by Gary Starta
“She won’t believe us, Michael. She was able to resist the drug, so why should she believe us? She may call the police; then what do we do?”
“Calm down! We have leverage, Alison. She’s in a lot of trouble; she just doesn’t know it yet. Whether she completes her kill or not, she’ll be next, just like we are. Her only choice is to help us, so for all our sakes, she needs to be convinced that helping us is the only way to help herself. She has to believe her life is in danger, because it is, so don’t blow it, Alison.”
Michael opened the door to McGee’s Pub and looked around. He spotted Eliza at the bar right away. They seated themselves next to her and gave their order to the bartender.
Eliza was a mean drunk. She obviously came here often because she knew the bartender by name. “Gimme another, Jimmy.”
“You’ve had enough, Eliza. It’s time to go.”
“I said give me another drink!”
Alison saw her chance. “We know her. We’ll take care of it. Come on, Eliza, let’s all sit down and have something to eat.”
Eliza squinted at them. “Who the fuck are you? I don’t want any food. I want another drink.”
“All right, all right, but let’s all sit down where we can talk. We’ll take you home, don’t worry.”
They steered a weaving Eliza over to a table in the back of a section partitioned off by a brick wall. It was empty back there - the perfect spot for what they were about to tell her. Alison had the waiter bring them a pot of strong coffee. She poured just enough Irish whiskey in each mug to mollify Eliza. After several mugs, she seemed a little more coherent. “I think I should take her to the ladies’ room to splash her face with some cold water.”
In the restroom, Eliza turned green and started to sweat. Suddenly, she went into a rage, kicking in stall doors and punching the mirror. “That bitch! I’m going to kill her for what she did to me! I hate her! She has to die. She has to …” Eliza passed out in Alison’s arms.
She’s not drunk at all! We forgot the drug would still be in her system until tomorrow.
Alison half carried and half dragged Eliza outside, signaling Michael as they passed through the dining room. He got Eliza’s address from the bartender, paid the bill, and told him they’d take her home. He searched her pockets outside and found her car keys. “We’ll get her home and make sure she doesn’t leave until the drug wears off. When she wakes up from the nightmare and sees us, I think she might be more willing to listen.”
“I hope she lives alone.”
“Jimmy said she’s a loser with a gutter mouth- no job, no friends. She comes in there almost every night and drinks until she’s stoned. He usually winds up cutting her off and calling a cab.”
Great. Another one. This is all I need.
Eliza kicked and screamed all night. It took both of them to hold her down. The bed was soaked with sweat, but they didn’t dare let go of her to change the sheets. When morning finally came, a very crass, very nasty woman opened her eyes and stared at Alison for a moment.
“Who the fuck are you? What are you doing here?”
“We know you from the Collective. We saw you at McGee’s last night, and the bartender asked us to bring you home. He thought you were drunk, but you weren’t.” Alison told Eliza the whole story. “I don’t know how you did it, but you went to that bar instead of killing your target. We tracked you down and took you home. We’ve been here all night.”
Eliza reached under the bed and produced a baseball bat. “You get out of here right now! I don’t know you, and I don’t know him. Whatever you’re after, you can just forget it. There’s nothing here for you to take, and it’s not my place, anyhow. If you’re not out of this apartment in five seconds, I’ll beat you both to death with this bat.”
“Eliza, think! Didn’t you dream you wanted to kill someone? Someone who you thought was a terrible person? In your dream, didn’t you know her name, her address, and your entire plan of attack? Listen to me! If we hadn’t brought you home and sat on you all night, you might have woken up a killer, guilty of first degree murder. Think!”
Eliza lowered the bat and shut up long enough to try to recall her dream. She sat up in bed and began to think. “Yeah, I did dream I killed someone last night. And it was a woman.” She slapped the cold cloth out of Alison’s hand. “Get that thing off me.”
Michael went out of the bedroom and came back with three cups of coffee. Alison began again and explained Eliza’s position to her. She told her there was a way they could save themselves. Eliza nodded, and Alison explained Michael’s idea, who was oddly silent. Michael wasn’t good with strong women in the first place, but this one made him want to cross his legs. He thought it would be better all around if he kept his mouth shut.
“First we’re going to talk to the woman you were assigned. We need her to tell us and the cops why the Silver Man wants her dead. Once they find a valid motive, they’ll start digging into our assignments and hopefully find the same one. Once we get samples of the drug they used on us and turn them over to the police, all we have to do is tell them where the next meeting is so they can search the hall, and we’re all free.”
“I need a drink. Hand me that bottle on the dresser.”
“I don’t think you should be drinking now, Eliza. We have a lot to do.”
“Give me the damn bottle!”
Alison gave it to her, not knowing what else to do. If Eliza was an alcoholic, she’d need it to keep away the D.T.’s.
“Look, Miss Nicey-Nicey, don’t get all ‘Come to Jesus’ on me. I’m in. No one’s gonna force me to live on the run or kill anyone I don’t already want dead.” She took a long swig of whiskey straight from the bottle and shuddered. “That’s better. What’s next?”
Alison continued. “We need you to tell us everything you can about the woman you were sent to kill. Once we talk to her, we help Michael get the Silver Man’s stash of the killing drug. You’re the only one we know of who was drugged but didn’t do the kill. We’re guilty, Eliza, but we didn’t do this voluntarily. You, your target, and that drug are going to prove it for us.”
Eliza closed her eyes to think. “She’s a ballerina. Her name is Clara.”
***
Special Agent Deeprose scheduled a meeting with Carter and Fischetti. She wanted to tell them about the painting left behind by Mr. Moreland.
Fischetti was livid. “Do you mean to tell me that just because a temporary curator made a gift of a valuable painting to a museum, you think he’s involved in some plot to have ballerinas killed?” There were veins popping out on Fischetti’s neck; he looked like a balloon ready to burst. “Agent Deepose, will you please wait outside for a moment? I’d like to talk to Agent Carter privately.”
“Yes, sir. Ah apologize if Ah came on a little too strong.” Deeprose realized too late she’d done this the wrong way. She should have discussed it with Carter first. Now, neither of them were likely to give any credence to her idea. Humiliated, she rose and left the office hoping she wasn’t going to be fired.
“What in the holy hell is going on here, Carter?”
“Sir, I apologize for Agent Deeprose’s overly enthusiastic approach today. I’ll make sure she understands the importance of checking with me before she takes action. However…”
Fischetti’s eyes widened. “Don’t tell me you agree with her, Agent.”
“Well, it is a little out of the ordinary, sir. Moreland shows up on the scene as a temporary curator. He seems desperate to avoid questioning. Less than a week later, he’s gone, having found his own replacement – a man who tells us Moreland was involved with high-level scientific projects concerning D.N.A. What this has to do with anything is not my concern. It’s just that it doesn’t make sense that a man of scientific importance at the national level also happens to be an international lecturer on Impressionist art. Or so he says. Where would he get a genuine Degas, sir? Why in the world would he give something like that to the Cloisters as a gift? It’s not medi
eval. Why would a temporary curator with a great opportunity dumped right into his lap, leave? Agent Deeprose absolutely went about this the wrong way, sir, but I think she’s on to something, and I’d like to follow up on it.”
Fischetti sat back in his chair, amazed. “You think there will be more murders, don’t you? And you’re suggesting a ballerina is the next target.”
“Yes, sir. We’re close to confirming our first two were not committed by the same perps. Still, something seems to be leading us from one to the other. I can’t help feeling that they’re separate but related. I agree with Agent Deeprose’s assessment. We’re looking for a ballerina being stalked or already dead.”
Fischetti gave his permission to move ahead and dismissed Carter. When his office was quiet again, he swiveled his chair toward the window behind his desk. He lost track of how much time he sat there staring at nothing and drumming his fingers on the window sill.
Chapter Twelve
Eliza didn’t like Alison. “Stop whining; you wanted to meet new people, didn’t you? Well you did; just not the kind you figured on. I want another drink before we start looking for the ballerina.”
Michael was in danger of losing leadership to her, and his balled fists seemed to confirm it. “The Silver Man never wanted us to behave like a community. To be a real community, you have to care about your neighbors. He wants to keep us angry and divided; that’s how he got us there in the first place. But once we’re off the drug and away from his influence, we can think for ourselves again, so what’s happening here, right now, is something he didn’t count on. That little mistake is going to cost him.”
“Cut the crap. We’re a temporary alliance, Michael, and that’s all. Look, I’m not risking anything for the two of you or anyone else. All I have to do is call the cops on the Silver Man and it’s over. No one’s following us. No one has any diabolical plan. This isn’t Goddamned Russia, you know.
“How is it you two never thought of that, Mike? Or did you? All I have to do is make one phone call and tell the cops everything I know, including Clara’s name and address. They can test my blood for the drug; I’ll bet it’s still in my system.”
Alison dropped her coffee mug on the hard kitchen floor.
“Alison, didn’t it occur to you that you didn’t have to help Michael steal the killing drug? Once he brought you to me, you didn’t need him anymore! God, you’re a moron. Look, he said he wanted us to help him get the killing drug, first. God, Alison, that’s all he wants! The minute he got it, he was going to ditch us. He needs us, but we don’t need him.”
Michael picked up a chair and heaved it down on the tabletop no more than an inch from Eliza’s head. Eliza never moved, but Alison was crying again. “So I was right. Neither of you know which end is up. All right, I’m in charge, now. Alison helps us or we kill her, plain and simple. Michael, I’ll help you get the drug, but I get half the take. We leave just enough there for the cops to bust the Silver Man, and then Michael and I disappear. Alison and Clara can take care of themselves.
“Don’t even think about double-crossing us, Alison. The Silver Man may not be interested in you anymore, but I’ll find you wherever you go. You’ll have to watch your back as long as you live.”
Alison was nearly hysterical. “If you want to call the police and just turn him in, do it. I don’t want any of those killing drugs, and I don’t want to be around either of you any longer than I have to.”
“But I don’t want to turn him in, Allie. I liked the way that drug made me feel. I liked it a lot. With a whole bag of it, I can do anything. I’ll have one big fling, take everything I ever wanted, live like a queen, and die like a gangster.”
***
Carter issued an order to canvass all the ballet schools and academies in the tristate area. They were looking for a student who hadn’t shown up to class, might have mentioned having an enemy, or seemed afraid.
Deeprose pointed out the Florence Gould Hall on a map of Manhattan. “There. That’s the school we want, sir.”
“I hope so; it’s the last one on the list. Let’s head over there now and talk to this, uh…” Carter scanned his list for a name. “Uh, Clara Dumont.”
The pretty, petite dancer was shocked to find they wanted to know who she’d been mentioning to the other girls in class. “I don’t understand why this is important. I had a falling out with my girlfriend. Big deal. For goodness sake, why would she want to kill me?”
Deeprose tried a different approach. “Ah’m Agent Deeprose, honey. We’re not lookin’ for your friend. We’re askin’ everyone the same thing – if they have any real enemies, that’s all. Is there anyone in your life that y’all are particularly afraid of for any reason?”
“No ma’am, there isn’t.”
“Can you tell us what the fallin’ out was about so we can cross her off our list?”
“Sure. I suppose so. We’ve known each other for years. We trained together. Several months back we both auditioned for the American Ballet Company. It’s a very big deal, you know. She fell during her performance and broke her ankle. It ended her career. I was invited to join the troupe next season, so she got angry and stopped speaking to me. I guess I’m a reminder of what she can’t have.” Clara shook her head, looking very sorry for the girl.
Carter and Deeprose looked at each other.
“Ah’m so sorry to hear that, Clara, but like you said, it wasn’t your fault. You worked hard to make the pros. Congratulations on your acceptance. By the way, since she was a dancer too, we should really ask her the same thing we’ve asked every other dancer in God’s country. Would you give us her name and address, please?”
“I’ll give you her address, but I heard she moved. It may not be so easy to find her now.”
Back out in the fresh air, Carter decided to move ahead with this line of investigation. “I’ll get a team together to track down the girl, and we’ll check back with them later. It may be something, and it may be nothing. Right now, I’d like to take a ride around the Upper West Side. Jill did a great job on the enhancement of the museum photo of the killer, but whoever he is, his face doesn’t match anything on file. No priors. If he lives around there, maybe we’ll get lucky and spot him on the street. At any rate, it’s a beautiful day. We can look for him and sight-see at the same time. Want a hot dog?”
Deeprose did a little happy dance. “With everything, sir.”
***
Michael dropped off the two women and went to find a place to park. Eliza didn’t want Michael to scare Clara, so she told him to wait in the car until they came back. “Let someone else do the thinking for a change.” Eliza slammed the car door in his face and the two girls went into Clara’s building on West 59th Street.
Clara opened her apartment door to a voice that said she had a special delivery. Alison and Eliza introduced themselves on her doorstep as they pushed their way inside.
“Hey, hey, what’s this? Who are you?”
Alison began. “We came to talk to you about the girl who broke her ankle during your audition. She hired someone to kill you.”
“Is this a joke?”
Neither woman answered.
“Well?”
Silence.
“You are…joking, aren’t you? Is she trying to scare me or something? Look, who are you two and what do you want?” Clara moved slowly backwards while she talked, buying a few precious seconds of time to reach her stationery desk and a letter opener.
“Clara, we’re here to help you. Eliza was supposed to kill you two nights ago night, but she didn’t. Michael and I tracked her down and brought her home and stayed there until this morning. When she came out of it, she remembered everything about you and the reason she was given for killing you. It had to do with the girl whose ankle you broke after her audition.”
Clara looked incredulous. Her eyelids fluttered, and she became very pale. Alison knew just how she felt. “Where in the world did you hear a thing like that? I wasn’t responsible for her
broken ankle! She knows that! It was broken during her audition, not after. Who told you it was broken afterwards? If this is a joke, it’s not funny! I think you two need to leave. Right now.”
“Clara, if we leave now, someone else will be given the assignment, and this time he may succeed. Eliza was given your name, photo, and address. They know where you live.”
Clara dropped the letter opener and fell into an arm chair like a graceful sack of potatoes. She cried piteously, “This can’t be happening!”
Alison knelt on the floor at Clara’s feet. “We’re going to help you. I swear it. Eliza knows how we can help the police catch the Silver Man, but we need your help to do it. We won’t let you down, Clara, but you’re going to have to trust us. Trust me.”
After a long moment, Clara took Alison’s hand and sniffled. “What about the girl who paid for the hit? She’s still out there. She’ll just get someone else to do it. I can’t go to the police about a woman with an intention to kill me; that’s no crime, and I can’t wait until she tries it, either. You’ll help me, won’t you, Alison? Because I’m so afraid, and there’s no one else I can turn to. If I help you and the police get the Silver Man, will you both help me to make sure this girl doesn’t hurt me ever again?”
Eliza chimed in. “Hold on. Why are you afraid of her if her accident wasn’t your fault? Did you do it, Clara? Is that why she wants you dead?”
Clara burst into tears. She cried herself out and then told them the truth. “All right, she did break it afterwards. I was picked for the troupe, and she wasn’t. We had an argument, and it got a little ugly. We were about to go down the stairs to the subway when she shoved me. I shoved her back. She fell down the stairs and broke her ankle. But it wasn’t my fault! It’s not my fault that I was chosen and she wasn’t, and I didn’t mean for her to fall and break her ankle. Alison, pleeeaase! Don’t let her kill me! We have to get her before she gets me. Be my friend, Alison; be my friend!”
