Full Contact

by Robert J. Randisi

  Twenty-One

  Over breakfast the next morning I thought about Leo Piper. The man interested me, probably because I didn’t know anything about him. What I needed to know was where he came from, so I could run a background check on him. I only had his word that he wouldn’t kill a man for ten thousand dollars.

  From my office I called the Seventeenth Precinct and asked for Hocus.

  “What do you want?” he asked when he came on the line. He wasn’t any happier with me today than he had been yesterday.

  “Will you lighten up?” I said, scolding him. If I couldn’t chide him out of his black mood, it might get in our way for days. “I need some information and you’re not going to give it to me in the mood you’re in.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  “I need some information on Piper.”

  “I still don’t know where he is.”

  “I spoke to him already.”

  “Is that a fact?” he said in a different tone.

  “Yes, it is.”

  I explained how the meeting had come about, and then told him what I wanted to know.

  “I don’t think even Vice knows where he came from, Jack. He just showed up and set up shop.”

  “What’s he into besides making book and girls?”

  “Anything that has to do with them.”

  “Drugs?”

  “Not that I know of, why?”

  “If he was into drugs somebody would know something about him. Narcotics, the feds, maybe even Caggiano.”

  “And you’d go to Don Carlo and ask him?”

  “Either him or Carl Jr.”

  Don Carlo Caggiano was the head of the biggest of New York’s “families” and his son, Cagey Carl, had broken off and started his own line of business. I had crossed both their paths while looking for a stolen pulp magazine collection months ago.

  “Stay away from the Caggianos, Jack,” Hocus warned me. “I don’t think Carl Jr. likes you, and to Don Carlo you’re just insignificant.”

  “Can you check with Narcotics for me?”

  He sighed heavily and said, “Yeah, okay, I’ll check, but I doubt anything will come out of it.”

  “Thanks, Hocus.”

  “Yeah,” he said, and hung up.

  I made out Saberhagen’s bill then, although I couldn’t quite bring myself to gouge him the way I thought he deserved. I simply charged him for Henry Po’s services—and medical expenses—and then added double my usual fee.

  I had started to seal the envelope when I remembered the two photographs of Melanie that Saberhagen had given me. I took them out of my jacket pocket and made the mistake of looking at them. I could have sworn there was a disappointed look in her eyes, but I couldn’t help her anymore. I folded the larger of the two photos and then stuffed both of them into the envelope with my bill.

  I didn’t think Robert Saberhagen would mind the creases.

  I went out into the hall to drop the envelope down the mail chute, then returned to my office and dialed Heck’s office number, just to check in.

  “He’s in, Jack,” Missy said. “Hold on.”

  After a few moments Heck came on the line.

  “Jack, how are you doing?”

  “All right, I guess. I’m off that missing girl case for good, now.”

  “Really? Did you find her?”

  “Somebody killed her, Heck. It’s Hocus’s job now to find out who.”

  “I see. I’m sorry, Jack.”

  “Yeah, so am I. I just thought I’d let you know that the matter has been . . . resolved. I’ll keep in touch.”

  “Have a good weekend, Jack,” he said, with heavy emphasis on the word “good.”

  I knew what he meant without being told. I still had two weeks and a bit to find something that he could bring into that trial with him.

  “I’ll do my best, Heck,” I said, and hung up.

  I sat back in my chair and took out Eddie Waters’s phone book, which had come in handy on more than one occasion.

  Eddie had known a lot of P.I.’s in his time, and he had them all listed in that book by city and state, so that whenever he needed work done outside New York all he had to do was take out his book. That was what I had done in order to check on Saberhagen in Detroit. If I knew where Piper was from, I could do it again, check Piper out and see what his claim to fame was.

  Leafing through the book I could see that Eddie had a name and number from almost every major city in the United States, but calling them all would be a hell of an expensive proposition, and not only in phone bills. Each of these P.I.’s would command a fee, and what if Piper was from the one city I missed?

  I put the book down and reminded myself that I had to send Amos Walker a check. I scanned my mail for the first time in a couple of days. There were plenty of bills, but none from Amos. I opened a side drawer and dropped them all in it to be handled later. I picked up the phone book to put in the top drawer, and suddenly it hit me. I had the means to find out where Piper was from; all I had to do was play it right.

  I was on my way out when the phone rang, and I retraced my steps to answer it.

  “Jacoby, Hocus.”

  “So soon?”

  “It doesn’t take long to come up empty, Jack, and that’s what I came up.”

  “Thanks for trying anyway, but I may have come up with another angle.”

  “Like what? What have you got in mind?”

  “Shopping,” I said, “for books—mystery novels.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You ought to read more, Hocus,” I said. “It would broaden your horizons.”

  “I don’t need my horizons broadened,” he said, “but I think you need your head examined. Let me know if you come up with anything on Piper. We wouldn’t mind knowing about it.”

  “You got it, pal.”

  “Yeah, I know, and you gave it to me.”

  There were two ways I could have played it. One was to go right to that bookstore I’d seen Piper come out of and try to find out if they knew where he was from. The other way was to go and see Billy, who had a leg up in that world, and see if he could help me.

  I chose to go and see Billy.

  “In for lunch?” he asked me when I walked into Bogie’s.

  “Lunch and . . .”

  “And what?”

  “And a word with my assistant detective.”

  His eyebrows shot up and he said, “Shall we sit at your table?”

  “Let’s.”

  No sooner had we sat than Alison came over to see what we would have.

  “Cheese sandwich,” I said, “and coffee.”

  “American cheese,” Billy said, “and make it two, Allie.”

  She smiled at me and left.

  “Why is it lately every time I look up she’s my waitress?” I asked, watching the sway of her slim hips as she walked to the kitchen.

  “Karen. She’s playing matchmaker again.”

  “Great.”

  “What’s up?”

  “Do you know of a bookstore that sells only mysteries?”

  “Of course,” he said. “Murder Ink, on Eighty-seventh Street.”

  I frowned and said, “That’s not the one.”

  “The Mysterious Bookshop on Fifty-sixth?”

  “That’s the one. Do you know anyone who works there?”

  “Sure. I know the owners of both places, why?”

  “I’m interested in a regular customer of the one on Fifty-sixth.”

  “What’s his name?”

  “Leo Piper.”

  “The bookie?”

  “What do you know about him?”

  He waited before answering while Alison brought our coffee, mine black and in a cup, his with milk—in a glass.

  “Sandwiches on the way.”

  “Fine,” Billy said.

  When she left he said, “I know the name, but that’s about all.”

  “I want to know where he came from.”

  “
And you think the people at the bookstore would know?”

  “He told me he shops there all the time. Maybe the first time he went he used a check or a charge card with his old address on it. Maybe he let something slip to one of the employees about where he lived before he came to New York. I need to run a background check on the guy, Billy, but before I can do that I have to know where he was before he came to New York.”

  “Why not ask yourself?”

  “It’s easier if you know somebody,” I said. “I know you.”

  The cheese sandwiches came and we fell silent again until Alison left.

  “All right,” Billy said, “I’ll see what I can find out, but I’ll ask in both places.”

  “Why?”

  “If he’s a serious mystery reader, he’ll patronize both stores, not just one.”

  “Okay.”

  “When do you want this information?”

  “Yesterday.”

  He stopped with his sandwich halfway to his mouth.

  “Can I eat this first?”

  “I wish you would,” I said, and then added, “because then I’ll know mine is safe to eat.”

  Twenty-Two

  While I was waiting for Billy to come up with the info I needed, I figured I’d go and see how Hank Po was doing. When I walked into his room Debbie was there sitting next to the bed and they both looked up. She had been holding his hand, but dropped it abruptly as if I’d caught them at something.

  “Am I interrupting?”

  “I wish you were, but my ribs won’t allow it,” Hank said. “Come on in. You don’t happen to have a hamburger or a slice of pizza on you, do you?”

  I snapped my fingers and said, “Ah, I ate them in the elevator.”

  “I have to get going,” Debbie said, standing up.

  “Not on my account, I hope,” I said.

  “No, on Rosellen’s,” she said. “She’ll scream that she had to do all the work today, and besides, she wants to come up and see Hank, too.”

  “I should be so lucky,” I said.

  She kissed Hank on the cheek, then touched my arm on the way out.

  “Take care, Jack,” she said, “of both of you.”

  “I’ll do my best.”

  We both watched her walk out, and then I looked at Hank and said, “This place doesn’t look so bad, anymore.”

  “It’s the pits.”

  “Yeah,” I said, sitting in the chair that Debbie had warmed up for me.

  “How are you making out?”

  I told him about Saberhagen coming in to view his daughter’s remains and then flying right out again after making “arrangements.”

  “He was all broken up, huh?”

  “I don’t get it, Hank. Why’d he even hire me to find her if he didn’t care that much?”

  “Maybe simply because she was his. People get that rich they tend to get very jealous of their possessions.”

  “So that’s all she was, huh?” I asked. “Just another possession?”

  “I’ve been through that,” he said, and then explained to me about a girl named Penny who’d been treated the same way by the two men she loved.

  “She died young, too,” he said, and we sat there and thought about dying young. It was such a waste of the time they’d never know, the good times they’d never know, and even the bad ones. Everybody had a right to their own good and bad times.

  After that we started talking about Leo Piper, and Hank knew about as much about him as I did.

  “I wonder,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Who’s the best P.I. in the business, Jack?”

  “The best, or the most expensive? It doesn’t matter really,” I said, before he could answer, “they’re both Walker Blue.”

  Then I saw what he was getting at.

  “I see,” I said. “If anybody would know about Piper, he would.”

  “You’ve got to admit he’s got an uncanny knack for knowing things other people—including the cops—don’t know. All you’ve got to do is to ask him.”

  “You think so?”

  “You know him, don’t you?”

  “Some.”

  I had a grudging respect for Walker Blue, but I always felt . . . inferior when I was in the same room with him. Still, it was a possibility that I couldn’t afford to pass up.

  “Maybe I should have let Heck bring Blue in right at the beginning,” I said. “If it turns out that he had the information all the time that could have cracked this thing . . .”

  “Don’t be beating yourself over the head so much, Jack. You’re a good detective, with a knack for it, but you’ve got to give yourself time.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Just don’t start trying to compare yourself—or compete with—Walker Blue.”

  “Good advice,” I said, standing up.

  “You’ll go see him?”

  “Might as well. Do you know when you’ll be getting out?”

  “Probably not until after the weekend.”

  “Well, let me know and I’ll come and get you.”

  “You don’t have to—”

  I was halfway through the door when he called out, “See if Blue will give you a professional discount!”

  Fat chance.

  Twenty-Three

  I had never been to Walker Blue’s office. In fact, the first two times I had spoken to him were at funerals, Eddie’s and my brother Benny’s. Since then I’d run across him a time or two in Heck’s office.

  When I called Blue’s office from a pay phone his secretary told me he was back from out-of-town and asked me if I had an appointment.

  “I would just like to see if he could spare me a few moments.”

  “Hold, please.” She put me on hold and I listed to Muzak for a few moments until the line opened up again and Blue himself came on.

  “What can I do for you, Mr. Jacoby?”

  “I’d like to come up and talk to you for a few moments, if I may.”

  “About what?”

  “Leo Piper.”

  There was a moment’s hesitation, and then he said, “Very well. Do you know where my office is?”

  “Yes.”

  “Come on up, then.”

  I started to say thanks, but he had already hung up.

  Blue’s office was on the mezzanine of the Pan Am building and when I got there his secretary—a handsome, mature lady in her early forties—told me to go right in.

  Blue stood up and offered me his hand as I entered, then sat back down behind his desk and offered me a seat.

  “What’s this about Leo Piper?” he asked.

  “I’m involved in a case that he seems to have become a part of.”

  “Has this to do with Nok Woo Lee?”

  “Yes, it does. How did you know?”

  “I know that you and he are friends, and that Heck Delgado is his lawyer. I also know that Hector did not retain me to investigate for him.” He shrugged and spread his hands, as if to say that the rest was obvious.

  Blue had a long-jawed face and neatly clipped gray hair. He was tall and slim, in extremely good shape for a man in his early fifties. He wore the kind of suits that come with a warranty.

  “How has Piper become involved?”

  “The dead man owed him some money.”

  “I’m sure the dead man owed money to quite a few bookies in town.”

  “He did, and I know about the others, but I know very little about Piper.”

  “And you thought I might know more?”

  “The thought had occurred to me, yes.”

  He stared at me impassively for a few moments and I felt like a military student sitting in the headmaster’s office.

  “I do have a file on Piper,” he admitted finally.

  “May I see it?”

  “It’s not very comprehensive,” he said. “In fact, I’ve seen no need to attempt to make it so.”

  “What do you have on him?”

  “What do you need?”


  Apparently he wanted to play it close to the vest, not giving me any more than I needed, if that.

  “All I really need is where he was before he came to New York.”

  “Actually, I don’t have much more than that. He came here from Ohio.”

  “Ohio?”

  “Cincinnati, to be exact.”

  “What the hell was he doing in Cincinnati?”

  “I haven’t found any need to check into that further.”

  “Why do you have anything on him at all?”

  “I simply like to keep myself up to date on names I hear on the street.”

  Walker Blue didn’t strike me as the “street” type.

  “I do go into the street occasionally.”

  “I see,” I said, standing up. “I appreciate your taking the time to talk to me.”

  “Not at all,” he said, also standing. “I don’t mind extending a little reciprocal professional courtesy from time to time.”

  I actually found myself feeling flattered by his use of the word “reciprocal.” That indicated that he felt that I might be able to help him sometime in the future.

  We shook hands and I started for the door.

  “Oh, there is one other thing I can tell you,” he said.

  “What’s that?”

  “Where he grew up.”

  I frowned at him and said, “You know that?”

  “It was something I came across quite by accident.”

  I’ll bet.

  “He was born and grew up in Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn?”

  “People do grow up there.”

  “I know,” I said, “I know. Thanks again.”

  “Not at all,” he said, again. “Good luck with your case.”

  As I left his office, wished a cheery “good day” by his handsome secretary, it struck me that I personally knew at least one other person who had been born and grown up in Brooklyn.

  Tiger Lee.

  Before going back to Bogie’s to tell Billy that I already had the information I was looking for, I stopped by my office to make use of Eddie’s phone book. I looked up Cincinnati in the book and found the number of a P.I. named Harry Stoner. I had never met Stoner, but had heard Eddie speak of him once or twice.

  I called Stoner and introduced myself and found out that Eddie had mentioned me to him once or twice, as well. He told me how sorry he was about Eddie’s death and then asked me what he could do for me.