The Detective Megapack

by Various Writers

  “Now,” I told him, “we go to Tony’s.”

  * * * *

  Tony’s is a small time gym in the neighborhood where I have a standing arrangement; I don’t tell Tony’s wife Lisa about his girl friends and he doesn’t charge me for the gym. She’d hired me to find out if he was cheating on her. It’d only take a few days to gather the proof that he was, but also to see what needed to be done. I could tell she didn’t really want proof Tony was running around—she wanted proof he wasn’t. Tony wanted more attention than one woman and a small life provided. Some people are like that.

  The end result was that I confronted Tony and scared him into not being a good boy, but at least a better one. I reminded him that if his wife couldn’t hold her head up in their neighborhood, she might repay him in the middle of the night with a turkey carver. He agreed with a nervous nod, begging me not to tell her what he’d been up to, throwing in a life-time membership to his place. So now, Tony and Lisa have a marriage not quite headed for the rocks, and I have a key to the front door.

  I introduced him to Lowe and Hubert when he came in to open up, letting him think they were a mixed bag of pharmacists on the run. With his family background, it wasn’t the first time his storage room’d come in handy. We all caught naps, improving our dispositions greatly. Hubert went out for Kentucky Fried later, warming up our dispositions even more.

  Finally, however, we hit the road, needing a little air and sun and open places. It’d been a while since I’d gone outside during the day for no other reason than the medicinal benefits. I wasn’t too worried about crowds gathering—Lowe had admitted his face wasn’t very widely recognized, yet. In fact, he said most people, white or black, had little idea who the city’s black politicians were. I was worried about staying too long in one place, though, so I kept us moving. It was a good day for once, warm, pleasant, almost quiet.

  For some reason, the streets were fairly empty. Of course, ‘fairly empty’ on a Manhattan afternoon means being able to move for more than twenty seconds without bumping into someone. It made for an almost pleasant moment. Maybe that was why I missed the tail at first.

  Something was nagging at me, worrying my complacency. We didn’t seem to be attracting any attention, and yet I had the urge to check the crowd around us. Maybe it was only Lowe’s speech on those little voices, but something had the edges of my hackles up, so I decided to follow through. Waiting for a good-looking girl to walk by, I used the excuse of checking her out to turn around and survey the crowd. I kept my head angled in her direction but moved my eyes over everyone until I spotted him.

  He was good; there was no denying that. He’d kept a minimum of a half block away from us at all times, shielding his presence by not concentrating on us. There’d been nothing in the air to give him away, no heavy feeling of staring eyes on the back of the neck, no sudden chills or corner-of-the-eye glimpses to set me wondering. Actually, I felt not so much immediately threatened as I did scrutinized. As if he were looking me over and not the candidate.

  Turning back to Hubert and Lowe, I ran our new playmate over in my mind. His stance, his carriage, at first glance, everything about him seemed almost frail. He looked like a divinity student, or an English Lit. professor—at least under a casual inspection. There was power in his frame, however. It was cloaked, masked off from those around him; perhaps purposely. Perhaps not. It showed if you knew what to look for, though. Especially in his face. His eyes were cut chunks of broken blue glass. Even from a distance they were a signpost for danger. Only a fool could miss the waiting trouble in them. Of course, the world’s filled with fools.

  His nose was sharp and decisive. There was a targeting sense to it, like a bird’s beak or an ant’s mandibles. The lines around it showed a sinister capacity for ferocity, like the ones around a woman’s mouth that let you know she sometimes smiles.

  Wanting a second opinion, I told Hubert, “There’s a thin, bearded guy in a brown suit about four, five storefronts back. Check him out.”

  The information broker bent over to pick up an imaginary piece of change. Upon standing back up, he said, “D-Don’t see anyone like that, Jack boy.”

  I turned. He was right. The divinity student was gone. But not the little voices. The back of my mind, although it couldn’t explain why, was screaming at me that I was in big trouble. And, although I couldn’t explain why either, I was willing to agree with it.

  * * * *

  The dinner sounded like a big success. The noise coming out of the hall seemed to indicate Lowe was making a good impression. I wouldn’t know. Morrie’d sworn by his plainclothed undercovers, sending them in to watch over the candidate during his speech. Me he had other plans for.

  “No way we waste you standing around inside,” he said. “I’ve got six guys in there. Andy’s safe as my grandmother’s ass. If you’re here on our payroll, let’s get something tangible for our dough.”

  After that he called over the roving press boys who could write their features without the benefit of actually bothering to listen to Lowe’s speech. Introducing me as ‘that guy you all wrote about you know the hero who saved the young heiress and solved the Millionaire Mugging oye how fickle is this press of ours a month ago he was your darling ask him why he’s here…’ That set them all off.

  Before I knew it I was telling the microphones I’d been hired to protect the candidate, and yes he’d had death threats and no I don’t have any leads yet and no well I don’t really know the candidate’s platform but yes I do think he’s all right blahblahblahfuckingblah.…

  The cameras did not make me comfortable. I’d been stuffed into a rented suit by Wortzman, a beauty of a Hong Kong three-piecer he figured would film well. In a way, it was a little annoying to know I couldn’t buy one like it with the thousand I was getting at the end of the day, but that Wortzman could just call one up from central casting in my size. Poverty and celibacy were beginning to not look so ennobling. Or maybe I’d gotten as noble as I needed.

  The media kept at me with the questions, digging to see if they could find anything new that’d happened to make the candidate afraid for his life. With a brainstorm I told them I couldn’t reveal what had happened, and that it was probably best if they asked those questions of Mr. Wortzman. That sent them all back to Lowe’s obnoxious campaign manager, getting them off my back, which is the way it looked Wortzman preferred it. He’d used me to get them all excited, but he wanted them returned so he could deliver the party line. He got all but one.

  She was a reporter for one of the city’s chicer news magazines. And a blonde. A real blonde. She had the looks and style and that New York attitude, the one from the movies and the television and the casinos and the lost dreams that looked bored enough to try anything. She was decked out in all black and white. A combination of silk and leather wraps and restraints that worked. Very few women have the legs to pull off black high heels and white stockings and make it look that good. She caught my interest like a dry sponge does water—slowly but completely. She was good enough at the game to make it look as if her interest was just a step behind mine. We talked through the typical press/victim stuff until she finally asked:

  “So, you’re really the detective who solved the Ralph Morgan thing?”

  “Yeah; at your service.”

  “Are you a tough guy…‘Jack,’ isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, I’m one of the smart, tough ones, all right.”

  “You like being a detective?”

  “Probably not much more than you like being a reporter.”

  “Oh,” she said, half-coy, half-bored, “and this is where I say, ‘well, why do you do it?’ and you say, ‘I could ask you the same question,’ and then.…”

  “And then I say, ‘look, I have work to do.’”

  “I was getting to that one.”

  “Well,” I told her, “I have to get to it now. Besides, as much as I’d like to kid this along into something, I might as well save us both a lot of time.


  “I’m a flat broke bum trying to keep from falling flat on my face. Again. Flattering as attention is from someone who looks like you, in all honesty, I don’t think I could show you much of a fun time right now.

  “Hell, I don’t even own this suit.”

  I winced slightly as I noticed Wortzman in the background, signaling to me that I had to get out of the rental suit. He’d wanted me dressed up to show off to the press, but didn’t want to take a chance on having to pay for it. Regretting what I figured had to be the inevitable, I said:

  “In fact, I’ve got to peel out of it and get back into my working clothes. I’ve done my little sidewalk monkey act for the press. Now it’s time for the real world.”

  “Great performance,” she answered coldly. “You charm a lot of women this way?” Digging into my wallet, I pulled out one of my business cards and handed it to her.

  “Look,” I told her sincerely, “you want to get together with me—I’m all for it. But, right now, I have to go to work. You want to drop in on me, feel free. Any time.

  “I just don’t think you’ll like the address.”

  “I could surprise you,” she called out as I walked off to the office where I’d left my bag. I thought of yelling back that nothing surprises me anymore, but then decided against it. Sometimes nothing surprises me; most of the time everything does.

  * * * *

  It only took a few minutes to change into some comfortable slacks and a sweat and head back to the auditorium. From the size of the parking lot Lowe’d filled, it looked like his candidacy was going to get a hefty send-off. People had paid a thousand a head to attend his speech and be accorded the privilege of pledging more money on top of that. He’d held his rally in the wealthiest part of Brooklyn—a gamble, not holding his big night in Manhattan, but one which had apparently paid off. I was just getting smug in my assessment of how well things were going when the first gun shots went off.

  I pulled my .38 and zigged into the parking lot, heading for the auditorium at a crouching run. A body burst out of the front doors, quickly tearing around the building off into the trees. I had a choice, try and find some back-up and risk losing him or head straight after him and risk wasting my time on some panicking citizen. Then, just as he reached the corner, he turned to check on pursuit. I saw his face. It was the divinity student. And I was the only one to see him. Waiting for anyone else to back me up could take too long. Damn, I thought. There was nothing to do but chase him.

  Cutting across the lot, I disappeared through the same trees as Divinity. I knew no one’d seen me, either. Which meant if I didn’t catch him, he got away. The back of my mind was reminding me I didn’t know who I was chasing, or why. Maybe he was just someone who’d recognized the candidate on the street and had showed up at the rally…who sat near the back and panicked when the shooting started…and then ran through the trees and across the field toward the parkway. Yeah, sure.

  Maybe. But not likely.

  At the edge of the field he dodged across the four lanes of exit and entrance ramp traffic to head down a hill toward a small park tucked under the Brooklyn end of the Verranzano Narrows bridge. Suddenly, what he was up to was clear. He’d left his car in the park’s parking lot. He’d known a quick shoot & run would let him clear the auditorium before anyone could figure out what was happening. By putting his car over the hill, he made it fairly impossible for anyone to catch him. I knew the stretch of road he would be headed down. There were five exits all less than a mile apart from each other. If he reached his car, it was over then and there. I redoubled my efforts, realizing in an instant that booze and cigarettes were not helping my wind any.

  By the time he hit the parking lot he was walking casually, waving to children. I kept running, straining to shorten the distance between us as fast as I could, trying not to make a noise which would cause him to turn. I was a hundred yards away when he reached into his pocket for his keys. Seventy-five as he selected the right one. Sixty as he slid it into the door. Seeing no choice, I shouted:

  “Freeze! Move and you’re dead!”

  He turned as I skidded to a lower gear. Closing on him slowly, trying to get my wind back, I kept my .38 ready, watching him study me. Telling him, “Pull the keys out of the door. Toss them to me. Underhand.”

  He did. I picked them up cautiously. Very cautiously. Something about Divinity kept me watching him. His stance—his eyes. Especially his eyes. He was laughing at me. Amused. Something was going on I wasn’t catching on to. I looked for possible incoming, but couldn’t see anything. Divinity didn’t have any back-up. No one was aiming a gun at me. I had the only gun. I had Divinity cold. But, his posture, his grin—those eyes—something was telling me he was laughing at me, maybe with reason. The little voice told me I was about to learn a lesson. My hands closed around the keys. School was in session.

  I slid the keys into my jacket pocket and then barked at him to “assume the position.” He spread his hands on the hood of his car. I told him “further.” He obliged. I asked for more. He gave in again. I came in then, looking to pat him down. I reached under his coat; my fingers touched an empty shoulder holster and…bang, I was flying. The split second I was as off balance as I was going to be, his foot was in my side, bruising ribs and rolling me across the cement.

  I hit sideways, rolling hard, coming up awkwardly. I still had my .38, but no target for it. Divinity had split. I scanned quickly, catching the tail end of him disappearing around the base of the hill we’d just come down. I stood rockily, testing my balance. I felt stunned, but unbroken. Trying to watch the hillside for any surprises, I started after him.

  Divinity had things figured right. No one knew where we were. If I didn’t go after him, he would get away. Rubbing my side, I wondered what was going to stop him even if I did. He was fast, rabbit snake fast, and limber, strong and self-confident. Not the best combination one could go up against.

  I advanced carefully, trying to watch my step, and above me and behind me and, in the case of the sea wall, below me, too. The path I was following extended underneath the Narrows bridge, showing off its gigantic underside. Daring an upward glance, I took in the size of the thing. It was monstrous, built on a scale usually reserved only for science fiction novels—possibly the last grand giant the human race will ever build. Not that I’m knocking anyone—being alive in this era certainly hasn’t inspired me to any projects of epic design of late.

  My reflecting and upward glance had only take a split-second—a moment in time so short they need special machines to measure it. Plenty of time for Divinity to make his move. He came out of the nowhere like the last car a child sees as their fingers grab at their runaway ball. I forgot to block and tried to aim. My .38 went over the rail and into the water below. My left side took it this time, a thudding beef punch that flattened me against the cement walling out of which the rail grew. I went for a breath; Divinity knocked it out of me by grabbing the back of my head and flipping me through the air. I landed in the brush, banging hard, the air flying out of me so fast it burned my throat.

  I regained my feet slower than I did the first time. Divinity was gone again. I checked and found I still had his keys. He hadn’t bothered to take them from me when he had the chance. Which meant he wasn’t worried about making his escape. Why should he be, I asked myself. After all, I was the only obstacle in his path, and he’d already proved there wasn’t much difficulty waiting for him on that road.

  Pulling myself together, I started down the asphalt pathway again, looking for Divinity. What was going on was becoming obvious. I’d become sport for a bored athlete, fodder for a matched set of dangerous appendages all fueled by a massive storehouse of power and ego. It was rapidly occurring to me that since Divinity had little interest in escaping, he must be interested in something else. Rounding the bend gave me some insight into what that might be.

  On the other side of the sea wall, a kind of cement dock jutted out into the Narrows, followed by a curving finger of
breaker rocks. Divinity was in the middle of the dock, sitting cross-legged with his back to me—waiting. Part of my brain told me I’d stand a better chance of accomplishing something by running over to the beltway to try and flag down a police car than by facing the rail-thin Buddha on the dock again. The rest of my brain sighed as I busied myself with looking for the easiest way over the wall.

  Hitting the sand below with a small thud, I stood straight and headed over toward the dock, saying, “If you don’t mind me saying so, you’ve got me a bit curious. I mean, you could’ve taken off twice now. If you really wanted to, you could’ve left me dead. At least one of the times, anyway.”

  As I came up to the dock, I noted the close-set pillars and low ceiling of its underbelly. I wondered if Divinity’s style would be at a disadvantage there. After all, he was the one who’d picked the open area. Although, I thought, maybe he just liked having a stage. As I pulled myself up onto the dock, I said:

  “Of course, both times you caught me off guard. That move at the car—real good. Haven’t seen anything like that since the service. Second time, well that was just stupidity. I’ve been dealing with rummy thugs and wise guys so long I guess I’ve forgotten how really silly a gun can be at times.”

  Stopping about eight feet from Divinity, I kept talking, waiting for the show to start.

  “Anyway, I got to speculating—-why’d this guy get me down here? He doesn’t look queer. Well, not a lot, anyway. And, if he’d been hired to kill me as well as Andy, he’d have done it already. I mean, it is obvious you’re a hired killer—your whole attitude gives that away for…”

  Divinity stood—-quick, straight arrow, one movement. I’d hit a nerve—but which one? Turning, his face showed amusement. His thin lips were spread in a knife blade of a smile. He went into a familiar variation of the horse stance, giving me an idea of what was coming next. Without a word he came forward, crossing the distance between us in two close, balanced steps, looking to wedge his way inside my defenses. I stepped off to the left and ducked, neatly avoiding the second half of his one/two. Taking a couple of steps backward at the same time, I got some distance between us again as I searched for whatever it was I’d said that’d irked him before.