Killed in the Ratings

by William L. DeAndrea

  “What are those for?” I asked.

  “To make sure you stay in the car,” Ray said matter-of-factly. “Coming in, you had reason to stay in the car, but now, you got reason to try to get out.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I like you, Cobb, you’re what they call a likable guy, you know? But you’re thickheaded. You’re too damn thickheaded for your own good. Now you got the boss convinced that logic ain’t gonna work.”

  I understood all too clearly. “So you take us to the cottage ...”

  Tolly giggled. “Hee hee. We take you to the cottage for a date. The cottage is far away from anybody, so you can make all the noise you want. Hee hee.”

  “Shut up, Tolly,” Ray said. “We’ll do him first.” He gave Tolly his gun, the one he said had only one bullet in it. Tolly spun Monica around, got behind her, threw his arm across her throat, and held the muzzle of the forty-five close to her head. All routine. They had done this before.

  “This is the way we do it,” Ray explained. “You’re way bigger than me, and you might be stupid enough to jump me. This way, if you make a move, poor old Mrs. G. is gonna have to scrape the chick’s brains off the wallpaper.” I let him handcuff me behind my back.

  When Tolly saw I had been secured, he tightened his grip on Monica’s throat, and pressed his body firmly against hers. Monica was taking big, ragged breaths. Her eyes showed white all around.

  Tolly said, “Geez, Ray, she got a nice back.” He dropped his arm from her throat so that his huge hand covered her breast. He traced its curve lightly with a callused index finger. “Hee hee. She don’t believe in bras. Hee hee. Guess she figures she don’t need it.”

  He closed his hand tightly. Monica’s face distorted with the pain. Tears squeezed from her eyes.

  I clenched my teeth. Goldfarb hadn’t sanctioned this kind of thing, I was sure, at least not yet, but there was a lot of accuracy in the comparison of Tolly with a Saint Bernard. With his master not around, he might go out of control. I didn’t figure Ray to be much better.

  “Moonlight on the beach,” Tolly said, easing his grip. “I wouldn’t mind that myself. How about you, Ray?”

  “We’ll see what the boss says,” he said, putting the cuffs on Monica. I no longer considered him charming.

  Monica’s face was red, and she was standing rigid, eyes closed, trying not to scream or cry.

  “She’d probably enjoy it,” Tolly said, “What do you think, Cobby?” I wished Spot had bitten his testicles off.

  “I have to go to the bathroom,” I said.

  “No stalling,” Ray said.

  “Look,” I snapped, “I had a big meal. I personally don’t care, but it’s either here or inside the Imperial. Take your pick.”

  Ray saw my point. The car had the kind of plush upholstery an indiscretion would wreak havoc on.

  “Okay. Take him, Tolly.” He took his gun back from the giant.

  “Upstairs,” Tolly said.

  “Wait a minute. How am I supposed to accomplish anything with my hands cuffed behind my back? Unless you plan to do it, Tolly? You seem to like touching helpless people.”

  He gave me a backhand across the face that Rod Laver would have been proud of. I spit blood on his shirt.

  He was all set to give me another one, when Ray said, “Save it for later.”

  “I don’t care if you shit in your pants,” Tolly said.

  The bathroom was at the top of the stairs, first door on the left. Tolly opened the door and motioned me inside with his gun.

  “Aren’t you going to come in and watch?” I asked.

  “I ain’t gonna let you get me mad. No reason to get mad at a dead man. Knock on the door when you’re finished.” He didn’t tell me what with. “And don’t be so long about it.”

  He shut the door behind me. I surveyed the place. The window would have been too small to climb out, even if it hadn’t had an exhaust fan in it. I wouldn’t have left Monica, anyway.

  I nudged the medicine cabinet open with the side of my face, and found just what I was looking for. “Basin Tub & Tile Cleaner,” the can read. “Foaming Action.” Beautiful.

  The first thing I had to do was get my hands in front of me. I put my left knee on the edge of the bathtub, and squatted with my full weight on it, arching my back at the same time. After what seemed like days of strain and pain, my knee went pop! and I managed to get the cuffs hooked over the toe of my shoe. I inched my wrists forward a bit, then stood up.

  My wrists were now linked below my crotch, my arms looped through my legs. Agonizingly, I contorted my body, cursing the long legs that had helped me in basketball but were a hindrance now. Finally, I could step through, and have my hands where they could be of some use.

  I stretched for a few seconds to get rid of the kinks and cramps.

  “Hey, what’s keeping you?” Tolly’s voice came through the door and scared me to death.

  “I’m taking a dump,” I said irritably. “Keep your shirt on.”

  I took the cap off the spray can of tub cleaner and put it down quietly on the sink. I cupped the can in two hands, and got my right index finger on the button. I was ready. Now it all depended on Tolly’s reflexes.

  “Okay, Godzilla,” I called. “You can let me out, now.”

  “About time,” he grumbled.

  The door swung open. His face appeared at just about the height I’d figured it would. I pressed the button. He squeaked like a mouse as he caught a load of high-powered white foam dead in his eyes. The foam hissed and sizzled as it expanded.

  Tolly’s reflexes were in fine shape. He brought his hands up to his eyes in the normal human reflex. I dropped the can and squatted; then drove upward, smashing my two clenched hands and the steel cuffs with all the power my legs could generate into his groin. He produced a strangled scream that must have reached every dog on the East Side.

  Tolly reacted with another normal human reflex. He dropped his hands from his eyes and clutched at his genitals. He also dropped the gun.

  I stood up and swung my iron-reinforced fists hard to his head, just under his right ear. He keeled over and pitched down the stairs, making a noise like a bowling alley on League Night.

  From downstairs, I heard Ray yell, “What the fuck!” and the door of the study being opened. I picked up Tolly’s automatic, and made a spinning dive that left me prone at the top of the stairs.

  Ray saw me, and sent a slug from his big gun that hit the banister and showered me with splinters.

  I pulled the trigger on Tolly’s gun. Nothing. The safety was on. I didn’t want to find out if Ray had been pulling my leg about having only one bullet. All ten of my fingers scrabbled along the sides of the little gun until the safety was found and clicked off. I jerked the trigger.

  Ray grabbed his thigh and went down. I vaulted the railing, landed on my butt, stood up, and stomped on Ray’s wrist as he tried to raise his gun. I kicked it away, and went to hit him.

  Monica came out of the study and pulled me off him.

  “Stop it. Matt, stop it. Stop!”

  I stopped. I felt very weak.

  “Are you all right?” I asked Monica.

  She looked surprised. “Me?”

  “Did he hurt you?”

  “Oh, no, just a bruise.”

  Ray was rubbing his face against the carpet and making little crying noises.

  Monica gulped. “You killed the other one,” she said.

  I stepped around to the foot of the stairs, where Tolly was lying very still. He certainly looked dead. I didn’t want to touch him, but I had to find the key to the handcuffs, and I wanted to touch Ray even less; if Tolly was dead, I couldn’t cause him any more harm.

  The key was in his right front pocket. I unlocked the cuffs on Monica and me and threw them away down the hall.

  “What happened while I was up there?”

  “Oh, Matt, I was so scared, I—”

  “Cut it out. We’ve got to get out of he
re as soon as we can. Ray didn’t call anybody? Anything like that?”

  “No, all he did was take a briefcase out of the wall safe. He said he didn’t want to forget it.”

  “I want a look at it.” I went into the study.

  The briefcase looked as though it might be a real find. It was just a scuffed grey-leather case on the outside, but inside, it held a bunch of cloth-covered business ledgers. I flipped through one, but I couldn’t understand the code Goldfarb used. I wondered why he had the books in his house, until I figured he was probably auditing himself. He was a top accountant, after all. I thought it was funny that he’d kept his real books in code, but stuck with the traditional red and black ink.

  I put everything back the way I’d found it. “Okay,” I told Monica, “let’s go.”

  17

  “There’s no place like home ... there’s no place like home ... there’s no place like home ...”

  —Judy Garland, The Wizard of Oz

  (MGM; seen on various networks)

  THERE WAS A PHONE booth about a block away from Goldfarb’s house. I checked my pockets, and found I’d used most of my change since I’d last been at my apartment.

  “Got a dime?” I asked Monica.

  “No. All my change was in my purse. I don’t know where it is. I must have dropped it at the hospital.”

  “Damn,” I said, “I have to use a quarter.” I dropped the coin in the slot and dialed Homicide South. I had them connect me with Lieutenant Martin.

  “Mr. M.?” I said when he picked up the phone.

  “Matty? Where the hell have you been? We got some more questions for you. That Teobaldi woman hasn’t been around, either.”

  “Never mind that. How anxious are you people to put Herschel Goldfarb away?”

  The lieutenant sputtered. “What are you talking about?”

  “Herschel Goldfarb, Accountant of Crime. Go to his house. There’s a briefcase inside the study with a bunch of ledgers inside. I think they’re his books, his real books. It can probably put him in Sing Sing. Or Danbury, if the Feds get their hands on it first.”

  “You forget I’m Homicide, Matty,” he said slyly. “Why should I be interested in Herschel Goldfarb?”

  “Ha,” I said. “Ha, ha. Who is jerking whom, Lieutenant?” I asked him formally. “You know as well as I do Carlson was tied in with Goldfarb. And you also work with Detective Horace A. Rivetz, and know about his hangup.”

  “Yeah, I know it, but how do you know it?”

  I was getting exasperated. “What the hell difference does it make? I’m handing you the bastard on a silver platter! If he gets back with his mother before you get there, he’ll burn that stuff. Right now, you don’t even need a warrant, the door is standing wide open.”

  He thought it over for a second. “This wouldn’t be a funny joke, you know, Matty.”

  “It’s no joke, I promise.”

  “Okay, wait there, I’ll get a couple of men there in a few minutes.”

  “I’m not there,” I said.

  A cab went by. Monica flagged him down, told him to start the meter and wait.

  “Well, where are you, then?”

  “I’ll be at my apartment in an hour.” I swallowed, and brought back a mental image of Tolly lying still on the stairs. “Lieutenant,” I said, “Better bring an ambulance with you. There are two men hurt in there, one of them is pretty bad.”

  “Matty—” Lieutenant Martin began.

  “Gotta go. Tell Rivetz mazel tov, he got Goldfarb,” I said, and hung up.

  I expected city employees to visit the apartment a lot sooner than an hour, so I told the driver to step on it. I wanted a chance to hustle Devlin out of there.

  A lot of New York cabs have bullet-proof plastic between the front and back seats, as this one did. The driver was trying to say something, but he forgot to open the gizmo that made him audible to the passengers. Finally he remembered.

  “Mister, there’s blood coming from your mouth.”

  So there was, from when Tolly had belted me. I had gotten used to the taste. I wiped it on my sleeve.

  Beside me, Monica started to tremble. I put my arm around her and let her get hysterical on my shoulder. She did it very quietly.

  I was making soothing noises when I looked down and saw something that made me start to laugh.

  Monica broke off her crying and asked indignantly what was so funny. She was an actress, after all, and I had broken into her big scene.

  “We forgot your shoes,” I said, pointing to her feet and ruined hose. Then we both laughed. It brought us back to normal.

  When we were more sober, Monica said, “How does it feel, Matt?”

  “My face? It’s sore, what do you think?”

  “No, not that. I mean ...” She looked away.

  “Killing a man, you mean?”

  She flushed and turned back to me. “I’m sorry, Matt. I shouldn’t have asked.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “Forget it, it was a natural question. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” I thought it over. “Basically, it feels rotten. I tried to talk us out of there. I almost waited until it was too late.”

  I felt her shudder. “I’m not sorry about it, Matt, just ... stunned.”

  “I did it out of fear,” I said.

  “You didn’t seem afraid.”

  “You just didn’t notice. It’s a preconception. Size-ism. No one over five eleven is supposed to show fear. Or feel pain. Or to be hurt by an insult, for that matter. It’s as though people think body tissue is emotional armor.”

  “I never thought of that before,” she said. “It just makes you that much braver.” She kissed me on the cheek.

  We were there. I saw no police around the building, but there was no telling how soon they’d be there. I paid the fare, and hurried Monica inside. I wanted Devlin out of that apartment. I had enough to explain already.

  I shouldn’t have worried. Devlin was gone. Without a trace. I checked the bedrooms to see if he was taking a nap. I checked the bathroom. I even checked the closets, to see if he was hiding, or even dead (which would have been a jolly thing for the police to find). He left no note. It was as though he’d never been there. Even the glass he drank Scotch out of had been washed and put away.

  I ad-libbed a tirade for a minute or so, working in every cuss word in the book. Two or three times. How was I going to find him again?

  “Well, at least he’s tidy,” I said, when my anger ran out of steam.

  The apartment had “his” and “hers” bathrooms. I showed Monica hers, then went to his to wash the blood from my mouth and freshen up generally, then to my room to change.

  Monica had freshened up, too, and was waiting for me in the living room. “Wait a second,” I said when I saw her. I went to the master bedroom, which I seldom entered, where Rick and Jane had left all the stuff they couldn’t take to Thailand. I went through Jane’s closet and picked out a pair of pumps in a soft brown leather, and brought them to Monica.

  I knelt in front of her, took her foot to put one on. “Emily Post says one never entertains police lieutenants barefoot,” I said.

  “How do you know they’ll fit?” she said.

  “They’re a half size too big,” I told her, “but they’ll do until you can get back to your apartment.”

  She was skeptical. “You remember my shoe size?”

  “I remember everything,” I said. I tickled the bottom of her foot to prove it. She giggled, and kicked the foot out of my grasp. Just as I got it back under control, and was about to slip the shoe on, the door swung open to reveal Lieutenant Martin and two uniformed cops.

  “Well, well, how romantic. You’re Prince Charming and she’s Cinderella, right, Matty?”

  Hoping I wasn’t blushing, I took my time getting Monica shod, saying, “You didn’t lock the door, did you, dear?”

  “No,” Monica said, playing along, “I forgot.”

  “That’s all right. Spot’s the one who insists o
n the doorbell, and he’s spending the night with friends.”

  I turned to the police. “Okay, Mr. M., haul me in if you must. I’ll call my lawyer from headquarters.”

  “Not so fast, sonny. We’re going to have a talk. Man to man.” He hooked a thumb at the uniforms. “Out in the hall,” he said.

  “But Lieutenant,” they protested.

  “Out! If he tries anything, I’ll shoot him. Now, beat it!”

  When the underlings had left, he said, “Mrs. Carls—excuse be, Miss Teobaldi, I mean. Matty and I are old friends. I’m the oldest friend he’s got. You can go into another room, if you want, or you can stay, but Matty and I are going to have a talk off the record—my word on that—and Matty’s gonna tell me exactly what went on at Goldfarb’s tonight.”

  “I’ll make coffee,” Monica said. “Three sugars, right, Matt?”

  “Right,” I said. “I see you remember, too. Lieutenant?”

  “Black, of course.” He grinned.

  I could see he was kind of uncomfortable. He was probably seeing me as a kid in jeans and a polo shirt, and finding it hard to get started.

  I pulled him out. “Have you got Goldfarb?”

  “Yeah, we were waiting for him. Why didn’t you tell me he had his mother with him?”

  “I thought I did. What’s the difference, anyhow?”

  “Because when his mother walked in and was greeted by two guys lying on the floor, an ambulance crew, and eight guys with guns drawn, she had an attack, collapsed, and had to be taken to the hospital along with the other two guys.”

  “Oh, Jesus, I never figured—is she all right?”

  “Yeah, she’ll be fine. They took her to Bellevue, she’s sedated. They’re keeping an eye on her.”

  I had a happy thought. “Hold it. You said with the other two guys? The big blond guy is alive?”

  “He’s alive all right, but he probably wishes he wasn’t. You broke his neck, Matty. It’s touch and go if you crippled him.”

  I felt sick. Tolly was a vicious creep, a human cockroach if you want; but even with a real cockroach, a person stomps on it, he doesn’t pull its legs off.

  “What about Ray?” I asked.

  “The little guy? Close shave, there. Gunshot wound in the leg that came within a pencil line of some big artery, the doctor tells me. Lucky for everybody. Also broken wrist, broken nose, broken ribs. Nothing disastrous.”