The Black Stiletto: Black & White

by Raymond Benson

  He caught me watching him and stopped hitting the speed ball.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked, glaring at me.

  “Nothing,” I said, but I know I probably sounded guilty. I made up something to add. “You’re pretty good at that.”

  He muttered under his breath and continued to punch the bag. I averted my eyes, focused on Jimmy, and tried not to pay any attention to Mike Washington for the rest of the day.

  I can’t be imagining this, can I? What if I’m wrong? If Freddie likes him and trusts him, who am I to say otherwise?

  Heck, I can’t help it if he gives me the willies. I just don’t like the guy.

  In direct contrast to Washington, there’s Clark. He’s a Negro teenager who also recently started coming to the gym for boxing lessons. Freddie asked me to be Clark’s coach. At first I think Clark wasn’t too happy about having a girl teach him boxing, but after a couple of lessons he realized I knew my stuff. He’s slowly coming to respect me. He’s a very nice young man. Says he lives on Avenue C near the East River. Apparently it’s an ethnically diverse neighborhood, but with very few Negroes. Clark wants to learn how to defend himself against white teenagers who give him trouble on the street. I told him that fighting is not always the best solution in a case like that; if someone got hurt, the police would automatically blame him because he’s a Negro, whether or not he started it. Clark said he didn’t care. He was tired of being picked on. He’s a small fella, so I can see how he’d be an easy target for white racist bullies.

  Work finally ended for me around 7:00. I showered, changed clothes, and had some supper with Freddie. He was feeling better and promised he’d be back to work tomorrow. When I was done, I put on a coat and told him I’d be back in a little while. I went up the street to the East Side Diner so I could use the pay phone inside. Lucy was working and she was glad to see me. It was slow so we chatted a minute. I felt like I had to order something—I couldn’t just come into the diner and say I wanted to use the phone. She’d ask me why I didn’t just use my own phone at home. So I sat at the counter and had a piece of blueberry pie and a Coke. When she went to wait on a customer, I got off the stool and went to the phone booth.

  John’s phone number was easy to remember. I dialed it and he answered after three rings. This time he just answered with, “Hello.”

  I lowered my voice and did a terrible impersonation of Joe Friday. “I’m looking for Special Agent Richardson.”

  John laughed. “Oh, my. Is the story I’m about to hear really true? Have the names been changed to protect the innocent—or the guilty?”

  That made me laugh, too. “I hope you don’t think it’s wrong of me to call you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know, a woman calling a man.”

  “Not at all. Emily Post may object, but I certainly don’t. I’m glad you did.”

  “Thank you again for the story in the paper. I’m gonna cut it out and put it in a scrapbook.”

  “You will? Do you really keep a scrapbook?”

  “Nah. But maybe I should start one. What do you think?”

  “It might be worth something someday.”

  “Maybe. I do keep a diary.”

  Lucy stopped in front of the phone booth. Through the glass I saw her give me a questioning look. I just smiled and waved her away. She shrugged and went on.

  “A diary, huh? That’s where you keep all your secrets?” he asked.

  “I don’t have any secrets,” I replied. “Well, not many.”

  “I know your name really isn’t Eloise.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Come on. I’m an FBI agent.”

  “Okay, so what if it isn’t my real name?”

  “I’d like to know your real name.”

  “Why?”

  “So I can call you that. It sounds funny for me to say, ‘Well, hello, Black Stiletto!’ ‘Good night, Black Stiletto.’ ‘I’ll talk to you later, Black Stiletto.’ I guess I could shorten it to just ‘B.S.’”

  I like a guy who can make me laugh. “Ha ha, very funny. I’m afraid you’re just gonna have to use Eloise for now, John.”

  “It’s not very fair, is it? You know my name but I don’t know yours.”

  “Nuh uh. I can’t forget you’re an FBI agent. We’re not playing that game.”

  “So what about our deal?” he asked.

  “Our deal?”

  “Didn’t we have a deal? I get you some good press and then you’d agree to meet me in person.”

  Oh, gee whiz. Did he have to bring that up?

  “I’m gonna have to think about that, John. I still don’t trust you. For all I know, you want to make up to your boss and really put me in handcuffs.”

  “Come on, Eloise. I assure you I’ll play nice.”

  “Look, I’ll tell you what. I like your voice and I like talking to you. I’ll call you more often, how’ll that be?”

  “I’d like that.”

  “And then, maybe after I get to know you better, who knows?”

  He went “Tsk, tsk, tsk,” and said, “You’re playing hard to get, you know.”

  “Isn’t that what a respectable woman’s supposed to do? I have my reputation to think of.”

  He laughed.

  “What’s so funny?”

  “The Black Stiletto is worried about her reputation.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a bit ironic.” Lucy passed by the booth and gave me a funny look again. At that moment, the operator asked me to deposit another dime. “Hey, I gotta go. But I’ll call you again soon, okay?”

  “You have to go already?”

  “I’m at a pay phone, John. Next time I’ll bring more money.”

  “Okay, Eloise. I’ll talk to you soon?”

  “Soon.”

  “Goodbye, Black Stiletto.”

  I laughed again. “Goodbye, Special Agent Richardson!” And I hung up.

  When I came out of the booth, Lucy was standing at the counter adding up a check. I returned to my stool to finish my pie.

  “Who were you talking to?” she asked, of course.

  “Oh, just a guy,” I said with fake nonchalance.

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  “Just someone. I don’t really know him. Yet.”

  “You called him from here?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Why?”

  I shrugged. “Just felt like it. Mmm, this sure is good pie.”

  “Judy! What are you not telling me?”

  “Nothing, Lucy. Really. It’s a guy I’ve never even met.”

  “But you call him on the phone?”

  I shrugged again. “So what? I can do that if I want.”

  She smiled, shook her head, and took the check to the customer. I quickly finished the rest of the pie and Coke, left some money on the counter, and waved goodbye. “See ya, Lucy!” She looked at me like she wanted to talk to me some more, but I was already out the door.

  So now I’m back home trying to go to sleep. Yep, it was a pretty good day. But now I’m gonna turn out the light.

  11

  John

  HOME DICTAPHONE RECORDING

  Today is February 21, 1959, and it’s about ten thirty p.m.

  The Black Stiletto called me tonight and we had an interesting conversation. She’s a very flirtatious woman.

  Doyle at the Daily News did a great job with the article I asked him to print. It wasn’t a hard sell to his editor; they love material on the Black Stiletto. It ran in this morning’s paper and it quoted me as I instructed. I don’t know where he got the quote from the alleged anonymous New York cop, but Doyle must have phoned Chief Bruen’s office to get a comment from him.

  As expected, I caught hell from Haggerty about it. He about blew through the roof when he saw I’d been quoted. I let him chew me out for a full minute—how the Bureau is determined to catch the Stiletto and here I am telling he
r she’s got nothing to worry about. He went on and on, threatening to demote me and all that, and then I said, “Don, hold on a minute. Think about this. You wanted me to lure her in, right? Those were your words. She hadn’t contacted me in a while, so this is the only way I knew how to get her attention. And it worked. She called me at lunchtime.”

  He looked surprised. “She did?”

  “Yes, my plan worked,” I told him. “And we’ve made a date to talk again on the phone.”

  Haggerty then rubbed his chin and said, “You know, maybe giving her false confidence is a good thing. She’ll start to trust you and then you can get closer to her. Good work, Richardson.” Then he laughed about Chief Bruen’s comment. “I’ll bet Pat about shit his pants when he saw that one of his own men defended the bitch.”

  I gave him my written report outlining my plan to “lure her in.” He went back to his office and I returned to mine. Business as usual. What a jackass. Unfortunately, he’s the boss and I have to do what he says.

  She called me at home and we talked for nearly five minutes. I’m going to check with our surveillance guy tomorrow and see about getting something installed on my phone so we can trace calls. If I can keep her on the phone long enough, I can find out where she’s calling from.

  I didn’t expect her to agree to meet me right away after the deal we made last month. I don’t blame her, I guess. I’d be suspicious, too. But I can tell she enjoys talking to me. Like I said before, she’s flirtatious. I flirted right back at her. She promised she’d call me again soon. Haggerty’s right. Getting the Black Stiletto to trust me is the first step toward luring her in. And I made some progress tonight.

  In other news, my informant has succeeded in penetrating Carl Purdy’s inner circle. He knows it’s a dangerous job, but he’s willing to do it. I’ve asked that he find out the dates and locations of upcoming drug deliveries. The Corsicans bring the stuff over by boat, but how it’s smuggled in we don’t know. If we can kill off both arms of the beast, we’ll make a large dent in the illegal narcotics trade in this city. Probably the whole country.

  The Italians are restless. The police busted a protection racket in the South Street seaport area. There was a shootout and two men were killed. No cops were injured. The mob is getting desperate if their soldiers fight for their lives over a protection racket. Times must be hard. They’re losing the race to control the narcotics business and they don’t like it. I fear there will be more bloodshed before all this is over.

  [Pause.] The Black Stiletto has a terrific figure, from what I’ve seen in the few photos that are circulating. Sexy voice, too. I wonder what she looks like under her mask.

  12

  Judy’s Diary

  1959

  MARCH 1, 1959

  More tension with Mike Washington today.

  It was my day off from the gym. Since it was also the day of the month when Soichiro pays $5,000 to the “devil,” I had some time to look into the matter. But before I left, I decided to ask Freddie about some equipment repairs we needed. I could pick up some parts at the hardware store while I was out.

  I didn’t see Freddie anywhere, but I did find Mike Washington behind the counter where the cash register is. In fact, the register was open, and he had his hands in the till!

  “Hey! What are you doing?” I snapped as I rushed over to him. Everyone in the gym stopped what they were doing and watched.

  Mike didn’t react as I expected. I thought he would quickly slam the register drawer shut and try to cover up his actions. Instead, he stood there and continued to take money out and count it.

  “I asked you what you’re doing!” I growled.

  He looked at me and said, “Freddie asked me to get some petty cash to buy some parts at the hardware store. You weren’t here and he wanted to fix some stuff.”

  I studied the man’s face and determined that he wasn’t lying.

  “Where’s Freddie now?”

  “I don’t know. In the locker room?”

  At that moment, Freddie indeed came out of the locker room and saw us. He must’ve sensed the friction so he came over to the counter.

  “Something wrong?” he asked.

  “Freddie,” Mike said, “Judy here thinks I’m stealing.”

  I responded with, “Look, I came down and saw him with his hand in the drawer, that’s all. You gave him permission to do that?”

  Freddie nodded. “It’s your day off, isn’t it?”

  “Yeah, but I just came down to ask you if you wanted me to get the parts while I was out.”

  “Enjoy your day off, Judy. Mike can do it. I don’t mind. He says he can get parts cheaper in Harlem.”

  I looked at him. “That’s where you live?”

  He almost sneered. “’Course that’s where I live. Where’d you think I live? On fucking Fifth Avenue and Central Park?”

  That took the breath out of me. Even Freddie reacted. “Mike, there’s no call for that kind of language.”

  Mike dropped his head and looked sheepish for the first time. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Miss Judy. It’s just that—well, I’m having a lot of personal trouble right now. My nerves are on edge.”

  He still wouldn’t look me in the eye. “What kind of trouble?” I asked.

  Freddie jumped in. “I think that’s Mike’s business, Judy. Why don’t you go on, Mike. You got what you need?”

  He nodded and shut the register drawer. “I’ll be back this afternoon.”

  “Okay, Mike, see you later.”

  “I’m sorry, Mike,” I said, but he didn’t turn around to acknowledge my apology.

  When he was gone, Freddie turned to me. “What’s wrong with you?”

  “What’s wrong with me? What’s wrong with you! Did you see how he acted? Did you hear what he said? You’re letting him take money out of the cash register? He’s not an employee, Freddie.”

  “He didn’t want to say anything in front of you, ’cause he thinks you don’t know he just got out of prison. But apparently he’s having a hard time integrating back into society. Until recently he couldn’t find work or a place to live. I actually offered to give him some part-time work, but he refused. Don’t get upset, but I let him come to the gym for free. That’s why he makes the trek down here all the way from Harlem. Mike says he has a job now, but I don’t know what. His parole officer is giving him crap about being around known criminals in Harlem, which violates his parole. Mike can’t help it if the only place he found to live in is a dump where there’s a lot of crime. You know, narcotics and stuff.”

  I wasn’t convinced. “I get a bad feeling from him, Freddie. Maybe he just doesn’t like girls or something. He sure isn’t very nice to me.”

  “You gotta remember, Judy, he was in prison for fifteen years. He never saw any women during that time. He probably feels intimidated around women now, especially a beautiful white woman like you. He knows very well there are people who wouldn’t take kindly to him being in the same room with you, seeing that you dress in leotards when you’re training. In the south, Negroes are lynched for just looking at a white woman.”

  “I can’t believe he’s that intimidated. He’s not shy around me, he’s belligerent. He doesn’t like me for some reason.”

  Freddie shrugged. “I don’t know what to tell you, Judy. He needs a friend right now and I guess I’m it. I hope you two can be friends, too. You don’t seem to have any trouble with the other Negroes who come in here. You’re friends with Jimmy, aren’t you?”

  “Sure, I love Jimmy! And I’d like to adopt Clark. He’s a sweetheart. Freddie, I’m not prejudiced or anything like that. You know I’m not. I get along with everyone.”

  Freddie pursed his lips and thought for a second. Then he said, “Well, try to let it go for now. Let’s see how it shapes up. If after another week or two and he still bothers you, I’ll do something about it.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Now get out of here. It’s your day off.”

  So I did. Fi
rst I went to my regular karate class at Studio Tokyo. Soichiro was even more solemn and quiet. At one point he seemed to drift into a daydream during the lesson, which is totally out of character. This money problem he’s got is weighing heavily on him.

  Where could his daughter Isuzu be? Trying to do the math in my head—if she was an infant in 1944 when that family portrait was taken, then she’d be a teenager now, like 16 or 17. That’s too young to leave home, isn’t it? Of course, I left home at 14, but I’m different, ha ha. Is she at boarding school somewhere?

  Anyway, after class was over, Soichiro avoided me and hid in his office. The poor guy. I really feel sorry for him. I love him like a third father—my real father is number one, Freddie is number two, and Soichiro is number three. I can’t imagine him losing the studio. I have to try and help him, but first I want to know where that $5,000 is going each month.

  I happen to know Soichiro’s teaching schedule. All the classes were in the morning today, so I killed time in the West Village until noon, when his last session was finished. I discreetly positioned myself across from the studio on Christopher Street—in civilian clothes, of course—and waited. Thank goodness the weather had warmed up a little, but it was still chilly. After a half hour, I was ready to find a diner and get a hot cup of coffee—when suddenly Soichiro stepped out the front door of the building and started walking east. After he was a good half block away, I set out following him. He carried a briefcase, which was also atypical of Soichiro. I had a feeling I was going to find out some answers.

  When he reached 7th Avenue, he turned north and went inside a bank. That figured. He was probably withdrawing that $5,000. I knew from looking at his ledger that he didn’t have a whole lot of money left to withdraw—those payments couldn’t go on much longer.

  I waited for ten minutes or so and pretended to window shop, even though there aren’t many stores along that section of 7th. Finally, Soichiro emerged from the bank, briefcase in hand, and started walking north again. I continued to trail him, but then he made a quick right turn onto 10th Street and headed east. I did the same. But when he crossed Waverly Place, I thought I lost him. A lot of people were on the street, it being lunchtime and all, and Soichiro’s not the tallest man in the world. A sea of heads moved along the street in both directions so I just kept going. I crossed Greenwich Ave. and still hadn’t spotted him. I felt frustrated and angry. And then—there he was, still walking ahead of me on 10th toward 6th Avenue. Breathing a sigh of relief, I kept my distance but stayed in pursuit.