Magoddy in Manhattan

by Joan Hess

  Henbit bristled like a sow. “I can’t do anything. Despite Agent Pilverman’s invitation to avail ourselves of his department’s thick files on the suspects, we can’t do a goddamn thing without proof. So what if they shot Appleton and moved the body? Do you know how long we could detain them on the evidence we’ve got? They wouldn’t have time to finish a cup of coffee before the lawyer was there to escort them out the door, and I’d be explaining to my superior why I’d booked them in the first place. I can hear him mentioning the night shift in Flatbush.”

  “The department’s been after these guys for four years,” Durmond said, sighing. “Two good men were executed last year in Florida when their covers were blown. We’ve got three of the lower echelon in the witness relocation program, whooping it up on tax dollars, but nevertheless ready to testify if we can get indictments. Gabardi’s organization is responsible for maybe a third of the drugs in this city, and we can’t nail the son of a bitch. I’d settle for Cambria, the second in command, but I’ll be damned if we bust him for some misdemeanor.”

  He stopped as we heard the elevator arrive at the floor. There was yet another knock on the door; I had to bite my lip not to join in the game and shout, “Who’s there?” Durmond admitted Geri and Kyle, both of whom looked frightened out of their yuppified wits.

  “Lieutenant Henbit,” Geri said, ruffling her hair with a pale hand and then beginning to toy with the buttons of her silk blouse, “what’s the status of your investigation? For reasons beyond my comprehension, my boss insists we continue with the contest. I mentioned the murder, but he dismissed it as random violence and ordered me—ordered me, mind you, to pay no attention to it and …” Not surprisingly, tears flooded her eyes and she sank down on the bed. “I know how to deal with caterers and florists, but Mother never taught me how to work around a murder. I mean, a mugging is one thing. Mr. Fleecum is behaving like an absolute dictator and I simply cannot”—she sniffled but withstood a torrent—“handle this, no matter what he says.”

  Kyle cleared his throat. “My father was as adamant. He seems to think this murder in the alley is nothing more than a minor nuisance.”

  “The metropolitan force apologizes for any inconvenience,” Henbit said coldly, “but we’re going to continue the investigation, and the contest is canceled until this is cleared up.”

  “Maybe the contest would clear it up,” I said under my breath. I noticed I had everyone’s attention and raised my voice. “All the contestants are available. Durmond’s here. Ruby Bee, Catherine, and Gaylene are in their rooms. Brenda’s at your precinct and could be brought to the hotel, should you be amenable.”

  Geri had recovered from her watery decline and was regarding me with bright approval. “Yes, and then this ghastly contest could be done with and I could head for the Cape. This has played hell with my nerves, ever since it was dumped on me as if I didn’t have luncheon engagements or aerobics classes or anything better to do with my time.”

  “Or with my kneecaps,” Kyle contributed.

  “How ’bout a drive?” Raz suggested to Marjorie, who was looking dejected on account of the latest twist on her favorite soap. “That ol’ boy what lives over at Grazin says he can take a couple of cases tonight, iff’n I kin get ’em to him afore he heads out.”

  Marjorie blinked in confusion.

  “You know the skinny peckerwood I’m talking about. He drives one of them monster trucks in contests clear across the country. He’s willin’ to pay right good cash for high-quality hooch, and ever’body knows I make the best damn hooch in the county.”

  Marjorie’s eyes drifted to the window.

  “Sure, it’s nippy and rainin’ something awful, but”—Raz spat into a coffee can whilst he tried to think of a way to sweet-talk her into it—“you won’t git wet iff’n you stay in the truck. It cain’t take more ’n an hour to fetch the hooch out of the cave and run it over to Grazin, and afterward, we’ll celebrate at the Dairee Dee-Lishus. Don’t a chili dog sound right tasty?”

  Marjorie drooled obligingly.

  “We can’t turn on the lights,” Estelle whispered as they crept along the hallway of the third floor. “What if Mr. Cambria looks up and realizes someone’s on the prowl? You think he’ll just smile and go on opening the door for folks?”

  “I couldn’t say,” Ruby Bee retorted, doing her best not to stumble over all the darn clutter on the floor. There was enough light from the windows at either end of the hallway for them to avoid the big stuff, but she’d already stubbed her toe on some fool thing and it throbbed like a boil. “Just what do you think we’re gonna find up here, anyway? Another body, this time with a typed confession from the murderer safety-pinned to its chest?”

  “So this is all my idea? Is that what you’re saying, Mrs. Let’s-Have-a-Look-for-Ourselves? I suppose it’ll be all my fault if we get ourselves killed, right?”

  Ruby Bee clutched Estelle’s arm. “Hush up! I heard a voice.”

  “You heard my voice. As for this other voice, why—” She broke off with an intake of breath. “I hear it, too.”

  They continued around a corner, clinging to each other as they negotiated a particularly perilous roll of old carpeting, and stopped when they saw a ribbon of light beneath a door. A low voice was interspersed with a giggly one, and it took them a few minutes to identify both, take in a few sentences, and ease back around the corner.

  “That Catherine sounds drunker ’n a skunk,” Estelle said, disgusted.

  “There’s no doubt in my mind what she and that Rick fellow are doing,” muttered Ruby Bee. “I ain’t heard that kind of talk since they locked away ol’ Harly Brad after they found out he was making those obscene telephone calls. To this day I don’t understand why Elsie took notes every time he called her, but she sure seemed to enjoy telling me what he said down to the last dirty word, and doing the heavy breathing parts, too.”

  “His vocabulary was enough to curl my hair.”

  “So’s Catherine’s. Rick’s ain’t shabby, but he’s a sight older and lives in Noow Yark City, so he probably learned all that on the playground. They ought to be ashamed of themselves, him for doing that sort of thing with a snippet of a girl, and her for going along with it. I declare, I don’t know what the world’s coming to!”

  “Frannie sure would be unhappy if she knew about this,” Estelle said, moving on since she didn’t know what the world was coming to, either. “Her little princess behaving like a common slut, and doing it out loud, which is even more awful. We should have known when we saw her at the reception, drunk and crawling all over—”

  “Jerome!” Ruby Bee said excitedly, then clapped her hand on her mouth as she remembered they were supposed to be whispering. “Do you recollect on the first night how he said he was going to his room to work and all of a sudden Catherine pipes up and says she’s got a headache and leaves in the elevator with him?”

  “And the next day, when she claims to need a nap all by her lonesome and Brenda can’t find Jerome?” Estelle’s mouth went drier than a wad of cotton as she tried to think. The blinking neon lights didn’t help, nor did the misshapen shadows on the walls and the murky piles of sheetrock and lumber. “I don’t know what it means, but maybe we ought to trot down to our room and call that lieutenant.”

  “To tell him what?” said a voice from behind them. A female one, but on the unfriendly side.

  They spun around and gasped at the gun in Frannie’s hand. “Nothing! We don’t have anything to tell him. I didn’t mean what I said,” Estelle gabbled, her fingernails digging into Ruby Bee’s arm so harshly they were close to drawing blood.

  “We—we were just looking around,” Ruby Bee said, “and there’s nothing here but a big mess. You can see for yourself, Frannie. Why doncha put down that gun before you hurt someone?”

  “I heard everything you said,” Frannie continued, not putting down the gun and not getting any friendlier. “You said my daughter was engaging in tawdry behavior with that slimeball manager�
�and did the same thing with Jerome Appleton. Do you want to know what really happened?”

  Estelle shook her head, while Ruby Bee bobbled hers. Frannie managed to overlook this display of mixed messages and said, “That man seduced my daughter, a girl of sixteen. She should have known better, but she allowed him to take advantage of her and use her as if she were a prostitute. I found out about it and made it clear to her that I would not tolerate that kind of thing. She’s won several beauty pageants, you know. She’s in the honors program and will be offered scholarships when she graduates. I’ve already begun to sew her college wardrobe. I have plans for her. I cannot allow her to destroy her future by … by …”

  Estelle and Ruby Bee were as unnerved by Frannie’s increasingly shrill voice as they were by the wobbly barrel aimed in their general direction. To make matters worse, Frannie slumped against the wall and began to cry, the gun bouncing as she shook with sobs. They waited for a minute to find out if they were gonna get shot, but Frannie seemed to have forgotten about them and was lost in her misery.

  At last, Ruby Bee stepped forward and took the gun. She used her free hand to grab one of Frannie’s arms, Estelle took the other, and they led the docile woman to the elevator. As they waited, a giggle drifted down the dark hallway.

  Agent Clark Rhodes approached the porch of the café with his badge in his teeth and his heart in his throat, or thereabouts. His jacket was neatly draped over his arm so the terrorist could see he was unarmed, and his hands were in the air in the classical submissive pose and shaking like autumn leaves in a breeze.

  He took his badge from his mouth. “Rhodes, FBI,” he shouted, as worried by the heavy weapons aimed at his back as by what he assumed was leveled on him from behind the blinds. Rhodes did not relish melodramatic confrontations, which is why he had opted to be a statistician rather than a field operative. On the flight from Washington, it had occurred to him that he’d been chosen because of his expendability—not a cozy thought.

  “I’m doing exactly what you ordered,” he added. “I’m unarmed and alone, and by the way, my wife’s expecting a baby in two months. It’s our fourth.” Actually, it was their first, but it couldn’t hurt to paint a more touching portrait of the grieving widow and children at the graveside.

  The door was opened by the largest, most sullen woman he’d ever seen. Her dark eyes were burning into him, and her mouth was harshly puckered above a bevy of chins. She wore a tent-sized dress that was badly wrinkled and stained. Her hair, a mass of greasy strings, brushed her mammoth shoulders like a wet mop. “Whacha staring at?” she demanded.

  “I thought you were … a brother,” Rhodes said weakly.

  “Then you ain’t no Ira Pickerel. Do I look like someone who takes hostages and threatens to kill ’em?”

  “You’re not Marvel, then?”

  “Lord Almighty! I wouldn’t have bet a plug nickel there was anyone on the planet stupider than Kevin Fitzgerald Buchanon, but now I ain’t so sure! Are you gonna stand there all night like your feet are planted, or are you gonna do like Marvel said?”

  Rhodes stepped inside and the door slammed behind him. He was so bewildered that he felt relieved when he saw the slender black man on a stool, a gun in his hand and a broad grin on his face. “Rhodes, FBI,” he said, “and you’re Marvin Madison Evinrood Calhoun, a.k.a. Marvel, right?”

  Marvel nodded, since he didn’t think it would be appropriate to high-five the dude. “I am delighted to see you, my man Rhodes. Big Mama and my main man over there in the corner are delighted, too. Make yourself at home, and how about a piece of chicken?”

  “Let’s have ourselves a daddurn picnic,” Dahlia said as she trudged back to the booth and jammed herself in. “We can roll Kevin out in the middle of the floor and use him for a centerpiece. We can stick plastic flowers in his ear.”

  Marvel frowned at her until she subsided, then gestured for Rhodes to sit down on the last stool. “Good of you to come, brother. I seem to have gotten myself in a bad situation here, and you’re just the man to help me out. By this time tomorrow, you can be flying back home and these fine folks can continue their honeymoon.”

  Rhodes looked around. “When I was briefed, I was told you have two hostages. I only see one. I hope you haven’t …”

  Marvel laughed. “Oh, he’s over there somewhere. I guess he forgot his manners. Kevin, say yo to the brother.”

  “Yo,” came a voice from the shadowy region beneath the corner booth.

  “Now, let’s move along,” Marvel continued. “Big Mama, you sit real still and keep an eye on the door. My man Rhodes and I are going into the kitchen where we’ve got ourselves some talking to do. If I happen to come out and find you or my main man up to some nonsense, I’ll put a bullet in your ear. Are we clear?”

  Dahlia growled something, but Rhodes was too close to fainting to pay any attention, and when Marvel gestured with the gun, he barely managed to stand up and head in the indicated direction.

  “My wife’s name is Carol,” he said as he went into the kitchen, exceedingly conscious of the barrel in his back.

  “Let’s just get this over with as quickly as possible,” Geri said with the perky determination of a kindergarten teacher. “Originally, I’d arranged for each of you to have a two-hour block in the kitchen for security reasons. However, it’s really much too late for that, so we’ll have two in the first slot and three in the second.”

  We had a good-sized group in the dining room. Gaylene sat alone at one table, painting her fingernails a subtle shade of screaming scarlet. At the next table, I sat with Ruby Bee, Estelle, Frannie, and Durmond. Frannie had announced that Catherine was ill, and Ruby Bee and Estelle had backed her up with such gushy agreement that I had no idea what was going on, although I doubted it was anything I’d appreciate. Brenda sat dejectedly between Lieutenant Henbit and one of his detectives. Kyle hovered behind Geri, no less relaxed than he’d been when mentioning his kneecaps. I realized he’d known for some time that Interspace was owned by the mob; his father had been less reticent than Geri’s boss.

  Henbit had been reluctant to permit the contest, of course, and I’d had to take him to my room and present my arguments with enough skill to outshine the Broadway stars several blocks away. He’d finally admitted that it couldn’t hurt to test some of my theories, called Geri in the hotel office and told her to round up the contestants, and then called his precinct to arrange for Brenda to be delivered in a fashion not unlike a pizza.

  Durmond touched my knee beneath the table. “Are you sure this is the thing to do?”

  Geri put down the clipboard in order to clap her hands, alleviating me from the need to answer that I had no idea whatsoever. “Please, let’s all pay attention, shall we? If we insist on personal conversations, we’ll be here all night, and I for one have plans for tomorrow that preclude this fleabag hotel.” She glanced back as Rick came across the lobby. “Good, I’ll use you as a judge, along with Kyle and that doorman person. I do hope that’s acceptable to all of you, because I’m in charge and you really have no choice. The first two contestants will be Gaylene and Durmond. Come along and please don’t dawdle.”

  The two obediently rose. Durmond looked unexcited at his big chance, but Gaylene giggled and waved, and she swept out of the dining room as if heading for the Miss America runway. The head count remained steady, however, as Rick and Cambria entered and sat down as far away from us as they could. Their conversation would have been diverting, had I been able to hear it. Rick was already damp, but drops of sweat were forming like pimples and he tugged at his ring so furiously that I had visions of the poor taxidermist in Wyoming or wherever. Cambria wasn’t twinkling.

  “I guess I’ll check on Catherine,” Frannie said, pushing back her chair.

  “No one leaves the room.” Henbit motioned to a figure beyond the French doors. “And that officer will encourage your compliance.”

  Frannie put her elbows on the table and cradled her face in her hands. Estelle patted h
er on the shoulder and said, “Don’t worry. She’ll be all right and will come on down as soon as she … freshens up.”

  “Sure she will,” Ruby Bee said.

  The lieutenant’s presence did not encourage conversation, and we sat in uncomfortable silence for a long while. After what might have been half an hour, Catherine came out of the elevator, crossed the lobby, and sat down next to her mother. I’d hauled in enough teenagers to realize that, despite her purposeful motion and bland expression, she was under the influence of alcohol. On her face was a thick layer of pancake makeup that almost disguised a black eye.

  Others could see it, too. Ruby Bee and Estelle began to whisper, and Brenda gaped as if Catherine were an alien. Henbit nodded at his minion.

  Earlier I’d remembered why my flippant remark to the lieutenant had stirred up a sense of déjà vu. “I’m not my mother’s keeper,” I’d told him in the exact same tone I used on Jerome Appleton when he’d emerged from Catherine and Frannie’s room. Frannie had been out shopping, however. Jerome had tried his bully routine on me because he’d been up to no good (in several senses of the phrase). I decided to risk the wrath of Henbit and see what I could learn about Catherine’s most recent activities—and I knew just where to begin.

  I tapped Ruby Bee’s shoulder. “I called your room earlier and no one answered. I wanted to pass along a message from Eilene, all the way back in Maggody, Arkansas. It has to do with copper pipes.”

  “I guess I was showering,” she said.

  I looked at Estelle, who swallowed and said, “And I must have dozed off for a spell.”

  “The telephone didn’t wake you up?” I gave them the full benefit of my incredulous gaze. “You’ve both been lying like a rug going on four days now, and it’s beginning to get on my nerves. You couldn’t have left the hotel. That gentleman in blue would have shot you in cold blood. Where were you?”