Birdie opened it and said, “Do I have to beg to be let in the secret club? You want me to prick my finger to get blood?”
“What are ya talkin about?”
“You been off the horn for ten minutes. I wanna know what’s goin on?”
“Pull up a chair.”
When I finished telling her the whole story, the new theories, the ins and outs, she looked at me with crazy eyes.
“That beats all,” she said. “To think Stork solved the case. This is one for the books.”
“Wait a sec. He didn’t solve it. It’s not solved. Stork gave me an idea, is all.”
“Whatever ya say. Hand me a cig, will ya?”
I did even though she was getting my goat. Stork solved it. Phooey. We both lit up.
“So what’s next, Faye?”
“Lunch.”
“You want I should call the deli or are ya goin out?”
“Deli. Pastrami on rye, lotsa mustard, lotsa pickles on the side.”
“You think I don’t know what ya want?”
“I don’t know what I think.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothin. Call the deli.”
“Don’t gimme nothin. I know better. Somethin’s got your dander up.”
“Stork did not solve the case, Birdie.”
“Okay, okay. I misspoke.”
I knew I was being childish, but now I didn’t know how to get outta it. “Just so ya know.”
“I know.”
“What? Whaddaya know?”
“This is nuts.” She stood up.
“Where ya goin?”
“I’m callin the deli.”
I grunted.
“Real attenuate.”
I knew she meant articulate. “Thanks.” I wanted this to stop now. She started for the door. “Bird?”
“Yeah?”
“I’m sorry.”
She eyeballed me good, trying to see if I was on the up-and-up. “I’m sorry, too. Stork couldn’t solve a hangnail.”
I smiled.
“He couldn’t solve what statue’s in the Lincoln Memorial.”
I laughed and then Birdie laughed and before we knew it we were howling and holding our stomachs cause the laughing hurt and I knew we were both trying not to go over that edge when the laughs turns into sobs. She was cackling as she went out to make the call to the deli. I was still chuckling some when I heard her give a big whoop of laughter, then suddenly stop. It didn’t sound right so I got up and ran to the outer office.
At first I didn’t recognize the man pointing a gun at Birdie and then I did. It was Raymond Cooper, David’s father.
“Mr. Cooper, what’s goin on?”
His mustache twitched. “The police won’t do anything. So now you have to.”
I remembered then he’d never called me about the letter David had written with the room arrangements he and Charlie’d made for New York.
“Mr. Cooper, can ya put down the gun?”
“No. Not until you promise to find out who killed David.”
“Can my secretary put down her hands?”
Birdie was holding her arms straight up high above her head. I thought they must be tired.
“Put them in front of you on the desk.” To me he said, “I never asked her to put them up. She just did it.”
Sounded right. “Put your arms down, Birdie.”
She did.
“Whew,” she said.
“Now how about the gun, Mr. Cooper? You don’t need it. We can talk about this. I mean, I could promise ya anything to get ya to put it down and then what?”
“You mean you’d lie?”
You bet. “Let’s just talk this over like two grown-ups, okay?”
Slowly he lowered the gun and stood there with it at his side looking like a drooping scarecrow.
“I was just gonna call for some lunch. Ya want somethin, Mr. Cooper?” Birdie asked.
“Something to drink. A Dr. Pepper. It’s so hot out there.”
“Go ahead, Bird. Put in the order. Mr. Cooper, you come in my office, okay?”
He nodded and followed me in, still carrying the gun. I had him sit down and asked him if he’d put the peashooter on the edge of my desk. He did.
“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “But I feel desperate. They won’t release David’s body and I don’t think they’re doing anything to find his killer.”
The family and friends of victims often felt that way. “I’m sure they’re doin somethin.”
“They won’t tell me anything. That’s why I want you to deal with this case. I’m willing to pay you twice what you usually get.”
“Mr. Cooper, I don’t know if ya know this or not, but Charlie Ladd was kidnapped. And I’m workin on that case. I think they’re connected, the kidnappin and your son’s murder. So I’m already workin on it.”
“But it’s not your focus, is it?”
He had me there. “No. But I believe that when we find Ladd we’ll know what happened to David.”
“And what if you never find him?”
“I can’t go into detail, but I’m close to findin him.”
“I never heard anything about a kidnapping. Was it in the papers?”
“No. We kept that part out. Just said he was missin.”
“Was there a note? A phone call? How do you know he was kidnapped?”
“There was a call.”
“Why should I trust you?”
“Why’d ya come here?”
“Desperation.”
“Then ya have to trust me. I’m all ya got.”
“It’s true. You’re all I’ve got.”
THIRTY-ONE
Do you think Private Ladd killed my son, Miss Quick?”
“I think it’s possible. But I don’t know why.”
“Will you let me hire you?”
“Mr. Cooper, someone else is already payin my bills.”
“Can’t you have two clients at once?”
“Not for the same case.”
“But it’s not for the same case, is it?”
“They’re connected,” I said.
“You’re sure?”
“Nobody can ever be sure about anything.”
“Hogwash. My son is dead and I’m sure about that.”
“You’re right. As for the case, well, I’m sure as I can be that they’re connected somehow.”
“But you don’t know, you aren’t positive, are you?”
“No.”
“Well, then, I want to hire you to find my son’s killer.”
“But Mr. Cooper . . .”
“You said you were all I have and that’s true. Where can I turn, Miss Quick?”
“I can send ya to a good PI I know.”
“I don’t want anyone else. I want you.”
“Mr. Cooper, ya don’t even know me. Ya don’t know if I’m any good.”
“I know you’re honest. When we met the first time, you said nothing would ever be the same for Thelma and me. No one else has said anything like that. They say time will help. Turn to God. Things like that. But no one ever says the truth. And you did. You’re the person I want to help me.”
“Okay. But ya don’t have to pay me.”
“I do. Please. I won’t feel that I’m hiring you unless I do.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” I told him my rates and he wrote out a check.
“Thank you, Miss Quick.”
“Please call me Faye.”
“All right. Call me Raymond.”
We exchanged sappy smiles. I said, “Did ya ever get one of yer daughters to read that letter about David’s plans?”
“I did. There was nothing to indicate that there was any rift between David or Private Ladd or that they were planning on separate rooms in New York.”
Birdie knocked on the door and came in with the delivery of my lunch and Cooper’s Dr. Pepper. Birdie’d already opened his soda bottle and he poured it into the glass she’d brought. I unwr
apped my sandwich. We drank and ate in silence.
When he’d gone, I took out the picture of Charlie Ladd that Claire had given me. It wasn’t the same one that had been in the papers. I tucked it into my pocketbook and left my office.
Birdie said, “Poor guy.”
“Mr. Cooper?”
“Yeah. Course I wasn’t crazy about him when he was ready to kill me.”
“You know he wouldna.”
“Now I know.”
“I’ll ring ya later for messages.”
“Where ya goin?”
“Downtown.”
“So don’t tell me.”
“I’m goin to see Dolores.”
“Oh. I hope she’s better.”
“Knowing Dolores, she will be.”
This time I had no trouble getting in to see Mrs. Sidney. She was propped up in bed, wearing her red wig, not quite in place, but if it had been I wouldna known who she was. There were flowers everywhere and Dolores was playing solitaire on her bed table. And she had a roommate I couldn’t really see cause the curtain was pulled.
“Ah, bubele, just the person I wanted to see.”
I gave her a peck on the cheek. “How come?”
“Cause I’m goin meshuga with . . .” She tilted her head toward the other patient.
I nodded that I got her drift.
“Groaning. Yelling. In the night. I want out. And I want you to take me.”
“I can’t do that.”
“Why not? I’ll get better faster in my own bed.”
That was probably on the money. Still. “Who’ll take care of ya?”
“Everybody.”
Another bull’s-eye. “I’m on a case.”
“So? You think yer the only pal I got?”
“I know ya got lotsa friends, but who says they’ll be able to help out?”
“I do. Look at all these flowers.”
“I have. I know. But sendin flowers and takin care are two different animals.”
“Ach. You got no spirit. No sense of adventure.”
“You don’t believe that for a minute, Dolores. Me of all people?”
“Don’t make me use my ace in the hole.” She pressed her lips together as if nothing, nobody could pry this info from her. I knew better.
“After all,” she said. “I’m in here cause a you.”
Ace in the hole. “So I should take ya away from proper treatment cause of that? Au contraire.”
“What’s this now? Yer speakin foreign languages at me?”
“Since I’m the reason yer in here, I think it’s my responsibility to make sure ya get well. Get the best treatment.”
“Faye. Bubee. Don’tcha know that hospitals make ya sick? It’s a well-known fact. I’m surprised ya don’t know this.”
“I can’t just take ya outta here.”
“Why not?”
“Nurrrrrrse.” From the other bed. “Hurtin.”
“Ya see what I mean? All day and all night. How can I get better here?”
She had a point. “I suppose ya got it all figured out how to do it.”
Dolores smiled. “It’s not hard. You get my clothes from the closet and I go in the bathroom and put them on. Could it be any easier?”
“But then what?”
“We walk out together.”
“We’ll have to go by the nurses’ station.”
She pointed to her wig.
“You’ll take it off?”
She nodded.
“They might recognize ya anyway.”
“Never. Get my shmatas now.”
“If we get caught, I’m sure I won’t be able to visit ya.”
“I’ll survive.”
“Nice.” I went over to the metal locker and took out her shoes, skirt, girdle, brassiere—and nothing else. “There’s no blouse.”
“I guess it was too bloody.”
“Ya can’t walk outta here in a brassiere and nothin else.”
“Nurrrrrrse. Hurtin.”
“I have an idea,” she said. “Go in her locker. Maybe there’s somethin I can wear.”
“Now ya want me to steal?”
“Borrow.” She pointed to the locker on the other side of the curtain.
“She’ll see me.”
“So what?”
“I think Morris should do this for ya.”
“Ecch. Morris is a shmendrik. He’d get it all wrong. You’re the only one I trust. Go. Her locker. Now.”
I don’t know why I did what I was told, but I did. I tried to make myself invisible by hunching up and tiptoeing over to the other patient’s locker. I didn’t look at her and hoped she had her eyes closed. I opened the door and peered in. There was a dress and it looked huge. I grabbed it.
“Nurrrrrrse. Hurtin.”
I jumped about a foot. I ran back to Dolores. “What if a nurse comes for that woman.”
“They never come. What’s that thing ya got there?”
“A dress.” I held it up.
“Is she an elephant?”
“This is it. Ya wanna put it on or not?”
“I don’t but I do.” She threw her legs over the side of the bed. “Gimme it, bubee.”
I turned my back while she got dressed. I was terrified someone would walk in and I also didn’t know how we could get away with this.
“Okay, now ya can feast yer eyes.”
Dolores was barely visible in the dress. She’d taken off her wig, and once again I saw the gray sprouts of hair. And her face. But that was all. The dress completely covered the rest of her except the tips of her shoes.
“Ya can’t go out in that.”
“I’m goin.”
“Ya think ya won’t attract attention?”
“I’m gonna bunch it up and you’ll walk on my right side so they don’t see.”
“And in the lobby? On the street?”
“We’ll take a taxi.”
“If any’ll stop for us.”
“Do I have a handbag here?”
“No. How d’ya feel?”
“Like a diamond as big as the Ritz.”
“Your wound. How does it feel?”
“Perfect.”
“If ya start to feel weak, lemme know.”
“I will. So let’s go.”
This was worse than going into an apartment you didn’t know, wondering if there was a bullet waiting for you. They were the good old days.
“Lemme check the hall first.”
“Good idea.”
Oddly enough it was empty. I gestured to Dolores. I took her arm and we walked out of the room. She was holding up the dress with her other hand, and when we got to the nurses’ station we walked on by without a hitch. The elevators were gonna be another story.
“Maybe we should walk down the stairs,” I said.
“I don’t think I can manage that, Faye.”
“Are ya okay?”
“Hunky-dory, but walkin down steps ain’t on my dance card.”
“Okay.”
When we got to the elevators, I pushed the button and we waited. I couldn’t imagine how we were gonna get away with this. The door opened and we got on. Nobody, including the operator, noticed or said a word. Had I forgotten that this was New York City—and the Village to boot?
The rest of our escape went the same. Through the lobby and out the door to Seventh Avenue, where I hailed a hack. No one batted an eye. My kinda town.
The trip was rough on Dolores. I got her into bed as soon as I could after we got home. Then I went around to all the neighbors, some in the building, some on the block. Everyone agreed to help out with her care.
Ethel Kilbride elected herself captain of the care team. She was a good organizer so I felt okay about that. I had six keys cut for Dolores’s apartment. No leaving the door unlocked. If the shooter got wind of her being at home, he might try to finish the job he’d started.
Bruce Jory offered to sit in the hallway and guard the apartment all night, but I didn’t think that was ne
cessary. Besides, it was time Morris did something.
After I looked in on Dolores, who was asleep, I went into my own crib and found the number Morris had given me.
Zachary twirled nonstop around my legs as I sat at the phone table. I leaned down and scratched behind his ears. I felt bad cause I’d been neglecting him. He got his food and water, but we hadn’t chewed the fat lately.
I dialed Morris. And when he answered, I said immediately that he shouldn’t be frightened, Dolores was okay.
“Thanks for saying that.”
I heard him light a cigarette, which made me get one of my own.
“She’s home now. She . . .”
“Home?”
I explained what had happened and how all the neighbors were gonna take care of her.
“It must be something to be loved like that,” he said.
I felt a twinge of sorrow for him. “Look, the reason I’m callin is cause she’ll need somebody there nights.”
There was a silence on the other end.
“Morris?”
“I’m here. So you want me to spend my nights there, is that it?”
“She might be in danger.”
“Okay. When do I start?”
“How’s tonight sound.”
“Lousy, but I’ll be there. Will you?”
“I’m not sure where I’ll be. But somebody will be there until ya get here.”
“I guess I’ll sleep on the sofa, right?”
“Can’t think a where else.” The sofa was dilapidated to say the least. And sitting on it was like having some kinda brutal massage.
“Yeah. That’s okay. Maybe I’ll sleep on the floor.”
“Whatever ya wanna do.”
“Okay. I’ll be there in about an hour.”
After I hung up I went across the hall. Jerome Byington was on duty. Natty was the word you’d use to describe Jerome.
“How’s she doin?”
“She’s asleep.”
“No, I ain’t,” Dolores yelled.
“Bat ears,” he said.
“I’d like to go in.”
“Suit yourself.” He picked up his copy of Esquire.
I walked back through the hall into her bedroom.
“So what’s cookin?” she said.
“Yer not gonna like this but here’s what’s gonna happen.” I told her the schedule.
“Morris is gonna sleep here?”
“Now, don’t get nasty, we need . . .”
“I wasn’t gettin nasty, Faye. I’m just surprised he’d bother.”
“He loves ya, Dolores.”
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