by Robert Craig
“Afternoon,” Willie said cheerfully as he strolled past the station toward a red exit sign halfway down the hall.
“You working here?” a gray-haired nurse inquired after looking him up and down with obvious distaste.
“No, ma’am. I’m working down in Pediatrics.” The moment he said it Willie wished he’d kept his mouth shut Saying too much always got him in trouble.
“Then you’re going the wrong way. Pediatrics is in the north wing.” The nurse shook her head and turned to the guard. “Pediatrics doesn’t use a staff orderly, do they, Lem?”
“You’ve got a point there,” the guard agreed. He now looked suspiciously at Willie, who still continued to walk away from them despite the nurse’s imprecations. “Come over here a second, will you, boy?” The guard pulled himself up straight and squared his shoulders.
At that precise moment the cop who guarded Lester rounded the corner, saw Willie, and shouted, “Stop that motherfucker!”
If the suddenness of the outburst hadn’t stunned the group at the nurses’ station, the epithet did. They all-security guard included-stared at the red-faced cop barreling down the corridor like a maniac escaped from the locked ward. “Grab that cocksucker!” the cop yelled in desperation.
By the time the security guard snapped to and started down the hall, Willie was through the exit door, leaping down stairs three at a time. His only chance was to make it to the main floor, then back out to the street before anyone had a chance to contact the hospital’s main security force. He needed to stop and catch his breath; his heart pounded in against his chest and the blood rushed to his head, flashing against his eyes in spurts of white and red. He needed to stop, but the sounds of clattering footsteps behind him kept him running.
On the ground floor Willie pushed against the steel door that led into the main lobby. It was locked! He leaned full against it, shoving with his shoulder-the door stood fast. The sounds of the cops grew closer, and with one final desperate push Willie ran against the door. It sprang open into the busy hallway and knocked over a dietitian carrying a food tray. At the same time, it set off an alarm that rang ferociously down the corridor.
Willie spun into the hallway from the force of his run, nearly tripped, but quickly righted himself and ran full-out toward the exit out onto Fifth Avenue. Once outside, he halted on the sidewalk, temporarily blinded by the sun. Which way should he go? The cops were sure to be converging on the hospital from all directions. Only Central Park across the street seemed a safe escape. He’d run through the park and exit on the West Side. Then he’d decide what to do about Lester.
As he stepped into the street, a car screeched to a halt in front of him and the driver leaned out. “Going somewhere, Mr. Hoyte?”
Willie’s throat constricted so tightly he choked. He peered into the car, his eyes wide with fright. He expected a cop. He expected to be hauled off to jail, then to disappear like Lester Baker because he, too, now knew too much. He expected all that, but what he found was Frank Corelli sitting as impassively as the Cheshire cat in Alice’s nightmare.
Without a moment’s hesitation Willie leaped into the car and pulled the door closed. “Let’s get the fuck outta here, Corelli!”
“Seems I’m in the habit of saving your ass, Willie.” Corelli pulled away from the curb just as the cop and hospital security guard ran out onto the pavement. “Now, maybe you can start returning the favors.”
Twenty minutes later they were silently seated over coffee at one of the many Greek-owned coffee shops that speckle the Upper West Side of Manhattan. Corelli’s patience was about at an end. He was willing to allow Willie all the time he needed to explain why he’d flown out of the hospital like a cannon shot, but it was getting late and Willie was being evasive.
“Want to tell me about it, Willie?” Frank finally probed after ordering a third cup of coffee.
“Tell you about what, man?”
“Tell me why the hell you’re dressed like young Dr. Kildare. And tell me why you left the hospital like the KKK was on your heels.”
“Bug off, Corelli!” Willie replied sarcastically.
Corelli slammed his hand down on the tabletop, jarring the coffee cups and knocking over a napkin holder. Several other patrons, disturbed by the sound, looked up anxiously; then they turned away, pretending nothing had happened; they didn’t want to get involved.
“It looks to me like you’re in one hell of a mess, Willie. You’re wearing someone else’s uniform-Washington Calhoun, if I read correctly-and you’re in trouble with the law.”
“You don’t know no such thing.”
“Save the bullshit for your puppy dogs from hell. I’m a cop. I can smell it when someone’s in trouble, and you stink of it! Now, do you want to discuss it here in this nice, friendly atmosphere, or do I take you back to the hospital and find out just what’s up?”
Willie thought a moment, then relented. “Okay, okay. You proved your point, man. You’re one big tough cop.” He sipped his coffee, trying to ignore his grudging admiration for Corelli. He didn’t treat Willie or his boys like scum, the way so many TA cops did. Corelli was willing to level with him. “I had to get into the hospital to see El Bee,” he finally admitted, waiting for the policeman to ask just what that name meant.
“Did you see Lester?” Corelli, of course, knew Baker’s nickname, had even met him a couple of times. But what got his ass was: just how the hell did Hoyte know where Baker was, when it had taken him all morning to find out? Of course, Washington Calhoun, the orderly. “Well, did you see him?” Willie reluctantly nodded. “And…?”
“They got Lester tied down in bed. He’s so doped up he don’t hardly know where he is. He got the word to Bimbo”-he pointed to the name tag on his shirt-”that he wanted to see me. El Bee and me go way back to Lenox Avenue.”
“He’s tied up?”
Willie nodded. “They got him shackled down at the wrists and ankles like when they’re afraid someone is going to try to hurt hisself.”
“Or get away,” Corelli mused.
“And there’s a cop sitting outside in another room.”
“He’s not in the hall where he can be seen?”
“No, sir. They’s an empty room right next door. You got to get by this big mick to see El Bee.”
“And you just waltzed past him, pretending to be an orderly?”
“I sure did,” Willie replied proudly. “That cop was as dumb as a donkey’s asshole.”
Corelli had struck gold! If the NYPD had Baker confined to solitary at New York Mercy Hospital with an armed guard, that could only mean that he knew something, had seen something-something connected with all the other subway troubles. The TA report was innocuous enough about what had happened: Baker had been apprehended in the car yard after being attacked by one of the guard dogs, and was taken to Columbia Presbyterian. It also mentioned that he’d been hysterical when caught, and Corelli had at first overlooked that point-who wouldn’t be hysterical after being attacked by a German shepherd? Now that particular piece of information seemed more ominous.
Corelli was starting to see that it was Lester Baker who held the key to this puzzle at the moment. He’d sensed it from the start, from the moment he’d read the report. Frank had seen too many routine reports in his time not to be suspicious. It wasn’t so much what the report had said as what it didn’t say. For one thing, guard dogs didn’t just attack without provocation; something had angered or frightened the beast enough to cause it to bite Baker; for another, the mental state of the apprehended is rarely mentioned-unless “hysterical” meant raving mad. And what, in the subway yard, could drive a guard dog into a vicious frenzy and cause Lester Baker nearly to lose his mind?
“What did your friend El Bee have to say for himself?” Corelli asked nonchalantly.
“Nothing much,” Willie answered, just as blasé. Corelli stared at him a moment, then finished his coffee, called for the check, and dug into his pocket for his wallet When he pushed his chair b
ack as if to leave, Willie finally reacted. “What you doing?” he asked suspiciously.
“We’re getting out of here. I’m taking you back across town to New York Mercy.” “Now, hold on, Corelli-”
“You hold on, mister. I don’t know what kind of game you think you’re playing, but count me out. You want to act like a prick, go ahead. But you’re going to have to do it with the men in blue. I’ve had it.”
“You take me back there, and I’m going to disappear like Lester did. There’s some bad shit going down at that hospital that someone don’t want nobody to know about.”
“Then for Christ’s sake, tell me what happened.” Frank settled back in the chair and waited.
Willie started talking slowly, keeping his eyes riveted on the coffee cup in front of him. He now wished he’d never had that call from Bimbo Calhoun, never gone to see El Bee. Willie was wishing that he were far away in a safe place where nothing could harm him. But the old feelings of insecurity tumbled back. He fought desperately to fend them off, but lost. It was like when his father went to prison. Willie’s world fell down around him and left him feeling like he was standing at the top of a flagpole on one foot.
By the time he finished retelling Lester’s story, his voice was trembling with emotion. By El Bee’s bed Willie had forced himself to remain calm while the tale of horror was revealed. But telling Corelli proved too much for him, and the pure, raw emotion spilled forth. Willie reached for his coffee and spilled it over the table because his hands were shaking so badly.
“Hey, take it easy,” Corelli soothed as he mopped up the mess with a handful of napkins. “You’ll be all right.”
“Sure’s hell I will,” Hoyte replied defiantly.
“It’s all right to be upset. You’ve been through hell in the last couple of hours.”
Willie clucked his tongue and shook his head. “Maybe where you come from it’s cool to bawl like a baby, but where I come from, anyone sees tears and you’re dead.”
“I come from Brooklyn, and the last guy who laughed because I was man enough to show how I felt is now wearing his face on the back of his head.”
“You something else, Corelli.” Willie laughed.
“You’re doing okay yourself, Mr. Hoyte,” he said easily. His flattery wasn’t entirely without purpose; Willie now knew as much as Lester Baker, and that made him valuable-and dangerous. “El Bee said he was with friends when he was attacked? Are you sure of that?” The report hadn’t mentioned anyone else being present.
“He was with four guys. He say they all dead now.”
“Then what happened to their bodies?” Willie started at the word “bodies,” and Corelli immediately regretted being so blunt. “I know it’s tough for you to talk about this, but it’s important.”
“He never got to tell me everything. That cop busted in on us.”
“Well, you’ve done fine, Willie. Just fine,” Frank said sincerely. The fact was there were still things to know, but he’d have to hear them from Lester Baker himself. But that wasn’t going to be easy. He’d been taken to New York Mercy Hospital and was being kept doped up in maximum security. All because he’d been attacked and his men had been killed. By what? Something monstrous. Something too horrible to talk about. Somebody didn’t want him to talk. Somebody didn’t want the story of the things in the subway to get out. Somebody with enough pull in this city to erase the trail that led from Lenox Avenue to the morgue. Somebody who would go to any lengths to keep this quiet.
Any lengths. Corelli wondered just how far they would go when the chips were down. It was important that he know, for he was the one person in New York who had traced the pattern from the subway to New York Mercy. And that made him a threat! And, goddammit, he’d already bragged to Dolchik about tipping off the newspapers if necessary. And he’d blown his cover with the pathologist, Dr. Tom Geary… and with the nurse at Columbia Presbyterian… and with the receptionist at New York Mercy. If he weren’t careful, Frank Corelli would not only help put the noose around his own neck but also help spring the trapdoor!
But right now there were other things to do than worry about his own safety. “Go home and keep your mouth shut, Willie. Give back the uniform and tell Bimbo that as far as he’s concerned he never saw Lester Baker and that he never saw you. And for God’s sake don’t tell anyone the story El Bee told you.”
Willie shook his head angrily. “Man, these things live in the subway and it’s my sworn duty as a Dog of Hell to protect people riding down there.”
“Your duty is to do what I say, Willie.”
“You ain’t the boss, man.”
“I’ve got a straight line to the boss. You and your Dogs of Hell have been pretty lucky so far, whether you know it or not. You’ve been clever pulling the press in to keep a high profile, but let me tell you something, man,” Corelli leaned forward to emphasize his impending threat. “Anytime the TA gets the notion to shut you down, it will, legally or otherwise. And if you think I’m bullshitting, you’re dreaming. If I hear one story from anyone about monsters living in the subway, you’ll be fucked so fast you won’t even know your ass was up in the air! Have I made myself clear?”
Willie didn’t reply.
“I repeat: Have I made myself clear, Mr. Hoyte?”
“You sure have, you bastard,” Willie spit out.
Corelli relaxed. The threat had worked. “Glad to see the old Willie Hoyte back once again. Now that we’ve got the intimidation out of the way, I’m going to need your help.” Willie’s eyes brightened at the thought. “I want you and your boys to listen to what people are saying in the subway; watch the tunnels, too, particularly late at night, and report anything unusual to me. We’ve got to find out where these things come from.”
“You mean I’m getting a piece of the action?”
“All you want, but you’ve got to keep it quiet. If you don’t, like you said, you might end up like Baker-tied down in a hospital room with a guard-or like Ted Slade.”
Willie’s eyes blazed with hate at the thought of his buddy and what had happened to him. “No way they gonna get Willie Hoyte that easily. I’ll give the muthafuckers a run for their money.”
Corelli smiled at Willie’s loyalty to his men and to his own ideals. If only there were more Willie Hoytes in New York, the city might not be such a bad place to live. “Let’s get out of here. I’ll drop you home.”
Fifteen minutes later Willie jumped out of the car in front of his apartment building. “You know, Corelli, for a cop-a white cop-you ain’t such a bad dude.” He slammed the door and walked away.
Corelli put the car in gear and headed back downtown. He had a plan. But it wouldn’t work unless he had help. And there was only one place he could go. He just hoped Louise was at home. She didn’t know it yet, but she was about to become the most important person in unraveling this whole mess. Like it or not, Louise Hill was about to put herself in grave danger.
Corelli pressed the doorbell and waited. He should have called Louise, but he was afraid she’d hear the worry in his voice. He had a better chance of getting her help by talking to her in person. The door opened and Louise stood there, amazed by his presence.
“Hi there,” Corelli said easily. Her trim body was hidden under a paint-covered smock, but he stared anyway.
“This is a surprise,” she said.
“I’m full of surprises,” he joked.
Her eyes twinkled mischievously and her mouth puckered into an exasperated pout. “Why is it that that doesn’t amaze me, Frank?” She brushed her hair off her forehead, leaving a vague trail of magenta paint in its place. “Come in, I can use the break.”
He slipped just far enough into the apartment to crowd them both in the vestibule. Almost before he knew what was happening, he’d begun to think of Louise as a beautiful woman once again, instead of the decoy he’d been thinking about all the way downtown. Damn, working with her was going to be harder than he’d imagined. Intellectually, he wanted to keep his distanc
e from her; emotionally, he wanted to put his hands all over her. As a compromise he erased the telltale paint smudge from her forehead with his thumb. He proudly held it up for inspection.
“That’s next year’s hot color in artist’s makeup.” She blushed.
“And this is this year’s hot artist,” he complimented her, and before either of them knew what had happened, Frank pulled her into his arms and kissed her for a long time.
Louise pulled away and shook her head. She looked scared. “You shouldn’t have done that, Frank. I’m in a very dangerous emotional state today and I might just really fall apart on you.”
“Bad news?” He took her by the arm and guided her into the now familiar living room.
“The police called this morning. They have no clues as to Lisa’s whereabouts, but they promised to keep me posted.” She sat down and sighed. “I know what they really meant: Lisa’s gone for good. They’re not even trying to reassure me anymore. I guess they want me to face up to the fact that my baby’s gone… dead.” Louise took in a deep breath and settled back in the chair. “When I hung up, I ran into my studio without giving myself a minute to think. I’ve been working for the past few hours without daring to stop. Why, I’ve designed enough sheets and towels to get me through the next four spring seasons.” She tried to smile, but it crumbled on her lips.
“There still may be a chance,” Corelli said after a minute.
“Don’t say that, Frank. It’s not fair,” she burst out, “not when I’m just beginning to get used to the idea that Lisa is gone for good.”
Corelli sat next to her, and when she didn’t resist, he put his arm around her shoulders. “I’ve been doing my own investigating, looking in a direction the police haven’t explored,” he said softly. “And I think I’ve come up with some answers.”