A Cast of Killers

by Gallagher Gray

  "Over there!" a female voice bellowed again. "There's someone." Auntie Lil felt faint, more from frustration than physical deprivation. She was acutely conscious that, with help only a few feet away, she could still easily die if Leteisha chose.

  The shouting grew louder and, suddenly, an odd parade was running across the highway. Cars honked and brakes screeched. Auntie Lil stared at the figure in the lead. It looked like Annie O'Day but, my God, what a frightening figure she made—all muscle and anger and noise. She held a scalpel straight out in front of her like a spear and was screaming, "Let her go! Back off! Let her go!" Her eyes scanned the shadows of the docks in front of her. She was still uncertain as to where Auntie Lil was being held.

  Not surprisingly, given the determined figure and the outstretched scalpel, Leteisha chose to do just as Annie suggested. Cursing, she flung the knife into the black waters of the Hudson, pushed Auntie Lil to the pavement and began to run furiously south. Kicking off her heels as she fled, she dug into the sidewalk with astonishing speed and took off after the blonde. Auntie Lil fell against the rough surface, scraping her elbow and one cheek. She lay flat against the concrete, gasping for breath. Annie O'Day bent over her, the scalpel held high in the air. It gleamed in a patch of moonlight.

  "Are you all right?" Annie asked anxiously, holding up Auntie Lil's head and checking for cuts or bruises.

  Auntie Lil managed a small nod, and saw that others were heading her way. "Go get her," she told Annie weakly, pointing south after Leteisha Swann.

  Annie took off running into the darkness, the pounding of her sneakers on the sidewalk echoing eerily in the silence between groups of cars. The shouting had stopped and there was only the sounds of heavy breathing and other footsteps approaching the dark corner of the pier. Auntie Lil wanted to meet them with head held high, but she felt so weak… the closeness of the scare had drained her of her remaining strength. She was scared, damn it, scared and angry at herself and ashamed and discouraged that her body had proved so frail. The effort was too much and, dazed, she lay her head back down on the concrete. She'd just rest for a teensy moment.

  Someone was panting heavily just inches from her ear. "Oh God," she heard the gasping voice say. "Aunt Lil? Aunt Lil?"

  "She's dead!" a voice shouted in sudden panic.

  "Certainly not!" she replied weakly. "I absolutely refuse to die like this." Her head felt a bit better and she opened her eyes. It was Theodore, her own dear Theodore.

  "Stop fussing, Theodore," she ordered weakly. "I'm fine. It's just that… just that…" She could not finish the sentence. She forgot what she was about to say. She was lost in the bliss of believing that, finally, she was safe. If Theodore was there, that meant she was safe. Struggling to sit, she curled up and leaned against him. He held her close and patted her wiry curls.

  "It's okay," he said reassuringly. "They've called the cops and an ambulance. You're with me now. You're safe."

  She wanted to thank him, but the relief was too much. Just then, a competent hand took hold of her arm and checked her pulse. "You're okay, granny," a melodious voice assured her. She opened her eyes again to find Nellie, the woman who owned the Jamaican restaurant on Forty-Sixth Street.

  "You saw me," Auntie Lil said simply. "I thought you were going to ignore it."

  "I saw you. And I should have done something right away. I'm ashamed of myself. Trying to look the other way." Nellie glanced at T.S. "Her pulse is good. She's been nicked a little in the side and there's blood, but I think that she's mostly scared."

  "I thought you said all little old ladies looked alike," Auntie Lil joked feebly.

  "Not all little old ladies eat three of my meat pies." Nellie waved two waiting figures over. The funny old man with the bulbous nose stepped from the darkness and looked down at Auntie Lil with deep concern.

  "You saw me, too?" she asked in deep wonder. He nodded solemnly and gave her a small smile.

  "Tommy saved your life. He came running into the deli," Billy explained, patting the old man on the back. "It took us a minute to figure out what he meant. Old Tommy here doesn't talk."

  The man nodded again, smiling more widely this time.

  A small bouncing figure darted out from behind the old man. "You okay?" Little Pete asked breathlessly. "I called the cops. They're on their way."

  As if on cue, a squad car pulled up by the sidewalk, siren off. But the lights flashed furiously, casting multicolored shadows for blocks down the road. Two uniformed officers stepped from the cars and approached the group cautiously, their faces obscured by shadows.

  Seconds later, an ambulance came shrieking up and two paramedics hopped out with a stretcher, looked around and, seeing no one obviously injured, stood to one side and waited for orders.

  Just then, amid much scrambling, deep cursing and heavy breathing, Annie O'Day appeared from the south. All that weight lifting and soccer and running and bicycling had paid off. She had Leteisha Swann firmly by the neck with one hand, while the other twisted Leteisha's arm tightly behind her back in an upward grasp.

  "Let me go, you big amazon," the prostitute was arguing fiercely, her whole body trembling. But when she saw the two officers—one male, one female—she relaxed and her complaining attitude evaporated instantly. "Officers, these people are harassing me," she said in a plaintively indignant voice. "On account of my profession. This wild woman here is assaulting my person."

  "Why, you liar!" Anger gave Auntie Lil strength. She struggled to her feet and leaned forward, eyes blazing. "How dare you add lying to attempted murder, you killer… you, you thief!"

  "Let her go," the male officer ordered, ignoring Auntie Lil. Annie reluctantly relinquished her grip on Leteisha. The policewoman backed into position behind Annie, as if she were the troublemaker.

  Leteisha took a long time before she spoke, first primping her hair, dress and gloves carefully back into place. Auntie Lil was not fooled: she was stalling for time to think up a story. Oh, how dangerous and cunning this woman was. One minute she was the quintessential cold-blooded killer and the next she could be a flustered, slightly dumb, poor little streetwalker victim of society. One who was obviously friendly with the cops on the beat.

  "Like I say," Leteisha began in a polite, throaty voice. "This old lady approached me on the street and asked me for directions to the—"

  "You're a damn liar!" Auntie Lil shouted as she darted forward and flailed at the woman. She had just been pushed too far. Her punches bounced off the woman's arms—she seemed made of steel. Before the policeman could interfere or his partner could get around Annie, Leteisha Swann shoved Auntie Lil and sent her flying against the concrete wall of the pier front. The fight only took a few seconds. Auntie Lil bounced off the wall and fell to the ground, groaning at the shock.

  For T.S., it was the breaking point. Fifty-five years of well-bred behavior disappeared in a single enraging moment. He felt like he was underwater, swimming up for air. The breath exploded in his lungs; his ears began to ring. Red spots swam before his eyes and power surged through his body, energizing him with unbelievable fury.

  "Don't you ever touch my aunt again," he announced just before he drew back a fist and sent it crashing into the center of the prostitute's face. He heard a crack as his knuckles went numb. Leteisha Swann flew backwards, where she hit the pier railing and crumpled to a silver heap on the sidewalk.

  Officer King grabbed T.S. from behind, locking his arms firmly at his side. The assembled crowd stared at the still figure of the prostitute in amazement, then turned and gawked at T.S.

  The policewoman calmly helped Auntie Lil to her feet and bent over to take a look at Leteisha Swann.

  "Help her up, too," the male officer ordered his partner. The policewoman grabbed the prostitute by both arms and hoisted her upright.

  Annie O'Day peered at Leteisha Swann's face closely. "You broke her nose," she pointed out to T.S. with undisguised approval.

  The policeman released T.S. and took a closer look.
"That's assault and battery," he warned T.S. darkly.

  "There's something funny about her," Auntie Lil declared, glaring at Leteisha as she struggled to catch her breath.

  The prostitute groaned and her head bobbed groggily. Her hair had slipped wildly to one side.

  "That's a wig," Nellie announced darkly. "Not a good one, either, if you ask me."

  Little Pete was staring at Leteisha Swann.

  "What's the matter, son?" Nellie asked him kindly. She put her hand on the young boy's arm. "You're trembling. What is it? Tell us."

  Little Pete could not speak. He just stared at Leteisha, then looked to T.S. for help. In a single glance, T.S. understood. Darting forward before the officers could stop him, T.S. grabbed at Leteisha's hair. The wig ripped off with a sticky sound like a zipper, to reveal a smooth brown scalp beneath. Her head was completely shaved.

  Even the jaded officers looked stunned at the development.

  "It's a wig all right," Billy agreed.

  "It's a man!" Nellie corrected.

  "It's Rodney!" Little Pete announced loudest of all, fear discarded in favor of anger. He stared Leteisha in the face. "It's Rodney. The man who beat up Timmy."

  The cops stared at one another, uncertain what to do. Auntie Lil took advantage of their inaction.

  "Rodney?" she asked, turning to T.S. for guidance.

  He nodded grimly, sucking at his injured knuckles. "You know him all right," he told Auntie Lil. He gripped the long glove that adorned Leteisha's right hand and peeled it back to her wrist—revealing a large eagle tattoo adorning the prostitute's lower bicep. The eagle clutched branches in his talons as he swooped downward in fierce supremacy.

  "I give you The Eagle," T.S. told the assembled group, sweeping his injured hand out like a magician's. "Behold the disappearing man."

  "He is real," Auntie Lil whispered, flushing as the closeness of her own death was reinforced.

  "Damn right I'm real," Leteisha shot back, struggling to stand upright. Her voice deepened and she grew more defiant as she gingerly touched her bleeding nose. The game wasn't over yet and so far as she was concerned, her name was still Leteisha Swann. "So maybe I was assaulting this lady," she told the officers. "But I was just trying to get her pocketbook. And I have no idea of who this Rodney guy is."

  This unleashed another round of protests from the group until the policewoman blew her whistle for silence. Confused, but still determined to maintain his authority, the male officer addressed Leteisha Swann. "Robbery is a serious crime," he began.

  "Not as serious as murder," a confident voice interrupted. The small crowd parted automatically at the sound of this new voice and Detective Santos stepped through into the clearing.

  "What are you doing here?" the male officer demanded grumpily. He didn't like someone else taking over on his home turf.

  "I was up the street," Santos explained tersely, nodding toward The Westsider. "I saw the flashing lights."

  "I called you twice at the precinct like you asked," Billy spoke up angrily. "Fat lot of good it did her." He nodded toward Auntie Lil's bleeding leg, but Detective Santos ignored the jibe. His conscience was clear—he had warned Auntie Lil.

  Santos stared at Auntie Lil then squinted at Leteisha Swann's eagle tattoo.

  "He beat up Timmy," Little Pete piped up bravely. Nellie patted his shoulder in reassurance.

  "That so?" Santos said softly. He scrutinized Leteisha as carefully as an exhibit in a museum. "Interesting tattoo. I believe we may have to make that charge murder."

  "You've got no witnesses," Leteisha challenged him. But clad so absurdly in women's clothing, the revealed killer was suddenly more pathetic than frightening. His defiant posture and threatening tone seemed silly and out of place.

  "We'll find a witness, don't you worry." A polite, deep voice tinged with a heavy Southern drawl floated out from the shadows behind them. Franklin stepped into view, his massive body clad once again in his customary overalls. Behind him, movement rippled in the darkness. An unseen crowd had gathered. The homeless who had declared the abandoned upper roadway their home had been drawn to the pier by the flashing lights and the unusual sounds.

  Franklin twisted his hat in his hands and stared steadily at the killer, his natural diffidence nowhere in evidence. "I've spent all week looking and I don't plan to quit now. I'll find the man that saw you. Just you wait and see."

  "Franklin!" T.S. stepped up to shake his hand. "Where have you been?"

  "Been looking, that's where I've been." His head nodded toward the unseen homeless gathered in the darkness on the fringes of the pier. "I'm getting close. Met a man up here tonight who knows the old fellow who was sitting next to Emily the day she died. I'm on my way down to the Bowery for him now."

  "He's our witness," Auntie Lil announced in triumph. "Franklin will find him."

  "Met another man up there who saw you with Miss Eva the other day," Franklin continued softly to Leteisha. "'Course, you looked a little different than you did that day at the soup kitchen." He pretended to look Leteisha over carefully. "More like you look right now, I'd say. With the wig back on, of course. Ma'am."

  Detective Santos had been watching this exchange with a patience quite unlike him. Now he turned back to the waiting officers. "Take him in," he ordered tersely, pointing at Leteisha. "I'll meet you there in half an hour."

  "Just him?" the policeman protested. He looked at Auntie Lil pointedly, then back at the detective.

  "That's what I said," Santos explained tersely. "And no one talks to him until I get there. Understand? No one, not even the Lieutenant."

  "What about her?" the male officer asked again. He pointed his baton at Auntie Lil.

  "Miss Hubbert and I will be there shortly," the detective answered smoothly. "After we get this little nick here checked out." He took Auntie Lil's arm tenderly and patted her hand as if she were a rare jewel. "I owe you an apology, Miss Hubbert. That and a return favor. We'll stop by the hospital first." He broke into a big smile. "You'll get good service, I guarantee it. I plan to escort you there myself."

  Auntie Lil tried to smile back but found herself bursting into fervent tears. T.S. took her firmly by the shoulders and made her sit on the curb. There—surrounded by her new friends—she cried until she could cry no more. Detective Santos and the ambulance crew waited patiently for her to finish.

  16

  Detective Santos kept his word. Auntie Lil and T.S. were quickly ushered in past the hospital waiting room crowd. No questions asked and no questions answered. Within half an hour, the hospital was behind them and an unmarked car was waiting at the curb. Auntie Lil climbed in front with the driver without a word, leaving the back seat to Santos and T.S. The men exchanged glances and both understood that she was still shaken up by her ordeal. Santos had spent much of the time in the hospital questioning them about their actions in the previous days. Reviewing the events had made it all too clear to Auntie Lil that she had no one but herself to blame for her near-miss with death.

  "Billy tried to warn me," she said suddenly as they pulled away from the hospital and headed for the precinct. "Every time I went into his deli, he tried to warn me."

  "Billy's a good guy," Santos agreed. "I told him to keep an eye out for you two. He called me twice tonight to say you were still snooping around. Unfortunately, I've just picked up the evening shift and was out on my dinner break."

  It was Auntie Lil's turn to be tactfully silent. Anyone who would take their dinner break at the Westsider was not exactly nutritionally minded.

  The driver gunned the motor and they were thrown back in their seats as he maneuvered skillfully past a line of taxis jockeying for lane supremacy. It shook Auntie Lil out of her momentary reverie. She shivered slightly and turned to Santos and T.S. "Leteisha must have been following me the whole time," she told the two men. "I had dinner with Little Pete right in the middle of that picture window. It was stupid of me. Very stupid." Auntie Lil's sigh lingered in the quiet of the car an
d Detective Santos changed the subject to one nearer his own heart.

  "So you think the big man is this Worthington guy?" he asked T.S. for what must have been the third or fourth time. “And he’s a low rent Broadway producer?”

  "Has to be him. It's either Worthington or someone he knows. He's the one who sent me to that apartment." T.S. shook his head, still unsure. He had already explained his attendance at Worthington's party and his subsequent memory loss to Santos at the hospital while Auntie Lil was being bandaged. Neither spoke of the event in her presence. No sense giving Auntie Lil ammunition with which to shoot down T.S.'s new sense of equality.

  "Think the kid will confirm who the big man is?" Santos asked hopefully.

  "I doubt it." T.S. shook his head. "Little Pete won't stand up and say so, at least not in court. He's mad enough at Rodney to turn on him, but he's still too afraid of the man."

  "That's okay. We probably won't need him anyway," Santos decided. "I've got enough to bluff it out. Rodney will roll over before the night is up. All it's going to take is Worthington's name and a reference to two counts of murder one. His lawyer will tell him to make a deal. He'll turn in the big man, whoever he is, before the sun is up. They always do. That's what those guys never figure out. They act so surprised when their people turn on them. But when you lie down with dogs, forget about the fleas. It's getting bit you ought to worry about."

  As T.S. was untangling the detective's metaphor, they reached the precinct. The driver pulled up directly in front of the main door, leaving the car to block the entire sidewalk. It was one of the few perks that cops in NYC enjoyed. A small crowd stopped to see who was being brought in. The onlookers seemed disappointed that neither Auntie Lil nor T.S. was handcuffed and they walked away, grumbling. New Yorkers were hard to keep entertained.

  Auntie Lil and T.S. were allowed to wait in a small room off the main floor. While additional detectives could question the other pier witnesses, Santos wanted to take their official statements personally. They had agreed to wait until after Leteisha/Rodney was questioned, though they'd been warned that it would be a long time.