Secrets & Lies

The Black Stiletto
Secrets & Lies

The Black Stiletto Series
The Black Stiletto
The Black Stiletto: Black & White
The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes

Novels
Evil Hours
Face Blind

Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell (as David Michaels)
Tom Clancy's Splinter Cell: Operation Barracuda (as David Michaels)
Sweetie's Diamonds
A Hard Day's Death
Metal Gear Solid (based on the videogame)
Metal Gear Solid 2: Sons of Liberty (based on the videogame)
Dark Side of the Morgue
Hunt Through Napoleon's Web (as Gabriel Hunt)
Homefront: The Voice of Freedom (cowritten with John Milius)
Torment
Artifact of Evil
Hitman: Damnation

James Bond Novels
Zero Minus Ten
Tomorrow Never Dies (based on the screenplay)
The Facts of Death
High Time to Kill
The World Is Not Enough (based on the screenplay)
Doubleshot
Never Dream of Dying
The Man with the Red Tattoo
Die Another Day (based on the screenplay)
The Union Trilogy (anthology)
Choice of Weapons (anthology)

Nonfiction
The James Bond Bedside Companion
Jethro Tull: Pocket Essential
Thrillers: 100 Must-Reads: Ian Fleming's
From Russia, with Love
(contributing essayist)
Tied In: The Business, History and Craft of Media Tie-In Writing (contributor)

The Fourth Diary—1961

A Novel

Raymond Benson

Copyright © 2014 by Raymond Benson

FIRST EDITION

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, and incidents either are the products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, businesses, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-60809-101-0

Published in the United States of America by Oceanview Publishing,
Longboat Key, Florida
www.oceanviewpub.com

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

For Judy, My Sister

The author wishes to thank the following individuals for their help: Mike Christensen, Dan Duling, Susan Hayes, Helmi Hisserich, David Kahn, James McMahon, Pam Stack, Grace Stewart, Bert Witte, Pat and Bob Gussin, and everyone at Ocean-view Publishing, Peter Miller, and my family, Randi and Max.

While every attempt has been made to ensure the accuracy of New York City, Los Angeles, and Las Vegas in 1961, the Second Avenue Gym, the East Side Diner, the Krav Maga Studio, and Flickers nightclub are fictitious.

The Black Stiletto
Secrets & Lies

T
HE
P
RESENT

It was bad news, and to be honest, I expected it all along. Maggie and I both knew that Mom had grown worse over the past couple of months, so I was a little anxious when March rolled around. That meant it was time for Mom's biannual evaluation.

Maggie was now the sole physician who monitored her at the nursing home. A neurologist had come in to give Mom tests, and two days later Maggie called me in to discuss them. Sandy, the head nurse, and Melissa, the director of the dementia unit, were also in the room.

“Your mother is experiencing a rapid decline. I'm afraid you're going to find the Alzheimer's symptoms getting worse. We'll have to resign ourselves to, well, just making her comfortable from here on out.”

The room was silent for a moment as my mind refused to register her words. Was Maggie saying Mom was going to die soon? My mother? Judy Talbot?

The woman the world once knew as the Black Stiletto?

Sometimes I forgot Maggie and I were the only ones who knew that.

“I'm sorry, Martin,” Maggie added.

“I'm afraid I agree, Doctor,” Sandy said. “I've been observing Judy a lot.” She looked at me and also said, “I'm sorry, Martin.”

I'm not sure exactly what I felt. Shock, sure. Anger, absolutely. The disease was cruel, brutal, and unfair. Was I sad? Of course. But there was also a little guilt for being relieved. “Happy” wasn't the right word, but I was glad she wouldn't have to suffer through the indignity of it all much longer.

“What kind of time frame are we talking about?” I asked, but my throat was dry and my voice cracked.

“It's difficult to say,” Maggie said. “We've talked about it before, Martin. At this stage, although it's entirely possible she could live another year, it's probably more realistic that she has only a handful of months, maybe just a few weeks. If you're using a three-stage model for the disease's progression, she's definitely in stage three. With the Reisberg Scale, she's at six and will soon be at seven.”

I looked at Maggie and almost said something I would have regretted. It always amazed me that she became so businesslike and matter-of-fact when she was playing her role as a doctor. I was no longer the boyfriend, but rather the patient's son. It was easy to think of her as “Margaret” rather than “Maggie.”

“You've seen her yourself. Her ability to speak is extremely limited. Since I've been treating her, she was never much of a talker, but three months ago she could have had something of a conversation. Now she's very quiet; it appears that it's a great effort for her to say anything.”

“She called me Little Man Martin the other day,” I interjected.

“What?”

“Mom called me Little Man Martin. It was something she used to call me when I was little. Uh,
real
little.”

“You never told me that,” Maggie said, laughing a little. “That's cute.”

“So doesn't that mean there are still memories in her head?”

“Sure there are. They're all in there, but she can't get to them. You know all this. Alzheimer's is like a computer virus, only in this case the computer is the human brain. Even in this late stage, your mother will continue to remember things, but they will usually be
out of context. She may pull something out of nowhere and surprise you, but it's almost always spontaneous and not a result of conscious thinking on her part.”

“The more serious developments are the physical impairments,” Sandy said. “More and more the staff has to hand feed her. She can't bathe or dress herself. She lost control over toilet habits months ago.”

I knew that. Things were diminishing at a rapid rate.

“I'm sorry, Martin.” Maggie squeezed my hand. “I know it's hard.”

“So what do we do?”

“Like I said, we try to make her comfortable. Just do what you've been doing, Martin—take it one day at a time. It's all we
can
do.”

When I arrived at the office for another round of scintillating tax returns, I mumbled a hello to Shirley, the receptionist and legal aide, and went straight to my desk. I guess you could say the morning meeting with Dr. Margaret McDaniel really bummed me out. It wasn't like it was a surprise. I've always known Mom would die eventually. It was just a question of when. Lord knew she deserved to be spared such an ugly death; I supposed she was fortunate in that the disease worked uncommonly fast on her. She went through in three years what most Alzheimer's patients suffered in ten.

Damn it, whenever I seriously considered Mom's mortality, I was invariably reminded of her old alter ego. Since Christmas I hadn't thought much about the Black Stiletto. That was by choice, too. My anxiety disorder flared up if I thought about her too much. It's why I stopped reading the diaries. I read through the third one and stopped. It upset me too much, I just couldn't do it. There were two more books, one covering 1961, the other, '62—the year I was born. Was my birth the reason for the Black Stiletto's disappearance? I knew I'd learn something about my father if I continued reading. He was supposed to be Richard Talbot, killed during the first year of the Vietnam War, which was a little odd because nothing too serious was really happening over there that early on. I don't know
how he died or what he looked like. Mom erased every sign of his existence. She never talked about him.