Killer's Wedge

by McBain, Ed

  "I get letters from my cousin Come the city, come the city. So I come.

  Very easy. The plane fare is loan you, there are people who loan y dinero. Later on, you pay them back. With in'ress. So I come. I get here January. Very cold here, I don' ex thees. I knew would be winter here, but not so cold I don't expec'."

  "Where'd you go, Angelica?"

  "I go first what they call a hot bed place.

  You know what thees minns?"

  d "No. What?"

  "It sounds dirtee, but hot bed is not thees.

  Hot bed is where people come to sleep in shifts, comprende? Like e they renn the apartment to three diff'ren' people. You come sleep, you leave. Nex' one comes sleep, he leaves. Then nex' one comes sleep, he leaves. One apartment, three renns. Very smart, much dinero in this. For the landlord. Not for the sleeper." She smiled grimly. Hawes smiled with her.

  "So," Angelica said, "I stay there awhile 'til all my money is gone, an' then I go live with my cousins for a while. An' then I figure I am become-how you say-~ burn. Burn. When is too much for someone to carry?"

  "Burden," Hawes supplied.

  "Si. Burd'n. So I find a man an' go live with him."

  "Who?"

  "Oh, jus' a man. Pretty good man, no police trouble. But I don' live with him now because he beat me once, an' thees I don' like. So I leave. An' sometimes I sleep around now, but only when I need bad the money." She paused.

  "I tell you something."

  "What?"

  "In Puerto Rico," and again the "Puer" was a prayer, "I am pretty girl. Here, too, I am also pretty-but I am also cheap. You know? I am look at here, an' men think, "I sleep with her." In Puerto Rico, there is respect. Very diff'ren'" "How do you mean?"

  "In Puerto Rico, a girl walks don the stritt, men look an' watch, it is a pretty thing to see. I minn, iss all right a girl could wiggle a little, is nice to see, appreciated. An' also a little comical. I minn, good-natured. Here ... no. here, always there is the thinking.

  "Cheap. Slut.

  Puta." I hate thees city."

  "Well, you ..

  "Iss not my fault I don' speak such good English. I learn Spanish. I know real Spanish, very high Spanish, very good school Spanish. But Spanish iss no good here. You speak Spanish here, you are a foreigner. But thees is my country, too, no?

  I am American also, no? Puerto Rico is American, noes ver dad But Spanish no good. Spanish here minns puta. I hate thees city."

  "Angelica ..

  "You know something? I warm to go back the islan'. I warm to go back there an' never leave. Because I tell you. There I am poor, but there I am me. Angelica Gomez. Me.

  An' there is nobody else the whole worl' who iss also Angelica Gomez. Only me.

  An' here, I am not me, I am only dirtee Spanish Puerto Rican spic!"

  "To some people," Hawes said.

  Angelica shook her head.

  "I am in big trouble now, no?" she said.

  "Yes. You're in very big trouble."

  "Si. So what happens to me now? I go to prison, hahi Maybe worse if thees Kassim dies, hah? An' why do I cul him? You want to know why I cut him? I do it becausc he forgets one thing.

  He forgets what everybody else it thees city forgets. He forgets that I am me, Angelic~ Gomez, an' that what is me is private an' nobody car touch unless I say touch. Me.

  Private." She paused.

  "Why they cann let a person be private? Goddamn, why they cann leave you alone?"

  She seemed suddenly on the verge of tears. He reache~ out to touch her hand, and she shook her head instantly and violently.

  He pulled back his fingers.

  "I am sorree," she said.

  "I will not cry.

  One learns fas in thees city that it does no good to cry, no good at all." She shook her head.

  "I am sorree. Leave me alone. Pa favor. Leave me alone. Please. Please."

  He rose. Virginia Dodge had turned her attention bad to the desk. She sat quite silently, staring at the bottle in front of her.

  Casually, Hawes walked to the bulletin board near the light switch. Casually, he took a pad from his back pocket and began writing into it.

  The boys had got an early start.

  It was only 6:25, but the boys had been at it since 3:30 when their last class-a boring lecture in Anthropology- had let out. This was Friday afternoon and after a hard week of listening to lectures and scribbling down notes, the boys owed it to themselves to throw down a few college-manly drinks.

  They had started with beer at the fraternity house across the street from the college. But some stupid frosh pledge had stocked the refrigerator the week before and then forgotten to replenish the dwindling supplies. There were only two dozen cans of beer on ice, and that was barely enough to get the boys under way. And so they'd been forced to leave the intimacy of their private diggings in search of liquid refreshment elsewhere.

  They had left the frat house, wearing the uniforms which identified them as true scholars. The uniforms consisted of trousers belted in the back and pleat less in the front and cuff less at the bottom. White button down shirts topped the trousers. Silk-rep ties curled beneath the collars of the shirts, knotted in the front, fell in slender splendor to the simple punctuation of gold clasps.

  Dark sports jackets, vented in the rear, with unpadded shoulders, three buttons and sleeves and lapels pressed to roll, man, roll, completed the costume. The boys were hatless and coat less They all wore crew cuts

  By the time they reached the third bar, they were hopelessly crocked.

  "One day," Sammy Horn said, "I am going to walk into that rotten Anthropology course and rip off Miss Amaglio's blouse.

  Then I'm gonna deliver a lecture on the mating habits of the Homo sapiens."

  "Who in the world," Bucky Reynolds said, "would ever want to rip off Miss Amaglio's blouse?"

  "Me, that's who," Sammy said.

  "And deliver a lecture on the mating ..

  "All the time, he's got sex on the brain," Jim McQuade said.

  "Zing, zing, zing, sex, sex, sex."

  "Right!" Sammy said emphatically.

  "Damn right."

  "Miss Amaglio," Bucky said, pronouncing the name with great care but nonetheless having a little difficulty with it, "strikes me as being a dried-up old septic tank, and I am surprised-to tell you the truth, Samuel, I am profoundly surprised that you are harboring dark thoughts of planking her. I am truthfully and profoundly surprised by your lecherous thoughts. Yes."

  "Screw you," Sammy said.

  "All the time sex on the brain," Jim said.

  "I will tell you something," Sammy said, his blue eyes very serious behind his black rimmed bop spectacles.

  "Still water runs deep. That is the God's honest truth, I swear to God."

  "Miss Amaglio," Bucky said, still having trouble with the name, "is not still water, she is stagnant water. And I am greatly astounded-astonished, I say-to discover that you, Samuel Horn, could even entertain notions of .

  "I am," Sanuny admitted.

  "That's indecent," Bucky said, ducking his blond crewcut head, and then shaking it mournfully, and then sighing.

  "Obscene."

  He sighed again.

  "But, to tell you the truth, I wouldn't mind a little piece of that myself, you know? She has a very foreign sexy-type look, that wench, even though she is about four thousand years old."

  "She isn't a day over thirty," Sammy said.

  "I am willing to bet my Phi Beta Kappa key on that."

  "You haven't got a Phi Beta Kappa key."

  "I know, but I will have one someday, and every red-blooded American boy knows that a Phi Beta Kappa key is truly the key to the pearly gates. And I'm willing to bet it. And I'll even give away the secret of the secret hand, shake if Miss Amaglio is a day over thirty."

  "She's Italian," Jim said from out of nowhere. When Jim got drunk, his face simply fell apart. It seemed to hang without support from somewhere in outer space~ His eyes swam
socket less His lips moved without muscular volition.

  "She is indeed," Bucky said.

  "Her first name is Serafina."

  "How do you know?"

  "It's stamped on my program card.

  Serafina Amaglio. Beautiful."

  "But what a deadly bore, Jesus," Jim said.

  "She has a very healthy bosom," Sammy observed.

  "Very. Healthy," Bucky agreed.

  "Spanish girls have healthy bosoms," Jim said from left field.

  "Also."

  "Here's to Serafina Amaglio," Bucky said, lifting his glass.

  "And to Spanish girls," Jim said.

  "Also."

  "And to healthy bosoms."

  "And strong legs."

  "And clean teeth."

  "And Pepsodent toothpaste." They all drank.

  "I know where there are Spanish girls," Sammy Horn said.

  "Where?"

  "Uptown."

  "Where uptown?"

  "A street called Mason Avenue. You know it?"

  '""Jo."

  "It's uptown There are Spanish girls with healthy bosoms and strong legs and clean teeth on that street." Sammy nodded.

  "Gentlemen," he said, "it is time we made a decision. What time is it, Bucky old pot?"

  "It is 6:25," Bucky said, glancing at his watch.

  "And three-quarters. When you hear the tone, it will be 6:26." He paused.

  "Bong!" he said.

  "It's getting late, men," Sammy said.

  "It's later than we think, men. For cris sakes men, We may be dead someday!

  Then what? Away we go, men, to bleed on foreign soil."

  "Christ!" Bucky said, awed.

  "So ... do we wait for Miss Amaglio to take off her blouse, which I am reasonably certain she will never do, despite the healthiness of her remarkable bosom? Or shall we slither off uptown to this wonderful street called Mason Avenue, there to explore foreign soil without the attendant dangers of total warfare? What do you think, men?"

  The men were silent, thinking.

  "Consider well, men," Sammy said. He paused.

  "This may be our finest hour."

  The men considered well.

  "Let's go get laid," Bucky said.

  Standing at the bulletin board near the light switch, Hawes wrote into his pad aimlessly, waiting for the precise moment of attack. Ideally that moment should be when Virginia Dodge was at the other end of the room. Unfortunately, she showed no signs of moving from the desk behind which she sat in deadly earnestness, staring at the bottle of colorless fluid.

  Well then, Hawes thought, the hell with the ideal. Let's just hope she turns her back for a minute, just to give me enough time to snap off the lights.

  That's all I need. Just a moment while she turns away, and then the lights go off, and I reach for the gun, left-hand pocket of the coat, mustn't grab for the right-hand pocket by mistake, Jesus, suppose one of the boys thinks there's been a power failure, suppose somebody strikes a match or turns on one of those damn battery powered emergency lights, is there one in the squad room sure, under the kneehole of the junk desk, oh Jesus, don't anybody get any bright ideas, please, pun unintentional, don't anybody throw any light on the subject, pun intentional, don't foul me up by being heroes.

  Just let the lights go out, and sit tight, and let me get my mitts' on that pistol. Just three seconds. Stick my hand in the pocket, close it around the butt, pull it out, and shove the gun into the side pocket of my pants. That's all I need.

  Now if she'd only turn her head.

  I'm six inches from the light switch. All she has to do is turn her head, and I make my move.

  Come on, Virginia darling, turn that deadly little ski of yours.

  Virginia darling did not move a muscle.

  Virginia seemed hypnotized by the bottle of nitro.

  Suppose she whacks it off the desk the minute the lights go out?

  No, she won't do that.

  Suppose she does?

  If she does, I'll get a demerit, and never get to make Detective 1st Grade.

  Come on, you bitch, turn your head. Turn it!

  There must be a God, Hawes thought. He watched in fascination as Virginia Dodge slowly but surely turned to look across the room toward the grilled windows.

  Hawes moved instantly. His hand darted for the light panel, shoved downwards on the protruding plastic switch.

  There was blackness, instant blackness which filled the room like a negative explosion.

  "What the hell ?" Virginia started, and then her voice went dead, and there was only silence in the room.

  The coat, Hawes thought.

  Fast!

  He felt the coarse material under his fingers, slid his hands down the side of the garment, felt the heavy bulk of the weapon in the pocket, and then thrust his hand into the slit, reaching for the gun.

  And then suddenly, blindingly, unimaginably-the lights went on.

  CHAPTER 12

  He felt like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

  For a moment, he couldn't imagine what had caused the sudden blinding illumination. And then he realized the lights were on again, and here he was reaching into the pocket of Virginia's coat, his fingers not an inch from the gun. Oddly, time seemed to lose all meaning as soon as the lights went on. He knew that time was speeding by at a remarkable clip, knew that whatever he did in the next few seconds could very well mean the life or death of everyone in the room, and yet time seemed to stop.

  He decided, in what seemed to take three years, to whirl on Virginia with the revolver in his hand.

  He closed his fingers around the butt of the gun his the warmth of the dark pocket, and the c1o~ing of his hand took twelve years. He was ready to draw the gun when he saw Arthur Brown, a puzzled look on his face, striding rapidly up the corridor. He decided then-the decision was a century coming-to yell, "Get out, Arthur! Run!"

  and then the time for yelling was gone because Arthur was pushing through the gate and entering the squad room And then, too, the time for pulling the revolver was gone, all the time in the world had suddenly dwindled down to its proper perspective, perhaps twenty seconds in all had gone by since the lights went on, and now there was no time at all, time had gone down the drain, now there was only Virginia Dodge's cold lethal voice cutting through the time rushing silence of the squad room

  "Don't pull it, redhead! I'm aiming at the nitro!"

  He hesitated. A thought flashed into his head: Is there really nitroglycerin in that bottle?

  And then the thought blinked out as suddenly as it had come. He could not chance it. He released his grip on the pistol and turned to face her.

  Thunderstruck, Arthur Brown stood just inside the gate.

  "What ?" he said.

  "Shut up," Virginia snapped.

  "Get in here!"

  "What. ?" Brown said again, and there was complete puzzlement on his face. He knew only that he'd returned to the precinct after sitting in the back room of a tailor shop all afternoon. He had climbed the metal steps leading to the second story as he'd done perhaps ten thousand times since joining the 87th Squad. He had found the upstairs corridor in darkness, and had automatically reached for the light switch at the top of the steps, turning on the lights.

  The first person he'd seen was Cotton 1lawes reaching into the pocket of a coat hanging on the rack. And now a woman with a gun.

  "Get over here, redhead," Virginia said.

  Silently, Hawes walked to her.

  "You're a pretty smart bastard, aren't you?" she said.

  "I

  The gun in her hand moved upwards blurringly, came down again in a violent sweeping motion of wrist and arm. He felt the fixed sight at the barrel's end ripping into his cheek. He covered his face with his hands because he expected more. But more did not come. He looked at his fingers.

  They were covered with fresh blood.

  "No more stunts, redhead," she said coldly.

  "Understand?"
>
  "I understand."

  "Now get out of my way. Over there on the other side of the room. You!" She turned to Brown.