Read Online Jitterbug by Loren D. Estleman - Free Book Online Page B

said, “You just have to scrape off the shit to get down to it.”
    Orr looked up at the big sergeant. The Sicilian had heavy lids with blue veins in them. He spoke to Zagreb. “The invitation was for one. Barney Google’s crashing the gate.”
    “This isn’t a friendly call.” Zagreb was looking at Tino, who had come out of his slouch. The bodyguard met his gaze but stayed where he was.
    “I guessed that. That’s why I didn’t offer you a mussel.” The racketeer sucked the meat out of the shell he’d opened, washed it down with red wine from his glass, discarded the shell, and reached for another. “If this is about the strike at the Packard plant, I’m not in that line of work now. It’s unpatriotic in time of war.”
    “We’ll let Roosevelt handle that one,” Zagreb said. “This is about ration stamps.”
    “If you’re short on red points I can make a call.”
    “Somebody’s been killing old people for their stamps. Grabs them from behind and cuts them open and leaves them to bleed to death while he goes through their hoard.”
    “That’s anti-American.”
    Canal swiveled his eyes. “That’s one I didn’t expect from the Conductor.”
    “I meant hoarding. Depletes the stores when they cash them in. Everybody suffers, especially our boys overseas. You ought to make this guy Citizen of the Year.”
    Zagreb said, “We don’t have one of those. I guess we’ll lock him up till he rots instead.”
    “I was kidding, of course. I don’t like amateur crooks. They fuck up the average.”
    “You could help take this one off the street. We’re burning a lot of gasoline on him that should be going to submarines.”
    “I’m all ears.” He held up an open shell as if he were listening through it.
    “He’s got to be laying off those stamps someplace. You own the black market. You’d know if you were buying more from one person than one person ought to have to sell.”
    “I’m an honest businessman who loves his country. I donated a car to the scrap drive, a Lincoln. Repeat what you just said and I’ll take you to court.”
    “We’re all friends here,” Zagreb said. “Right, Tino?”
    Tino said nothing.
    “This is horseshit.” Canal leaned on his big hands on the table. “You own a roadhouse up on Square Lake, B-girls and gambling. I got a friend with the Oakland County Sheriff’s Department owes me a favor. It’s a big enough favor to make him forget how much the county prosecutor wins there every month. You got six betting parlors on Gratiot alone, a whorehouse on Cass, and the pinball concession on the West Side. I ain’t swung an axe since Repeal. I need the practice.”
    Orr had to lean over to look at Zagreb. Red spots the size of poker chips had appeared on his cheeks. “There’s a leash law in this town,”
    The lieutenant kept his hands in his pockets. “You forgot numbers.”
    “I didn’t forget numbers,” Canal said. “I was saving them for last. We ain’t had a good bum sweep in five years. Your runners could get swept up for vagrancy, by accident of course. We’ll kick them loose as soon as you vouch for them, but them little paper bags they carry might get lost in Property. No big deal, I guess. How much dough can you carry in one of them little bags?”
    “Who’s this Polack working for, himself or the department?” Orr picked up another mussel.
    “I ain’t a Polack. I’m Ukrainian.”
    “Fucking communist.”
    Canal took his hands off the table. Tino took a step away from the wall. Zagreb patted the big man’s arm. Canal relaxed.
    “The sergeant’s a Republican,” Zagreb said. “Anyway, the commies are our friends now. The common enemy, you know?”
    Orr got open the shell, looked at the meat inside, then laid it on his plate. He tested the point of the knife against the ball of his thumb, then laid the knife down too and reached for the moist towel.
    “I’ll ask some questions around,” he said. “I can’t promise anything.”
    Zagreb said,