I hoped I had lied well enough to make Grover think twice about a second attack. I needed time.
I phoned the Baker center and asked the male receptionist about Bailey.
“Bailey has left the building,” he said glibly.
“You’re kidding. When?”
“She bailed out sometime after the nine-o’clock bed check last night.”
I was in a gunfight at the time. “Do you know where she went?”
“The homeless don’t usually leave forwarding addresses.”
“You’re annoying,” I said and disconnected.
Okay, where was Bailey?
I guessed she’d hitched a ride, borrowed a bike, or walked to Rutherford Park last night and slept under the boardwalk. In the late morning, she probably went to the Baptist Church in Pearl City for Harold Trager’s osso buco. After lunch, she would have visited Weary Willie in the Boca Hospital for the afternoon, scrounged for dinner, and returned to Rutherford after dark. I would look for her there. Until then, I had to plan my next move, and I did a quick review of my cases.
The pill mills case still needed more research before I could take action. The Grover case was on hold pending Lou’s recovery. I was in no shape to go after shooters or bombers, and that case would have to wait while I healed.
The only thing I felt capable of doing was going to St. Mary’s Church to hunt for clues. I decided to go in disguise in the event anyone was there who could identify the Boca Knight. I put on a Red Sox cap and pulled it low to cover the puncture wounds in my forehead. I wore a light Windbreaker to conceal my Colt King Cobra tucked inside my waistband against my spine and headed for my Mini. I felt light-headed behind the wheel, but Boca has a lot of light-headed drivers.
St. Mary’s spire looked beautiful in the twilight, silhouetted against a clear winter sky. I drove past the church and saw a worn-out pickup truck and a late-model Ford sedan parked in front. I parked in the street and took a pair of black-rimmed, tinted eyeglasses from my detective kit and put them on. I was always surprised how much these simple, black-rimmed glasses altered my appearance. I turned my jacket collar up, tugged my cap lower, and walked to the church. The front door was locked. I jiggled the handle several times, then knocked. No one answered. I walked to the side of the building opposite the fateful staircase. That door was locked, too. I knocked again. No answer. The back of the building had a few windows high on the outside wall, but no door. I turned the corner and stared at the staircase of doom. I descended slowly and tried the door at the bottom. As expected, it was locked. I knocked loudly, but no one answered. I began trudging up the stairs, head down and knees aching.
“What do you want?” a deep voice boomed from above. I knew from the Brooklyn accent it wasn’t God. I looked up at a big man in work clothes wearing a Yankees cap. I started climbing again. As I got closer, I saw gino embroidered on his shirt.
Behind me, the door banged open. I turned and saw another “Brooklyn-bouncer type” standing below me dressed in the same uniform as Gino, except he had tony embroidered above his pocket. They looked like brothers.
Tony followed me as I climbed. With only one stair remaining, I had to stop because big Gino was standing on it. I looked up at him and nearly lost my balance. I grabbed the handrail to steady myself.
“I almost fell,” I said to him. “This staircase is dangerous.”
“Most people don’t use these stairs,” Gino said defensively. “They’re no problem. Now, what are you doing here?”
“This is a Catholic church, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, so?” Gino said.
“So I’m a Catholic,” I lied. “I’m new in town, and I’m looking to join a Catholic church. I saw the cars parked out front, so I figured someone was here. I tried every door.”
That got him thinking, and I used the opportunity to push past him to level ground. I still had to look up at him. When his brother joined us, I was looking up at twin towers.
“I was hoping to meet the priest and talk to him about what the church has to offer,” I continued lying, enjoying myself. “Who are you guys?”
“We’re the priest’s cousins,” Tony told me. “We help out around here. Who are you?”
“Eddie Monroe from South Boston,” I lied again. It was easy. “Is the priest in?”
“He ain’t here,” Gino lied right back at me.
“Are you a Red Sox fan?” Tony asked, pointing at my hat.
“No. I hate the Sox. I’m a Yankees fan like you guys. I won the hat on a bet.”
“Good man,” Gino said, and they both lightened up.
“Where you from?” I asked.
“Bay Ridge,” Tony said. “Right near the Verrazano Bridge. Ever heard of it?”
“Sure, great town,” I said, never having heard of the place. “When will the priest be in? I need to make a confession.”
“You been doin’ a lot of sinnin’?” Gino asked.
“I can’t seem to stop. How about you?”
“I never confess to nothin’,” Tony said.
“Look, man, we’re busy,” Gino said. “Why don’t you come to Sunday mass and meet the priest then.”
“That’s a good idea. I love a good Sunday mass. See you there.”
I drove from St. Mary’s to Kugel’s. The scene of the crime was sealed off with yellow do not cross tape and lit with portable, police-issue FoxFire spotlights. The bloodstains, broken glass, and splintered wood were still there.
When I approached the tape barricade, a patrolman I knew ordered me to stop: “Off-limits. Crime scene.”
I removed my Red Sox cap and tinted glasses. “It’s me, Sarge. Eddie Perlmutter.”
“Eddie,” Sergeant Tom Dowd said, surprised. “I didn’t recognize you. I thought you were in the hospital?”
“I was, but I’m fine. Anything I can do to help around here?”
“I can’t let you in. The crime scene is still secured.”
“Okay, I’ll just look around?”
I stood outside the lines watching the police take pictures, bag evidence, and search for clues. The place looked like the Alamo, filled with bullet holes and bloodstains. It was a miracle I had survived. I thought of Herb Brown. It was a miracle he survived Tarawa, lived sixty more years, and died saving a life in a Boca deli.
Go figure.
After a quick surveillance, I drove to Rutherford Park to look for Bailey. A full moon was the only light on the boardwalk, so I played the beam of my flashlight on the uneven floorboards. As I neared the locked gate, I heard rustling in the bushes. I wasn’t worried. Whatever was in the underbrush had more to fear than I did.
I picked the gate lock and descended the steps to the sandy beach. I shone my light under the boardwalk and saw a shadowy figure lying there.
“Stop, I have a gun,” Bailey said in a shaky voice.
“No, you don’t.”
“Eddie?”
“It’s me, don’t shoot.”
She scrambled into the light and smiled into the beam. The stitches on her face had not been removed, and she had a Bride of Frankenstein look. She was surrounded by cats of various sizes, shapes, and colors. I estimated ten of them.
“I thought you were in the hospital,” she said, crawling closer.
“I thought you were in the hospital.”
“I started feeling better, so I took off.”
“Me, too,” I said. “Are these your cats?”
“They’re no one’s cats. They just sleep here.”
“How do you feed them?”
“They feed themselves,” she said. “Fish wash up onshore, plenty of mice and birds live here. I feel bad when they kill birds, but at least it’s natural.”
“Did you sleep here last night?”
She nodded.
“I went to the soup kitchen for lunch, then went to the hospital and sat with Willie the rest of the afternoon.”
“What do you do there all day?”
“I talk to him,” she said. �
��I tell him stories.”
“He can’t hear you, Bailey.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“Any change in his condition?”
“No. He just lays there.”
“Did you have something to eat tonight?”
“I ate some leftover food from the trays in the hospital corridor. Then it took me almost two hours to get back here. I couldn’t find a bike anywhere.”
“You have to have your stitches out,” I said, pointing at her scars.
“Next time I visit Willie, I will. But never mind me. I heard you were shot. How are you?”
“I may have a little brain damage, but no big deal.”
“That’s good,” she said, already on to her next thought. “As soon as I feel stronger, I’m going back to St. Mary’s and learn more about those big fat Yankee fans.”
“I already did. Their names are Gino and Tony. They’re Father Vincent’s cousins, and they take care of the church.”
“Like janitors?” she asked, sounding disappointed. “I was hoping they had something to do with what happened to Willie.”
“I think they do.”
I told her how Tony and Gino had sandwiched me on the staircase. “I almost fell backward myself. If I had fallen, I would have landed on my head when I hit the stairs. That’s what I think happened to Willie.”
“Do you think they pushed him?”
“Maybe.”
“If they pushed him, it’s murder,” she said. “If he fell, it’s an accident.”
“Either way, I want to know why they moved him. Why didn’t they just call the police and report an accident? “They must be hiding something.”
“What could a Catholic church be hiding?” she asked.
“You must be kidding me.”
“I’m uncomfortable,” I told Bailey.
“Lie down.” She patted the space beside her, shooing away a few cats.
“I am a little tired.” I yawned.
She gave me one of her three bags as a pillow, and I stretched out next to her. I folded my hands on my chest and breathed deeply. I listened to the bugs and a cat purring in my ear.
“Can you explain this?” I asked. “I have a nice two-bedroom apartment and a beautiful girlfriend across town, and I’m lying under a damp boardwalk in a park for the homeless. Why’s that?”
“Circumstances.”
“How’s your sister?”
“She’s in a shell hiding from the truth,” Bailey said.
“We all do that.”
“Not me. I face the truth every morning.”
“You face reality but not the truth,” I disagreed. “To face the truth you need to include the past and the future.”
“I wasted my past, and I don’t have a future.”
“I think everyone has a future. We just can’t predict it.”
She moved closer to me and put her head on my chest. I sensed she just wanted to be close to someone.
“I can hear your heartbeat,” she said.
Her hair smelled clean; the rest of her smelled like unwashed laundry.
She was snoring before I fell asleep.
Loud noises woke me. Bailey’s head was still on my chest.
“Shhh,” she warned.
The cats were alert but silent.
I listened to scuffling on the boards above my head, then a thud. I heard a man groan, followed by laughter that sounded like human donkeys braying.
“Get up you old bum,” a loud male voice ordered.
“What’s going on?” I whispered.
“Homeless bashers,” Bailey said. “They come looking for bums to beat up.”
“Sounds like they found one.”
“Probably found him outside the park and hauled him in.”
I hate bullies. I’ve hated bullies all my life. I moved Bailey’s head off my chest and sat up.
“Don’t go up there,” she said.
“I have to.”
I remained under the boardwalk and scrambled about twenty yards away from Bailey’s nest. I rolled onto the beach near the steps and looked up. I could see four silhouettes holding flashlights, kicking at an inert body on the boardwalk.
“Get off our streets, you scum,” one of them shouted and kicked hard. I heard a weak groan from the man being beaten. He was still alive, but they were doing their best to kick the life out of him.
I hurried up the stairs quietly, picked the lock, and walked onto the boardwalk. They still hadn’t seen me, but they heard my footsteps. Four flashlight beams lit me up. I must have looked like hell with all those holes in my head.
“Hey, look, we got another one,” a voice announced, and they laughed, sounding like hyenas this time. I didn’t respond or stop walking. When I got closer, I did a policeman’s survey. A squat, fat kid was closest to me. He wore baggy jeans low on his hips. He would be slow and clumsy. No problem. A kid with a baseball hat on backward was next. He wore shorts, a baggy sweatshirt, and combat boots. He was holding a metal pipe in his hand, and I figured I had to disarm him fast. The third was a baby-faced girl who looked excited to be with the boys but scared to be with me. She didn’t worry me.
“Welcome to the party,” the fourth one said. He was the biggest and wore a bandanna on his head.
“I don’t suppose you guys would just leave if I asked you real nice,” I said, seeing red but thinking clearly.
They laughed in unison and annoyed the hell out of me.
Baggy Pants swung a roundhouse right at me.
He was slower than I anticipated. I sidestepped the punch easily, using his momentum to shove him forward against the wooden railing. Before he could turn around, I pulled his baggy pants down to his ankles and pushed him sideways. He stumbled over his jeans and fell on his back. I heard the air rush out of his mouth.
The kid with the baseball cap with the metal pipe came at me, poised to strike. I stepped toward him, grabbed his raised wrist, twisted it into an unnatural position, and took the short pipe from his hand. I rapped him on top of the head just hard enough to make him howl and drop to his knees holding his head with both hands.
“Jesus Christ,” the girl with the baby face cried, and ran off into the darkness.
“I’m gonna cut you up,” the bandanna boy snarled, and I saw he was holding a knife.
“Never tell the enemy what you plan to do,” I said.
“Is that so?” He lunged forward, slashing at my stomach with a sweeping motion. I was too fast for him. I stepped back and the knife passed in front of my abdomen from right to left. He was about to swing it left to right in a backhand motion when I whacked him with the pipe across the forehead. Blood spurted, and he collapsed next to his friends. I picked up the knife he had dropped and threw it into the trees.
“And now for the best surprise of all,” I said, pulling the Cobra out of my back waistband and aiming it at them.
“Holy shit,” the chubby kid said. “Don’t shoot.”
“Why not?”
“Because we’ll never come back here again,” the kid with the baseball cap said.
“Yeah, that’s right, man,” the chubby kid said, still trying to untangle his pants.
“Shut up,” the kid with the bloody bandanna said. “That’s a fake gun.”
I pulled the trigger and blew apart the wooden railing above their heads.
Oh my God.
Holy shit.
“Satisfied?” I asked.
Three heads nodded.
“Good. Now I have a decision to make. I can shoot you, turn you in to the cops, or let you go.”
“Let us go, man,” the chubby one said.
“We promise we’ll never come back here,” the one with the baseball hat said.
“What about you, tough guy?” I asked Bandanna Man.
He nodded.
“Okay. I’m going to let you go. But it’s not because I believe you won’t come back, and I sure as hell don’t feel sorry for you. I’m letting you go because I
want you to tell your friends what happened here tonight. Tell them about this .357 Magnum, and let them know there’s plenty more guys like me sick of guys like you ganging up on the homeless. They’ve been beaten enough already. Understand?”
Three nervous nods followed.
“Now get your dumb asses out of here while you still can.”
They scrambled to their feet and ran off into the darkness.
“You think they’ll be back?” Bailey asked, standing behind me.
“I don’t know. How long have you been there?”
“Since you blew the railing down. Why didn’t you just show them the gun in the first place? You could have frightened them off without a fight.”
“I didn’t want to frighten them off. I wanted to send a message. Hey, what happened to the guy they were beating?”
“He’s crawled away,” she said. “I think you scared him off, too.”
“But he was badly hurt.”
“He’s used to being kicked when he’s down.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” I said.
“By the way, your forehead is bleeding.”
I touched my palm to my head and felt the sticky ooze of blood. “No big deal,” I told her, but my knees buckled, and I grabbed the wooden railing. “I guess I am a little out of shape.”
“You better rest,” she said, taking my arm.
She walked me down the stairs and under the boardwalk. “Get some sleep,” she said as she covered me with the one blanket she had and slid under it next to me. A cat licked my wounds while several others snuggled next to me.
“They like you,” Bailey said, watching her feral pets pet me.
“I don’t like them. I’m a dog man. Are you cold?”
“I’ve been colder.” She put her head on my chest again.
“Is my heart still beating?” I joked.
“Loud and clear,” she said in a sleepy voice.
“That’s good to know.” I closed my eyes.
When I opened my eyes in the morning and Bailey was gone, I felt like a one-night stand. I sat up and checked my watch. It was six thirty, the sunlight was weak, and a ten-foot alligator, with his mouth wide-open, was thirty yards away from me at the water’s edge.
“Holy shit,” I said, brushing a cat off my chest and scrambling out from under the boardwalk. I pulled my Colt and aimed it at the gator. If he made a move for me, I’d shoot first and turn him into a pair of shoes later. I noticed two cats walking on the gator’s back and felt less threatened.
Boca Daze Page 12
