A Cast of Killers

by Gallagher Gray

  "Who are you?" Auntie Lil asked her captors helplessly. The pair of women steered her quickly around the many crowds of chattering friends trying to decide which restaurant they should patronize. She was being borne through the crowd as easily as a child between her parents. No one noticed and no one cared.

  They passed by a man and woman arguing fiercely; they were attracting more attention than she was. She should try making a noise, like screaming bloody murder. Surely that would attract someone's notice?

  But when she opened her mouth to scream, the tiny pinprick at her side turned into a sharp stab. Something warm welled through her thin pants suit. She realized what and felt weak.

  "Don't say a word, don't open your mouth," the cruel woman on the right ordered. "We just want to ask you some questions and then we're going to let you go. But if you make a scene, I'll stab you right now. You'll be dead before you hit the ground."

  Auntie Lil knew from the calm tone of her voice that the woman meant just what she said. She contorted her face instead, trying to attract someone's attention. Wedged between the two gaudily dressed prostitutes, she would have made a ridiculous sight anywhere else but New York. But packed among the crowd of theatergoers, they only blended in with the chaos and elicited not a single glance.

  Where were they taking her and why? There was something familiar about the woman. Especially her long gloves ... Of course, it was that woman that T.S. seemed so fascinated with. What was her name? All Auntie Lil could think of was a bird. Why a bird?

  "Who are you?" Auntie Lil asked again. The sharp stab answered back.

  "Shut up," Leteisha Swann ordered calmly.

  They were already halfway down Forty-Sixth Street, heading west rapidly. They passed a bar just as the door opened wide. Sounds of Dixieland jazz drifted out across their path, then faded behind them with a sweet finality. Auntie Lil strained her ears, hoping for more. The music had somehow been reassuring.

  But up ahead, barely visible a few blocks away, the Hudson River gleamed, its waves dully reflecting the light of the full moon above. Auntie Lil stiffened and dug her feet in automatically. But the strength of her two captors prevailed and they only lifted her from the sidewalk, carrying her inexorably forward. They were the strongest women she had ever known, hardened by street combat and the drive to survive. Maybe even stronger than Annie O'Day. Why had she left Annie behind?

  They passed Emily's apartment building on the other side of the street. Auntie Lil looked upward. A light gleamed on the sixth floor. Was Theodore there? Would this be the last time she was near him?

  Then it hit her. This was what had happened to Eva.

  It was as if the woman in silver spangles could read her thoughts. "If you're quiet, we'll let you go. We just want to find out what you know. We're taking you somewhere private to talk. We don't plan to hurt you."

  The docks. She knew with certainty, now, that they were hustling her over to the deserted docks near the Westside Highway. Should she struggle? She shifted an arm and prepared to fight back.

  "If you don't come along," Leteisha Swann repeated patiently, "I'll stick you right here and leave. You'll bleed to death in the middle of the sidewalk and no one will ever know we did it. It's your choice. Die now or take a chance we'll let you go."

  The finality and calm confidence of the prostitute filled Auntie Lil with complete despair. The woman was a professional, unfazed by abducting her in public and under the noses of hundred of other New Yorkers. She knew just what to do, and, most probably, meant exactly what she said. She'd know right where to stab her, too. There was nothing to do but go along. Perhaps they did only want to talk to her. Perhaps Eva had been stubborn again and that was why she died.

  They passed the Jamaican restaurant at the corner of Ninth. Nellie, the owner, sat perched on her customary table. Auntie Lil turned her head slightly and their eyes locked. Auntie Lil's were wide with terror, but Nellie's remained as dark and impassive as ever. In fact, Nellie's braids barely clicked she turned her head so smoothly to watch the unusual trio crossing the avenue. They were heading straight west toward Tenth Avenue. Nellie hesitated, then her eyes clouded over. She looked as if she had reached a decision, but just then the front bell tinkled and a rare pair of customers entered the shop. Relieved at the momentary distraction, Nellie hopped from the table and set to work filling their order. But her eyes still stared out into the darkness that yawned on the other side of Ninth Avenue.

  Forty-Sixth Street between Tenth and Eleventh Avenues was deserted. They were too far from the theater to attract restaurant-goers so the block was completely residential. Now it would do her no good to scream. A trickle of warmth ran down her right side and dripped onto her shoe. Just as she'd thought, the cruel woman on the right had drawn blood with her earlier jab. As sturdily built as she was, Auntie Lil was eighty-four years old and had not eaten dinner. She did not know how long she could last without fainting.

  "This is a quiet block," she suggested helplessly. "We could talk here."

  They ignored her and continued to pull her forward. Up ahead a ragged figure rummaged in a pile of garbage sacks. They drew closer and Auntie Lil could spot a decrepit old woman with frazzled hair and filthy clothes hanging from a gaunt frame.

  Adelle, she thought triumphantly. Or one of the other retired actresses.

  The old woman reached into a bag of garbage and pulled out a discarded container of Chinese food. She stuck two grimy fingers inside and scooped out the gummy contents, sniffed it then nodded and took a tentative bite. Auntie Lil's hopes fell. The poor woman would be of no help to her.

  Soon, they reached Tenth Avenue and there to the left, Auntie Lil could see the neon lights in the windows of Mike's American Bar and Grill winking in the near darkness. It seemed like years ago, instead of days, that she had met Theodore there for lunch. What she wouldn't give for the chance to sit at the bar there again, sipping a Bloody Mary.

  A crowd of men joking and drinking beer on the corner stepped aside to let them pass.

  "Help," Auntie Lil cried out weakly, but a shrill laugh from the woman on her left masked the sound.

  "Hola!" the prostitute sang out to the men. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be back!"

  "Hola!" one of the men called after them. "You girls working with your granny these days?" The crowd laughed but their merriment quickly faded behind them as the two women stepped up their speed, nearly dragging Auntie Lil between them. Only a deserted street littered with the shadows of huge trucks and empty garages stood between them and the piers of the Hudson.

  "Just a block more to go," Leteisha Swann announced calmly. "Then we shall see what we shall see."

  "Don't you know Rodney's last name?" T.S. asked Little Pete once again.

  The kid shrugged. "He's weird. Comes and goes. Disappears all the time. No one knows where he lives, man. I don't like him. Never did. Since way before he beat up Timmy, I knew he was bad news. He's real mean, you know. Real mean and real calm. Won't say nothing and then, bam, you're down on the sidewalk. Cold. He's a cold man. Real cold. Makes me shiver just thinking about him. I'm going to bust him good."

  "No, you're not. You're going to tell this to the police and let them bust him," T.S. said firmly. He switched off the tape and slipped the cassette into his jacket pocket.

  "The police?" The boy's voice trembled. He was still unconvinced, though T.S. had spent the better part of a half hour pleading with him to at least tell the cops about Rodney. And the rest helping him trash the apartment in what T.S. knew to be a futile attempt to make it look as if it had been robbed.

  "It's all right, son. I'll stay beside you every minute. They won't ever have you alone." Both T.S. and Little Pete took reassurance in his repeated use of the word "son." And both needed reassurance at that moment.

  "We won't mention the man at all," T.S. promised. "Just Rodney. Don't you want to see him punished for what he did to Timmy?" Little Pete nodded glumly and they left the apartment. T.S. didn't think they'd get ve
ry far before he bolted.

  "What are you going to do with that?" the small boy asked as they waited for the elevator. He stared at the videocassette.

  T.S. patted it. "Let Detective Santos take a look." Especially if you take off running down the street like I think you're going to do, he thought to himself.

  "The cops." Little Pete's back stiffened and he repeated the word several times, as if not quite believing that he was going to take a stand on the same side as his old enemies. "What if Rodney finds out it was me who told on him? He'll get out and kill me."

  "No, he won't," T.S. said calmly. "They'll put him away somewhere where he won't be able to get to anyone ever again."

  "For beating up a kid?" The little boy gave an ugly, adult-sounding laugh. "That's a joke. You don't know nothing, man."

  "He killed Emily," T.S. said simply. "He killed Timmy's grandmother and we're going to get him." There. Maybe that would keep the kid in tow.

  Little Pete's eyes grew wide and his mouth shut abruptly. He stood only inches from T.S. in the elevator car, craving the comfort of his solid presence like a chick seeks the shelter of his mother's wings. They rode down in silence, T.S. sometimes absently patting the boy's head.

  The street was crowded with theatergoers and they had to push through a batch of plump and bejeweled ladies to reach the street. Sure enough, as T.S. had suspected, Little Pete began to drag his feet.

  "You go without me, man," the boy started to say, but an indignant buzz cut him off. Shouts rang out on the other side of the street.

  "What's up?" Little Pete asked, standing on his tiptoes. T.S. unashamedly followed suit. Someone was pushing through the throng of restaurant-goers. A whole line of pushing people, in fact. They burst into a patch of deserted sidewalk and, in that instant, fifty-five years of constant connection to another human being culminated in a certainty that, somehow, Auntie Lil was in danger. He knew it the second he recognized the figure plowing through the crowd at the head of the pack.

  Annie O'Day was barreling down the sidewalk and Billy of the Delicious Deli was a few feet behind. Inexplicably, they were being followed by a funny old man with a huge bulbous nose and an impressive ability to run like a younger man.

  "What is it?!" T.S. cried out as they passed by.

  "Your aunt!" the deli owner yelled back when he recognized T.S.

  Heart thumping, T.S. joined the procession, bringing up the rear. They pushed through the disgruntled crowd without apology, enduring thrown elbows and sharp shoves. His heart pounded so loudly that, for a moment, T.S. was afraid he would not be able to keep up. But once he got going, he hit his rhythm. Plus fear and pride gave him energy. By God, but that funny old man was fast. But wait—here came someone even faster. Little Pete passed him on the left as they neared Ninth Avenue.

  "What are we doing?" the boy shouted at T.S. as he fled past. He was ready to be in on the action.

  "Follow them!" T.S. shouted back. "Or better yet, call the cops." The small boy screeched to a halt on the far side of the avenue and dashed to the nearest pay phone. T.S. kept running. Annie's light-colored sweat shirt bobbed in front of him like a beacon in the darkness. It was followed by a patch of white from the deli owner's apron. T.S. prayed fervently that whatever was wrong, those two were on the side of the angels.

  The lead runners crossed Ninth Avenue and hesitated, unsure of where to go next. T.S. slowed with them and scanned the sidewalk. There was no sign of Auntie Lil. Should they go west or head up or downtown?

  Suddenly, someone crashed into his left side. T.S. was momentarily thrown off his stride but recovered in time to continue the chase. A large black woman dashed ahead of him, eating up the distance between T.S. and the old man with the funny nose.

  "Straight ahead!" she was shouting. "And hurry! Hurry!" Her beaded braids bobbed wildly as she raced along. Mesmerized, T.S. increased his speed.

  The Westside Highway teemed with intermittent life, then fell back into loneliness. They were in an area of seldom used side streets, but as stoplights several blocks away on either side disgorged waiting cars, long lines of autos would periodically zoom past. No one slowed as they passed. People picked the highway because they were in a hurry and it would take more than a little old lady flanked by prostitutes to merit a second glance.

  Only a few streetlights still worked on the deserted stretch of sidewalk where they waited in a pool of darkness for a chance to cross the road. A few blocks farther downtown, Auntie Lil could see the enormous bulk of the Intrepid', a huge aircraft carrier that had been converted into a floating museum. Now closed for the season, its shadow dominated several blocks of the river. Across from it, the lights of The Westsider bar blinked steadily.

  She wondered if Detective Santos was slumped at his table, empty glasses of gin scattered before him. Would he ever guess that she had been brought just a few blocks from him before her death?

  Auntie Lil could not stop the unhappy thought. Because she was certain now that they meant to kill her. Otherwise, they would have stopped in the last block where there wasn't a human being to be found. There was little she could have told them, but she would have tried. Now, with the deserted pier just a few lanes of traffic away, she saw that she had been more than foolish. It would have been better to have risked a stabbing in a crowd than certain death in the oily waters of the Hudson.

  Ahead of them stretched a length of sidewalk along the river that was topped with the abandoned girding of an old highway. Unused now, its only purpose was to house the makeshift cardboard shacks of the homeless. Its structure cast deep shadows on the nearby piers, creating an area of virtual darkness next to the water. There was a lull in traffic and the two women quickly dragged her across the highway. They obviously had a destination in mind, no doubt because they had been there before.

  They pulled her to a corner of the pier near the sidewalk, completely shaded by the darkness. Helplessly, Auntie Lil watched as lines of cars zipped past. No one could see them where they were.

  "She's bleeding," the woman on the left complained. "Why'd you have to go and cut her? She would have talked to you."

  "Talk to me?" Leteisha Swann gave an ugly laugh. "Don't be stupid. I don't care what this old lady has to say. She can tell it to the fishes. If you can find any in there."

  "Hey, you said you weren't going to hurt her," the blonde protested. "People saw us back there. If this gets in the papers as a killing, they'll remember. Maybe they didn't say anything at the time, but they saw us."

  "Doesn't matter to me," Leteisha Swann said calmly. "After this, babe, I'm going to disappear." She snapped her fingers. "I disappear like that. It's much simpler than you think."

  The other prostitute stared at them in the darkness, her doubt obvious in her uncertain, husky voice. "I don't know, Leteisha. We don't have to hurt this old lady. I know I'm not getting enough money for that. You probably aren't, either. Let's just see what she knows and let her go."

  Leteisha Swann. Auntie Lil remembered. That was the woman's name. T.S. had been right all along—she was part of what was going on.

  "I'm not doing it for the money," Leteisha explained to her friend. "I'm doing it for the fun." She smiled. Her teeth gleamed against the darkness of her face.

  The blonde prostitute stepped back, horrified. "That's rank, Letty. You and me both got mothers, you know."

  "Is this how you people live?" Auntie Lil demanded. "Discarding people like they were garbage, dumping them to the bottom of the river like trash?"

  "People are garbage, grandma," Leteisha said calmly. "And taking out the trash happens to be my specialty."

  Auntie Lil had heard enough. She kicked Leteisha in the shins and elicited a reaction. It was not what she had hoped. The woman cursed and pulled Auntie Lil closer to her chest, her elbow hooked around Auntie Lil's throat. Her arm was like a vise, cutting off any chance of escape or even any hope of being able to make noise. Auntie Lil knew she'd never be able to wiggle her way out.

  "
I'll hold her and you cut her throat," Leteisha ordered her companion.

  The other woman stared back in disgust. "No way, Letty. I'm not cutting her throat. You needed help getting her here, I helped," the blonde insisted. "I've done my part. Now I'm out of here. I'm not cutting anyone's throat." The woman turned to go but a hiss from Leteisha stopped her.

  "You help me now or you'll be next," Leteisha ordered. "So help me God, you won't be able to walk these streets without wondering when your turn will come."

  Auntie Lil was furious, frightened and indignant. They were arguing over her as if she were the last piece of bait in some fisherman's pail. She tried to struggle but the grip of the arm only tightened. If she moved again, all air would be cut off.

  "Screw you. I'm leaving," the blonde decided. She turned to go and Leteisha gave a low growl. There was no other way to describe the ugly sound that emanated from between her tightly clenched teeth. It was a growl and even Auntie Lil, who thought she was as frightened as a person could be, felt fresh terror at the unnatural sound.

  "You're going to be—" Leteisha's threat was cut off by the sounds of distant yelling. Startled, she fell silent and pulled Auntie Lil further into the shadows. The blonde took a panicked step forward.

  "Don't move," Leteisha ordered in a deadly voice. Auntie Lil could not have moved had she wanted to. But she listened carefully and realized that the sounds were coming closer. People were yelling, several people. What was it they were yelling? Was that her own name?

  "Aunt Lil!" she heard a female voice bellow. Others shouted as well.

  It was now or never, Auntie Lil thought to herself. Do something—anything—or you're going to die. She twisted with all her might and croaked, "The police!" before Leteisha's arm cut off any other hope of sound.

  It had been enough. The skittish blonde panicked and ran south along the pier.

  "Stop!" Leteisha ordered, but it was too late. The blonde reached the end of the shadows and fled across a pool of streetlight, heading for the huge battleship a few blocks farther south.