Show of Evil

'You got yourself to blame, that's what you got yourself. Now here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna give up everything. Names, dates, times, places, whatever the action was, you're gonna give it up. Try to con us, you lose your ticket. Dodge the questions, you lose your ticket. You tell us one goddamn lie, you lose your fuckin' ticket.'

Bollinger turned to Stenner for help. The quiet man ignored him.

'And after we make the bust, you're gonna stand up in court and sing on these guys like the canary you are—'

'Goddamn you, I had a deal working -' Bollinger started to interrupt.

'You didn't have shit. You don't cooperate, you know what we're gonna do? We're gonna drop the charges on you and turn you out on the street, and just before we do? - just before they open up those pearly fuckin' gates? - we're gonna drop dimes all over this town that you jumped on the stoolie wagon. You'll be a dead man. They'll whack you before you get to the corner.'

Stenner sat back and watched Flaherty's performance with awe. He knew the Irishman had been a street kid, but he had never seen him in action before, not like this. Flaherty began jabbing home his points with a forefinger. 'So we're gonna start over because right now you don't have a goddamn thing. You made some talk and we made some talk, but nobody said 'yea', and nobody said 'nay'. Nobody said bullshit. Now what's it gonna be, Bobby? Do I turn on the tape recorder, or do you take a trip to the icebox?'

Bellinger looked pleadingly at Stenner.

'Man's got a point,' Stenner said casually.

'Let's hear your story,' Flaherty said. 'Now.'

Bollinger looked back and forth between his two captors and then said, 'I was the bagman.'

'For who?'

'Shoulders.'

'And who?'

Bollinger hesitated for a moment, then said, 'Roznick.'

'Vic Roznick? The city manager?' Stenner said with surprise.

'How many Roznicks you know?'

'How did you make the delivery?'

'I get a call. I go to the Shamrock Club on West Erie. Shoulders has an office on the second floor. He gives me a briefcase fulla twenties and fifties. I take it to a parking lot on Illinois near the Trib. The trunk's unlocked. I put the case in, that's it.'

'How do you know what was in the case?' Stenner asked.

'Christ, Jake counted it out right in fronta me. Tells me there's a fuckin' dollar missin' it's my ass.'

'And it was Roznick's car?'

'Sometimes. I sat in my car half a dozen times and watched him come out, dip into the trunk, and split with the case. Other times it was Glen Scott, Eddie Malone, Pete Yankovitch.'

'City staff?'

'Yeah. Different places for them. Shoulders had 'em all over a barrel. Stuff they did years ago. Videotape. Audio. Photos. Get 'em on a hook, then make the deal. They cooperate, he pays off and lets 'em off the spike.'

'Once they're in, they never get out,' Stenner said.

'I even shot some photos.'

'Why?' Stenner asked.

'To cover my ass, y'know, just in case.'

'You mean to do a little blackmailing of your own, don't you?' Flaherty suggested.

Bollinger shrugged but did not answer.

'You got pictures of these pickups?' Flaherty asked.

'Yeah. They oughta be worth a little extra.'

'Part of the deal,' Flaherty snapped back.

'I, uh… I got sompin' else maybe worth a new Vette.'

'It better be good,' said Flaherty.