by Simon Swift
And all the time Dyke was flitting from one job to the next, without a care in the world. A couple of times I'd telephoned him, asked if he had too much on. You know, whether he wanted to pass some of the less exciting, mundane stuff down to me. That wasn't Dyke's way. The way he saw it, he was a public service, not so much in a line of business, but doing a job for the people. Everything given to him he would personally deal with. He would give it the time it deserved and quite happily put his life on the line for the smallest of rewards. He worked very closely with the Feds, flying all over the country, dodging bullets wherever he went.
I hoped his killer would soon be found. In spite of what the police appeared to think, I did not know who had shot him or why. Of course, there was the suspicious kid that had been following me, but that was a flimsy piece of supposition and not something I would bring up without a lot more investigating. I had a few ideas about how I would tackle that.
Marlow kept creeping back into my thoughts. She was a wonderful lay, my first in a while, but just when I thought back to us last night it was not only Marlow who was there but Claudia. I put the thought from my head and had a cigarette.
I decided this was no time to sit on my hands.
I considered the worth of checking out Dyke’s office. He was very rarely in it, didn't keep a secretary or have a telephone, and never took notes. Whatever files Dyke Spanner required he kept firmly in his head. Best place for them Eezy, he used to tell me, that way the only person knows what I'm thinking is me. It was worth a try and I would do it tomorrow. Start at the bottom and build up.
I dug out all the contacts he had ever given me, which didn't add up to much, and gave them a call. There was no sign of anything suspicious. Most of them hadn't dealt with him in a long while. He had been on something big, that much seemed clear, and I wasn't going to solve it on the telephone.
Why couldn't he have got in touch with me earlier? It's not as if I've been busy lately. I'd only been out of town a week or so. I wondered about his funeral. The people round here didn't care much for honoring the dead, the most respectful gesture from the residents of our neighborhood would be a graceful throw into the Central Park lake.
Chapter Five – Hermeez Wentz
When it got to midday, it hit me that I hadn't been back home for over twenty-four hours. There was not a great deal of significance in this as there were very few people that knew where I lived - I had always felt it prudent to keep that information in as few hands as possible - but for some reason I felt an urge to make a quick visit back. Was there something there that would help me out? If nothing else I could get some lunch there and freshen up.
I headed back to my flat. I had a hunk of beef in the refrigerator, which would go down great with a beer. It was nearly lunchtime and I was starving. I mixed with the traffic and soon pulled in on the kerb outside my flat. My home was a simple, two bed roomed flat. I was on the ground floor overlooking the lovely garden of colorful flowers that stayed alive right through the Fall.
I opened the door and entered my 'living room' - I called it that because it was the only place where somebody hadn't tried to rub me out. The decor in my flat was simple; there was not much of it - a table to eat from, a sofa to relax on and stacks and stacks of bookshelves on every wall. Each one was brimming with books, many of which I hadn't yet got round to reading. It was how I liked it.
When I got inside the flat I noticed Hermeez Wentz. He was sitting on one of my sofas, with a steaming cup of coffee in one hand and a brimming sandwich in the other. He was a tall, muscular, handsome man with languid, sky blue eyes and dark, almost black, short cropped hair. His nose was small, well sculptured, sitting nicely in the middle of a charming, charismatic face. He was always clean-shaven and well attired, priding himself on an appearance of sophisticated bravura. He looked like a cross between a film star and a gangster and spoke in a charming, soft voice, emphasizing words with his sparkling eyes. It was often said by the ladies that Hermeez gave off an irresistible sensuality, without even trying, that could melt the heart of any lady and dampen the knickers of most. I wouldn't know about that. To me he was simply Hermeez Wentz, my partner and my best friend in the entire world.
Hermeez Wentz had been my longest friend; we had not only grown up together, forming that enigmatic bond that boyhood pals create and adults cannot even hope to understand, but carried it on further into manhood. I had consumed my first beer alongside him, made love for the first time with him doing the same in the next room, a paper-thin wall away, and I had even killed my first human being shoulder to shoulder with him.
"Eezy, you really shouldn't go leaving your windows open. Do you fancy a coffee?" he said and stood up, putting his coffee and food down.
I smiled and we embraced.
"I'd love a coffee," I said. "And I didn't leave the windows open. Is that how you got in?"
Hermeez nodded and passed me a cup. "Yeah but I wasn't the first. Nothing seems to be damaged, or taken. Maybe you should have a look around."
I did exactly that and he was right. There was nothing stolen and apart from the latch on the bathroom window that had been snapped in half, there was no damage. I brushed it off for the moment and we sat down to talk.
"How was the funeral Eezy?" asked Hermeez.
I sighed. "It was difficult for Maggie. She put on a brave face and it helped to have somebody with her but it was still hard."
He nodded. "You still haven't told anybody?"
I shook my head, "Nope. Why the hell should I? They can all think what the hell they want to ... and do. I guess it will be worse now that Dyke's dead."
I studied my friend's face, which reacted exactly like I expected it would, turning from good humour, to shock to exasperation to eventually worry.
"You hadn't heard," I said. "He was killed last night. I was the one that found him."
I told Hermeez how I had stumbled across the dying Dyke Spanner last night. I didn't expect him to be upset; he thought a lot less of Dyke than I did and he wasn't my bosom buddy. He showed the respect that he would show for the death of any acquaintance, he said a little prayer, raised a toast to Dyke Spanner and for the next minute we sat in silence. When he was ready he asked me a little more. I told him what I knew, which was very little and I filled him in on the case that had led me to the Dragon Bar on that fateful night.
"Is there a connection?" he asked.
I shook my head. "I don't think so. If there is, it is not yet evident." I shrugged. "I'll find out in good time."
Hermeez looked surprised. "What do you mean, you'll find out?"
"You know exactly what I mean. You may not have thought much of Dyke..."
"Neither did you Eezy. He was a son of a bitch, and you know it."
I smiled at my buddy. "Either way I'm going to look into it. The police already think I may be involved. And I'm sure they're gonna want to talk to you at some point."
Hermeez narrowed his baby, blue eyes and rubbed his big hands through his hair. He looked agitated and restless. He finished his coffee and put the cup down on the table before sighing deeply and then flashing that killer smile at me. His eyes were smiling too. "Of course you're gonna look into it. Forget I said anything."
Ever since the end of The Shadow Man Detective Agency, Dyke and Hermeez had barely been on speaking terms. Terry Shadow had managed to keep us all happy. We always had money, we always had plenty of work, no matter how dirty it was, and we always had the ladies. Terry was like a father figure and he provided the glue that kept us all together.
When the Agency split right after Terry's death, Dyke decided to go his own separate way. I don't think it was the split that set Dyke and Hermeez at loggerheads, they had not seen eye to eye for a long time, but it was only then that their rivalry took on a more nasty turn. What had started as competitiveness progressing quickly into a simple dislike of each other grew into a hatred between both men.
When Dyke started taking jobs off the Agency it grated. Ac
counts and contacts that we had nurtured for a long time were wiped out. Hermeez resented the way that Dyke took any job he could get; he had absolutely no scruples for whom he worked, whether it was Outfit, the Feds or simply fleecing an old lady of her savings. As long as it paid, and paid well, Dyke would do it. Hermeez was more honorable and although we took the higher ground we suffered financially for it.
Taking the spoils was not enough for Dyke. He wasn't simply happy that he was driving around in a Murphy Dusenberg, while me and Hermeez were in battered old Fords, that he was wearing exclusive suits, not off the rack rags, or that he was moving office every other month, each time to something bigger and better. No, Dyke could never just enjoy his good fortune he always rubbed it in. Most of the time Hermeez would just take it, after all they had fought before and Dyke always ended up with the bloodier nose, but when it involved the ladies Hermeez would not let it go.
It all came to a head five years ago.
Hermeez Wentz had always had the reputation as a ladies man. He played the life of an eternal bachelor well, romancing several different ladies at any one period of his life. Never did he lie to any of them or promise them anything that he wasn't prepared to uphold. But never did he have the intention of settling down with any of them and making them the first Mrs. Wentz. This was the accepted situation and all parties were aware of the facts. Most would accept it and enjoy playing the game others would reluctantly refuse secretly hoping they could change this most delicious of lotharios. None of them could.
Until Marcia Grey entered the scene.
Marcia was a most beautiful, young girl with long, sandy blonde locks and a sweet, apple-pie face. Her eyes were always alive with such excitement and a passion for life that was rare amongst 1930s New York youngsters. She had a gentle trail of freckles on her soft, smooth cheeks and little dimples at the corner of her mouth, which accentuated when she smiled, and she smiled a lot. Although she was only eighteen and nothing more than a girl she had the body of a lady with large, full, breasts, a pert, rounded bottom and legs that were as long and straight as route 66. She enjoyed showing off her egg timer figure and was doing just that when Hermeez first encountered her.
It was late one Saturday evening, the snow was piling up outside and the temperature was minus 20 when Hermeez and myself entered the Long Legs Club off Broadway for a late drink. We were both tired and cold from a long stakeout that had proven fruitless and were in need of some liquid warmers and a bit of light entertainment. The Long Legs was owned by a friend of ours and provided late night jazz as well as beautiful dancers. The girls were not strippers and never did more than dance, but they were classed as erotic entertainment and had a strong following amongst the late night drinkers.
I bought the drinks, a couple of bourbons, and joined Hermeez at a table in the corner. He finished his drink in one go and accepted another without blinking. His attention was well and truly grabbed by the beautiful girl in a black, two-piece outfit that was larger than a bikini but smaller than a flapper-skirt and body top. She danced gracefully and professionally, never holding eye contact with any of the punters for more than a second or two. Except Hermeez, who she smiled at throughout the routine. We sat and watched the show for the next twenty minutes without speaking. Our glasses kept being refilled but not a word was spoken.
After the routine had finished Hermeez declared that he was going to take the dancer out for a meal. This would contravene the rules of the Long Legs but Hermeez was adamant that he must meet the girl and that he wanted to persuade her to give up the dancing and get a proper job. For the next two weeks we found ourselves frequenting the Long Legs late into the night and enjoying the performance of the young, blonde girl. The more Hermeez raved over her, the more uncomfortable I felt watching, but she was awesome and there were many gentlemen who had to wait a few minutes after she had left until they would stand and go to the bar.
On the seventeenth night, Hermeez got to speak to the girl and found out her name was Marcia. I don't know what they talked about but they immediately struck up a rapport and sure enough she agreed to go out on a date with my irascible partner. Three weeks later, she had given her notice at the Club and moved in with my friend. And five weeks after that they were engaged to be married.
When I spoke to Marcia she always impressed me as a girl who was very clever, yet humble, she knew she was incredibly beautiful yet played that down and she really convinced me that she was truly in love with Hermeez. She always talked about her desire to make it big to be famous as an actress or a singer, although she never really made any strides in either profession, much preferring to join Hermeez on exotic holidays and be looked after, which was her absolute right as his girl. It didn't worry him that she was much, much younger than he was although he once confided in me that her fierce ambition left him uneasy.
This was all forgotten when they were married; a grand occasion with over a hundred guests and myself as best man. They honeymooned in the Bahamas and for the next couple of years were the picture of happiness. It was only when Marcia got her first acting job that it all started to go wrong. She was so excited when she burst into my apartment, where Hermeez and I were having a meeting. She was booked on the next flight to Los Angeles and would start work immediately on a film; it looked like at last she was going to be the star that she had always told us she would be.
Their marriage undoubtedly suffered, with Marcia spending a lot of her time at the other end of the country, and Hermeez often busy when she returned. I can't be one hundred percent sure that he never strayed whilst she was away, although he swears to me that he didn't. She, on the other hand, strayed many times, often sleeping with a casting director at lunchtime and the male lead at dinnertime. She regaled us with her sordid exploits in great detail after an almighty row, when Hermeez had accused her of treating him like a dog and insisted that she would have to give up on her acting to save their marriage. I think his pride was badly bruised because it was the first time that he had truly given himself to a relationship and realized he had never really been in control. He went crazy that night, slinging accusations and giving ultimatums as if she was his ten-year-old daughter, not his beautiful wife. It was then that she hit him with the bombshell and he walked out. At first, I thought that she was drunk and that she had made it all up to hurt him or stun him into shutting up. However, she then made a play for me and I too walked out.
The divorce proceedings began straight away and from the beginning, it was dirty. Hermeez hired an investigator to check out Marcia's activities in LA and she did the same, claiming that it was his unreasonable behavior and his incessant adultery that had led to the breakdown. And so it went on. Although he was hurting he soon slipped back into his old self and it seemed like the whole thing would soon be forgotten and my old buddy would be back. Until the court hearing.
Both parties gave their version of events and it appeared that a satisfactory truth would be hard to find. When Hermeez's detective gave his findings, it looked pretty damning for Marcia and then she unveiled her own secret weapon. Her detective was no other than one of Hermeez's longest associates and one time friend, Dyke Spanner. His testimony was cruel, untrue and final. He knew Hermeez inside out and what he didn't know he made up, convincing the judge that the man was a real low life and deserved to be hanged not simply taken to the financial cleaners. Marcia won a massive pay out and Hermeez and Dyke were forever going to be enemies. To make matters worse, as the courtroom was cleared Dyke sneered at Hermeez and said he only did it for the money, but that he should have done it for free.
"What do you mean,” I asked. "You betrayed a friend."
"I didn't really need the money," he laughed. "But boy can she give a mean blowjob."
We both spent the night in the cells. Hermeez swore he would never do business with Spanner again and that he would not be happy until the man was dead.
And now he was dead.
"Ava told me Marcia's back in town."
Hermeez sighed and gave a wry smile. "Yeah, she's back and she wants more money. Money, that at the moment, I don't have. A couple of days and she'll be gone again. Then I will be back with you full time."
"Don't worry about it, take your time."
"You're a buddy, Errol. A couple of days, that's all I need. Did Ava tell you the police are going to question me?"
"No, but I think it's likely, don't you?"
He nodded. "Sure. Maybe you looking into it isn't a bad idea after all."
I agreed and put on another pot of coffee.
Chapter Six – Claudia
The East Village is a better-kept secret than its famous cousin, Greenwich Village. It was early in the twentieth century that it started to attract the very people that first made Greenwich such a fun place to be. The artists, the politicos and the literati all flocked East when the rents started spiraling and the tourists descended on their homes in Greenwich.
I always enjoyed a stroll through this part of Manhattan, feeling a sense of belonging amongst the radical bookshops, offbeat clothes stores and dingy, watering holes. Why the hell, I, of all people, would belong here I don't know, but it felt like home from home. The cafes were always full of would-be writers, the streets awash with musicians and artists and the place so full of life. People would stop you simply to talk, stand at street corners and tell each other stories or just watch the world go by.
It was now after nine thirty in the evening and I was doing just that; watching the world go by. I was sitting in a cafe across the street from Cooper Union, a seven-story building erected in 1859 by a wealthy industrialist. The enormous brownstone building was where Abraham Lincoln started his charge to the White House with his "might makes right" speech in 1860. I thought it was ugly, but then so was old Abraham and he didn't do too badly.
