Read Hammett (Crime Masterworks) for Free Online Page B

‘That’s what he called himself when he ran against “Pinhead”McCarthy in 1913. He makes five hundred a month as mayor, and must spend twice that a month on hootch and harlots in that Caucasian geisha house he maintains for visiting politicos out on Sanchez and Twentieth. I guess it’s worth it to him to wear Eskimo parkas and Indian feather bonnets and motormen’s caps. Corrupt?’ He shook his head. ‘But when it comes to actually running this burg – to handling or delegating power – he can’t find his backside with both hands. If you want to know who’s behind police corruption in San Francisco, just look a block out Kearny Street from the Hall of Justice.’
    ‘Mulligan Bros Bailbonds. But how the hell do you prove it?’
    Hammett chuckled. ‘I met old Farrell Mulligan a couple of times before he died.’ His voice took on a nasal quality and a brogue. ‘“Son, when they crap in this town, they wipe with Mulligan paper.” Which isn’t much in the way of proof. When he went, his kid brother Griff took over. Now I hear that Griff just counts the take while Farrell’s pup Boyd does the heavy work.’
    ‘Well, I ain’t got a mandate to go after the Mulligans. Vice, gambling, and the rackets
only
as they relate to police department graft. All I gotta do is find somebody who’ll sing. Somebody like Molly who—’
    ‘Yeah, look how
she
cooperated.’
    Atkinson grinned sourly. ‘Preacher Laverty and Lynch believe the committee’s already put the fear of God into the mayor and the DA and the police. Molly may not be singing yet, but they sure closed her up . . .’
    ‘Vic, the only reason there was a raid at all is that three high school kids went there to celebrate somebody’s sixteenth birthday. If the ma of one of them hadn’t heard them setting it up by phone, and if her husband hadn’t happened to know the DA personally, Brady wouldn’t have pushed the cops into making a raid.’
    ‘This ain’t ever gonna make the papers, but the mother who overheard the kids on the phone was Evelyn Brewster.’
    ‘The shipping Brewsters?’
    ‘That’s her.
And
she’s the prime mover on the reform committee.’
    Hammett sat down on the bed again, chuckling. ‘No wonder McKenna showed up at that meeting last night. I’ll bet old lady Brewster’s the one who pushed Brady into arraigning Molly and all her girls – even that Chinese maid – in municipal court yesterday.’
    ‘Yeah. Goddammit.’ Atkinson slammed a suddenly angry fist on the arm of his chair, hard enough so an inch of grey ash rolled down the front of his shirt. ‘They came down on Molly at just the wrong goddamn time. If I could have kept working on her—’
    ‘You mean you can’t anymore?’
    ‘Don’t you ever read them newspapers you carry around? Neither Molly nor the maid showed up for their arraignment.’ He brightened. ‘Maybe I can work a deal with Epstein, her attorney, to get at Molly. She talks to me instead of the DA—’
    ‘If Molly was your client, would
you
turn her up? With the Mulligans owning half the cops in town as a private police force?’
    ‘I’d furnish her protection,’ said Atkinson airily.
    ‘Sure you would.’
    The big man was on his feet. ‘Anyway, my people will be in from LA the first of the week. I ain’t much of a detective if I can’t turn up Molly before then. I told the reform committee I was going back down south today, but I think I’ll stick around for a day and try to dig her out. Maybe make a round of the speaks tonight, see what I can get on which cops are being paid off. Want a pub-crawl?’
    ‘I said to count me out, Vic.’
    Hammett brushed Vic’s cigar ash off the frayed tasseling of the venerable Coxwell he had inherited with the apartment, and sat down. He had a whole night at the typewriter ahead of him. Hestood up again, went to stare out between dingy lace curtains at the stucco fascia across Post Street.
    Dammit, Vic was going at it all wrong. Advertising his