Black Shadows

by Simon Swift

  Over the next half an hour, I listened as Hermeez Wentz told me Marlow's story. All the time we kept close tabs on the rookie to my right, who gulped down more and more wine, whilst making himself all the more obvious. Hermeez made a hell of a story out of it all. Comical, thoughtful; it was like a chapter from Gone With The Wind. Slowly and methodically, he described how he managed to track her down from the distinctive scent of perfume at the scene of my trashed lock up. She was staying at the Hilton Hotel and bought the perfume from the hotel perfumery. He told me how he earned her trust and respect through his boyish charm and an ingenious cover story, so that she'd tell him anything. He sounded the true professional, doing a job thoroughly and having a good reason for everything he had to do. Hell, he even had me believing the deep soul searching he underwent before sleeping with the broad. The sacrifice of guilt, of corrupting a woman's emotions for honour and the sake of a dear friend.

  "Once I was booked in at the Hilton, I realized that I would need a good cover story to approach her. Something that would enable me to talk openly to her and for it not to seem queer that I would want to listen to what she had to say."

  "I'm surprised you didn't just wow her like you usually do with the ladies."

  "If it wasn't such a delicate and important situation I would have Eezy," he smiled. "She is a looker isn't she?"

  I smiled. "So what was your guise?"

  "New York Times journalist and prospective unauthorized biographer of the soon to be Governor of New York State and top crime prosecutor Thomas Dewey. I played the role low key, interviewing several guests in the lounge, taking lots of telephone calls and plenty private conferencing with the manager. It cost me, mind you, but it worked. It wasn't long before Marlow sent a bottle of champagne and two glasses to my private table. She soon followed and we sparred for the next hour or so, teasing and testing each other without giving too much away.

  "Of course she was interested in what I was writing. She had noticed the way the waiters and distinguished guests were all falling over themselves to talk to me, and the way I listened before jotting it all down in a notepad the minute they were gone. She guessed I was a detective, a policeman even, but it was the mystery that intrigued her. She said she had always been drawn to detectives, particularly lone wolf types. She found them exciting and dangerous and that was a big turn on.

  "I was surprised by how candid she was. We had barely finished our first glass of bubbly and she was already laying herself bare. I told her my cover and she swallowed it without batting an eyelid. She made a point of praising crusading journalists equally as high as detectives.

  "I told her my subject matter and that really got her interest. Thomas Dewey was a perfect figure to write a biography about, she went into quite some detail about him, surprising me just how knowledgeable she was. I went into my pre-planned spiel about the structure of the book, who I would be concentrating on and the issues I would be raising. I made a point of keeping the subject of Arthur Flegenheimer low key. Sure I would delve into their very public feud, the rumors that the Dutchman was going to personally hit Dewey and that that possibly contributed to his own slaying. But I didn't want to overplay my hand. At this point, that would be like telegraphing my real intentions on Trans-Continental but I got the subject out in the open in a muted way. I was intrigued how she would react, whether she would shy away or take the bull by the horns.

  "By now we were into our second bottle of champagne and Marlow wanted to talk of nothing else but my book. She was acting sexier and sexier as the night went on and I was finding it difficult to keep my concentration. Then she dropped her bombshell and I was brought right back down to earth. One moment she was blowing smoke rings through her voluptuous red lips, the next she told me she had been the mistress of Arthur Flegenheimer and that if I paid her $10,000 she would give me enough information on Tom Dewey to make my book a bestseller.

  "I could not believe what I was hearing. I had barely got into my routine and had not yet dare mention the questions I really wanted to ask her and here she was telling me just what I wanted to know. I stalled on the money for obvious reasons but I made it clear to her that I was interested. She accepted this, after all it was highly coincidental that I had stumbled onto such a scoop and who did carry that amount of cash on their person? I ventured a joke and answered Dutch Schultz and she liked it, inviting me back to her suite to continue our business.

  "Hell I didn't know how to play it now. I know what you had told me, that she was one dangerous lady to be alone with but I found myself drawn in like a fly to a spider's web. I was desperate to find out more, to quiz her on the diamond and find out what the hell was really going on, but more than that I was desperate to kiss those beautiful red lips.

  "Back in her suite we got more comfortable; shedding our coats and Marlow fixed our drinks. I took the end seat on her sofa and she sat on the other side swinging her legs onto my lap, caressing my chest with her stockinged feet. She told me that she would accept a small advance on the ten big ones and she would give me enough to be going on with. Was I interested? Of course I was interested and I emptied my wallet, getting a little embarrassed as a rubber dropped out. She immediately picked it up, smiling to herself before placing it on the coffee table and lighting a cigarette.

  "For the next hour or hours, I'm not quite sure how long it was, she told me more about her life with New York's Al Capone. She made it sound like it was more of an equal arrangement, she insisted she was not just his bitch and she got just as much out of it as he did. Hell, do you doubt it, she is one woman that is not going to be second best in any relationship? I listened as she mocked Schultz's young wife, the lovely Francis reveling in telling me how they often made love under her nose. She insulted his henchmen. Abbaddabba Berman was the only one she respected, the rest were just monkeys, she said and would have walked off a ten-storey building if Dutch asked them to. She even talked pretty scathingly about the Dutchman himself, saying he wasted the opportunity that he had to be the City's numero uno. If he hadn't have been so damn obstreperous he could have cut a deal with Luciano and taken a piece of the Syndicate. Instead he let his Zionist principles get the better of him and got landed with a life on the fringes, keeping her on the fringes with him.

  "She talked solidly for a very long time and hardly any of it referred to Dewey but I just let her continue. When she got on to the subject of Schultz's killing she got a little emotional but it stemmed mainly from the fact that she was not looked after. Because she was only his mistress, whatever their real relationship was, she ended up with nothing. She was not mentioned in the will, was known to nobody that mattered and so was left empty handed.

  "And then she mentioned the diamond. A big, blue and extremely beautiful diamond. She didn't know its history but she knew that the Dutchman had it, he had promised her that it would be hers, but somebody had killed him before he got around to giving it to her. Now she got quite tearful so I comforted her and she let me. Before long we were making love in her over size bed and I was feeling like I had gone to heaven. The diamond was forgotten but not for long.

  "When the morning came she was back to being the hard-headed businesswoman. However hard I pushed her she refused to talk any more about Dewey, Dutch and especially the diamond. All she said is that she was determined to retrieve it. After all she was the rightful owner and she would make sure that she got her birthright. When I challenged her she spat out a bitter diatribe, she said that every keeper of the diamond that did not merit its ownership had suffered a nasty death. She said that it almost had a mythical power and would never bring happiness to the undeserving. As far as she is concerned she is the rightful owner and will not rest until she has it back.

  "We spent the rest of the day together and as the hours passed by she mellowed again. We had a very pleasant time and once again ended up back at her suite in The Hilton. I had batted very carefully as far as the diamond and Schultz were concerned. I wanted to take my questioning a step f
urther but wasn't sure how to approach it."

  My friend smiled a wry smile. "When I had worked it out it was too late."

  He laughed, filling his glass again and stealing the last of the king prawns. Hermeez was simply all wrapped up in his own melodramatics. Somewhere along the line, however, I had a funny feeling it wasn't all as it seemed. Hermeez made it sound like a super job, the master at work when all the while I got the feeling he'd been led a line. That whatever she told him she wanted to tell him. That she did so on her terms and not his, simply making it look like he'd pulled the strings. Maybe I was wrong, but I got the feeling Hermeez had been taken for a sap.

  We'd now been in the Oyster Bar a good hour and a half and the man to my right was getting edgy. He'd been looking over at regular intervals for the last fifteen minutes. The waitress came to clear the plates away and take any more drinks orders.

  "Thank you sweetheart, that was very nice," I said. "Now do you want to bring over a bottle of bourbon and would you be so kind to ask that gentleman over there if he wants to join us? Thank you."

  Hermeez smiled as the waitress disappeared, searching for a bottle of bourbon. "So there it is Errol. I am sorry I lost Marlow, but it was a worthwhile exercise. An enjoyable one also."

  "Yeah, you did a good job, mate, a good job," I said even though I was feeling a little put out at Hermeez's sloppiness. "Now I'm going to go to the bathroom in a moment. You take care of Mr. Incompetence over there and meet me at Joe's tonight."

  "You got it partner. No worries," laughed Hermeez, letting out a huge guffaw as the confused looking man pulled up a chair.

  When I returned to my car, there was a confused looking police officer by its side. He was knelt down peering through the side window, his helmet placed precariously on the roof.

  "Is this yours, officer?" I asked the startled man, knocking the helmet into his shaking hands. "Now I appreciate you..."

  "Excuse me sir," interrupted the officer, arrogance restored. I stepped back, offering him the floor.

  "Do you realize that you're illegally displaying an NYPD sticker in your..." he paused, "...vehicle?"

  I shrugged. "I'm on important business. Private investigator, don't worry about it. You got a problem contact Timmy..."

  "What is your name, sir?" asked the officer, interrupting me for a second time, before pulling out a notepad. "I'm afraid I'm gonna have to book you for this. It is a serious offence you understand?"

  I sighed and pulled out my car key, putting it in the lock.

  "Your name sir, what is it?" persisted the police officer, holding his pencil threateningly.

  "You want to learn a little respect officer..." I inspected his badge, "...officer Jarvis. Now I've told you I'm on sensitive business and I'm sure you've got a lot better things to be doing. For the record the name is Errol Black, now if you don't mind I'm going to be on my way."

  I could feel my anger rising. Twice now I had been interrupted by this supercilious, snotty nosed kid. Controlling it I opened the door and threw in my hat and coat.

  "Don't move any further sir! I'm warning you. Turn around slowly with no sudden movements."

  I couldn't believe what I was hearing. I looked around to see the pimply police officer, gun in hands, taking aim. His hands were violently shaking, but he had a determined look on his face, his nostrils flared and teeth gritted.

  I held up my arms limply and turned my body full around so we were face to face. All the time I was grinning uncontrollably, surprised at the boy's persistence. I could see the sweat running freely down the acned cheeks of the young man. He must have only been eighteen, twenty two at most.

  "As you will not co-operate sir," he stammered, edging towards me and putting a hand inside my coat, "I'm gonna have to take you in."

  His hand ran over my holstered weapon and stopped. I could almost feel the increasing rate of his pulse, the worry on his young face intensified. Before he could say anything else I gave him a short, sharp knee to the groin. He let out a deep squeal, dropping almost to his knees.

  I looked around the empty street smiling before I gently took his sticky paws away from my trench coat. Easing his handgun from his unresisting grip, I re-holstered it. A quick jab thudded into the side of the man's jaw, putting him out cold. I held him firmly around his shoulders so he didn't fall, and placed him neatly on the sidewalk, his back leaning against the wall.

  "Can you please get this man some assistance?" I shouted to the news vendor down the street. "I think he's drunk."

  I shrugged, flashed a wide grin and fixed up the engine of my baby. Jeez, what was the NYPD coming to these days? In the days if Bob Curtain a couple of tickles, like the one's I just dished out, would not only hasten up the imminent journey to the station, but get you as good hiding to boot. I gave the unconscious policeman one last look before mixing with the late afternoon NY traffic.

  Chapter Twenty-Four – Bequest

  Hermeez drove sensibly and safely through the early evening traffic. The avenues were packed, every lane a mass of loud horns, flashing lights and stressed drivers. I looked at Claudia, seated behind me in the back seat. She looked back, a picture of happiness.

  As we slowly made progress towards the Ambassador Hotel, my curiosity was growing. For too long I'd been on this case. Chasing all over the place. It was certainly long overdue that it was solved, and I was well aware that it was only the Benjamin Wilson windfall that was keeping it going. Then I could wrap up five years of history and wave good bye to a heap of spooks. And bury the ghost of Dyke Spanner for good.

  I was flung at the door as Hermeez swerved suddenly to avoid the car ahead. He immediately reeled off a torrent of abuse. My first thought was that it was a crude attempt by the Coward to recapture me. Retaliatory gesturing by the other driver, however, eased any such worries. Mopping his brow, Hermeez lowered his gear and continued slowly.

  "Ahem. You all right in the back sweetheart?" he asked, chuckling embarrassedly before turning to me. "Teach you to sit up front."

  Ten minutes later we arrived at our destination. Hermeez slowed the car down gently to a standstill outside the main entrance. He already had a fifty-dollar note sticking out of the window as the little mustachioed man came running to the car, closely followed by the burly doorman. Discreetly the man whisked it from Hermeez’s grasp and smiled greasily.

  "You can wait just down there, sir."

  The man pointed to the VIP drop-off area. "I'm afraid ten minutes at the…"

  Another fifty,

  “Take as long as you need."

  Hermeez parked up and killed the engine. I opened the door, brushed down my trench coat and straightened my hat. Claudia got out and stood by my side. "Okay this is it, partner," said Hermeez in pure New Yorkian. "Be careful in there. Don't you worry I'll be watching your ass. You can count on me."

  I slapped him on the shoulder and slammed the door shut. I couldn't deny that I was feeling a little trepidation. Since our luncheon at the Oyster Bar Hermeez had been visibly on edge and that in turn put me on edge. I couldn't help thinking about him and Marlow together and the image bothered me. It wasn't exactly jealousy, I was firmly in love with Claudia by now, even if I didn't admit it to myself, but it bothered me nonetheless. I wasn't sure if I was feeling let down by my buddy or by Marlow. I had no right to feel either, after all Hermeez was only doing what he did to assist me. Or maybe that was what was really bothering me. Maybe I was sceptical as to what Hermeez's real intentions were. He still refused to elaborate any more on his acquaintance with Arnold Muchado, clamming up whenever I broached the subject, and yet he was most insistent that I kept him firmly informed on this case.

  I tried to put this all to the back of my mind. At least for the moment. Now wasn't the time to be getting more uptight than I already was.

  We strode on through the main entrance and confidently made our way to the reception area. It was a long mahogany bar with various signs above. All polished and shiny with two overlarge cacti in
clay pots at each end. By the check-in counter was a heavily bearded man of South American origin. He was arguing vehemently with the attendant, who's grasp of Guatemalan was clearly no greater than my own.

  We marched past and stopped under another sign.

  "Good evening sir, what number please?"

  I stood over it, Claudia supportively by my side. We were in the sanctuary of a private cubicle with bullet and sound-proof walls. There were no windows, just a door -two feet thick solid steel -that could only be activated by a computer. When we wished to leave we simply pressed a red button on the keypad on the wall and waited for the delectable young assistant to assist us.

  The room was small, maybe eight feet by eight. It contained a table and two chairs, solid and varnished, a telephone with no outside line and the small keypad on the wall. It was how I imagined a war cabinet room to be, minus the drinks tray of course. The only other thing was a clock. A cute little novelty, carved in the shape of King Kong that ticked loudly.

  I could feel the sweat on my brow as I hovered over it. The loud tick of King Kong rang irritably in my head. It was not as large as I expected, what the attendant called a "medium-sized" box, but it was in the maximum security quarters. I took off my hat and coat and handed them to Claudia. She passed me back a small silver-plated hip flask, so I took a big gulp. It tasted foul, but what the hell.

  I gave the flask back to Claudia and rummaged in my pocket, pulling out a small chrome key. Turning it over and over in my sweaty palm I could feel my heart beating heavy. I turned to Claudia. "Are you sure you want to stay, darling? Just in case something goes wrong?"

  "I won't leave you, Errol."

  I smiled and turned to the safety-deposit box on the table. One quick turn of the key and the lock released. I reached out, my hands trembling a little, and lifted. It was a lot heavier than I imagined but a touch more force and the lid was up. I looked into the box, then across at Claudia and back at the box.