Damaged Goods

by Stephen Solomita

  The silence that followed was entirely obligatory and both men knew it. Cooper, his eyes nearly closed, puffed on his cigarette as if he didn’t have a care in the world. Moodrow, watching him, knew the question to come and was busy preparing an answer that would satisfy Buford Cooper without exposing Stanley Moodrow or Ginny Gadd to the possibility of criminal prosecution.

  “You haven’t told me,” Cooper finally said, “your part in …” He spread his hands, smiled again. “In all this.”

  Moodrow tapped the metal tabletop with the side of his fist. “I’m a licensed private investigator and I was hired, for obvious reasons, by the mother of the kidnapped child. The story I just told you was pieced together in the course of my investigation. Holtzmann was afraid I’d go public before he arrested Carmine Stettecase, so he decided to put me in a cell for the duration, to stash me like he stashed Jilly Sappone.” Moodrow began to fumble with the bag of doughnuts. Now that he’d clearly stated his case, he felt entitled to a reward. “Tell me,” he asked, “what are you going to say when the bodies turn up?”

  Cooper ignored the question. “I’m hearing an awful lot of speculation here,” he said.

  Moodrow shrugged, mumbled, “Time will tell,” and swallowed hard.

  “I suppose it will.” Cooper sat up in his chair. He glanced at his watch, shook his head, muttered, “Welcome to hell,” as he rose to his feet. “I’m going to ask you to sign a release before I let you go.”

  “A release?”

  “Basically stating that you were here of your own free will, that you do not now and will not in the future hold the FBI or any individual employed by the FBI responsible for your incarceration.”

  “That would be a lie.”

  “True, but it would at least take care of one of the several dozen problems we’re going to have to address when … when the bodies turn up.”

  Moodrow stood and leaned across the table. Unable to control his joy, he giggled in Buford Cooper’s face, then quickly apologized. “What could I say, Cooper? I guess I’m just an emotional guy. Now, where the fuck do I sign?”

  What Leuten Kitt said, with his mouth, was, “Yessuh, I wants to live,” but what he said to himself was, Another white man with a gun.

  Leuten Kitt knew quite a bit about white men with guns, having spent virtually all of his third decade at Angola State Prison in the great state of Louisiana. There were no gray stone walls at Angola, just swamps and forests and lots of shotgun-toting white men. Of course, all that was twenty-seven years ago and he’d put his life together since then—come up north, gotten married, raised a family—but the lessons he’d learned in those nine years were never far away.

  “You know who I am, nigger?”

  “Nossir.” That was one of the most important lessons. Yessir, Nossir and bide your time.

  “Get up and come around the desk.”

  Kitt rose slowly, careful to keep his hands in sight. He walked over to Jilly Sappone, turned his back, submitted to a thorough frisk.

  “You ready for the deal, Sambo?”

  “Yessir. Ready for anythin’ y’all say.”

  “I’m goin’ up to 14D. You know who lives there?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Turn around and look at me.”

  “Yessir.”

  “Who lives there?”

  “In 14D?”

  “You play the dumb nigger with me, you’re gonna be the dumb, dead nigger.”

  “Kalkadonis family lives there. In 14D.” Leuten didn’t need to look into Sappone’s eyes to see the fire stoked at the back of the man’s brain. Jilly’s voice was enough to convince Leuten Kitt that death was right around the corner.

  “And who am I?”

  “You …” The way Leuten saw it, he had a big, big problem. The Kalkadonis family had pulled out and the apartment was empty and Jilly Sappone didn’t seem like the kind of man who could deal with disappointment. “You the man took the baby.”

  “Very good.” Sappone stepped back. “Now what’s gonna happen here is we’re goin’ up to that apartment and you’re gonna get me inside. You with me so far.”

  “Yessir.”

  “So, how ya gonna get me in?”

  “With my keys.”

  “Wrong answer, monkey. Try again.” When Kitt didn’t respond, Jilly continued. “If I was gonna use the keys, why the fuck would I need you to come upstairs? I could just kill your black ass right here and now.” He raised the gun several inches, forcing Kitt to look into the barrel. “So, let’s try it again. How you gonna get me in?”

  Leuten stared at the weapon for a moment, then moved his eyes a few inches to the left. He could still remember the first time he’d looked into the barrel of a guard’s shotgun, still feel the sudden hot rush of urine through the hairs on his thigh. “I gots to tell ’em somethin’. Make ’em open the door.”

  “And who says you people can’t learn?”

  When it became obvious that Sappone expected a reply, Leuten said, “Ain’t nobody says that.”

  “Nobody except everybody.” Instead of laughing, Sappone grunted. “Now, what are you gonna tell ’em?”

  “Tell ’em there’s somethin’ wrong and I gotta get inside.”

  Jilly, his expression fixed, stepped forward and cracked Leuten Kitt in the mouth. He listened to the echo for a moment, savored the obvious pain in Kitt’s eyes, then said, “I don’t wanna hear the fuckin’ stall. Understand me?”

  “Yessir.” Leuten fought the urge to touch his face, see if his teeth were still there. “Yessir, here’s what I tell ’em. I say, ‘Ma’am, we done got a leak in the bathroom ceiling downstairs and I need to come inside, check the pipes. Won’t take but a minute.’ ”

  Sappone nodded. His eyes were blazing now, his mouth twisted. Once those locks were thrown, even if a cop answered, he was definitely gonna get inside. Shoot through the door and keep on shooting until it was over, one way or the other.

  He took off Agent Bob’s windbreaker, folded it in half, then draped it over the hand holding the gun. “You got grandkids?”

  “Yessir.”

  “Then remember what I’m tellin’ ya here.” He stepped back to let Kitt pass in front of him. “If you’re thinkin’ about how you’re gonna make a break soon as we leave this room, think again. You get more than two feet away from me, them brats are gonna have to grow up without a grampa.”

  With nothing more to be said, Leuten took a tentative step forward.

  “Ain’t you forgettin’ somethin’?”

  Jilly voice stopped him as if he’d run into a wall. “Sir?”

  “The keys, nigger, the fuckin’ keys. In case they’re not home.”

  Forgetting the keys being Leuten’s only strategy, he cursed Sappone inwardly. “Yeah, you right,” he said. “They in the drawer.” He walked back to the desk, careful to keep his hands in sight, and removed an enormous ring of keys. Without being asked, he flipped through the ring until he found the pair for the Kalkadonis apartment. Then he walked past Jilly Sappone and out into the hall.

  “Straight to the elevators. No stops, no conversation.”

  Leuten, as he walked down the corridor, was hoping to find the small room that housed the building’s three elevators completely empty. Sooner or later, the way he read the situation, he was going to have to make his move and the elevator seemed as good a place as any. If Sappone sent him in first, he could step to the side, press the button that closed the doors, maybe …

  The sound of a child’s voice cut through Leuten’s speculations with the finality of a meat cleaver. Vroooom, vroooom, vroooooooom. A moment later, he glanced through the open doorway to find his worst fears confirmed. A short, heavy woman pulling a shopping cart filled with carefully folded laundry was jabbing her rigid forefinger into the elevator call button while a young boy on a tricycle whizzed back and forth just behind her legs.

  “Afternoon’ Miss Green.”

  The woman turned and smiled. “Good afternoon, Leuten.” S
he glanced at Jilly Sappone, then back at the super, then down at the ground.

  “Kinda hot today.” Leuten moved a few inches to the left. He could feel Sappone tense up and was trying for enough room to swing an elbow in case the man decided that Myrna Green had recognized his famous face, that the only remedy was blood and bullets.

  “Well, summer’s here.” Myrna Green smiled up at Jilly Sappone. “Are you moving in?” she asked.

  Leuten Kitt heard Jilly Sappone release the breath he’d been holding and figured it was gonna be okay, at least for now. Then Jilly said, “I’m thinkin’ about it,” and the elevator arrived. Leuten stepped inside and pressed the button that held the doors open.

  “All aboard,” he said, his voice as cheerful as he could make it.

  Myrna Green tugged the shopping cart into the elevator. “C’mon, Tommy,” she called to her son. “And take it easy.”

  Tommy responded by crashing his trike into the elevator’s rear wall, producing a hollow boom that he apparently found hilarious.

  “How many times do I have to tell you about that?”

  Leuten pressed the buttons for the third and fourteenth floors. He could see Jilly Sappone’s face now. The man’s eyes were blank, unfocused, the eyes of a lizard waiting for a meal to happen by. They stayed that way until the doors opened on the third floor and Myrna Green stepped into the corridor.

  “Let’s go, Tommy.”

  When Tommy showed no inclination to leave the elevator, Leuten again pressed the button that held the doors open. Sappone was looking straight at him, the lizard with a fly in sight.

  “I said now, Tommy. Or you can forget Animaniacs.”

  With a final whoop, Tommy backed his tricycle in a half circle, then flew out the door, spun around the shopping cart, and headed off down the hall.

  “Ever since his father and I divorced … I don’t know. I think I’ve lost control.” Myrna Green tossed Jilly a last, sidelong glance. “Good luck with the apartment,” she said. When he didn’t respond she turned to Leuten Kitt. “You have a good afternoon, Leuten.”

  Leuten released the button, called, “You too, Miss Green,” through the closing doors.

  “You done good, nigger.” Jilly Sappone moved to the far corner of the elevator. “No shit, man. You saved the bitch’s life. The kid’s, too. Now it’s time for you to save your own.”

  “Yessir,” Leuten replied automatically. Not wanting to be shot down like a dog, he still intended to make some kind of a move. Only now he was pretty sure that he and the dog were gonna end up in the same place, move or not.

  “Because, say I get what I want, I’m gonna let ya slide. You hear me?”

  “Yessir.” What Leuten heard was the lust in Jilly Sappone’s voice, the lust for blood. He’d heard that call many a time down at Angola. The cry of an animal that liked to hurt.

  The elevator came to a halt and the doors slid open. Jilly Sappone tossed the jacket over his shoulder, exposing the automatic in his hand. “Take a look down that hallway,” he said. “Tell me exactly what you see.”

  As Leuten moved into the doorway, he felt Sappone come up behind him, hook a finger in his belt. “I don’t see nothin’,” he said, quickly adding, “but a empty hall with doors.”

  “That’s good. That’s very good.” Sappone pressed his knuckle into the base of Leuten’s spine. “Because I’m real, real hot for this and if you fuck it up for me I’m gonna …”

  “Yessir, I gets the message and I’m goin’ do just what y’all say to do and nothin’ else. Soon as y’all tell me what it is.”

  “I want you to go straight to that apartment, 14D. I want you to stand in front of the peephole, ring the bell, let ’em know it’s Uncle Sambo and not Jilly Sappone standing in the hall. I want you to get that fucking door open any way you have to.” Sappone paused momentarily, then said, “This is my last time, man.” Like the statement explained everything Leuten needed to know.

  As Leuten Kitt followed Sappone’s directions exactly, walking down the hall at a steady pace, stopping directly in front of 14D, pressing then releasing the bell, a plan began to form in his mind. Ann Kalkadonis had called him the morning before and told him she was leaving New York. Later in the day, he’d seen Ann and her daughter, both carrying luggage, go out through the lobby. That meant the apartment was going to be empty and Sappone was going to be very disappointed, like a kid without a Christmas present, a kid with a gun. What he, Leuten Kitt, had to do was convince Sappone that if just hung around for a while, his wife and his daughter would come back.

  Without waiting to be asked, Leuten again rang the bell, this time holding it down for several seconds. Then he let off, cocked his ear to the door and pressed it again. “Don’t seem to be nobody home,” he said, trying the words out as a kind of experiment before pounding on the door with his fist. “I seen ’em goin’ out, Mrs. Kalkadonis and her daughter, round ten o’clock. Figured they’d be back by now.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Jilly whispered. His head swiveled back and forth, checking the hall, then he began to back away from the door, stopping midway between his wife’s apartment and the apartment to the north.

  Leuten meekly followed. Figuring that he and Sappone were going to be together for quite a while, that all he’d bought was time.

  “Whyn’t you tell me this shit before?” Jilly’s eyes were on fire. The gun trembled slightly in his hand. “If you’re tryin’ to play some dumb spook game …”

  “I jus’ figger they be back.” He paused, started to raise his eyes to meet Jilly’s, then remembered and yanked them down to Sappone’s chest. “See, what I’m sayin’ is they was pullin’ one of them carts. You know, like they was goin’ to the supermarket.” He was shifting his weight from foot to foot, aware of it, but unable to stop himself. A little voice inside his head was calling mama, mama, mama from what seemed like a great distance. Working around and through his thoughts with a will of its own.

  “What about the cops? Where are the goddamned cops?”

  Leuten, caught unawares, took a second to think it over before replying. “Well, they out in front. I seen ’em this mornin’ when I was fixin’ the stoop.” He shrugged, his shoulders so tight it felt like he was pulling them up out of the mud. “As for inside the house … well, like I don’t live there or nothin’, but I ain’t seen no cops around the apartment in some time.” He paused again. “If they was in there, why wouldn’t they be answerin’ the door?”

  Jilly’s pent-up breath whooshed out of his chest for the second time. His eyes closed for a moment, then popped wide open. “I want you to ring the bell again. If nobody comes, use the keys.” He raised the gun a few inches. “Push the door open, but don’t move a fucking inch until I tell you. Remember, if there’s somebody waitin’ in there, if it’s a trap, you’re gonna go first.”

  Leuten didn’t bother to say, “Yessir.” He walked over to the door, feeling for the keys as he went, and gave the bell a short, sharp jab. A few seconds later, he opened the two locks and pushed the door back to reveal a narrow hallway.

  “Say somethin’.” Jilly stepped forward, taking Leuten’s shirt in his free hand.

  “Maintenance,” Leuten called. “Anybody inside?”

  When there was no reply, Jilly shoved Leuten through the doorway. “Keep callin’, keep movin’. We’re gonna look in every room, every closet. Startin’ with this one in the hall. You’re gonna open the door, move the clothes around, make sure nobody’s hidin’ inside.” He ground the barrel of the automatic into Leuten Kitt’s scalp, drawing a trickle of blood in the process. “Let’s move.”

  “Maintenance. Maintenance.”

  Leuten kept repeating the word as he walked to the hall closet, opened the door, leaned inside, rummaged through the coats and jackets. Sappone was draped all over him, a second skin, and both of them were entirely focused on the dark shadows inside the closet. That was why, Leuten figured later on, neither one of them heard Guinevere Gadd come up behind them.
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  “You feel that, Jilly Sappone? You feel it?” Gadd’s voice froze both men. “That’s my .38 pushed into the base of your skull, with the barrel angled up at 45 degrees. You move and you’re fucking dead.”

  What Leuten Kitt figured was that he was the one who was dead. And he wasn’t encouraged when Jilly Sappone snarled, “I’ll kill the nigger. I ain’t kiddin’. You don’t back off, I’ll kill the nigger right this minute.”

  Gadd’s answer only made it worse. “So what am I supposed to do now, Jilly, arrange for a helicopter and five or six million bucks in untraceable bills? You wanna shoot him, go ahead. I’m not a cop and the man doesn’t mean shit to me.” She made a half-strangled sound that Leuten took for a laugh, then said, “I beat the shit out of your Aunt Josie this morning.”

  Leuten didn’t waste any time trying to figure out what that meant. He grabbed at Sappone’s gun with his right hand, managing to get it away from his head a second before it went off, then slid his left hand behind his own buttocks and into Sappone’s groin. Then he squeezed, yanked, and prayed.

  A few seconds later, when Leuten found the courage to open his eyes, Jilly Sappone had stopped screaming.

  “You could let go of his balls now,” Gadd said. “He’s unconscious and I wanna put cuffs on him before he wakes up.”

  Leuten, panting like a rescued swimmer, pushed Sappone into the hallway, noting the blood running from the man’s head with some satisfaction. “I didn’t hear you hit him.”

  Gadd knelt on Sappone’s back and quickly handcuffed him. “Christ,” she said, looking up at Leuten Kitt, “I been waiting a long time for this.”

  “I don’t mean to change the subject, lady, but what you said before, about me not meaning shit to you? That mighta got me killed.” Leuten, much to his surprise, was holding Sappone’s automatic in his right fist, holding it by the barrel. He stared at the gun for a moment, then reversed it in his hand.