Ladykiller (14 page)

When Mancuso opened his late-edition morning paper, the sound
from his office was like a soul cast into a fiery hell. He immediately
summoned Blake.

The chief of detectives, his underlings fanned out behind his desk
like centurions, waved the newspaper at the lieutenant.
“Where in God’s name did this come from?” he demanded.
“Can’t say, sir.”
“Well I do know. Dillon filed a report saying Cronen is unfamiliar
with the operation of a .45. No departmental decision was made
about this yet. And I read it in the paper.”
Blake said evenly, “Chief, it’s very clear now that Cronen is not
our killer. Unless we want to charge him with something else, we’ll
have to release him.”
Mancuso threw the paper on his immaculate desk. “You are one
terrific genius, Blake. My God, I’m going to look like a clown to the
commissioner and the mayor.”
“Cronen is not our man, chief. But he may know the real killer.
Dillon proposes that we let Cronen go and put a tail on him. He’ll
lead us to our man and we’ll all be heroes.”
Mancuso’s eyes narrowed in thought. Blake could almost see the
wheels turning.
“Blake, I ought to bounce your ass off this case with a very bad
black mark on your record. And I have a good mind to toss Dillon
clear off the force. He doesn’t belong in the NYPD. He’s an accident
waiting to happen.”
“What about the plan, chief? It makes sense.”
“Christ. All right. But one more fuck-up, one more nasty surprise, and you pukes are out the door.”

Ace, his head hung so low his nose practically scraped the sidewalk,
returned to the Deuce. He stopped in an electronics store and
watched the TV news report on how a low-life scagball, Thomas
Cronen, had been released.Turns out the no-good slug wasn’t a killer
after all.

The small Korean guy who ran the shop came to shoo Ace out.
Then he recognized him. “You the big, bad Ladykiller.” And he
laughed, a deep belly laugh. The other customers joined in. Ace ran
out of the store.

Maybe he should go back to his room, pack, and head for New
Jersey. But he didn’t belong there anymore either.They would laugh at
him, too. His mother had vanished long ago. Even she would laugh at
him now.

Up ahead on the street, Falstaff and his junkie pal were sprawled
out against some steps. Ace slid up to them, preening. “You hear what
the man called me? He called me the Ladykiller. The man, right?”
Noticing his audience was inattentive, Ace sat down beside the old
wino, who moved to make room.Very slowly,Ace leaned closer to the
oblivious, daydreaming Falstaff.

Falstaff nearly had a seizure. He fell off the steps in his haste to
get away from Ace.The junkie didn’t budge.
“Hey, hey, hey,” Falstaff said in confusion. He stumbled to his
unsteady feet.
Ace leapt up, certain now that he had the wino’s attention. “The
man, right? The man called me a killer.What do you think about that,
huh?”
The wino recovered his presence of mind and made a theatrical
bow. “I’m deeply moved.”
“Damn straight,” Ace said. “A killer. With a .45. The fucking
Ladykiller.”
“How thrilling for you,” Falstaff said, wiping his face with a large
dirty handkerchief. Still wary of Ace, he sat back down beside the
junkie.
Ace regarded Falstaff skeptically. “You jiving on me, man?”
“Heaven forfend.”
Ace smiled slyly and slowly reached into the junkie’s pocket. Falstaff was transfixed. Ace slowly pulled out a dirty cloth, which he unwrapped to reveal a used hypodermic needle. The wino stopped
wiping his face and looked at him in fear. Ace very slowly made a fist
around the hypodermic, raising the exposed needle aloft like a knife.
The wino’s attention was riveted to his every move. “I could do him,”
Ace whispered, “like I done all them others.”
Falstaff watched, silent, horrified, fascinated, as Ace stood over
the hapless junkie. Ace froze, his arm raised directly over his prey.
The big man collected his wits and lurched to his feet. “Ace, easy
does it — don’t — please.” Falstaff backed away for a few feet, then he
turned and ran awkwardly.
Ace stayed in his pose for a second, smiling. He dropped the
needle and called after the retreating wino, “But I ain’t got my gun
with me.”
Flushed with the gratifying response to his demonstration of
mastery, Ace set forth down 42nd Street with some of his old swagger. Until Jackie Why jumped out in front of him and ran him into a
doorway.
Holding Ace against the wall by his throat, the pimp reached
down with his other hand and grabbed Ace’s balls and gave them a
cruel squeeze. Ace squeaked like a mouse.
“Today’s Saturday, babes,” Jackie snarled. “You owe me a chunk of
change, I do recall.Where the fuck is it?”
“The cops screwed me up, Jackie,” Ace said in a tight voice. “I can
get it next week. Don’t hurt me.”
“Ordinarily, Ace-hole, I would hurt you real bad.” Jackie released
him. “But on account of you’re a celebrity, I’ll give you the time. One
catch: You owe me double.” He smoothed Ace’s ratty jacket. “But a
vicious killer like you ought to have no problem arranging the green.”
He chortled and left Ace there, holding his crotch.
Ace wheezed up to a pay phone and pumped in a quarter.When
they answered at the crisis center, he asked for Nita Bergstrom.
“You heard?”
Nita was not in a good humor. “Don’t call me here. Are you
totally stupid?”
“I have to see you,” Ace whined.
“Tonight.” She hung up.

For Nita, concentration was virtually impossible. The staff meetings
and client counseling sessions and paperwork all blurred by her.What
did Ace’s release mean? It had been negligent of her not to instruct
Ace in the operation and maintenance of the .45. There simply had
been no time.

Dave Dillon was waiting in the conference room with Dr. Solomon.
The black woman detective was there too.The staff assembled slowly.
“I’m afraid that since the murderer is still at large,” Dr. Solomon
said, “that we must continue to help the police with their investigation. Megan, you are requested to accompany Detective Dillon on
more of his interviews. And Nita, we’ll need you to help Detective
Loud here go through the rest of the files to see if we can find any
mention of the victims.”

“Dr. Solomon, I protest,” Nita said. “We don’t have time to go off
on all these paper chases and Chinese fire drills. Our clients have suffered enough from this charade.”

Dr. Solomon’s resolve withered before her. “Well, um, perhaps
you have a point, Nita. Uh, maybe next week. Or —”
“No way,” Dave said forcefully. “I can get a court order in a half
hour. And the publicity stemming from your reluctance to help us
catch this killer will do your crisis center no good, I assure you.”
“Oh, my,” Dr. Solomon said. “How awkward —”
“Fine,” Nita said. “If the detective won’t admit he was wrong
about the crisis center, we’ll indulge him.”
“Megan, let’s go,” Dave snapped.
The staff trudged out. Nita led Jamie to the file cabinets. “Here. I
don’t have time to help right now. Please leave everything in order,
and please do not lose any of the files.We’ve had some trouble in that
regard with you people.”
“You got a pretty high opinion of yourself, don’t you?” Jamie said.
“Detective, I have no idea what a woman of your obvious intelligence is doing on the police force.” Jamie raised her eyebrows and Nita
watched her appraisingly. She took a deep breath and decided to take a
flyer. “But I wish you’d put your talents to work on Detective Dillon.
He’s making an ass of himself with my vulnerable young friend.”
Jamie, prepared to lash into Nita, brought herself up short.
“What do you know about Dave and me?”
“Only what I see.”
“It’s that obvious?”
“What’s obvious is that you’re a better woman for him than poor
little Megan ever could be. I’d like to see you get him.”
Jamie laughed, partly at the sharpness of Nita’s insight, partly at
how rapidly the social worker had disarmed her. “Girl, I tried every
trick in the book on him. But he’s wrapped up in the case. And when
that’s not going on, he’s wrapped up in your friend. I can’t fight it.
Time to move on.”
“You’re wrong. If she doesn’t suffer a relapse, I believe Megan is
cured. He’ll want a woman to bounce back with.” She gave Jamie a sly,
why-not smile.

“Better buckle up,” Dave said as Megan settled beside him in the unmarked car. He started the car. “We’re meeting a friend of Lydia
Daniels. Another hooker, named Carla. What struck me was that
Lydia was wearing a coat much too long for her the night she died.
Her pimp, a nasty piece of work called Jackie Why, said Lydia had no
other friends, but we asked around and found this woman, Carla. A
tall woman. Carla is no fan of the police, which is one reason you can
be a big help here.”

Megan nodded.“I’ll try.”
The dark blonde hooker sat waiting for them in a booth at a
seedy coffee shop.There were only a few other patrons, hunched over
their coffee or sleeping on the Formica counter. The counterman,
who showed hair sprouting from every orifice and patch of skin, was
busy reading the racing form.

Even seated, Carla was tall. “You got my coat?”
Dave handed her a bundle as he slid along the cracked Naugahyde
seat all the way to the window. “We don’t need this anymore. It’s been
dry-cleaned.” Megan sat down beside Dave.
“Any blood on it?” Carla asked as she ripped open the paper
package.
“Not now,” Dave said. “Dry cleaner did a good job.”
Carla swiped the package onto the floor. “Ick. I don’t need no
coat been doused in blood. Uh-huh. I’ll get me a new coat.”
“You’re aware that she tested positive for HIV?” Dave said.
“Lover, are you paying me for my time?” Carla said. “Time is
money, honey, and Jackie likes us girls to keep up the cash flow.”
Dave grimaced. “Not in the budget, Carla. Sorry. We hoped
you’d help us out because Lydia was your friend.”
“Sweetcakes, the only friend I got is named Jack Daniels,” Carla
said. She started sliding out of the booth. “If you’ll excuse me, I must
be moving along.”
“Sit down,” Dave growled.
“Darling, unless you’re arresting me, I don’t have to talk to you,”
Carla said. “So, toodles.”
“She went to the West Side Crisis Center, didn’t she?” Megan
asked.
Carla jerked a thumb at Megan. “Who’s this, Dillon? Little
Bo-Peep?”
“I’m a caseworker at the crisis center,” Megan said. “Apparently,
this killer is preying on our people. We’ve got to stop him. He killed
Lydia. He killed a friend of mine, and he’ll go on butchering innocent
people if we don’t find him.”
Dave, surprised as much by what Megan said as by the passion
with which she said it, stared at her.
Carla stopped sliding out of the booth. She sat opposite Megan
now. “Did you know her? Lydia?”
“I don’t think I did. We get a lot of clients. And we suspect that
she wore a disguise anyhow. Many people are ashamed to be seen
coming there.”
“She did,” Carla said. “Put on this funny Tina Turner wig. She was
scared that Jackie would find out. Jackie, he don’t like nobody messing with his girls’ heads. If he heard that Lydia was bitching about him
to somebody, that girl would be dead meat.”
Dave started to ask a question, but Megan held up a hand to
silence him. Then she asked exactly what Dave wanted to know:
“What social worker did she see at the crisis center?”
“She never told me. She was real secretive.Whoever, this person
had a real hold over her. Lydia thought this caseworker was God.
Lydia did a lot of her tricks raw — like, without the condom — and
this caseworker told her she was spreading AIDS. Lydia didn’t believe
the test, so she kept accepting the hot shots. Guys like it better, see?”
“Did Lydia say who she was going to meet the night she died,
Carla?” Megan asked.
“She said she had an important date. And it was no trick. That’s
all I know.”
Outside the coffee shop, the hooker moved her tall frame into
the spring afternoon. Dave smiled at Megan in admiration. “You did
great in there.Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” Megan smiled. “It pays to be nice to people.”
“Hey, Megan, I’m crazy about you. I want to be really nice to you.”
“I’d like that.”
“Do you like music?”
She nodded.
“There’s some great music I want you to hear. With me.” He
ripped a piece of paper out of his notebook and scribbled an address.
“Tonight. Eight o’clock. Meet me on this corner and we’ll walk. How
about it? Then I’ll fix you dinner.You like steak?” He seemed boyishly
eager, needy. She couldn’t stop smiling. “Please come.”
Megan accepted the notebook paper and put it in her purse. “I
don’t know,” she said with a small laugh, “I’m not sure I should be
alone with you in your apartment.”
“My cat will chaperone.”
Megan caught herself giggling like a schoolgirl. And as she
walked off into the skipping beat of the avenue, she felt the warmth of
Dave’s eyes on her. She thought it was just as well that she had the afternoon off — she had to register for courses at Hunter — and
wouldn’t encounter Nita.

Ace slunk into the Foxy Lady.Tony Topnut spotted him and bellowed,
“Take cover, it’s the Ladykiller.” A few of the regulars erupted in a
maelstrom of hoots and catcalls. They pelted Ace with bar coasters
and wadded-up napkins.

But Ace found who he was after. Billy Ray Battle sat at the far end
of the bar, wearing his eyepatch and sipping his beer.
“What the fuck do you want, dickbrain?” Billy Ray said.
“Billy Ray,” Ace said, at a loss for words.
“You and me got the distinction of being Ladykiller-for-a-day,”
Billy Ray said. “Ain’t that sweet shit?”
“I need your advice.”
“If I ever cross paths with that Dillon again, I’ll boil his ass for
breakfast.That’s a natural fact.”
“You’re good at handling women,” Ace went on. “Guy like you,
the chicks go nuts. Listen, I got this, like, problem. I been seeing this
real crazy bitch. And I mean, nuts. Fact is, she scares the shit out of
me. She wanted me to do something, and I fucked up. Now she wants
me to meet her tonight.”
“Simple.” Billy Ray burped. “Don’t show up.”
“Not that simple,” Ace said. “I got a real thing for her. I got to go.
I got to hear what she says.”
“You fucking this bitch?”
“Well, uh, sure. But she’s crazy, man. I never can predict what
crazy, wild-ass shit she’ll pull.”
“Let me guess,” Billy Ray said. “You want me to be your bodyguard.That it?”
“Yeah, uh, I guess you could, sort of — Uh-huh.”
“She pretty?”
“Pretty?” Ace said. “She’s a walking wet dream.”
Billy Ray licked his lips. “Good. I like them pretty.”