Lawrence Treat
B  As  in  Bribe

In which Mitch Taylor, Homicide Squad, gets tangled in a pro-
fessional football caper, and maybe he should have stood in
bed. You see, Mitch's wife Amy had this cousin of hers, this
Hamilton (Ham) Burney, who was an all-league defensive
guard, and Ham had big ideas. And a big idea in the gam-
bling racket can lead to big trouble . . . Another brash, breezy
police procedural that, so far as it goes, tells it like it is . . .
Detectives: MITCH TAYLOR and the HOMICIDE SQUAD

What with the way the world was going these days, Miteh
Taylor figured he was doing all right. Here he was pulling
down his regular weekly bunch of green stuff, he was getting
along with the rest of the gang on the homicide squad, and he had
his health and a couple of pretty good kids.
But most of all, even after ten years of marriage, Amy was still
something special. Not just the way she looked, which was okay
in any language, but the kind of dame she was and the way she
backed him up, and irregardless, too. About the only trouble with
her was this cousin of hers, and nobody could call him her fault.
The thing was, while Amy wasn't exactly interested in football,
every once in a while Mitch happened to leave the paper open at
the sports sectio" and she couldn't help seeing it. There was
maybe a picture or else a news item on Ham Burney, all-league
defensive guard.
"He's my cousin," she said the first time she noticed his name.
"We practically grew up together."
"No kidding!" Mitch said. "How come you never mentioned it
before?"
"There was no particular reason to. And besides, I was only
seven when his family moved away."
"How old was he?"
"Nine," she said. "He's handsome, isn't he?"
She kind of sighed, and Mitch figured there was something
more to this, so he said, "Seen him lately?"
"Oh, no. Not since he was nine. But he did something wonderful
for me. I don't think I ever told you, did I?"
"Did what?"
"Told you about the time he rescued me? Some boys got hold of
me and wanted to do things. They were much older than Ham,
and although he was big for his age it was a brave thing for him
to do, to take them all on. He could have been killed. I'll never
forget it. I'll never be able to do enough for him." She sighed
again and said, "I wonder what he's like now."
Mitch, who knew his statistics, answered that one. "Six-four,
and weighs two-seventy."
"His name's Hamilton," Amy said, "although people always
called him Ham."
And maybe he was, Mitch told himself. Still, why bother think-
ing about him? Except once in a while when they were all talking
football in the squad room and somebody happened to mention
Burney, Mitch would say, kind of casual-like, "Oh, him? That's
Amy's cousin."
It would haye been okay, too, if that was as near as Ham came
into Mitch's life, but a lot of things can happen. While Mitch
couldn't say that the breaks were always against him, on the
other hand he could have used a little more luck, and used it
nicely, too.
It was one of those days you could forget ever happened. Mitch
had to hang around court most of the morning, and then the case
got held over on account some lawyer maybe had a cousin who
knew the judge's wife and had gone and whispered something in
the judge's ear, maybe about a tip on the stock market or else a
pinochle game tonight.
Anyhow, around noon the judge decided to let Mitch and the
rest of the witnesses go home, so Mitch had himself a submarine
over at the Greek's before hoofing it back to headquarters. By
then there was no squad car available, and it started to rain and
Mitch had to scout around knocking on doors down on James
Street to see if he could dig up a witness to that assault business
last night.
Most of the doors got slammed in his face and he got called a
pig a few times. Then when he walked out of Number 347 East,
some dame spit down from an upstairs window, and the trouble
was, her aim was good. While the rain washed most of it off, it
didn't help things, either.
What with all that rain, the buses were jammed, and the one
Mitch got on, he didn't know the driver and he had nobody to talk
to. So he was glad to get off at his corner, and finally he got to
feeling better. Like always, Amy heard him stick his key in the
door of the apartment and she met him coming in and gave him
the news.
"Ham called today," she said. "He's coming to visit us for a few
days."
"Here?" Mitch said.
"Yes, of course."
"He pulls down fifty or a hundred grand a year and he wants to
stay here?"
"I asked him to," Amy said.
"Tell. him he'd be better off at the Hilton. He maybe thinks we
got a mansion waiting for him."
"I told him we had a small place and I suggested a hotel, but he
said he had reasons and would rather come here if we had room
for him."
"Only we don't," Mitch said, feeling he'd had a narrow escape.
"But it's all arranged," Amy said. "Joey's going to sleep
downstairs with the O'Connors, and Mamie's going to stay with
her friend Beth. We'll use their room, and Ham can take ours."
"Why not the other way round?" Mitch said, trying to rescue
something out of the argument.
"A big man like that," Amy said. "He needs a double bed. And
what if we're uncomfortable for a few nights? It's the least we can
do for him."
"I guess so," Mitch said. On account if Amy wanted it that way,
it was okay with him. Still
Ham flew in on an early afternoon plane, and that evening
Mitch found him making himself at home in the living room.
Amy was beaming and she'd cooked one of those stews of hers, the
kind you could sniff when you came up the landing and everybody
in the building wished they'd get invited.
The kids weren't saying much, they were just staring goggle-
eyed at one of the biggest guys they'd ever seen. He was talking
football, but even Mamie hardly looked at Mitch when he came
in. Joey was up on Cloud Nine, but the worst of it was, this Ham
guy took a shine to Mitch right off.
"Amy's been talking about you," he said, holding out a paw the
size of a Frisbee. "Did she tell you about the time I beat up five
kids that were trying to drag her into a back lot?"
"Yeah," Mitch said, wondering why the guy had come here in-
stead of to a hotel. "Must have been quite a battle."
"They were older than me," Ham said, "and I just happened
down the street when"
Mitch sort of half-listened, and then managed to break away
and head for the bedroom. There he unholstered his gun and
stuck it up on the top shelf of the closet, where he always put it
so it would be out of reach of the kids. When he turned around,
Amy was standing there.
"I know it's going to be hard for you," she whispered, "but I owe
him so much, I can never do enough for him. You'll be nice to
him, won't you?"
"Sure," Mitch said. "Why wouldn't I?"
She kissed him and said in a low voice, "I knew you would."
Mitch wondered what all the fuss was about. Granted he'd
rather see Ham play than hear him talk, but the guy was here,
and what could you do about it? So Mitch settled down and lis-
tened, and every once in a while he kind of muttered something,
while he hoped Ham would tire himself out and go to bed early.
Naturally, though, it didn't work out that way, because right
after dinner, when Amy was in the kitchen, Ham took Mitch
aside. Ham. spoke confidentially, like he was tipping Mitch off to a
secret play. "Mitch," he said, "let's go down the street and have
ourselves a drink."
Mitch did his best to get out of it. "Thanks," he said, "but I got
to hit the sack early. Maybe some other time."
Only Ham wouldn't let him go. "Something I want to tell you,"
he said. "Something in your line."
That was different, so they went down to the corner bar. After
everybody'd said hello to Ham and wanted his autograph, him
and Mitch sat down by themselves and Ham got down to business.
He leaned over the table and spoke like he was still tipping Mitch
off to a new play.
"Mitch," he said, "ever hear of Bluebird Yancy?"
"Blue?" Mitch said, wondering what Ham had to do with a
crooked gambler that half a dozen police departments wanted to
nail and couldn't. "Him? What about him?"
"Or Nate Brigham and Jerry Nick?"
"Who you trying to kid?" Mitch said.
Ham looked pleased, like he'd just blocked a field-goal kick that
would have tied it all up. "Well," he said, "I can see what it is to
live on your salary. If you were on the vice squad, for instance,
the dough would be pouring in, but for a homicide man it must be
kinda tough."
"I get along," Mitch said. "What's on your mind, Ham?"
"I got an appointment to meet Bluebird and a couple of his
boys," Ham said. "That's why I'm here, and not registered at any
hotelso I can get together with them in private and talk things
over."
"Are you nuts?" Mitch said. "Lay off or you'll end up in the
clink. Unless they put a knife in your big belly first."
Ham thought that was funny. "I can take care of myself," he
smirked.
"Not with them," Mitch said. "Stay away from them or you'll
get hurt. I'm not kiddin'."
"I got a scheme," Ham said. "First off, I'll see them this once,
and then never again. After the arrangement is made, I call from
a pay phone and all I tell them is what the team feels like, who's
injured that nobody knows about. Things like that. Nothing
crooked, nothing I can go to jail for, but they pay for that kind of
inside dope, and particularly for a team like ours that figures to
win the title. And while I make plenty, I don't mind telling you
that I'm in hock up to my neck. Soare you with me?"
Mitch didn't answer right off. While it was poison to sit down at
a table with Ham and a gambler like Blue, and while this was
straight bribery, stillhe was Amy's cousin. And she wanted to
do something for him, didn't she?
Maybe there wasn't much of the gray stuff inside that skull of
Ham's, but Amy'd take it hard if he got in real trouble. And he
was heading straight for it, because a guy like Blue would pick
him clean and then throw out the soup bones. And besides, if
Mitch played it cagey, maybe he'd get something on Blue and
those pals of his.
It took Mitch a while to think things out. Because, while he
wasn't going to get trapped into anything, there was no reason
why he couldn't say okay, then talk it over with the lieutenant in
the morning. If the lieutenant vetoed it, all Mitch had to do was
tell Ham he'd changed his mind. And if the lieutenant told Mitch
to go ahead, then Mitch was covered.
Ham kept waiting for Mitch's answer, and while Mitch didn't
usually put on an act, this time he kind of poured it on. He
frowned, licked his lips, took another gulp of beer, and finally
gave his answer.
"Okay," he said. "Why not?"
He checked with Lieutenant Decker the next morning. First off,
Decker was against it. "A character like Blue will spot you a mile
away," he said. "And even if he doesn't, it's not our bailiwick. Our
jurisdiction is crimes against the person, so where do we come
in?"
"If Blue scares off when he sees me," Mitch said, hoping it
would work out that way and keep Ham on the up and up, "then
what do we lose? But if he goes through with it and thinks I'm
there for my shake, then maybe I can get enough evidence on
him to turn over to the rackets squad. Maybe, for instance, you
could tape me."
"It's the other way round," Decker said. "They'll be taping you.
And maybe that tape will be worth getting hold of. It might even
be a piece of evidence we're entitled to, on the theory that it's an
invasion of privacy and therefore a crime against the person." The
lieutenant leaned back in his chair, let the swivel squeak, and
said kind of slow, "Maybe. Just maybe. But brother! Somebody's
sure being devious."
There was nothing devious about Ham, though. He ate up prac-
tically everything on the table, and Joey and Mamie looked kind
of bewildered that there was nothing left for seconds. And when
Ham took a shower he stayed in the bathroom a half hour or so
and left the place a mess. He busted a chair on account he was too
heavy for it, and he broke Joey's bat in half just to show how
strong he was.
Mitch kind of wondered how long Amy could take it. She still
had this "thing" going for Ham. No matter what he did, she
couldn't hold anything against him, but it was pretty tough on
the rest of the family. Mitch was starting to figure out a few ways
of getting Ham to leave when Ham said he'd heard from Blue.
The meeting was all set and would Mitch come along? And that
was how come he and Ham came to take a cab to some bar over
in the river area, where Yancy and his troops were waiting.
They shook hands all around, and they all got introduced. Nate
Brigham, Jerry Nick, Mitch Taylor. It could have been a business
conference, and in a way it pretty much was.
Mitch had got a description of the Bluebird, but even so, it was
hard to believe that this little dumpy guy with the bald head and
the sad eyes was one of the top gamblers in the country, who'd
been mixed up in a dozen kinds of dirty business but never got
nailed down. Except that when he spoke up and you heard that
voice of his, rich and deep enough to drown out everybody else,
you knew he was something more than the little squirt he looked
like.
Right off it seemed that Blue hadn't tumbled to who Mitch was,
and Mitch was a little surprised that Blue didn't handle himself
better. Because the way he blocked off the side of the booth where
he wanted to sit, it was pretty obvious what he was after. He
wanted a view of Brigham over at the bar, so he could signal or
get signals. Jerry Nick sat on the inside, next to Blue, with Ham
opposite Nick and next to Mitch.
When they were all sorted out, Blue said, taking over in that
voice of his, "I guess we have some things to decide, but first I'd
like to make myself clear. I don't go in for any crooked stuff.
Ham, I don't want you to miss a tackle or do anything except play
your best game. And if you have anything else in mind, then we
all may as well go home right now."
For Mitch that was the tipoff. The conversation was being
taped, and Blue wanted to sound like he was clean, while he
roped Ham in and got Ham to suggest a bribe. Mitch had ex-
pected something along those lines, but he'd figured Blue to be a
much smoother operator. Although with Ham, you didn't have to
be smooth. Ham worked on heavyweight principles; anything
under a ton or so didn't count.
It was pretty easy to read Blue, too. What he was after was, he
was setting up a frame, because if the football commissioner ever
heard this tape, Ham would be through in professional football.
So Blue could then blackmail him, and Ham would have to do
whatever Blue told him to. Mess up a play. Leave a hole for a
back to come through. Set up a penalty. Knock out an opposing
back. Anything at all. And Ham could spell the difference be-
tween winning and losing, because he wasn't an all-league defen-
sive guard for nothing.
Meanwhile Blue went ahead and made like the host offering
drinks all around. Ham took a Scotch and soda, and Mitch settled
for a beer.
"Just bring me a can," he said, on account he was taking no
chances with getting a mickey slipped in his drink. "That's the
way I like it. Glass, it spoils the taste."
"A connoisseur," Blue said. "A real connoisseur."
After that they horsed around a little, talking about the league
and who had a chance of knocking off Ham's club. Stuff like that.
Blue got into personalities and found out a few things, but noth-
ing important. At first Miteh wasn't sure what the guy was af-
ter, but when the drinks came 'and the waiter put a whole bottle
in front of Ham, Mitch caught onto that little trick.
The idea was simpleto get Ham drunk, just in case he was
smart enough when sober to tumble to how he was getting suck-
ered. Anyhow, Ham laid himself wide open and asked point-
blank how much they'd pay him for you-know-what. Which maybe
Ham thought was a way of putting it real cagey.
After a while Mitch couldn't help getting a pretty good idea of
what the tape was going to sound like after it got listened to,
edited, cut, spliced, and put together again. Around then, say by
the time Ham was on his third or fourth drink and Blue was lead-
ing him along like he was getting rehearsed for a TV commercial,
Mitch got to thinking things out.
Maybe it was Blue's voice, maybe the way he kept looking over
at the bar where this Nate Brigham was, or maybe it was one of
those hunches that you can't ever pin down, only you know
they're rightanyhow, after a while Mitch knew that this guy
wasn't Bluebird Yancy at all. He was just a stand-in.
Yancy's reasons for not coming weren't hard to figure out. If the
tape showed Ham discussing a bribe with Yancy, then Yancy
could be in trouble, too. But this way his voice wouldn't even be
on the tape. and he could probably prove he'd been a few hundred
miles away on the night the tape had been made.
Maybe Mitch should have walked out of here and gone home.
Maybe he should have let Ham drown in his own soup. And cer-
tainly Mitch should have gone over to a phone, or tried to, and
called headquarters and told them where he was and asked for
help. Except that Ham was Amy's cousin and she wanted to do
something for him, and she'd expect Mitch to take care of Ham.
So Mitch had to do things on his own and in his own way, even if
he was riding for a fall.
He kind of fidgeted around, like he was sitting on a splinter, or
something, until he had himself smack in the line of sight be-
tween Blue and Brigham, over at the bar. That way Blue couldn't
get his signal across, and Mitch was safe for long enough to take
his wallet out of his pocket, stick the thing down on the table
with his identification in full view, and start talking.
"Let's level on this," he said. "I'm Taylor, Homicide, and what I
came for was to get the goods on Bluebird Yancy. That's why I'm
here and that's what Ham brought me here for. He's working
with the police, and this bribery pitchit's nothing but an act.
Only it looks like you were too smart to fall for it, so let's have
the tape and call it quits. Because you're not Yancy, and I know
it."
You could tell that guy, whatever his name was, hadn't ex-
pected anything like this, and the idea of a cop scared him. So
Mitch was all set to tell Ham to pick up Jerry Nick and spread
him out on the table while Mitch located the tape. And it would
have worked out that way, Ham and Mitch could have been there
in the center of the room and on their way out before Brigham got
wise. Except nothing got through into that big head of Ham's in
less than five or ten minutes.
He looked blank and said to Mitch, "What are you trying to
pull? I ought to throw you up against the wall and watch you
bounce back, because you're queering the whole deal." And at the
same time he grabbed Mitch and shook him with that big paw of
his.
Still, Mitch made a stab at getting things back on the right
track. "Amy told you, didn't she?" he said, figuring the magic of
her name would stop Ham. Which it did, except it was too late.
Because when Ham had grabbed the little guy, it gave Brigham a
clear view of the booth and of Blue's S.O.S. signal. The result was,
Brigham walked over, took his gun out, and stuck it against
Mitch's spine.
It  was  a  pretty  smooth  maneuver,  too,  because  his  body
screened what was happening inside the booth, so nobody could
see that gun of his, and he held his voice low. "Keep your hands
where they are," he said to Mitch. "I want your gun, so sit tight."
There was nothing much Mitch could do except wish Amy'd
never had a cousin or that he'd never showed up or that he'd had
enough sense to go along with Mitch right off the bat. Anyhow,
Mitch let Nate take his gun. Then Mitch turned around and saw
that nobody ip the bar had noticed what was going on in the
booth. And pven if they had, nobody was going to come over and
help him out.
You take a setup like this, with a couple of professional hoods
ready to gun you down if they have to, and you don't mess
around. You stall, and you hope for some kind of a break.
"Where's Yancy?" Mitch said, real innocent and speaking to
,.   Nate.      "What     happened     to      Bluebird     Yancy?"
"Sitting right in front of you," Brigham said.
"Him?" Mitch said. "Who you kidding? He's no more Yancy
than I'm the King of Siam."
"That's right," Blue said, real quick. "They paid me to play a
part. I don't want trouble. I"
Then a bunch of things happened all at once, including Nate
Brigham getting sore and losing his head. Sort of snarling at Blue
and telling him to shut up, Brigham swung his gun, with the bar-
rel as a whip, and hit Blue in the jaw. Blue let out a howl, on
account not just because he was hurt, but he was an actor and
what good is an actor with a busted jaw?
At this moment Ham sort of came to, his mind began working
pretty much the way it worked when a play was coming at him.
Or maybe his mind wasn't working, but the result was about the
same, because Ham went into action.
The table in front of Mitch seemed to lift up and hit the wall of
the booth and knock it over, along with everybody else. Only the
booth kept on going and hit-the wall of the room and stove part of
it in. There must have been some electrical wiring in there that
shorted, because suddenly the lights went out. Some dame back
there at the bar started screaming, and somebody heaved a bottle
for no reason except when things get rough in a' bar somebody al-
ways heaves a bottle.
For a second or two Mitch was kind of left alone. Blue and
Jerry Nick and Brigham were all off balance, what with Ham's
charge. So Mitch hooked the nearest leg, which turned out to be
Brigham's. Brigham went down, and Mitch socked him, got a
knee in Brigham's face, and grabbed at his hand. It had a gun in
it,  so  Mitch banged down the wrist  and kept banging until  the
hand let go of the gun.
You don't exactly think when you're in a spot like that, but in
the back of his mind Mitch had a couple of things he wanted to
get hold of. First off, there was his own gun, and second, he
wanted that tape.
The gun business was easy, on account he now had the drop on
Brigham, and he located the tape with that pocket flashlight he
always carried with him. He switched the light on and spotted the
dispatch case that must have had the tape recorder in it. Ev-
erybody else seemed busy untangling themselves, and what with
there being no regular light, nobody even saw Mitchpick up the
case. Once he had it, it was easy to get Ham to dust out of the
joint along with him.
They found a cab about a block away and got inside and Mitch
told the driver to go to the airport. Then Mitch went to work on
Ham.
"You jackass!" he said. "You know what you got yourself into?
They framed you. Every time you opened your big mouth and said
you wanted dough and that you'd help them out any way you
could, it got taped. They could blackmail you for the rest of your
life. And the tape's right here, in this case. So when you hole up
somewheres, and it better be a long ways from here, you can turn
it on and listen to yourself. Then you can think about what would
have happened if somebody weqtto the football commissioner and
told them about this tape."
"I could explain it," Ham said, but Mitch didn't bother waiting
for any half-baked excuses.
"Consorting with known gamblers," Mitch said. "And with Yan-
cy's hoods. Beginning to see the picture?"
"I guess so," Ham said weakly.
"So what you're going to do when we get to the airport," Mitch
said, "is take the first plane out. Anywheres. Just get out of town
and out of the state. In the morning you can fly any place you
want to, except here. If you're lucky, nobody's going to know
about tonight. Because if it ever comes out, you're through,
finished, kaput. Understand?"
'  Ham did. And he paid the cab fare out to the airport, and pre-
paid it back to Mitch's apartment, where Amy was waiting up.
"Where's Ham?" she said. "Isn't he with you?"
"He had some business somewheres else," Mitch said, "and he
had to beat it."
"Why? Where?"
"I don't know where," Mitch said, "but he got in a kind of a jam
and had to take off."
"Wouldn't you help him?"
"Oh, sure. I did all I could."
"I'm glad of that. Because, while he was a nuisance, he's still
my cousin and he's still wonderful, isn't he?"
"Well," Mitch said cautiously, "he's something all right."
So everything was fine with Amy, but he ran into a little trou-
ble with the lieutenant next morning, when Decker called him
into that cubbyhole of an office of his.
"How did that business with Ham Burney work out?"
"Well," Mitch said, "he was supposed to meet Bluebird Yancy.
Remember?"
"Did he?"
"No. Yancy never showed."
"It wouldn't have anything to do with an actor named Travis
Stanley, would it? He's in the hospital with a broken jaw and he
says somebody hit him, only he won't say who."
"Anybody get arrested?" Mitch asked.
"Some dame did, for throwing a bottle and starting a ruckus.
Burney was there all right, but the precinct is handling the case
and they haven't called us in. In case they do I ought to know
what the score is."
"This Burney," Mitch said, playing it close to the chest, "they
wanted to get some bribery evidence on him."
"Did they?"
Mitch shook his head. "No. It didn't work out."
"Anything else?"
"It's kind of a family matter," Mitch said, "so if nobody's going
to prefer charges and if nobody got hurt except this actor guy,
then that's the whole ball game. It's all over."
The lieutenant didn't like it. He was the commanding officer
here. He had a right to know what his men were doing, and their
duty was to report to him, and in full. So Mitch tried to smooth
things over a little.
"You were right about the tape," he said.
The lieutenant didn't say anything, and after a while Mitch got
up, kind of looked around, then walked out.
He was in the doghouse all right, but what of it? Because you
take a guy like Ham, raking in the big dough and being famous
and all that, and what did he have? Not much. And while Mitch
didn't exactly have everything in the world and wasn't making
big dough, he was doing all right. In fact, if you wanted to sit
down and think about it, it looked like he was in pretty good
shape, what with Amy and the kids and a good job and a regular
paycheck.