Too Darn Hot (16 page)

TWENTY-TWO

T
here’s only one thing worse than sitting in an emergency waiting room and that’s sitting in it with Jim Duryea. The man never stopped flapping his jaw. I wasn’t much of a gabber anyway and I sure didn’t feel like yapping now.

Finally I couldn’t take it anymore. “Jim, would ya put a cork in it, please?”

He looked at me like I’d spit in his face.

“Look, I don’t mean to hurt yer feelings, but I’m just not in the mood to talk. I’m real worried about Dolores.”

“I was trying to take your mind off it.”

“That’s nice of ya. But it’s not workin.”

“I’m worried, too.”

“I appreciate that. I do. But I wanna sit here, quiet. It’s noisy enough. I need to think.”

“Do you wish me to leave?”

“I want ya to do whatever ya want.”

“Well, I do have an appointment at seven.”

“Seven?” I looked up at the big clock on the wall. It was six-thirty. Johnny. I didn’t wanna stand him up but I didn’t think I should leave even long enough to explain to him. “Jim, could ya do me a big favor?”

“I will if I can.”

“Could ya go to John’s on Bleecker and leave a note with the owner for my boyfriend, Johnny, and tell him where I am.”

“All right. And you’ll be fine alone here? I mean there are some pretty strange-looking characters sitting around.”

There were. “I’ll be okay. Ya seem to forget what I do for a livin.”

“I never forget that, Faye.” He stood up. “I’ll try to find Detective Lake at John’s.”

It didn’t get past me that Duryea knew Johnny was a detective and that his last name was Lake. And I knew that it was Dolores who told him.

“Thanks, Jim. You’re a peach.”

His face reddened a little as we said goodbye.

I had a bad feeling about Dolores. Even though nobody knew how old she was, she was no spring chicken. She coulda had a heart attack or a stroke. A stroke was most likely since women hardly ever had heart attacks. And what if she died? She never talked about her past so I didn’t know if she had any relatives or what her wishes were about burial.

Ah, no. I had to stop thinking like that. Dolores wasn’t gonna die. The blood hadda be from hitting her head. Maybe she’d only fainted from something. Not from lack of food, that was one thing I knew.

I saw a nurse I’d talked to earlier so I got up and walked over to her.

“I was looking for you,” she said.

“Is she all right?”

“Fortunately, the bullet went in just below her shoulder.”

“Bullet?”

“Didn’t you know?”

“No. She was lyin facedown and I couldn’t see her cause she was surrounded by all the emergency people. I thought maybe she’d had a stroke.”

“She was shot.”

“But there was so little blood.”

“I’m told she fell onto a slipper so that must’ve stanched the flow.”

I pictured Dolores’s big fluffy slippers, now red with her blood.

“At any rate, she’s going to be fine. They’ve taken her into surgery to remove the bullet and then she’ll be in recovery for several hours. So I suggest you go home because you won’t be able to see her until late tonight or tomorrow morning.”

“Have the police been notified?”

“Yes, of course. I understand you’re a neighbor of Mrs. Sidney’s?”

“Yes.”

“I think you’d better go home. The police will want to talk to you.”

I nodded. “How will I know she’s all right?”

“Call in a few hours.”

“Okay. Thanks.”

I looked at the clock. Quarter to seven. Maybe I could get to John’s before Johnny got the note.

On the way over I was racking my brain for a reason anybody would shoot Dolores. A burglary gone bad. But on a Sunday in broad daylight? Didn’t seem logical. Also her place didn’t look like it’d been tossed. I didn’t know anything about her past. Maybe the shooting had something to do with that. Somebody with a long-running beef. Dolores Sidney, the swindler? Grifter? Thief? Murderess? I couldn’t see it.

So what
had
happened? I kept dodging the thought poking up its ugly head. Finally I had to give in. Did it have anything to do with me? That didn’t make sense, either, but it wouldn’t be the first time a suspect in a case had tracked me down. And then what? Shot at Dolores cause I wasn’t home? There was no use trying to figure this thing. The main point right then was that Dolores was gonna be okay.

When I got to John’s, it was starting to get crowded, customers sitting at the wooden tables and chairs or near the back of the room in wooden booths. In the middle of it all was a big brick oven where their famous pizzas cooked, over a coal fire. I looked around but Johnny wasn’t there. I saw Red Conte, the manager, at the back of the main room. I waved to him and he waved back as I waded through the tables in his direction.

“Hey, Faye, how ya doin?”

“Okay.”

Red always wore a tie even if he had an apron on, and today it was the usual type. Dancing girls in Hawaiian skirts with leis around their necks. Very colorful and nothing offensive. Except maybe the tie itself.

He was a big guy with a shock of red hair and huge shoulders holding up suspenders over a dark blue shirt. Red gave me a kiss on the cheek.

“Long time no see.”

“Yeah. I’ve been busy. Have ya seen Johnny?”

“Funny ya should ask. A weird guy left a note for him.”

“Yeah, I know. I sent him here.” I had a hard time keeping a straight face about Red calling Jim weird.

“I got the note right here.” He reached into a pant pocket and pulled it out, handing it to me. “I guess ya can deliver it in person.”

We shot the breeze for a few more minutes and then I went outside to wait for Johnny. Forget about frying an egg on the sidewalk. Tonight you could do a whole chicken. Johnny was late by fifteen minutes.

I told him everything. But we decided to eat before going back to my building and a possible grilling. Dealing with most coppers was done better on a full stomach.

Red waved us to a wooden booth in the back, shaking hands with Johnny before we sat down. We didn’t have to tell our waiter what we wanted cause we always had the same pizza: mushrooms on one side, sausage on the other. We also ordered two beers, which came almost immediately.

“You look real nice, Faye.”

“Thanks. I don’t know how I could look anything but a mess cause I’ve been runnin around and then to come home to Dolores on the floor . . . well, it’s been some day.”

“You still look nice.”

I smiled at him. “You do, too.”

We looked in each other’s eyes for a few seconds and then I could see the blush creeping up his neck. I looked away so he wouldn’t be uncomfortable.

“How was
your
day?” I asked.

“Pretty dull.”

“How come?”

“I wasn’t with you.”

“Ah, Johnny. What a sweet thing to say.”

“It’s only the truth.”

“I missed you, too.” My truth was I hadn’t had time to miss him, but I knew if I’d had time, I
woulda
missed him.

Our pizza arrived, unlike any other pizza in town. That brick oven made it aces. We dug right in.

There were still little knots of people across the street from my building. I waved to some of them. A uniformed cop stood in front of the outside door to my building.

“Sorry, you can’t come in here.”

“I live here.”

“Can you prove that?”

“She lives here,” Johnny said. He took out his shield.

“Oh, okay. Sorry, sir.”

“That’s all right. You were doing your job.”

“Yes, sir.”

We went in. The door to Dolores’s apartment was open. I saw two detectives from the Sixth on Tenth Street standing in her living room. I didn’t know em well, but we’d met.

“Detective Davis, hello,” I said.

“Who’re you?”

He knew who I was, the mug who looked like a bread that came out of the oven too soon, but he liked to play this game. He had hooded blue eyes, a nose that’d been broken a few times, and a mouth that was made to hold the smoke that was always in it. His brown suit was shiny and was probably made during the First War.

“Faye Quick. I’m a PI.”

He laughed. “Everybody wants to play detective. Must be all those radio shows.”

Detective Ryan said, “She’s the broad who lives across the hall.”

I could hear Johnny breathing hard. It was one thing to step in with the uniform outside on the door, but he knew I wouldn’t want him to do it here.

“That right.”

“Yeah, she’s the neighbor found the vic.” Ryan was younger than Davis. He had a red face like he’d already become the drunk he was destined to be.

“Come on in,” Davis said.

I stepped into the living room. And Johnny did, too.

“Who’re you?”

Johnny flipped open the holder with his shield.

“This ain’t your turf.”

“He’s with me,” I said.

“Oh, yeah? Well, it don’t matter. Wait in the hall, Lake.”

There was nothing Johnny could do. Ryan kicked the door shut.

“So tell me about findin Mrs. Sidney,” Davis said.

I did.

“How do I know you didn’t shoot her yourself?”

“Don’t start that, Detective.”

“What’d ya say?”

“I’m not the perp and you know it.”

“I don’t know nothin yet. Go on with yer story.”

“The ambulance came and that was that. Story’s over.”

“Where’d ya go then?” Ryan asked.

“To the hospital.”

“In the meat wagon?”

“No. I walked.”

“Why?”

“Why did I walk? To get there before the ambulance.” I didn’t like calling it a meat wagon.

“And did ya?” Davis said.

I nodded.

“Ya got any idea why somebody would shoot the old lady?”

That threw me for a sec cause I didn’t think of Dolores as an old lady. Old lady was another type of person. “I don’t.” I wasn’t bringing myself into this unless I had to, especially with this meathead.

“Ya know her good?”

“Yeah.”

“Ya know her friends?”

“Some.”

“What about family?”

“I don’t know.”

“What don’t ya know?”

“I don’t know if she has any.”

“Oh, real chummy, were ya?” The cigarette kept bobbing in his mouth when he talked.

“She never mentioned any family. Dolores asks a lotta questions, but doesn’t talk about her past.”

Davis looked at his notepad. “Ya know where Mr. Sidney is?”

“No.”

“
Is
there a Mr. Sidney?”

“I guess there was.”

“And now?”

“Haven’t the vaguest.”

“Kids. She have any? Any come to visit?”

“I never met any.”

“Ya sure ya even know this lady, Quick?”

I buttoned up.

“What about friends. Ya said ya knew some.”

“Yeah.”

“Names.” Ryan held a runty pencil over his notebook.

“Eve Raines, Evelyn Granger, Ella Carnovsky.”

“Why do they all have first names startin with E?”

“Ask their mothers.”

“Don’t crack wise, Quick.”

“How should I know why they have first names startin with E?”

Ryan said, “Sounds like a ring to me, Davis.”

“Yeah. They Americans?”

“Far as I know.”

“Could be spies,” Ryan said.

“Yeah. They spies, Quick?”

This was getting ridic. “They’re little old ladies like ya said Dolores is,” I said.

“Even so. Ryan, find those dames.”

“Ya got addresses for them?”

“No.”

“Who else visited her?”

I wasn’t getting anyone else involved in this stupidity. I was sorry I’d given him names. None of those girls had anything to do with shooting Dolores.

“I don’t know who else. I gave ya what I know.”

“You on a case now?”

I had to tell the truth. “Yeah.”

“What case?”

“Ya know I can’t talk about it.”

“A couple a nights in the cooler could change that.”

He was bluffing. “So book me.”

“You’re obstructin the law.”

“I’m protectin my client.”

“Ah, you private dicks turn my stomach.”

I had plenty a answers to that, but I kept em to myself.

“I think ya know more than yer tellin,” Davis said.

“I’ve been cooperative, given ya names, what more do ya want?”

“I want to know about yer case. It might have somethin to do with this shootin.”

“That’s baloney.” I wondered how Davis had gotten so smart all of a sudden. I didn’t know for sure Dolores had been shot cause of me, but I wasn’t ruling it out.

“Don’t leave town.”

“I can’t believe ya said that. Must be all those radio shows yer listenin to.”

“Get outta here.”

I turned to go and the door opened. A man I didn’t know came in.

“Who’re you?” Davis said.

“I’m Morris Sidney. Dolores is my mother.”

TWENTY-THREE

M
orris Sidney was what Dolores would call a schlemiel. I’d seen the types she’d called this as they walked by the stoop. I decided Morris took after his father.

He was skinny and wore a paint-stained white shirt, the sleeves rolled up, no tie. His gray pants were wrinkled and baggy and held up with a worn black belt. His black clod-hoppers were cracked and dirty.

I figured he was somewhere between thirty-five and fortyfive, with a hairline that started on the top of his head and only wisps of what had been showing above his ears.

Droopy brown eyes, a crooked nose, and a mouth you could hardly make out. Above it, a pencil mustache needing a trim completed the picture. All in all Morris Sidney was a look-alike for a starving rodent.

Davis said, “You know what happened to yer mother?”

“Not exactly. I just came from the hospital and they told me she’d been shot.”

“How’d ya know to go to the hospital?” I said.

“Shut yer hole,” Ryan said. “So, Morris, how’d ya know to go to the hospital?”

“A neighbor called me.” He pulled a crumpled pack of Raleighs and a small box of matches out of a pocket, then shoved a smoke in his mouth and lit it.

“What’s the update on your mother’s condition,” I asked.

“She was in intensive care when I was there. They wouldn’t let me see her.”

“Stop jawin, you two. Was the neighbor who called ya yers or yer mother’s?”

“My mother’s. Mrs. Kilbride.”

“I know her,” I said.

The detectives ignored me.

“She phoned ya?”

“Told me my mother was in St. Vincent’s.”

“How’d she happen to have yer phone number?”

“Ya got me.” He shrugged.

“I know Ethel Kilbride. I can find out,” I said.

“No, thanks,” Davis said.

I was really getting cheesed off by this attitude. It was clear Davis and Ryan were bent on locking me out. Maybe I wouldn’t get help from them, but they couldn’t keep me from running my own investigation.

“Where do ya live, Morris?” Davis asked.

“The Bronx.”

“Whaddaya do there?”

He looked at the detectives, then at me.

“I live there.”

Davis squeezed his lips so tight the skin around them turned white.

“What do ya do there to make a livin?”

“Who says I make a living?”

“How do ya eat, Morris?”

He smiled and I could hear him saying something like:
With a fork.
But he resisted.

“You mean where do I get money?”

“Right.”

“I don’t see why that’s your business. I came here because I wanted to see what happened to my mother’s apartment and what anyone knew, not to be asked a lot of dumb questions about my life.”

Hooray for you, Morris.

“Did it ever occur to ya that ya might be a suspect?” Davis said.

“No, it never did.”

“Right now yer number one on the list.”

“I always wanted to be number one on some list.”

“You got a smart mouth, Morris.”

“Thanks.”

“Ya wanna answer questions here or at the precinct?”

“You sound like somebody on a radio show,” Morris said. “If we were uptown you’d probably say,
I’m taking you downtown.
But we’re already downtown so you can’t say that.”

“Yer peevin me, Morris.”

“Yeah? The feeling is mutual. This is my mother’s place and she was shot here. I want some answers.”

Maybe I’d misjudged Morris. He might look like a schlemiel, but he wasn’t acting like one.

Davis and Ryan looked at each other. I could tell they weren’t sure what to do next.

Morris turned to me. “What’s your name?”

I told him.

“Oh, you’re her neighbor, aren’t you?”

“I am.”

“She likes you a lot.”

“I like her a lot.”

“She probably never told you about me.”

“Fraid not.”

He waved a hand at me. “Nah. Don’t worry about it. She never talks about me or my brother.”

“You have a brother?”

“Larry. He lives in California.”

Davis said, “Are you two finished?”

“Only if you fill me in on what happened here.”

“Somebody came in and shot yer mother.”

“That much I know.”

“It wasn’t a break-in. Seems like she musta known her assailant.”

“Why were they in the bedroom?” I asked.

“Bedroom? My mother’s in her eighties.”

“She is?” I’d always thought seventies. Good for Dolores.

“Eighty-four.”

“You’d never know it.”

“I know. Anyway, we want to know why she was in the bedroom with the person who shot her?”

“
We.
Now it’s
we
?” Ryan said.

“Don’t eschew the question,” Morris said.

“Eschew?”

“Look, I’m running out of patience here. If there wasn’t a break-in, then what was my mother doing in the bedroom with the guy who shot her?”

“Yer just gonna have to ask yer eighty-four-year-old mother, ain’tcha?” He wiggled his eyebrows in a suggestive way.

“You’re disgusting,” Morris said. “Basically what you’re telling me is that you don’t know anything. You know somebody shot my mother, you don’t know why they were in the bedroom or why she was shot at all. That about it?”

“Listen, bub, we just started our investigation. In case ya don’t know, it takes time to gather info, build a case. This is now a crime scene, and it’s time the both of ya left.”

“Just like that,” he said.

“Yeah. But before ya do, I want yer address and phone number, Morris.”

He rattled them off.

“Ya get that, Ryan?”

He handed Morris the notebook. “Write it down here.”

He did.

“All right.” Davis grabbed the notebook outta Morris’s hands. “I’d like to search yer apartment, Quick.”

“Get a warrant.”

“Don’t think I won’t.”

“I think ya will. I’ve got nothin to hide, Detective.” I had a gun but it was licensed and obviously not used to shoot Dolores.

“Get out. We have police work to do here.”

In the hall I introduced Johnny to Morris, and invited them both into my apartment. Inside I offered them drinks. The boys had beer and I had a rum and Coke. We sat in the living room. I filled Johnny in.

“This is a nice place,” Morris said when I was finished.

“Thanks.”

“Same layout as my mother’s, but you’d never know it. She’s a collector.” His smile made him less funny looking. He picked up his pilsner glass and took a sip, white foam clinging to his mustache for just a second before the tiny bubbles popped.

“Morris, can ya think of anyone who’d want to kill yer mother.”

“You think somebody tried to kill her?”

“I think that was the idea.”

“Yeah. Sure. Of course. My father would’ve, but he’s dead.”

“Any living person?”

“No. I really can’t think of anyone.”

Johnny said, “You mean those two blockheads didn’t ask you this?”

“Nope.”

Johnny shook his head.

“Far as I know, my mother has a lot of friends and no enemies. She runs her mouth a lot, but I think that’s harmless.”

“It is,” I said. “I’ve heard her gossip but never say anything vicious.”

I thought it was time to bring myself into this. “It’s occurred to me that Dolores gettin shot might have somethin to do with my case.”

“Why do you think that, Faye?” Johnny asked.

“I don’t know. A feelin.”

“That’s not enough,” he said.

“What case is that?” Morris said.

“You know about the missin soldier and the dead body in his room?” It’d been in all the papers.

“Sure.”

“Someone hired me to find Private Charlie Ladd. This is what I see,” I said. “Somebody came here lookin for me, and Dolores was in the hall, sweepin. She got talkin to the somebody. This happened once before. The somebody asked to use the phone and Dolores bein Dolores let that somebody in.”

“Even if that’s true, Faye, why would he shoot Dolores?”

“That part I haven’t figured out yet.”

“Maybe she got suspicious of the guy,” Morris said.

“That’s possible,” Johnny said.

“I don’t know. She’s pretty open to people. Was she always like that, Morris?”

“Yeah. Talking to people she didn’t know in stores and on the street. It embarrassed me as a kid.”

“That’s what she does now. When she’s on the stoop, people she doesn’t know walk by and she talks to em.”

Johnny said, “Do any of them get annoyed?”

“You wanna be annoyed by Dolores sometimes, but it’s hard.” I got annoyed plenty of times. Strangers didn’t, though. They thought she was charming. And she was, in her way.

“Anything could’ve happened, I guess,” Morris said.

“I think we should go across the street and ask Ethel Kilbride why Dolores gave her Morris’s number.” This didn’t have much to do with the shooting, but I wanted to know why Dolores gave the number to Ethel instead of me. I couldn’t believe how petty I was.

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Johnny asked.

“Ya never know,” I said.

“If you say so,” Johnny said.

We downed our drinks and left the apartment. A uniform stood in front of Dolores’s door. Outside, we marched to one of the brownstones across the street.

Ethel Kilbride lived on the fourth floor. We went up the three flights and knocked on her door. Ethel was a woman of a certain age and I hoped she wasn’t asleep cause it was almost ten.

She asked who was there and I think that mighta been a first. We all opened our doors to a knock, but now, I guessed, the neighborhood people were afraid. I told her and she unlocked and let us in.

It was pretty clear that the décor of Ethel’s apartment was inspired by her trips to India. In her younger days there’d been a slew of them, according to Dolores.

Sitting on the paisley sofa, covered with brightly colored Indian shawls draped over the arms, was Jerome Byington, her neighbor from across the hall.

“How’s Dolores, Faye?” Ethel asked.

“She’s in intensive care. This is her son Morris, and I think you’ve met Johnny Lake.”

Ethel made eyes at both men. It was her MO, like an automatic reflex. She was about four feet eleven with gray hair that she wore in a snood, bangs in front. Dolores didn’t like the bangs cause she thought Ethel was trying to look young.

Jerome was younger than Ethel by about twenty years. He wasn’t married, and there was constant speculation among the neighbors about why that was. He combed his dark hair straight back and was always impeccably dressed. Even though he was only at Ethel’s, he wore a suit and tie. Jerome’s outstanding feature was that he had a deep baritone voice, which was a good thing cause he was a radio announcer. He stood by the couch.

“Sit down. Would you like some refreshments?” Ethel said.

“We just had some, thanks. And we’re not stayin long.”

Jerome said, “Is it true that Dolores was shot?”

I told him it was. “What I want to know, Ethel, is why ya had Morris’s phone number.”

“Oh, she gave it to me a while back in case.”

“Of what?”

“This very kind of thing. But she expected it to be a stroke or something more mundane. I must say, I never heard of a shooting in this neighborhood.”

“I don’t think there’s been one,” Johnny said.

“Well, you’re a detective, I guess you should know.” A tiny giggle.

“Had Dolores been afraid of anything lately?” I asked.

Ethel and Jerome chorused a firm no.

“She didn’t mention any strangers hangin around or anything like that.”

“Oh, no,” Ethel said. “And I think if she’d noticed something like that she would’ve told me. She might’ve even have told you, Faye.”

“Why do ya say
even
?”

“Well, Dolores didn’t like taking advantage of you.”

That made me sad. If she was scared about something I’d hope she woulda let me in on it. Maybe I didn’t give her the chance.

“I guess we have what we need, Ethel.”

When Ethel and I stood, so did the men.

“Is she going to be all right?” Jerome asked.

“The doctor assured me she’d recover,” Morris said.

“Should we send flowers?”

“That’s up to you.”

“We don’t have a room number,” Ethel said. “We’d better wait until she’s out of intensive.”

Byington nodded in agreement.

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Morris. I wish the circumstances were different.”

I was jealous that Dolores had confided in Ethel and not me. How childish could you get?

We said our goodbyes, then went downstairs and across the street where we stood in front of my building.

“You have a long way to go home, Morris?” Johnny asked.

“It takes about an hour. But it’s worth it. I have a big studio in my apartment.”

“A studio?”

“I’m an artist. I paint.”

Some of the paintings Dolores had on her walls must be his.

“Morris, do ya have any idea why Dolores would keep ya a secret from all of us except Ethel?”

“She doesn’t like me.”

That shut me up fast. I’d never heard of a parent who didn’t like their own kid. Except Ma, of course. But she was one of a kind. At least I’d thought so.

Johnny said, “Do you like her?”

“It’s a funny thing. I do. My brother doesn’t, but he’s her firstborn and she likes him. It’s always the way, isn’t it?”

“Maybe she likes ya and ya don’t know it?”

“It’s okay, Faye. I’ve lived with this for over forty years. I’m used to it. I think I’ll call it a night. Nice to meet you both, and I guess I’ll probably see you at the hospital,” he said to me.

Johnny and I watched him walk to Bleecker and turn. When he was out of sight, Johnny said, “That’s sad.”

“Yeah, it is. I don’t think he did it, do you?”

“Nah. But I think you might be on to something with your theory of how it happened. Somebody after you. And I don’t like that.”

I felt all warm inside. “With Dolores gettin shot I haven’t had a chance to find out how the drop went today. Let’s go in and call Claire.”

“Good idea.” He grinned at me.