Doors

by Ed McBain

  “I couldn’t leave the office, Alex. I’m expecting the D.A., we’ll be doing a Q and A on a guy killed his wife with a hatchet. I didn’t think you’d mind coming here.”

  “You should have called me on the telephone, asked me to come down. I don’t need two bulls knocking on my door early in the morning.”

  “Well, you’re here now, so why don’t you just relax?”

  “Yeah,” Alex said. He was still angry. He didn’t believe for a minute that any D.A. was coming in. The Hawk just wanted to get him here in his own territory, that was all. Some more bullshit cop psychology. You drag a man in a station house, he’s supposed to start shaking all over. The Hawk should have known better than to pull that on him. “So what is it?” he said. “Did somebody else do a job you can’t dope out? Only time you want to see me is when you’re trying to hang a job on me.”

  “No, Alex, nobody did a job.”

  “Then what is it?”

  “Well, I wanted to talk to you.”

  “Yeah, what about?”

  “Have some coffee, all right?”

  “I don’t want coffee. I’ve got things to do, I just want to get this over with. Whatever it is.

  “Alex, do you know a woman named Daisy Williams?”

  “No,” he said. “Who is she?” With cops, you never admitted to knowing anybody, even if it was your own mother. Besides, he was halfway telling the truth. Until this minute, he hadn’t known Daisy’s last name.

  “She’s a one-legged hooker up in Harlem. You sure you don’t know her? She’s pretty well known up there.”

  “I don’t know her. How come you know her, Mr. Hawkins? You been changing your luck up there in Harlem?”

  “I didn’t say she was black, Alex.”

  “If she’s a hooker in Harlem …”

  “There are white hookers up there, too.”

  “Anyway, what about her?” Alex asked, and shrugged. He wasn’t about to go around the dance floor two or three times with Hawkins. Cops always liked to think they’d tripped you up on something. Ah, but only you could have known the pistol was hidden in the garden because none of us mentioned it, and it wasn’t in the newspapers, and besides there’s a rose sticking out of your ass. Cops automatically figured everybody but themselves was dumb.

  “Daisy got involved in a little fracas last night. I thought you might have heard about it.”

  “If I don’t know her, how could I hear anything about her?”

  “That’s right, you don’t know her. I forgot that.”

  “Yeah,” Alex said, and sighed.

  “Stabbed a man,” Hawkins said.

  “Too bad for Daisy,” Alex said offhandedly, but inside he was suddenly alert. Had she really stabbed somebody, or was this just more of Hawkins’s bullshit? Why hadn’t Archie called him? If Daisy was really in trouble …?

  “Sailor was trying to make time with her in a bar up there, didn’t know she was a hooker. When she told him how much it would cost, he got insulted, grabbed one of her crutches, and started beating her with it. Daisy pulled a knife out of her bag, sliced him up.”

  Alex said nothing. He was wondering why Hawkins was telling him all this. There was something very strange in Hawkins’s manner, he had never seen him like this before. He could not put his finger on what it was. He waited. There had to be something more behind this than a D.D. report in triplicate on what Daisy had done or hadn’t done.

  “She was plenty scared, Daisy was. Saw the sailor going off in an ambulance, and she’s in a squad car heading for the Two-Eight. She practically started plea bargaining right in the car, while they were driving her in.”

  “Well, I don’t know her,” Alex said, “so it doesn’t matter to me what …”

  “Detective up there named Fields, black cop, started talking to Daisy. She’s hysterical by now, doesn’t know how bad she hurt the sailor, figures we’ll throw the book at her. Fields smelled something, he’s a good cop. Strung her along, told her how bad this looked for her—you know the tricks, Alex, he pulled them all.”

  “I don’t know what you’re driving at, Mr. Hawkins,” Alex said. “I don’t know this hooker, I couldn’t care less about what trouble she’s in.”

  “Strung her along, Fields did. She’d already made a call to a lawyer, and Fields knew he was flirting with Miranda-Escobedo, but he kept stringing her along, anyway, fishing for whatever he could get before the lawyer arrived. He got something, Alex.”

  “What’d he get?”

  “A few names, for one thing.”

  “What names?”

  “Yours. And Archie Fuller’s.”

  “I guess she must know Archie then. If she mentioned his name …”

  “Yeah, she seemed to know Archie. Seemed to know you, too, but of course you don’t know her.”

  “Never heard of her.”

  “Also seemed to know you and Archie are burglars.”

  “I only was a burglar, Mr. Hawkins. I’m out of it now.”

  “Yes, I know that,” Hawkins said dryly.

  “So is that it? Hooker stabbed a sailor, mentioned me and Archie? Is that why you dragged me down here?”

  “There’s more, Alex. You sure you don’t want a cup of coffee?”

  Alex shook his head. He was really worried now and wanted to get out of there as fast as he could. But at the same time, he wanted to know what Daisy had told the bull up in Harlem.

  “Daisy said if they’d go easy on her, she could tell them all about a burglary you and Archie were planning.”

  “Is that right?” Alex said. “She must have some imagination, this Daisy.” But his heart was pounding.

  “Up in Westchester County,” Hawkins said.

  “Is that right?” Alex said again. His throat was suddenly parched, his voice sounded strange even to himself.

  “Yeah, that’s what she told Fields. This was all before her lawyer got there. The minute he got there, he wanted to know if she’d been advised of her rights, told her not to say another word, threatened to bring charges against Fields—you know how these lawyers are.”

  “Yeah, I know how they are,” Alex said. “If it wasn’t for them, you’d still be using rubber hoses in the back room.”

  “What makes you think we aren’t?” Hawkins said, and smiled his Burt Reynolds smile.

  “So, the way I understand this, a one-legged hooker named Daisy Williams stabs a sailor in a bar, and then cops a plea by telling you Archie and I are planning a burglary in Westchester County. You’re making this up, am I right, Mr. Hawkins? I mean, like, come on. A one-legged hooker? You think I was born yesterday?”

  “Alex,” Hawkins said, “if you go ahead with this job, I’m going to get your ass.”

  “Thanks for the warning. I don’t know what job you mean. Where’s Westchester County, anyway? Someplace in Pennsylvania?”

  “Alex, I’ll find out which town in Westchester County, and I’ll be waiting there for you.”

  “Oh, then you don’t know where it is, huh? I guess your one-legged hooker didn’t pinpoint it for you, huh?”

  “No, we don’t know where it is, I’m telling you the absolute truth, Alex. I’ll tell you something else. When Fields got your name from the hooker, and looked up your B-sheet, and found out I was the detective who’d busted you, he naturally called me. I was about ready to believe you by then, Alex, I was thinking miracles never cease, maybe here’s one stupid bastard who’s finally wised up, may be’s really out of it. Then Fields called me, and Alex, I’ve got to tell you, my heart sank.”

  “Where are the violins, Mr. Hawkins?”

  “I’m telling you the truth,” Hawkins said flatly.

  “Well, if you’re worried about me committing a burglary up there in Westchester County, you’re wasting your sympathy. Your one-legged hooker’s probably a junkie, made this all up while she was sto …”

  “She’s not a junkie. She was scared, Alex, and trying to save her own skin.”

  “Well, like I
said, thanks for the information. I’ll file it away for future …”

  “You understand what I’m telling you, Alex?”

  “What are you telling me, Mr. Hawkins?”

  “Don’t do the job.”

  “I don’t know what job you mean.”

  “Okay,” Hawkins said. “Play it your way. Be a wise guy.” He sighed heavily, shook his head, and then said, “Get out of here, I’m busy.”

  They searched for her all that weekend.

  Late Friday, they located the bondsman who’d gone her bail, and he told them she’d been sprung not two hours before, but he had no idea where she was now. It didn’t seem possible to them that a one-legged whore could disappear completely from sight, even in a city as big as New York, but by Sunday night they were ready to give up. She had to be hiding from them, afraid Archie would break her in half once he found out she’d snitched.

  It was Transit who put them onto her.

  Transit came into the bar where they were sitting over their drinks. It was well past midnight, they’d already decided Daisy was a lost cause. Archie had even made a joke about it, and they’d managed to laugh at it, but neither of them thought the situation was at all comical.

  “What’s the fastest thing in the world?” Archie had asked.

  “What?” Alex said.

  “A one-legged whore heading south on the Jersey Turnpike.”

  They’d laughed their hollow laughter, and then ordered another round, and were sitting there nursing the drinks when Transit walked in with his spade pimp threads and his big sombrero and decided out of the goodness of his heart to share his company with them.

  “Fuck off, Transit,” Archie said. “We’re busy here.”

  “Doin what?” Transit asked, and squeezed himself into the booth alongside Archie. Both men were huge, they filled almost the entire seat.

  “Man’s deaf,” Archie said to Alex.

  “Anybody interested in a good lay?” Transit said. “I’ve got a Chinese virgin, anybody’s interested.”

  “The last time you saw a virgin,” Archie said, “was just before you fucked your ten-year-old sister.”

  “Nice talk,” Transit said, and laughed. “Nice talk on the man, huh, Alex? What’re you guys doin here, anyway, looking like somebody died? Who died, Arch? Somebody die?”

  “Somebody’s gonna die, he doesn’t get the fuck out of here,” Archie said.

  “Well, okay, I can take a hint,” Transit said, but he made no move to get up. “What’re you drinkin there, Alex?”

  “Horse piss,” Alex said.

  Transit burst out laughing, slapping his hand on the table top and almost knocking over Archie’s glass.

  “You trying to win a popularity contest?” Archie asked.

  “Come on, come on, I’ll buy you a round, what’re you drinking?” Transit said. “I’m feeling good tonight. I got a new girl, she’s gonna make me a millionaire. Last night was the best Saturday I’ve had since New Year’s Eve. Kitty. You remember Kitty, Alex? Man, she’s taking in a fortune. You remember her?”

  “I remember her.”

  “You know how much she took in last night? Guess how much she took in?”

  “I got no idea,” Alex said.

  “You wouldn’t believe it if I told you,” Transit said. “Daisy didn’t even believe it. I told Daisy how much …”

  “When’d you see Daisy?” Archie asked.

  “Huh? Couple of hours ago. She got in trouble Thursday night, you know. Carved up a sailor. She’s out on bail now, I think they charged her with Assault Two. She’ll beat it, though, it was self-defense. That sailor was crazy, from what I hear. Kept hitting her with a crutch, can you feature that? More crazy bastards out on the streets than inside.”

  “Where’d you see her?” Alex asked.

  “Who? Daisy? She’s staying with one of my girls. She’s afraid the sailor might come after her again, wants to lay low for a while.”

  “What girl?” Archie asked.

  “The Chinese virgin I was telling you about,” Transit said, and laughed, and then suddenly stopped laughing when Archie grabbed his tie and twisted it into his collar.

  “What girl?” Archie said again.

  “Helen Barker, hey, leggo my tie!”

  “Where does she live?”

  “On a Hun Twelfth and St. Nicholas. You crazy or something?”

  “The address.”

  “One thirty-four West a Hun Twelfth.”

  “Thanks, Transit,” Archie said, and let go of his tie. “Now get out of the booth.”

  “Think you’re a fuckin big shot, don’t you?” Transit said, but he got out of the booth and let Archie by.

  There were no nameplates in the lobby mailboxes, so they decided to go right through the whole building, starting with the ground floor and knocking on every door as they worked their way upstairs. In one of the apartments, a drunk threatened to shoot Archie, told Archie to just wait right there while he got his gun, and Archie told him to go back to sleep or he’d throw him down the stairs. Archie was beginning to think Transit had lied to them; there’d be one sorry pimp tomorrow morning if he’d lied to them. But when they knocked on the door to Apartment 6A, a woman called out, “Who’s there?” and Archie said, “I’m looking for Helen Barker. Transit sent me,” and she opened the door. Daisy was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of beer in front of her. She saw the two of them and reached for her crutches, but it was too late, they were already in the apartment.

  “What is this?” Helen said. She was a dark-skinned girl in her early twenties, and she kept looking back and forth from Daisy to the two men. “You know these guys, Daise?”

  “I wish to hell I didn’t,” Daisy said.

  “Go down and buy yourself some cigarettes,” Archie said to Helen.

  “I don’t smoke,” Helen said.

  “Just get lost,” Alex said.

  “You be all right, Daise?”

  “Yeah, yeah, go on.”

  Helen looked at her dubiously, picked up her handbag, and then went out of the apartment. The minute the door closed behind her, Archie said, “So how’s the big mouth?”

  “I didn’t tell them nothing,” Daisy said.

  “You told them about the job.”

  “Not where,” Daisy said.

  “You told them Westchester County.”

  “But not where.”

  “You fuckin whore, you told them Alex and me …”

  “They don’t know it’s Reed, they don’t know anything about it. All I said was Westchester County.”

  “To save your ass.”

  “Damn right, to save my ass,” Daisy said. “You’da done the same, Arch. Anyway, they don’t know nothin anyway, so what difference does it make?”

  “How much do they know?” Alex said.

  She told them everything she’d given Fields on the night she was busted, repeated to them essentially what the Hawk had told Alex. They listened to her intently, trying to determine whether the job still had a chance. They were both aware that Westchester County was a very large place; if that’s all the Hawk knew, if that’s all the cops knew was Westchester County, why then it could be anyplace in Westchester County.

  “Are you sure you didn’t tell them where?” Alex asked.

  “I’m positive. I wouldn’t have told them that unless they made some promises, which they didn’t. Man, I was scared, man. I cut that sailor up near his neck, I wasn’t sure whether I hit his jugular or what. He was bleedin like a pig, I thought I was facing a homicide rap there, way they carried him off in that ambulance. I’da told them my own mother was plannin to shoot the President, they’d have let me off.”

  “But you didn’t tell them what day.”

  “No, sir, I did not.”

  “Or what town.”

  “No, sir.”

  “And you didn’t mention Reed’s name.”

  “Uh-uh. You think I want to blow my steady, Thursday trick?”

  “So
all you told them was that me and Arch were planning a burglary up in Westchester County.”

  “That’s all.”

  “That’s enough, you fuckin whore,” Archie said.

  “You’da done the same,” Daisy said again.

  “So what do you think, Alex?”

  “I think it’s still worth a shot,” Alex said.

  “So do I,” Archie said.

  “Without me,” Daisy said.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I don’t want any part of it. I’m in enough trouble as it is.”

  “You hear this?” Archie said.

  “I hear it.”

  “I hope you hear it good,” Daisy said, “cause that’s where it’s at.”

  “How many good legs you got, Daise?” Archie asked conversationally. “You want us to break that good leg of yours? You want us to make you a basket case?”

  “I don’t care what you do,” Daisy said, “you can’t force me to go on that job next Thursday.”

  “I don’t think you understand,” Archie said. “There ain’t no job without you. If you don’t get Reed out there to the studio …”

  “What you need me for, man?”

  “To make sure he’s in the studio. We don’t want to walk in that house, find him there stead of in the studio.”

  “You understand that, Daisy?” Alex said.

  “No, I don’t.”

  “What the hell’s so hard to understand?” Archie said. “We don’t want to show face, we don’t want the man to see us.”

  “Well, I don’t want the man to go suspectin me,” Daisy said. “First thing you know, I’ll have troopers on my doorstep wantin to know this and that, they find out I’m already in trouble for stabbin that sailor, how’s that gonna look? They’d know sure as shit I set the thing up. No, sir, I don’t want any part of it.”

  “You got no choice,” Archie said. “You don’t go up there next Thursday, we’ll break your ass.”

  “No way you can get me to go,” Daisy said, and shook her head. Her hand, Alex noticed, was fiddling with the catch on her bag. He didn’t know whether she had a knife in there, the cops had probably taken the knife away when they busted her. But that was Thursday night, and this was Sunday, and if Tommy had bought himself a fuckin cannon for two hundred and forty bucks, Daisy could have bought herself another knife for a nickel. He was more scared of knives than he was of guns. He knew what it felt like to be cut. Cut your fingers slicing a loaf of bread, he knew what that felt like. Guns were different, he’d only see guns going off on television or in the movies, knew what they could do, but had no way of knowing what it felt like to get shot. Bang, hole in a man, he falls over dead. Hard to believe, almost. But a knife … He did not want to be cut by a one-legged whore, or by anybody for that matter. There were two of them in that room with her, he didn’t think she’d try anything dumb unless they forced her hand. He hoped only that Archie was bluffing about hurting her; she was clearly scared of going up there next Thursday, and a person who’s scared is liable to do anything. He was about to say The hell with it, let’s call it off, when Daisy said, “I can get you somebody else, you so fuckin hot to do this job.”