by J. R. WRIGHT
Moving on to the photo albums, he saw pictures of her, and her family, from the day of her birth until the present. She was a string bean as a youth, he confirmed. But look at the beauty she’d grown up to be. Since there were several duplicate studio photos, perhaps done recently for issuing with resumes, stuck in the back, he helped himself to one and put it into his jacket pocket. If there was anything he’d gleaned from this, it was that she had had what appeared to be a normal upbringing. And she was an only child. It was just Martina that appeared with the parents and such in all family photos. Sadly, though, she didn’t seem to have an abundance of friends, back then. Only two other girls appeared with her anywhere, and zero of the opposite sex. Perhaps that brought about her drive to excel, which she obviously had. Second best was apparently not an option, where it came to Martina Spalding.
From her birth certificate, found elsewhere, he noted she was now twenty-five, born January 9, 1930. Then, from the envelope of a recent letter from her parents, he jotted down their names and home address in Chicago.
Hearing Officer Smitte coming up the hallway now, he began the tedious effort of returning everything to the drawer, just as they were. It was important to him Martina not know he’d been so nosey. Although it was only good police work, some people took offense at such things, as if it was a violation of their innermost secrets.
“She was none too pleased to talk to me,” Smitte said, coming into the room, “in light of what happened here today. But finally she coughed it up that some guy came in a few days ago and rented the apartment. He paid cash for a half month in advance, with a promise to pay the balance when he returned with his things. She also had these keys that somebody turned in. She said they belong to this apartment.”
“I’ll take those. They’re Martina’s,” Dunbar said. “So, does this man have a name?”
Smitte read from his notebook, “Bradley Wilson.”
“Brad Wilson?” Dunbar glared at him. “Did you ask her what he looked like?”
Again, Smitte looked at his notes. “About forty, sandy hair, mustache, five seven or eight…”
“Hell! That sounds like Raym Koffee! I know a Brad Wilson, but that ain’t him. This guy’s only in his twenties — has a rap sheet as long as my arm, everything from petty to car theft.” Dunbar closed the drawer, scooped up the Colt Vest Pocket from the bed and went for the door. “Let’s go talk to Bradley. See if he’s been chummy with Raym Koffee, lately.”
It was near three pm before Gloria came around. The first face she saw was Martina’s. And the first question she asked was, “What happened?”
“You were knocked unconscious, honey. But you’re going to be okay.”
“I don’t feel okay,” Gloria said, putting quivering fingers to her face, again black and blue. “Oh my God! I was beaten again, wasn’t I?”
“You were,” Martina said, using her fingers to gently brush hair away from her face. “But that will never happen again. I assure you.”
“Why do you say that?” Gloria said, glaring through slits for eyes. “He’s still alive, isn’t he?”
Martina straightened and looked to Dunbar, nearby, who came forward. Luckily he had arrived just a few minutes before.
“Gloria, this is Lieutenant Dunbar.” Dunbar leaned in to be sure she saw him. “I’m afraid there was a scuffle, and in the process I found it necessary to shoot Raym.”
“Is… Is he dead?”
“I’m afraid so,” Dunbar said. “I had no choice.”
With that Gloria froze, her mouth agape, her eyes still.
“I’m sorry, honey,” Marti said and gently touched her arm.
“Was the family notified?” Gloria eventually asked. “I always liked his father and mother. They’re decent people.” She felt a pang of sympathy for Sheela, as well, no matter the hatred she’d directed her way in the past. She couldn’t help but feel for her now.
“Yes, ma’am.” Dunbar would have liked to tell her that he’d informed them personally. But for now, he didn’t feel it wise to come within spitting distance of any of them Koffees: father, uncles, or cousins. They weren’t exactly the embodiment of decency, as Gloria had intimated, the mother possibly excluded.
About the time Martina thought Gloria was taking the news well, tears began to flow down her face. “I know, honey. It’s hard. But just think… it’s over now.”
“That’s not why I’m crying,” Gloria blurted. “These are happy tears. If I wasn’t so beat up, I’d go to Hannity’s and celebrate.”
“That’s the spirit,” Marti said cheerfully and smiled over to Dunbar. She could tell he was relieved, too. But then, he hadn’t killed Raym. She had. The full horror of that came back now, as she felt tears welling up in her own eyes. They weren’t happy tears. Quickly she pinched the bridge of her nose in an effort to get them to stop. But they didn’t. They only got worse. Rounding Dunbar, she abruptly bolted from the room.
Dunbar followed her out, to find her huddled against the wall. Now it was evident she wasn’t the hard hearted Hannah he had originally thought her to be. Feeling he knew her now, as a result of going through her things, he turned her by the shoulders and pulled her into his arms. She was there like the daughter he never had as he allowed her sufficient time to cry it out, before saying, “You’re going to be okay.” Seeing her head nod, he released her. “The first time is the hardest,” he absently said, not considering this wasn’t a fellow cop on the force. But then, if she were, she may very well be the best officer he had, female or male.
“I hope you don’t expect there to be another… Lieutenant,” she said, glancing at him while swiping away tears. “I may never get over this one.”
“You did what you had to do,” Dunbar said. “And I might add, you did it very well.”
“Why don’t I find that comforting?” Marti folded her arms around herself and backed against the wall.
Considering this for a moment, Dunbar said, “I had my men scrub up the place a little. But I don’t suppose you’re going to want to sleep there tonight anyway?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I haven’t thought about that yet. Do you have a reason why I shouldn’t?”
He shook his head. “No. Not really.” But he did. They still hadn’t located Brad Wilson. And there could be a crazy Koffee or two out and about, seeking revenge. “Well, whatever you decide — call me. I don’t want you going there alone. Besides, I’ve got your keys. They’re in the car.”
“Now you’re starting to worry me, Lieutenant. I thought this was over.”
“There’s one guy I’d like to talk to, is all. It probably won’t amount to much.”
“Someone associated with Raym?” Marti asked.
“I don’t even know that for sure, yet.”
“So, you want me to just wait here until I hear from you? I mean… I have two friends in here now to keep company with. I’ll be okay.” Marti made light of the situation. But if the truth were known, she was plenty worried right now.
“Maybe that’s best,” he said, taking her shoulders, briefly. “I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay?”
“Sure,” Marti said and watched him go. Back in the room, she caught sight of herself in a mirror and fluffed her reddish brown hair. She had always hated that color, but did nothing about it for fear of offending her mother. Her hair was a similar shade, at the time. Thinking on it some more, she considered colors, if she should decide to change it. Dark brown or even black would cover nicely. She’d always admired people with dark hair. Besides, such a drastic change may do her good. Perhaps it would serve as the beginning of something different. And that’s what she needed right now — a fresh start.
Discussing it with Gloria a short time later, Gloria made her an offer: “I’ll tell you what... if you’ll dye yours black, I’ll bleach mine blonde? I’ll be salt. You’ll be pepper. Deal?”
“Deal!” Marti agreed. They touched thumbs on it, and laughed together until the pain forced Gloria to s
top.
“So how long will I be stuck in this place? I hate hospitals,” Gloria grumbled.
“They want to observe you until morning,” Martina said. “Then you can go, if nothing crops up.” She didn’t mention that it might not be entirely safe to go back to the apartment. Gloria had plenty else to be worried about, if she only knew.
“I guess I can handle that. But not a minute more, understand? People die in hospitals!”
“You’re a nurse, and you hate hospitals?” Marti said, thinking that strange.
“You have to know, I was forced into this profession by my grandma,” Gloria said. “She was a nurse and thought there was no grander profession. If it wouldn’t have been for her, I probably would have ended up a whore.”
“Gloria! Jeez!”
“It’s true,” she chuckled. “I’ve always had a knack for pleasuring men.”
“Is there a trick to it?” Marti said with a smile. She had been up to see Parker earlier, while Gloria was in the ER. Of course, he was no less frisky than the other times, which set her to thinking. “Anything special I should know?”
“The trick is to find what pleasures you, and do that,” Gloria said. “Nothing pleases a man more than knowing a woman finds him desirable enough to seek a little jazz time for herself. And let him know that — if not verbally, then in subtle ways. Vocals never hurt, either.”
“You mean, like jungle sounds?” Marti laughed.
“Sure, if it turns your crank.”
“Any trick to being on top?” Marti asked, thinking of poor Parker, who was confined to his back, the straps still in place, after nearly four days now. But she could work with that.
Gloria smiled, knowing full well why she wanted to know this. It couldn’t be written plainer on her face. “Just like putting bread in a toaster. Plug in and cook — eight, skate, and rotate, baby!” She laughed, feebly holding up a hand for a high five.
Marti, however, was confused. I mean, eight, skate, and rotate…what the hell was she talking about? Regardless of that, she high fived her anyway. To ask more questions, she feared, would only bring more crudeness from Gloria. And this made her uncomfortable. Sex to her was a serious matter, especially when it came to her present condition. Oh, God, just get it over with, she’d told herself a lot lately! But somehow she couldn’t bring herself to do that. There had to be a right and a wrong way to do it. And she wanted her first time to be perfect, for her and Parker.
Still, she thought about it pretty constantly now, and the thoughts were becoming more and more... pleasant. She almost wondered how much longer she could bear to hold off for the “right way.”
“That gown I had you buy for me was meant as a gift for you, you know?” Gloria said, moments later, as if reading her mind.
“Oh, God, was that left in the car?” Marti said, covering her mouth.
“I took it in, along with my things from Spencer House.”
“Good,” Marti said, relieved. “You meant it for me?”
“I did. I wanted you to have something nice to drop to the floor, the first time.”
“Gloria! That was so thoughtful of you!” she said and went in to lightly kiss her swollen eyes.
“The black one is there too. If you’d rather have that?” Gloria offered.
Remembering the black nightie Raym had purchased and sent over from Natalie’s, she slowly shook her head. Now the memories were back, and she again rushed toward the hallway. “The first time is the worst,” she remembered Dunbar having said on her way out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Dunbar returned at six. In the room, he saw Gloria was sleeping and waved Martina out. “I can take you for something to eat now, if you want?”
This prompted several questions, but rather than get into any of that, Marti, simply nodded and went back into the room for her purse and jacket. Outside, it was raining again, and Dunbar, gallant as usual, draped his coat over her head and guided her on a run to the waiting patrol car.
They drove for what seemed an enormous amount of time, finally arriving at what seemed an alley bar, and they entered. At first sight of those inside, Marti knew this place was primarily patronized by cops. Even the ones not in uniform looked the part; no Elvis haircuts here, and fedoras abounded. Dunbar led the way, with Smitte bringing up the rear. Once their presence was readily known, much commotion filled the room, and a rather handsome man came up.
“What’s your name, honey?” he said to Marti with a hungry smile.
“Go away, laughing boy!” Dunbar said, along with a push.
“I was just asking her name, Harry!” the man protested, tossing up his hands.
“She doesn’t have one,” Harry Dunbar returned. “Now disappear, okay!”
Further in, it seemed every table in the place was occupied. That is, until two men in a booth saw Dunbar coming. They quickly grabbed their mugs of beer and vacated it, just prior to their arrival.
“Thanks, fellas,” Dunbar said, and gave Marti a hand in, before sliding in beside her. Smitte slid in across from them and removed his police issue bonnet. He was even younger looking without it, Marti noticed. This brought to mind Officer Ben Ripley — also young and handsome. Her eyes welled, again. Thankfully, though, she had revenged his death, as promised. That had to count for something, she told herself, and swiped away the tears.
Dunbar saw what was happening and focused elsewhere. Nothing he could say at this point would help, he knew. Things like this had to remedy themselves gradually. Like jagged rocks under a glacier, they would never completely wear away, just become more comfortable to live with, over time.
Soon, a huge platter of fried chicken arrived at the table, followed shortly by plates of waffles for each. “I hope you like southern fried chicken, Martina?” Dunbar said. “They do it right, here.”
“Of course I do, Lieutenant. I was practically raised on the stuff. And the waffles look so good,” Marti said cheerfully, draping her lap with a napkin. She figured he must have phoned in the order, since it came so fast. Having not eaten since breakfast, she now realized how starved she was, and began by buttering her waffles in haste.
After the two waffles, three pieces of chicken, and a glass of ice tea, Martina was stuffed. It was then Dunbar, still gnawing on a chicken leg, said, “Have you decided if you’ll be staying at the apartment tonight, Martina?”
“I believe not. But if you don’t mind dropping me there anyway, I’d like to shower and change before returning to the hospital. I have an umbrella; I’ll walk over afterward. It’s only eight blocks.”
“Your apartment it is, then.” Dunbar wiped his face and hands on a napkin, then slid from the booth. “I can’t let you walk, though. We’ll escort you up and wait, if that’s okay?” he said as they walked.
“Of course it’s okay. But I don’t want to inconvenience you. You must have plenty to do other than hauling me around. Or is there another reason, Lieutenant?”
Dunbar stopped at the bar and signed the tab, before moving on. “We’ll talk about this in the car, okay?”
“Sure.” Marti fell in behind him as he responded to various greeters along the way.
Once to the car, Dunbar let Martina into the back and then climbed in beside her, for the very first time ever. He had in mind to talk, and he didn’t want to have to do it from the front seat. Even then, it took him several blocks before he began. “Miss Spalding,” he started that way to keep this on a professional level, “have you ever heard the name Brad Wilson? Perhaps Gloria may have mentioned him?”
“Never!” she answered without hesitation. “No.”
“Okay, well, the reason I mentioned it is, we had reason to believe he somehow was associated with Raymond Koffee. Fortunately, we located him this afternoon. And after a good grilling, with some threats tossed his way, he came out with a little story. Now, I don’t know how much truth there is to it — these small time hoods sometimes make up things, thinking they’ll get favors somewhere
down the road, if they throw us a bone — even if it’s a made up bone… Well anyway, this Brad Wilson said he heard it directly from the horse’s mouth that Raym Koffee had bought himself a little insurance policy over the past few days. What I mean by that is, he hired himself an assassin, just in case he was unable to complete his crazed mission, for some reason… That guy, Raym, must have been a real piece of work! That’s all I have to say,” Dunbar said, his face taking on a look of disgust.
“Lieutenant, are you saying what I think you are? Is Gloria’s life still in danger?”
It was obvious Martina was panic stricken now. “In a word, yes,” Dunbar said. “But I can assure you, Martina, at the moment she is quite safe.”
“Then take me to her, Lieutenant!” Marti near shouted. “Forget the shower, I want to go now! Where is she?”
“She’s where we left her. At the hospital.” He had to go on before she objected in terror, “But not in that room any longer. We had her moved to a closed wing on the fourth floor, with plenty of protection. But that’s not all,” Dunbar said. “There was another person on that hit list.”
It didn’t take Martina long to figure out who that may be. “Me?”
“We think so. Bradley wasn’t really clear on that, however.”
“Come on, Lieutenant, tell me? I can take it. Was it me, or not?”
“I’ve told you what I know.” Dunbar was firm on that.
“So you had all of this planned, that’s why you took me away from the hospital?”
“Exactly. I figured if someone was watching, we didn’t want a big scene. Gloria was actually taken out in a laundry cart, wheeled by two police officers dressed as hospital workers. A dummy, to take her place in the bed, was brought in with the same cart.”