Second Story Man

by Charles Salzberg

  I took out my phone and flashed one of the photos with her and Hoyt.

  “Okay, so I know him. So, what?”

  “The question is, what do you know about him?”

  “I know he’s good to me and that he loves me. That’s enough.”

  “Ordinarily you’d think so, but in this case, it’s not. Francis Hoyt is a dangerous career criminal.”

  She laughed.

  “You think that’s funny?”

  “Yes, I think the idea of Francis as a dangerous criminal is pretty laughable.”

  “Would you like to see his rap sheet? Wait, I don’t even have to do that. You have one of those smart phones you can just Google him and see what comes up. One of the things you’ll find is him doing time for attempted murder.”

  Yes, I was gilding the lily a little, but so what? Machiavelli would have been proud of me.

  The muscles in her face tensed, accentuating her high cheekbones. I could see what Hoyt saw in her, what anyone could see in her. Her eyes were doing pinwheels from one side of the room to the other. She seemed to be gasping for breath. She couldn’t look me in the eye. I’d surprised her and it wasn’t with a good surprise. You know, like she won the lottery or she snagged the guy of her dreams. I knew what she was doing. Mentally, she was trying to go over all the time she’d spent with Hoyt, trying to make sense of this new information. And I could see it was new. She obviously knew nothing about Hoyt’s life of crime.

  It was time to pile on.

  “He’s a thief, Melinda. He breaks into people’s home and he steals from them. You get it? He takes what isn’t his. That’s who Francis Hoyt is. It’s not pretty, but there it is.”

  Finally, she seemed to catch her breath. She shut her eyes and when she opened them she was looking directly at me.

  “So, what do you want from me?”

  “I want you to give up Francis Hoyt.”

  “I’m not going to do that.”

  “Why’s that, Melinda?”

  “Because…because I love him.”

  “You think he loves you?”

  “I know he does.”

  “Really?”

  “Yes, really.”

  Here it went. I was going for all the marbles.

  I fingered my phone that I’d placed on the table in front of me. “If he loved you like you say would he be playing around with another woman?”

  Her eyes went dead. Her face tightened. She was on the verge of anger, an emotion that would, I knew, eventually get me where I wanted to go.

  “I don’t think so, Melinda. But we’re dealing with Francis Hoyt here and he doesn’t play by the rules. He makes up his own rules. In his world, you can ‘love’ more than one woman at the same time.”

  I picked up my phone and called up one of the photos we had with Hoyt and Evelyn Kerns. I slid the phone over to her. She looked down at the photo but didn’t bother to pick up the phone. She pushed the phone away.

  “Ever hear of Photoshop?”

  “No one tampered with this photo, Melinda.”

  “It could be old.”

  “It could be, but it’s not. We’ve got a time and date stamp on the original, if you’d like to see it.”

  She was silent. Her body sagged. I almost felt sorry for her. She didn’t do anything worse than a lot of other women: fell for the wrong guy. And now she was nothing less than another victim of Hoyt’s. I felt a little sorry for her but not enough to back off.

  She pushed the phone back to my side of the table.

  “I know this doesn’t make me the good guy, Melinda.”

  “That’s for sure,” she mumbled.

  “I’ve got a job to do.”

  “And you don’t care how you do it.”

  I shrugged. What could I say? She was probably right.

  “I’m not going to do what you want me to do.”

  “You ought to think about it.” I took out my renovated card and slid it over to her side of the table.

  “You can reach me at that number.”

  “What makes you think I’m going to have to reach you?”

  “It’s up to you. But I don’t see how you owe this guy anything. He didn’t tell you the truth about himself or about this other woman. And I can assure you, there’s more than one.”

  “One’s enough,” she said. “I’m going to go now.”

  “Sure. I understand. You need to think about it.”

  She got up without taking the card. She took a couple steps away from the table then stopped, came back, scooped up the card and shoved it into her purse.

  She’d call me. Just a matter of when.

  Francis Hoyt

  “Why the hell didn’t you tell me before this?”

  “I didn’t want to bother you, Francis. I mean I figure you’ve got enough going on. And I handled it.”

  “Jesus, Evie.”

  She’d called me on one of my burner phones, the number only she had. It was the only way she could contact me and it was supposed to be for emergencies. From what she’d just told me, this was one of them.

  “I’m sorry. I really am. But I swear he didn’t get anything out of me. Even the second time. But is what he told me the truth?”

  “How should I fucking know? I don’t know what the fuck he told you.”

  I stopped myself. I was losing it. Not good. It wasn’t her fault. It was that fucking little spic bastard. How the hell did he even find out about her? But now it didn’t matter. I had to make sure Evie was on my side. I piss her off who knows what the hell she’d do. I had to make nice, make like nothing was wrong. Damage control. That’s what I had to do.

  I softened my tone. I pictured Evie. She was wearing a short, tight skirt and black, scoop-necked sweater. Evie was always sexy, but especially when she wore short skirts that showed off her great legs. And she was sweet, in an uncomplicated kind of way. That’s the way I like them. Uncomplicated. Just the opposite of me. I missed Evie.

  “I’m sorry, Evie. You got me at a real bad time. Work stuff.”

  “That’s okay, baby. I understand. But it’s all right if you’ve been in trouble with the law. I mean, I know plenty of people who’ve been there. Even me. When I was a kid, you know. Little stuff. Shoplifting. Getting in with the wrong crowd. I’m no angel, Francis.”

  Jesus, just what I needed. True confessions. But I had to let her talk, no matter how stupid and meaningless it was.

  “I’ll level with you, Evie. I was in some trouble. Bad trouble. I made a mistake. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. But I paid my debt to society. I learned my lesson. I’m on the straight and narrow. Honest. But these guys, they won’t let me alone.”

  “I wish you were here, Francis. So, we could talk about it. So, I could support you. So, I could hold you in my arms. Because I know you’re a good man. You’ve always been good to me. No, not just good, great. You’ve been great to me. You’ve taken care of me. You’ve never said an unkind word to me. Now’s my chance to do something for you.”

  The tide was turning. I had her back on my side.

  “There’s nothing you can do, except not talk to anyone about me. I’ll take care of everything else. We’ll get through this, baby.”

  “I know we will. I know it. And I hope you know you can trust me. I love you, Francis.”

  I knew I was supposed to say, “I love you, too.” I knew that’s what she wanted to hear and that’s what I needed to say. But I couldn’t. It’s not that I can’t lie. I’ve done plenty of that in my life. It’s just that those words—I. Love. You—stick in my throat. So instead, with as much sincerity as I could muster, I said, “Me, too, baby.”

  When I finished the call with Evie I sat there in my little studio apartment staring at the blank wall. These assholes were beginning to really piss me off. I had to do something about it. Something.

  Francis Hoyt

  All the houses on the block seemed pretty much the same. On the small side, three bedrooms, tops. None of them shout
ed out: “I’ve got valuable stuff. Rob me.” But that wasn’t the point.

  The one on the corner looked to be the most likely because it was set back from the road and had hedges surrounding it. Once past the hedges you couldn’t be seen from the street. I called a local real estate agent and asked about the house. Was it for sale? Not at the moment. Did she think the owners might be amenable to an offer? Perhaps, she said, and then she gave me more than enough information about them. They were an older couple who’d been living in the house for six years. Nice, hard-working people. They owned a clothing store in town. That meant they’d leave the house fairly early in the morning.

  That’s all I needed to know. The rest was up to me.

  Manny Perez

  I was sitting in the living room when the doorbell rang. Charlie Floyd was in the den, watching a ballgame between the New York Yankees and the Boston Red Sox. Charlie Floyd, as he has mentioned to me many times, is a rabid Boston Red Sox fan.

  “How about you, Manny?” he asked before he disappeared into what my wife, Esther, would call his man-cave. “Got any interest in the national pastime now that you’re legally one of us. It was part of the naturalization process, wasn’t it, choosing a baseball team to root for? Besides, these new Cuban players we’re getting up here are really something. What are they feeding them down there?”

  “Yes, Charlie Floyd, I am very much a fan. And I am afraid the Yankees, your sworn enemy, are my team of choice, ever since I was a young child. Did you know that I wanted to play shortstop for the Yankees?”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “No, it is true. I was an excellent fielder but I am afraid as a hitter I was no more than average. And since growing up there was little chance I would ever play for the Yankees, I gave it up for other pursuits.”

  “Never too late.”

  “Ha. I am afraid it is often too late for many things and this is one of them. However, if I watch the game with you, I am afraid I will have to root against your beloved Boston Red Sox.”

  “That’s okay. It’s a free country, Manny. But come on, watch the game with me and we’ll make a friendly bet, just to keep the game interesting.”

  “I believe gambling is against the law in this state, is it not?” I said, with a big smile on my face.

  “Five bucks? Just to make things interesting? And if it helps I’ll just declare this patch of land as part of an Indian reservation.”

  I agreed to his friendly wager and told Charlie Floyd that I would be in to watch the game with him as soon as I completed going over my list of possible relevant articles in the periodicals I had isolated that might shed some light on where Francis Hoyt was planning his next reign of terror. It was shortly after 8:00 p.m. when I heard the front door chime. A moment later I heard Charlie Floyd emerge from the den and answer the door. What I heard next stopped me short and made my heart speed up considerably.

  “I hear you been looking for me, Floyd. Where’s your little spic pal?”

  I had heard that voice only once before, in a parking lot of a West Palm Beach motel. It was none other than Francis Hoyt. I jumped up and started toward the front door. “I am right here,” I said.

  “Well then, I guess the party can begin. You gonna invite me in, or what?”

  “Sure thing, Francis, but I’m afraid you’re a little late for dinner,” said Charlie Floyd in a voice so calm it was as if he were simply inviting a neighbor in for a cup of tea. I do not know how he remained so calm while my heart was pounding and my mind was racing in several different directions at once.

  “That’s okay, I already ate. Besides, I doubt we have the same tastes. I suspect mine is a little more…refined…than yours.”

  Francis Hoyt, handsome, short-cropped hair, a face that reminded me of that American actor, Michael J. Fox, the one who starred in one of my favorite American films, Back to the Future, dressed in faded blue jeans and a black T-shirt that hugged his body, entered the house. Charlie Floyd, as any good host would, shepherded us into the living room.

  “Good to see you again, Manny. You don’t mind me calling you Manny, do you?” said Francis Hoyt. “You’ll notice, unlike you, I ring the bell before I enter someone else’s private space.”

  “Something new for you, Francis,” Charlie Floyd said.

  Anger was boiling up inside me and that was not a good thing, so I decided it would be better if I said nothing and allowed Charlie Floyd handle the situation.

  Francis Hoyt took a place on the couch as Charlie Floyd and I flanked him, sitting in two matching easy chairs.

  “So, boys, here I am. I’m your wet dream come true.” He stretched his arms out wide over his head, then brought them back so that they cradled his head. “I’m here to save you the trouble of having to beat the fucking bushes, looking like the assholes you are, trying to find me. Aren’t you gonna say I’ve got a lot of fucking nerve just showing up like this? Kinda takes the fun out of it, don’t you think?”

  “I’ve got to disagree with you there, Francis. I think the fun’s just getting started,” said Charlie Floyd.

  Francis Hoyt smiled. “I stand corrected, Charlie. You’re probably right. Wasn’t it Sherlock Holmes who said to his pal Watson, ‘now the game’s afoot’?”

  “You gonna sit here making idle chit-chat or are you going to tell us why you’re here?”

  “What’s wrong with your little pal over there, Charlie? Cat got his tongue? Or maybe he don’t speakee the English too good.”

  “Manny speaks many languages, including Asshole. But unlike some people he knows when to talk and when to keep his mouth shut. Listen, Francis, I’ve got the ballgame on in there and it’s a close one and the Sox have a chance to bring justice to the land, so why don’t we get down to business. Why the hell are you here and what the hell do you want?”

  “Aren’t you going to offer me something to drink?”

  “Not in this life,” answered Charlie Floyd.

  I did not wish Francis Hoyt to know that he was discomforting me, so I tried to keep my face as expressionless as possible. The more I did and the more I kept silent the more I knew it would disturb him. I knew he was a man who liked to exercise control over every situation. I have dealt with this type of person numerous times. They like to keep you off balance, to shock and surprise their adversaries. Often, this strategy is effective, but Charlie Floyd is a professional and I was certain it would not take long to thwart Francis Hoyt, then he would be the one controlling the situation. My respect for Charlie Floyd, which was already so high, was growing with every passing moment. I did not yet know the reason for Francis Hoyt’s visit, but perhaps he had made a serious misstep in confronting us on our home ground.

  “I heard you’re looking for me so I’m here to save you some trouble.”

  “We appreciate that, Francis, especially since I figured you’d be in mourning.”

  “Yeah? For who?”

  “Your pal, Tommy Pfister.”

  “Oh, yeah, what a shame. I heard he had an unfortunate accident.”

  “Only if you call a bullet in his head an accident.”

  “You know, Charlie, I don’t read the papers much—there’s so much bad news, it just breaks my heart—so I don’t know how he died just that he did. But we all gotta go sometime, don’t we? Guys like that, guys who are, shall we say, a little shady, who don’t always follow the straight and narrow path like you and me, well, you gotta expect some day they might piss off someone.”

  “He piss you off, Francis?”

  “That little worm? What could he possibly do to piss me off?”

  “He was partially responsible for that time you checked into the old Graybar Hotel, wasn’t he?”

  “That’s ancient history. Besides, I don’t bear grudges. That just gets you into trouble. I don’t want trouble. How about you guys? You looking for trouble?”

  “Without trouble, we’d be on the unemployment line. Of course, you know all about that kind of trouble, don’t you?” />
  “I’m just a law-abiding citizen. I learned my lesson. I am on the righteous path, my friend.” He held up his right hand. “Honest injun.”

  “If it wasn’t about revenge, why did you have him killed? It wouldn’t have been to send us a message, would it?”

  “I’m here, right? I don’t need to send any fucking messages. I’m totally capable of delivering them myself. And I’m offended you think I had anything to do with Tommy’s demise. That’s not my thing. You should know that. Besides, where would I find someone to commit murder for me? Truth is, guys like him don’t last all that long in the business he was in. Maybe he cheated someone he shouldn’t have. Maybe he slept with someone’s wife. Maybe he didn’t pay his gambling debts. There are all kinds of good explanations why someone like him gets iced. You gonna blame me for that? Go right ahead, but that’d be a big mistake because I got an airtight alibi. I wasn’t even in Manhattan when it happened.”

  “You sent word through him to let me know that you were going to be in his office.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  “So, I’d come down there.”

  “And?”

  “I’d be the one to find the body. Nice dramatic touch, Francis.”

  Francis Hoyt laughed. “You know something, Charlie, you’re starting to give me more credit than I’m worth. I mean when it comes to stealing shit there isn’t anyone better than me. Ever. Probably never will be. But now you’re insinuating that I’m a one-man crime wave, a criminal mastermind, committing murder by what, remote control? If you don’t mind me saying, it sounds a little paranoid to me.”

  “Enough bullshit. Let’s cut to the chase. Why are you here?”

  “I’m here because I want to tell you you’re wasting your time and to keep your nose out of my private life.”

  “I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about.”

  Charlie Floyd was playing this with perfection. I leaned back and let him continue.

  “Yeah. You do. Your spic pal talks to Evie. You think I don’t know everything that goes on in my world? You think I’m some kind of idiot?”