by Parnell Hall
"You are employed by the plaintiff's side of the case. Including his attorney, Mr. Rosenberg. Are you telling me you're not biased in their favor?"
"Oh, absolutely."
"You're absolutely not biased in their favor?"
"No, I absolutely am."
"What?"
"I'm biased in their favor. I want them to win."
Judge Epstein squinted down from the bench. "Excuse me, Mr. Hastings. Are you aware of what you're saying? Of what the words mean? Just because you're working for someone, doesn't mean you're biased for them. Bias indicates a prejudice that colors your testimony regardless of the truth. Is that what you claim?"
"I mean to tell the truth,Your Honor. But if I can slant it the plaintiff's way, I'm certainly going to. I'm also going to do everything in my power to hurt the defense."
Judge Epstein blinked. "Excuse me? What did you just say?"
"Besides being biased for the plaintiff, I'm also biased against the defense."
The attorney looked like he'd just won the lottery. "Wait a minute. Let me be sure the jury understood that. You say you are biased against the defendant in this case?"
"That's right"
"Do you know the defendant?"
"No, I do not."
The attorney was practically rubbing his hands together. "Then why are you biased against him?"
"He tried to have me shot."
65
I HUNTED UP MACAULLIF IN his office. He looked none the worse for wear. "You on paid leave too?" I asked him.
"I should be so lucky. If I'd killed the fucker, I would be. Unfortunately, Thurman did, so I get dick."
"What was Thurman doing there?"
"Following you. He's been tailing you ever since they shot up your car.
"Why?"
"Because he's not as smart as you."
"Huh?"
"He's not smart enough to overthink everything with tortuous logic. Thurman goes straight for the obvious. If someone is shooting at you, it must be because they want you shot. Granted, that's probably not enough for you to wrap your mind around, but that's all it was"
"What were you doing there?"
"Thurman called me."
"You're kidding"
"Said you were out to lunch with a piece of ass."
"That's news?"
"You seen yourself lately? No way a girl like that gives you a tumble."
"Thanks a lot."
"Hey, even Thurman thought it stank. You, of course, expect Angelina Jolie to fall for you. But in the real world, you don't rate a second look. Thurman called me, and I came by to see for myself."
"Why?"
"It's only two blocks. I needed a good laugh."
"No, really."
"I asked Thurman to give me a call if you did anything dumb. I expected the phone to ring off the hook. Actually, he didn't call till you picked up a girl."
"I didn't pick up a girl."
"No, she picked you up. Which should have been your first clue. A hot babe like that picking up an old fart like you."
It should have. But I'd blown it. And so had Alice, actually, if I wanted to bring it up. Not that I ever would. But with all the politically correct heing and s{wing and hinting and tiering, the whole time we'd been talking about a hitman when we should have been talking about a hitperson. To allow for the possibility of a hitwoman. Which, in fact, there was.
Hitman #3 was Hitperson #3.
Hitwoman #3.
Amanda Peet.
And once you accepted that, it all made sense.
Sort of.
"Run it by me again," MacAullif said.
"Aw, hell."
I'd already made a statement for Crowley, with a lawyer and stenographer and the whole bit. Richard was there to get me immunity, which he did. Of course, the same didn't hold true for MacAullif, if Crowley wanted to make a stink. So he had more than an academic interest.
"You can read my statement," I told him.
"Yeah, but they may question me before I get a chance to read your statement. I'd like to be on the same page."
Sergeant Thurman came in. Which was a little odd. You can't kiss off someone who saved your life. Jesus Christ, was I now his genie, bound to serve his every whim?
Thank god, he didn't throw his arms around me, make a fuss, or even ask how I was. From Thurman's point of view, he'd done his job, and that was that.
Except it wasn't his job, he was on leave on account of the other shooting, and by rights he shouldn't have been there at all.
"Are you in trouble?" I asked.
He shrugged. "Nah. They're so happy to get these guys, I get a free ride."
"Do you know what happened?" MacAullif asked. He shouldn't have. A Sergeant Thurman explanation is an oxymoron.
Thurman wasn't even going to try. "Don't know, don't care. The bad guys went down, it'll all get sorted out."
Thurman flopped into a chair as if he were there to watch baseball. He'd have looked natural with a Lite Beer.
"Stanley was just about to tell us," MacAullif said. "Go on, Stanley."
It was a little weird with Thurman there. But there was that whole genie thing. "Okay, I'd been thinking about the case upside down. The minute I realized I was the target, things fell into place"
"Hey," MacAullif said. "We're not interested in a self-congratulatory diatribe on your powers of deduction."
"Damn, you speak well for a cop," I said. If MacAullif was going to mock nle in front of Thurman, I wasn't just going to take it.
"Asshole. I'm on the hook here. For trying to help you out.You wanna stop whacking off long enough to give me a reach-around?"
Thurman chuckled at that.
"That sounds more like a cop."
"Come on, asshole."
"Okay. Victor Marsden is a hitman for the mob. For years he's carried out hits on low-level thugs and hoods, as befits a mob hitman."
"Listen to this guy," MacAullif told Thurman. "He says buts, and he makes fain of how I talk."
"What happens? Marsden is asked to kill someone else. Someone with no connections to the mob whatsoever. A family man with a wife and kid who wouldn't hurt a fly. I assumed it was Martin Kessler, just like everyone else. I was shocked to find out it was me.
"Why'd they want to kill you?" Thurman asked.
I could see MacAullif loading up a wisecrack. I hurried along. "Because I handled the case of Phillip Fairbourne, the quadriplegic who fell in a stairway in East Harlem. The building is managed by J.T.C. Realty."
"Which is run by the mob?" Thurman said.
"No. Which is run by Chester T. Markowitz, the nicest Jewish gentleman one would ever want to meet"
"They let Jews in the mob?" Thurman said.
I refrained from rolling my eyes. It was hard to hate a guy who saved your life. If it could have been anyone else. "No. But J.T.C. Realty is insured by Prime Metro, an independent insurance company offering catastrophic coverage at exorbitant rates."
"Why would anyone buy from them?"
"They got a talking lizard and they advertise on TV."
Thurman's eyes widened. "They're Geico?"
MacAullif shot me a warning look.
"No. They're Tony Fusilli's idiot nephew. They bust heads. They come in, they say, `Do you want to switch to our coverage, yes you do.' Most people switch. Otherwise, they have business problems. Like their store burns down.
"Tony Fusilli's idiot nephew tried to sell J.T.C. Realty an insurance policy. They balked at the amount. Bad move. The young psychopath, deeply offended, made a counteroffer: J.T.C. Realty would take the insurance and sell him one of its properties at a criminally negligible price.
"So the idiot nephew winds up owning a building. He immediately sells himself insurance, and pays himself a commission on the sale. Which is all well and good until Prime Metro, a wholly owned subsidiary of Tony Fusilli Enterprises, is suddenly on the hook for umpty million dollars because a quadriplegic fell in the building and he's gonna sue."
I pressed on, before Sergeant Thurman could ask how a quadriplegic could fall in a building. "I handled the case. Took the Location of Accident pictures of the broken stairs. Which were in bad repair. Pretty clear-cut case. Slam dunk. Except no one wants to pay that kind of money, so they immediately begin covering up. The stairs are repaired overnight. The super is set to swear they were repaired before the accident. Only I got the pictures, and I can testify to when they were taken. The jurors take one look at the quadriplegic, and the steps that caused the accident, and the fact they tried to cover it up, and Tony Fusilli and his idiot nephew will be on the hook.
"So I gotta go.
"Victor Marsden is chosen for the task.
"To the man's credit, he didn't want to do it. He checked me out, couldn't justify taking my life. So he came up with a unique solution. He asked me if I'd help him try not to. Of course, he couldn't tell me I was the mark, that would have defeated his own purpose. So he refused to tell me who it was. Said if I found out on my own, it was my business.
"He also wouldn't give me his name. He knew I'd check him out, and I'd never work for Victor Marsden. So he tells me he's Martin Kessler. For two reasons. One practical, one whimsical. Kessler has no record, will check out clean. And, Kessler is involved with his ex-girlfriend. If I make trouble for Martin Kessler, that's the icing on the cake.
"While I'm checking Kessler out, the boys lean on Marsden pretty hard. How come I'm still alive? Is he slipping? What's the problem?
"Marsden assured them everything is fine, but no one is taking his word for it. So they put Frankie Delgado on him."
"Hitman Number 2?" MacAullif said.
It took me back to hear someone voicing that appellation besides Alice. I forgot I'd told MacAullif. "Right," I said. "And what does he see? He sees Marsden arrange a chance meeting with me in a bar. At least, that's how it looks to him. Hitman Number 2, I mean. Marsden has told me he's gonna pretend it's a chance meeting. So I play right along. So, Hitman Number 2 sees Marsden scope me out, double-check the ID.
"What's next is Phony Double-Dealing, Double-Tailing oneoh-one. I am `hired' to tail Marsden to see if anyone is taking an interest in him. I am told not to pick him up at the school where he teaches because he doesn't want me seen there. The reason he doesn't want me seen there, is because he doesn't work there. I will, instead, pick him up outside of my building. Without acknowledging his presence or making any move on him. In case someone should be watching.
"Someone is watching. That's the whole point.
"So I tail Marsden. But, as far as the person watching is concerned, because we are making no contact, and constantly shifting positions in a gigantic do-si-do, it looks like Marsden picked me up at my office and is tailing me.
"What happens? I lead Marsden a merry chase and go back to my office. At which point he hangs it up and goes home.
"I follow
"Marsden, savvy guy that he is, realizes he's got two tails. He hangs out in the lobby, receives Hitman Number 2, ushers him up to his apartment. Goes out and convinces yours truly that Hitman Number 2 lives there and Hitman Number 2 is the mark. He sends me on my way, and goes back home and convinces Hitman Number 2 that there is no problem and I will be out of their hair tomorrow.
"Not good enough. Tony Fusilli is pissed to find out I am still alive, and orders Marsden hit."
"So why were they shooting Martin Kessler?" Thurman asked.
"They were never shooting Martin Kessler. They were always shooting me. They tried to shoot me through the window of Martin Kessler's apartment. And they made a pass at me in front of the high school. Hitman Number 2 shows up, and Sergeant Thurman shoots him dead"
"I know I should have read him his rights," Thurman said. "But it takes too long. The guy would have reloaded."
Oh, my god. Thurman made a joke. Hell must have frozen over.
"So they bring in Hitman Number 3. Amanda Peet"
"Huh?"
"Hitwoman Number 3. Sheila Blaine. Who is on the scene already. She's Marsden's ex-girlfriend, and she's still in the mob. She's already met me and knows what I look like. The perfect person to set me up."
"How'd you figure out they were after you?"
"I didn't. But I should have. The real clue was Louie Russo. I talked to him in the lobby of Tony Fusilli's building. The next thing I know he winds up dead. The obvious answer is Louie let something slip. Only he didn't. The other solution is I let something slip that let them know I'm a threat. Only I didn't do that either.
"Or so it would appear.
"In point of fact, I actually told Louie something."
"What?" Thurman asked.
"My name. He asked me for identification. I showed him my license. Stanley Hastings, private eye. That's what I told Louie, and that's what Louie told Tony Fusilli. And that's what made Tony mad enough to beat him to death with whatever was handy.
"Tony's been trying to have me killed for a week. Here I walk into his building, tell Louie I want to see Tony, and Louie sends me packing. Tony can't believe it. The dumb schmuck actually sent me away.
"So, with the court date approaching and time running out, we have a daring daylight move. They take a shot at me the next morning when I get in my car. It misses, and the arrival of a traffic cop foils any second attempt.
"The police take it seriously enough to assign me a cop. He's no secret service agent but good enough to keep the wolf at bay." I grimaced. "Did I really say `wolf at bay'? I think you can get kicked out of the Private Eye Writers of America for that."
"Schmuck," MacAullif said.
"The unthinkable happens. I make it to court. They gotta figure some way to get me out. Fusilli's lawyers stall like crazy to keep me off the stand."
"Fusilli's lawyers?"
"The idiot nephew hired them, but we know who's footing the bill. Anyway, that's what's happening in court. But it won't last forever. They gotta get me out of there.
"So, they bring in Hitman Number 3. Marsden's ex. I met her before, so it's natural for her to talk to me. They send her to the courthouse to pick me up. Her cover story is she's doing jury duty. But she isn't prepped, and she makes mistakes. She didn't know what a ballot was. And she thought there were no more deferments instead of no more exemptions."
"Gee. If she was less attractive, that might have tipped you off," MacAullif said.
I ignored the comment. "Her job is simple. Take me out to lunch and sit me in the window. For Hitman Number 4."
"Who missed." MacAullif cocked his head at Thurman. "If you hadn't shot him, he'd have been in deep shit"
"I don't understand about the girl," Thurman said. "How'd she get involved? I thought she was a schoolteacher."
"She was. But she met Marsden. Went with him for two years. She claimed she never knew what he did. That's bullshit. She not only knew about it, she helped him do it. When they split up, she still had mob connections. Which had to be embarrassing for him. That's probably why he tweaked her by using her current boyfriend's name"
"Can you prove all that?" MacAullif said.
I shook my head. "None of it. But, hey, it's not my case. Crowley's the one who has to prove it. Which won't be easy with the hitman dead."
"Sorry about that," Thurman said. "But guess what? The dumb fuck had caller ID. Crowley's tracing his phone calls now. By the time he gets done, everyone is going down"
"Including the girl?"
MacAullif gave me his best I-am-dealing-with-a-moron look. "The one who tried to have you killed?" He cocked his head. "I think you could safely say Harmon High is going to be needing a substitute teacher"
56
I CAUGHT UP WITH RICHARD before he left the office. He was not in a good mood. "Well, they got a continuance," he groused. "Which is hardly fair. They get what they wanted for trying to kill my witness."
"How long?"
"Six weeks"
I groaned. "I gotta spend the next six weeks looking over my shoulder to see if Fusilli hired anyone e
lse?"
"No. We're taking your deposition tomorrow. After that, even if they kill you, we can read it into the record."
"Somehow I find that small consolation."
"Don't be a dope. If it will do him no good to kill you, he won't bother."
"I understand the concept. This is a guy who murdered his own henchman in a blind fury for not mentioning my name."
"Once again, money was involved."
"Speaking of which?"
"What?"
"The Yolanda Smith case."
"I told you I'll take it."
"Drop it.'
"Huh?"
"It's a bad case.You don't want it."
"I know it's a bad case. You made me take it."
"I shouldn't have done that. Drop the case"
Richard peered at me narrowly. "You're getting cold feet? You don't want to testify in the Jerome Robinson case?"
"I don't give a damn about the Jerome Robinson case. You're suing the City of NewYork. I don't think they'll send a hitman to stop me"
"That's not what I meant."
"I know what you meant. I took the pictures, you can do anything you want with them.You put me on the stand, I'll identify them.You can ask me anything.You know what questions to ask. But I'm not gonna lie. If they ask me if there are any other pictures, I'll tell them. But they're not gonna think to ask me, are they?"
"No" Richard frowned. "You really want me to drop the Yolanda Smith case?"
"Yeah."
"How cone?"
"It's gonna be bolstered by the perjured testimony of a pornographer with a financial interest in the outcome."
Richard shrugged. "What's the down side?"
There endeth the story of the hitman with the heart of gold. Poor son of a bitch. If he'd just whacked me, as ordered, none of this would have happened. But, no, the schmuck had to have a conscience. Considered me too good to kill. I resent that. I'm worth killing as much as the next guy.
I don't know how Marsden's scenario played out. In his head, I mean. Would lie make an unsuccessful pass at me that alerted the cops, that resulted more or less in what eventually happened? Or would he finally say "Aw, fuck it" and whack me? Having afforded nee two or three extra days of life for being a nice guy. Whatever his intention, he didn't deserve to die. At least not for that. I'm sure lie deserved to die ten times over for his various transgressions. But it's sort of nice to think that, no matter how bad he had been, he managed to do one decent thing in his life.