by Simon Swift
"Ava, I am sorry to interrupt your story but who was this man, what was he doing wandering into the office?"
"I'm coming to that, Errol. He said his name was Arnold Muchado and he was looking for Hermeez. He said he was an old friend and was just calling in on the off chance. He was ever so nice and he invited me out for lunch, but the best bit is I got the kid's name, it is Audrey Daniels and he's wanted for questioning for a string of crimes. I'm still digging up on him it should be a lot easier now that we have a name."
I agreed with Ava, but I was thinking more about the name Arnold Muchado than that of Daniels. Muchado was notorious in certain circles in New York and he did not simply wander into people's offices on the off chance of anything. He was reputed to be a close associate of "The Mad Hatter" aka Albert Anastasia, the founder and operating head of the national crime syndicate's enforcement arm Murder Inc. He was a loan shark by trade and no doubt paid a great share of his gains into the syndicate's coffers, but was not averse to adding murder and maiming to his list of skills. What could he want with my partner? He surely didn't just want to take him out for a drink; the only places people like Muchado took you for a drink was out in the desert just before they hit you round the back of the head with a baseball bat.
I warned Ava to be careful and not to go to lunch with him, but she took my caution as paternal concern and told me she was a sensible grown up girl. At least she promised me she didn't find him attractive and was merely flattered, although she hadn't decided whether she would go or not. In the meantime she would carry on digging on our friend Daniels and she accepted my decision to send a little extra security round the office block. Finally, I asked her to get in touch with Timmy Matthews and find out as much about the Dyke Spanner investigation as she could. She agreed and reluctantly told me she would do this instead of meeting Muchado for lunch. I put the telephone down thankfully but with a lot more worry than I had picked it up.
It wasn't long before I was heading back to my apartment. I stopped for a bite to eat on the way back. A little place around the corner served a mean porterhouse -bloody as hell with a green salad. It all went fast, swilled down with a nice cool beer. I lit a cigar and picked at the salad, blowing thick smoke rings in between crunching bites of cucumber.
As I polished off the remains of my dinner, I evaluated the previous few days’ events. What began as a simple domestic case was looking like turning nasty. I wasn't sure just who was and who wasn't involved and to make matters worse I wasn't sure what it was they were involved in, even if they were involved. If what Weeny Jung Ping told me was correct then Marlow was certainly a hell of a lot more than Claudia's friend, which made the whole thing about Claudia and Ferriby curious. And where the hell was she? I didn't know whether to be worried or angry. I kept thinking maybe Daniels had got his hands on her and she was in some sort of trouble, although she really did seem like a lady that knew just how to take care of herself. The other person I just could not get out of my mind was Claudia. There was no reason to think that she was any more involved in any of this than by the coincidence of the company she kept, but she was a mysterious lady and the puzzle of her house being for let and yet not for let was strange to say the least. I was also worried about my partner and friend, Hermeez Wentz, he didn't look himself today and if Marcia Grey was back in town there was certain to be heartache and trouble for him and that was without the added confusion of an Arnold Muchado on the lookout. In spite of all this, it was becoming clear to me that I must concentrate on Dyke Spanner. Maybe that would be the answer to all of this and if that was the case, I must find the portly gangster as soon as possible and take Weeny Jung Ping's advice. I couldn't help but think I would soon be going the way of my former friend. I put the thought out of my mind and had another steak.
Chapter Eight – Messenger
He was waiting for me at the top of the stairs. Sitting on the landing floor, his face pasty, his hair greasy and black; combed back, cigarette precariously dangling from his thin lips. He was sitting in a pile of butts, an empty packet of Camels torn to shreds. He wore a tight black polo-neck and brown slacks with a spotty cravat around his pale neck. His shoes were brown sandals and he wore blue socks.
Oh, and he was Chinese.
I struggled to hold back a chuckle as I approached. His eyes flickered as he saw me and he straightened out.
"Don't get up if you're comfortable," I said, my hand itchy for the 9mm under my arm.
He got up slowly, eyeing me all the time as he unraveled his spindly body. Not giving to chance I pulled my rod and shoved it in his gut, making him wince and breathe all over me. I held my breath.
"The boss wants to see you," he blurted out.
"Then why doesn't he show his face instead of sending punks like you bothering me?"
The man chuckled to himself. "I'll tell him you said that. He doesn't like his boys being called punks."
He looked me up and down and sneered, "Especially by small time no good detectives."
"I need a name. I don't talk to any punk, and you can tell him that as well if you like. Give me a name and I'll think about it."
"Don't push it Mister, you won't use that and you know it," he nodded at the gun and stepped back, reaching for his own.
I smacked him twice with the revolver, along one side of his head and the back of his neck. He dropped like a sack of potatoes and sat amongst the garbage. His ear was bleeding, but he'd live. I took out his gun and emptied the clip before replacing it. I then pulled out my pen and scribbled a number on his forehead.
Later that evening the telephone rang. Ava had left for home long ago so I answered, "Black."
"Yes indeed, Mr. Black, I am truly honoured. Even if you do slap my boys around."
"If you'd seen how he attires himself you'd have helped me. Whom am I talking to?"
The phone let out a shrill, high-pitched laugh. "My name is unimportant, although I do appear to have gained recognition as the rather uncomplimentary label The Coward, as you have probably guessed. I think perhaps, Mr. Black, that we may have an issue of mutual interest that we should discuss. I propose that we arrange a rendezvous."
"Listen Coward, just say what you gotta say!"
"No more games, sir, please listen carefully. As I am sure you have surmised, I have the dame in my care. She is very frightened and cannot wait to see you again. She will come to no harm as long as there are no shenanigans to be played. If you do as I say I will be happy to release her into your care and we can get on with some business, if not…" he let the sentence hang.
I sighed, "No such thing as an honourable gangster heh? Who says the dame means anything to me? Why don't you just do with her what you gotta do?"
"You surprise me Mister Black, I took you as more of a caring, romantic type of chap. Shall I kill her, shall I?"
I sighed again. "Where's the meet, I'm a busy man," I said as matter-of-factly as I could.
"As I am myself, sir, as I am myself. The sooner we meet the sooner this will all be over."
That's what I feared.
"Do not forget, sir, if you want to, how shall I put it...recommence your little soiree, you'd better do just as I ask. We do not require any heroics, if I smell a rat my patience may run out. I am a reasonable man, I really am."
"Tell that to Dyke Spanner. Where?"
"A short drive, that is all. I'm sure you're a man with a full tank of gas, am I right?"
Who was this guy? I didn't know whether to laugh or cry. I looked dumbly at the telephone and made up my mind.
"If you take the New York State Thruway, keep driving north. For speed you can either choose to stay on Route 87 or if you prefer your outings to be through more picturesque countryside why not jump onto Route 9 which hugs the Hudson River. About fifty miles north of the City you will come to a junction with several possibilities, a little like your twenty first birthday, sir. You can either take a left turning for Kingston or keep going north until you hit Saugerties when you will need
to go left. Whichever option you choose you are heading for a small town just within the Catskill Park called Woodstock. There is a bar in Woodstock where we are sure to be uninterrupted. It is called The Wyatt Earp, all the locals will know it if you get lost."
"The Wyatt Earp?"
"Be there. Twelve midnight, Saturday. Oh and Mr. Black, come alone. Remember I have a very good sense of smell, if my nostrils smell rodent my boys will want to play with their guns."
The line clicked dead.
Woodstock was a tiny town that I had only ever been to once. It was a farming area at the foot of the Catskills in the Borscht Belt, which for some reason had become popular amongst artists and writers. There were few hotels, fewer casinos but numerous sleazy bars. There was also a large amount of wasteland; hills, countryside and meadows. A number of wealthy farm owners resided in the area in their own luxurious compounds. The whole Hudson Valley district had a reputation for small time mob activity with several gangs that were too small for the City taking their habits upstate. Like Vegas, all that wasteland provided a good graveyard. It was not too long a drive from the City, but if the next chapter of the mystery was there then that would not matter.
A short drive indeed. Maybe I should forget the whole deal and take what I knew to the police. Timmy Matthews would chew my ass for playing hard ball with him but would soon thank me for the information I could give him. Unless he already had me down as Dyke's killer, which looking at it from his point of view would not be altogether a foolish conclusion. In spite of this, walking away would be the sensible thing to do.
I considered this for the time it took to locate an overnight bag. It would never really be an option. I'm afraid I'm a romantic. If I hear voices crying in the night I go see what the matter is. If I hear a cat meowing on my driveway, I go and get a saucer of milk. It's the nature of the business.
Chapter Nine – Central Park
The Plaza hotel lies at the most southeasterly corner of Central Park, in the Grand Army Plaza, a well preserved, cobbled courtyard at Fifth Avenue and 59th Street. It is a fine old hotel, reminiscent of a grand French Chateau and has rates to match. Not only is it the tops as far as luxury, service and reputation in the whole of New York, it is widely accepted that it is worth every cent. I wouldn't know, I had never been through the doors.
Until now.
I had called ahead and left a message, receiving a courteous reply from the hotel Concierge desk an hour later to say that I was expected around lunchtime. It was now twelve thirty and after admiring the plush lobby and even plusher receptionist for a few moments, I enjoyed ten seconds of high speed elevation and padded my way along the springy carpeted corridor on the top floor. This floor was home to the most executive suites in the establishment and was suitably decorated.
When I reached the Park Suite I knocked on the solid wood door and waited. The door opened and there she was, one arm leaning against its huge frame with a cheeky grin on her face a brimming glass of champagne in her right hand. Her fingers were painted red, her lips were pastel colour and shiny although not as shiny as her eyes, clear blue eyes that literally sparkled.
She didn't say anything, just stood there smiling with her drink dripping on the carpet and her aroma intoxicating me with sex. I shook my head gently and smiled inwardly before taking my hat in one hand and ushering her in with the other. She let out a little giggle, shrugged her shoulders and turned on her heels, taking her firm, round breasts and her soft, warm naked body with her.
Naked, yeah, that's right. I should have been surprised but I was too busy being aroused.
I watched her skip back into the hotel room, looked left to right and then followed her in, making sure the door clicked locked behind me.
"Are you making sure we won't be disturbed?" she asked in her girly, Southern twang. "Why you haven't even said hello yet."
"Hello Marcia,” I said, finding myself in a huge suite, amazing in its sheer class and beauty. It really was lavish with ceilings you could fit a set of football posts under and a bed you could fit the whole offence eleven in. The walls were tastefully covered with expensively framed pieces and decorative wall hangings, the thick, springy carpet was the sort of floor covering you just wanted to take off your shoes and socks and let your feet sink into its softness and warmth.
There was more, much more but the fact that I was directly behind a beautiful, naked woman who showed no sign of covering up her perfectly sculptured form, from her large, rounded breasts to her bushy, dark brown triangle of hair between her long, straight legs, was distracting me just a little. For the time being this was fine with me, although she knew she had thrown me wildly off course and I was sure she was enjoying the fact
She giggled again and threw the drink down in one go before throwing herself on an upright chair by the fireside and holding the empty glass out in my direction. "Hello Mister Black, would you mind doing the honours?"
Would I mind indeed? I filled the glass from a bar in the corner of the room and poured myself a coke. It was only just gone midday after all and I needed a moment to gather my thoughts. I did just that and took the drinks over, taking a seat facing Marcia at the side of the black, marble fireplace.
"You look uptight," she said. "I suggest that you rearrange whatever is necessary to make yourself more comfortable. I'll tell you what, why don't you take something off?"
She winked at me but it came out as more of a squint. She wasn't drunk but she was getting there fast.
"Why don't you put some clothes on Marcia, you're not working now," I said, mentally punching myself for my ridiculous professionalism. I was doubtful how long it would last.
Marcia just smiled and opened her legs. She was sat back in the chair directly facing me, not a yard from me, with one arm raised above her head bent at the elbow with her little finger between her lips and her legs spread wide. I couldn't but help look and she knew it.
"You don't really mean that, Mister Black, you always did like looking."
I felt myself flushing and immediately looked away. "And you never tired of being looked at, did you Marcia? Only you couldn't stop at just flaunting yourself, you had to go further and further down the road until you became exactly what you are now."
"And what's that?" she asked, closing her legs and sitting up a little straighter.
"A cheap little tart."
I didn't mean it of course. Marcia had never been cheap. Even when her fledgling film career sunk deeper and deeper and she took to doing soft porn flicks to earn a buck she was still a classy lady. Champagne was always on ice, rich and famous company was never far away and she always looked a million dollars. Whether she had clothes on or not.
"Is that why you came here today, to insult me?" she said with an edge to her voice that was half way between hurt and condescension.
"Well it certainly wasn't to be seduced by you," I replied, keeping my legs tightly crossed and my fedora strategically on my lap.
"No, once was enough for you wasn't it Mister Black."
I sat down again and sighed. "Look I'm sorry I shouldn't have called you a cheap tart. And will you quit calling me Mister Black. It was always Errol, and it still is Errol."
That seemed to lighten the mood. Marcia grinned, not cockily or with even a trace of arrogance, just a natural, incredible smile that would melt the coldest of hearts. I was well and truly thawed already and by the time she widened those baby blue eyes of hers and raised her right hand to her forehead in a mock salute. I was practically cooking. I couldn't help but notice her breasts jiggled as she moved, her nipples were not hard but placid and extremely inviting.
"So... Errol..." she said, "why did you invite yourself to my humble suite, pray tell?"
As she said it, she kicked her toes on the oriental carpet that was the size of a billiard table and certainly worth a great deal more.
I narrowed my eyes and tried looked stern, but from her reaction I most definitely failed. "I don't want you bothering Hermeez. Whate
ver happened between you two is in the past. You know it took him a while but he's eventually got over you and he doesn't need any trouble from the past."
She crossed her arms, pushing her breasts together and up, and shrugged her shoulders. "Why would I bother Hermeez? As far as I am concerned, Hermeez and I are finished. I simply gave him a call as a courtesy, as he always does when he passes through LA."
"He does?" I said in surprise.
"Sure he does. Sometimes we go for a drink; sometimes a meal and then we go our separate ways and often don't speak until the next time. This can be anything from a month up to a whole year."
I was surprised. As far as I knew, Hermeez had not been in contact with Marcia since the divorce. He had vowed he never wanted to see her again and knowing him the way I do I had believed him. He never even hinted to me that he had been seeing her. But Marcia had no reason to lie about it and I was convinced she was telling the truth.
"What does Arnold think about you meeting up with your ex-husband?" I countered and watched her reaction closely.
She looked puzzled. "Who is Arnold?"
"Arnold Muchado, who else? I hear you have made it to moll at last. Tell me is it just like in the movies?"
Marcia stood up and walked over to the bar, filled her glass and brought me a fresh one, this time with a little rum in the coke. I shrugged and took a sip. She sat back down, crossing her legs, still not a ounce of humility about her nakedness or my obvious erection and smiled again.
"You always were looking out for Hermeez. I wonder if he appreciates it as much as he should. You're a good friend to him Errol, you know that?"
Not as good as I should have been, I thought, as Marcia went on to tell me that she did really love my buddy, that she would always love him and deep down they both knew it, whilst all I could think about was what I would love to do to her again and again and again.