Sharky's Machine (6 page)

Chapter
Tw
o

He arrived at the station at 9:45, fifteen minutes before his appointment. Jaspers’s secretary was a hard-faced, sour- tempered policewoman named Helen Hill, a competent officer turned mean after eight years tied to a desk. She was less than affectionately known in the House as the Dragon Lady.

‘Sit over there,’ she snapped, pointing to a hard oak chair without arms. She glared at his scruffy exterior for a moment, then ignored him.

The outer office was Spartan. Nothing to read, no pictures on the wall. The Dragon Lady got up once, poured herself a cup of coffee from an urn on a ta6le near the door, and sat down again. She did not offer Sharky coffee, a drink of water, the time of day, or a kind word. Finally he got up and helped himself to a cup.

‘Don’t you ask?’ the Dragon Lady growled.

‘May I have a cup of coffee?’ Sharky said with a mock smile. He sprinkled half a packet of sugar into the cup, stirred it with his finger, licked it off, and returned to his seat. The Dragon Lady ignored him. He slurped his coffee loudly and stared at her. She continued to ignore him. The minutes crawled by. Fifteen minutes seemed to take an hour, at least. At exactly ten o’clock the phone on her desk buzzed.

‘Yes, sir? Yes, he is. Yes, sir.’ She hung up. ‘All right. You may go in now,’ she said, without looking at him.

He plopped the half-empty cup in the middle of her desk. ‘Thanks,’ he said, ‘for starting my day so cheerfully.’ She glared at him as he knocked on the door. A voice inside said, ‘Come.’

Captain Jaspers was a tall, angular, emotionless man in his early fifties. A scar as thin as a fishing line stretched from in front of his left ear down to his jawline. His black hair was streaked with grey. Cold, lead eyes hid behind glasses set in gold frames. His attire was as rigid as a uniform, dark blue suits, white shirts, drab ties, black lace- up shoes. His Timex watch had a grey cloth band. He wore no other jewellery.

To Sharky’s knowledge, Jaspers had no friends in the department. His only confidant was the new police commissioner, Ezra Powers. Jaspers was a ruthless officer with little regard for his men, a rigid and stern disciplinarian, quick to demote or suspend the men in Central District, which was his command. Five years earlier when Sharky was assigned to a blue-and-white, his partner had been Orville Slyden, who had been flopped from detective third grade to patrolman and given six-and-six, six weeks’ suspension and six weeks at reduced pay, for taking a handout. Later Slyden had been proven innocent, but Jaspers refused to restore him to rank. It was the captain’s contention that anyone even suspected of such an infraction did not deserve to be a detective. It was Slyden who had given Jaspers his nickname, The Bat. ‘He’s a fuckin’ vatnpire,’ Slyden had said and the name had stuck, although nobody ever called Jaspers that to his face.

Jaspers’s predecessor had been a thoughtful and highly respected man who had risen slowly and painfully through the ranks. He had committed suicide after learning he had terminal cancer. According to a persistent rumour of the House, Jaspers had loaded the gun for him.

The office was barren. A spotless desk ‘with nothing on it but a telephone and a letterbox. A table behind the desk contained a police squawk box, nothing else. Two uncomfortable chairs. A single photograph on the wall of Dwight Eisenhower shaking hands with Jaspers, who wore the uniform of an army major. Neither of them was smiling. There were no ashtrays; Jaspers did not approve of smoking or drinking.

He did not look up when Sharky entered the room; he jabbed a linger towards one of the chairs and continued reading a file that lay in front of him. Sharky sat down. Another five minutes died. Finally Jaspers closed the cover of the file and took a newspaper out of his desk drawer. He held it up with a flourish for Sharky to read. Jaspers thrived on these little dramatis momenta. The headline read:

UNDERCOVER COP KILLS DOPE PUSHER ON CROWDED CITY BUS’

Beside the story a photograph showed a scruffy, bearded, and weary Sharky, gun in band, leaning over High Ball Mary.

‘I saw it,’ Sharky said.

‘When you blow your cover, you certainly do it extravagantly,’ Jaspers said. His voice was a dry, brittle rasp.

‘Well, I had a little bad luck.’

‘You had a lot of bad luck.’

‘The way it happened, I was —‘

‘I know the way it happened. Anybody who can read knows the way it happened.’

‘The story in the paper isn’t quite —‘

‘I read your report, what there was of it.’

‘Yes, sir, uh, about that. . . Lieutenant Goldwald thought we should leave out some. . .‘

‘I know what Goldwald thought. I’ve already finished with Goldwald.’

‘Could I just give you my end of it? Sir.’ Sharky said.

‘No. I know all I need to know. I know you went into this meet with, uh, what was his name? Uh...’

‘Creech. Percy Creech. A/k/a High Ball Mary.’

‘Yes, Creech. You went in there solo. No back-up. No surveillance team. Six hundred dollars of department money in your pocket. You set up this buy with a very dangerous pusher and kept the details to yourself. A real grandstand play, Sharky. And then to get involved in a chase through the most crowded section of town. At rush hour. A shoot-out on a crowded city bus filled with women and children. Just what else would you like to add to that?’

‘Everything was rolling smooth until that goddamn Tully...’

‘I’m not interested in Tully,’ Jaspers snapped, cutting him off. ‘Tully was an accident. Accidents happen. You should anticipate, anticipate, problems.’

Sharky’s face began to redden.

‘He’s a moron...’

Jaspers cut him off again.

‘Are you deaf?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Deaf. Are you deaf? I said I am not interested in Tully. Tully was a mistake. It’s what happened after Tully that concerns me. You forgot everything. You panicked, forgot every regulation. You ignored the rules. Pro-ced-ure. There is pro-ced-ure to be followed.’ Jaspers sat back in his chair and stared across the desk at Sharky, who felt suddenly like a grammar school boy called before the principal. It was humiliating and Sharky could not abide humiliation.

‘Look, do I have any say at all? I mean, do I get to tell my end of this?’

Don’t be insolent,’ Jaspers snapped.

‘Insolent! Insolent, shit.’ He stood up and walked to the edge of the desk. Jaspers’s face was scarlet with rage. ‘Lemme tell you something, Captain. I spent three months on that goddamn machine. Three months setting it up, kissing that miserable bastard’s ass so I could make that buy.’

‘Sharky!’ Jaspers roared.

‘No, I’m gonna finish this. ThIs wasn’t any ordinary coke buy, y’know. Creech was leading me upstairs, to his man. We were talking coke in pounds. Pounds! He couldn’t handle that big a thing; he had to go to the supplier. That’s who I was after, High Ball’s connection. I had to. It couldn’t leak out, see. One leak —‘

‘How dare you?’ Jaspers was enraged now. ‘What in God’s name possessed you? A gunfight on a crowded bus.’

Jesus, is that all that mattered? The bus ? Sharky started to explain what happened. That he had taken a chance and looked at High Ball Mary, that everyone behind the pusher had dropped to the floor, that he was using soft-nose bullets. It wasn’t some irresponsible snap decision; he didn’t have any choice. But he said nothing. What the hell, all The Bat cared about was the goddamn bus.

‘This kind of press is disastrous,’ The Bat was saying.

‘Press? For Christ’s sake, what was I supposed to do, kiss his ass and wave goodbye?’

‘I ought to break you. For insubordination alone. I ought to give you six-and-six and put you back ‘where you belong, in a blue-and-white on Auburn Avenue. You’ll never learn, will you? You have no respect for anyone.’

‘Captain, look, it happened too fast. All of a sudden there we were on a bus full of Christmas shoppers and he was bonkers, totally around the bend, threatening to kill kids and all. I had a clean shot and I took it. What the hell else is there to say about it?’

‘Three clean shots, apparently.’

‘Okay, I hit him three times. I didn’t want to take a chance that maybe he squeezes one off and wastes some old lady on the way home to dinner. Ot some kid. I took him Out. Isn’t that the way it’s supposed to work?’

Jaspers drummed his desk with his fingers. He glared at Sharky. God, how he despised these young hotshots. Headline hunters.

‘I don’t want any more headline hunting,’ he said.

‘That’s what it’s going down as, hunh? Headline hunting? Everybody’s scared shitless of the papers.’

‘You’ve tried my patience with your insubordination, Sharky.’

‘Captain, I’m asking to be treated fairly. No more consideration than we give to some bum in the drunk tank, that’s what I’m asking for.’

‘I’ll give you hell and call it whatever you want to call it. Right now you’re about as useful to Narcotics as a paraplegic.’

‘I don’t.. .‘ Sharky started to say something and stopped. He stared at the cold eyes. The bottom of his foot began to itch. He tried grinding his foot into the carpet. The itch grew worse. He tried to ignore it. Tears began welling up in his eyes. Christ, he thought, the son of a bitch is going to think he’s got me crying. Sharky sat down, unzipped his boot and pulled it off, frantically scratching the bottom of his fooL His big toe stuck through a hole in his sock.

Jaspers stared at him, appalled.

‘What in God’s name?’ he stammered.

‘My foot itches,’ Sharky said. ‘It’s driving me crazy.’

Jaspers threw the paper in the wastebasket. He stood up and leaned across his desk. ‘Put that shoe on,’ he said. ‘Put it on and stand at attention.’

Sharky put his boot back on and stood up.

‘I’ll tell you what’s going to happen, Sharky. As of eight A.M. today you are no longer attached to the narcotics section. As of eight A.M. you are in Vice.’

Sharky looked at him in disbelief.

‘Vice!’

‘Vice. Report to Lieutenant Friscoe.’

Sharky stared at him for several moments. He looked around the room, struggling to keep his own anger in check.

Sir, will you please just look at my sheet?! think I deserve that much. Eighteen months on the street, eighteen collars, all hard drugs. I dumped eighteen goddamn pushers, one a month, and fourteen got the basket. The DA knows...’

‘Shut up.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘I said, “Shut up.”

‘Sure. Yes, sir. I’ll just, uh, yeah, keep my mouth shut, sit over there in public library watching the freaks jack off.’

‘Somebody has to do it. You think you’re too good for the Vice Squad, that it?’

‘I got eighteen months out there. That’s got to be worth something to Narcs. Even on a desk I can be a lot of help down there.’

‘You’re lucky I don’t send you over. I’ve busted better men than you for a lot less. I had the mayor on the phone half the night. The commissioner calling me at six-thirty in the morning. What kind of a nut is he? everybody asks. I’m giving you a break. I want you out of sight for a while. No more headlines. No more grandstanding.. Out of my sight. I don’t want to pick up the paper and see your shaggy.. . my God, look at you. When’s the last time you shaved? Had a haircut?’

‘You, uh, there aren’t a lot of dope deals on the make out there for guys in Brooks Brothers suits and Florsheims. Sir.’

‘Clean yourself up. Get a shave, a haircut, some decent clothes. Buy some decent socks, for God’s sake. Friscoe wants a man for something he’s got working and you’re it. I don’t know what it is, I don’t care. But I want you to understand one thing. Do you understand the term low profile?’

‘Sure. Of course. Yes.’

‘Sir.’

‘Sir.’

‘Fine. Because from now on the first order of business for you is to maintain a very, very, very low profile. L-o-w. Clear?’

Sharky nodded.

‘Good. Now get out of here.’

Chapter Three

It was noon when Domino headed across the windy plaza towards Mirror Towers. The cathedral clock began tolling the hour and as it did she shuddered unconsciously, it wasn’t the wind. Or the cold. it was something else, the reflection in the building of the street behind her perhaps. Or the chimes solemnly striking twelve.

She shuddered again. What was it her mother used to say?
Someone’s walking on your grave.

She shrugged off the feeling and entered the building, walking through its wide, stark lobby to the private elevator in the corner. The security guard stood at leisurely attention. He smiled and touched the bill of his cap.

‘Hi, Eddie,’ she said brightly.

‘Miss Domino,’ he said. ‘How’s it going today?

‘Just great,’ she said as she stepped into the glass-and- copper bullet attached to the side of the building. Eddie unlocked the up button with a key and pushed it. Then he picked up a wall phone and pressed a button. ‘Miss Domino’s on her way up,’ he said.

The doors of the elevator swished shut and it shot up the side of the building, stopping at the twentieth floor. Five miles away, the skyline of the city was a sparkling cluster in the haze.

The elevator opened on a reception room that was almost as stark as the lobby, except that the two-storey ceiling was supported by a dozen Plexiglas pillars. The interior of each pillar was lit by a single spotlight recessed overhead. Within each was a single toy, and each of the toys was unique. Electronic toys, stuffed toys, toys that moved, that sang, that walked and danced and spoke by means of tiny tape loops hidden deep inside them. Each was the prototype for a production model and each performed its eerie function silently within the towering glass rectangles that dwarfed the reception desk at the far end of the uncomfortably quiet room. To Domino, the collection of dolls, animals, trolls, and other creatures was almost too real. She walked past them without looking, her heels echoing on the tile floor.

At the reception desk a husky Oriental man, his ice-cube eyes concealed behind heavily tinted glasses, was operating the complex pushbutton switchboard. Music whispered from a tiny transistor radio at his elbow.

She made a pyramid of her hands and bowed low from the waist.

‘Jo sun,’ she said.

The guard-receptionist repeated the gesture.

‘Jo sun, dor-jeh,’ he said.

He pushed a button under the desk and a door slid soundlessly open nearby. ‘He awaits you,’ he said and she was gone.

She stepped into a lush botanical garden, a giant two storey terrarium filled with rare plants and shrubs from all over the world: dracaena sanderianas, maidenhair ferns, dwarf azaleas, Chinese fan palms and Amazon lilies, saffron pepper trees, butterfly gardenias, and six-foot ferns, all flourishing under an enormous sun dome. In one corner a circular stairway wound up through the foliage to the penthouse above.

She skirted the dense, moisture-laden foliage and peered past the greenery, through a heavy window into the office beyond. Pieces of Mayan and Chinese sculpture crouched under soft lights on Oriental rugs.

In the centre of the office a man sat behind a broad desk cluttered with curios, a large, heavyset man, bald as a crystal ball, with a full red beard that was turning grey. He wore gold-rimmed bifocals and his large hands lay flat on the desk in front of him. He was wearing one ring, on his left hand, a platinum and jade design that covered one entire joint of his little finger. His silk mandarin shirt had three entwined dragons brocaded in red and gold across the chest. He stared at her for several seconds and then smiled and pushed the button that opened the door between the greenhouse and his office.

She stopped several feet in front of his desk, stared down at him, turned slightly, raised her chin, and arched her back and glared at him over her shoulder.

Incredible, he thought.

She had high cheekbones and a full, almost arrogant mouth. Her thick black hair was bobbed at shoulder length and had been tousled just enough by the wind. Her neck was long and slender and the hollow place in her throat, between her collarbones, was as soft and delicate as the petal of a flower. She was slender, long-legged, narrow-waisted, and her breasts were as firm and as perfect as an artist’s sculptured fantasy.

She wore a Halston dress, its simple, straight lines flattering every curve, every line, its muted rose-grey accentuating the shades of colouring in her skin, her hair, and her eyes. She was young, Haughty. Superior. Elegant. Untouchable. And totally desirable.

‘Well?’ she said and raised an eyebrow.

He leaned back in his chair and, with a flourish of his hands, said, ‘Você e bela.’

She raised the other eyebrow and half closed her eyes. ‘Muito obrigada.’

‘Pardon me,’ he said. ‘Of course, you are fantastic. Muito prazer em revê-la.’

She looked perplexed and shook her head. ‘Now you lost me. You know how limited my Portuguese is.’

‘It means simply, “I am glad to see you”,’ he said.

‘That’s all, hunh? Just glad to see you?’ She struck another pose. She unbuttoned the top button of the dress. Then the second. The dress opened slightly. He watched her breathe. She was superb. He had known women in every country, of every race, he had known legendary beauties, the whores of the world, and had once lived for a short time in a very famous house in Bangkok where he had made love to two, sometimes three women at a time. None of them could match her beauty, her intelligence, or her incredible talents.

He laughed out loud.

‘Is something funny?

‘Just a thought,’ he said.

‘I’ll give you ten dollars for it.’

He laughed harder. ‘What extravagance! It is not worth more than a penny.’

She reached into her purse, took out a penny, and tossed it into his lap.

‘There.’

‘All right. I was thinking, I have worked hard all my life; I have built corporations on every continent. I have made millions and millions of dollars, created cartels. I have done all this and I was thinking, I could have become just as rich running a whorehouse with you in Hong Kong.’

She threw her head back and laughed until small tears appeared at the corners of her eyes. She walked close to him, her perfume flirting with his nose. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, but he did not rush things. She touched his cheek.

‘Victor, you are the most fascinating man I have ever met,’ she said warmly.

‘And the most generous?’ he asked.

‘Well,’ she said, ‘there was this gentleman from Kuwait...’ Victor DeLaroza scowled.

‘He was extremely grateful ...‘

The scowl deepened. ‘Oh?’

‘But not nearly as much fun as you are.’

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘Did he ever take you to Paris for the weekend? Shopping?’

‘No, he never did that.’

‘And did he ever arrange for the most famous couturiers in the world to open their salons especially for you?’

‘No, he never did that either.’

‘Did he ever take you sailing on a Chinese junk?’

She was laughing again. She shook her head. ‘Unh unh.’ DeLaroza leaned back and grinned. ‘You see, gratitude has its limitations.’

‘My gratitude to you has none,’ she said and reaching down, unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, slipped her hands inside, and caressed his chest, her fingers pinching his nipples. He closed his eyes, reached out to run his fingers along her satin-sheathed thigh, but it was gone. She had already moved away, as elusive as a dragonfly. She crossed to the windows and looked back at him.

‘And now you make toys,’ she said.

‘You always say the word toys with a very patronizing attitude,’ DeLaroza said. ‘I do not just make toys. I create masterpieces. Do you know I once made a tiny Rolls- Royce, it was a foot long, a perfect replica. The wheels moved, the pistons worked, the engine worked, even the radio worked. It was exact to the most infinitesimal detail.

The gentleman I made it for sat on the floor in this office and clapped his hands together like a child when hG came to get it. It cost twelve thousand dollars, a fourth of what the real thing costs. He paid for it in cash.’

She shrugged. ‘Big deal,’ she said.

He mimicked her. ‘Big deal. That is all you have to say, “Big deal”? It was a very big deal to him. And to me. Besides, everyone loves a toymaker. It carries with it a unique kind of respect. Who can fault a man who spends his life making children happy?’

The question hung in the air. Domino did not hear it. She was looking at the ground, twenty storeys below, at two boys rough-housing in the plaza, their anus wrapped around each other as they battled back and forth. She shuddered again.

‘Is something wrong?’ DeLaroza asked.

‘It’s nothing. I just remembered something. It’s really quite silly.’

‘It could not be that silly, to have such an effect on you.’

‘You remember the last time I was here? Halloween night?’

A small fear crept into his chest.

‘Of course. I never forget one of your visits.’

‘As I was leaving, these two men were on the other side of the plaza. T saw them from inside the building. One was very drunk. He was so. . . so limp.. . and the other one was trying to get him in the car. ..‘

DeLaroza was no longer listening. The fear grew and crept deeper into his chest. He pressed his knuckles together until they were white. Good God, he thought, did she see something? Was this the beginning of blackmail? His eyes narrowed for just a moment. Old paranoias swept over him, rising up again from the past, nightmare creatures nibbling at his heart. He suddenly felt cold and alone.

‘...Guess I just felt sorry for him. I had a feeling I had seen him before. He was wearing this old leather jacket, way out of style.’

‘Did you tell anyone about this?’ DeLaroza asked casually.

‘What’s there to tell? That I saw a drunk being shoved into a car?’

‘Then why does it bother you so?’

‘I wish 1 knew. It’s like. , . like some kind of instinct. I can’t put my finger on it. Am I being silly? Do you think I’m silly?’

‘I think,’ said DeLaroza, ‘that you are far from silly.’ He shrugged off the feeling. This was not the time to deal with it. ‘Look at you,’ he said, ‘when you came in here you were, uh — how do you say it? — acima.. high. Up. Now you seem so sad.’

She turned back to him and smiled again. ‘It’s all gone. And you’re right, I am up. What did you call it?’

‘Acima.’

‘Acima. That’s me.’

‘And why? Do you have some special new trick for me?’

‘No. It’s something more selfish.’

‘So? Everyone has the right to be selfish at times, What is it?’

‘I knew you’d understand. You particularly would understand.’

‘Hmm. What is this all about?’

She came back across the room and sat on the corner of his desk.

‘Victor. . . I think I’ve fallen in love.’

He stared at her for a moment, then said, ‘Think?

‘I didn’t plan on it. It just sneaked up on me. It surprises me. But then, of course, I adore surprises.’

‘And you have not been in love before?’

‘Oh, many times,’ she said and laughed. ‘But not recently.’

‘Then I am happy for you. And who is the lucky gentle man. It is a man?’

‘Oh, yes, a very special man.’

‘Aha, and do I know him?’

‘Of course.’

DeLaroza took out a large Havana cigar and started to peel away the cellophane. He needed time to sort out his thoughts. He found her news upsetting. She took the cigar away from him, snipped off the end and lit it, twirling it between her fingers so it burned evenly. Then she handed it back to him.

‘Obrigado’ he said.

‘You’re welcome.’

He took a deep drag and blew the smoke out slowly. His face had grown sad.

‘Have I upset you?’ she asked.

‘No. I am concerned, not upset. You know, of course, that he is going to make his announcement Monday night at the opening of Pachinko!’

‘Yes.’

‘To continue this Jove affair at this time could be very risky.’

‘Love affair?’ she said. The words hung in the air as though she were listening to them in instant reply. She frowned.

‘Well,’ he said, ‘call it what you wish. Infatuation?’

’Trite. Trite words and trite phrases.’ She was scowling at him.

DeLaroza chuckled. ‘Far be it for me to accuse you of being trite, my dear,’ he said.

‘Thank you,’ she said.

‘It is just that I know both of you so well,’ DeLaroza said. ‘I’ve known Donald for sixteen years and you . . . for two....’

‘Almost three.’

‘Yes, almost three.’

His gaze moved past her, settling on the foliage outside his office. Three years. At their first meeting he had acted on what he thought at the time was an impulse. A very lucky one, he had come to realize, although totally out of character for him. The first time he had ever seen Domino she was standing in a fleamarket in Buckhead, staring intently at an antique Morris chair. A stunning woman, though her clothes were not quite right, her hair a little too long, and yet. . . And yet.

He had ordered Chiang to turn the Rolls around and go back. He had found her, still contemplating the chair.

‘The chair is overpriced,’ he had told her. ‘You should be able to purchase it for half what they are asking.’

She smiled at him. ‘I’m not very good at that kind of thing,’ she had told him.

‘Then I shall act as your agent in the matter.’

Her education had begun that day. Now even he had to marvel at what Domino had become. And now, too, in retrospect, he understood that meeting her that day had not been mere impulse. Domino had fitted his plans perfectly.

‘Hello,’ she said.

DeLaroza looked back at her. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I was thinking about the fleamarket.’

She laughed. ‘I still owe you twelve dollars for the Morris chair,’ she said.

‘I consider that one of my better investments.’

‘You were saying?’

‘Uh. . . what was I saying?’ he was slightly embarrassed that he had forgotten his point.

‘You were saying that you know both of us very well.’

‘Oh, yes. Perhaps love was too strong a word. There is a need there, for both of you.’