Death of a Hooker

by Kane, Henry

“You ought to know.”

  “I ought to know?”

  “You drew the old lady’s will, didn’t you?”

  “Sorry, Pete. These are lawyer-client confidential relations. I’d rather not discuss that.”

  “Yeah, lawyer-client confidential relations and you’d rather not discuss that. With me, that is. So let me discuss with you, huh?”

  “You may say what you please. I’ll neither verify nor negate.”

  “Naturally not, an ethical guy like you. Okay. I’ll talk, you listen. The old lady left Fernandez twenty-five thousand bucks in her will. The cops don’t know whether or not he knows it, and they haven’t mentioned it to him. If he does know it, they think that he himself may have done the job, and winged himself to make it look good. They’re holding him, supposedly in protective custody. He’s hurt, but not badly hurt at all. They’re pumping him, gently, pretending to be kind to him, hoping that, under this kind of sweet stress, he may incriminate himself. Got that?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ve been up to see him. He seems happy and satisfied but I’m not sure. He may be pretending under the threat of the cops. Now that’s it, as far as I have it.”

  “So what’s with habeas corpus?”

  “I said at most—habeas corpus. It may turn out to be no more than a polite little interview.”

  “You’re beginning to lose me, Pete.”

  “Hang on and I’ll bring you up to date.”

  He smiled. “I’m hanging,” he said, “on your every word.”

  “Fernandez has some relatives in Puerto Rico. They got in touch with me, sent me five hundred bucks to protect his interests. Protecting his interests, whatever they may be, requires a lawyer, not a private richard. I know a lot of lawyers, but, as you’ve told me, you’re slightly hard up, so why shouldn’t you earn the five hundred?”

  He sat back again. He brushed a palm against his dark curly hair. “And just what am I supposed to do to earn it?”

  “Talk to the guy. If he’s as happy as he pretends to be, then that’s it. But if he’s not, and he wants a lawyer, well, there you are, his lawyer, with full authority. There’s no question you can spring him on a writ, if he wants to be sprung, because, actually they don’t have one damned thing on which to hold him.”

  He looked at me and I looked at the five hundred dollars. If he refused the assignment, he was a dead duck, and he was bright enough to know that I would know that such refusal would brand him a dead duck. I looked up from the money and looked at him and if he was enmeshed in quandary he did not let on. He reached for the five bills and pocketed them. In any event, he was snared.

  “I’m going to try to make it easy,” I said.

  “How?” he said.

  “Reverse English,” I said.

  “You’re losing me again. You’re too quick on the switches.”

  “May I use your phone?”

  “Natch,” he said.

  I put through a call to Homicide and I was connected with Parker. “Louie,” I said, “we’ve got a wrinkle.” I motioned to Paxton to put his ear to the receiver and he did.

  “Good or bad?” said Louis Parker.

  “Could go either way,” I said. “There’s been a lawyer retained by relatives of Juan Fernandez, from Puerto Rico. The lawyer got in touch with me. I tried to hold him off, but he won’t hold. If the guy puts in a normal appearance in this matter, he’ll spring Fernandez on a writ, and there goes your bird, and the newspapers will blast like hell. I figure I ought to give him the straight goods, but I won’t without your permission.”

  “Who’s the lawyer?”

  “Roy Paxton, of all people.”

  “Paxton?”

  “Paxton is smart and he’s not a little crumb bum looking to make a reputation for himself. If you let me give him the facts, and we cut through the red tape and let him talk directly to Fernandez, we can clear up the lawyer angle, and you people remain in status quo. Otherwise, he goes through regular channels, and your whole protective custody deal blasts wide open.”

  Actually, all I wanted was to be present at the initial confrontation. That was all I wanted and I was spending five hundred bucks to humor my expensive whim.

  There was silence on the other end of the telephone.

  There are no sounds when the brain works.

  Parker’s brain must have been working like all hell.

  “Paxton wrote the will for Barbara Lund,” said Parker, finally.

  “Yeah, I know,” I said.

  Parker satisfied his vulnerable position with compromise. “I don’t want him to mention anything about the devise to Fernandez.”

  “I can swing that easy,” I said.

  “Okay,” said Parker. “Take him up to the hotel. I’ll call my people that it’s okay. Once he talks to Fernandez, he’ll know we’re not holding him against his will. You’re right about Paxton. He’s no little idiot out to make a rep for himself. I’m glad it’s not some shyster kid and I’m damned glad Paxton contacted you. What made him?”

  “Loosely speaking, I’m a friend of his, he’s a friend of mine, and we were both friends of Barbara Lund. Figures he’d give me a buzz first, doesn’t it?”

  “Sure. And I’m sure glad he did. Talk it up right, Peter my boy.”

  We hung up simultaneously and I said to Paxton, “You heard?”

  “I heard,” he said.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  “Where?”

  “St. Moritz. A luxury suite on the nineteenth floor.”

  The cops were polite but wooden, smiling as though their lips were up on hinges, and they threw us to Fernandez with dispatch if not with eclat. Fernandez smiled at me and nodded but he walked toward Paxton in a slow obsequious strut. Paxton held still, smiling but without warmth, playing his part as naturally as though born to the manor: the liege lord condescending to visit his vassal. And I hung over them, watching, watching, like a vulture expectant of carrion. Fernandez was pale, wearing freshly-pressed grey slacks and a pink sport shirt, his left arm in a white sling. At length he reached Paxton and extended his right hand which Paxton accepted within rigid fingers, shook once, and dropped.

  “It is an extreme pleasure to have Mrs. Lund’s attorney himself come to visit me,” said Fernandez.

  “How are you, Juan?” said Paxton.

  “I am fine, thank you very much,” said Juan Fernandez. “I am very much honored that you have come to see me, Mr. Paxton.”

  “Not at all, Juan, not at all.”

  “I am very pleased, indeed. This is very good of you, sir. Please, sir, sit down. Please sit down, gentleman.”

  The “gentleman” was singular but I chose to construe it as plural. I sat down, Paxton sat down, Juan sat down. I lit a cigarette, Paxton tapped fingertips against fingertips, and Juan smiled beatifically. “So good of you,” he murmured. “So good.”

  “Juan,” said Paxton, “my visit here is not primarily social. Actually, I am here, on your behalf, as an attorney.”

  “Oh, that is very good of you, sir, indeed,” said Juan. “I am very pleased to have you for my attorney. I am not a rich man, but whatever it is necessary to pay….”

  “No, no, no,” said Paxton. “That’s not the point, not at all, Juan. The point, actually, is, do you need an attorney?”

  Juan shrugged. “Search me. I don’t know, Mr. Paxton.”

  “Are you being held against your will, Juan?”

  “No. No, sir. Not against my will. They have been very nice.”

  “Would you like to get out of here? I mean, if you wish, I think we can arrange it that you can get out of here.”

  “No. It’s fine. Everybody has been very good. The lieutenant, Mr. Parker, he is an excellent man, and a kind man—”

  “I’m here as your lawyer, Juan. You may say anything you like to me. You don’t have to be afraid of anything. The law protects people like you, and I am an arm of the law, and quite a sturdy arm. I’m on your side, and you may say anything y
ou wish, without fear of police, without fear of any of the authorities….”

  “Yes, yes, Mr. Paxton. I understand.” Juan’s gaze was almost reverent. There was no question that he was flattered to be embraced by this sturdy stylish arm of the law.

  “Please tell me everything, Juan. Start at the beginning.”

  For me it was mission completed. Juan talked while I dozed. I had heard the story and I had parts of the story that even Juan could not tell. When Juan was finished, Paxton said, “If you want to get out of here, I can arrange it.”

  “No,” said Juan, “I do not want. I am willing to stay as long as they wish. The lieutenant, Mr. Parker, is a good, kind man. I believe in him.”

  “Great,” said Paxton, rising. “Good for you.” He drew a wallet from a pocket and drew a card from the wallet. “The police know that I’m representing you,” he said. “You have the right to call me at any time, and they can’t stop you. So, at any time that you may want to call me….”

  Juan stood up and accepted the card. “Thank you very much, Mr. Paxton.”

  I killed my cigarette, pushed up from my chair, and joined my upright confreres.

  Juan grasped my hand and said, “I thank you for bringing Mr. Paxton. I am honored to have as my attorney the attorney for the family of Lund. I am a small and simple man and I could not ever imagine to have as my attorney….”

  “Yes, yes, Juan,” said Paxton. “Remember you have the right to call me whenever you wish….”

  And we blew the coop and downstairs in the lobby Paxton said, “The Spanish are a litigious people and they regard what they think as a big shot lawyer on the same plane as they might regard a priest, but between you and me, that simpleton up there bored me right to the toes.”

  “We all carry our own special burdens,” I said. “How goes it with Kiki?”

  “A burden like the albatross,” he said. “I get the point, and I hate you for making it. Thanks anyway for the five hundred smacks. That’s about the easiest fee I ever earned.”

  I had got what I had wanted. It had been worth it to me.

  “Don’t mention it,” I said. “Live.”

  “I’m grabbing a cab. Can I drop you somewhere?”

  “No, thanks. I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Goodbye, then.”

  “Live it up,” I said.

  He went for a cab and I went for a phone booth. I called the office and inquired about messages.

  “Three calls,” said Miranda. “A chick by name Marilyn Windsor called. Wants you to go to her apartment. Emergency, she said.”

  “And the other two calls?”

  “Same party. Same message. Emergency.”

  I hung up and I ran.

  SIXTEEN

  When I rang the bell on the third floor of 203 East 37th, Sally Avalon opened the door. Sally was elegant in powder-blue single-breasted mohair, pink shirt, and dark blue tie, but his face was the color of lemon meringue, his bald pate gleamed under a sheen of sweat, and his heavy eyebrows did anxious acrobatic nip-ups while his massive jowls quivered dolorously.

  “Well, well, its about time,” he said.

  Inside, the marvelous Marilyn was wrapped within the revealing folds of a tight yellow housecoat and she stamped about on wooden-solid yellow scuffs. She was wearing her golden hair the way I liked it best, in the pony-tail. her golden ahir the way I liked it best, in the pony-tail.

  “What’s the pitch?” I said. “According to my office, there’s an emergency.”

  “Rape,” said Sally Avalon.

  “What?” I said.

  “Attempted rape,” said Sally Avalon.

  “There’s a difference,” I said. “Who attempted rape upon whom?”

  “Micky Bokino attempted rape upon the kid here,” said Sally.

  “Oh no,” I said.

  “Oh, yes,” said Sally.

  “I’ll kill the son of a bitch.”

  “No! No! Please! No!” Marilyn Windsor kicked out of her scuffs, flew to me, put her arms around my neck, and hung on to me. It was delightful. “No, no,” she whispered in my ear. “You mustn’t.” She was wearing nothing beneath that yellow housecoat except tawny skin and it burned right through. One warm thigh was between both of mine, her stomach rippled against my stomach, her breasts were warmly engulfing me, and her breath at my ear was driving me nuts. I had finally found the key. There is an unconscious lust for violence, for inspiring violence, in all women—some more, some less; Marilyn’s was more, and her deadly little id was creeping out all over her.

  “I’ll kill him, kill him, kill the bastard!” I raved, on cue, in a hysteria that would have done credit to Sally himself. “I’ll kill him, so help me!”

  “No, no, you mustn’t even think that, no, Peter, please!” And her body squirmed against mine, raising bumps upon me and more than bumps, and I knew that if I did not break out of it, Bokino’s attempted rape would fructify right then and there.

  Pappy, did I have the key!

  I wrestled out of her embrace, hobbled to a chair, sat hideously, lit a cigarette, and ran up a smoke screen. “How about a drink?” I croaked.

  Off she went to the kitchen and back she came with an open bottle of coke.

  “This is a drink?” I said, hanging on to it feebly.

  “Well, of course,” she said, the lubricity of threatened violence beginning to wane from her. “Ice-cold. The Pause That Refreshes and all that.”

  “Nothing harder in the house?” I said.

  “I’m not much of a drinker,” she said.

  “You don’t have to be much to have something. What do you have that contains alcohol outside of underarm spray?”

  “Nothing,” she said.

  “Well, we’ll fix that right now.” I got up and went to the phone.

  “My God, we’re way off the subject,” squeaked Sally.

  “Shut up,” I said. I dialled my liquor shop, Maxwell’s, and I said to the voice that answered, “Who’s this?”

  “Steve,” said the voice.

  “Pete Chambers,” I said.

  “Hi, Mr. Chambers,” said Steve.

  “I want the following order, my brands. And bill me at home. You ready?”

  “Shoot,” said Steve.

  “A case of Scotch, a case of bourbon, a case of gin, a case of vodka, and a case of brandy.”

  “You left out rum,” said Sally, sarcastically.

  “And a case of rum,” I said. “Deliver to Marilyn Windsor, 203 East 37th, and this is a rush order, I want it delivered right now.”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Chambers, thank you,” said Steve.

  “You’re welcome,” I said and hung up and turned in big-shot, big-city, super-sophisticated triumph toward Marilyn and found her singularly unimpressed. But, Pappy, I had the key! I switched back to the matter at hand. “I’ll kill him,” I growled. “Oh, I’ll kill the bastard, so help me.”

  “No!” She began her move toward me but I put the Coke to my mouth and sucked defensively.

  “Pete,” said Sally, “I’ve heard about you and your temperament and your unorthodox methods but, hell, how unorthodox can you get?”

  “You’ve heard the joke,” I said. “My unorthodoxy is my unorthodoxy—what doxy is yours?”

  Despondently down-voice he said, “I have heard the joke.”

  It was time to cut down on love life, at least temporarily.

  “All right,” I said. “What happened here?”

  “You back among us?” said Sally.

  “I’m part of you, pal.”

  I sat down, clinging to Coke; Sally sat down; Marilyn sat down and crossed her legs and a hunk of housecoat fell away revealing part of a honey-toned thigh, and I clung ever more fiercely to the Coke and gazed steadfastly upon Sally.

  “I called Marilyn,” said Sally, “and told her I’d be here about one o’clock. We had a shopping thing to do on a new ad campaign. About ten minutes to one, her bell rang.” He turned toward Marilyn. “You don’t mind if I te
ll it, do you, dearie?”

  “Oh, no, of course not. Please do.”

  “She was all dressed to go out, waiting for me, and she thought, when the bell rang, that it was I. It wasn’t.”

  “It was Mr. Bokino,” said Marilyn.

  “Do you mind if I tell it, dearie?” said Sally.

  “Oh, no, of course not. Please do.”

  “It was Bokino,” said Sally. “He came in, bumbled around, and suddenly went for her.”

  “He looked dreadful, peculiar,” said Marilyn. “His eyes were all crazy.”

  “Dearie,” said Sally, querulously. “Either you tell it, or I tell it. If you wish to tell it, I mean….”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Avalon, you do, please do.”

  “He ripped off her dress, tore her underclothing …” said Sally. “Show him,” he said to Marilyn.

  She went away and came back with a torn dress and torn bra and torn panties. She dropped them in my lap and returned to her seat. I gulped Coke and fingered lady’s garments like a fetishist. I hoped, fervently, for the delivery from Maxwell’s Liquor Store.

  “He had her pinned,” said Sally, “his private parts were exposed, and he was ready for penetration, when, once again, the bell rang.”

  “Who rang it?” I said.

  “Me,” said Sally like a hero. “That ring must have brought him to his senses. According to Marilyn, he leaped up, and he himself opened the door for me. His pants were still open, and I got a good look at him.”

  “What part of him?” I said.

  “His eyes,” said Sally.

  “You?” I said.

  “His eyes,” said Sally, sternly. “That guy was more hopped up than a brewery of bock beer. The pupils were so widely dilated, you couldn’t see where the pupil ended and the iris began. He brushed right past me and disappeared. Marilyn was still on the floor.”

  “Oh, it was horrible, horrible,” said Marilyn. She began to cry.

  “Please don’t do that,” I said.

  Sally stood up and gave her a powder-blue handkerchief and she dabbed at her eyes.

  “And then what?” I said.

  “I was relieved when she told me that nothing had actually happened,” he said. “I told her to go in and shower and clean up and not to worry. I told her that whatever we had to do today would be postponed. She went, and then, at once, I called Astrid Lund. I told her exactly what had happened.”