16 Hitman (11 page)

"It's not that simple," I told Alice.

"What do you mean?"

"Straightening MacAullif out wouldn't be doing him any favors."

"You mean he'd have to lie?"

"That's one possibility."

"You mean he'd turn you in? Is that where you're at? He talked
to the cops, and you're afraid he'd do it again?"

"I don't know what he'd do."

"I don't either, but he wouldn't hang you; he likes you. Why, I
can't imagine."

"You're taking this awfully well, Alice. Considering you're
aiding and abetting a fugitive from the law."

"Are you really a fugitive from the law? You're not wanted for
anything. True, it's because you lied your way out of it. But, technically, I don't think you're a fugitive."

"Alice-"

"Okay, you want me to say it? I'm glad he's dead. He was your
client, and he seemed like a nice guy, and all that. The bottom line
is he killed people. He had a record. Not under the name he gave
you, but under his own name. He had the record of the type of person you wouldn't deal with. Which is why he gave you
someone else's name. He knew you'd check him out. He knew if
you saw his record, you wouldn't deal with him. He wanted you
to deal with him. Why, I have no idea. But he gave you the name
of this schoolteacher. Doesn't it make sense that this schoolteacher
is actually the guy he was going to kill?"

"No, it doesn't. Why would anyone want to kill some poor
English lit teacher?"

"Exactly," Alice said.

"Huh?"

"He didn't want to kill him. He wanted to be stopped from
killing him. If the mark was some slimy mob type, why would he
care? On the other hand, if the mark is some respectable high
school teacher with a wife and kids who never harmed a fly, it
makes sense he wouldn't want to take him out."

"If the schoolteacher never harmed a fly, why is the hitman supposed to take him out?"

"How should I know? I don't know any of the facts of the case.
You didn't even tell nie the name of your client until he was dead."

"I didn't even know the name of my client until he was dead."

"I mean the name he gave you. The high school teacher. The
one who's in danger."

"He's not in danger."

"I certainly hope not. Because you've taken it on yourself to
look out for his well-being. By not letting the cops in on the story.
All they know is you asked MacAullif to trace his name"

"What do you want nee to do?"

"I don't want you to do anything. It's Just I know you. You
carry the weight of the world on your shoulders. If something
goes wrong, you blame yourself for it. Even if you had nothing to
do with it. This is different. You are responsible. You've got information no one else does. If something happens to this guy, you'll
never forgive yourself."

I TURNED DOWN A CASE in Harlem. Wendy/Janet had a cow, but
I stuck to my guns. It was two thirty, and there was no way I'd get
done in time to get back to Harmon High.

I was going on Alice's assertion that Martin Kessler was the mark.
I didn't believe it for a minute, but I was listening to Alice because I
always listen to Alice, because when I don't listen to Alice things go
wrong. I get in trouble for not listening to Alice. And not just with
Alice. I get in trouble in general. I hate trouble, and I love Alice, so
listening to Alice always turns out to be the path of least resistance.

I was on that path encountering little resistance as I camped out
in front of the entrance of Harmon High again. Only this time I
was not on the lookout for anyone I knew. Unless Martin Kessler
turned out to be the fellow I thought was Victor Marsden, the man
who presumably killed him. But that didn't seem very likely, since
that was my theory. And, as Alice had pointed out, not a very good
one. Not that hers was any better. Still.

Assuming I was wrong, always a safe assumption, how the hell
was I going to identify Martin Kessler? It wasn't like he'd know
me. The two of us had never met.

It occurred to me what I needed was a little sign, like chauffeurs hold up at the airport.Yeah, that's the ticket. Stand there with
a sign MARTIN KESSLER. Wouldn't be at all conspicuous. No
one would know.

So what was I going to do?

While I was stewing about it, I spotted the two kids from the
day before. The ones who'd mistaken me for a cop. I wondered if
they still thought I was.

I whistled, crooked my finger. "Come here."

From the look on the guy's face, he was holding again. You'd
think he'd have learned. If I didn't bust him before, I wasn't gonna
bust him now Nonetheless, he was mighty reluctant.

"Yeah," I said. "You remember me. I was looking for Martin
Kessler. Guess what? He never showed."

The look on the kid's face was priceless. "Hey, not my fault,
man. How should I know what he did?"

"No way you could know. But the fact is, I missed him. So I
still need help."

"Hey, man. I done all I could."

"I'm not saying you didn't. But here's an opportunity to do a
little more. Has he left yet?"

He shrugged, but the girl said, "No."

He looked at her. "How you know that?"

"Same way you do. He asked Beez to stay after class. So you
know he's talkin' to Beez."

"Yeah. Tha's right. He still there," the kid reported back to me,
as if he should get points for the information.

I was ready to give it. "Excellent. Then you can help me. I still
won't be able to recognize this guy. So, if you'll stick around until
he gets finished with Beez, you can point him out."

He face fell. "Ah, geez."

"In return for which," I went on, "I will give you twenty
bucks" I waggled my finger in the direction of the girl. "And the
two of you can go to the flicks."

"Flicks?"

"The movies. Don't they say flicks anymore?"

"Movie's ten seventy-five," he groused.

"Okay. I will give you twenty-one dollars and fifty cents."

"Imax is more."

I couldn't believe I was bargaining with the kid. "The size of
the screen is your problem. I'm paying twenty-one fifty."

"I gotta introduce you?"

"No, just point him out"

"He gonna see me do it?"

I suppressed a smile. The kid didn't want to take the responsibility for fingering his teacher. "He doesn't have to know it was
you. Just point him out, and slip away."

"You bustin' him?"

"Duane!"

"I gotta know."

"No, I'm not busting him."

"No one's gonna get hurt?"

"No one's gonna get hurt."

He crossed to the uptown side of the street, walked about fifty
feet west, and stopped behind a parked car. The girl and I followed.
From there we had an excellent look at anyone coming out the
front door. Obviously, the kid had used this vantage point before.

"Where's the money?"

I took a twenty out of my wallet, fished a dollar fifty out of my
pants. I had visions of him taking it and running. Clearly he wasn't
about to. After all, I still might be a cop.

We settled down to wait. While we did, it occurred to me I had
been somewhat cavalier in assuring Duane no one was going to
get hurt. After all, someone was already dead.

"Tha's him," Duane said, pointing at the schoolhouse door.

Martin Kessler was a perfectly ordinary-looking young man,
maybe thirty-five to forty. His brown hair was shorter than your
average rock star, longer than your average drill sergeant. He wore
a jacket and tie, though his shirt was open at the collar. With hornrimmed glasses, he could have passed for a tax accountant. My
mind kept turning backflips. He's not a teacher. He's a bookkeeper
for the mob. He's being rubbed out because he knows too much.
An unlikely scenario, but still more likely than the one where he's
a hitman for the mob who rubbed out Victor Marsden.

At least he wasn't the guy I'd seen with my client. The guy I suspected of killing my client. He was someone else entirely. I didn't
know whether to find that reassuring or decidedly unhelpful.

At any rate, my snitch and his henchwoman snuck off after fingering the English lit prof, leaving me to my own devices.

The smart thing would have been walk up to the guy and
introduce myself. But why should I start doing the smart thing
now? Instead, I hung back in the shadows to see where he'd go.

He headed for Broadway, which was fine by me. I followed him
from the north side of the street. I've never tailed an English lit
teacher before, but I think I did a pretty good job.

I followed him to Broadway, caught the subway downtown. All
right, maybe it was stupid, but I did actually have a purpose in
mind. I wanted to see if anyone else was taking any interest in him.

Apparently no one was. I didn't know whether to be disappointed or relieved. On the one hand, it made for awfully dull surveillance. On the other hand, dull was just about my speed.

Kessler took the subway to Forty-second Street, transferred to
the Shuttle. I went in the door at the other end of the car. I doubt
if he'd have noticed me if I'd stood on his feet, but I was taking no
chances. No one else seemed interested in Kessler. Of course, it
was rush hour, the car was packed, and any number of hitmen
could have been sizing up the little professor and laying plans for
future eradication without anyone noticing.

We shuttled to Grand Central, caught the Lexington Avenue
local downtown.

Martin Kessler lived on East Twenty-eighth Street. At least he
was going to East Twenty-eighth Street. Whether he actually lived
there was another matter. I tried to recall if MacAullif had supplied
me with an address. If he had, I didn't remember it.

Kessler walked up the steps of a brownstone between Lexington
and Third. It was one of those townhouses divided into apartments.
He whipped out of set of keys, opened the front door.

I could have run up to him then, but he probably would have
thought he was being mugged. Not that I look like a mugger; still,
no one likes to be bearded on his doorstep. I let him go inside,
watched to see if anyone else had noticed. No one had.

I sighed.

To warn or not to warn. That is the question.

The answer, of course, is warn. In a situation like that, you
always warn. Because, if you warn and the suspect gets killed,
you've done all you could. And if you don't, you haven't.

I went up on the stoop. There was a row of buttons marked B,
1, 2, and 3. I assumed B was for basement, though there was a separate outside door.

Button #1 said KESSLER. I pressed it. Moments later a
woman's voice said, "Yes?"

I hadn't expected a woman, though Martin Kessler certainly
had every right to one. In fact, a wife and kid had been part of
Alice's scenario.

"Is Martin Kessler there?"

"Who is it?"

"My name is Stanley Hastings. I have a message for Mr. Kessler.
It's rather important"

"Does he know you?"

"We haven't met, but he'll know who I am."

"Marty, do you know a Stanley Hastings?"

"Who?"

I pressed the button, said, "He doesn't know my name."

Moments later a man's voice said, "Who is this?"

"Mr. Kessler?"

"Yes.'

"My name is Stanley Hastings. I need to talk to you. It's very
important. Do you live on the first floor?"

"Yes."

"Look out the window."

After a moment I saw a face in the window. I stepped out on
the sidewalk, executed a pirouette. I went back and pressed the
button. "Do I look dangerous to you?"

Wrong question. I looked like a lunatic to him.

I pressed the button again. "Have the police been in touch with
you? I bet they have. About a murder you know nothing about. If
you're interested, I have some information. I know why they're
bothering you."

The door clicked open. The schoolteacher peered out. "Who
are you?"

"Stanley Hastings."

"Your name means nothing to me."

"Join the club."

"Huh?"

I flashed my identification. "I'm a private investigator. I happen
to know the police interrogated you about the Marsden murder. I
have some things I think you should know."

"What?"

"I think you might be in danger."

"Come in"

His living room looked like something an English teacher
might inhabit. It was wall-to-wall books, except for the windows
in front.

Kessler's wife was an Earth Mother sort, in peasant skirt and blouse. She wore her straight blond hair cut in bangs. Her breasts
were large, as if she were nursing. I thought I heard a baby cry in
the back room.

"You have children?" I asked.

"Two," he said.

Earth Mother's eyes blazed. "Never mind the small talk.You said
we're in danger. At least my husband is. Now, what do you mean
by that?"

"What have the police told you?"

"They haven't told us anything. They were investigating a suspicious death, and they wanted to know where Marty was between
the hours of such and such. It happened to be a time he was in class.
It was obviously a mistake, and they knew it. They told us to forget
about it. Now you bring it up again and say we're in danger.Why?"