16 Hitman

by Parnell Hall

  The bullet whizzed past Thurman's head. Hitman #2 hadn't been shooting at Thurman, he'd been shooting at Kessler, would have killed him if I hadn't knocked him out of the way. That's how close it was.

  Sergeant Thurman pulled his service revolver, dropped to one knee, and shot Hitman #2 dead.

  32

  IT WAS HARD TO TAKE. Sergeant Thurman was a hero, saving Martin Kessler's life by calmly shooting an armed assassin. I was a meddling private eye who'd nearly gotten Martin Kessler killed. Sergeant Thurman was lionized in the press and interviewed on the evening news. I was mercifully not mentioned. At least by the press.

  Detective Crowley was not so kind. "Your name is Stanley Hastings?"

  "Yes."

  "You are aware this conversation is being recorded?"

  "I assumed the stenographer was here for some reason."

  "You have already been charged with the crime of obstruction ofjustice.You are aware that anything you say may be taken down and used against you in a court of law with regard to that charge or any other that might arise in the course of the interview?"

  "That's a mouthful"

  "Are you aware of the gravity of the situation?"

  "Ycs, I am."

  "Are you aware of your rights as I just explained them?"

  "I'm aware of the situation as you just explained it. I don't believe any rights were mentioned."

  "You have the right to an attorney. Do you wish to have an attorney present for this interview?"

  "No, I don't."

  "You are waiving your right to an attorney?"

  "It's Richard's poker night. I try not to call him on his poker night. He gets grouchy."

  "What were you doing today at Harmon High?"

  "I'm a fan of Sergeant Thurman. I like to watch him work."

  Crowley scowled. "This is no laughing matter."

  "Neither is Sergeant Thurman."

  "Mr. Hastings, did you observe the shooting this afternoon at Harmon High?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "Can you tell us what happened in your own words?"

  "I've never understood that expression.Who else's words would I be using?"

  "You're taking this awfully lightly."

  Yes, I was, and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was having a bullet whistle over my head. Maybe it was seeing someone shot dead in front of me.

  But I think it was the horrifying realization that in a moment of crisis I had instinctively acted bravely in the face of danger, had exposed myself to harm rather than covered my head. It was clearly a moment of weakness, immediately suppressed, never to happen again, but it left me giddy with a light-headed sense of foolhardiness such as I had never experienced before, with the possible exception of the time I lost my mind years ago in Atlantic City when everyone was trying to kill me. The situation was hardly parallel. The danger here had been sudden, instant, and brought on by myself. Nonetheless, I was still riding the high.

  "Sorry," I said. "What's the question again?"

  "Just tell us what happened at Harmon High."

  "Around four fifteen I saw Sergeant Thurman and Martin Kessler come out the front door."

  "What were you doing there?"

  "Watching Sergeant Thurman and Martin Kessler come out the door."

  Crowley scowled. " Why were you there?"

  "To see if anyone took an interest in Martin Kessler."

  "Are you on the police force?"

  "You know I'm not"

  "Yes, I do. I wondered if you were aware of it."

  "I'm not sure your sarcasm will show in the transcript." I looked at the stenographer. "Is there any way to indicate the detective is being facetious?"

  "Why don't you leave us to sort out the transcript and confine yourself to answering the questions?" Crowley said.

  I shrugged. "Whatever floats your boat." I swear, I'm usually cooperative. It was just one of those things.

  "Can you please tell us what you saw and did with regard to Martin Kessler at Harmon High?"

  "Kessler came out the front door of the school. Sergeant Thurman was with him." I saw no reason to mention any other teachers, no matter how perky-breasted they might be. "A man approached Kessler with a gun. I pushed Martin Kessler down. Sergeant Thurman shot the man dead"

  "You didn't trip and fall?"

  "Is that what Thurman says?"

  "It's not true?"

  "Yeah. I fell down. On broken pavement. I may sue the City of New York"

  "The man who was shot-had you ever seen that elan before?"

  "Yes, I had."

  "When was that?"

  "In the lobby of Victor Marsden's apartment building."

  "Was that man your client?"

  "Who? Victor Marsden?"

  "No. The man with Victor Marsden. The man who was shot dead this afternoon. Was he your client?"

  "I'm afraid I can't answer that question."

  "Why not?"

  "If I do, you're going to ask me another."

  "That's not legal grounds."

  "What about my right to remain silent?"

  "You gave up the right to remain silent."

  "Now I want it back again."

  "You can't remain selectively silent. You either talk or you don't."

  "All right, I don't."

  "You already talked."

  "Yes, and now I'm done. Unless you'd like to try another topic." I cocked my head. "How about them Mets?"

  I can't be sure, but I think the stenographer had a narrow escape from a giggle.

  Crowley flipped his notebook open, checked a page. "You know a man named Frankie Delgado?"

  "Who?"

  "Frankie Delgado. Do you know him?"

  "I don't know."

  Crowley frowned. "What do you mean, you don't know? You either know him or you don't."

  "People don't always give their right name."

  "Have you met anyone who gave the name Frankie Delgado?"

  I nodded approvingly. "Good work, detective. Most people would be put off by that evasion, think it meant I might have known the man under a different naive. You realized what I said could also mean that he gave me the name Frankie Delgado, but I had no way of knowing if it was true."

  "I'm not sure I realized all that," Crowley said, "but I certainly would like an answer."

  "What's the question?"

  "Do you know a man named Frankie Delgado?"

  "Who's Frankie Delgado?"

  "Frankie Delgado was the man shot dead this afternoon in front of Harmon High."

  "How did you get his name?"

  "He was carrying a wallet."

  "Be careful of jumping at conclusions, detective. It's easy to get phony IDs."

  "Are you suggesting his name isn't Frankie Delgado? What name did he give you?"

  "He didn't give me a name. 11

  "No?"

  "No. My parents did. Stanley. After a great-uncle on my mother's side" I snuck a look at Crowley, to see if he might be weighing the consequences of punching a subject under interrogation in the presence of a stenographer.

  He ignored my remark. "Did your client tell you his name was Frankie Delgado?"

  I was about to make another wiseass answer when it dawned on me that Detective Crowley wasn't as pissed off as he ought to be. It didn't take a genius to know why. I'd told him I was done talking. He'd trotted out the name Frankie Delgado to goad me into speech. He was happy to have me clown around. Maybe I'd slip and actually say something.

  "Where'd you hear the name Frankie Delgado?" Crowley persisted.

  I suppressed the impulse to tell Crowley I'd heard it from him, then shut the hell up before I hung myself from my cocky little jockstrap.

  33

  THIS TIME ALICE WAS SCARED. "My god, you could have been killed!"

  "I'm fine."

  "Yeah, this time. What about next time?"

  "There won't be a next time."

  "Stanley, I know you. You have an addictive personality."

  "No,
I don't."

  "Oh? What about your latter and scones?"

  She had me there. I practically live in the Silver Moon Bakery, which has to be the best thing that ever happened to our neighborhood. I have a cranberry scone every morning and a raisin bran muffin for lunch. The fact Alice does, too, in no way deters her from kidding me about it.

  "You did something dangerous. And you got away with it. It doesn't mean you'll get away with it again"

  "I know."

  "You're all keyed up and you think you're Superman."

  "I don't think I'm Superman."

  "You knocked a guy down."

  "I knocked a guy down"

  "And saved his life."

  I waggled my hand. "Awww."

  "See?" Alice said. "You throw modest in with it, it's a recipe for disaster. Here you are, an elderly-"

  "Elderly?"

  "Middle-aged geezer acting like a comic book hero. Of course it's going to go to your head"

  "Nothing's going to my head"

  "No kidding"

  The TV came back from commercial. Alice snapped it off mute.

  The heading read: SHOOTOUT ON THE UPPER WEST SIDE.

  "An armed plan was shot dead at a public high school after firing his weapon at a police officer. Sergeant Thurman of the NYP1) had been assigned to a schoolteacher believed to be in danger. It was a good thing he was."

  The news cut to a close-up of Thurman with a microphone shoved in his face by an on-camera reporter. "We came out the front door of Harmon High and I observed the perpetrator aiming a weapon at the protectee"

  "What happened then?"

  "A civilian panicked and tripped. I was lucky he didn't knock me over.

  "What did you do?"

  "Pulled my gun and shot the perpetrator."

  "Shot him dead?"

  "That's right"

  "Why was it necessary to use such deadly force?"

  "He discharged his gun. As soon as he fired, I fired. Luckily, my aini is better."

  Alice muted the volume again. "Did you trip?"

  "No, I did not."

  "I'd like it better if you tripped."

  "I'm sure you would."

  "Don't go getting brave on me. I don't need you getting brave on nie.

  "Never fear"

  "See?You even sound cocky saying that. Look, I don't mean to be a wet blanket.You shouldn't get bawled out for saving the guy's life. But it's scary, Stanley. I don't want anything to happen to you"

  "Nothing's going to happen to me. Look, the police weren't taking this seriously before. They'll take it seriously now."

  "What do you mean, take it seriously? They had an officer on hire"

  "Yeah, Sergeant Thurman"

  "He did his job."

  "He did his job because I coughed and said, `Excuse nle, Sergeant, but there's a nian with a gun over here."'

  "You mean you tripped?"

  "Yeah, right. Anyway, I think we can count on the police to keep Martin Kessler on ice for a while. Not to mention that Sergeant Thurman bumped off Hitman Number 2"

  "That's right. He did."

  "So what are you afraid of?"

  Alice shrugged.

  "Hitman Number 3."

  34

  RICHARD WAS OFFENDED. "You didn't call me"

  "You were playing poker."

  "I'd have come."

  "I didn't want to bother you"

  "Bother nme?"

  "Particularly after last tinge"

  "That was a stray bullet. This is a little different. Someone was shot dead."

  "But it wasn't a murder."

  "What?"

  "It was, and I think Sergeant Thurman will bear me out on this, self-defense. The pitman fired first. I don't think there's any way you could call it a murder"

  "I don't care if you call it a barn dance, you should have called."

  "You were very specific. Not just any gunshot. Call you if it's a murder. I have to admit it was borderline. But, seeing as how I was a witness and all, I'd have to tip the scales in Sergeant Thurman's direction."

  "So Thurman killed the hitman?"

  "That he did."

  "Bang, over, finished."

  "From his point of view."

  "Thurman's?"

  "The hitman's."

  "Uh-huh. So, that's taken care of for the time being?"

  "Yes, it is."

  "Good. Because I was very worried about you. Very worried. You're my best investigator. I depend on you."

  "I'm flattered."

  "So, with all that going on," Richard said, casually, "did you have time to get out to Ocean Parkway?"

  I suppressed a smile. Richard had been dying to ask me about the Location of Accident photos but felt obliged to feign at least a token interest in the shooting first.

  I snapped open my briefcase, took out a packet of photos, threw it on Richard's desk.

  He picked them up, flipped through them. "Oh, my god! These are fantastic! Fantastic! I was afraid they'd rush out there and fix the street. Not that it would lessen the liability, but then we wouldn't have pictures. You cannot believe the difference a good visual can make in a jury's award."

  "Sounds like I deserve a bonus."

  Richard caught himself in mid-gloat. "Stanley.You know how these things are. All contingency cases. If I win, I get paid. If I lose, I don't. I can work on something for eight months and have it get thrown out of court. You get paid whether I win or not. Hell, you're probably charging me two hours for these simple photos that took you ten minutes to take."

  "Three hours, Richard."

  "Three hours?"

  "Travel time, Richard. My last case of the day. Travel time there and back"

  "It's only your last case of the day because you were out getting arrested."

  "I wasn't arrested."

  "Whatever. The point is, you're getting paid, and I might not."

  "I'm glad to see you're so broad-minded"

  "Huh?"

  I reached in my briefcase, threw another packet of photos on Richard's desk.

  He frowned, picked it up, pulled out the prints. "What are these?"

  I smiled.

  "Funny you should ask."

  MACAULLIF WAS ON THURMAN'S side. That figured. Everything else was upside down in this stupid case. Why shouldn't he back a moron?

  "I didn't trip," I protested.

  "You didn't stay on your feet, either."

  "I really don't want to argue, MacAullif."

  "Who's arguing? I'm not arguing. I'm just pointing out if Thurman says you were on the ground, it's because you were on the ground."

  "So I was on the ground. There are many ways of getting there. He's a sergeant. You're a sergeant. I rest my case."

  "Let me be sure I got this straight. Are you saying you tried to save the guy?"

  "I know that's hard to believe."

  "Oh, I can imagine you trying. You succeeding is something else."

  "You forget I was saved by Sergeant Thurman."

  "I don't see why you're busting his balls. He could have let the hitman shoot you."

  "Delgado wasn't trying to shoot me."

  "I don't see why not. You're an insufferable pain in the ass. There's times I'd like to shoot you myself."

  "Come on, MacAullif. Frankie Delgado was our only lead. So numbnuts shoots him dead"

  "I admit he will be harder to interrogate."

  "How am I going to find out why he killed my client?"

  "Ah, that's more like it. Totally at sea, with no idea how to do your job. That sounds more like you. Tell me, are you mad at Thurman because you can't question Frankie Delgado, or are you mad at Thurman because he did your job. To put it another way, would you be feeling right about this if you shot Frankie Delgado?"

  "I haven't got a gun."

  "Exactly. So you feel inadequate. So you're pissed off at the guy who has."

  "Jesus Christ, MacAullif. Are you in therapy?"

  "No. Why?"

 
"I'm just wondering where you come up with this amateur analysis."

  "Gimme a break. It's just common sense. The gun is an extension of your penis. If you don't have one, you got no dick.You're like a neutered dog resenting one with balls."

  "Thanks a lot."

  "That's for your therapy crack. But there's something to it. If you were armed, you wouldn't feel powerless."

  "If my witness were alive, I wouldn't feel powerless."

  "Your witness wasn't going to talk. Your witness was going to kill people."

  "Yeah, well, maybe he had a bad childhood."

  "Yeah. Maybe he couldn't get laid in high school and had a small dick. Anyway, this time around you're not going to get much mileage portraying Sergeant Thurman as the villain in the piece. He's a hero cop, plain and simple, probably get a citation."

  "I know."

  "And you think it isn't fair?"

  "Do you?"

  "Who gives a shit? Maybe it isn't fair, but your problem is you think it should be fair. You think there should be a giant scale somewhere, and all the good deeds and bad deeds get weighed, and then everyone gets what they deserve."

  "Are you sure you're a cop?"

  ? "Why?"

  "The images you come up with"

  "Okay, you think it's like a TV show, where by the end the bad cop gets his comeuppance and the good cop saves the day."

  "Are you saying Thurman's a bad cop?"

  "I'm not sayin'shit. I'm tying to deal with your dumbass notions."

  "Thanks a lot. So what do I do now?"

  "Jesus Christ, it always comes down to this. Here you are, in my office, asking what to do next. Here's what you do next: nothing. It's got nothing to do with you anymore."

  "What about Kessler?"

  "What about him? He's still alive, thanks to Sergeant Thurman. He's in protective custody, thanks to this asshole Thurman shot. He's not going to school anymore. He's bein' babysat by the cops."

  "For how long?"

  "Until we find out who's pissed at him."

  "With Thurman in charge? That could be a long time."

  "Thurman's not in charge."

  "Oh? Who is?"

  MacAullif raised his eyebrows.

  "You!?"

  "No, not me, asshole. What have I got to do with it? Detective Crowley's in charge."