by Simon Swift
Wilson stopped rubbing his hands and placed them down on his knees, where his hat and gloves had been moments ago. "Clearly I am wasting time," he said a little more assertively, but still in a dull whisper. "I must introduce myself properly."
He let out a little exhalation of air and continued. "I am here representing a Mr. Liam Tighe."
Wilson must have noticed my ears prick up and this appeared to give him more confidence in himself.
"I am afraid my client Mr. Tighe has recently passed on."
"Passed on?" I interrupted. "So that's why you are in a hurry. If Liam has passed on, as you put it, then I bet it wasn't a peaceful passing in the night was it? So I guess whoever whacked the Irishman has got you in his sights."
"Ahem," said a slightly ruffled Wilson, wiping his mouth with a golden, silk handkerchief, which he quickly returned to the pocket of his trousers. "Yes, well let's just say that he is no longer with us. And as that leaves me without a client you are correct, I will indeed be moving on."
I stubbed out my cigarette, my attention much more focused on what Mr. Wilson had to say, and he continued articulately.
"For years I have been Mr. Tighe's legal advisor. He has confided many, many secrets in me. The one that concerns you, Mr. Black, is this…"
He looked in his inside pocket of his navy blue blazer and produced a small key, dropping it on the desk before me. It looked like a safety deposit box key, with a tag around the thin key ring bearing the number 10234.
Still I remained silent, waiting for my mystery visitor to continue. "He left me with the strict instructions that I was to get this key to a lady friend of Mr. Tighe's."
My heart missed a beat but I disguised my interest behind a smug smile.
"Very nice for you, now where do I come in?"
"Mr. Black, I am only a humble lawyer. I have no experience or inclination to start tracking down ex-lady friends of my clients."
He smiled a weak smile that accentuated the highness of his cheekbones. "Mr. Tighe was most insistent that I referred the task to a Private Investigator, namely your good self. You must take the key to the girl, let me say...discreetly. Nobody else must know anything about it."
I opened my drawer and poured myself a cognac. Those damn pills I took an hour ago were certainly not going to clear my headache, so maybe a drink would? I offered, and to my surprise, Mr. Wilson duly accepted.
I sipped at the drink gently. "If this whole thing is so important, why did you waste your own no doubt precious time waiting for me? Why not take it to another Dick, let's face it there's no real shortage of wannabe Phil Marlowes in this district?"
I could see Wilson did not quite follow the slang for detective, and so put him straight reiterating the question. Again, Wilson shuffled uneasily in his chair.
"I am afraid Liam was a great admirer of your work. He was quite clear about his conviction that you were a man who would not fail the task..." he paused and his eyes left my gaze, wandering around the room, "…under any circumstances."
I took another slug of cognac, swilling it around in my mouth thoughtfully, and Wilson continued: "You must get this key to the lady as soon as possible. Once you take the key off my hands and you sign this document," he fumbled in his brief case, "I will be on my way."
I finished my drink and picked up the key, tossing it from one hand to the other. I noticed Wilson kept his eyes firmly on the key at all times.
"I'm sorry Mr. Wilson, I'm afraid I'm a little too busy at the moment. You'll have to take this to someone else," I tossed the key back to Wilson and he fumbled it, dropping it on the floor under the desk. He crawled around for a moment or two on his hands and knees and reappeared with a bright, red face looking extremely worried.
"You don't appear to understand, Mr. Black. Liam was most insistent that it was you that undertook the job. He had it written down on his will in capital letters that it must be Mr. Errol Christopher Black PI, of Manhattan Island, New York City. It seems you are the only detective… ahem or dick, that he held in any regard and deemed this very important."
I sighed and looked at a now very frightened looking Mr. Wilson square in the eyes. "Capital letters, eh."
Wilson nodded.
"But the guy's dead, you told me yourself. How will he ever know who finds the bloody lady to give her the key. Nope, I'm afraid you'll have to take it somewhere else."
"I am prepared to pay grandly for your services. A sum of ten thousand dollars for the completion of the task."
Sweat was freely running down the cheeks of Wilson, but he forced a smile nevertheless. "Ten thousand dollars, Mr. Black, as I am sure you are aware is a lot of money."
I smiled, rubbing my chin thoughtfully. "Ten thousand dollars eh? That is a very intriguing sum of money. Now do you mind me asking just why you are prepared to pay such an amount for such a simple job?"
Wilson shuddered a little as I termed the job 'simple'. He then picked up his glass that had been sitting on the edge of the desk untouched, and emptied it of its contents in one go.
"The intriguing sum of money, as you so succinctly put it would be paid from the deceased's estate, Mr. Black. I am simply conveying the information. Once you locate the girl in question and hand her the key you must accompany her to the bank and your fee will be waiting for you inside the deposit box."
He looked at me carefully and smiled. "I am sure you have been told everything you need to know, Mr. Black. Now am I safe in assuming that you agree to take on the task that I offer you?"
I could sense a little more self-assurance in Wilson's voice. He had stopped sweating so profusely and now looked genuinely more at ease.
"Yeah, you know I think you can Mr. Benjamin Wilson, I think you can. But I will of course want a cash advance on the ten big ones you understand?"
Wilson immediately reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a large, black leather purse. "Of course, how silly of me. How much shall we say, five hundred?"
I reached across and snatched the purse from the quivering hands of Wilson and pulled out a thousand in cash (the full contents of the purse). "This will do me for getting on with," I uttered, and threw the purse back across the desk.
As Wilson gathered his things together and once again stood upright I held out my hand. He shook it weakly and sort of curtseyed. He then put the key back on the table and turned away.
"Just one more thing, Mr. Wilson," I said as he headed for the door. "The name of the girl, the one I take the key to?"
"Ah yes," answered Wilson, the truest smile of the day now on his greasy face. "How silly of me. The girl in question...ahem," he cleared his throat, "...is a Miss Cortene...a Miss Claudia Cortene."
And he was gone.
Chapter Twenty – Dead End
I knew exactly where he meant and within twenty minutes, I had found just what I was looking for. The boardwalk ran all the way from Coney Island to Brighton Beach and was lined with wooden shacks. Most of them were used as beach huts, storing surfing and lifeguard equipment. Others had been converted into restaurants or cheap fast food stalls. Further along the boardwalk towards Brighton Beach, the area took on a more residential feel. There was still a large Jewish community here although that would soon be overwhelmed by the mass Russian immigration of the 1970s that spawned the birth of Little Odessa.
I found the shack that had been rented to George Ferriby after talking to an old timer who had lived in Coney Island since the last century. He knew all the owners, landlords and casual tenants of the last twenty years. Not all of them by name, but certainly by sight and a brief description was enough to awaken his memory of the jack the lad that dealt purely in cash and had not been seen for the last few weeks. He directed me to the hut that was situated between a seafood restaurant and a hot dog stall and thanked me as I slipped a five spot in his pocket.
The smell hit me as soon as I poked my hand through the door. It was held by an oversize padlock that's shiny exterior was out of place amongst the rusty hin
ges and rotten handle hanging limply by one screw. I made sure there was nobody paying too much attention as I fiddled lamely with the lock. It was a great possibility that the place was under surveillance and I did not want to be caught breaking and entering.
A young couple walked by, chewing happily on hot dogs, smiling sweetly at each other as they wiped mustard from their chins. I stepped back from the shack and lit a Lucky, smoking it quickly as the stream of people thinned out. I had come prepared and stubbed the cigarette out before severing the lock with the bolt cutters I had concealed in my overcoat. I slipped them back in my pocket and pushed the door open.
I quickly reached for my handkerchief and held it tightly to my mouth as the stench hit me. I had to close the door after me to avert any unwanted attention but was unsure just how long I could stand it. It was a smell I had experienced before but however many times you smelt it, it did not get any easier and was particularly unpleasant.
Still holding the handkerchief in place, I opened my eyes and flicked on the light switch. The place was less than twenty square yards in size, but was a veritable Aladdin's Cave. It was full from floor to ceiling in swag, ranging from bags of jewelry to old oil paintings. There was electrical gear stacked right to the roof and box after box littering the floor. Right by my feet, spread-eagled on a rather ornate oriental rug lay George Ferriby.
He was dead, of course and by the smell of him he had been for some time. He was laying in a dried pool of his own blood with a bullet wound to the neck and one to the chest. He had a rather surprised look on his face and his mouth was open.
I put on my thin leather gloves and searched his body. The bile was rising to my throat and it was pretty gruesome business but necessary. I found nothing more than an empty wallet and a packet of gum.
Next, was the highly unpleasant business of searching the lock-up. I did this quickly and thoroughly but it too proved fruitless and I was left feeling not only sick as a dog but very angry. Like ripples in a pond, the circles just kept getting bigger and bigger. I felt like every move I made I was led up a path and hit a big brick wall.
I left the shack in a hurry and didn't even bother to disguise the broken lock. Worrying about whether George Ferriby would be found before his body rotted away was the last thing on my mind.
Chapter Twenty-One – The Key
I was sitting on a barstool at Joe's with a Remy Martin in one hand and the little key in the other. I turned it over and over in my hand, thinking. There was always the possibility that I could try and find out where the key belonged myself. If I could do this, I could at least find out what it was that it led to. Assuming I could do this - find out where the key belonged (a safety deposit box somewhere) - would that contravene the deal that I had struck with Wilson? I could still get the key to Claudia, the only difference would be that I would know what I was giving her. Whether it was going to be a pot of gold or a bomb that would blow her face off.
Or a diamond.
I winced at the thought of the bomb and polished off my cognac. No, I'm afraid I would have to do what Wilson was paying me for. Who knows, maybe he was from the law and was checking me out for honesty? Beech had certainly done things stranger than hire out a mole agent in his time. And there was still the possibility of that bomb.
Yes, I must get the key to Claudia and then keep close tabs on what results. Who knows, maybe it was nothing to do with anything. Maybe the whole thing was a coincidence. Unfortunately, this was the least likely possibility of all the speculations so far. I had been involved with Liam Tighe, who had been with me, Dyke and Dutch Schultz the night he was murdered, as well as former sweetheart of Claudia Cortene. And so on. For all of us to coincidentally cross paths again in the middle of this winding, turning rattlesnake of a case would be sheer fantasy. Wouldn't it?
Tomorrow I would find out. For now, I would just make a call to Ava and call it a night. I picked up the handset and dialed the number.
"Ava, is that you sweetheart? Yeah, I know I'm sorry it's late darling. I've just got a couple of things for you to do for me."
I waited a moment as Ava got her writing equipment. "You ready... Right, I have left you a package in your mailbox. It is addressed for Timmy Matthews NYPD. I want you to take it to him personally, tell him it's from me and I want him to check it over the same as all the others. Yes, just say those exact words, he'll know what to do.
"And the other thing you can do right away if you want to. Give the station a buzz, don't talk to Timmy on this one or Lieutenant Beech, the duty officer will do, and don't tell them who you are... I know you do sweetheart just making sure. Tell him that there's been a disturbance on the boardwalk in Coney Island. You got that?" I gave her the address. "That's right. Tell him you've heard a lot of out of the ordinary disturbance, obstreperous noises, crashing and banging, that sort of thing and that they ought to check it out.
"You think you can do those things for me tonight? Good girl, I knew you would. Hermeez should be in touch in the morning with a message for me. If you can have it ready when I call. Okay sweetheart, I'll be in touch with you in the morning, you sleep tight and remember you're the best."
I leaned over the bar and held out my glass. "Are you still serving tonight Joe or just looking pretty?" I shouted, and he dutifully filled my glass.
"Don't you have a home to go too Eezy?" he retorted, a big wide grin filling his fat face.
"No, I'm afraid I'll be dossing down in the office tonight, as long as you're sure that's okay with you?"
"Sure it is. You know you can stay there as long as you want. Just don't keep the place tidy that's all I ask."
I smiled and patted Joe on the shoulder, before heading through into the back office. "Goodnight Joe," I uttered.
"Yeah, goodnight hotshot. I hope you're gonna catch some bad guys tomorrow, it'd be good for business."
And off I went into the office.
I awoke with a cricked back and freezing feet. I must have dozed off in the office chair with my sock-less feet rested up against the desk. The desk was a mass of papers, sketched ideas and empty brandy glasses and the ashtray was overflowing with stub-ends.
I let out a long, tiresome yawn and stretched my arms out. I would certainly have to either solve this case pretty quickly or find another nice young female to share a bed with. Many more nights shacked up in Joe's ram shackled old office, on an uncomfortable chair and it would be the end of me.
As I lit up a cigarette, I got a shot of pain in my back. I sat up straight, which only made the pain worse. Before I could do anything about it the telephone rang. I rubbed my eyes and picked it up: "Black," I said assertively.
"Errol, how are you doing buddy? Any progress?"
I let out a sigh and fumbled around the desk for yesterday's leftover pastrami-on-rye sandwiches. "Hermeez. I'm just about to get in touch with Claudia. Last night was more of a planning exercise. I'll be getting down to it today. How about you? I thought you were going to pass on any messages through Ava."
"I know, I'm sorry Errol, but this couldn't wait. I did what you said, I took a drive by your lock up and it was exactly as you thought it would be. The whole place had been turned upside down. It was difficult to tell where the break in ended and the looting began but you get the picture."
"Well that confirms pretty much what we already knew. Marlow is in it up to her pretty little neck."
"Yes, well that is the second part of my news."
"Go on."
"Maybe you can hear the shower in the background? I do not want to divulge too much over the telephone, but I have some very intriguing news for you. If I wasn't such a bloody professional, you would very soon be able to add me to your little list."
I took a deep intake of breath. "Hermeez, be very careful. Whatever you do, do not reveal who you are. She is a very dangerous lady."
"Sure. She is also a very, very attractive lady. Look I got to go. I'll meet you for lunch tomorrow say two o'clock at Grand Central. Until then I may be
busy. Have a table ready."
"I'll be there, and just remember what I told you, be careful."
Before I could finish my sentence, the line went dead. I sighed and flipped the receiver back onto its holder, stuffing the rest of the pastrami sandwich in my mouth at the same time.
I wondered how Hermeez had found Marlow. My guess was that she had left a clue at the lock up but that would have been uncharacteristically sloppy. Whatever the reason he had done a good job and it could prove vital in cracking the case. In particularly I was curious as to whether she was in league with the Coward or was working on her own. I hoped he would heed my advice and be very, very careful and I suppose a little bit of me felt jealous that he was now likely to be getting intimate with her. She might have been a conniving, manipulative, and possible killer but he was right, she was damn attractive and a wonderful lay.
I finished chewing on the sandwich and went through to Joe's kitchen where he was currently putting on a pot of coffee. "Eezy you're awake old son. How about a nice thick, hot cup of coffee to get the old grey matter into gear?"
Normally I would have jumped at the offer of a coffee at this time in the morning, but I'd tasted Joe's creations before. His coffee was similar to his tea, which was similar to his broth, with was similar to his hot chocolate and so on. I wouldn't have minded but his hot chocolate was the worst in the district.
"Sorry Joe, I'm afraid I just don't have the time. I'm going to have to fly. Catching bad guys like you suggested, but first I think I'll take breakfast with a beautiful lady. See you later buddy."
"Yeah. Butter her a croissant for me will you? Butter it real slow."
As I mixed with the morning traffic, I was unsure on just how I was going to approach this. I had arranged, through Ava, to meet Claudia for morning coffee at one of the new trendy joints opening up around Times Square. Now, not only did I have the key to pass on to her, I had the information that two of her former boyfriends were dead. And to make matters worse, their early baths could both be a result of the case that I was currently investigating. Add that to the strength of feeling that I was personally harboring it was going to be a tricky encounter.