Gin Palace 02 - The Bone Orchard

pain, “Frank would just take me down with him.”
    “What does he have on you?”
    “I wasn’t always corrupt. Don’t get me wrong. I was corrupt when Frank nabbed me, yeah, I was corrupt for years before that. But I wasn’t always. Once upon a time I was an honest cop. Just like your father. And you see where that got him.”
    “I don’t know where it got him, Chief. He disappeared, remember?”
    “I guess that’s my point. It got him nowhere.”
    I said nothing to that.
    “I was at their wedding, you know. Your mother and father’s. So was Augie. So was Frank.” The Chief laughed. “One of the gift envelopes disappeared, and everyone just assumed Frank took it.”
    I waited a moment, then said, “You should get your arm taken care of, Chief.”
    He nodded. He looked at me again, this time as if he was summing me up. He looked skeptical, unsure about me – or maybe unsure about what he was about to do.
    “We don’t have much time,” he said. “Open my gun safe.”
    I didn’t move.
    “Go ahead. Go. We don’t have time to fuck around. Open it. It’s unlocked.”
    I turned and went to the safe. It was as tall as I. I used my jacket pocket like a glove and turned the lever down. The door swung back slowly, moved by its own weight. Inside the safe were four assault shotguns, two hunting rifles, and six handguns of various kinds mounted on pegs. On a series of narrow shelves were boxes of ammo, several for each type of gun, some cleaning kits and a pair of gloves. Tucked in at the back of one shelf was what looked like several clear plastic bags.
    “On the second shelf from the top there are some baggies,” the Chief said. “Can you see them.”
    “Yeah.”
    “Take out the one closest to the edge of the shelf.”
    I looked at him, then back into the safe.
    “Hurry,” he urged softly.
    I reached into the second shelf and grabbed the plastic baggy between my thumb and forefinger. I pulled it out carefully and slowly, as if whatever it was might at any minute bite me.
    But when the baggy fell free of the shelf and I held onto it and stopped it from falling to the floor I felt a weight I recognized it immediately. I held up the baggy and looked through the clear plastic to its contents, then looked back at the Chief.
    “It’s the gun that belonged to the man Augie shot,” he said. “Yesterday I removed it from where it was hidden at the station house and brought it here.”
    I didn’t know what to say. My mouth hung open slightly. A part of me wanted to hold the gun to my chest and laugh. Augie was free. Augie was free. Augie was free.
    The Chief said, “Tell Augie to give this to his attorney. Tell him to tell his attorney that you found it in a storm drain. Then tell his attorney call the DA. The dead man’s prints are all over it. It’s as simple as that.”
    “And what happens when they find this missing? What happens to you?”
    “I don’t plan on being here to find out. My wife and son are safely out of town. I’m leaving tonight to join them till this whole thing blows over.”
    “What whole thing?”
    “Frank’s cleaning house tonight. He’s got his own little death squad, his own SS, and they’re on the march. I imagine they’ll come here. I imagine they’ll come to your place. And I imagine they’ll come to – “
    “Augie.”
    “I’m not sure how much of this Augie’s figured out. If Augie has a fault, it’s that he’s loyal to his friends. Even a friend like Frank. Frank could knock on his door and Augie’ll let him right in.”
    “Shit,” I said. I turned to leave.
    The Chief said, “Wait. There’s just one more thing.”
    I stopped and turned my head to look at him. “What?” I said quickly.
    “There’s another bag on that shelf. Pull it out.”
    I went back to the safe, put the baggy with the gun in my left hand, and reached into the shelf with my right. Again I grabbed hold of the plastic between my thumb and forefinger. I pulled the bag out.
    I held it up, though I didn’t need to look at it to know what it contained. Inside was my Spyderco knife, the blade opened. It was stained with blood—Concannon’s?--and a light talcum on it showed that it was covered with fingerprints, most certainly my own. The blood had dried but not before it had smeared the clear plastic. I looked at the Chief.
    “Help me up,” he said.
    I went to him, paused, then squatted beside him. I wrapped his left arm around my neck and stood. I was more something he