Free A Pure Double Cross by John Knoerle Page A

I told Alfred and Frieda what I planned to do before I stumped out the back door and huddled in the orchard with my wireless set.
    Alfred and Frieda remained inside for hours, deep into the night. I heard music, I heard laughter. I watched a lone B-24 returning from a run over Augsburg drop four incendiaries on the proper co-ordinates, just as I had instructed. I watched the farmhouse erupt in flames.
    I spat a mouthful of bitter coffee back in my cup.

Chapter Fifteen
    I wore my vicuna topcoat for my visit to mob headquarters the following evening, also my .25 caliber belly gun in case Jimmy got fresh. I left my boutonnière and matching wrist corsage at home.
    The Schooler’s office was paneled in knotty pine. Flintlock muskets were cross mounted on the wall, flanked by lots of framed photos of men holding up dead fish. I unfolded a late edition of the
Cleveland Press
and slapped it on his glass-topped desk.
    A Clean Sweep! Screamed the headline above photos of portly mobsters being led away in handcuffs. Portly mobsters from the Bloody Corners Gang. The cops had been just smart enough to get themselves fooled.
    â€œWell done,” said The Schooler from his desk chair. “What do you want?”
    Well. I hadn’t expected a tickertape parade exactly but a hearty attaboy wouldn’t have killed him. I closed the door to the office.
    â€œJimmy killed that cop deliberately,” I said. “He snapped his wrist just because I told him not to. He’s a half-wit and a hothead and I want him gone.”
    The Schooler nodded. “Yes, Jimmy’s a hothead. But he’s our hothead, loyal as a butcher’s dog.”
    â€œAnd about as smart.”
    The Schooler smiled, thinly. “Smart is overrated.”
    â€œThen it’s time to take this upstairs. I want to see the boss man.”
    â€œThat’s a possibility. When you have the final heist plans in hand.”
    â€œBut I can’t get the final heist plans with Jimmy still in the picture!”
    â€œThe FBI will come around eventually.”
    â€œEven if they do come around Jimmy will find a way to screw it up.”
    The Schooler didn’t have a snappy comeback for that one. He’d spanked Jimmy for shooting the armored car guard. Jimmy responded by killing a cop.
    â€œAs I’ve said before I’ve got a group of itchy young men here. They respect Jimmy, he’s their squad sergeant.”
    â€œYeah, I imagine they were plenty impressed with Jimmy cowering against that wall.”
    The Schooler parked his chin on his fist. I shut my yap and waited for the great pearl of wisdom to come.
    â€œYou don’t understand loyalty.”
    â€œExplain it to me.”
    The Schooler stroked his cheek with a knuckle. “Our itchy young men felt bad when they saw Jimmy backed up against the wall like that. They put themselves in his place.”
    I looked around the four corners. What was I missing here?
    The Schooler answered before I could ask. “Then why did I call in the muscle?”
    â€œSomething like that.”
    â€œBecause that’s how it’s done,” said The Schooler, concludeing the conversation.
    I made my way through H&R Manufacturing and out onto Cesco Road. The night was starry black, no moon, too cold for clouds. Perfect bombing weather. I one-two’d my way down to Fulton Road on blistered feet.
    Loyalty again. You’d think a sharp guy like The Schooler would know better. And what the hell did ‘that’s how it’s done’ mean? It sounded like a perpetual motion machine. So long as you don’t betray the tribe you can screw up all you like.
    I had made myself indispensable and still Jimmy stayed.
    It was time to get serious, past time. I would have to kill Jimmy by remote control. I was good at that. Get the word out to the Bloody Corners Gang, tell them who iced their dirty cop. Let them settle the account.
    I hailed a cab on Fulton Road and said,