Too Darn Hot

by Sandra Scoppettone

  “Please. I don’t want to be alone.” What was it with these girls? I liked my time alone.

  “Can’t ya get a friend over?”

  “I don’t have any friends.”

  This was malarkey. “That’s not true.”

  “How do you know?”

  “You seem like a nice dame, why wouldn’t ya have any friends?”

  “I told you, I just moved to New York. I haven’t had a chance to make friends.”

  “Not even at work?”

  “I don’t work. I have a trust fund.”

  What did she do all day? I couldn’t picture not working. I’d go loco with nothing to do.

  “Look, Babs. Comin home with me is not a good idea. I promise I’ll call ya as soon as I know anything.”

  “You hate me.”

  “Huh?”

  “You think I’m vile.”

  “Wait a minute. I don’t know where yer gettin this hogwash, but I don’t hate ya or . . . or think yer . . .”

  “Never mind. Just go.”

  “I’ll call ya, Babs.”

  “I might not be here.”

  “I’ll try ya again.”

  “If I’m still alive.”

  I wasn’t falling for this. I walked to the door, opened it, said goodbye, then closed it behind me.

  To say this meet gave me the blue devils wasn’t the half of it. I’d never come across anyone so manipulative and loony. I wasn’t sure what her game was, but I wasn’t playing.

  My wristwatch said two-thirty. Half an hour till the drop. I hadda argue myself outta heading for Pier Eighty-eight and playing the invisible girl. Deep down I knew that might make things worse. So I decided to go home and wait for the call.

  Dolores wasn’t on the stoop, and she hadn’t left her pillow there. The shade was down on her window. Everything looked exactly like it had when I’d left that morning. Something was out of whack and the butterflies were making mincemeat outta my stomach.

  I hurried up the steps into the building and right to her door. I knocked hard and loud.

  “Dolores? Ya in?”

  I put my ear to the door. Nothing. That was pretty scary, too. She always had her radio on when she was there. What was I thinking? Maybe she just wasn’t home. I was getting to be a worrywart in my old age.

  I knocked again and called her name. I’d just about decided she was out somewhere when I realized that was tommy-rot. Dolores never went anywhere. To the store, but that was it. And if she’d gone to the store she wouldn’t pull down the shade and her pillow’d be on the top step.

  A cold sweat started running along my spine. I banged on the door and yelled her name. Finally I tried the door. It was locked. Dolores never locked her door. I’d nagged her about that, but she always waved the idea away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  It was Jim Duryea.

  “Dolores doesn’t answer.” I quickly told him all the reasons we oughta be worried.

  “You think we should call the police?”

  “Yes. And I think we should try to get this door open.” I gave him the keys to my apartment. “Could ya go to my place and make the call?”

  “What about getting the door open?”

  “Leave that to me.”

  He gave me a funny look, then went to my apartment, where he unlocked the door. While he was inside my place I got out my ever-loving picks and went to work. By the time Jim came back I was opening the door. I hated going into people’s apartments. I never knew what I’d find.

  I called Dolores’s name and listened. Nothing.

  “The bedroom,” Jim said.

  I nodded and we tiptoed toward it. I don’t know why we thought we should be quiet. If she wasn’t there, she wouldn’t hear us—and if she was there, she probably wouldn’t, either. I got a knot in my stomach when I thought of that.

  I knocked on the bedroom door and called her name once more, hoping. Nothing. I looked at Jim.

  “We have to go in,” he said.

  “Yeah.”

  I turned the knob and opened the door. We saw her right away.

  She was facedown on the floor. I ran to feel her pulse. It was there. And she was breathing. There was a little blood on the side of her head but I figured that coulda happened when she fell. I didn’t think this was a crime scene.

  “Where are those police?” Jim asked.

  “I think I hear em. Run out and tell em we need an ambulance.”

  “Okay.”

  “Dolores? Can ya hear me? Dolores?” I felt guilt weighing me down, like some ape was sitting on my chest. All the times I’d found Dolores annoying, tried to duck her, thought she was batty.

  “Please wake up.”

  She didn’t stir.

  Two cops came thundering in.

  “Move back, lady,” one said.

  I didn’t move. “I don’t know what’s happened to her. I found her like this.”

  “I said to move back.” He looked like a package of un-shelled walnuts.

  “Okay.” I stood up as he moved in.

  “She’s alive,” he said.

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Slezak, go call an ambulance.”

  “My friend’s doin that,” I said.

  “Look, girlie, I’m in charge here. I don’t even know who ya are.”

  “I’m her neighbor.”

  “Go on, Slezak, don’t just stand there like a department store dummy.”

  Slezak left.

  “Now you, girlie, you stay outta the way. In fact, ya said ya were a neighbor, go home.”

  “Not on yer life.”

  “What’d ya say?”

  “I said, I’m not leavin. She’s my friend.” And she was.

  “Listen, sister, you better . . .”

  There was a racket in the other room and then two guys came in with a gurney. Both of us moved outta the way.

  I tried to watch while they took her vital signs. But I couldn’t see a thing. Then they got her on the gurney and carefully carried her out. I followed.

  There was a crowd on the street. I knew most of them, and they’d be asking me a trillion questions after the ambulance left. St. Vincent’s Hospital was the closest, so I started walking in that direction.

  “Faye? Where are you going?” Jim asked.

  “To the hospital.”

  “I’ll come with you.”

  “Suit yerself.”

  And we were off.

  TWENTY-TWO

  There’s only one thing worse than sitting in an emergency waiting room and that’s sitting in it with Jim Duryea. The man never stopped flapping his jaw. I wasn’t much of a gabber anyway and I sure didn’t feel like yapping now.

  Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “Jim, would ya put a cork in it, please?”

  He looked at me like I’d spit in his face.

  “Look, I don’t mean to hurt yer feelings, but I’m just not in the mood to talk. I’m real worried about Dolores.”

  “I was trying to take your mind off it.”

  “That’s nice of ya. But it’s not workin.”

  “I’m worried, too.”

  “I appreciate that. I do. But I wanna sit here, quiet. It’s noisy enough. I need to think.”

  “Do you wish me to leave?”

  “I want ya to do whatever ya want.”

  “Well, I do have an appointment at seven.”

  “Seven?” I looked up at the big clock on the wall. It was six-thirty. Johnny. I didn’t wanna stand him up but I didn’t think I should leave even long enough to explain to him. “Jim, could ya do me a big favor?”

  “I will if I can.”

  “Could ya go to John’s on Bleecker and leave a note with the owner for my boyfriend, Johnny, and tell him where I am.”

  “All right. And you’ll be fine alone here? I mean there are some pretty strange-looking characters sitting around.”

  There were. “I’ll be okay. Ya seem to forget what I do for a livin.”

  “I n
ever forget that, Faye.” He stood up. “I’ll try to find Detective Lake at John’s.”

  It didn’t get past me that Duryea knew Johnny was a detective and that his last name was Lake. And I knew that it was Dolores who told him.

  “Thanks, Jim. You’re a peach.”

  His face reddened a little as we said goodbye.

  I had a bad feeling about Dolores. Even though nobody knew how old she was, she was no spring chicken. She coulda had a heart attack or a stroke. A stroke was most likely since women hardly ever had heart attacks. And what if she died? She never talked about her past so I didn’t know if she had any relatives or what her wishes were about burial.

  Ah, no. I had to stop thinking like that. Dolores wasn’t gonna die. The blood hadda be from hitting her head. Maybe she’d only fainted from something. Not from lack of food, that was one thing I knew.

  I saw a nurse I’d talked to earlier so I got up and walked over to her.

  “I was looking for you,” she said.

  “Is she all right?”

  “Fortunately, the bullet went in just below her shoulder.”

  “Bullet?”

  “Didn’t you know?”

  “No. She was lyin facedown and I couldn’t see her cause she was surrounded by all the emergency people. I thought maybe she’d had a stroke.”

  “She was shot.”

  “But there was so little blood.”

  “I’m told she fell onto a slipper so that must’ve stanched the flow.”

  I pictured Dolores’s big fluffy slippers, now red with her blood.

  “At any rate, she’s going to be fine. They’ve taken her into surgery to remove the bullet and then she’ll be in recovery for several hours. So I suggest you go home because you won’t be able to see her until late tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  “Have the police been notified?”

  “Yes, of course. I understand you’re a neighbor of Mrs. Sidney’s?”

  “Yes.”

  “I think you’d better go home. The police will want to talk to you.”

  I nodded. “How will I know she’s all right?”

  “Call in a few hours.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  I looked at the clock. Quarter to seven. Maybe I could get to John’s before Johnny got the note.

  On the way over I was racking my brain for a reason anybody would shoot Dolores. A burglary gone bad. But on a Sunday in broad daylight? Didn’t seem logical. Also her place didn’t look like it’d been tossed. I didn’t know anything about her past. Maybe the shooting had something to do with that. Somebody with a long-running beef. Dolores Sidney, the swindler? Grifter? Thief? Murderess? I couldn’t see it.

  So what had happened? I kept dodging the thought poking up its ugly head. Finally I had to give in. Did it have anything to do with me? That didn’t make sense, either, but it wouldn’t be the first time a suspect in a case had tracked me down. And then what? Shot at Dolores cause I wasn’t home? There was no use trying to figure this thing. The main point right then was that Dolores was gonna be okay.

  When I got to John’s, it was starting to get crowded, customers sitting at the wooden tables and chairs or near the back of the room in wooden booths. In the middle of it all was a big brick oven where their famous pizzas cooked, over a coal fire. I looked around but Johnny wasn’t there. I saw Red Conte, the manager, at the back of the main room. I waved to him and he waved back as I waded through the tables in his direction.

  “Hey, Faye, how ya doin?”

  “Okay.”

  Red always wore a tie even if he had an apron on, and today it was the usual type. Dancing girls in Hawaiian skirts with leis around their necks. Very colorful and nothing offensive. Except maybe the tie itself.

  He was a big guy with a shock of red hair and huge shoulders holding up suspenders over a dark blue shirt. Red gave me a kiss on the cheek.

  “Long time no see.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been busy. Have ya seen Johnny?”

  “Funny ya should ask. A weird guy left a note for him.”

  “Yeah, I know. I sent him here.” I had a hard time keeping a straight face about Red calling Jim weird.

  “I got the note right here.” He reached into a pant pocket and pulled it out, handing it to me. “I guess ya can deliver it in person.”

  We shot the breeze for a few more minutes and then I went outside to wait for Johnny. Forget about frying an egg on the sidewalk. Tonight you could do a whole chicken. Johnny was late by fifteen minutes.

  I told him everything. But we decided to eat before going back to my building and a possible grilling. Dealing with most coppers was done better on a full stomach.

  Red waved us to a wooden booth in the back, shaking hands with Johnny before we sat down. We didn’t have to tell our waiter what we wanted cause we always had the same pizza: mushrooms on one side, sausage on the other. We also ordered two beers, which came almost immediately.

  “You look real nice, Faye.”

  “Thanks. I don’t know how I could look anything but a mess cause I’ve been runnin around and then to come home to Dolores on the floor . . . well, it’s been some day.”

  “You still look nice.”

  I smiled at him. “You do, too.”

  We looked in each other’s eyes for a few seconds and then I could see the blush creeping up his neck. I looked away so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

  “How was your day?” I asked.

  “Pretty dull.”

  “How come?”

  “I wasn’t with you.”

  “Ah, Johnny. What a sweet thing to say.”

  “It’s only the truth.”

  “I missed you, too.” My truth was I hadn’t had time to miss him, but I knew if I’d had time, I woulda missed him.

  Our pizza arrived, unlike any other pizza in town. That brick oven made it aces. We dug right in.

  There were still little knots of people across the street from my building. I waved to some of them. A uniformed cop stood in front of the outside door to my building.

  “Sorry, you can’t come in here.”

  “I live here.”

  “Can you prove that?”

  “She lives here,” Johnny said. He took out his shield.

  “Oh, okay. Sorry, sir.”

  “That’s all right. You were doing your job.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  We went in. The door to Dolores’s apartment was open. I saw two detectives from the Sixth on Tenth Street standing in her living room. I didn’t know em well, but we’d met.

  “Detective Davis, hello,” I said.

  “Who’re you?”

  He knew who I was, the mug who looked like a bread that came out of the oven too soon, but he liked to play this game. He had hooded blue eyes, a nose that’d been broken a few times, and a mouth that was made to hold the smoke that was always in it. His brown suit was shiny and was probably made during the First War.

  “Faye Quick. I’m a PI.”

  He laughed. “Everybody wants to play detective. Must be all those radio shows.”

  Detective Ryan said, “She’s the broad who lives across the hall.”

  I could hear Johnny breathing hard. It was one thing to step in with the uniform outside on the door, but he knew I wouldn’t want him to do it here.

  “That right.”

  “Yeah, she’s the neighbor found the vic.” Ryan was younger than Davis. He had a red face like he’d already become the drunk he was destined to be.

  “Come on in,” Davis said.

  I stepped into the living room. And Johnny did, too.

  “Who’re you?”

  Johnny flipped open the holder with his shield.

  “This ain’t your turf.”

  “He’s with me,” I said.

  “Oh, yeah? Well, it don’t matter. Wait in the hall, Lake.”

  There was nothing Johnny could do. Ryan kicked the door shut.

  “So tell me about findin Mrs. Sidney,” Davis s
aid.

  I did.

  “How do I know you didn’t shoot her yourself?”

  “Don’t start that, Detective.”

  “What’d ya say?”

  “I’m not the perp and you know it.”

  “I don’t know nothin yet. Go on with yer story.”

  “The ambulance came and that was that. Story’s over.”

  “Where’d ya go then?” Ryan asked.

  “To the hospital.”

  “In the meat wagon?”

  “No. I walked.”

  “Why?”

  “Why did I walk? To get there before the ambulance.” I didn’t like calling it a meat wagon.

  “And did ya?” Davis said.

  I nodded.

  “Ya got any idea why somebody would shoot the old lady?”

  That threw me for a sec cause I didn’t think of Dolores as an old lady. Old lady was another type of person. “I don’t.” I wasn’t bringing myself into this unless I had to, especially with this meathead.

  “Ya know her good?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Ya know her friends?”

  “Some.”

  “What about family?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “What don’t ya know?”

  “I don’t know if she has any.”

  “Oh, real chummy, were ya?” The cigarette kept bobbing in his mouth when he talked.

  “She never mentioned any family. Dolores asks a lotta questions, but doesn’t talk about her past.”

  Davis looked at his notepad. “Ya know where Mr. Sidney is?”

  “No.”

  “Is there a Mr. Sidney?”

  “I guess there was.”

  “And now?”

  “Haven’t the vaguest.”

  “Kids. She have any? Any come to visit?”

  “I never met any.”

  “Ya sure ya even know this lady, Quick?”

  I buttoned up.

  “What about friends. Ya said ya knew some.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Names.” Ryan held a runty pencil over his notebook.

  “Eve Raines, Evelyn Granger, Ella Carnovsky.”

  “Why do they all have first names startin with E?”

  “Ask their mothers.”

  “Don’t crack wise, Quick.”

  “How should I know why they have first names startin with E?”

  Ryan said, “Sounds like a ring to me, Davis.”

  “Yeah. They Americans?”

  “Far as I know.”