Creepers

by Robert Craig

  “You’ve got a way with living things, Mrs. Hill…if you don’t mind me saying so.”

  Louise smiled. Right in the middle of a growing nightmare, Frank Corelli made her feel almost human again. It was no mean feat; she appreciated his concern and his attention and she wanted him to know it. “Detective Corelli, I don’t think I’d mind much of anything you say.” She finished her drink. “So what do we do now?”

  “We drop you in the Village.”

  “Not so fast, buster. What will you do while I twiddle my thumbs?”

  “I’ll just do a little educated snooping.” He signaled the waiter and paid the check.

  “I’m coming with you, Frank. All the way.” She pushed her chair back.

  “No way. Thanks to me, you’re in enough trouble. I’ve got too much to worry about without wondering if you’ll be okay.”

  She put her hands on her hips and glared at him. “If you don’t let me come with you, I’ll go off on my own. Promise.” She now folded her arms over her voluptuous breasts. “Now, you wouldn’t want that, would you?”

  Corelli stared at her breasts a moment, then shook his head for dramatic effect. Louise tagging along could only mean trouble. Whoever was behind the growing list of signs pointing to a major conspiracy to keep news of the “things” in the subway quiet was playing for keeps. They were only one step behind him, waiting for him to make the wrong move or to turn the wrong corner. If-when-that day came, Corelli didn’t want Louise by his side.”

  “Let’s talk about what you’re going to do when we get to the Village.”

  “I won’t give up, Frank,” she promised as he led her to the car. “And what happened to your doctor? Did you get the news you wanted?”

  Corelli shook his head. “The switchboard said he was on vacation, wouldn’t be back for a month.”

  Louise shook her head. “Now I won’t give up for sure. You’re going to need me, Frank.”

  Ten minutes later they pulled up in front of Louise’s apartment house. “I thought we were going downtown,” she said suspiciously.

  “There’s still time for you to get some clothes. I don’t know how long you’ll be away.”

  Louise wanted to smile bravely, but she couldn’t. It was one thing to sit at the Stanhope sipping a cool drink and talk of “hiding out”; it was another to be running into her apartment to pack a suitcase, wondering if she’d ever get out again. The connection between Lisa’s disappearance and being a fugitive was still too nebulous. Nothing Frank had told her made sense. And now she was running. But she didn’t know why, or from whom.

  “Let’s go.” Corelli opened the car door. The street was busy as usual; traffic to and from Broadway buzzed by them. Once inside the lobby, Frank hesitated and glanced back to the street, just to be sure. As he did, a black car pulled up opposite where he’d parked. The two men inside the car didn’t get out. Corelli squinted his eyes but didn’t recognize either man. He did, however, recognize that they were watching Louise’s building.

  “Something wrong?” Louise’s voice jolted him back to reality.

  “Just an overactive imagination,” he lied, pulling her away from the door. “Come on. I won’t feel good until we get you out of here.”

  While Louise packed a few things and arranged with her answering service to take messages, Frank stationed himself at the front window. The car was still there. One of the men had gotten out and was now assiduously studying the menu in the window of a nearby restaurant. By the time he was beginning to look conspicuous, Louise was back.

  “I have to make one phone call-to the police.”

  “Call from downtown,” he countered harshly. “Is there a back way out of here?”

  “There’s a back staircase that leads down to a service entrance.”

  “Good. I’m going to leave by the front door. You take your suitcase, walk downstairs, and leave by the service entrance. If you can, don’t let anyone see you.”

  “What is it?” Her voice was full of tinny fear.

  “Nothing that we can’t take care of.”

  Corelli rode down in the elevator. The operator was fixated on a small throaty portable radio that shouted at him in Spanish from a wooden stool in the car’s corner. On the ground floor, Corelli thanked him and sauntered slowly out of the building onto the street. The car and men were still there. As Corelli appeared on the sidewalk, the man at the restaurant window returned to his companion. They had a brief conversation.

  Corelli guessed that Louise’s absence surprised them. To them it must have meant not only that Corelli was unaware he’d been tailed but also that Louise Hill was now alone-and vulnerable. He held his breath. Now was the moment of truth: they either followed him or they stayed to snatch Louise-allowing him time to get back to get her.

  Baby, if there’s any justice left in this world, let them stay put, Frank prayed as he started the car and pulled out into traffic. When he stopped at the corner for a red light, he realized just how tightly he was holding the steering wheel and relaxed his grip. He swallowed hard, and hesitatingly, almost daintily, looked into the rearview mirror- the black car was still parked on the street. The two men had fallen for the ruse. And the moment he pulled around the corner, both men left the car and ran across the street to Louise’s apartment house. In another five minutes they’d discover they’d been had. It would be the longest five minutes of his life.

  Corelli sped down Columbus Avenue. He was racing against time, and soon Louise would be a sitting duck at the service entrance-unaware she was in danger. He hadn’t told her about the men because she would have panicked, and people do crazy things when they panic-freeze, run the wrong way, get hysterical-things that would endanger her. And in the crunch, if Louise blew it, Corelli would desert her. The idea annoyed him because he genuinely liked Louise, but his affection wasn’t so strong that he’d jeopardize his investigation.

  He turned into Seventy-eighth Street and almost ran head-on into a car stopped at the light. Jesus, he’d forgotten…it was a west-east street. He’d have to go all the way to Seventy-seventh, then around the block and up Amsterdam before getting back to Louise. He hadn’t calculated that delay. Shit! A dull panic began to fill his stomach as he swerved back into traffic and ran a red light onto Seventy-seventh Street. But it was no good, for a garbage truck sat squarely in the middle of the block.

  Corelli’s hands tightened on the wheel, grinding the hard plastic into the soft pads of his fingers. In his mind he saw Louise with her suitcase waiting for him while four stories above her the two men discovered they’d been had. He imagined her smiling face as she waited for him, staring out into the street as the service door opened behind her and the two men walked quickly, efficiently, silently to her side. She wouldn’t know they were there until it was too late.

  He leaned on his horn in a vain attempt to get the truck to move. The truck driver peered out at him from the large rearview mirror, shrugged, then looked away. Corelli ground his car into Park, leaped out, and a moment later stood panting on the running board of the truck.

  “Look, you sonofabitch, this is police business. I'll give you exactly five seconds to move your ass or 111 have you in for obstructing justice!”

  The driver’s eyes opened wide with surprise. “Sorry, sir, I-”

  “Never mind the excuses, just get going.”

  By the time Corelli had his car back in gear, the truck had pulled far enough aside to let him pass. He floored the engine and the car squealed by the truck, leaving a thick track of rubber on the pavement. He ran two more red lights and made it back to Seventy-eighth Street behind Louise’s building in thirty seconds. She was waiting for him up near the service entrance. Corelli swallowed hard to digest his fear, smiled, and waved to her.

  She smiled and waved back at him, then hoisted up her suitcase and began ambling toward him. She hadn’t seen his panic. Frank wasn’t much for prayer, but for the second time that day he began reciting every verse he’d ever learned as a chi
ld. The two men upstairs had had more than their allotted time to discover that Louise was gone-and where she’d gone. If they were smart, they’d already be quizzing the doorman about back exits. It was only seconds to the back entrance, and…

  The service door flew open and the two men ran out into the bright sun. They halted, shielded their eyes, and immediately saw Louise heading toward the car. There was nothing Corelli could do to help her. To get out now was to get himself caught, too. To yell was to scare Louise; she’d panic for sure. He only hoped she had enough sense to run like hell once the men made themselves known.

  “Hold it a moment, miss,” one of the men yelled.

  Louise turned, saw the two men, and broke into a run. She was little more than halfway between the car and the building, but she had a hell of a lot at stake. She hauled her suitcase to her chest and broke into a flat-out run that had her by the car in seconds. Corelli threw open the door, grabbed the suitcase, and pulled her in. He floored the car and sped away, just as the taller of the two men reached into his jacket for a gun. The second man stopped him and shook his head.

  All the way downtown Corelli kept thinking of the man reaching for the gun. This time he was playing for keeps, and the image of the gun pointed at Louise’s back angered him just enough to make him silently vow that he’d win, at all costs.

  9

  Bill Quinn’s apartment was in a renovated block of apartments that faced Abingdon Square. As in so many hasty, cheap renovations, the contractors had sacrificed aesthetics for utility and removed all the charming architectural details that once made the building livable. In their place, flat white plaster walls conducted sound from apartment to apartment with a cheerful disregard for privacy. What had once been a three-bedroom apartment of style was now three remodeled one-bedroom apartments as alike as milk containers in a grocery-store cooler. And for the dubious luxury of a wallpapered lobby and non-Hispanic doorman, Bill Quinn paid a staggering monthly rent. Only in New York did one gladly pay exorbitantly for the privilege of being abused and dehumanized.

  Louise dropped her suitcase just inside the front door and surveyed her new temporary home. Her artist’s eye immediately saw the devastation that had been visited upon the rooms. But right now her distaste for decoration gave way to her need for security. She’d never been physically chased before, and the unpleasant jolt mat had accompanied seeing the two men behind her still shook her. As she sat down on a couch covered with a cheap Indian cotton bedspread, Louise realized that her hands were trembling.

  “Three days ago I’d never heard the name Frank Corelli, and now I’m hiding out with him,” she said lightly in a vain attempt to relieve the knot of tension in her throat.

  “If I’d had any idea this would happen…” Frank began. But why bother finishing? He had willingly led Louise into danger. And he would have deserted her if it meant not getting caught himself. Police work was a pragmatic business after all. Betrayal of one kind or another went with the territory. Still, he felt like shit about acting so callously toward someone he was beginning to grow truly fond of.

  “Well, it’s not the plants,” Louise said as she examined one skimpy cactus in a clay pot with “Welcome to Acapulco” emblazoned in russet on it.

  “What? What about plants?”

  “Your friend Quinn was supposed to take care of his nephew’s plants…or pets.” Apparently Quinn hadn’t told Frank which, nor had the doorman when they collected the keys. Louise clucked her tongue loudly, and a matched pair of Siamese cats strolled majestically into the room. “That’s the answer-cats.” Louise held out her hand, and immediately both cats went to her and rubbed against her legs. “They say Siamese are arrogant, but not with me.” She lifted them both into her lap and began stroking them under their chins.

  Corelli turned away. He was in no mood for relating to animals. All the way downtown he’d been trying to remember something Dolchik had said yesterday. At the time, it had been meaningless, but in light of what had transpired since then, he’d begun to think the captain had been telling him something-consciously or not. Dammit! He couldn’t remember. So there was only one way to find out-call the bastard himself. Quinn had said the captain had been out all morning, but he should be back by now.

  He left Louise with her cats and slipped into the bedroom to make the call. He dialed the office at Fifty-ninth Street, hoping Quinn had returned from the street where they’d rendezvoused. “Detective Quinn,” he instructed when the phone was answered.

  “Quinn’s gone for the day,” an unfamiliar voice informed him.

  “Then let me speak to Dolchik.” Corelli recognized the voices of all the men in the office; this guy was a complete stranger.

  “Dolchik’s on vacation.”

  “Vacation?” Corelli shouted. “What the fuck are you talking about?” Quinn would have known about that, and he hadn’t said anything.

  “Sorry, that’s the way it is. Can I help you? Who’s calling?”

  Corelli almost answered out of anger. Goddammit, he almost fell into the trap. They were waiting for him to call, waiting for him to tell them where he was. “The name’s Duck. Donald Duck,” he carefully enunciated the name. That should jibe with what the hospital receptionist had no doubt reported.

  “Is that you, Corelli?”

  The sound of his own name sent a shiver of fear up Frank’s spine. Shit, they were waiting for him!

  “You can tell me anything you’d tell Dolchik,” the voice confided. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Who is this?”

  “Doesn’t matter. What does matter is, we’d like to talk to you.”

  “Like you wanted to talk to Louise Hill?” There was silence on the other end. “Look, I don’t know what your game is or who you are, but unless you ease up, I’m heading straight for City Hall, with a quick stop at the newspapers on the way-just like I promised Dolchik.” That threat had worked before, and there seemed no reason it wouldn’t work now.

  “Go anywhere you want. It won’t do you any good. All we want to do is help you.”

  “Like you helped Lester Baker?” He was playing all his cards now, but goddammit, he was angry.

  Corelli wasn’t the only one who was angry. “Listen, you smart-ass prick, you’re in one helluva lot of trouble. If you just go our way, you’ll be out in the sun once again.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “We just missed you at the Hill woman’s place; the next time you won’t be so lucky.”

  “That’s a risk I’ll have to take. See you around the pool.” He slammed the phone down and immediately checked his watch; he hadn’t talked long enough to be traced, so he was safe, momentarily. No one except Quinn knew where he and Louise were, and he’d never tell. Or would he? For one uneasy moment Frank pictured his buddy being pressured and spilling the beans. Everyone knew they were great friends; it was logical he’d call Quinn if he were in trouble, and it was just as logical that they’d question him about Frank’s whereabouts. But Quinn hated the system as much as Corelli did; he’d die before giving his pal away.

  Corelli returned to the living room more worried about his time running out than ever, and still annoyed that he wasn’t able to remember Dolchik’s aside. Dammit, that was irritating. Louise was still holding the cats in her lap when he walked into the room. Both animals had their eyes closed and their necks craned out under her loving caresses.

  “Right about now I could use some of the same treatment,” he only half-joked.

  “I doubt you could sit still that long,” she countered. “These babies are so docile. Siamese cats have a reputation for being vicious. People think they claw and tear at everything. God, how do these myths ever get started?”

  Corelli was only half-listening, but Louise’s words stuck in his mind. Like Dolchik’s crack, it was meaningless in itself, but it connected on some level to everything else. “What did you say?”

  “I said the cats are so docile-”

  “No, after that,”
he coaxed.

  “I just wondered how these myths get started.”

  “That’s it,” he shouted, startling both cats off Louise’s lap.

  “That’s what?”

  Corelli shook his head. “I’ve got to go out for a while. Lock the door behind me. Stay here and don’t answer the phone or the door. I shouldn’t be too long.”

  Louise’s face grew somber at the thought of being deserted. “Where are you going?”

  “To the library, of course! Where else?” Corelli was already out the door before Louise could answer.

  Corelli strode down Forty-second Street, heading quickly away from the Times Square subway exit. He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts that a car running a red light at Eighth Avenue almost clipped him. Goddamned fucking Dolchik! Jesus, Frank Corelli-tough, smart Frank Corelli-had fallen for that redneck act while the captain ran rings around him and made him look like a fool. He was probably still laughing up his sleeve at the way he’d conned him into believing he was too dumb to be anything but innocent in this whole subway mess. But Dolchik had made one mistake, he’d let one bit of information slip, and that was enough to tie him in with this whole lousy plot to get him and Louise, to put them away for good: Dolchik had mentioned the creepers.

  Corelli stopped for a light on Ninth Avenue and wiped a patina of sweat from his forehead. Though it was still warm, the humidity at least was below a tropical level; the first hints of autumn’s impending crispness were in the air. He hated summer in New York almost as much as he loved fall. During the brief respite between the Hades of August and the Siberia of February, being alive and in Manhattan was not only bearable but also gratifying. It was typical of New York’s perverseness that the city sprang back to life at the very time when nature shriveled and died. And it was typical of Frank Corelli that he should accept the possibility of something as monstrous as the creepers as fact-not just TA folklore.

  He quickened his pace and turned up to Forty-third Street, barely noticing the hookers and derelicts who called this dead part of the city home. This area’s human quirkiness had long since failed to impress or shock him. And in his present frame of mind, nothing short of an explosion could stop him from reaching his goal: the New York Public Library’s newspaper collection just down the block between Tenth and Eleventh avenues. If there was anywhere in New York he’d get a real bead on the creepers-if they actually existed-it was here where history was reduced to miles of microfilm and the past waited patiently to become present…and future.