The crimes of richmond city Read online

  The Crimes of Richmond City

  Frederick Nebel

  WRITING IN THE MIDST of the Great Depression, Frederick Nebel (1903‐1967) wrote prolifically for Black Mask, Dime Detective, and other pulps, producing scores of relatively realistic hard‐boiled stories about such fixtures of their era as Cardigan, the hard‐as‐nails Irish operative working for the Cosmos Agency in St. Louis; tough dick Donny Donahue of the Interstate Agency; and, most important, the long‐running stories about Captain Steve MacBride and the ever‐present local reporter, Kennedy, who frequently takes over a story and does as much crime solving as the official member of the police department.

  Nebel had two mystery novels published during his lifetime, Sleepers East (1934) and Fifty Roads to Town (1936). The Crimes of Richmond City, a powerful depiction of violence and corruption, has never before appeared in book form. It was published as five separate episodes in Black Mask in the issues of September 1928 through May 1929.

  Publishing novels in serial form was common for Black Mask in this era, as it was responsible for such important works as Dashiell Hammett’s first four novels, Red Harvest, The Dain Curse, The Maltese Falcon, and The Glass Key, as well as Paul Cain’s Fast One and many of Carroll John Daly’s books.

  1

  Press spread before him. In one corner a steam

  radiator clanked and hissed intermittently.

  There were a half dozen chairs lined against the

  APTAIN STEVE MacBride was a wall behind him. The floor was of cement, the

  tall square‐shouldered man of ceiling was high and, like the walls, a light,

  forty more or less hard‐bitten impersonal tan. About the room there was

  years. He had a long, rough‐

  something hollow and clean and efficient.

  chiseled face, steady eyes, a About the borders of the two windows at

  beak of a nose, and a wide, firm MacBride’s left there were irregular frames of

  mouth that years of fighting his own and others’ snow left by a recent blizzard. But the room was wills had hardened. His face shone ruddily, warm and, except for the clanking of the cleanly, as if it were used to frequent and radiator, quite silent.

  vigorous contact with soap and water. For

  eighteen years he had been connected, in one

  Reading on, MacBride sometimes moved

  capacity or another, with Richmond City’s police in his chair or took his pipe from his mouth to department, and Richmond City today is a purse his lips, it seemed a little grimly and somewhat hectic community of almost a ironically. Once he muttered something behind

  hundred‐thousand population.

  clenched teeth, way down in the cavern of his

  throat. Presently he let the paper drop and sat

  MacBride sat in his office at Police back, drawing silently on his pipe and letting his Headquarters. He sat at his shining oak desk, in eyes wander back and forth over the collection a swivel chair, smoking a blackened briar pipe, of photographs tacked on the bulletin board on with the latest copy of the Richmond City Free

  the wall before him—photographs of men

  “You heard me, Mac. This little boy

  wanted for robbery, murder, and homicide. One knows a lot. Y’know, you don’t run the of the telephones on his desk rang. He took off Department.”

  the receiver, listened, said, “Send him in.” Then

  he leaned back again and swung his chair to

  MacBride’s lips tightened over his pipe.

  face the door.

  “You,” went on Kennedy, “would like to

  It opened presently, and a man neatly put the clamps on this dirty greaseball, Cavallo.

  dressed in a blue overcoat and a gray fedora Now wouldn’t you?”

  strolled in. A cigarette was drooping from one

  corner of his mouth. He had a young‐old face, a

  MacBride’s eyes narrowed, and he took

  vague smile, and the whimsical eyes of the his pipe from his mouth. “Would I?” His hand wicked and wise.

  knotted over the hot bowl of the pipe.

  “Hello, Cap.” He kicked the door shut

  “Sure you would. But—” Kennedy

  with his heel and leaned against it, indolently, as shrugged—”you can’t.”

  if he were a little weary—not in his bones, but

  with life.

  “Listen, Kennedy. What did you come

  here for, to razz me?”

  “Hello, Kennedy,” nodded MacBride. “Sit

  down.”

  “I don’t know why I came here. It was

  cold out, and I know you keep it warm here.

  “Thanks.”

  And— well, I just thought I’d drop in for a chat.”

  Kennedy

  dropped

  into

  a

  chair,

  “You thought you’d get some inside

  unbuttoned his overcoat, but did not remove it.

  dope. Go ahead, come out with it. Well,

  Kennedy, I’ve got nothing to say. News is as

  MacBride creaked in his chair, looked at tight here as a drum‐head. What a bunch of the newspaper on his desk and said, with a wise‐cracking eggs you’ve got down in your brittle chuckle, “Thanks for the editorial.”

  dump. Gink Cavallo’ll laugh himself into a

  bellyache when he reads it. The lousy bum!”

  “Don’t thank me, Mac.”

  “Something’s got to break, Mac. When a

  “Your sheet’s trying to ride us, eh?”

  bootlegging greaseball starts to run a town,

  starts to run the Department, something’s got

  “Our business is to ride everybody we

  to break.”

  can.”

  “He’s

  not

  running

  me!”

  barked

  “M‐m‐m. I know.”

  MacBride.

  Kennedy knocked the ash from his

  “The hell he isn’t! Don’t tell me. I’m no

  cigarette. “Of course, it’s tough on you.” He greenhorn, Mac. Maybe not you personally. But smiled, shrugged. “I know your hands are tied.”

  your hands are tied. He’s running somebody

  else, and somebody else is running somebody

  “Eh?” MacBride’s eyes steadied.

  else, and the last somebody else is running

  you!”

  “You’re talking through your hat,

  “I know, Mac. Kind of touched you on

  Kennedy.”

  the quick, eh? It’s all right, old‐timer. Your jaw’s

  sealed, too. You’d be one hell of a fool to tell

  “Oh, am I? No, I can’t lay my hands on it

  Steve Kennedy how right he is. Well.” Kennedy

  all, but I can use my head. I know a few things. I got up and lit a fresh butt. “It’s all right by me, know that Gink Cavallo is one of the wisest Cap. But when the big noise breaks, don’t forget wops that ever packed a rod. He’s a brother‐in-yours truly. It can’t go on, Mac. Somebody’ll

  law to Tony Diorio, and Diorio is president of slip. Some guy’ll yap for more than his share.

  the Hard Club, and the Hard Club swings two I’ve seen these rotten conditions before—

  thousand sure votes and a thousand possible ’Frisco, Chicago, New Orleans. I’m hard‐boiled votes. And, you know, Mac, that these wops as hell, Mac, and there’s no one pulling any stick together. Most of the bohunks in the mills wool over my eyes. I’m just standing by and are wops, and they’ve sworn by the Hard Club, laughing up my sleeve.” He took a pull on
his and—get this, Mac—it was the Hard Club that cigarette. “There’s one wild Mick in your outfit put Pozzo in for alderman and Mulroy for who’s very liable to spill the beans, get himself state’s attorney. And it’s the state’s attorney’s shoved out to the sticks and maybe poked in the office that’s running the Department—the ribs with a bullet, besides.”

  rottenest administration in the history of

  Richmond City. It’s just putting two and two

  “You mean—?”

  together.

  “Sure. Jack Cardigan. S’ long, Mac.”

  “You can’t move, Mac. You’ve got your

  orders—hands off. What can you do? You’re a

  “Good bye, Kennedy.”

  captain. You’ve been with the Department for

  eighteen years. You’ve got a wife and a kid, and

  When the door closed, MacBride let go

  if you were kicked out of the Department you’d of himself. He heaved to his feet, spread‐legged, be on the rocks. I know you hate Cavallo like his fists clenched, his eyes narrowed and poison, and I know you’re just aching to take a burning intensely.

  crack at him. It sure is a tough break for you,

  Mac.”

  “God, Kennedy, if you only knew how

  right you are!” he muttered. “If I was only

  MacBride had not batted an eye‐lash, single—if I hadn’t Anna and Judith. I’m tied all had not shone by the slightest flicker of eyes or around, dammit! Home—and here!” He sank expression, how he took Kennedy’s speech. He back into his chair, his head drooping, age drew on his pipe meditatively, looking down creeping upon him visibly.

  along his beak of a nose. It was in the heart of

  MacBride that seas of anger were crashing and

  tumbling. Because Kennedy was right; he had

  hit the nail on the head with every charge. But

  2

  MacBride was not the man to whimper or to go

  back on the Department. Loyalty had been He was sitting there, in precisely the same ground into him long years ago—loyalty to his position, fifteen minutes later. And fifteen badge.

  minutes later the door swung open swiftly,

  silently, and Jack Cardigan came in. A tall, lean,

  His voice was casual, “Finished, dark‐eyed man, this Cardigan, rounding thirty

  Kennedy? Then run along. I’m busy.”

  years. Men said he was reckless, case‐hardened,

  and a flash with the gun. He was.

  “Enough!” Cardigan took a vicious crack

  “You look down at the mouth, Steve,” he

  at the desk with his doubled fist. “The dirty pups

  said, offhand.

  got Hanley!”

  “I am, Jack. Kennedy—”

  “What!” MacBride’s chair creaked

  violently. He leaned forward, laid his hand on

  “Oh, that guy!”

  Cardigan’s knee, his breath sucked in and held.

  “Kennedy dropped in to pay me a call.

  “Two shots—through the lung and the

  Sharp, that bird. Pulls ideas out of the air, and heart! Somebody’s going to pay for this, Steve!

  every idea hits you like a sock on the jaw.”

  Joe Hanley was my partner—my sister’s

  husband! There’s nobody’ll stop me—nobody!

  “Been razzing you?”

  I’ll—”

  “Has he! Jack, he’s got the whole thing

  “Just a minute, Jack,” cut in MacBride

  worked out to a T. He’d just need my O.K. to gently. “How’d it happen?”

  spill the whole beans to the public, and likely

  Police Headquarters’d be mobbed. He’s right.

  Cardigan got a grip on his temper, bit his

  He’s got the right slant on the whole dirty lip. “I was out at Joe’s place for dinner tonight, business. Jack, if I was ten years younger, I’d tell on Webster Road. Marion was a little upset. Kid the Big Boss to go to hell and take my chances. had a bad cold, and she had a streak of worrying That lousy wop is sitting on top of the world, on, just like her. I mind five years ago, how she and his gang’s got Richmond City tied by the used to say she’d never marry a cop. She used heels.”

  to worry about me all the time. Not that a cop

  wasn’t good enough—hell no. But she used to

  Cardigan sat down on the edge of a say if she married a cop she’d be laying awake

  chair. There was something on his mind. You all night worrying. So, like a woman, she could see that much. He tapped with his fingers married Joe, and Joe’s been a buddy of mine on the desk, his lips were a little set, the muscle since we were kids. Well, you know that. Then lumps at either side of his jaw quivered, his dark she had two to worry over—Joe and me.

  eyes were close‐lidded, active, flashing back and

  forth across MacBride’s face.

  “And she was worrying tonight. Joe

  laughed. So did I. She got me alone in the hall

  “Brace up, Steve,” he clipped. “I’ve got

  and told me to watch out for Joe. She’d always

  some news that might knock you for a row of been doing this. I kidded her. She said she pins.”

  meant it, and that she felt something was going

  to happen. I remember how she hung on to him

  “Eh?” MacBride straightened in his chair.

  when we breezed. God!”

  Cardigan’s lips curled. “I came up alone.

  “Steady, Jack!”

  The sergeant said Kennedy’d gone up to see

  you. Didn’t notice if he’d left. So I came up

  “I know. Well, Joe and I hoofed it to the

  beforehand—to see.”

  park, to get a bus into the city. There was none

  in sight, so we began hiking down Webster Road

  “Kennedy left fifteen minutes ago.

  till one’d come. Pretty lonesome there. A car

  What’s up?”

  came weaving down behind us, and we heard a

  girl scream. We turned around and held up our

  hands for it to stop. The driver swerved to one

  side, intending to duck us. He slid into a ditch, been stolen from a sedan two weeks ago. If roared his motor trying to get out. The girl was they’re Geer and Burns, it means that Cavallo’s yelling hysterically. We saw her pitch out of the in the pot, too, because they’re the wop’s right-car. Then it heaved out of the ditch and was hand guns. If we make them take the rap, getting under way when Joe hopped it, pulling they’ll draw in Cavallo, and just as sure as his rod. Two shots slammed out, and Joe keeled. you’re born Diorio and Pozzo and our estimable I had my hands full with the girl. The car skidded State’s Attorney Mulroy’ll get in the tangle, and and crashed into the bushes.

  there’ll be hell to pay all around. But I’m going

  through with this, Steve, and the state’s

  “I had my rod out then and ran up. Two

  attorney’s office be damned! Joe was my

  guys in the back had jumped out and ducked buddy, closer to me than a brother—my sister’s into the bushes. I nailed the chauffeur. He husband! God—can you picture Marion!”

  wasn’t heeled, but he was trying to get away,

  too. He started giving me a line and I socked

  MacBride was tight‐lipped, a little pale,

  him on the head so he’d stay put till I looked terribly grim. The ultimate had come. Would after Joe. Well, there wasn’t much to look after. they tie the Department’s hands now?

  Joe was dead. The girl—she was only a

  flapper—was bawling and shaking in the knees.

  “Did you let Clark get a lawyer?” he

  She’d been pretty well mauled. A machine came asked.

  along and I stopped it.”

  “No—cripes, no!”

  “Wait. You say you got the
chauffeur?”

  “Then get him up here. Where’s the

  “Sure. He says his name’s Clark, and he’s

  girl?”

  downstairs, barking for a lawyer.”

  “Downstairs, still bawling. I sent a cop

  “Who’s the girl?”

  out to get her a dress or something. I phoned

  her old man and he’s driving in to get her.”

  “Pearl Carr’s her name. Just a wise little

  flapper who thought she was smart by taking a

  “All right. Leave her there. But get

  ride. She was waiting for a bus—she told me Clark.”

  this— when this big touring car stopped and

  one of the guys offered her a lift. Sure, she got

  Cardigan went out and MacBride settled

  in, the little fool, and these guys started playing back, heaved a vast sigh, crammed fresh around.”

  tobacco into his pipe. When, a few moments

  later, the door opened, he was puffing serenely,

  “Know the guys?”

  though deep in his heart there was a great

  numbness.

  Cardigan growled. “Two of Cavallo’s

  guns or I don’t know anything. Her description

  Clark came in, aided by a shove in the

  of one tallies with Bert Geer, that walking rear from Cardigan. The detective closed the fashion‐plate. You remember two years ago door, grabbed Clark by the shoulder and they nabbed Geer on suspicion for that girl out slammed him not too gently into a chair.