“I had an etch a sketch once.”
“But surely, you have an appreciation for the human form.”
I looked at the artwork in the room and gestured towards the painting in front of me.
“I see your artists seem to have an objection to clothes,” I said.
“You think these paintings are indiscreet, Mr. Randall? No, it is man who invented shame. Were not Adam and Eve naked and happy, until shame was gifted them?”
He slipped an arm though mine and began to guide me through the gallery. Gilardo seemed to have an impressive knowledge of the art world, but it was mostly Greek to me. As we passed from room to room, Gilardo’s job as host pulled him away from me, but he always found his way back. I tried several times to ease him into a discussion of why Martinez insisted I come, but he would not be hurried.
“Mr. Randall,” he cooed, “I simply cannot let you leave without giving you some appreciation of the intoxicating world of the artist.”
He gave the last word a French inflection and he caught me smiling.
“But, of course, you see this all as the affectation of an older man trying to remain young by being with young people.”
“Not at all,” I said. “You have been most instructive and a very gracious host. I must say however, I am curious as to why I am here.”
Gilardo brushed aside my inquiry as if he had not heard me.
“Now this painting is a particular favorite of mine. What does it say to you?”
The painting was an image of a muscular man shoveling coal into a raging furnace. He had on nothing, except a hardhat.
“It says to me that a man without a college degree has to work pretty hard.”
“Ah, but you jest, Mr. Randall. I do not believe that you are the Philistine you pretend to be. This work shows the struggle of man against the backdrop of a hellish world. The work of God is man. He made us in his own image after all, but what has He given man since? To toil endlessly? To fight against both nature and Satan? Oh, Mr. Randall, I implore you to study this painting and seek it’s truth.”
I turned back to the painting. It was true that there was some depth here. I could faintly make out the images of both angels and demons in the flames. The sweat dripping from the man formed rivers on his back and brow and these formed into pools at his feet. The pile of coal was huge and the furnace he was feeding looked as if it could devour a mountain of fuel. The task seemed both noble and pointless. There was nobility in man’s fight against a seemingly unquenchable beast and a certain pointlessness to that appeared to be a task worthy of Sisyphus. The fire would never be satisfied. I was deep in thought when I felt a hand touch my shoulder.
“Ah, but I see that you do have eyes that pierce deeper than the mere surface, Mr. Randall. I believe you are an art lover. Perhaps one simply unschooled. You have the eye of the novice, but eyes none the less, and perhaps the untrained eye perceives what the jaded eye misses.”
I looked at Gilardo and saw no mockery. He seemed in earnest.
“There is one more painting I wish you to see.”
I started to object, but Gilardo would not hear it. He once again locked his arm with mine and gently, but assuredly, took me into another room. This room was all in black. I had noticed that all the other rooms were gaily decorated in floral colors, so the stark ebony decoration was jarring. There were perhaps a dozen more paintings in here. The room was nearly empty and the party atmosphere of the rest of the gallery was absent. Gilardo was telling me the history behind each painting and the artist behind them. I stifled a yawn. Gilardo noticed it.
“Perhaps I have given your palate too much for one evening, Mr. Randall. I apologize. Forgive me for wanting to share my passion in such a verbose manner.”
He bowed elegantly.
“No, sir. Forgive me. No disrespect intended. It was just my body betraying my mind. I have enjoyed the tour.”
“Well it is almost over,” he said. “I have saved the pièce de résistance until now. This is what my friend Rudolph asked me to show you. He said you would have an appreciation for it.”
He motioned to a painting at the end of the room. It was a nude woman. As we walked closer it hit me. It was a painting of Kimberly Downs/Carla. The resemblance was unmistakable. I had thought that she might have been a model, and here was the evidence. I must have seen her in an ad, or something, or maybe even another painting. That was why I thought she looked familiar. Rudy had seen her in the club with Peterson and knew she was on the wall in plain view at the gallery.
“I see you have an appreciation for the female form. She is beautiful, but then beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”
I swallowed. How hard did I want to push him for information on the girl?
“Mr. Martinez has informed me that you do work for modeling agencies from time to time, and he suggested most strongly that this girl would fit what you are looking for. I have taken the liberty of writing her contact information on my card for you.”
He handed me a scented business card with his name and the gallery embossed on the front. On the back, in spidery handwriting, was the name Gloria Hewes at the Winston Towers. I slipped it into my jacket pocket and met Gilardo’s eyes. Of course, he did not believe Rudy’s story about me being a legman for a modeling agency, but what he knew he wasn’t showing. I wondered about his relationship with Martinez. A man with Gilardo’s leanings might have any number of reasons to know a man in the flesh business like Rudy. I decided not to press my luck. I thanked Gilardo and was rewarded with a kiss on both cheeks and an invitation to return. I assured him I would and headed for my car and for the Winston Towers.
I rang the bell and then knocked twice. I heard soft footsteps approach and then the door opened. It was her. She had her hair styled differently than last time I had seen her, more like the painting, but it was her all right. It was after ten and she was in her nightgown. She was gorgeous.
“Kimberly, I think you owe me a dinner,” I said.
She was surprised, but she recovered well.
“You have me confused with someone else,” she said, as she tried to close the door. I was too quick with my foot and as I leaned in with my shoulder, I bulled my way into the apartment.
“Listen, I’ll have the cops here if you don’t leave,” she almost shouted.
“The cops are my next call too, Kimberly. Or is it Carla? Or shall I call you Gloria? Whatever your name, we have business. If you want cops, that’s fine with me, otherwise sit down and answer some questions.”
Her eyes blazed. She didn’t look like the kind of girl who liked to take orders, but she sat down on a sofa. The apartment was tastefully decorated in the modern style with lots of chrome and glass. It didn’t look too lived in, but it did look like the apartment of a woman who lived alone. I took the seat next to her. If she decided to rabbit, I wanted to be within reach. She sat with her legs crossed at her ankles, with her hands resting on her knees. She looked at me, waiting for me to make the next move.
“Now that we’re friends again, maybe you can help me out,” I said.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, mister.”
“Can it,” I said in my old cop voice. “You’re in the deep rough. I’m gonna give you a chance to deal yourself out of trouble, but I don’t have all night to play games. Are we talking, or do we have cops?”
She made her mind up quickly.
“Fine, Frank, you win,” she said. “I know you won’t believe me, but I didn’t want things to go down the way they did. I was going to call you in a few days and apologize. I really did take a shine to you. That was no lie.”
She leaned in as she was talking to me. She was good. I felt my heart rate quicken. Why are all the hot ones poison?
“I’m sure you would have wept at my funeral if Rico had rubbed me out. I don’t care about that. Its over. I believe you when you say you were tricked. I heard you arguing with Tommy, so lets just say we both had a bad day. Now, where’s Tony?”
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“I don’t know, Frank. I swear it. I thought Tony was dead until just a few days ago. That was the word when he disappeared anyway. All I know is a few days back Rico and his crew suddenly thought he might still be around. They want to find him, but Tony and I only dated a few times. I wasn’t his girl or anything. They just needed a pretty face to get you interested. Rico has helped me with my career a few times, so when he asks a favor, I do it. That’s all I know.”
“Honey, I told you, I heard you and Tommy talking. He said Tony was your boyfriend.”
“I know what they think, but it’s not true.
I sighed and pulled a pack of smokes from my pocket. I took one out and stuck it in my mouth without lighting it.
“Listen, honey, what name should I call you anyhow?”
“My real name is Gloria Hewes. Call me that.”
“Okay, Gloria, before I came up here I had a long talk with your doorman,” I said. She shifted uncomfortably.
“I slipped him a fifty and he was very cooperative. He let me up here because he said you have lots of male visitors.”
“So are you my priest now, Frank?” she asked. “Are you jealous or what?”
“No. I was interested in one particular man. I showed him this photo, and he recognized it as an old friend who used to visit you often.”
I pulled the mug shot of Vitale, that Banner had given me, from my jacket pocket and shoved it towards her. She batted it away.
“So what? You already knew I dated Anthony Vitale. Is this supposed to scare me?”
“No, but I showed him anther picture too. He recognized that guy as well.”
I showed her the photo and she simply stared at it.
“This is a picture I picked up from Mrs. Tony Peterson. It seems he used to visit you too. What about that?”
“It doesn’t prove anything, Frank,” she said hotly. “He’s a doorman. He sees lots of people, he mistaken.”
I shook my head.
“That won’t wash, honey, I said shaking my head. “You can’t bat your eyelashes and make this one go away.”
“Well, what does it prove anyway?” she asked defiantly.
“It proves that you knew that Anthony Vitale and Tony Peterson were the same person. Lots of people were looking for him, and you knew the whole time.”
“So what?” she asked again. “Tony stopped by a few times and we had some laughs over the old days. Who would care about that?”
“Gloria, what do you think would happen if I told Rico Ravello that you knew that Vitale was hiding in plain sight? He’d invite you down for a little talk like I had with him. Should I call him and tell him?”
“No, Frank. That’s not necessary,” she said quickly. She slid over on the sofa next to me and put a hand on my knee. “You wouldn’t do that anyway, would you? I told you before. I like you, Frank. Maybe we can make an arrangement where we become even better friends. What do you say?”
Her sexual appeal was powerful. I felt my breath quicken. She licked her lips and leaned in and kissed me.
“There’s more where that came from, Frank,” she cooed.
I stood up and crossed the room and went to the door.
“I need something from you, Gloria, before I decide we’re friends.”
She got up and smoothed her nightgown out while showing me her legs.
“What do you need, Frank?”
“Get me in touch with Vitale. I was hired to find him, and if I do I can close the books on this.”
“But, Frank,” she protested, “I don’t know where he is. I swear it. He lambed on me too. I know he thought it was getting hot around here and that maybe he had been made, but he didn’t tell me where he was going and I haven’t heard from him. That’s the truth.”
I wanted to believe her, but I had to play tough.
“Listen, Gloria, there are some tough people interested in this and I’m starting to feel like a piñata, bouncing between the cops and the wise guys. You’re the only lead I have to Vitale. Find him for me or Rico gets a call from me and then you get a visit right after that.”
She walked over to me and slapped my face. She was breathing hard. She was angry, but I could tell she was scared too. She stared at me for a minute and then leaned her body against mine.
“I can see it in your eyes, Frank,” she said softly. “You’re bluffing. You wouldn’t trade me over, would you?”
I grabbed her and kissed her. She returned the kiss and we held each other in a tight embrace. She finally pulled back and looked me deep in the eyes. She spoke no words and yet, I could see she wanted to say something.
“Okay, Gloria, you win. I wouldn’t turn you over to a gorilla like Rico. You’re secret is safe with me. Maybe I’ll call you when this is over, if I can still dial.”
I opened the door and started to leave. I was in the hallway when I heard her voice. It was different from before. Not exactly softer, just different.
“Frank,” she said. I turned around. “I’m not making any promises, but I'll see if I can shake something loose for you. I didn’t think saps like you still existed.”
With that she closed the door, and I went home to a cold bed and dreamt of an endless ocean with no islands.
Chapter Fifteen
The next day was a Saturday, and I planned to spend it lounging in my apartment. It seemed to me that I had earned a day off. I didn’t think anything was likely to break anyway. Finding the girl had been a fortunate thing, but I wasn’t hard enough to push her all the way, so that was probably a bust. It was hard to know how long Rico Ravello would let things go without an update on my progress, willing or otherwise.
It was after noon and I was considering calling Mrs. Peterson and telling her the investigation was going nowhere, when the phone rang. I answered it.
“Hello.”
“Frank, it’s me,” said a female voice. “Don’t say my name, okay?
“Okay.”
“Be in your office this evening.”
“Why?” I asked.
“Just be there.”
I started to ask another question when I got a dial tone. She had hung up. I was certain it was Gloria, but there had been real fear in her voice and it was possible that I was wrong. I decided I couldn’t take a chance. I stayed in the apartment until six and then I drove to the office for whatever was waiting for me.
I didn’t try and see if I was being followed because I was heading to where anybody would look for me anyway. I didn’t see any police and I didn’t notice any of Ravello’s men. If they were there, they were not in sight.
I had stopped and gotten a paper and a sandwich, so it was nearly seven by the time I got into the building. The door to the lobby was locked and I let myself in with my key. The elevator was working, so I took it up to the sixth floor. I stepped off into the dim hallway. The building seemed deserted. My office was almost directly across from the elevator, and I had the key in the door and opened it quickly. I thought about locking it behind me, but decided against it. I left it ajar and went into my inner office, turned on the lights and sat down. I wasn’t sure how long a wait I was in for. I lit a cigarette and leaned back in my chair.
Over two hours passed without a phone call or any visitors, when I heard someone in the hallway. At nine o’clock on a Saturday night it had to be my caller. I waited silently, but no one came into the office or knocked. I got up to investigate. I walked softly on the carpet and opened the door to the hallway and stepped out. I saw an office down the hall at the other end from the stairs had lights on. I waited, holding my breath, as the door opened. A cart was shoved through the door, followed by the cleaning lady. I waved to her.
“Hello, Mrs. Gonzales,” I said.
“Oh, hello, Mr. Randall. You’re here late.”
“Just trying to pay the bills.”
“Do you want me to do your office next?” she asked.
“No, just skip me, Mrs. Gonzales. I have business to take care of tonight.”
“But I won’t be back until next week, Mr. Randall. Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll tidy up a little myself until then.”
She smiled and wagged a finger at me.
“Oh, Mr. Randall, that’s what all men say, but you are all really just messy boys.”
I left her laughing and dusting fixtures in the hall. I had barely had time to sit down when I heard the elevator stop and the door open. I was lighting a cigarette when Tony Peterson walked in. He was in dark slacks and a dark sports jacket, with a cigarette of his own hanging from his mouth. He blow out a lungful of smoke and looked around my office with obvious disdain.
“Randall, this place is a dump,” he said with a smirk. His voice was a little lower than I had expected. It sounded like a voice that liked to give orders.
“Don’t let it put you off, Tony,” I said. “Sit down and class the place up.”
He sat down and crossed his legs.
“That wouldn’t take much, Randall,” he said. “So, I hear you’ve been making a nuisance of yourself looking for me. Well, I’m here. What do you want?”
He was a cool customer. With cops and the mob howling for his blood, now that they knew who he was, he seemed remarkably composed.
“I don’t want anything, Mr. Peterson. I was hired by your wife to find you and to persuade you to return, if possible. She misses you Mr. Peterson.”
He was picking at his fingernails, as I spoke, with exaggerated carelessness.
“You can drop the Peterson jazz, Randall. Carla told me that you were wise to who I am.”
“And just who would that be? You know there’s a Tony Peterson that some people are looking for that might be another guy, or he might be you Tony.”
He laughed out loud.
“I see you’re wise to that name, too. Yeah, I picked it because I heard from my friends on the force that he was a deep cover guy. I thought the name would confuse people who ran me through the system, but it never occurred to me that people would actually think I was an undercover cop. Jesus, Randall.”
“Well, it’s just that I’ve never seen a picture of him and there don’t seem to be any descriptions floating around. It just occurred to me you might really be the guy, and that the Vitale name might be a dodge.”
The Visible Suspect (A Frank Randall Mystery) Page 9