The Woman In Blue (Nick O'Brien Case Files)

by David G. Johnson

  Without a word, she is up and following me as we hit the front door of the New Yorker. I shove the snarky doorman aside who is looking to block our entrance due to the sludge and grime covering us from hitting the ground. We barge into the lobby like mud-covered madmen. Chauncey, gun drawn, spots us and heads our way. Likely someone called him once the shooting started outside.

  “Nicky, what in the world kind of trouble have you brought here now? Are you all right?”

  “Yeah, Chauncey, just aces, but you got a few bushes out front that are going to need a tree surgeon.”

  “Miss Dillon. Are you all right? Can I see you to your room? Do you need a doctor?” Marjorie looks too stunned to talk.

  “She’s fine, Chauncey, but yeah, we need to get her back to her room and I’m going to need a place to clean up. I’ll fill you in on the details on the way, but you might want to put on a few more house-sneaks walking heavy for the next few days, especially around Miss Dillon, until I can sort out who is behind this and what they want.”

  “You got it, Nicky.” He barks to one of the desk clerks to call the police and have them meet him in Room 2302.

  We’re giving statements to the bluecoats until the wee hours of the morning. I make sure those statements don’t include my partial catch of the license plate, or anything about Gabriella Rosario. I don’t want the cops wrecking my witness before I have a chance to grill her O’Brien style. While Marjorie cleans up well enough, I’m not sure my coat is going to make it. Good think I intend to be back in the Bowery tomorrow morning to pay a visit to Miss Rosario. I can pick up a cheap trench coat on the way to replace this one. With the way this case is going, I might want to grab a spare.

  Chapter Twelve – Midnight Visit

  (Little Italy, Manhattan, NYC)

  Frank Scalice quickly tied the sash on his bathrobe as the pounding downstairs continued. Fortunately his wife had taken a sedative before bed and was still slumbering soundly. Frank grabbed his snub-nosed Colt Detective Special revolver from the bureau drawer and secreted it in his robe pocket before scrambling down the stairs and answering the door. Standing on the doorstep, trying to stay under the small awning out of the downpour was Vincent DeLuca.

  “Sorry, boss, but I figured this couldn’t wait.”

  “You figured? You imbecile! You’re standing on my doorstep in the middle of the night pounding on the door like a maniac because you figured what? I swear, Vinny, if you woke up my kids I’ll take you out into the woods and shoot you myself. Get in here.”

  They headed to the downstairs study and Frank carefully secured the large oak double-doors behind them. He made his way behind his desk, popped the top of his desktop humidor, clipped the end of a Cuban El Primio, and lit it. The first drag on the fine cigar seemed to calm Frank considerably.

  “So what in that little brain of yours could be so important that you come beating my door down in the middle of the night?”

  Vinny’s eyes showed only the slightest glint of concern as he prepared to deliver the bad news.

  “We missed the girl again tonight.”

  “And you are waking me up to tell me this instead of planning the next chance because?”

  “Because,” DeLuca frowned, “this time there may be some kickback. Things got ugly and heaters started goin’ off. That lousy snoop she’s been hangin’ around nearly shot off Ricky’s ear. With that Mick shootin’ up everything in sight, we had to beat feet. Ricky is fumin’ too ‘cause the Mick shot out the back window of the car.”

  Scalice dropped into silent fuming. Draw after draw on the cigar didn’t seem to be helping, but Vinny knew better than to break this silence. Finally, after several minutes, Frank responded.

  “I send you guys to nab one lousy dame, and you get into a shootout with some gumshoe who is wired into the DA’s office. Just grand. I tell you what, just take out your gun right now and shoot me in the head. It will be quicker that way.”

  Vinny didn’t make any move toward carrying out Scalice’s facetious order.

  “Well, Frank, whatever else, this is gonna raise some heat with the DA for sure, and the girl is gonna be harder to get to than ever now.”

  “Ain’t you just a barrel of good news? We needed to talk to this dame to see if Tommy told her anything about the stones. Like I said before, her showing up now ain’t a coincidence.”

  “Well somebody’s been talkin’ to somebody about somethin’.”

  Scalice’s brow furrowed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means that this Mick snoop has been askin’ around the streets about diamonds.” Scalice slammed his fist down on the desk causing the ashtray to jump and spray fine Cuban ash on his desk.

  “Unbelievable! If Tommy talked to this dame, then it’s a sure bet she can finger me for hiring him. Could this news get any better?” DeLuca cracked just a hint of a sadistic smile.

  “Yeah, actually it can. Guess who else is in town.”

  “Do I look like I’m in the mood for twenty questions?”

  “Danny Lupo is down from Boston.”

  “Lupo?” Frank paled visibly. “I want four guys watching my house around the clock as long as Lupo is in town, and I want one tailing him and sounding the alarm if he comes anywhere near Little Italy, you got me?”

  “I got you. I figured as much, so a few of the boys are already in the car outside and plannin’ to camp the night. They’ll cover you tomorrow mornin’ and I’ll send them some relief by the afternoon. Not sure how much Lupo knows, as I expect if he knew enough he’d have already paid you a visit. I also heard rumors that Tommy maybe picked up a partner in Boston. Maybe that partner is Lupo, since none of the families knows what he’s doin’ in New York. Maybe he came lookin’ for Tommy and his cut. Maybe Tommy’s partner got caught, ratted, and Lupo’s lookin’ for Tommy. I dunno, but I’ll keep my ear to the ground and let you know if I hear anythin’ else.”

  Scalice relaxed visibly. He exhaled and gave Vinny a half-hearted smile.

  “Listen, Vinny, I know I’m hard on you sometimes, but you get things done, which is why I like you. Don’t pay no mind to me when I get crazy. No telling what I might say. But you do me solid and you know I’ll look after you.” DeLuca stood up and took his soaked hat from Frank’s desk.

  “Yeah, Frank. I know real well just how you take care of folks.” Vinny’s tone was so unwavering, Frank couldn’t tell if he was being serious or sarcastic.

  “I’m done taking chances, Vinny. I’m not interested in talking to the Boston dame anymore. I don’t want her talkin’ to anyone, least of all the police or Lupo. You make that happen for me, and if that Mick gumshoe gets in the way, well you grease him too.”

  As DeLuca made his way out of the study and back to the front door he said, “You got it, boss.” He opened the door and headed back into the dark deluge of the night.

  Chapter Thirteen- Back to the Bowery

  (Inwood, Manhattan, NYC)

  As I am dressing for the day and mulling over the words I’m going to have for Miss Rosario if I find that back window on her new Buick has suffered a tragic accident, the phone rings. It’s Jimmy.

  “Yeah, Jimmy, I’m all right.”

  “Well I heard about the shooting just this morning. Who was it, do you know?”

  “Nah, but I got my suspicions. Listen, any chance of grabbing a couple of flatfoots and meeting me at Miss Rosario’s place? I got some questions to ask, and if I don’t like the answers the boys in blue may need to haul her in before she can get away.”

  “You think Miss Rosario is involved in the shooting?”

  “I don’t know. That’s what I aim to find out first thing this morning.”

  I can hear the pause on the other end of the line.

  “But Nicky, it’s Sunday. Aren’t you going to mass? You know how it irritates Father Doyle when you miss mass, and you’ve irritated him quite a bit lately.”

  “Sorry, Jimmy, I forgot what day it was. Getting shot at kind of messes
with my memory. Besides, I think I do have a few things to say to God today, but with the way things are going I’m thinking this would go better as a private discussion. He might not be too keen on others hearing a few of the things I’ve got on my mind.”

  “Suit yourself, but if Father Doyle asks, you know I’m hanging you out to dry, right?”

  “I’d expect nothing less. So how about we meet at Rosario’s place, say one o’clock?”

  “Sure, I’ll bring a couple of uniforms along, just in case. But Nicky, if you even think she had something to do with this, you stay away until we get there, you hear me? You’re deep enough in this already. Let the law do its job.”

  That’d be a first.

  “Don’t worry, Jimmy, I’ll stay clear. After my little conversation with the man upstairs, I’m in the market for a new coat or two. Last night’s tumble in the rain wrecked my last one.”

  As I hang up the phone, still toying with the idea of going straightaway to Gabriella’s place and having it out anyway, I decide a little alone time on my knees might not be such a bad idea after all. It’s been a while, and I’ve go nowhere else to turn for help in figuring this dizzy dance out.

  It’s twelve-thirty by the time I leave the Salvation Army thrift store, having donned one new, beige gabardine trench coat and bought a second one in olive drab to be delivered to my office on Tuesday. The Blue Laws keep the bars and a lot of businesses closed on Sunday, but the Salvation Army stores count as mission work, so even Sundays are a good time to get a cheap coat or two. As I stroll toward Miss Rosario’s house, I see Jimmy and two bluecoats already waiting for me halfway down the block.

  “Mass let out early, Jimmy?”

  “No, but I did. I had a feeling I might want to get here early, just in case you got done with your praying and your coat shopping and decided to jump the gun on this little talk. So you want to let me know why you wanted the officers along?”

  “The car that decided to put on a bullet ballet last night in front of Marjorie’s hotel was a shiny, black Buick Model 57. Rosario has the same car, and the first three spots of the license match hers. I got a few shots off and shot out the back window, so if hers hasn’t got one, then the boys at the precinct might have a few more questions for her.”

  The lead officer, John Browning, asks, “So are we here to arrest someone or what?”

  “Guys,” Jimmy answers, “we aren’t sure whether or not a crime has been committed, so let Nicky ask the questions. We should find out quickly enough if anyone needs to be arrested. I asked your sergeant to send you with me just in case we find more than Mr. DeLanz’s girlfriend at the house.”

  The officers nod and we head toward Gabriella’s place. As we walk up to the house, I notice the shiny, new Buick is not parked out front. Jimmy doesn’t miss that fact either.

  “Well, Nicky, looks like her shiny new ride is somewhere else. Either she isn’t home or the car is in the shop.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking.”

  “Maybe getting a new back window put in.”

  I step up to the front door and my anger at being shot at, added to the frustration of the case so far, comes boiling to the surface. I send one of the uniforms around to watch the back and begin playing the Anvil Chorus with my fist.

  “Gabriella, open the door right now before I kick it in. I’ve got the ADA here with uniformed officers and we have more questions for you. If you make us break in and drag you out, it’s going to go hard with you.”

  Moments later the latch clicks and the door opens. Gabriella is there with tousled hair, sleepy eyes, dressed only in a nightgown and housecoat.

  “What do you want? Are you crazy?”

  I put my face a few inches from her and growl, “Yeah, and you have no idea how crazy getting shot at makes me. Now let’s go inside and sit down so we can see if this officer needs to haul you off or not.”

  She moves inside and doesn’t question for a second that I am doing the talking instead of the real cop. As we move into the living room Gabriella flops down on the couch while the rest of us stand.

  “I already told you I don’t know where Tommy is. When are you going to stop banging on my door asking the same questions?”

  “I got different questions this time. Let’s start with where you were last night around nine-thirty?”

  She sports an indignant look.

  “Let me see, I believe I was at none of your stinking business.”

  “Well, getting shot at makes it my business. Therefore, you can talk to me now, or these nice boys in blue can haul you down to the station and you can sit in a room with a detective until you decide to make it his business. So how do you want to play it?”

  The defiance flows out of her as she sits up attentively.

  “Shot at? What are you talking about? First off I was at the 21 Club last night until around ten-thirty. Second, I wouldn’t know the first thing about shooting anyone. I already told you I hate guns.”

  “So you expect me to believe that a Minsky’s Burlesque dancer eats at one of the most high end spots in New York? I’m guessing you weren’t there all alone, so spill who you were with and we can check your story.”

  “Who I was with is none of your concern, but the maître d’ knows me and can vouch for the fact that I was there until at least ten-thirty. Here’s a matchbook with the number. You can call them yourself. The maître d’s name is Andre.”

  Sure enough she hands me a matchbook from the 21 Club, but that is long leap from corroborating her story.

  “Nice try, toots, but it is Sunday. Nobody’s going to answer that phone. So we just supposed to leave you twisting in the wind until tomorrow? I don’t think so. The cops can hold you in a cell for twenty-four hours without charging you. That should give us time to talk to Andre.”

  She looks frantic at the thought of being locked up.

  “Wait, just wait.”

  She rushes to a bureau drawer and pulls out a little black book. She thumbs through it quickly, finds what she is looking for, and rushes to the phone. After dialing a number someone answers.

  “Andre? This is Gabriella Rosario. You told me I could call you at home if I ever needed anything. Well I have some policemen here that need to know where I was last night. Yes, thank’s Andre.”

  She hands me the phone. I don’t miss that heavy stress on the “I”. Whoever Gabriella was with last night, she doesn’t want Andre, or whoever this is, talking about anybody but her.

  “Yeah, so this is Andre, the maître d’ for 21 Club?... So was Miss Rosario there last night?...Uh, huh…What time did she arrive?...I see. And what time did she leave?...Mm-hmm. And who was she with?” Gabriella’s face pales at the question, but she needn’t worry, it appears Andre is as well coached as she is. “I see. So you will be working tomorrow if we have any more questions?...What time will you be there?...I see. Well, thank you for your help.”

  “Are you satisfied?” she snaps in an indignant tone.

  “I’m satisfied that you ain’t telling everything you know. And I’m satisfied that a matchbook and a phone call to someone claiming to be Andre the maître d’ ain’t enough reason not to arrest you.”

  “Well arrest me then.”

  “We still might, but I have another question first. Where is your car?”

  “A friend has it. Why?”

  “Oh, a friend, eh? Another convenient story. You see, you say you weren’t traipsing around outside the New Yorker last night at nine-thirty spraying bullets at yours truly, but I say your car, or one a lot like it all the way down to the first three plate numbers, was. So, I’m going to ask you one more time before this nice officer hauls you off to the station. Where is your car?”

  “A friend—”

  “Yeah, I know, a friend has it. So who is this friend? You better start spilling the beans, sister, or so help me…”

  Her fear and confusion turn in a moment to steely resolve. It seems I pushed her so hard that something snapped. Whatever
cooperation we had going comes to an abrupt halt.

  “Then do what you must. I am not at liberty to say who my friend is, and all your threats and shouting won’t change that.”

  “Fine. Officer Browning, arrest this woman on suspicion of attempted murder, two counts.”

  Just then two cars pull up out front. The first one is a black Buick model 57 with my birthday license plates. A chauffer dressed in a gray uniform steps out of the car and starts toward the front door. I pull my Colt and take a position at the window with a clear shot at the front stoop, while Officer Browning and Jimmy meet the driver at the door. The uniformed man looks quite startled at finding two men, one a uniformed police officer, answering the door instead of Miss Rosario.

  “Uh, is Miss Rosario home? I need to deliver her keys to her.”

  “Yeah,” Jimmy remarks, “but why don’t you step inside. We have a few questions before you leave.”

  The chauffer looks uncertain, but obeys. In that tight gray uniform he hasn’t got anywhere to hide a roscoe, so I holster my Colt as they all enter the living room. The gray-suited man sees Rosario sitting on the couch and passes her the keys.

  “Miss Rosario, is everything all right?”

  “Yes, Burt, these nice men were just wondering where my car was. Perhaps you can tell them?”

  “Yeah, Burt,” I add, “why don’t you tell us where the car was from say nine-thirty last night until just now.”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know, sir. I work the noon to midnight shift at the Harlem Parking Garage. The car came in last night about eleven-thirty, and I was told to deliver it here today once my shift started. Where it was from midnight last night to noon today, I can’t say for certain, but the log book didn’t show it being moved last night, so as far as I know it has been in the garage since eleven-thirty last night.” Jimmy and I exchange puzzled glances.

  “So who dropped the car off and paid you to deliver it?”

  I flash my eyes to Gabriella looking for a reaction, but this time her face is unwavering.