A Killer's Essence

by Dave Zeltserman

  “Thanks for your concern, but I think I’ll pass.”

  He nodded, finished his beer, and placed the empty bottle next to mine. “I should’ve known this would be a waste of time,” he said. “But don’t say I didn’t try.”

  “You sure you can’t give me a name?”

  He shook his head, a thin smile showing. “Want to hear the funny part of all this?” he said. “Remember when you wanted those baseball tickets and I was trying to get a favor instead of the money? The favor was to have you working Cohen’s nightclub just like you ended up doing all on your own.”

  That pulse beating on my temples was now a tom-tom. “You don’t say?” I said.

  “Yeah, that was it. Back then I bought into the story that Cohen was being leaned on for protection by those Russians.”

  Almost like a switch had been thrown the pulse died and a coolness filled my head.

  “What’s the real story?” I heard myself asking.

  “Some sort of beef over disputed turf, but I’m not going into specifics,” Earl said. He pushed himself to his feet and gave me a hard look. “I hope you had Cohen pay you a nice sum. That John Travolta wannabe was offering me twenty-five grand to deliver you to him or anyone else I could from NYPD.” He took a step away, then turned to warn me to be careful. “You really should think about laying down on this one,” he said while buttoning his coat. “All the great ones have taken a dive now and then. No reason you can’t.”

  I didn’t bother saying anything; instead I watched as he fit his two beefy hands into a pair of calfskin gloves, then bulled his way out the door and into the cold night’s air. I sat at the table for several minutes before I trusted that I’d be able to control myself, then left also, heading to Joel Cohen’s nightclub.

  Joel was whispering into the ear of a young twenty-something blonde, the fingers on his right hand moving lightly along her hip. From the way her face was flushing she seemed to be enjoying the attention.

  I tapped Joel on the shoulder. He turned to me with a big breezy smile, his eyes dull. As he recognized me, his smile lost some its luster but stayed frozen in place.

  “Stan, good to see you,” he said, offering me his hand. I kept my own hands in my jacket pockets, and he pulled his back.

  “We need to talk,” I told him.

  “Sure,” he said. “Go ahead.”

  “In private.”

  He hesitated for a moment but nodded. He leaned back over to the blonde, nuzzled her ear, and whispered something to her that caused her to throw her head back laughing. He then turned to me and asked me what I was drinking. I could feel that same pulse from before beating along my temple. I didn’t answer him. He gave up waiting for me to and asked the bartender for a couple of Michelobs, then led me back to his office. Once inside he tried handing me a beer and I let the bottle drop to the floor.

  “Fucksake, Stan! What’d you do that for? Now I’m going to have to get Jenny in here to mop up this mess. A perfectly good beer. Shit!”

  “Fuck the beer,” I said. “Tell me about those Russians.”

  “Sorry, I’m confused here.”

  “They weren’t leaning on you for protection payments. So what the fuck was all that about?”

  He froze for a moment, then sat down on his red leather sofa and crossed his legs. When he looked back up at me he flashed me something between a smirk and a fuck-you smile.

  “I can’t tell you, Stan,” he said. “You’re too much of a Boy Scout. If I tell you you’re likely to repeat it to someone, maybe even when you testify against those two dumbasses next week.”

  Looking at him, I barely recognized him from the old days. It was more than just his good looks from years ago being tarnished by age and extra weight. Much more than that, more even than the dead paleness to his eyes. There was something cold about him, something that made me think of a rattlesnake.

  “What’s to stop me from cuffing you and arresting your sorry ass right now?”

  He scratched leisurely around his ear before giving me more of his fuck-you smile, his eyes crinkling with amusement.

  “What would you arrest me for?” he asked. “You don’t know anything. All you’re doing is guessing at shit. And Stan, if you arrested me, how’d it look with you being on my payroll back in October?”

  “You hired me to do a security job,” I said. “Nothing else.”

  “Yeah, well, you could try telling them that story. I guess there’s a chance they’d believe you. Me, though, I’d tell them something completely different. You see, Stan, I’m not the same Boy Scout you are. I don’t have the same compulsion to play fair and tell the truth all the goddamned time.”

  He grinned widely, then started laughing at a private joke.

  “Those crazy Russian muthafuckers,” he said, shaking his head. “I told them I had you in my hip pocket and if they showed up you’d arrest them. You know what those fucking morons actually told me? That you’d have enough brains to know better than to do something like that. What a bunch of dumbasses!”

  “You used me, you son of a bitch.”

  The amusement dried up quickly from his face, and what was left behind was as hard as granite. “I don’t know what you’re getting so worked up about,” he said. “You’re a cop, you saw a couple of mofos walk into a club carrying concealed weapons, so you arrested them. Big fucking deal. So what’s the problem? You don’t think I paid you enough? You’re probably right. I’ll kick in another couple of grand if that will make you happy.”

  I wanted to arrest him. More than anything I wanted to snap the cuffs on him and drag him out of his club and let that blonde at the bar see what a piece of shit he was. But I had no reason, not yet anyway. I was going to have to dig around and watch his club. Later I would get my chance, but not now.

  “You can keep your money,” I said.

  He showed me that damn cocksure smile again. “A genuine Boy Scout, huh? You had no problem taking my three grand earlier, but you don’t want my money now, fine. How about I give you some information instead—and don’t worry, I’m not trying to work you with this. This is something you’ll thank me for. That hot-looking skirt you brought in here back in October, you’re still with that, right?”

  He waited for me to answer him. When I didn’t he continued. “Okay, so you’re still with her. She disappeared on you for a few days around then, right?”

  “What are you trying to get at?”

  He shrugged, his smile now more of a smirk. “Just helping you out, Stan. For old time’s sake, you know? She was shacked up with some other dude then. And don’t bother arguing with me. It’s reliable. I got that from someone who recognized her. If you want a name, leave me your cell number and I’ll call you in a couple of days.”

  “Go to hell.”

  His smile came back in full force. “Why would I lie to you about that, Stan? Ask her. Or better yet, wait a couple of days and I’ll dig up that dude’s name and you can ask him yourself. Unless there’s something else, I’ve got someone waiting for me out there.”

  He got to his feet and brushed close enough past me so I could catch a full whiff of the musk cologne that he had doused himself with. He opened the door, then stopped to tell me that I could stay there as long as I wanted, but to shut off the lights and close the door on my way out.

  “What’s to stop me from finding out who those Russians work for and letting him know you don’t have any NYPD in your hip pocket, and that you never did?” I asked.

  He laughed at that. “It wouldn’t matter,” he said. “Any issues we had have been worked out. Besides, I don’t think he’d believe you. See you, Stan. Drinks on the house anytime you want them.”

  I watched him walk away from me.

  The sonofabitch …

  I knew he’d told me the truth about Bambi. He had no reason to lie to me about it, and in my heart I knew it was the truth. But as I told myself months ago when she fed me her story about staying with her friend Angela, it didn’t matter. We
weren’t married. I had no claim on her.

  There was a buzzing in my ears as I left Joel’s office. I realized I was breathing hard, and I held my breath to try to get it under control.

  It didn’t matter …

  What was done was done—it was over. She was back with me now and that was all that mattered …

  As I walked through the club something made me look to my left and I froze, seeing Joel Cohen in a corner of the room getting cozy with the same blonde as before. At that moment all I could think about was pulling him away from her and beating the crap out of him. Without even realizing it I noticed my hands had balled into fists. I took a step toward him. All at once I saw myself in my mind’s eye, except it wasn’t the way I really was but the way Zachary Lynch would’ve seen me—a swirling storm of rage and fury. It only lasted a second, if that, but it stopped me. I turned away from Joel and left the club.

  While I drove home I kept rationalizing about Bambi. We weren’t married and she had every right to move in with some other guy if she wanted to. So what happened? It must’ve turned to shit fast on her, but she knew she had me waiting in the wings. Or maybe it wasn’t like that—maybe she realized she had acted impulsively and made a mistake … But still, she must’ve been working this other guy for months to move as fast as she had.

  But I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. Whatever happened with her it was over now …

  I parked behind my building and walked up the six flights of stairs to my apartment, not bothering with the elevator. When I entered the apartment and Bambi saw me her face went sort of funny. I didn’t say anything to her. I went to the kitchen, got myself a beer, and brought it back to the living room, where I sat in my recliner. Bambi stood silently watching me, her arms looking unnatural the way they hung at her side.

  I kept trying to tell myself it didn’t matter, but I realized I was only kidding myself.

  “Tell me about the guy you moved in with last October,” I said.

  Her mouth turned brittle as she stood watching me.

  “What’s wrong with you?” she asked.

  “Just tell me about the guy.”

  “I told you before. I stayed with my friend Angela. You can call her and ask her if you want.”

  I felt completely drained right then. I dropped my forehead into my left hand and slowly rubbed my eyes.

  “I know you weren’t with Angela,” I said. “Joel Cohen told me someone at his club recognized you.”

  “He’s lying.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  I raised my head slowly. It took just about every bit of energy I had. Bambi’s face had changed subtly, but enough to where she was no longer beautiful. Not even attractive. There was a hardness to her face, her eyes becoming small and calculating.

  “He’s lying, and you’re going to believe him over me? Eff you!”

  “If I call him in a couple of days he’ll give me the guy’s name so I can talk to him myself. Do I have to do that?”

  I saw the shift in her eyes as she made a decision.

  “You’re making a big deal out of nothing,” she said. “We didn’t even sleep together.”

  She was lying. I could see that with the way her mouth tensed, but there was no point in arguing it with her

  “Who’s the guy?” I asked.

  Her eyes moved away from mine. “Someone from work,” she said. “You’re making a big deal out of nothing. I was so mad at you for ditching me in that hotel, I wanted to get back at you. After I cooled off I realized how much I missed you. Nothing happened.”

  Her eyes and mouth had gotten so small I could barely recognize her. I was never sure what we had before, but I knew now. I took a deep breath and told her it was over between us. It had to be. Maybe I hadn’t made enough of an effort with her and was more to blame than she was about what happened, but after what I’d gone through with Cheryl I couldn’t go through something like that again. It mattered that she lied to me and was willing to swap me for the first guy she could.

  Her eyes grew even smaller as they fixed on me. “Fine,” she said, her voice dripping with resentment. “It’s not like you’re such an effing bargain. If I can’t do better than some pathetic out-of-shape middle-aged cop who’s always broke, put an effing bullet in my head.”

  “How much time do you need to move out?”

  Her mouth compressed into a tiny oval. I wasn’t sure whether she was fighting to hold on to her composure or to keep from unleashing a tirade against me. Whichever it was, she succeeded in her effort. “Two weeks,” she finally said.

  I nodded, pushed myself out of the recliner, then took a suitcase from the storage closet and brought it into the bedroom. Bambi followed me and watched as I packed socks, underwear, and shirts into the suitcase.

  “This is stupid,” she said. “You don’t have to leave. Why don’t you stay in the second bedroom until I’m out?”

  I shook my head. “It will be better this way.”

  I finished packing up the suitcase. I grabbed an extra suit from my closet, then carried that and the suitcase out of the room. Bambi followed me.

  “You’ve been looking for an excuse to break up with me for a long time,” she said.

  “You might be right. I don’t know.”

  I opened the door and was halfway out of the apartment when she told me I wasn’t going to do better than her. “You know that, don’t you?” she said.

  “It doesn’t matter,” I said. I closed the door behind me.

  I thought about asking Mike if I could stay with him, but he only had a small studio apartment. It would be cramped with the two of us there, and besides, I knew he didn’t want any company these days. I knew Marcy would put me up in their guest room, and it would be kind of nice to spend some time with my nephews, but I’d feel funny staying there with Mike having moved out. Likewise I knew Joe Ramirez would put me up, but I didn’t want to impose on him for two weeks. I made a few calls and ended up renting a room at the Y.

  Chapter 23

  Friday, February 11, 2005

  I don’t think I slept more than an hour that night. The mattress was maybe an inch thick, and I couldn’t shake this sensation that bugs were crawling over me. I know they weren’t, that I was just feeling itchy from the cheap polyester sheets and even cheaper wool blanket, but I couldn’t get that thought out of my head. Maybe I was in too weird a state of mind after breaking things off with Bambi; even if I’d been back in my own bed I would’ve been too restless to sleep. Somewhere around three in the morning I gave up the pretense of trying and rolled out of bed. I thought I’d take advantage of being at the Y—lift some weights, jog around the track, maybe use the sauna—but when I went to the gym I found that it was closed until six AM. I tried talking the security guard manning the front desk to open the gym up for me, but he wouldn’t. I ended up going back to my room and doing thirty push-ups, struggling badly with the last three. I thought of doing some sit-ups, decided against it, and got up and took a lukewarm shower using the communal bathroom down the hall. After that I dressed and headed back to Manhattan. As it was I was at my desk by four in the morning.

  I spent the morning and a good chunk of the afternoon tracking down leads for Willie Howard that had come in from informants and the tip hotline, and none of them went anywhere. At ten minutes to four in the afternoon I got a call from the city morgue to let me know they had Willie Howard as a resident.

  “Since when?” I asked.

  “Since a week ago last Wednesday. His body was found in Central Park. Heroin overdose.”

  The papers were going to have fun with this—us launching a citywide manhunt for a guy who’d been dead and in our morgue for more than a week. I thanked the attendant for the call, then got on the phone to Hennison to give him the news.

  “We’ve been chasing our fucking tails the last two days,” he complained. “I told you before we’ve got the same psycho sonofabitch at work.”

  “As long as you can convince Phil
lips of it.”

  “I’ll convince him of it. Don’t you worry. You coming back to the precinct?”

  “I don’t think so. I’ve been on the job since four this morning. I’m calling it a day.”

  “Fucking lightweight,” he muttered under his breath before hanging up, not bothering to hide his disgust.

  With this most recent development I knew Hennison wanted me back at the precinct to put in more overtime, but I wasn’t going to. We had no leads worth a damn and I’d just be spinning cycles. Besides, early that morning I’d made up my mind how I needed to spend the weekend. I’d brought my suitcase with me so I didn’t need to head back to Brooklyn and the Y to gather up my stuff. Instead, I got in the car and headed to Rhode Island.

  I waited until I was on I-95 North to call Cheryl and let her know I was on my way to Cumberland to see the kids. She hesitated for a long moment before telling me I could stay in their guest room if I wanted to. That threw me. When I could find my voice again I thanked her for the offer and told her I’d like that.

  I wasn’t sure I really did. In a way I was glad I wasn’t going to be alone in a motel room that weekend, but I felt funny about staying in their house, and wasn’t sure I was up to seeing Cheryl and Carl together as a married couple all weekend. The thing was, Cheryl and I were starting to turn the corner in our post-marriage relationship, and if I refused her offer it would only set us back. I’d been keeping my promise to myself about calling my kids each day, and also had been routinely sending them long letters and additional packages of books and other personal items of mine. It felt good doing that; it made me feel more connected with Stevie and Emma, and I guess it also had the side benefit of loosening up Cheryl’s attitude toward me. As anxious as I was feeling about staying in Cheryl’s house, I was also excited about being able to squeeze in some extra hours with my kids.

  Traffic was mostly light and I was able to get to Cheryl’s house in time to take the kids out to dinner. Things were mostly good with Emma and me, and were better with Stevie than they had been. He was still aloof at times, but only gave brief hints of the hostility he’d had before. Later that evening when I had them back at their home, Cheryl played videotapes of Stevie’s hockey games. Even though Carl had left the room, I had a heaviness fill my chest knowing that he’d be there at future games and not me.