Secrets & Lies (18 page)

And then another patrol car pulled onto 2nd from Avenue C, right in front of me. Once again, I found myself penned in, trapped in the middle of a block with cops at either end. Luckily, I was on the north side of 2nd beneath a fire escape that appeared to be trustworthy. I uncoiled my rope, attached the hook, and quickly swung it up to grasp the bottom rung of the ladder and pull it down. I scurried up to the first landing, the second, and so on to the top. It was a bit of a body stretch to grab hold and climb over the eave and then roll onto the roof. By then, there were cops on the street below me, shouting at me to come down. They had bright searchlights aimed
at the building. I didn't stick around, of course. I dashed across to the back of the roof and
leaped
over the six-foot gap between it and the rear of the slightly shorter building behind it on 3rd Street. The jump wasn't too difficult. From there I darted west across the structures, back toward Avenue B. As soon as I saw an adequate fire escape on 3rd that would do, I jumped from the roof to the top landing, and hurried down to the ground. The police knew what I was up to, so they were already moving around Avenue B to intercept me at the intersection. In order for me to get home, I had to cross B, Avenue A, and 1st Avenue. It wasn't going to be a stroll in the park.

I ran like the dickens, reaching the intersection just as the cops did. A car pulled up, lights blazing, attempting to block the road. Two men on foot rushed around the corner to meet me head-on. The only way around them was to take a running jump and push myself off the pavement onto the patrol car itself. I scrambled over the hood and bolted out into Avenue B traffic. Horns blared, but at least this time I didn't cause any accidents. I made it across the road and kept running along 3rd Street toward Avenue A. I'm a fast runner, dear diary, I could probably be an Olympic champion if I so desired, so I knew I'd reach the next intersection before the police got it together enough to chase me.

Crossing Avenue A turned out to be no problem. By then, though, sirens filled the air. One car pursued me on the street. More vehicles were most likely speeding west to cut me off at 1st Avenue. People on the sidewalks had no idea what was going on, and clusters of pedestrians shrieked as I shot toward them. “Out of the way! Out of the way!” I shouted. I was afraid I'd knock someone down, but they parted like the Red Sea in
The Ten Commandments
. When I reached the intersection of 3rd Street and 1st Avenue, I took no time to check for traffic. I figured there were going to be cars no matter what I did, so I tore across and hoped for the best. More horns and screeching of tires. A police car collided into a taxi to my left. I didn't stop to see how bad it was. If I could reach my telephone pole in time,
I thought perhaps I could make it across the roofs to 2nd Avenue and slip into my bedroom window above the gym before the cops got around there.

The pole stood in shadows, which was why I used it. I snaked up to the roof and laid flat on it just as the police swarmed the street below me. I heard calls of “Where'd she go?” and “What happened to her?” They hadn't seen me, so I thought I was in luck. I got up and crossed the top of each building until I reached the gym roof. I put a leg over and slipped down to the ledge below my window. I raised the sash and started to crawl inside—when I heard “Halt! You at the window!”

There was a lone policeman on the roof of the building immediately south of the gym. He had a gun pointed at me, although the angle wasn't very good. The problem was that he'd seen me attempting to enter the gym window. He'd know that building meant something to me and that I hadn't randomly picked it.

So I climbed back to the roof and took off east. As I hoped, the cop chased me. “Halt!” he yelled. “You can't escape! You're surrounded!” I thought I'd try leaping south over the gap to a building facing 1st Street. The space was a little larger than before, so I got a running start and imagined myself doing the broad jump back in school. I barely made it, but had to drop and roll with the landing. Once I was on my feet, I kept going east, desperately looking for an egress in the front of a building. I didn't think the cop would dare attempt the same maneuver across the gap, but he did.

He didn't make it.

I heard him cry behind me. “Help! Help!”

I'm pretty sure I cursed aloud and stopped. What to do? What to do? I had to see the predicament he was in. I rushed back to the edge of the roof and looked down between the buildings. The policeman was hanging onto the iron bars covering a back window, maybe thirty feet below me. If he fell, he'd drop four stories.

“Hold on!” I called. What else could I do? I uncoiled my rope and dropped a line to him. “Grab it and I'll pull you up!” The man
was terrified. The rope swung back and forth near his body; he tried to catch it, but missed. He was deathly afraid of removing one hand from the bars, even for the second it would take to clutch the rope. He managed to grasp it on the third try, though, and then clung on with both hands. I then used all my strength to pull him up. He was heavy and it was slow going. “My hands are slipping!” he yelled, and I shouted for him to hold on. A couple of other cops showed up on the ground below us. I heard them talk into their radios, probably alerting their colleagues as to what was happening.

When the policeman was about fifteen feet below me, I saw the terror in his eyes. “Hold on, sir, you can do it,” I told him. “Just a few more feet and you'll be safe.” I strained on the end of that rope, dear diary; I
really tried
to pull him up. And we almost made it, until his hands slipped.

He fell.

There was a moment of stillness, despite the clamor of police sirens in the vicinity. Then one of the cops standing below pointed at me and yelled, “Cop killer!” Oh, my God, I was suddenly very scared. I thought they'd catch me and unmask me and charge me with the murder of a NYPD
policeman
. I knew I had to get away. Disappear. Run. I took off from the edge of the roof and headed back toward 1st Avenue. The only way I could avoid capture was to find a way down without being seen, slip on my trench coat, unmask myself, and blend in with some pedestrians or enter a restaurant. My telephone pole was relatively inconspicuous, so I returned there. A lot of activity buzzed below me. Curious residents emerged from their homes to see what all the fuss was about, and cops appeared here and there, up and down the block. If I dared to descend, would anyone see me? I thought perhaps if I moved slowly—crept like a cat—down the pole, I wouldn't be noticed. I'd just be a black shape against a dark background. The pole stood directly between two brownstones that seemed to never have lights on.

Normally, I can move up or down that pole from the roof to the ground in eight seconds. This time it took ten minutes. I grabbed
the pole and inched down a foot or two and then stopped. I'd wait, assess the street below, and move on in a few seconds. At one point about halfway down, I had to remain frozen on that pole for four minutes. There was a sudden flurry of traffic, probably in reaction to news that the cops had the Black Stiletto trapped. I thought for sure someone would see me, but I must have appeared to be just a piece of utility line equipment. As those minutes ticked by, though, I was almost in tears from the fright. I've never been that scared of getting caught before, but last night I was.

Finally, it was safe to finish the descent. I stood in the shadows and waited for a handful of pedestrians to pass. Then I quickly removed the coat from my backpack, put it on, removed the mask, and walked out onto the sidewalk, carrying the pack. I did my best not to hurry. As nonchalantly as I could, I walked to 2nd Avenue, but I didn't go to the gym. I couldn't take the chance that someone was watching me. So I turned north and headed for the East Side Diner at 4th Street. I just knew some cops would jump out of nowhere and wrestle me to the ground. I'd never make it. I was doomed.

But no one bothered me. I kept my head down.

I sat in the diner for over an hour and a half. Ordered some food. Pretended I was just another New Yorker having a late dinner. To be safer, though, I went to the ladies' room and took off the leather jacket, rope, belt, and stiletto, and stuffed them all in the backpack. I wore a man's T-shirt under the trench coat, so I left the coat on, but unbuttoned. In the mirror I didn't think I'd come off as suspicious looking. As long as a cop didn't ask to look in my backpack, I thought I'd actually be all right.

During that hour, the sirens eventually died down. An ambulance must have come to take the fallen policeman away. At one point, a cop stuck his head in, spoke to Elaine, a waitress I know, and I heard her answer, “Nobody's come in or out for at least an hour.” Seeing that everyone in the place had plates in front of them, he figured it wasn't possible anyone could be involved. His eyes did linger on me a little longer than the others, but I just ignored him
and ate a piece of pie. My stomach was in knots, though. Finally, he left.

It was after eleven, when the diner closed, that I braved the walk to the gym. There was still a lot of traffic on 2nd Avenue, but I was pretty sure the police had given up. I unlocked the door and went inside, and there was Freddie. He had tears in his eyes. I just looked at him and said, “Oh, Freddie.” And I burst into tears. He came to me and hugged me.

“I'm so mad at you,” he said, sobbing and clutching me for dear life.

“I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” was all I could say.

We held each other and cried together. At last he broke away and gazed at me. “I'm afraid you can't live here anymore,” he said.

“I know.”

“The police came. They wanted to search the building. I told them they needed a warrant. They didn't like that. They'll be back in the morning, you can count on it. We have to get you out of here. I'm sorry, but if they know a girl lives here, they're going to put two and two together.”

“I know.”

Without another word, we both went upstairs and started moving stuff out of my room. Freddie found some boxes in the storage room, as well as my old battered suitcase I'd brought with me from Texas. I'd forgotten all about it. That was sure a long time ago.

“Do you have any money?” Freddie asked.

I told him about the savings I kept hidden in a dresser drawer. I've never used a bank except to cash checks. I had nearly
1,900.

“Do you know where you'll go?”

I knew then and there it was going to be Los Angeles, and I told him so. He hated to hear that I'd be that far away, but after he accepted the idea, he looked up train and bus schedules. The train was the better option, and if I could be at Grand Central by 7:00, I could be gone.

It was really hard deciding what I could bring with me, and, in
the end, it turned out to be not much. I filled the suitcase with the money, some clothes, and shoes. My backpack held my Stiletto gear, as well as a few odds and ends I wanted to keep. My record player and record collection would have to stay, and Freddie told me maybe someday he could ship it to me. He was never an Elvis fan, so he made me laugh when he said he'd especially take good care of my Elvis records by never playing them, ha ha.

We then stripped that room of any sign of my presence. The photos on the walls, the sheets and blankets, everything in the dresser, you name it. The bathroom was worse; it was full of my junk. We worked all night until six in the morning. Freddie had a key to the building's storage room, not just the gym's, so he put it all in there. When we were finished, the room just had some bare furniture in it and appeared as if no one had lived it in for months.

“You'd better get going. There's no telling when they'll arrive,” he said. “I'll call a taxi.” I was a little in shock. I couldn't believe I was leaving. The gym had been my home for nearly ten years.

After he made the phone call, Freddie said, “I'll tell Lucy and Peter something. And all the guys.”

“Oh, Freddie!” I cried again, hugging him. “You've been so good to me, I love you,” I told him. He started bawling again and told me he loved me, too. Gosh, the tears are flowing as I write this. I'm going to miss him terribly.

The cab took me to Grand Central, I bought a ticket to Los Angeles, which comprised of two trains, the
20th Century Limited
and
Super Chief
. Before boarding, I grabbed a
Daily News
with the headline: NYPD VS. BLACK STILETTO. I desperately scanned it, looking for any news about the policeman. It didn't reveal much except that he was alive. The man was in critical condition in the hospital.

Oh, Lord, if you're really there, please help Clark and the policeman, and give me the strength to face whatever lies ahead.

Good-bye, New York!