Full Contact

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Full Contact Page 21

by Robert J. Randisi


  The man, however, was a different story.

  His face was damned familiar, but I could never quite get a good look at it, until he and the girl finally changed positions on the bed. She got down between his legs and started to give him head and when he picked up his head to look at her and watch, I had him pegged.

  He was a lot younger, a lot thinner—in fact, he was damned skinny for a “porn star”—but there was no doubt about who it was.

  The guy on the bed getting filmed for posterity was Leo Piper—or, as he was no doubt known then, Leo Piperneski.

  Which was by no means the last surprise on that tape.

  The tape was about half through when the third person entered the room. She watched the two people on the bed for a few seconds, then started walking toward the bed, shedding her clothes as she went along.

  She was special, this one. Even on the grainy old film I could see that out of everyone I had seen on these ten tapes, she was different. The way she moved, as if responding to a tune only she could hear, was . . . arousing.

  She was the same age as the others, had long dark hair parted down the middle, full, rounded breasts and hips, and a slim waist. She hadn’t changed much in the ten or so years since the film had been shot. She was still lovely, maybe even more lovely now than she had been then.

  She was still Oriental, and she was very much still Tiger Lee.

  When I left the apartment, I took one of the tapes with me.

  Thirty-Five

  I hadn’t realized how late it was until I got back to Bogie’s and found it closed. I used the alleyway from Eighth Avenue to get to the back, and used my key to enter the office. I put the tape down on the desk, sat down, and stared at it.

  The existence of this particular tape brought out a whole new set of possibilities.

  The first possibility did not look good for Wood. If I showed this tape to Hocus—or worse, if Vadala saw it—they would feel that Wood killed Cross over it . . . and I had to admit to myself that this was a possibility. I had always wondered why Wood had given Cross so much credit when no other bookie had extended him more than ten grand, and the answer could have been the tape.

  I was thinking blackmail, and that just made the case against Wood stronger.

  Another possibility concerned Piper. I didn’t know how many movies Piper had made, but I was sure that he wouldn’t want any of them coming to the surface now that he had built himself a new life and a new career. Would he kill to find this tape and keep that from happening?

  Bet your house he would.

  There was another possibility that I didn’t even want to think about, but that didn’t stop me.

  What about Tiger Lee, herself? What lengths would she go to to keep the tape from being seen by anyone, especially Knock Wood Lee?

  I picked up the tape and dropped it in the top drawer of the desk, hoping that any other copies that might have existed had gone up in smoke in the fire. In the morning I’d give it to Billy to lock up somewhere, or maybe play purloined letter himself by labeling it “Snow White”—or more likely, “Kung Fu Cutie”—and putting it in with his own collection of tapes.

  The big question on my mind as I got ready for what I knew was going to be another bad night was, whom do I approach first about the tape?

  I hadn’t realized that I’d fallen asleep until something woke me up.

  I was lying on my back and had the presence of mind not to move. Listening intently, I soon identified the sound that had awakened me.

  Someone had jimmied the lock on the door and was in the room with me.

  Since the office was in the back, there were no lights at all to give the room even the ghost of a glow. I had to hope that my night vision was better than the intruder’s.

  Hoping that the cot wouldn’t squeak as I moved—or if it did, that the intruder would think I was simply turning over in my sleep—I slid off the edge onto the floor, where I crouched, peering into the darkness.

  He had to figure I was there, otherwise why try to enter so quietly? That meant he wasn’t going to start searching first, he was going to try to take care of me.

  Somehow, I had the feeling this was not just a simple burglary. Whoever the intruder was, he knew what he was after. Anything else would be too much of a coincidence.

  I stayed as I was, listening. He wasn’t moving, so I assumed he was waiting for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness.

  Crouched as I was, the pain started in my calves and began to work its way up, but finally my patience paid off. I heard his shoe slide across the floor as he moved toward the cot. He knew where it was now, but he still couldn’t tell that I wasn’t in it. In the dark, he’d have to get closer for that—but I had no intention of letting him get that close.

  When I sprang up from my crouch my legs protested, but I turned a deaf ear. Lowering my shoulder, I caught him below the belt and propelled him backward, off balance.

  I knew where the desk was, and where the lamp was on the desk. It was one of those desk lamps on a flexible neck, so as I heard him slam into the door, I turned on the lamp and directed it toward him.

  Instinctively he brought his hands up in front of his face to shield his eyes from the glow, but in spite of that he still had to shut his eyes against the sudden light. That gave me time to come around the desk, approach him, and throw a basic front kick into his stomach.

  He was a skinny guy with a neck like a turkey, and whatever hot air he had in him came rushing out as he sat down on the floor gasping. A large silver flashlight lay on the floor next to him.

  “Just relax, friend,” I said, “your wind will come back in a minute, and then we can have a talk.”

  I shook him down while he was gasping for breath, and came away with a .38, which I took with me back to the desk. I sat down and waited for him to catch his breath.

  “Feel better?”

  Turkey Neck looked up at me with watery eyes and took a great, shuddering breath.

  “Good, then we can talk.”

  “I ain’t—” he started to say, struggling to his feet. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I ain’t telling you nothing.”

  “No? Why not?”

  That stumped him.

  “Haven’t we met before?” I said.

  “No.”

  “Sure, on a dark corner. Mott and Hester. You’re the one who can’t keep his footing on the ice.”

  The embarrassed look on his face told me I was right.

  “You work for Piper,” I said. He started to speak, but I cut him off. “No, that’s not a question, it’s a statement of fact. See, we’ve already talked about you. What did he send you here for?”

  “Stuff it.”

  “The tape?”

  He frowned, started to speak, then stopped himself, but that was all right. He’d already told me what I wanted to know.

  “All right, get out of here.”

  “Huh?” He looked totally confused.

  “I’m tired, I want to get some sleep. I’ve got an early meeting in the morning.”

  “Who with?”

  “Piper.”

  “You don’t—”

  “Yes, I do. You go back to your boss and tell him to have a car pick me up out front at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because I’ve got the tape, and he wants it, and that’s the only chance he’ll have to get it.”

  He studied me for a few moments, then said, “My gun.”

  “I’ll hold onto it and give it to Piper tomorrow. He’ll give it back to you . . . probably.”

  He hesitated, studying me further, then made up his mind and reached behind him for the door knob. He kept his eyes on me while he opened the door, then sidled over and slipped out quickly, ignoring the flashlight.

  I went over and locked the door, then set some bottles up in front of it just in case he came back with a friend or two. That warning system set up, I went back to the desk, opened the top dra
wer, and put the gun in next to the tape.

  Somehow, knowing what my next move was going to be in the morning made me feel better, and what I had told Turkey Neck turned out to be true. I was tired, and I did want to get some sleep.

  So I shut off the lamp and did just that.

  Thirty-Six

  The car got there at five after ten. I guess Piper must have told the driver to let me stew a while.

  “Where are we going?” I asked the driver as I got into the limo.

  “I’m not supposed to say, sir,” the driver said. “I’m just supposed—”

  “You’re just supposed to drive,” I said, finishing for him. “Okay, so drive.”

  He took me to an apartment building on Seventy-second Street and West End Avenue.

  “What now?” I asked when he pulled in front.

  “You’re supposed to go up to the fifteenth floor, apartment fifteen-oh-five.”

  That’s it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “No bookstore?”

  “Sir?”

  “Never mind,” I said. “Thanks for the ride.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  I went in and took the elevator to the fifteenth floor. Turkey Neck’s gun was tucked into my belt, and felt strangely comforting there.

  The tape was in a safe place and would stay there until I got all the answers I needed.

  I knocked on the door of room 1505, wondering if it was another of Piper’s friends’ apartments. I half expected Turkey Neck to answer the door, but it was Piper himself who opened it.

  “Ah, Jacoby.”

  “It’s funny,” I said, walking past him, “but you don’t look the least bit embarrassed.”

  He closed the door and followed me in. The apartment was just as opulent as the one we’d met in earlier.

  “Why should I be?”

  “This belong to another friend of yours?”

  He paused, then said, “No, this one’s mine.”

  I didn’t know whether to believe him or not.

  “I want this conversation to be on the up and up, Jacoby,” he said, moving towards a small writing desk in a corner of the room.

  “That’ll be refreshing.”

  He took something out of a desk drawer, walked over to me, and held it out.

  “What’s this?” I asked.

  “The lease to this apartment. Look at it.”

  I took it, unfolded it, and scanned it.

  “Can I offer you a drink?”

  “No,” I said. The name on the bottom of the lease was his: Leo Piper.

  “I’m showing you that because, like I said, I want this to be on the square.”

  The lease could have been a phony, but I decided to give him the benefit of the doubt until I heard what he had to say.

  “All right,” I said, refolding the lease. He came over with his drink, took the lease, and returned it to the desk.

  “Now you’ll know that I’m telling you the truth,” he said, turning to face me, “when I tell you that if you don’t turn that tape you took out of Cross’s apartment over to me, I’ll kill you.”

  I was taken aback, and hoped that he didn’t notice.

  “You should be embarrassed, using a line like that.” I was standing next to the phone, and memorized the number, just in case.

  “I’m very serious, Jacoby. I want that tape.”

  “And you’ll kill me if you don’t get it. Tell me, what will you do then?”

  “That’s shouldn’t worry you, since you won’t be around to see it.”

  “How’d you know there was a tape?”

  “I sent one of my men to Cross’s apartment last night, but he saw you coming out putting it in your pocket.”

  “You know what I’m wondering, Piper?”

  “What?”

  “I’m wondering where Alan Cross could have gotten that tape from. I mean, it’s at least ten years old, and everything else he had was recent.”

  “All right, yeah, I gave it to him.”

  “And killed him when he wouldn’t give it back?”

  “Hell, no, I didn’t kill Al,” Piper said, walking to the bar to refresh his drink. “Al and I were old buddies from Brooklyn.”

  “Brooklyn?”

  “Sure, we did some running together back then.”

  “Did he know Lee then?”

  “No, Lee didn’t know everyone I knew then.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you? Do you see that I want that tape back very badly?”

  “Why didn’t you go to his apartment a long time ago?”

  “It was a crime scene, Jacoby. Besides, who knew Cross would be dumb enough to keep it there. I figured it would in his storage room.”

  “And how’d you know it wasn’t . . . unless you checked just before you set the fire.”

  “Fire? Oh, yes, I heard about that. I wasn’t anywhere near that fire, Jacoby.”

  “No, you wouldn’t have been. You’d have had someone else do it. Wait a minute, I think this is getting clearer.”

  “Go ahead, then. Run with it.”

  He was perfectly calm, even though it was just the two of us in the room, and that was unnerving. It was as if he knew that I was no threat to him.

  “Correct me if I’m wrong then—”

  “Oh, absolutely—”

  “You came to New York six months ago to set up shop, and one of the first things you did was approach Knock Wood Lee—”

  “I knew he’d say no, but I wanted to see Tiger Lee again.”

  “Yeah. After he said no, though, you went back and made Lee an offer—”

  “Well, I liked what I saw. If anything, she’s gotten even more beautiful.”

  “Is this what you call letting me run with it?”

  “Sorry. Continue, please.”

  “The way I see it is that you gave Cross the tape and he used it to blackmail Knock Wood Lee into extending him unlimited credit to gamble.”

  “Cross always was a small thinker.”

  “What about the movie business? Was that Cross’s baby or yours?”

  “Cross was dabbling in it, but when I found out, I decided to use his contacts to expand the operation and break off with the people he was dealing with. I made it pay much more.”

  “How did they feel about that?”

  He smiled and said, “They didn’t know.”

  “Wait a minute. You mean Cross was double-crossing the people he was working for?”

  “I was always able to make Al do anything I wanted him to,” Piper said, proudly. “I told him he’d be in charge of recruiting the actors and actresses, and he took to that job with great zeal.”

  “I’m sure he did.”

  “He even brought some more money into the operation by recruiting his boss.”

  “Paula Bishop.”

  “A closet sensualist, that lady,” he said with a grin. “She loved it and still won’t admit it.”

  “What about Brown?”

  “That was a mistake, but then Brown had a much more assertive personality than Al. He was useful for a time, but after Al’s death he became a liability.”

  “You had them both killed.”

  “I did no such thing,” he said, looking at me as if I were crazy. “I wouldn’t jeopardize everything I have by doing that. I was assured that Brown’s death in the fire was his own fault.”

  “I’m sure.”

  “As for my friend Al, I’m sure the police have the right man for that.”

  “Knock Wood Lee?”

  “You should talk to him, Jacoby. Get the truth from him.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Look, I admit that I gave Cross that tape and hoped that it would eventually help me get rid of Knock Wood Lee and Al.”

  “And get Lee back in the process.”

  “Possibly, yes.”

  “You knew that Knock Wood Lee would stand for Cross’s blackmail just so long.”

  “Yes,” he said, happily, �
�and it came to a head that night. I was there to see it.”

  “You saw Wood kill Cross?”

  “Not exactly,” he said. “You see, I paid the doorman a large sum of money to get lost, that night. Cross had called me and told me that the Chinaman was coming over to see him. I assured him that I would be right over.”

  “You stayed outside.”

  “Yes. I got rid of the doorman, and watched Knock Wood Lee go into the building. He beat Cross to death, and then left.”

  “He left?”

  “And went back.”

  “Why?”

  “Here’s what I figure,” he said, freshening his drink again. He was still completely relaxed, as if he were simply telling a parlor story.

  “The Chinaman probably lost his head, killed Cross, and cut out, but after he left he decided that he’d better go back and search the apartment for the tape.”

  “That’s when you called the cops pretending to be Cross.”

  “Good man,” he said, holding his drink up to me in a toast. “They got there pretty quick, too. Real good response time.”

  “Wood said he was looking for his money because he didn’t want to mention the tape. That means that Lee doesn’t know about it.”

  “I told her years ago that I had destroyed it, but I kept one copy for sentimental reasons.”

  “And you had a new one made up for Cross.”

  “The film died in that fire, with Brown,” he said, putting his glass down, “and now the only copy is that videotape, and I want it.”

  He came around from behind the bar and approached me. I almost went for the gun, but decided to hold off, feeling I could get it out quickly if I needed it.

  “I want it now,” he said, stopping a few feet from me.

  “Did Cross know who the man in the film was?”

  “He knew.”

  “And you trusted him with it?”

  Smiling he said, “He always knew better than to mess with me, Jacoby. You’d do well to remember that.”

  “Tell me about Melanie Saberhagen, Piper.”

  “Who?”

  “A young blond girl that Brown and Cross used in a film. She turned up dead after Cross, although she’d been killed before him.”

  “I don’t know anything about that,” he said, shaking his head. All trace of humor faded from his face then, and he held out his hand to me.

 

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