me and I heard careful footsteps. I could tell from the softness of the steps, that Marshall had his guard up. I knew he was coming to help me, but he was doing so cautiously. I also saw the two plain-clothes men move from their waiting spots to converge on my position. Anderson didn't seem to notice. He stayed on topic. "The ten thousand is off the table." The bulldog said in his thick, cruel voice. "I'll pay one thousand to keep you quiet. Deal?"
I hated Anderson. I wanted to kill the evil man. I almost did, but I controlled the impulse. "FREEZE! POLICE!" Marshall shouted from beside and a little behind me.
Anderson flinched and leveled his gun at the shout. His right arm crossed his body as he aimed. I raised the barrel of my .38 and fired. The report of the snub nose revolver sounded like cannon fire in the paved section of the square. The shot struck Anderson in the upper arm. The arm dropped to the big man's side and the small pistol clattered on the pavement. Nothing else in the way Anderson stood changed.
Marshall moved into my line of vision and crossed behind Anderson. He jerked the bulldog's arms behind him and snapped a set of handcuffs on. I kept my gun on the murderous Anderson until Marshall had him secure and the plain-clothes men had joined Marshall. I pocketed my gun and watched as Marshall knotted Anderson's handkerchief over the bullet wound.
With the emergency over, and the danger passed, I gave into the agony that had been building in my guts and bent double. I clutched my knotted insides through red waves of pain. Bea appeared next to me. She thought I'd been shot. I reassured her as much as I could with no breath in my lungs.
Marshall moved Anderson to sit on another bench, then he sent one of the plain-clothes men for backup. A beat cop showed up, drawn by the sound of my .38. Marshall had him work with the other plain-clothes man to keep rubberneckers at bay.
"Law, are you hurt?" Bea asked. She tried to look at my front while I held it in agony. I gasped and managed to choke out `fine...shrapnel...old.'
That seemed to satisfy her. She kept me company while I waited for the cramps to subside. By the time the regular patrol cops came, I was breathing again.
The patrol boys roped off the scene and took charge of the prisoner. We waited some more for the investigators to arrive with the photographers and other hangers on. A crowd had formed in the plaza by then, and more cops came to tell people to `move along,' a direction that's almost universally ignored. Flashbulbs popped as they took photos of Beedle's corpse. Marshall was some distance off, in conversation with the two plain-clothes men.
As for me, I felt flat, like spent brass from a fired bullet. Usually when I finish a case successfully, it gives me a boost. The finish of this case left me empty. Finding out about Preston's scheme had been a blow. The nice young man, the fighter who Bea admired had been worn down by circumstance, and in the end, he gave in. He stopped fighting when it got too hard.
I tried not to blame him. Better men than him had caved-in under lighter loads and for smaller rewards. I pretended that the boy planned to take the money from the Consolidated criminals, pay for his degree, and report Beedle and Anderson anyway.
The fact that he'd tried to sell them the empty tube was a fact in his favor, and so was the fact that he'd mailed the key to the safety of his hometown post office. If not for Bea's prying and the mail clerk's permissiveness, the key may have remained safe until Preston came to retrieve it or until he told the authorities where to find it...if he'd lived that is. Then again, his whole plan may have been one to milk Consolidated for more and more money. Preston was dead and we couldn't ask him. There was no way to know.
Bea remained next to me. She neither spoke nor moved. I thought about how to tell her what I'd learned. I dreaded the task. I didn't want her to find out that the brother she'd worshipped was just a regular guy, just like anyone. I thought some more and decided there was no reason for her to ever know.
Marshall finished talking to the plain-clothes men and came to gather us up. "Come along," he said, "time for statements."
I let Bea get into the car ahead of me, and then pulled Marshall aside. I wanted to tell him my idea for protecting Bea's image of her brother. "Captain, the truth is that her brother tried to squeeze them, and they killed him instead of paying. She can't know that. Anderson killed Beedle, I saw it, and you saw it, and we don't know why. Take the blueprints you have and turn them into the Navy as a concerned citizen. Then the whole thing dies, and everyone wins. Please."
Marshall turned my plea over in his mind. He looked passed me to where Bea sat in the back seat of the unmarked police car. He nodded once. "You coach her on the way to the station." He said, then he reconsidered. "Never mind. I'll take her statement and I'll be the only one that ever sees it. The Arlott family doesn't exist as far as this case goes. All I need to convict Anderson is what I saw and what you saw."
I shook Marshall's hand, thanked him, and we got in the car.