The Black Stiletto: Stars & Stripes

by Raymond Benson

  I haven’t been the Black Stiletto since that awful night in the Bowery. The newspaper the next day reported that a woman “impersonating” the Stiletto seriously injured a man in a bar after a scuffle and then fled. The story said it was unclear why she was dressed in the costume or what she was doing there. It didn’t mention that the men tried to rape the poor lady! The article made it sound like I’d asked for it. The bartender was quoted as saying “she wasn’t the real Black Stiletto, because she was weak and drunk and stupid.” Well, I may have been drunk and stupid, but I wasn’t weak. Fine. Let them think it was someone else. I don’t want the real Stiletto to take the rap for the knifing. I just hope it taught those bums a lesson and not to try to take advantage of a girl like that. A related story reminded citizens that the Black Stiletto was a wanted vigilante. The police commissioner issued a statement warning women not to dress up as the character, even on Halloween. Apparently there were already Black Stiletto costumes in the stores. I hope they sell out! Wouldn’t it be “cool” if I got a piece of the sales?

  Well, I’m trying to avoid drinking now. I might have a glass of wine with dinner, but I’m not touching the hard stuff for a while. I learned my lesson. If I feel blue like I did that night, I go down to the gym and spend a half hour punching the bags. It really does relieve tension. I can let out my frustration on the speed bag or I kick the heck out of the hanging bag. And I still work on the wushu movements. The Praying Mantis techniques that I know, combined with my expertise in karate and boxing, have given me a totally new way of defending myself. One night I showed Freddie what I could do and he was amazed. When he asked, I admitted I’d had a few lessons in Chinatown last winter, but I mostly make up stuff now. He helped me a little by correcting my stance prior to a kick that was a combination of a Yoko-geri side kick and the Praying Mantis one I’d seen at the tournament. It was a matter of turning my torso a little more into the kick. Once Freddie showed me the difference, it worked much better.

  Maybe it’s time for the Stiletto to make a reappearance.

  SEPTEMBER 9, 1960

  You’re not going to believe this!

  I saw Billy today!

  He was at the Kennedy/Johnson campaign HQ! I nearly swallowed my chewing gum when I saw him. It’s a good thing I caught myself, because I almost shouted, “Billy!” But I didn’t say a word because Billy doesn’t know Judy Cooper. He never met me. Billy only knows the Black Stiletto. I nearly gave myself away, dear diary!

  Apparently there are a lot of high schools in the city who are offering extra credit in social studies for students who volunteer to work the campaign of their choice. Billy’s school in Chinatown is doing the same. He was one of two kids, the other being a girl named Lily.

  I tried to avoid them. I was afraid Billy would recognize my voice or maybe my eyes. But I was jumping up and down inside because I now knew he was alive and safe and still in the city.

  It’s 9:00 now and I’m putting on the Stiletto outfit to go out. I plan to return to Chinatown to see if Billy and his mother are back in their old apartment above the restaurant. I know it’s a risky thing to do, but I have to know. Wish me luck!

  LATER

  It’s nearly 11:00. I didn’t stay out long because the trip was useless and I ran into a little trouble.

  I had no problems making my way through the streets to Chinatown and finally to Elizabeth Street. The building I used to hide in—the one under construction—was finished, so there was nowhere to perch. I was in full view of the pedestrians, who pointed, gawked, and spoke to each other in their language.

  Nevertheless, I boldly approached the restaurant and saw it was now called “Dim Sum.” I don’t know what that meant. The lights were on and Chinese people sat at tables eating dinner. The place had been redecorated. I didn’t see Billy or his mother inside, so I figured the Tong had indeed taken it over and turned the place into another establishment.

  From there I went inside the door that led to apartments upstairs and scanned the mailboxes in the foyer. The one that was once Billy’s now had the name “Ming” written above it. So they were truly somewhere else.

  I really wanted to learn where Billy lived now, but there was no way I could do it unless I followed him home from the campaign HQ. Judy Cooper could do it. He wanted me to stay away from him, but I can’t help it. He became a friend and he put his neck on the line to teach me wushu. I owe him.

  But it was time to scram. I’d overstayed my welcome, so I headed north on Elizabeth at a fast pace. Then I heard a piercing whistle behind me; someone had put his fingers to his mouth and blew one of those loud birdcalls.

  A voice shouted, “Hey, lady!”

  I turned to see six young thugs purposefully striding toward me in the middle of the street. They were armed with what appeared to be meat cleavers!

  So my appearance in Chinatown had not gone unnoticed by the Flying Dragons. Dear diary, I had a big decision to make. Should I stop, face them, and possibly get into another dangerous brawl? Or was it better to simply get out of there before anyone got hurt? I knew I could outrun them. Would they see it as cowardice?

  That’s when another shrieking whistle resounded in front of me at the top of Elizabeth. Four more hoodlums had emerged from the shadows. They also held hatchets—and machetes.

  My choice was made for me. I didn’t want to get pinned in again, so I bolted forward. Four was easier to get by than six. I drew the stiletto, held it in front of me, ready to strike, and ran full-steam ahead. The young Tong members in my way rushed at me, weapons wielded. We met in the middle of the street and almost collided— except I cannily slipped between two of them as I sliced the air back and forth with my blade. One of them swung his hatchet at me but I blocked the blow with my left forearm. It hurt like the dickens, but at least I prevented him from driving a sharp wedge into my skull! I didn’t stop to fight, I just kept going. I made it to Canal and veered right. The boys ran after me, hot on my tail, but my hours of training in the gym proved too much for them. I shot out onto Bowery directly in front of traffic. Cars honked and tires screeched, but I wasn’t hit. A taxi squealed to a halt in front of me, impeding my route. I leaped, grabbed the top of the car, scampered over it, and dropped to the other side. That stopped the gang members’ pursuit. It was as if they didn’t want to venture off of their turf. I made it to Chrystie, which, of course, turns into 2nd Avenue farther north.

  Before I knew it, I was safe in the gym’s vicinity. I made sure I hadn’t been followed, and then slithered up the telephone pole to the roof.

  It was a close call, but I wondered if I’d ever be able to visit Chinatown as the Stiletto again.

  27

  Judy’s Diary

  1960

  SEPTEMBER 10, 1960

  I know a little more about Billy, and I’ve stumbled upon a new mystery.

  Today at HQ, Billy was working in the envelope-stuffing area with Lily, while I was helping to organize the literature we hand out on the streets. We keep a radio on in the office, and the station played “It’s Now or Never” (it’s still number 1!). That gave me the courage to introduce myself to him. I casually got up, went to their table, and asked, “How’s it going over here?”

  Lily answered, “Fine.”

  I held out my hand to her first. “Hi, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m Judy.” She shook my hand and told me her name. Then I did the same to Billy. He smiled at me, shook my hand, and said, “I’m Billy Lee.”

  Even though I knew the answer, I asked, “How did you come to volunteer for Kennedy?”

  Billy explained about their high school extra credit in social studies. In an attempt to find out where he lived, I asked, “Where do y’all live? Do you have to travel far to get here?”

  Lily answered, “We live in Chinatown. It’s downtown on the East Side, below Canal Street.”

  “I know where Chinatown is, I’ve been there. I love the food!”

  Billy looked at me funny. “Where are you from? You have a
n accent,” he said.

  I thought, uh-oh. I cleared my throat and said, “Uh, yeah, I’m from Texas. I don’t think I’ll ever shake the accent. I sound like a hick.”

  Lily laughed and said, “What about me? My English not so good.” She nodded at her friend. “Billy sound American.”

  “I am American,” he said. “Born and raised here.”

  It was true—Billy’s speech was like any other boy in New York. Lily, on the other hand, did have an accent and spoke slowly.

  “Your English is just fine, Lily,” I told her, but Billy was still looking at me as if he was searching for something on my face. Did he recognize my voice? I thought I’d better cut off the conversation. “Well, I’m glad to meet you two. I should get back to work. I have a million stacks of pamphlets waiting for me to sort.”

  When I reached my desk, I glanced back at them. Billy was still staring at me. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to talk to him. Freddie once told me that I sound a little different when I’m the Black Stiletto. My accent is still there when I speak, but my voice assumes a more commanding, self-confident quality than I have as Judy Cooper. I certainly don’t try to sound different, and I don’t hear it myself. Maybe it has something to do with what wearing the outfit does to me. I feel like another person.

  When their work was over, Billy and Lily got up to leave. As soon as they did, I made an excuse to Mr. Patton that I had to quit early. Since it’s a volunteer job, hours are flexible unless we’re in the middle of something with a deadline. He said to go on and not worry about it. So I grabbed my purse and headed outside to Park Avenue. I spied Billy and Lily turning the corner to walk east. They were most likely headed for the subway to take them downtown.

  So I followed them. I put on sunglasses and blended in with the clumps of people moving along the sidewalk. The kids were a block ahead of me, but I could see them clearly. At one point, Billy took Lily’s hand. Aha! So she was his girlfriend! I thought that was sweet. She seemed like a nice girl.

  Sure enough, they turned north on Lexington and approached the 51st Street subway entrance. As soon as they were down the stairs, I descended as well. They had already gone through the turnstile. I had to buy tokens. The tricky part would be waiting on the platform for the train without them seeing me, so I remained on my side of the turnstile for a few minutes. I pulled a book out of my purse—I’m reading To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee—so I dug into a chapter while I waited (everybody’s talking about this book at HQ!). Eventually, I heard the train coming, so I slipped my token in the turnstile and went through. With a quick glance to the right, I saw Billy and Lily sitting on a bench together. I turned my back and walked to the opposite end of the platform just as the train roared in. I got on and noted the kids stepping into the third or fourth car.

  Once we were on our way, I moved forward from one car to the next until I was directly behind theirs. I could see them through the windows. They sat on a seat together, holding hands. They looked so cute. Instead of sitting, I stood and held on to the pole so I could watch them.

  It took a while, but the train finally rolled in to the Canal Street station. I made sure Billy and Lily got up to exit, so when the doors opened I stepped out to the platform. They were behind me, so I quickly turned my back to them and rushed to the stairs like I was in a hurry. By the time they reached street level, I was already waiting, out of sight.

  Keeping my distance, I followed the couple west on Canal until they turned south on Mulberry. I stood on the corner next to a phone booth to blend in. They stopped in front of a brownstone and spoke for a minute. I kept thinking he would kiss her, but I guess Chinese teenagers don’t do that so young. Maybe I’m wrong. What do I know? At any rate, it was obvious that was her home and Billy had walked with her there. Once she had entered the building, he continued south toward Bayard. I continued shadowing my prey. He never looked back once, and I had nothing to fear being in Chinatown because I was Judy Cooper, not the Stiletto.

  He turned east on Bayard and ultimately went south on Mott Street. I followed Billy almost to Pell, when he stopped and entered a building on the east side. I waited a minute and then approached. It was a ratty, dilapidated structure, desperately in need of repair. I stepped inside the street door and looked at the mailboxes. Sure enough, number six said “Lee” in English and in Chinese characters. I guessed the apartment was on the second floor, so I crossed Mott and stood on the other sidewalk. Lights were on in both second floor windows. A fire escape ran down the front of the building. After a moment, I saw Billy’s mother cross behind a pane.

  I knew which apartment was theirs.

  Satisfied with myself, I headed home. I walked up Mott to Bayard and then took a right. And then, dear diary, I saw something that gave me goose bumps.

  The swarthy passenger from the black Packard I’d seen Michael leaning into, just before our breakup. I can’t believe I recognized him, but he came out of a convenience store just in front of me and crossed the street. Then—another shock. He got into the passenger side of a black Packard that was parked against the curb along with other cars. I knew it was the same one because of the license plate: 358 22X. I remembered it. And this time Michael was in the driver’s seat. They drove away without seeing me.

  Did they live in Chinatown? In one of the buildings there on Bayard Street?

  I probably should forget all about it, because I have no interest in seeing Michael again. But you know me, dear diary, and I know myself. I’ve got more curiosity than a hundred cats.

  I had another mystery to solve!

  SEPTEMBER 11, 1960

  The Black Stiletto was nearly blown away this evening, dear diary! And I don’t mean by a gun, but by Mother Nature!

  The weather started getting stormy while I was at HQ. The radio announcer said Hurricane Donna was headed toward New York, but I really didn’t pay much attention to it. I was more excited by other news—Mr. Dudley told us that the Kennedy Girls would make an “emergency” appearance in three days! Kennedy will be in town and they want us to do something with him. I don’t know what it is yet, but supposedly our costumes will be here in the nick of time. Gosh, I hope mine fits. I’m the tallest girl in the bunch.

  When I got home, it was pouring down rain, but stupid me, I was too suspicious and curious about Michael and that other guy and that Packard on Bayard Street to stay put. I put on the Stiletto outfit and went out my bedroom window, just like usual. I could tell the wind was stronger than usual during a typical rainstorm, but I didn’t let that stop me. Sure, I got wet, but that’s nothing new. The leather on my outfit repels water, and I don’t get soaked to the bone. Well, normally I don’t.

  As I crossed the roofs to the telephone pole, I knew it wasn’t going to be an easy night out. The wind was strong. But I made it to the street and began the trek to Chinatown. There were still cars on the roads, but most people had gone inside. The few pedestrians I saw ran about with broken umbrellas, unsuccessfully tried to flag down taxis, and huddled in doorways. Dear diary, it was difficult to move against the wind and rain, but I eventually got to Bayard Street.

  The Packard was still parked in the same spot. I looked in the windows but couldn’t see a darned thing because of the rain. It just kept getting worse. That’s when I knew I’d made a terrible mistake. What the heck was I doing? What did I hope to accomplish? I guess in the back of my mind I thought I might catch Michael or his passenger buddy or maybe the first driver whose face I never saw getting in the car, or maybe I’d see where they lived. What were the chances of that happening? About a million to one!

  So I turned around and headed home, but within minutes the storm had doubled in intensity. It was a hurricane and I was in the middle of it! Cars pulled over to the curbs to wait it out, that’s how bad it was. Debris blew all around me—trash, tree branches, pieces of metal—it was dangerous! Just crossing Bowery took a superhuman effort. The resistance against my body may as well have been a brick wall. I fell down twice and
slid in what was essentially a river flowing down the street. Managing to pull myself up, I crawled to the other side and rested in a doorway. I considered staying there, but it was obvious the hurricane was just growing worse. The sky was black with clouds. Street lights went out. I heard windows breaking. And then I saw an empty bicycle flying through the air. It crashed against a parked taxi.

  I had to get home. There was no way I could stay outside. There were no other pedestrians anywhere. I swear the wind was strong enough to pick up a human and fling him like a bug. I’ve never seen anything like it.

  Hugging the fronts of buildings, I slowly moved north along Bowery, clutching anything I could to anchor myself. Dear diary, it was even hard to breathe! It felt like I was inhaling nothing but water. I couldn’t see three feet in front of me. It was a good thing I knew the direction, for I may as well have been blind.

  At Grand Street or Broome Street—I don’t know which one!— I turned east. Bowery had acted like a tunnel for the storm because of its width. The wind wasn’t as bad on the east-west streets, but it was still a monster. Then I got to Chrystie. The eastern side of the street is a park, Sara Roosevelt Park, and it’s full of trees. Those trees were bent at an angle and served as sources for projectiles of loose branches and garbage. Like Bowery, Chrystie was a north-south street and therefore also served as a funnel for the storm. But it was my only way home. Once again, I faced inward and clung to edges of storefronts in order to move forward.

  Crossing Houston Street was a challenge. I’ve never been on rapids before, but that’s what it was like. A torrent of water rushed westward from the East River. It came up to my thighs! The only thing I could do was get into it, fight the force, and struggle to the other side. At one point I lost my footing and the water carried me like a log for several yards until I managed to upright myself and dig my boots into the street below. I trudged forward until I was safely across Houston. Only two short blocks to go.