The Black Stiletto

by Raymond Benson

  “Why did you do it, Sam? Were you trying to make it look like a random assault? Didn’t you think the police would suspect you?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Go away! Leave me alone!” He started shouting, “Help! Help!”

  “Shut up!” I couldn’t help myself—I drew the stiletto—swish!—and drew a thin red line across his pectoral muscles. This caused him to scream again, but at least he wasn’t calling for help.

  “Be quiet or I’ll cut your throat!” I hissed.

  That did the trick. He pulled the sheet up over his body, as if that would protect him. He peeked over the edge with wide, terror-filled eyes.

  Good, I thought. This was how Lucy felt when she was attacked. Scared to death.

  “Now, Sam,” I said, “you’re gonna admit what you did to the cops. You hear me? If you don’t, I promise you I will cut out your heart and feed it to you.”

  I know that’s a pretty rough thing to say. I can be pretty mean if I want to. But I was mad. I really could’ve killed this guy for what he did to Lucy. It took a heck of a lot of self-control not to hurt him really bad.

  The stiletto flashed again, this time ripping the sheet. Sam screamed once more. “All right, all right! I did it, I did it! I’m sorry!” Then he started bawling. He climbed off the bed and onto the floor, on his knees, begging me not to hurt him. “Please, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to hurt her! Please!”

  “You didn’t mean to hurt her? You put her in a coma ! She could have brain damage! What did you mean to do if not hurt her?”

  “I’m so sorry! I’ll confess! I’ll go to the cops!”

  It’s what I wanted to hear. “Do you have a pen? Some paper?”

  “Uh—at the helm.”

  “Let’s go get it.” I waved the stiletto and gestured him up. He reluctantly stood and went to the door. “No funny stuff. I’m right behind you.”

  He opened the door and I marched him up the steps. As I expected, he tried to make a run for the pier—boxer shorts and all. Or less. I leaped forward and tackled him. Sam landed badly and hit his forehead on the edge of the hull. He tried to yell for help again, but I slithered over his prone body, covered his mouth with my gloved left hand, and stuck the stiletto’s point against his cheek. There was a cut above his right eyebrow, where he’d hit his head.

  “I said no funny stuff. I’m not in a laughing mood.”

  He was breathing hard and fast, but the fight was knocked out of him.

  “You gonna cooperate now?”

  He nodded.

  “If I take my hand off are you gonna yell for help?”

  He shook his head.

  “If you do, I will turn you into a pin cushion. Do you understand?”

  He nodded again.

  “Get up.” I released him but kept the knife in play. “Now get the pen and paper.”

  Sam did as he was told. Meek and subservient, he went to the helm, opened a compartment, and removed a pencil and a small pad of paper. I followed him back into the cabin and shut the door.

  “Sit. And write.” I pointed to the bed. Funny—at that moment the radio started playing “Tom Dooley” by the Kingston Trio.

  It took him ten minutes to write a full confession. Once again, I tied up my prey. I left him on the bed—gagged with a torn piece of sheet—and I placed the notepad on a table for the authorities to find. Then I left.

  I changed back into my civilian clothing in the shadows of the pier. No one had noticed the broken lamp. I made my way back up to the Yacht House. It was probably best to avoid people, so I went around the side and climbed over a fence. That wasn’t easy in a skirt, but I managed to do it. Walked to the Main House, where dinner was still in progress. I brushed myself off and went inside. No one saw me dart to the ladies’ room, where I checked my appearance and made sure I was presentable. When I came out, I ran into a waiter, or butler, or whatever you call someone who works at the clubhouse.

  “Is there a telephone I can use?” I asked sweetly.

  “Yes, ma’am, right this way.”

  The gentleman led me to a booth where I could use the phone for free. I checked the time and then dialed O. When the operator answered, I asked for the police. I told them where Sam Duncan was and that he had confessed to the assault on Lucy Dempsey.

  “May I have your name and address, please?” the officer asked.

  “Oh, this is the Black Stiletto, and I have no address,” I answered.

  Silence on the other end. My cue to hang up.

  My taxi was waiting outside the Main House. I was long gone when Sam was arrested and taken away.

  That was last night.

  This morning I went to Bellevue and learned Lucy had come out of her coma. Her mother and father were there, so I introduced myself to them. They said they’d “heard about me” and appreciated that I was a good friend to their daughter. They were very sweet. Mrs. Dempsey told me the doctor said there didn’t appear to be any brain damage. Lucy was expected to make a full recovery after some rehabilitation. That was music to my ears.

  They’d also been informed of the other good news—Sam Duncan had been arrested and charged with attempted murder. Stories appeared in all the papers, and this time the Black Stiletto was credited for bringing the assailant to justice. Even NYPD Commissioner Kennedy was quoted as saying, “We would like the Black Stiletto to leave the crime fighting to us, but for locating the perpetrator of this horrible crime and bringing him to our attention, we give her our thanks.” If you ask me, I thought they were pretty dumb. Anyone could’ve figured out Sam was hiding on his daddy’s boat if they’d used a brain cell or two.

  I went in to see Lucy for a couple of minutes. She was very weak, but she smiled when she saw me. I held her hand and told her the offer for her to move in with me was still good.

  “Thanks, Judy,” she whispered.

  “You get well. By the time I get back, you should be out of the hospital.”

  “Where you goin’?”

  “I have to go out of town for a little while. There’s something I need to take care of. But I’ll be back. Don’t worry.”

  Yes, dear diary, I’ve made my decision. I’m going to Texas to find Douglas Bates.

  30

  Roberto

  THE PRESENT

  Can’t believe I passed my driver’s test. Had to renew my license since it expired nearly fifty years ago. I got hold of the book they make you study, just in case the traffic laws and signs had changed. Some had and there were some new ones, but it was basically the same. I thought for sure they’d make me take an actual behind-the-wheel test, but they didn’t. Just had to pass a written one. Walked out of the NYSDMV with a new license. Un-fuckin’-believable.

  Couldn’t afford to buy a car, though. Besides, I didn’t need one in the city.

  After takin’ care of a bunch of crap like that to get my life back in order, I resumed my search for Judy Cooper. I remembered she used to work at a gym in the East Village. I couldn’t recall what cross street it was on, but I knew it was on Second Avenue. I took the Q line subway into Manhattan and got off at 14th Street. Walked east all the way to Second and then headed south. By the time I got to 8th, things started to look familiar even though it had changed. I mean, all the stores and restaurants were different, but for the most part the streets and buildings looked like they did back in the fifties.

  At 4th Street there was a diner. That rang a bell. It was called East Side Diner and it was open. It was important, somehow. Couldn’t quite remember, but the place had something to do with Fiorello and Judy Cooper. I thought maybe it’d come to me in a minute, so I kept walkin’. At 2nd Street there was a gym, some place called Shapes. In my day, there were no gyms for women. This one was for only women. Was this the place I was lookin’ for? It felt right. This was the old gym. I knew it.

  I went inside and there was this delicious dame at the desk. The gym itself looked brand-spankin’ new. I guess they’d remodeled it or somethin’
. There were women wearin’ skimpy leotards and stuff, doin’ all kinds of exercises. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.

  “May I help you, sir?” the dame asked.

  “Sure. Did this used to be a gym for men?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. It’s always been Shapes since I worked here.”

  “I’m lookin’ for a gym that mighta been in this spot back in the fifties.”

  “The nineteen fifties ?”

  “Yeah.”

  The dame shook her head. “I was born in nineteen eighty-eight. Can’t help you.”

  “Anyone here who might know?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  Some other dame was sittin’ on a bench puttin’ those wooly stocking things on her legs like I seen some women wearin’. She overheard us and said, “What about Lucy? She might know.”

  The first dame laughed and said, “Oh, yeah. Lucy. She’s this old la—um, elderly lady who comes in here sometimes.” The dame lowered her voice and giggled softly. “She thinks she comes in to exercise, but she walks for five minutes on a treadmill, stops, and then spends the rest of the hour gabbing. I think she’s been around since the fifties.”

  That name Lucy sparked a memory, but I’m not sure what it was. Was she a friend of Fiorello’s? Maybe a friend of Judy Cooper’s?

  “How can I find this Lucy?”

  “Gee, I can’t give out members’ addresses. But she hangs out at the diner on Fourth Street a lot. Maybe you’ll find her in there.”

  “What’s her last name?”

  The dame on the bench answered that one. “Gaskin. Lucy Gaskin is her name.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I think I do know her after all.” I coulda stayed and watched those young dames exercise all day, but I had more important things to do. I left and walked back to the diner on 4th Street. I was hungry so I decided to sit down and have a BLT on rye and a Coke. The waitress was in her thirties, I think, not bad lookin’, could maybe lose a few pounds down at that Shapes place. Anyway, I asked her about Lucy Gaskin.

  “You know Lucy?” she asked.

  “Yeah, I’m an old friend of hers. I haven’t seen her in ages. I heard she comes in here.”

  “She used to work here, a long time ago, or so she says. Still comes in a lot. She loves that old jukebox over there.” The waitress nodded at the machine in the corner, near the windows. It looked really old.

  “Does it work?” I asked.

  “Not very well. But it’s an antique, so the owner refuses to sell it.”

  “Where can I find Lucy? Does she live around here?”

  “Yeah, she lives in Georgetown Plaza.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “Broadway and 8th Street. Big high-rise.”

  I wondered if she lived alone, but I didn’t want to sound too nosy. So I asked, “And how’s her husband—?” I snapped my fingers, as if I was tryin’ to remember. “—er, what was his name?”

  “Oh, I’m sorry, did you know Pete, too? He passed away, I don’t know, about five or six years ago. Lucy still lives in their apartment, though. She’s a tough old broad.” Then the waitress leaned in close to me and whispered, “She’s a bit ditzy now. Forgets a lot. I think she’d be better off in assisted living, if you know what I mean.”

  I grunted. “Yeah, I know what you mean.” Fuck assisted living.

  I paid the bill and went up to 8th Street, and then walked west to Broadway. Sure enough, there was the high-rise called Georgetown Plaza. Musta been over thirty stories tall. Busy street corner, lotsa shops and young people. Right between Cooper Union, two blocks east, and Washington Square Park, two blocks west.

  While I was in the diner, I kept tryin’ to remember how I knew Lucy’s name. She musta been someone Fiorello knew when he was livin’ with Judy Cooper. I bet she was a friend of Judy’s. Had to be. That would be my ticket inside.

  I went inside the lobby and talked to the doorman. Told him I wanted to see Lucy Gaskin. He picked up a phone and dialed, then asked, “Who should I say is calling?”

  “Tell her it’s an old friend of Judy Cooper’s. My name is Dino.”

  The doorman nodded, waited, and then spoke into the phone. “Mrs. Gaskin? I have a man named Dino down here who’d like to see you. He says he’s an old friend of Judy Cooper’s. What? Yes. Okay.” He hung up. “She says to come on up.” The guy gave me the floor and apartment number, and then buzzed me in.

  When I knocked on her door, she took a long time comin’ to open it. Finally, though, she did. Lucy was an old broad, all right, maybe in her eighties, but how should I know? She mighta been good lookin’ when she was young, but I couldn’t tell. She just looked like an old lady now, kinda fat and dumpy.

  “Why hello there, it’s been so long!” she said as if she’d known me all her life. “Come on in. The place is a mess, please excuse it.” I stepped inside and was almost overcome by that old-lady smell. Lots of perfume and soapy scents. Yuck.

  “It’s good to see you, too, Lucy,” I said. “How long has it been?”

  “Gee, I don’t know. Years and years.” She laughed. “What did you say your name was?”

  “Dino. I’m Dino. You remember me, don’t ya?”

  “Oh, yeah. Dino. How’ve you been? Come on in and sit down. I’ll get us a cocktail. What’ll you have?”

  “Whatever you’re havin’.”

  The place wasn’t as much of a mess as she thought it was, but everything was dusty and the furniture and stuff looked really old. She and her husband musta lived in the apartment since the building opened. Actually, it wasn’t bad. There was a terrace that overlooked the city.

  “Nice place you got here,” I said. “Lots of room. Nice view.”

  She replied from the kitchen, “Yeah, Pete and I bought the place in nineteen sixty-four. It was brand new then. I’m sorry, Pete’s not here.”

  Yeah, I knew that.

  I went over to a shelf that had a bunch of framed photos on it. Pictures of Lucy and her husband when they were younger. A wedding photo. Kids. There was also a picture of Lucy and Judy Cooper. It was a shot of them in front of the East Side Diner. Black-and-white. Old, but probably taken around the time in question. Damn. I felt that heart murmur of mine when I saw the photo. In fact, I got a little dizzy. I had to sit down, so I stumbled over to the sofa and collapsed into it.

  Lucy came in with two glasses of white wine. Yuck. Didn’t she have somethin’ stronger? She handed me one and said, “Here you go. I like a little wine in the afternoon, don’t you? Cheers!”

  She sat in a big chair, not noticin’ I wasn’t feelin’ well. But the cold wine actually tasted good. I felt better after a few sips. Lucy started talkin’ and talkin’ about nothin’, tellin’ me about her kids and where they were now, how she loves New York and will never leave the apartment, and other crap I didn’t care about. The dame really was ditzy—she didn’t realize I was a total stranger to her. Thought I was some long-lost friend she hadn’t seen in years.

  Finally, I interrupted her and asked, “So what do you hear from Judy Cooper?”

  “Oh, Judy.” She shook her head. At first I thought she was gonna tell me the bitch was dead, but she said, “I haven’t heard from Judy in a long time. We used to write pretty regular, y’know? After she moved to California and all. Then she moved somewhere else—” She was havin’ trouble rememberin’.

  “Where did she move?” I prodded.

  “You know her name isn’t Judy Cooper anymore?”

  “No, I didn’t know. What, she got married?”

  “I guess she did. Talbot. She’s Judy Talbot now. Uh, just a minute. I think I have her last few letters somewhere.” She got up and went to a desk. Rummaged through it, and then came back with a stack of envelopes.

  Bingo.

  She looked at one and said, “Oh yeah, she moved to Chicago in the sixties. Never came back. Here’s the last letter I have. What’s the date, can you read it? I don’t have my glasses.”

  I took the s
tack and looked at the postmark. Nineteen eighty-seven. Maybe a long time ago, but not too bad in the grand scheme of things. J. Talbot. That explained why I couldn’t find her as Judy Cooper. A return address of Arlington Heights, Illinois. I didn’t know where the fuck that was.

  Before Lucy sat down, I downed my glass of wine and handed it to her. “I couldn’t trouble you for a little more, could I?”

  “Why, of course. My pleasure. I’ll have more, too.”

  As soon as she was out of sight, I stuck the envelope in my pocket. It may or may not be Judy Cooper’s last known address, but there was a good chance it was.

  I guess I was relieved I didn’t have to kill Lucy Gaskin for it.

  31

  Judy’s Diary

  1958

  DECEMBER 11, 1958

  Today I took my first airplane ride. Actually it was two airplanes. First I flew from Idlewild to Dallas, where I had to wait five hours before I could board another plane to Midland Air Terminal. It was so much fun! A little scary, I have to admit, but it was kinda like going on a ride at an amusement park. It reminded me of when I was little and my mother took us three kids to a carnival in Odessa when the rodeo was in town. I think we went twice, two years in a row, but after that it got to be we couldn’t afford to go. Anyway, getting on the airplane and feeling it take off was something I can’t describe. I looked out the window and everything on the ground looked so tiny. The stewardesses were nice, too. They gave us food and drinks. The only thing I didn’t like was the passengers smoking cigarettes. There was a section set aside for the smokers, but the smoke still filled the entire cabin. I still haven’t gotten used to tobacco, I don’t know why. Everyone I know smokes. I must be some kind of freak, ha ha.

  I’d almost forgotten how flat and desolate West Texas is. It was nearly sundown when we landed, and the horizon was as straight as all get-out. Just a line, dividing the sky and the earth. The sunset was mighty pretty, though. I do remember that about Texas. The colors in the sky could be breathtaking. The rest of the place—all the sand and mesquite and tumbleweed—you can keep, thank you very much.