Authors: Ira Berkowitz
“Hell of a note, isn't it, Steeg?” he gasped from the stretcher.
A fine sheen of sweat covered his face, and his skin was the color of ash.
“Hell of a note,” I agreed. “How're you doing?”
“Feels like someone took a hacksaw to my shoulder.”
“You're lucky I'm not fitting you for a toe tag,” one of the EMT guys said.
“A cheery thought,” Kenny said.
“No, it's a fact,” the EMT guy said. “When we get to the hospital, the docs'll dig the slug out, and in a couple of days or so you'll be good to go.”
He checked Kenny's dressing. “Look's like the bleeding's under control,” he said. “I've got some paperwork to do.” He pointed to a spot near the driver. “If you need me, holler.”
“I keep running up a tab with you, Kenny,” I said.
“Big-time,” he said, wincing as the ambulance hit a bump.
“Fucking potholes!” the driver said.
“Did my wife and kids see what happened, Steeg?”
Tough question to answer since my view of pretty much everything had been blocked by Kenny's body lying on top of mine. But I gave Kenny the only answer that would give him some measure of peace.
“I don't think so. Everyone scattered.”
“Thank God for small blessings,” he said. “Now what?”
“You rest up for a while. Heal. And you'll be fine.”
“That's not what I was talking about. That crazy fucker is hell-bent on blowing you away. And you don't have me to watch your back.”
“Maybe it's time to do some hunting of my own.”
W
hile I waited for Kenny to come out of surgery, I got a call from Nick.
“Steeg, someone came by looking for you,” he said.
“Was he carrying a piece?”
“What're you talking about?”
“I'm at Maimonides Medical Center in Borough Park. Kenny just took a bullet for me.”
His voice was low. “He gonna make it?”
“Shoulder is all messed up. Docs are working on him now. But, yeah. He'll be fine.”
“What the hell were you doing in Brooklyn?”
“Kenny wanted to see his kids. I tagged along. Happened right outside their school.”
“That's truly fucked. Who did it? The two psychos who were in here a while ago?”
“Yep. Or one of them at least. Kenny took the other one out last night. Dumped his body out near Kennedy.”
“Nice. But I prefer Rockland County. Lots of wooded areas. Guys I stashed there twenty years ago still haven't been found.”
“You always were a purist.”
“If something's worth doing, it's worth doing right.”
“Words to live by,” I said. “Look, I need a favor.”
“Name it.”
“Kenny blew him away outside Allie's apartment house. It doesn't take Charlie Chan to figure out that Ennis now knows where she lives.”
“And you want someone to sort of watch over her.”
“Surreptitiously. She can't know that she's being guarded. Allie kind of pushes back when I'm being overly protective.”
“And that someone would be me.”
“Will you do it?”
“In a heartbeat. Allie won't even know I'm around.”
“Perfect. Now, let's get back to the individual who was looking for me.”
“Make her for a hooker. Said her name is Gloria. Dawn's friend. Gave me her number. You want it?”
W
e met at a ragged-around-the-edges Times Square bar that years ago began life as a jazz club. Now it catered to tourists and conventioneers looking to get laid.
Gloria sat at a table in the back nursing a beer. She'd cleaned up some since I had seen her at Dawn's apartment.
I took a seat opposite her.
“How'd you know where to find me?” I said.
“Your card. You gave it to Dawn. Remember? Never heard of somebody usin' a saloon as a business address.”
“Unfortunately, it's where I spend most of my time.”
She shrugged. “Different strokes.”
“What happened to Dawn?” I said.
“Martine happened to her.”
“Care to expand on that?”
“Dawn and Martine go way back,” she said. “Never did like each other. Rickie saw that Martine was doing real good and.
“Tried to shake her down.”
“That's about it. Fuckin' Rickie thought it was a great idea. Said he could handle things if they got rough. Well, they got real rough.” She looked up at the bar and called out, “Where the hell is my beer?”
The bartender threw her a look.
“Fuckin' place!” she said.
“Let's get back to Martine and Dawn.”
“So Rickie says a hundred large. Gonna be the score of a lifetime. Get us out of this fuckin' city. Go someplace warm. The three of us.” She shook her head. “Rickie always had somethin' workin'. Asshole!”
“So Dawn threatened to expose Another Chance as a prostitution ring. Martine luring the girls in with promises of a new life, and selling their bodies to the rich and famous.”
“And freaky. Shoulda known better than to screw with people like that.”
The bartender brought the beer over and thumped the bottle on the table.
“Jerkoff,” she muttered. “Where was I? Oh yeah, a couple of days after you dropped by, Martine's apes show up.”
“Where were you?”
“Out in the street. Comin' back from a ⦠business meeting, y'know? Anyway, I seen Martine's boyfriend Ennis and the other guy draggin' Dawn and Rickie out of the building and stuffing them in a car. Last I seen of them.”
“What'd you do?”
“Got my shit out of the apartment and split. That's where I found your card. Dawn threw it into a drawer.”
“What now?”
She smiled. “Found Rickie's stash while I was packin'. Enough to get me to Vegas.”
I laid a twenty on the table to pay for the beers.
There was no point mourning for Dawn. I had done that years ago.
I pushed the chair back and got to my feet. “Thanks for clearing things up.”
“There's more.”
I sat back down.
“You asked Dawn about a workin' girl who'd be pissed off enough to ice some johns.”
“I did.”
“There's one that Dawn and I used to talk about. The life truly fucks you up, but with this girl it went overboard.
Used to work for Martine. Saved her for the real fuckin' sickos. If anyone fit your bill, it would be her. I know where she is and can get you to her.”
“Why're you doing this?”
“Dawn said you were a good guy. She figured that Rickie had his head up his ass with his scheme. And she knew how it would turn out.”
“But she went along anyway?”
“Choice was a rock and a hard place. Martine or Rickie. Either way she lost. She figured maybe you'd see what Martine was up to and put her out of business.”
“She was right, but her timing was off.”
“Life can be a bitch.”
“This girl have a name?”
“Only her street name,” she said. “Randi.”
T
urns out my meeting wasn't with Randi, but with a woman named Tiffany. And I was instructed to bring five hundred dollars.
I met her at a diner near Penn Station. The place reeked of bacon grease. An old man with a milky eye and a goiter as big as an orange repeatedly dipped his mop into a pail full of dark gray water and swished at the slop that customers tracked into the restaurant. It was a losing proposition.
Tiffany was a tall black woman who used lots of peroxide on her hair and a heavy hand on her makeup. She looked to be in her early thirties, but I guessed her age at ten years younger. The life tends to wear you down.
“Got the money?” she said.
On my way to the diner, I'd tapped an ATM for five hundred. That left a hundred and twenty-seven until the next pension check hit my account. I pulled out a wad of
twenties and fanned them on the table. Her eyes actually dilated.
“If you've got Randi,” I said.
“I do.”
“Will she talk to me?”
“For another five.”
“For you, or for her?”
She smiled.
“A girl's got to make a living,” she said.
“OK. Where is she?”
“I'll take you to her.”
“When?”
“First thing in the morning.” Tiffany wrote the address on a napkin and slipped it across the table. “Randi's working tonight and got to earn. Gonna be a full night.”
“You're pimping her.”
“More like her booking agent. But we're doing the gig together. Bachelor party. Bunch of Wall Street types. And we're the headliners.”
“No business like show business.”
Tiffany shrugged.
“Pays the rent,” she said.
“Randi know about our little arrangement?”
“Not yet. But she won't have a problem.”
“Why's that?”
“We have a special relationship.”
“I can see that. She takes the risks, and you get the rewards.”
“It ain't what you think,” Tiffany said. “We love each
other. We're saving up and getting the hell out of this business. Gonna find a little place upstate, and it'll just be the two of us.”
The snakes in my head stirred. I knew I was close to blowing the deal, but the words came anyway.
“Yeah. With a white picket fence and rosebushes, and maybe a collie to romp around the yard,” I said. “Give me a fucking break!”
“It's not like that.”
“Yeah, it is. Don't give me this
love
shit. You're a pimp, and that's all she wrote.”
“Randi is sick. Real sick. After the fire that killed her sister, she ran. And I took her in. Ain't gonna be much more work for either of us. And I bought the place. Up in Rochester. Where I'm from.
Both
our names are on the deed. Show it to you if you like. No collie. No fence. And I don't know shit about rosebushes.”
“Sick, as in AIDS?”
“Breast cancer. Real advanced. Just a matter of time now. The docs wanted to do a double mastectomy, but Randi said no. We needed money for the down payment.” Her voice turned bitter. “And a whore without tits is not a big attraction.”
The snakes went back to their slumber.
“I'm sorry,” I said. “If there's anything I can do ⦔
“Our problem. No one else's. And we're dealing with it best we know how.” She put the bills in a stack and jammed them in her pocketbook. “And this is gonna help. Our line of work don't pay benefits.”
“There are other doctors. Have youâ?”
“Been to a bunch of them. All say the same thing. A year. Maybe less. Nothing more they can do for Wanda. My turn now.”
A bubble of white heat traveled up from my brain stem and settled just behind my eyes.
“Randi's name is Wanda?”
“Wanda Klemper. Funny, ain't it?”
Not from where I sat.
D
amon Runyon, one of the most perceptive observers of the human condition, once said, “I long ago came to the conclusion that life is six to five against.” For Wanda and Angela Klemper, the odds were off the board.
Birth to death in a few short, terrible years, and everyone responsible gets to skate. Kind of makes you wonder about a beneficent God and His magic wand of redemption.
And it makes you want to make someone pay.
I needed Allie to snap me out of my melancholy. But even though Nick was babysitting her, with Martine and Ennis still out there, my presence would have put her at risk.
I compromised by calling her. Just to check in.
“Hi,” I said. “How're you doing?”
“Things are settling back to normal. In a fashion.”
“Meaning?”
“How would you like to have dinner at my place tonight?”
With Nick outside playing Cerberus the three-headed dog, it was worth the risk.
“A sterling idea,” I said. “Let's order in. I've got a yen for Mexican.”
“Won't be necessary. Dinner is going to be a surprise.”
“You're cooking?”
“A lady has to have some secrets. See you at seven.”
I went home. Cleaned my Glock and loaded it. Dropped it, along with an extra clip, in my jacket pocket. Took a shower and a quick nap. And was out the door by six thirty, stopping only to pick up a dozen roses at Benny Kim's establishment.
The hallway outside Allie's apartment had the intense, garlicky aroma of a neighborhood Italian restaurant.
She greeted me at the door with a chaste peck on the lips.
“They're lovely, Steeg,” she said, taking the flowers. “Make yourself comfortable while I put them in water.”
I walked into the living room while Allie went to fetch a vase.
“So this is where the perfume's coming from,” I said.
“It is.”
“But you don't know how to cook.”
“That's the surprise. I engaged a chef just for tonight.”
“You're kidding.”
“Would you like to meet him?”
“Sure.”
She took my hand and led me into the kitchen, where Nick, looking for all the world like a crazed incarnation of Chef Boyardee, was laboring at the stove. “What in hell are you doing here?” I said.
“What's it look like I'm doing? You got veal and peppers, chicken cacciatore, sautéed arugula, linguini, garlic bread in the oven, and a salad of tomatoes and thinly sliced red onion. Lotta dishes working. Is there a problem?”
“Yeah. You were supposed to be invisible. What happened?”
“It was freezing outside, and I felt like a putz standing around in the lobby,” Nick said. “So I went up to the agency.”
I looked at Allie.
“I'm really sorry,” I said. “But ⦠y' know ⦠I was worried about you.”
“That was very thoughtful, Steeg. And Nick was, for the most part, discreet.”