by Blake Pierce
“No way, copper,” Tony said. He eyed them both, a smile growing wide on his face. “I got no clue what you even want to talk about, but I’m not saying a word to anyone but her.” He nodded at Ava when he said this and she could tell by the arrogant smile still on his face that he thought he was working the situation to his advantage by making such a request.
“No deal,” Frank said.
Tony shrugged and crossed his arms. “Then go ahead and find your horse shit charges to press against me. But I know how this game works, oh yes I do. This broad comes in waving a gun around and cold-cocks some unarmed men. Then you tackle me, unprovoked. And let’s be real. You know about some of my connections, right? I can make this look bad for not just you, but the whole station. Hell, all of the NYPD. And with that killer on the loose…damn, that would look awful bad, huh?”
Ava watched as Frank turned away from Tony. She could see the restraint in the muscles of his forearm and the tightly locked set of his chin. With his back still turned to Tony, he said, “Fine. Then talk.”
Tony nodded to the chair across from his, as if he had just invited his best girl out for dinner. “What brought you to my poker game tonight?” Tony asked.
Ava knew he did not intend to make this easy—that he was just playing a part to annoy Frank. But she could play that game, too. As arrogant as it made her feel, she already knew she had impressed him with her fighting skills tonight. If she could somehow stay in that zone, she’d be golden.
“A tip from someone,” she said.
“What kind of tip? Be careful now. Not many people know about that poker game. If I really wanted to, I could ask around and find out who told you. I could make some trouble for them.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt it. Your reputation…well, it’s getting around. Hatchet and all.” This seemed to not sit well with Tony, so she forged ahead quickly before the comment had time to simmer. “Tony, I honestly don’t give a damn what sort of things you’re doing with the mob these days. Booze, women, roughing folks up…I don’t care.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Do or don’t…no skin off my backside. No. There’s a bigger game, here. You mentioned that killer we’re looking for just a few seconds ago. And that’s funny…because we are still looking for him. And you just happen to be our primary suspect.”
The grin slid off Tony’s face so fast it looked like his face was melting. “You kidding me, sweetheart?”
“No. And don’t call me sweetheart.”
It was clear that Tony Two was not used to being spoken to this way. She watched his face go through a variety of emotions. When it settled on anger for a moment, she understood how he might strike fear into people despite his small stature.
“What’s wrong, Tony?” Ava asked.
“You mean aside from being read the third degree by some uppity broad?”
“Yes, aside from that.”
She saw what she assumed passed for sincerity settle into his features. His posture relaxed slightly and his eyes softened. “Let’s be real. You guys likely know a bit about me, yeah? I’ve done some things that aren’t exactly…polite. But I draw the line at hurting women. A man that hurts a woman is the worst sort of man on the earth. Believe it or not, it’s a common way of life with a lot of the men I work with. There’s just some things you don’t do.”
“I respect that, naturally,” Ava said. The entire tone of the conversation had shifted with Tony’s admission, so she figured she may as well strike while the iron was hot. But she also doubted the sincerity of this. After all, one of his low-life friends had thrown a beer bottle at her. Still, she played her part and said: “And if you can give us some details of your whereabouts on the night these two women were killed, you’re free to go.”
She sensed Frank tensing up behind her at this comment, but chose to ignore it for the moment.
“When was it?” he asked.
“The most recent was just last night. The first was two days ago.”
Tony shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She could see him thinking through several things as his very expressive face settled on a frown. “I can’t tell you that.”
“And why not?”
“Because I’d be snitching on some people. And, like not hitting women, we don’t tend to rat our friends out.”
“With all due respect,” Ava said, “I don’t buy this not-hitting-women crap. We know the sort of men you associate with. I can easily remember a beer bottle being chucked at my head.”
Tony shrugged and said, “Hey, I didn’t throw it.”
Ava considered this for a moment before saying, “Can’t you tell us what we need to know without revealing the names of the people you were with?”
Tony Two actually considered it for a moment and then shook his head. “Sorry, no. I can’t run that chance.”
“I don’t guess it would matter if we said we wouldn’t follow up on anything that sounds suspicious unless it was related to these murders, would it?”
“Sorry,” he said. And as odd as it seemed, Ava was pretty sure he meant it.
Frank stepped forward and when he did, Ava was glad to see his demeanor had changed. “That’s fine,” he said. “But you get that we can’t just let you go right now, right? Not unless you can give us an alibi of some kind.”
“Yeah, I get that.” He then sat back in his chair, as if he wasn’t at all bothered by it.
Frank looked to Ava and said, “Can we have a word outside?”
They left the interrogation room, closing the door on Tony Two. Frank walked a few steps away from the door and leaned against the wall, his arms crossed at his chest.
“I think he did it,” Frank said.
“Based on what?” Ava asked.
“For starters, his refusal to tell us where he was when these women were killed.”
“I get that, but if he’s with the mob, doesn’t that sort of make sense?” She recalled several times when Clarence had come home, griping about how certain members of the mob were basically untouchable. Not only that, but they were thick as thieves and never turned on one another. If she knew that, then surely Frank knew it. “What about what he said about not hurting women? Is that like a standing rule among mobsters?”
“I don’t know.” He zoned out into thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I do have to admit that no cases come immediately to mind where monsters have killed women. Some abuse their wives, and it’s always kept quiet. So…I don’t know.”
“The let me ask you this,” Ava said. “Let’s say we keep him on suspicion…that he ends up in a cell. How long until the mob starts to poke their nose into it all after they find out Tony Two is in the cooler for two murders, but without any evidence?”
“I don’t know,” he said again, a little bitter and angry this time. “But for right now, it’s the only play we have—a play you kicked into gear when you stormed into that poker game by yourself. So right now, we stick with this while we keep looking into the case—for evidence that Tony did it or otherwise.”
With that, Frank turned around and stormed off toward the bullpen—maybe back home for all Ava knew. Meanwhile, she could only turn and look at the closed door of the interrogation room, haunted by the fact that she was fairly certain the man on the other side was innocent. Sure, she was new to all of this but she’d head Clarence talk about how to read people. And based on what she’d taken from his stories, she just didn’t think Tony Two was being defensive enough. He was more worried about potentially squealing on men in his inner circle than he was that he was under suspicion of murder. It just didn’t feel right to her.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
His mother’s voice was louder than ever. It was like the old nag was in the next room, screaming at him through the walls.
You were almost seen last time, you moron, she said. My God, you give yourself into these sick impulses and can’t even do that right.
He sat in the small armchair his mother had died in. H
e was rubbing his head, sensing a headache coming on, thinking about the therapies he’d endured back at the hospital. Had they really helped at all, or had they made it worse?
They should have kept you there, his mother’s voice said. Should have done some of that electric shock stuff to you to fry that sad little brain of yours. God, you’re pathetic.
He sprang out of the armchair as if something had bitten him. He started pacing the living room, his breath coming in harsh, labored sounds. He knew his mother was nowhere in the house. She’d been buried in the city, in one of the random cemeteries scattered around one of the useless churches. He wasn’t sure which one. He hadn’t attended the funeral. Still, he stared at the wall, fearful of whatever she might say next.
He supposed he could leave the city. It was too damn crowded and those women were everywhere. Maybe if he headed somewhere down south where farmland and open fields were still everywhere, maybe then his head would sort itself out.
That’s right, his mother moaned from the other room. Run away from your problems. No need to face them like a man…
He screamed and headed for the door. He stepped outside into a reasonably cool afternoon and felt a momentary sense of relief. The fresh air and the sun were like a cleansing agent, washing the noise of his mother’s voice out of his head. He walked with his head down, as it seemed to slowly push away the headache he’d felt growing behind his eyes.
He walked and thought of his mother, of killing her and wandering the streets until he was placed in the hospital. It was all a blur, really, but he had never bothered to question it. He recalled a faint face hovering above him, that of a policeman, and then a doctor. And then came the beds and the painful treatments, and the train of drugs. No one had ever made the connection between his mother’s death and his wandering the streets. It had all just sort of vanished, and the only thing left behind was the pestering voice that often erupted in his head.
Somehow, these hazy thoughts had brought him to the city streets. They were familiar streets, avenues and lanes he’d walked countless times in the past few months. He paused for a moment, not quite sure how he’d arrived there. Night was beginning to fall and something about that was also a relief. The night spoke of unseen things, of shadow and secrets. He smiled, despite his unease.
Women were everywhere. Many were on the arms of men. Some walked alone, perhaps shopping or visiting with friends. Some were pretty and some were plain. Others—only a few here and there—were so beautiful that it made no real sense to him. Perfect faces, nice bright eyes, breasts hidden by their clothes but perfect all the same, the way they walked, the way they smelled…
Ah, but there was power there, too. And that was what often sent his heart into a rage.
He stopped in front of a small tobacco shop and watched a woman across the street. He spied her through an opened apartment window. She was doing something with the curtains, straightening them or dusting them, he wasn’t sure. Her chin was nice and angular, her mouth a perfect red curve that was nonchalantly smiling. The summer air came through the window and barely brushed her hair.
He was walking toward the building before he was fully aware of what he was doing. He was so transfixed by the sight of the woman in the window that he almost walked right in front of a car. He jumped back with a sneer. There were too many of those damned cars in the streets now. What the hell kind of world was this becoming anyway?
With his heart hammering, he stepped back onto the street. He looked back up to the window where the woman had been, but she had moved on to some other chore. And though she was gone, the urge was not. It thrummed like a hot wire right through his heart and he wasn’t sure he’d ever be able to escape it—though he honestly did not want to.
***
Theresa’s mother had warned her about taking the job at such an early age. She’d told her about the sort of men that “those clubs” attracted and the trouble that came with them. Theresa supposed her mother had been right, but then again, her mother had no idea the sort of money she made.
Sure, she was just a cigarette girl at the Big Riff, but for an eighteen-year-old young woman to make this sort of scratch…it was sort of unheard of. All she had to endure were older drunk men calling her “baby doll” and “sweet thing,” as well as the occasional squeeze on her ass. And for that inconvenience, she had more cash tucked into the front of her shirt for one night’s work than her mother would make all of next week.
And when she’d put the trays away and started for the doors to go home, a very intoxicated man had come up to her, hugged her just tight enough to press her breasts against his chest, and thanked her for her hard work—whatever that meant. And for that alone, he’d passed a crisp dollar bill her way. In his drunken stupor, he’d even offered to walk her home. She declined, though she loved the idea of what her mother would say if a fifty-something drunken gentleman escorted her little girl home.
The thought of this put a smile on Theresa’s face as she headed home. The night was quite beautiful, right after midnight when the summer nights carry a coolness that, in her opinion, rivaled even the nicest of breezes on cooler mornings.
She had a seven-block walk home, and though she’d made it many times before, she’d only covered it at this time of night three times before. This was the first time, though, that she’d been walking with thirty-two bucks stuffed securely into her brassiere. Theresa was busy thinking about how to present the money to her mother (did she gloat, or offer her mother a bit to help pay for this month’s utilities?) when a man’s voice called out to her from the right.
“Hey, there,” was all the voice said.
She turned and saw a man coming out of an alley between two small apartment buildings. “Hello,” she said in a low voice, mainly because she’d been raised with the instruction to never be rude to anyone.
“It’s awful late, little girl,” the man said. “I can walk you home if you want.”
“No thank you.”
She thought that was the end of it but then he started moving. She was also quite sure he was muttering something under his breath.
“Oh, not like that,” the man said with a laugh. He stepped out of the alley and slowly walked slightly behind her. “I’m not one of those men. Honest. I just know how things can be in this city and want to make sure pretty girls like you aren’t in danger.”
“I’m fine, thanks,” Theresa said, now a little nervous as the man continued to follow her.
Again, that muttering came out of his throat. It was like he was having a conversion with himself while also trying to keep tabs on her. She suddenly wished she’d taken the drunk man up on his offer to walk her home.
“Ah, come on,” he said, his tone chipper now that he was no longer mumbling.
“I’m okay,” she said, a bit more stern now. “My home is right up here at—”
He moved quickly. Before she knew it, he was no longer behind her. He was right beside her. He was reaching out and grabbing her shoulder. It was not the playful or appreciative sort of groping she’d experienced all night at the Big Riff. There was danger in this man’s grasp and she knew it before he even clamped down on her shoulder. Even worse, though, was the odd chattering noise he made. She was quite certain he was talking under his breath. She recognized the word “mother” but that was about it.
She felt him trying to pull her backwards, likely back to the alley he had come out of. Acting just as quickly as he had, Theresa spun hard to the left and shrugged her shoulder out of his grip. She wasted no time hurrying forward down the street. Within two sprinting steps, one of her pumps came flying off of her feet and clattered to the sidewalk.
She glanced behind her and saw that he was coming after her. She saw parts of his face in the shadows of night. He was smiling—he was by God smiling as he came chasing after her and there was something about his smile that was scarier than any imagined thing he might do to her if he caught her.
And even still, he kept murmuring unde
r his breath. “…won’t you, Mother? If you just…”
She opened her mouth to scream for help, but as it turned out, she didn’t need to. There were two men standing on the corner up ahead. One was smoking a cigar and they were both looking at her running forward. When their eyes fell on the man behind her, they both started forward.
“He bothering you, ma’am?” one of them asked.
“Yes! Yes, he tried to—”
But before she could explain herself, the men took off running. They came running in her direction and then passed her. When she turned around to see what was happening, she saw that the man who had come out of the alleys had retreated. The men who had potentially saved her life were chasing after him, trying to make sure he did not get away.
But within a few seconds it became clear to Theresa, and to the kind men as well, that the man was just too fast. He’d already slipped down a side street and was out of sight. The man with the cigar still draping out of the corner of his mouth approached her with caution in his eyes.
“Are you all right, little lady?” he asked.
Theresa nodded and started to cry.
“Come on now, then,” he said as his friend joined him. “Let us make sure you get home.”
This time, Theresa said yes.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
When Ava walked into the door of the Women’s Bureau, most of the women applauded. Lottie in particular seemed to be very involved. She even let out one of those high-pitched whistles using her fingers that men often used for women walking down the street. Frances sat at her desk, rolling her eyes at the display, but there was satisfaction on her face as well.
Ava shook her head, but it was hard to contain her smile. “There’s no need for all of that,” she said.
“Um, excuse me,” Lottie said. “The story going around the precinct is that you handed four men their asses last night, and you did it all without Frank Wimbly’s help.”
