The Black Stiletto: Black & White

by Raymond Benson

  He quickly got the hang of it and tried the second lockpick. I thought that one would do the trick, but he couldn’t trip the catch. “Try the next one,” I prompted.

  When he stuck it in, Sonny said, “I feel it.” He twisted and turned the pick.

  “Do it gently. Pretend you’re working with very delicate parts of a watch, like a jeweler.”

  He worked the pick with a lighter touch. I could feel the object tugging on the mechanism inside the cuff.

  “That’s it! Now turn it sharply!”

  Voilà! The right cuff was off!

  “Bravo, Sonny! Thank you!” I took the picks from him and quickly undid the cuff on my left wrist. I returned the ring to the pouch, stuck the cuffs into my belt, and gave him a hug, which surprised him. Then I removed my mask again, bundled up my hair, and tucked it into the hood.

  “I’m going inside now, Sonny. I hope you’ll just go home. I have a feeling the police will be here in a little while. I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

  He didn’t say anything. Instead he just backed away, out of the shadows, and resumed his spot in front of the building.

  Fine. I’d tried. Now it was time for a showdown.

  But before I could make a move, a car with bright headlights pulled into the street, its tires screeching on the road. Whoever it was, they were in a hurry. I quickly hid in the shadows and waited. It was a 4-door black sedan, very similar to John’s. The car squealed to a halt in front of the bordello.

  The back doors opened. Carl Purdy stepped out on the sidewalk side. He wasn’t cuffed or inhibited in any way. John’s boss, Haggerty, got out on the other side. The driver was one of Haggerty’s men I’d seen at the machine shop.

  So my suspicion was correct!

  “Help me get the stuff,” Haggerty ordered as he unlocked the trunk. Purdy obeyed him, grabbing milk crates full of the wrapped bricks of heroin I’d seen earlier. Haggerty told the driver, “Wait here,” and then the two men carried the drugs inside the building. Sonny held the door open for them.

  How would I get in? Last time I used the fire escape on the building next door, climbed to the roof, and dropped down to the fifth-floor window terrace. That wasn’t going to work this time, not in plain view of Mr. G-man behind the wheel of the idling sedan. Whatever I decided to do, I had to get rid of him.

  I took the chance that he hadn’t locked the car’s back doors after the two men got out, so I simply emerged from the darkness, crept up behind the vehicle, squatted, and quickly opened the back door behind the driver. I jumped in before he could see me in the side mirror. Just as the man reacted, I leaned over the seat, reached around in front, and locked my arm around his neck. Soichiro had taught me a chokehold early in my training. It was not the ideal position with which to apply it; the hold was awkward to say the least, but I was able to apply the appropriate amount of pressure to his neck by forcing it back against the seat itself. My other arm locked around his chest and upper arms to prevent him from honking the horn. He struggled like all get-out, and for a few seconds I thought he was going to overpower me and break free. Darn, it took a long time for him to finally pass out—maybe a couple of minutes—but he finally did! I knew he wasn’t dead and he’d probably regain consciousness in a few seconds, so I quickly got out of the car, opened his door, and pulled him out and onto the street. He started to stir, but I whipped his own handcuffs off his belt, pulled his arms behind his back, and locked his hands together.

  Sonny had watched me the entire time without sounding the alert.

  I still heard sirens in the distance. It seemed to me they were coming closer, but there were so many that it was difficult to tell.

  “Where in the building do you think Purdy and that other man went?” I asked Sonny.

  “Probably the office,” the teen answered. “On the first floor.”

  “Where is it?”

  “You go in and there’s a hallway. Walk down the hall. To the left is a sittin’ parlor and to the right is a closet. A little farther down the hall is another door on the right. That’s the office.”

  “Thanks.” I headed for the stoop.

  “There’ll be other men in there,” Sonny warned. “With guns.”

  “I know. You should go now. I appreciate your help.” He didn’t move, so I went on with my business. I ran up the steps to the front door, put my ear against it, and listened. I heard men’s voices, but they were distant. It was safe to continue, so I turned the knob and peered into the hallway. A man stood about twenty feet away, down at the end, next to the door Sonny identified as the office. His back was to me, thank goodness. The office door was open, and the voices I’d heard were coming from inside. Haggerty and Purdy.

  I’m pretty good at creeping up behind someone without making a sound. I entered the building and ever so softly shut the door behind me. As long as the wooden floorboards didn’t creak under my boots, I knew I could surprise the guy guarding his boss.

  Step by step. One foot at a time. When I was about ten feet away from him, he shifted his weight, removed a cigarette pack from his jacket pocket, and tapped one out into his hand. He bent his head as he lit it.

  Now.

  I rushed to him and, using a shutō—sword hand—I walloped the man hard at the base of the head where it connected to his neck. A blow hard enough to break bones on this vital point would surely paralyze a person for life; however, using force conservatively could knock a guy out. That’s what I did. I then caught him with my free arm before he made a lot of noise crumbling to the floor. He was heavy, but I managed to drag him back away from the door and laid him down in the hall.

  I crept forward and listened beside the open door. Haggerty was talking.

  “—because all hell will break loose. Give me the goddamned money now, Purdy! I saved your ass!”

  “I know, I know. Where you gonna go?”

  “Hell, I don’t know. I may not have to go anywhere. It depends on if Richardson is dead or not.”

  When he said that, dear diary, I felt a twinge in my chest. As angry as I was at John, I certainly didn’t want him to die. What happened back at the machine shop?

  “You shot him,” Purdy said. “He looked dead to me.”

  “I hope you’re right. Even if he’s not, he won’t talk. Nobody would believe him. He has no evidence. His word against me and my boys. Now give me my cut and I’ll get out of here. You hear the sirens. This place might be crawling with cops any minute. It won’t take ’em long to figure out you got away.”

  “You realize how much product we lost? Your man picked up only a third of the shit.”

  “Shut up and just give me what you owe me.”

  I heard the flapping sound of money being counted.

  “I’m gonna have to lay low, too. Maybe take a trip to Chicago or somethin’.”

  “Damn it, Purdy!”

  “Okay, okay. Here’s five hundred, a thousand, fifteen hundred, two thousand—”

  Outside, the sirens grew closer. Now I was sure they were headed for the bordello. I had seconds to accomplish what I came to do.

  I reached into the backpack and pulled out the Kodak Brownie. Making sure the film was wound and ready for a picture, I held it to my eye and moved in front of the open doorway. I snapped a shot of Purdy placing a stack of bills in Haggerty’s open hand.

  “Damn!” Haggerty shouted as he drew his gun from inside his suit jacket. “Get her!”

  Without thinking, I delivered a back kick through the open door, striking Purdy in the side. He fell into Haggerty, who fired his gun at the ceiling. Money flew everywhere. Both men crashed against a desk, but I didn’t stop there. I dropped the camera, leaped for Haggerty’s gun arm, and slammed it against the desktop. He screamed in pain and released the weapon. Almost simultaneously, I performed a side kick at Purdy’s ribcage, hopefully breaking a few of ’em. He fell to the floor and started to struggle for a gun holstered underneath his jacket. I stomped on his right shoulder with my boot. Purdy
cried out, unable to complete the move. I wanted to break his collarbone. Ignoring Haggerty for the moment, I reached down, removed Purdy’s handgun, and tossed it over by Haggerty’s.

  The sirens were now right outside the building. I heard men running down the stairs from the upper floors. Women screamed. I slammed the office door shut with my leg just before the men ran by.

  Then the gunfire started. Purdy’s men were stupidly shooting at the cops. Didn’t they know that was the surest way to get killed?

  At any rate, I had to get out of there. I pulled the FBI handcuffs off my belt, snapped one on Purdy’s wrist, wrapped it around the desk leg, and locked the other cuff on Haggerty’s wrist. Partners in crime, not quite joined at the hip, but almost.

  I stood, picked up my camera, and noticed all that money on the floor. I thought oh, what the heck? I scooped up a handful of hundreds and opened the office door. The gunfire was deafening, but I didn’t see a single soul. They were all at windows, engaging in a firefight with the law. I ran for the stairs and dashed to the second floor. A group of colored women huddled in terror, their hands over the ears. I kept going, up to the third floor, the fourth, and finally the fifth. I made my way to the room where I’d last seen Ruby. It was empty. I slammed the door shut, went to the window, and opened it. The gunfire continued outside, so I looked down to the street.

  There were five police cars on the street along with Haggerty’s sedan. A crowd of pedestrians was beginning to gather across the street and out of the way of the bullets. I saw bodies on the sidewalk. Uniformed officers scattered like bugs, taking cover behind their vehicles.

  Then I saw him. Oh, my God, dear diary, poor Sonny. His young body was sprawled across the steps on the stoop. I wanted to scream. If I hadn’t been so desperate to escape, I would have started crying. It was such a tragedy. First his sister and now him, all because of Carl Purdy and his evil empire. For a moment I thought I should have killed Purdy when I had the chance. Somehow, though, I knew it wouldn’t have done much good. Purdy would only be replaced by someone else. It was a mind-numbingly sad and vicious circle, indicative of the Negro’s plight in our society.

  I had to force myself to snap out of my despair. The shooting seemed to die down, and I heard shouts and screams through the closed door. I climbed out to the terrace, unlashed my grappling hook, and tossed it to the roof. It took me two tries to catch the edge. I prayed the cops wouldn’t see me. They were busy already running inside the front door to raid the joint. They’d work their way up the stairs, arresting the women and whatever men were still alive. I climbed the rope hand over hand, swung my body over, and crouched on the roof. After pulling up my gear, I quickly moved west to the next building. I stopped there, laid flat on its roof, and stuck my head out just enough to watch the scene below. Voices were faint, but I could make out phrases here and there.

  Haggerty came out of the building. He was no longer cuffed to Purdy. I heard him say, “—took me by gunpoint—got away—forced me to—gonna kill me—” That figured. Haggerty’s story was the biggest tall tale I’d ever heard. Purdy kidnapped him. Sure he did. Then I heard, “Agent Richardson? He’s alive?” I barely made out one of the officers answering him with something about a hospital.

  Purdy came limping out next, handcuffed and surrounded by three policemen. He was all bent over, in pain. I guess I really did break a bone or two! Haggerty pointed at him and shouted, “He held a gun to my head and made me—!” They marched the gangster to a squad car and threw him in the back.

  That was my cue to leave. I’d been lucky the cops hadn’t seen me so far, so I wasn’t going to tempt fate any longer. I made my way west toward 5th Avenue, climbed down a fire escape, and hit the street. In the shadows, I dressed in my trench coat and removed my mask. I hailed a taxi and, not surprisingly, the colored driver was astonished to see a white woman in Harlem at that hour. I had him take me to 3rd Avenue and 21st Street.

  John’s building.

  After I paid the driver, I masked myself again and made my way up the fire escape to John’s apartment window. Luckily, it was unlocked; it slid right up. I slipped inside and went to his desk.

  I grabbed my camera and wound the film until it was at the end. I removed the roll and placed it on John’s desk. I then searched the desk for pen and paper, and wrote a note explaining that the film contained evidence against Haggerty.

  Then I noticed the Dictaphone and the box of tapes. Curiosity got the better of me, so I opened the box and examined the labels. I felt a shiver when I saw there was a group marked “Stiletto.” I took one, placed it in the Dictaphone, and played it. The machine wasn’t very complicated.

  I sat in John’s chair and listened. I spent an hour going through those wretched things. Everything I’d feared was proven correct. He had planned it all. He had seduced me just to get me to trust him. Haggerty knew all along. The boss wanted me caught, and John was going to oblige. He said this on the most recent tape: “—I should say I know exactly where to find her, but I don’t. But I suppose if it came down to saving my job—” Then there’s this juicy quote: “She trusts me more and more every day, which is exactly what I want.” And this one: “I told Haggerty that the more confident she becomes, the easier it will be to lure her to a secluded spot from which she’d have no escape.”

  Once again my heart was ripped out of my chest and stomped on. I couldn’t take anymore. I wrote a second note and left it for John to find when he came home from the hospital. In it, I said it was really over between us, that I had trusted him and he broke my heart, and that I hated him. I asked him not to contact me ever again. If he decided to reveal my identity to the world, then so be it; but if he did that, I said I was certain he had no soul. I then wrote, “Goodbye,” and signed it “Judy.”

  Before I left, I found some of the booze he claimed to never drink and had a glass of wine. Then I walked out his apartment door, went down the stairs, and exited through the front door. It was very late when I finally got home.

  My, the afternoon flew by as I wrote all this down.

  I’m thankful I’m alive and unhurt, but I feel great sorrow for Sonny, and even a little for Mike Washington. As for John Richardson—well, I’ll just have to purge him from my memory forever.

  Good riddance.

  48

  John

  HOME DICTAPHONE RECORDING

  Today is December 21, 1959.

  It’s a Monday before Christmas. My rehabilitation is going well, I’m back living in my apartment, and even though I haven’t been to work since that night in Harlem, I’ve been promoted.

  I’ve also been a damned fool. I’ll get to that in a minute.

  The bullet wound in my shoulder is healing nicely; it was the shot in the abdomen that was worrisome. I was lucky the bullet went all the way through, but my intestines were like mush. The three-week stay in the hospital was no piece of cake. But I’ll live. Gotta take it easy for another two months, then I go back to work as a Special Agent in Charge.

  Haggerty was indicted based on the evidence the Black Stiletto provided. The photo she took convinced a Grand Jury that the former SAC was guilty of corruption and drug trafficking. The police found the bullet that pierced my gut lodged in the wall of the machine shop break room. It was a match to Haggerty’s weapon. Not sure when the trial will be, but I’m a star witness. It’s troublesome to testify against a former boss, but everyone at the Bureau is behind me. They hated him, too. [Laugh.] Not only that, NYPD Chief Bruen has been indicted as an accomplice. The whole city is shocked by these revelations.

  I was afraid Haggerty would reveal I slept with the Black Stiletto. So far he hasn’t. At first I thought he’d had me under surveillance and knew all about the trysts Judy and I had. I feared he had evidence tucked away somewhere. But when the D.A. confiscated all of Haggerty’s files from his office and home, there was nothing linking me to the Stiletto. If there is, I haven’t been told about it. So I assume Haggerty was bluffing at the machine shop
. He made a lucky guess about the Stiletto and me. If he says anything, I’ll just deny it. He can’t prove anything.

  As for Purdy, he’ll be going to prison for a long time. He’s been indicted for the murder of Mike Washington, racketeering, and drug trafficking. He’s also been linked to a number of murders unrelated to the night he was arrested. For now, his operation is out of business. I’m sure, though, that someone else will step up to the plate and take over. The Bureau believes illegal narcotics trafficking is here to stay and will only get worse.

  The Black Stiletto received a lot of credit in the papers for exposing the “Harlem Connection.” I made sure of that, but I don’t think it’s going to alter the Bureau’s attitude toward her. The NYPD isn’t too happy with her, either. Nothing’s going to change in that regard.

  And then there’s Judy herself. That’s where I made a very big mistake and I suppose I should be man enough to admit it.

  I saw her this afternoon at the gym. She wasn’t happy to see me. We talked outside, as we did before. She didn’t seem as angry now, but I know I disappointed her. I insisted no one at the Bureau had heard the Dictaphone tapes. They were personal. I also tried to convince her I was merely humoring Haggerty with the so-called plans to catch the Stiletto. At any rate, I will never reveal her identity.

  I was in love with Judy, but I was too stubborn or stupid or whatever it was to tell her so. Instead, I did lead her on. I just didn’t know how I was supposed to handle it. I was an FBI agent, and she was a wanted criminal. Now, in hindsight, I should have said, “Who cares?” She’s a girl I could change careers for. But it’s too late now.