Manhunt. Volume 9, Number 1, February 1961

“Jack, this is Bill Young,” I said. “I’ve got Larry Coster on ice. Now listen carefully. Harry Sloan is parked in a cab on the corner — he’s got his radio on waiting for a call from you. Call him on the air and tell him to get right up here. Coster is stretched out on the floor chewing the rug, he won’t give me any trouble. Tell Harry to come up alone — he’ll understand. Then wait five minutes or so and call the Safe and Loft Squad Office and tell them that Harry has Coster here and that they can pick him up and book him. I need that five minutes to get out of the building — I have a little errand to do. You got that clear?”

“Yeah, Bill, I got it clear. But wait a minute...”

I cut him short. “I can’t wait, Jack. Every second counts for me now. I’ve got to hang up.”

He yelled through the phone. “Don’t hang up, Bill. It’s an emergency. Inspector O’Leary called a couple of minutes ago and the air is still blue around here. He’s down in his office in Police Headquarters and he said if he didn’t hear from you in fifteen minutes he’d send out a general alarm for you on a murder charge. He was so mad he could hardly get the words out. You better call him right away, Bill, he’s not fooling. And you know what the brass in this company would do if a thing like that hit the papers about one of their men.”

“Okay, okay, Jack, I’ll call him.” I hung up and frowned.

I hadn’t expected that strong a reaction from O’Leary — pinning me down to fifteen minutes ruined any chance I had of getting to Leon Schell. But Jack Finch was right. If a general alarm went out for me it would queer me but permanently with the brass in my company and every other company in the business. It wouldn’t matter one bit whether I handed them Leon Schell wrapped in cellophane or a big red bow. I’d be out of work a long, long time.

I tried to think of something that would quiet O’Leary down, something that would keep him pacified for the little bit more time I needed. I knew I’d have to call him in the next ten minutes — that I couldn’t avoid. The first thing he’d want to know was where I was so he could have a radio car pick me up — that I had to avoid. I got a very small idea.

I walked around Coster and stood in front of him so that he could see me by lifting his head a little.

“Coster, I want you to tell me where Leon Schell is now,” I said. “You can help me a lot if you tell me where he is so I can pick him up. If you do maybe I can make things easier for you with the District Attorney or the Judge at your trial. How about it?”

If I knew anything at all about criminal psychology this was the worst possible way in the world to get information out of a guy like Larry Coster. There was only one answer I could get and I got it and it was just what I wanted.

“Don’t make me laugh. You insurance dicks are the creepiest cops in the world. I wouldn’t spit at you if you was in the middle of the ocean. You’re so smart, go find him.”

He glared at me, his shark teeth showing in a wicked grin.

“Okay, shove your face back in the floor,” I said.

The doorbell sounded and I backed over to the entrance door. It was Harry Sloan and he had two of our men with him. He came in first with a big 38 Police Positive revolver in his hand.

“Spare I keep in the cab,” he said when he saw me looking at it.

I took Larry Coster’s automatic out of my pocket and handed it to him.

“The Safe and Loft guys will be up in five or ten minutes,” I said. “Coster had this on him — they can add that to the charge. Hold him here and whatever you do don’t let him near a phone and don’t let him talk to anyone, anyone at all. Tomorrow he can get fifty lawyers if he wants to, but I don’t want a peep out of him tonight. That’s important, Harry.”

“No talk. Okay, Bill,” Harry said.

“You better put handcuffs on him,” I said. “Oh, and one more thing, Bill. Give me the keys of the cab.”

He handed them to me without saying anything, but gave me an odd look. Minutes were valuable to me now, and I needed the cab to get out of the neighborhood. I put the gun I had borrowed from Harry Slaon back under my belt and watched as one of the other men bent over Larry Coster and snapped the cuffs on him. My hand felt in my jacket pocket for the recorder switch and I turned it off. Coster had really tied up the case against himself by everything he had said — all he could possibly do now would be to plead guilty. I went out the door and downstairs.

Across the street from the entrance to the building there were two men standing under the street light. They stared hard at me as I came out and headed for the cab. Both of them had on gray hats and coats and so help me they looked like real grayhounds to me and for a crazy moment I thought I was a rabbit and when someone pressed a button I’d have to start running around a track until one of them caught me. Well, O’Leary had the button in his hand and it was up to me to stop him from pressing it.