16 Hitman (14 page)

"Maybe he did"

"It would be a hell of a coincidence."

"Would it? It would answer one question."

"What?"

"Why did the hitman choose you? I mean, out of all the detectives in New York, you would certainly seem the unlikeliest."

"Thanks a lot."

"On the other hand, if the guy he's tailing goes by your
building every day when he gets off work, he's tailing the guy, he
ducks in the doorway, he sees your office listed in the lobby directory. He wants a private eye for this particular job. Here's one right
on the way."

"It's still a stretch"

"Why?"

"The schoolteacher doesn't walk downtown. He takes the
subway."

"He did today. That doesn't mean he does everyday."

"He teaches at Ninety-second Street. He's not going to walk to
Times Square."

"Is that your only objection?"

"You said he walks by my office."

"So?"

"Usually. As a rule. So the hitman can depend on it."

"Just because he didn't do it today doesn't mean it isn't usual."

"Alice, no one walks fifty blocks to get on a train."

"So? What if he takes a bus down Columbus and buys fish for
dinner?

"Fish?"

"Some little place around Fiftieth has really good salmon. He takes
the bus and buys fish, then walks to the subway and takes the train.
Don't you get a free transfer from the bus with your Metrocard?"

"Yeah, but-"

"What's wrong with that?"

"Columbus Avenue is Ninth Avenue. My office is east of Seventh. You don't pass it to get to Times Square"

"You do if the fish market's on Sixth"

"What?"

"He takes the bus down Columbus Avenue, walks across Fortyeighth Street to Sixth Avenue" Alice put up her hand. "I know it's
really Avenue of the Americas, but who's going to say all that when
they can say Sixth?"

"Alice"

"So, he buys fish on Sixth Avenue between Forty-seventh and
Forty-eighth, and walks across Forty-seventh back to Broadway
and down to Times Square. He goes right by your office, so that's
where the hitman picks you up."

"Yeah, but . . "

"But what?"

"We weren't following the schoolteacher. We never went near
Martin Kessler's apartment."

"Didn't you say you guys went into a movie theater on Fortysecond Street?"

"Yeah. So?"

"So maybe the schoolteacher went to the movies"

"With a bag of fish?"

There was no use arguing. Not with Alice. Talk about a futile
gesture. "And what is the reason for all this?" I asked. "From the
hitman's point of view, I mean?"

"Exactly what he told you. He doesn't want to kill the guy.
With you watching, he won't. You do, and he doesn't. So he leads you back to your office, where ninety-nine out of a hundred
private eyes would congratulate themselves on a job well done
and go home.

"You, of course, refuse to take the broad hint, and tag along.You
follow your client home. Naturally, he spots you"

"Naturally."

"Now, don't get offended. The guy is a pro. He'd spot anybody.
It's not just you."

"If he spots me, why doesn't he do something about it? Why
does he just go home?"

"Ah!" Alice said. "That is where Hitman Number 2 comes in.
Hitman Number 1, your hitman, the dead one, picked up a tail.
And he knows it. How long he's been aware of it, I don't know,
but say it was before he dropped you off. He's dropped you at your
office because he doesn't want to deal with you anymore, because
he has more pressing matters on his hands.

"Hitman Number 2.

"Who is Hitman Number 2? Hitman Number 2 is a mob
enforcer sent to find out why Hitman Number 1 has not completed his job. Hitman Number 1 is nice enough to leave you out
of it, which is why he ditches you before he deals with Hitman
Number 2."

"But he didn't ditch me."

"He meant to.You just didn't cooperate. So, Hitman Number 1
ditches you and goes home. On the way, he notices that he's failed
to ditch you, but there's nothing he can do about that now. Why?
Because he doesn't want to alert Hitman Number 2 to your presence, which he will have to do in order to tell you to stay ditched.
See what I mean?"

"In a way. But how does that explain what happened?"

"Okay," Alice said. "Hitman Number 1 goes home, and didn't
you say he waited at the desk for Hitman Number 2?"

"That's right."

"Hitman Number 2 arrives and they go up in the elevator
together. Creating in your mind the illusion that Hitman Number 2
is the one who lives there."

"You're saying he did that deliberately?"

"Of course he did that deliberately. Look what happens next.
After your phone call, I mean." Alice rolled her eyes. "Rollo
Tomassi. Hitman Number 1 conies downstairs, confronts you, sends
you home, and hops in a cab"

"To convince me the other guy lived there."

"Right. Which works beautifully. Or would have worked
beautifully if he hadn't gotten killed."

"So," I said, "Hitman Number 1 offers his buddy a drink, says,
`Oh, I'm out of such-and-such,' runs out, ditches me, hops in a cab,
takes it around the block to the liquor store, purchases a fifth of
whatever, and goes back to his apartment just in time to get shot."

"He wasn't shot then."

"No, he was shot the next day. By someone who got by the
doorman without being seen. And your theory is Hitman
Number 2 killed Hitman Number 1 because Hitman Number 1
didn't kill the schoolteacher?"

"That's right."

"So it is my fault."

Alice had one of those I'nm-going-to-brain-you-with-a-Crock-
Pot looks. "Fault? That's probably the stupidest assessment of the
situation imaginable. You didn't get anyone killed. At the very
worst, you changed the murder victim from a schoolteacher to a
hitman. If you actually did anything at all, which I doubt. Regardless, someone was always going to get killed."

That seemed way too pat an explanation. And, if I'd come up
with it, I'm sure Alice could have shredded it in seconds. Hearing
Alice produce it, I was buffaloed. My chance of talking my way out
of this corner was zero.

"In any event, you agree with the assessment that the schoolteacher was the target and the hitman was killed for not taking him out?"

"I think even the police are sold on that explanation."

"The police believe the hitman was trying to whack the
schoolteacher?"

"That's right."

"So they put him under police guard?"

"I don't think he's in protective custody. But he's certainly
being watched."

"Bad news for Hitman Number 2. The contract's still out on
this guy. If he can't deliver, he's in the position of Hitman
Number 1."

"He's in very deep shit," I agreed.

"Basically, he's got to kill this guy, or else?"

"That's right."

"So how's he gonna do it?"

I HAD ONE ADVANTAGE OVER the police. I'd seen Hitman #2 in
person. They'd seen a grainy, overhead, black-and-white profile
from a surveillance camera, not much better than the doorman's
description. Or mine, for that matter. Mine was terrible in terms of
physical characteristics. But I knew the face. I could see it in my
dreams.

If I were Crowley, I'd have kept me on the schoolteacher, to see
if Hitman #2 came near him. But I'm not Crowley. And Crowley
didn't like me, or trust me, or count on my cooperation. He went
with plan B, which I discovered the next morning when I went
to check out Martin Kessler.

I had no idea when he left for school. Classes started at eight fifteen, but when teachers had to be there was another matter. And I'd
never forgive myself if the guy got killed because I wanted an extra
half hour's sleep. But, as Alice pointed out, there were so many
things I'd never forgive myself for, I could start a Complexes R Us.

Anyhow, I got there at the crack of dawn, figuring no selfrespecting English teacher would get up that early. Not to mention
any self-respecting hitman. Sure enough, the street outside Kessler's
was deserted.

On the plus side, there was a parking spot right down the
block, so I could pull into the curb, cut the engine, and have an
uninterrupted view of his front steps. Except every time a large
truck rolled by. Which wasn't all that often. Not that I expected to
miss him in the split second it took for that to happen. Except for
the asshole in the fruit truck who acted like he didn't have room
to get down the street. Come on, schmuck. No one's double-parked.
That van's sticking out a little bit, but I could drive a 747 through.

Of course, an uninterrupted view of Kessler's front door wasn't
going to do me any good. I didn't have to spot the target. I had to
spot the shooter. Where the hell would he be? I had no idea, but I
kept turning in the seat, looking in all directions. It wasn't long
before I had an incredibly stiff neck. I also realized I was making a
wonderful target in the event Hitman #2 spotted me.

About a quarter to eight it all fell apart.

An unmarked police car drove up and Sergeant Thurman got
out.

By rights I should like Sergeant Thurman. He's the one police
officer who actually makes me look good. A square jawed, barrelchested man, Thurman resembles an assistant football coach-big
enough to get the job, not bright enough to do it. I have had runins with Thurman in the past. He didn't think much of my abilities, and the feeling was mutual.

If Thurman was Kessler's bodyguard, the schoolteacher was
good as dead.

Thurman went up the front steps, rang the doorbell, and was
buzzed in. I didn't like that. It meant any schnook with the balls to
ring the bell and say "Officer Gotsagoo" could get in.

Ten minutes later Sergeant Thurman came out, looked up and down the street for assassins. He could not have been more
obvious had he used binoculars. Satisfied, he went back in and
came out with Martin Kessler.

That was an ominous portent. Thurman hadn't spotted me.
What were his odds of his spotting a sniper?

Kessler got in the car without getting shot. Sergeant Thurman
walked around the front, climbed into the driver's seat next to him.
The car pulled out.

So far, so good. Anyone who wanted to kill Kessler would have
to kill Thurman. Which would be some consolation.

We got to school without incident. Unless you count getting
stuck behind a garbage truck on one of the side streets. I thought
Thurman was going to hop out and ticket the guy.

We hit the school at ten after eight. Thurman pulled up at the
curb, got out, and looked around.Which was kind of funny. He was
in a sea of students. In this mass of humanity, what could he be
looking for? What could possibly stand out?

All right, I set myself up for that one. I'm a sexist pig who
should have an apple shoved in his mouth and be roasted on a spit.
What could possibly stand out but the perky, young breasts of my
favorite teacher, bar none, the one I'd met a mere fleeting second
when she'd advised me Martin Kessler was still in school. Actually,
she'd advised the kids I asked, and not really spoken to me at all,
but I think that's being overly technical, considering the extent of
the pulchritude.

At any rate, she was in the crowd, and if Sergeant Thurman
missed her, he was not only a bad cop, he had probably been
neutered.

Thurman, satisfied, bewildered, or just not giving a shit, concluded his surveillance.

I shook my head. Thurman was doing everything wrong. You
don't stand next to the protectee. You go in front of the protectee.
Look for people taking an interest in the protectee. Thurman's tactic would only work if he had a partner who was hanging back,
looking to see if anyone was taking an interest in the two of them.
But Thurman always worked alone. Which was not surprising.
Who would want to work with Thurman?

Ironically, I would.

I slid from my car, tagged along behind, functioning as
Thurman's backup, on guard for any undue interest in Martin
Kessler.

There was none, except for Perky Breasts, who pushed through
the crowd to engulf him in what had to be one hell of a hug. Evidently, news of his near demise had gotten around, and his fellow
colleague wanted to show her support. (Write your own punch
line there. I'm in enough trouble as it is.)

Kessler didn't look sorry to see her. But Thurman looked ready
to take her down with a flying tackle. Which wouldn't have been
that bad a move, all things considered. But his impulse was no
doubt based on the assumption the woman was attempting to
squeeze the teacher to death. Anyway, he said a few words that
caused the young lady to cease and desist, and the three of them
marched in the front door.

Ten minutes later Thurman came out, got in his car, and drove
off. Which told the story. The police assumed Kessler was safe in
school. They'd leave him alone until after classes.

That worked for me. I was tired, and I could use a break.