16 Hitman (7 page)

"You file a zillion trip-and-falls."

"Sure. They're automatic. They're either settled or dropped. It's
a no-lose situation. No one's gonna fault you for filing a trip-andfall that doesn't pan out. Medical malpractice is something else.You
get a reputation for filing bogus malpractice claims, it hurts your
credibility. I don't want to lose in court. I want opposing counsel
to know if I take it, it's sound."

"Are you saying you won't do a medical malpractice?"

"Bring me something to go on. But the unsubstantiated word
of the plaintiff? No way."

"There is a dead kid involved."

"Yeah. And the jurors will be sobbing. And probably the defense attorney. And the doctor may work up a tear. It's a really
sad situation. Too bad these things happen. Sometimes it's just
unavoidable. Stanley, you wanna pursue this, let me give you some
advice"

"What's that?"

"Get a law degree"

MA(AULLIF'S ATTITUDE HAI) CHANGED. It was subtle, but it was
there. Oh, he was still his same old sarcastic self, but I could tell he
was taking the matter seriously. I wondered why.

"So," he said. "You got a third name for me?"

"Not just yet."

"Too bad. I'm having such fun doing your work, I barely have
time to think about mine."

"I assume you were able to trace the name?"

"Oh, you assume that, do you?"

I shrugged."I doubt if you'd be acting like such an asshole if you
had to admit you couldn't do it."

MacAullif ignored the jibe. "Where did you get this name?"

"Victor Marsden?"

"No, Pinocchio. Hey, not bad. I pulled that off the top of my
head, but that's the one whose nose grows, right? When he lies."

"I didn't lie to you, MacAullif."

"You didn't tell me the truth, either."

"What do you mean?"

"Didn't you make Victor Marsden out to be the lamb to the
slaughter? Wasn't that the impression I got?"

"I think I was very clear not to-"

"Oh, bullshit! We both know what you were very clear about.
Not making a definite statement that would put yourself on the
hook. But you know and I know you indicated this Victor
Marsden would be the whackee, not the whacker"

"You got a problem with that?"

"Only if it isn't true."

"MacAullif-"

"You give nie one name. It turns out to be bullshit. Then you
give nie the real name. Only you can't just give ine the real name,
you have to wrap it in some fine layers of bullshit so it looks like
something else."

I don't know what you're talking about."

"Do you know who Victor Marsden is?"

"No. That's why I asked you to check hint out."

"Nice guy. Sends nie right into it without any warning."

"Right into what?"

"Victor Marsden is connected to the mob."

"What!"

"With ties to Tony Fusilli.With priors dating back to 1990. For
everything from assault and battery to attempted murder." My
mouth fell open. "You mean ... ?"

"There's every indication Victor Marsden is a button man for
the mob"

I snapped my fingers. "Button man."

"What?"

"Nothing"

"So, you're right. The guy's a hitman. Why you had me run a
schoolteacher first is beyond me. I don't know why you had to dance around the subject so much, but there you are. Your instincts
are absolutely right. This is a bad dude.You should stay away."

I took a breath. "Listen, MacAullif."

He put up his hand. "No. You listen. I've listened entirely too
much already, and I don't like what I've heard. So you listen to me.
I don't know what kind of a game you're running, and I don't
want to know. But I do know this: Victor Marsden is not the kind
of guy you want to be involved with. Victor Marsden is pond
scum. Victor Marsden is living poison. Victor Marsden is the kiss
of death. If you've been approached by Victor Marsden to do anything short of buying Girl Scout cookies, say no. I would even pass
on the cookies. Get this guy out of your life as fast as is humanly
possible. And, please, under no circumstances, ever mention him
to me again. Is that clear?"

It was clear. Totally inaccurate, but clear. There was no way to
tell MacAullif he had everything upside down. Even if he hadn't
expressly forbidden me to do it. There was no hypothetical in the
world that could even come close.

I wasn't involved with Victor Marsden. Not directly. Because
Victor Marsden wasn't the hitman.Victor Marsden was the mark,
the hittee, the intended victim. The innocent, candy-ass schoolteacher MacAullif thought I was yanking his chain about was the
actual hitman.

And I was no closer than ever to knowing whether I should take
this case. Which I'd already taken. What MacAullif had told me
only deepened my moral dilemma. The person Kessler intended to
kill was himself a heartless killer. Did that make him any less worthy
of being kept alive? One would think it would, in the general
scheme of things. Or, in other words, should I really risk what I was
risking to save his life?

What was I risking to save his life? Would he even know I was
saving it? Or would he assume, not knowing me, that I was on the
other side? That I, like Kessler, had been hired to take him out? While Kessler might be up to dealing with such happenstance, I
sure wasn't. And wouldn't it be ironic to be killed by the man I was
trying to protect?

Should I quit?

Maybe so, but how? I didn't have Kessler's phone number. Even
if I did, he wasn't home, he was in class. He probably had a cell
phone, but, of course, I didn't have the number. That would have
been too convenient. So, if I was going to quit, I'd have to do it in
person. And how could I do it in person when I wasn't supposed
to contact him.

I had no idea. But I had to figure it out fast.

I was tailing him at four fifteen.

HE STOOD ME UP. WHICH would have been bad enough even if
Alice hadn't predicted it. Since she had, it was the absolute worst.
Not only was someone getting whacked, but my wife was going to
blame me for it.

The one saving grace was that the whackee was a less than
desirable person. This was no Boy Scout leader, model citizen,
employee of the month. This was a button man. A hitter, a shooter,
a shitter. A whacker. Plus other dubious designations too numerous
to mention. No one was going to weep because Victor Marsden
sleeps with the fishes.

That thought led to another. Where would the hit go down? I
knew it wouldn't be Victor's apartment. Kessler had assured me that
much. And, while I tended to take his assertions with a grain of salt,
particularly since he'd stood me up, that was one I figured I could
take to the bank. His point about the doorman seeing him tipped
the scale. Self-interest is a big motivator. The hit wouldn't go down at home. Where would it, I wondered, as four o'clock gave way to
four thirty, too long to blame the no-show on any traffic jam, seeme-after-class, PTA meeting, or whatever. No, I'd been stood up
good and proper.

I was contemplating all that when my beeper went off. I have
a cell phone, but Wendy/Janet doesn't have the number, because I
won't give it to her. She beeps me, same as ever. But I have the
phone to call in.

I did, and Wendy/Janet told me to call MacAullif.

That couldn't be good.

It wasn't.

"You know the deep shit you were trying to get out of?"
MacAullif said.

"Yeah?"

"You're in it."

"Don't tell me."

"Got a homicide. East Eighty-ninth Street"

"Shit."

"Name of Victor Marsden. Small-time button man for the
mob. Ordinarily, no one would give a shit about a guy like that
getting whacked. Except ..

"Aw, hell."

"I'm asking about him just this morning. Poor timing, don't
you think?"

"MacAullif-"

"A Detective Crowley caught the case.Young hotshot, looking
to make a name for himself. No respect for his elders, you know
what I mean?"

"What did you tell him?"

"I got the name out of a fortune cookie. I took my wife to this
Chinese restaurant, at the end of the meal the waitress comes
around-"

"MacAullif."

"I gotta bring you in. I hate it like hell, but I got no choice. I
got caught with my hand in the cookie jar. Only it's your hand.
The fact you were trying to prevent this will be a mitigating circumstance."

"Oh, hell."

"So I'm bringing you in. Where are you?"

"At my office."

"I'll come to you. Be downstairs in ten minutes."

Oh, my god! This was worse than Alice saying I told you so.
This was Alice slipping me packs of cigarettes to barter with the
other inmates for my safety.

I whipped out my cell phone, called Richard.

"Rosenberg and Stone," Wendy/Janet said.

"It's Stanley. Get me Richard."

"He's on another line. Can I take a message?"

"No, you can't. It's an emergency. Get him now."

She didn't argue that much. I guess I sounded frantic.

Richard came on the line a moment later. "This better be damn
important"

"The hitman did it."

"Killed the mark?"

`Yup:

"Oops."

"Is that your professional opinion?"

"Are there any details I should know?"

"MacAullif investigated the decedent at my request just this
morning.

"Clops.

"And the young stud in charge of the case leaned on MacAullif
to bring me in."

"Yikes."

"Do I need an attorney?"

"You might. Let me think if I know one."

"Richard-"

"I'm not a criminal attorney."

"I thought you liked homicide cases."

"I like representing defendants. Not pain-in-the-ass, meddling
incompetents. I got a client on the other line.You get charged with
this thing, give me a call."

A black sedan fishtailed to a stop as close to my feet as it could
come without actually running them over. I was about to curse
out the driver when MacAullif growled, "Hop in."

I climbed into the passenger seat of the unmarked police car.
MacAullif almost let me close the door before he took off.

I righted myself, said, "Where we going?"

"Crime scene."

"How come?"

"Detective Crowley wants to talk to you."

"You turned me in?"

"I had to tell what I knew."

"You turned me in?"

"If you want to think of it that way."

"You turned me in?"

"All right, I turned you in. What was I supposed to do, make
up some bullshit story why I wanted to know about the guy?"

"Works for me."

"Of course it works for you.You did it to begin with."

"I told you exactly what I wanted."

"You told me he was a hitman"

"I told you he was the mark. You told me he was a hitman."

"You're quibbling over words."

"Yeah. The words are killer and victim"

MacAullif swerved around a taxi, cursed at the driver. "Let me
see if I've got this straight. Your story now is you knew this guy
was going to get killed?"

"That's not what I said"

"Then what's this killer and mark bullshit?"

I said nothing, let MacAullif concentrate on his driving. He cut
off a bus.

"When you answer questions for this hotshot detective, try to
remember he's not me. If you feed him your usual bullshit, he's apt
to lock you up."

"Thanks for the tip."

MacAullif pulled up in front of the apartment building, where
an inordinate number of police cars seemed to be parked. We got
out of the car, and he prodded me into the lobby as if I was his
collar.

Two uniformed cops hanging out by the front desk seemed to
get that idea.

"Who's the perp?" the chubbier one said.

I wanted to fix him with a steely gaze but figured I'd just come
off like an ex-con.

MacAullif ignored the comment. "Where's Detective
Crowley?"

The thinner uniform jerked his thumb. "Up at the crime scene."

The elevator dinged and two men got off. One was Detective
Crowley. I'd never seen him before, but I knew at a glance. He had
plainclothes cop written all over him. And the look he gave
MacAullif was far from impersonal. It was almost as bad as the glare
he gave me.

The guy with him was the doorman who'd been on last night.
His eyes widened, his mouth fell open, and he pointed his finger.

"That's him!" he said. "That's Rollo Tomassi!"

CROWLEY TOOK ME DOWNTOWN. I wasn't exactly under arrest, but I
wasn't exactly not under arrest, either. In British detective fiction, I
would be "assisting the police with their inquiries." The way I understand it, the alternative to assisting the police with their inquiries is not
assisting the police with their inquiries while locked in a cell.

I intended to talk. If that violated detective-client privilege, that
was too damn bad. Kessler hadn't leveled with me. He had used me
for his own entertainment. Why, I had no idea. But the guy had
never wanted me to stop him at all. And I hadn't done it. Unless
my phone call from the front desk had done the trick last night,
buying the mark a whopping twenty extra hours of life, until he
decided to outfox me this afternoon.

Not that it had taken much. Considering, as Alice had pointed
out, that the guy was picking nie up, instead of the other way
around, my effectiveness as a deterrent actually hinged entirely on
nothing more binding than Kessler's promise not to do it.

In killing the mark, Kessler had broken his word. And how was
I to have prevented that? Should I have disobeyed his orders, staked
out his school, followed him from there to my office to make sure
he actually came? Maybe that was the leap of logic I should have
taken. That if I was to protect Kessler from himself, I would have
to disobey his orders. As I had last night when I hadn't taken the
hint to go back the office. That had worked. Should I have learned
from that? Should I have said, screw the assignment, I'm acting on
my own? The thoughts tormented me.