16 Hitman (16 page)

He was in direct line now. Him, her, Kessler, me. With Thurman
in front of them and to the left. Thurman hasn't spotted me, I
know, because he'd have reacted, most likely to the extent of
leaving Kessler entirely forgotten while he reamed me out. But no
chance of that. The guy was oblivious.

I could see it all in slow motion. The four of them coming at
rne. Hitman #2 making his move. Stepping in front of Attractive
Teacher. Raising his arm. Just as I stepped in front of Thurman.
Heading for Martin Kessler.

It had not been a conscious decision. Trust me, it was not the
type of conscious decision I make. Given time to consider it, I
would opt for the opposite. But my muscles, as if of their own
accord, were sending me forward diagonally across Sergeant
Thurman's vision in a long, awkward lunge at Martin Kessler.
Tackling the startled schoolteacher and pulling hint out of the path
of the intended bullet.

Even Sergeant Thurman couldn't miss that. His head turned,
his eyes widened in amazement, as Kessler went down. Revealing,
directly behind us, Hitman #2, in all his naked glory, silenced automatic raised, aiming at empty air where Kessler had just been, even
as he squeezed the trigger.

The bullet whizzed past Thurman's head. Hitman #2 hadn't
been shooting at Thurman, he'd been shooting at Kessler, would
have killed him if I hadn't knocked him out of the way. That's how
close it was.

Sergeant Thurman pulled his service revolver, dropped to one
knee, and shot Hitman #2 dead.

IT WAS HARD TO TAKE. Sergeant Thurman was a hero, saving Martin
Kessler's life by calmly shooting an armed assassin. I was a meddling
private eye who'd nearly gotten Martin Kessler killed. Sergeant
Thurman was lionized in the press and interviewed on the evening
news. I was mercifully not mentioned. At least by the press.

Detective Crowley was not so kind. "Your name is Stanley
Hastings?"

"Yes."

"You are aware this conversation is being recorded?"

"I assumed the stenographer was here for some reason."

"You have already been charged with the crime of obstruction
ofjustice.You are aware that anything you say may be taken down
and used against you in a court of law with regard to that charge
or any other that might arise in the course of the interview?"

"That's a mouthful"

"Are you aware of the gravity of the situation?"

"Ycs, I am."

"Are you aware of your rights as I just explained them?"

"I'm aware of the situation as you just explained it. I don't
believe any rights were mentioned."

"You have the right to an attorney. Do you wish to have an
attorney present for this interview?"

"No, I don't."

"You are waiving your right to an attorney?"

"It's Richard's poker night. I try not to call him on his poker
night. He gets grouchy."

"What were you doing today at Harmon High?"

"I'm a fan of Sergeant Thurman. I like to watch him work."

Crowley scowled. "This is no laughing matter."

"Neither is Sergeant Thurman."

"Mr. Hastings, did you observe the shooting this afternoon at
Harmon High?"

"Yes, I did."

"Can you tell us what happened in your own words?"

"I've never understood that expression.Who else's words would
I be using?"

"You're taking this awfully lightly."

Yes, I was, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was having a bullet
whistle over my head. Maybe it was seeing someone shot dead in
front of me.

But I think it was the horrifying realization that in a moment of
crisis I had instinctively acted bravely in the face of danger, had
exposed myself to harm rather than covered my head. It was clearly
a moment of weakness, immediately suppressed, never to happen
again, but it left me giddy with a light-headed sense of foolhardiness
such as I had never experienced before, with the possible exception
of the time I lost my mind years ago in Atlantic City when everyone
was trying to kill me. The situation was hardly parallel. The danger
here had been sudden, instant, and brought on by myself. Nonetheless, I was still riding the high.

"Sorry," I said. "What's the question again?"

"Just tell us what happened at Harmon High."

"Around four fifteen I saw Sergeant Thurman and Martin
Kessler come out the front door."

"What were you doing there?"

"Watching Sergeant Thurman and Martin Kessler come out
the door."

Crowley scowled. " Why were you there?"

"To see if anyone took an interest in Martin Kessler."

"Are you on the police force?"

"You know I'm not"

"Yes, I do. I wondered if you were aware of it."

"I'm not sure your sarcasm will show in the transcript." I
looked at the stenographer. "Is there any way to indicate the detective is being facetious?"

"Why don't you leave us to sort out the transcript and confine
yourself to answering the questions?" Crowley said.

I shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat." I swear, I'm usually
cooperative. It was just one of those things.

"Can you please tell us what you saw and did with regard to
Martin Kessler at Harmon High?"

"Kessler came out the front door of the school. Sergeant
Thurman was with him." I saw no reason to mention any other
teachers, no matter how perky-breasted they might be. "A man
approached Kessler with a gun. I pushed Martin Kessler down.
Sergeant Thurman shot the man dead"

"You didn't trip and fall?"

"Is that what Thurman says?"

"It's not true?"

"Yeah. I fell down. On broken pavement. I may sue the City of
New York"

"The man who was shot-had you ever seen that elan before?"

"Yes, I had."

"When was that?"

"In the lobby of Victor Marsden's apartment building."

"Was that man your client?"

"Who? Victor Marsden?"

"No. The man with Victor Marsden. The man who was shot
dead this afternoon. Was he your client?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

"Why not?"

"If I do, you're going to ask me another."

"That's not legal grounds."

"What about my right to remain silent?"

"You gave up the right to remain silent."

"Now I want it back again."

"You can't remain selectively silent. You either talk or you don't."

"All right, I don't."

"You already talked."

"Yes, and now I'm done. Unless you'd like to try another
topic." I cocked my head. "How about them Mets?"

I can't be sure, but I think the stenographer had a narrow escape
from a giggle.

Crowley flipped his notebook open, checked a page. "You
know a man named Frankie Delgado?"

"Who?"

"Frankie Delgado. Do you know him?"

"I don't know."

Crowley frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know? You
either know him or you don't."

"People don't always give their right name."

"Have you met anyone who gave the name Frankie Delgado?"

I nodded approvingly. "Good work, detective. Most people
would be put off by that evasion, think it meant I might have
known the man under a different naive. You realized what I said
could also mean that he gave me the name Frankie Delgado, but I
had no way of knowing if it was true."

"I'm not sure I realized all that," Crowley said, "but I certainly
would like an answer."

"What's the question?"

"Do you know a man named Frankie Delgado?"

"Who's Frankie Delgado?"

"Frankie Delgado was the man shot dead this afternoon in
front of Harmon High."

"How did you get his name?"

"He was carrying a wallet."

"Be careful of jumping at conclusions, detective. It's easy to get
phony IDs."

"Are you suggesting his name isn't Frankie Delgado? What
name did he give you?"

"He didn't give me a name. 11

"No?"

"No. My parents did. Stanley. After a great-uncle on my
mother's side" I snuck a look at Crowley, to see if he might be
weighing the consequences of punching a subject under interrogation in the presence of a stenographer.

He ignored my remark. "Did your client tell you his name was
Frankie Delgado?"

I was about to make another wiseass answer when it dawned
on me that Detective Crowley wasn't as pissed off as he ought to
be. It didn't take a genius to know why. I'd told him I was done
talking. He'd trotted out the name Frankie Delgado to goad me
into speech. He was happy to have me clown around. Maybe I'd
slip and actually say something.

"Where'd you hear the name Frankie Delgado?" Crowley
persisted.

I suppressed the impulse to tell Crowley I'd heard it from him,
then shut the hell up before I hung myself from my cocky little
jockstrap.

THIS TIME ALICE WAS SCARED. "My god, you could have been killed!"

"I'm fine."

"Yeah, this time. What about next time?"

"There won't be a next time."

"Stanley, I know you. You have an addictive personality."

"No, I don't."

"Oh? What about your latter and scones?"

She had me there. I practically live in the Silver Moon Bakery,
which has to be the best thing that ever happened to our neighborhood. I have a cranberry scone every morning and a raisin bran
muffin for lunch. The fact Alice does, too, in no way deters her
from kidding me about it.

"You did something dangerous. And you got away with it. It
doesn't mean you'll get away with it again"

"I know."

"You're all keyed up and you think you're Superman."

"I don't think I'm Superman."

"You knocked a guy down."

"I knocked a guy down"

"And saved his life."

I waggled my hand. "Awww."

"See?" Alice said. "You throw modest in with it, it's a recipe for
disaster. Here you are, an elderly-"

"Elderly?"

"Middle-aged geezer acting like a comic book hero. Of course
it's going to go to your head"

"Nothing's going to my head"

"No kidding"

The TV came back from commercial. Alice snapped it off mute.

The heading read: SHOOTOUT ON THE UPPER WEST
SIDE.

"An armed plan was shot dead at a public high school after
firing his weapon at a police officer. Sergeant Thurman of the
NYP1) had been assigned to a schoolteacher believed to be in
danger. It was a good thing he was."

The news cut to a close-up of Thurman with a microphone
shoved in his face by an on-camera reporter. "We came out the
front door of Harmon High and I observed the perpetrator aiming
a weapon at the protectee"

"What happened then?"

"A civilian panicked and tripped. I was lucky he didn't knock
me over.

"What did you do?"

"Pulled my gun and shot the perpetrator."

"Shot him dead?"

"That's right"

"Why was it necessary to use such deadly force?"

"He discharged his gun. As soon as he fired, I fired. Luckily,
my aini is better."

Alice muted the volume again. "Did you trip?"

"No, I did not."

"I'd like it better if you tripped."

"I'm sure you would."

"Don't go getting brave on me. I don't need you getting brave
on nie.

"Never fear"

"See?You even sound cocky saying that. Look, I don't mean to
be a wet blanket.You shouldn't get bawled out for saving the guy's
life. But it's scary, Stanley. I don't want anything to happen to you"

"Nothing's going to happen to me. Look, the police weren't
taking this seriously before. They'll take it seriously now."

"What do you mean, take it seriously? They had an officer
on hire"

"Yeah, Sergeant Thurman"

"He did his job."

"He did his job because I coughed and said, `Excuse nle, Sergeant, but there's a nian with a gun over here."'

"You mean you tripped?"

"Yeah, right. Anyway, I think we can count on the police to
keep Martin Kessler on ice for a while. Not to mention that Sergeant Thurman bumped off Hitman Number 2"

"That's right. He did."

"So what are you afraid of?"

Alice shrugged.

"Hitman Number 3."

RICHARD WAS OFFENDED. "You didn't call me"

"You were playing poker."

"I'd have come."

"I didn't want to bother you"

"Bother nme?"

"Particularly after last tinge"

"That was a stray bullet. This is a little different. Someone was
shot dead."

"But it wasn't a murder."

"What?"

"It was, and I think Sergeant Thurman will bear me out on this,
self-defense. The pitman fired first. I don't think there's any way
you could call it a murder"

"I don't care if you call it a barn dance, you should have called."

"You were very specific. Not just any gunshot. Call you if it's a
murder. I have to admit it was borderline. But, seeing as how I was a witness and all, I'd have to tip the scales in Sergeant Thurman's
direction."

"So Thurman killed the hitman?"

"That he did."

"Bang, over, finished."

"From his point of view."

"Thurman's?"

"The hitman's."

"Uh-huh. So, that's taken care of for the time being?"

"Yes, it is."

"Good. Because I was very worried about you. Very worried.
You're my best investigator. I depend on you."

"I'm flattered."

"So, with all that going on," Richard said, casually, "did you
have time to get out to Ocean Parkway?"

I suppressed a smile. Richard had been dying to ask me about
the Location of Accident photos but felt obliged to feign at least a
token interest in the shooting first.

I snapped open my briefcase, took out a packet of photos, threw
it on Richard's desk.

He picked them up, flipped through them. "Oh, my god! These
are fantastic! Fantastic! I was afraid they'd rush out there and fix
the street. Not that it would lessen the liability, but then we
wouldn't have pictures. You cannot believe the difference a good
visual can make in a jury's award."