So, Tanner was crazy. A product of his own product. Because one of the things about coke is that you think you’re thinking, but you’re not. You’re just crazy. What that meant to me was that I should get as far away from him as possible. What that meant to Sammy? I had no idea. But I thought I should check the back alley.
And then it occurred to me how much of my recent life had happened in a back alley.
And then it occurred to me, once again, that if I had any brains, I would go get my car, fill up the tank, and see how fast I could make it back to Florida. Because I thought Florida might be just about far enough away from Tanner Brookmeyer.
And by the time I was finished thinking that, I was standing at the entrance to the alley.
It was like any other alley in most ways. Narrow with high brick walls on either side, a couple of dumpsters, a smell that would have killed a lesser man. What made it unique was the odd ballet that was playing out fifteen yards away from me, at the far dead end.
Tanner and Sammy were circling each other like semi-professional wrestlers. Neither one had a gun in hand. They were stepping in garbage and sludge and questionable liquids. They were growling like some kind of mutant bears.
In short, I didn’t remotely understand what I was seeing.
‘Hey!’ I yelled. ‘What the hell are you guys doing?’
They both looked my way. I could see that Sammy’s bleeding was worse. Maybe he’d torn his stitches.
‘He says he wants to kill me with his bare hands,’ Sammy answered. ‘And my gun was empty.’
Tanner added a low-pitched howl to the conversation.
‘Tanner’s out of his mind,’ I yelled to Sammy. ‘You should come over here. You’re bleeding.’
Sammy’s suit was wet with blood. But Tanner’s face was flushed. His hands were jerky. Even far away as I was, I could see that his nostrils were raw, and rimmed in white.
‘He’s going to want another bump in a minute,’ I went on, louder, aiming my words at Tanner. ‘He’s going to start to get nervous about it, then itchy, then desperate. Am I right, Tanner? Don’t you need another little bump about now? Isn’t there a little voice in your head that wants just one little bump before you kill Sammy with your bare hands?’
Tanner made a noise like a water buffalo.
‘Is that right?’ Sammy asked Tanner. ‘Would you like to take a break for just a second to have a little pop? I don’t mind. You can kill me just as dead five minutes from now, right?’
Tanner paused in his strange circling movements. He seemed to be considering what had been said. Or maybe he just momentarily forgot what he was doing.
Then, without warning, he shoved his hand into his coat pocket and came back with a large baggie almost filled with white powder, maybe ten thousand dollars’ worth of coke.
‘OK.’ Sammy smiled and started backing away from Tanner.
Tanner popped open the baggie and took a big pinch of coke between his thumb and first finger. Sammy continued to move toward me, keeping his eyes on Tanner. Tanner snorted what he’d gotten from the baggie and went right back into it again. Six times.
By then Sammy was next to me at the mouth of the alley.
‘A person who does that much coke,’ I whispered, ‘is going to have some kind of heart attack.’
Tanner was closing up his baggie when he suddenly realized that Sammy had disappeared. He looked around like he’d dropped his wallet, searching the bricks all around him. He didn’t even look our way.
‘Come on, Sammy,’ I said. ‘You shouldn’t be out and about. You should go to my room at the Benjamin, have a lie down. Because it doesn’t look to me like you can kill Tanner right this minute. It would take a tank.’
He nodded. ‘To tell the truth, that sounds about right. But what about you? You only got one bed in that room, and I’m betting you wouldn’t mind a little break too.’
‘Yeah,’ I said, headed for the street, ‘but I guess I have to go see Helen Baker, the lawyer; talk with her about these books we got from Tanner’s safe.’
‘I thought you said she wasn’t the one to talk to about that.’
‘I keep forgetting that I’m her official investigator. I should at least show her what my investigation brought me to: all of Tanner Brookmeyer’s illegal activities. I think she’ll know what to do with them.’
Sammy laughed a little more heartily than he should have, because it made him cough, and the coughing hurt his bullet wounds.
But he managed to say, ‘Can you imagine what’ll happen when that poor guy sees his empty safe? I’d give anything to be a fly on the wall.’
He was still laughing and coughing when the cab stopped. We dropped him at the Benjamin with my key, and I went on to Helen Baker’s office.
Her office wasn’t quite as noisy or busy as it had been the last time. She seemed surprised to see me. She was dressed in a brown suit with a skirt below the knee, and her hair was up in a bun. In other words: courtroom fashion.
‘I was just on the way out,’ she said. ‘And you’re a mess. What’ve you been doing?’
‘You’re going to want to see what I’ve been doing.’ I unbuttoned my coat, reached around, and came back with Tanner’s books.
She stared at them. ‘What am I looking at?’
‘Everything Tanner Brookmeyer’s done wrong,’ I told her. ‘Including, in that red book, all the cops and judges and politicians he’s paid over the years. I thought that would interest you.’
She stared at the red book.
‘I already checked to see if you’re in it,’ I went on. ‘You’re not.’
‘Good to know,’ she said, giving me a particularly dirty look.
‘I figure you can put all this to good use,’ I told her, ‘and also bolster the case against Tanner, you know, what with the tape recording you already have. That I gave you. You said you needed more. I got you more, right?’
She was thumbing through the books like crazy, stopping every third page or so, eyes wide.
‘This listing here is for the judge I’m going to see right now!’
‘About Phoebe’s case?’ I asked.
She shook her head, ‘Different judge.’
‘Too bad.’
‘Oh, no, the judge for Phoebe’s case is in here too. Jesus Monkey Christ, Moscowitz. If these books are really what you say they are …’
She found something in one of the books that made her stop talking.
Then she looked up at me.
‘What?’ I asked.
‘Lee Alexander is in here.’ Her face was whiter than it ordinarily was.
‘Who?’
‘The … the Mayor of Syracuse,’ she stammered. ‘He’s a friend of mine.’
‘OK, you can do whatever you want with all the information in these books,’ I said. ‘All I care about is getting Phoebe Peabody out of jail and out of trouble. She is, I recently discovered, a more remarkable person than I originally thought.’
Helen seemed to come back to herself and nodded. ‘Right. Good. OK.’
She shoved Tanner’s books into her briefcase, then took them out and put them in her desk, then took them out and handed them back to me.
‘You have to keep these,’ she whispered. ‘I can’t have them on me. You’re my investigator. You have to keep them.’
She held them out but all I did was stare at them.
‘No,’ I said. ‘I brought them to you so you could do something good with them.’
‘I …’ She blinked. ‘Yes. Of course. So, I have to figure this out. And I’m late for court right now. Could you please just take these for a little while and, and when I get done in court, I’ll call you at the Benjamin. Please.’
I didn’t want to, but I took the books back. ‘Do you have a large envelope or something that I could carry them in?’
She reached into her desk and pulled out a large blue folder. It had a flap and a big stretchy thing that wrapped around it. All three of Tanner’s books fit into it neatly, and the stretchy thing kept it closed. I couldn’t decide if that was better or worse than just carrying the loose books around. But it didn’t matter; Helen Baker was racing away, and I was standing around her desk like a chump.
And even when I got back to my room at the Benjamin, that chump-like feeling was still with me. The room was dark, and I didn’t turn on the lights because I figured Sammy was asleep.
I eased my way in and set the blue folder down on the little kitchenette ledge right by the door, where the coffee machine was.
I took off my coat. Then I remembered that I’d sent my other suit, the seersucker, out for cleaning. I wondered about it. I opened the closet and there it was, in a clear plastic bag. Looked good.
And it was about that time that my eyes began to adjust to the dim light in the room.
Someone was sitting on the bed and it wasn’t Sammy. Sammy was lying there, a little too quiet and still.
I took a quick sidestep into the bathroom beside the kitchenette and flipped on the room light as I went.
Tanner looked like the creature from the black lagoon, that movie monster. He was drenched in sweat, his hair was matted and smeared across his face, and he was shaking like St Vitus. He had his pistol in one hand and a rolled-up bill in the other. There was a mountain of coke on the bedside table.
‘Your suit came back from the cleaners,’ he said, lightning fast. ‘The guy let me in. He thought I was you! Or I told him I was you. I can’t remember which. Still. Nice suit!’
‘Seersucker,’ I told him. ‘Very cooling.’
‘It’s gonna be a hot summer,’ he commiserated.
‘How’d you find me?’
‘There is a network of bellboys and housekeepers in this town like you wouldn’t believe,’ he snapped. ‘Lot of them work for me. You know, arranging for hookers, drugs, downtown entertainments for the out-of-town mentality.’
Before I could respond, Tanner threw one of the pillows from the bed. It came flying toward my head at the same time as Tanner started shooting. His gun didn’t have a silencer, and it was unbelievably loud in the small hotel room.
I flipped off the room light and ducked back all the way into the bathroom. I locked the door and got up on the sink to the right of the door. It was the only place Tanner couldn’t shoot me unless his bullets made a U-turn.
But he tried anyway. He fired five more shots through the bathroom door. The bullets went into tiles mostly, but the door had a big hole in it, near the knob.
Tanner reached his hand in to unlock the door, but I kicked his hand hard and he howled. My thinking was that he’d made enough noise that somebody would call the cops or at least the front desk, and some kind of help would show up.
I was trying not to think about Sammy. He hadn’t moved since I’d come in, and I was afraid Tanner had done the worst.
Tanner started kicking the door with his foot then, and he snarled like a rabid dog. I slinked down from the sink and grabbed a bath towel.
Tanner’s foot came through a panel of the bathroom door. I zipped over, tied one end of the towel around his ankle, and pulled hard. He went down, firing his gun as he fell.
I pulled hard on his leg and most of it came through the hole in the door. It tore his pants and wood splinters raked his shin. He started bleeding and he was struggling to stand, but he couldn’t.
I managed to tie the other end of the towel to the faucet in the sink. I knew it wouldn’t hold for long, but I was hoping it would do for a few seconds.
I backed away as far as I could in the little bathroom, and then I launched myself as hard as I could at the bathroom door.
It gave way; really hurt my left shoulder. But I came flying out of the bathroom and landed, along with big hunks of door, right on top of Tanner.
He flailed, trying to bring the barrel of the gun up to my face, but a lot of my weight was on his gun arm. He tried to use his other hand to grab my tie, hoping to get a choke hold.
But I was up, standing over him. I kicked his gun hand five times before he let go of the gun. It only dropped a few inches away, but at least he couldn’t shoot it.
I kicked again, going for his head, but he grabbed my foot and I lost my balance. I went crashing down, knocking over the Mr Coffee machine in the kitchenette.
Tanner sat up as best he could, trying to figure out what was happening to his leg and why he was stuck.
I scrambled for the gun and got it. I stood, took a few steps back, and aimed for his skull.
‘Hey!’ I shouted so he’d look at the gun pointed at him.
He looked, but it didn’t settle him down at all.
‘Empty!’ he snapped. ‘Besides, you wouldn’t pull. I know your rep. You’re St Fyvush of Florida! He don’t shoot to kill!’
‘Really?’ I asked reasonably.
And then I aimed right between his eyes and pulled the trigger.
Unfortunately, Tanner was right: the gun was empty.
While I took the merest second to realize that fact, Tanner somehow disentangled himself from the towel and scrambled to his feet. The look on his face was not remotely human. He was standing with his back to the room door, panting.
I tossed his gun away and it clattered to the floor somewhere behind me. I went for my ankle holster.
That was a mistake. When I bent over, Tanner jumped, flew through the air and tackled me like we were playing football. I went down hard on the carpeted floor with Tanner on top of me. He was bellowing and thrashing. I was nothing but scared.
He got his hands around my throat and leaned in with all his weight. He was drooling and breathing hard. His eyes were mostly red. His face was bone white and covered in sweat.
He was going to kill me. I knew that. I felt his grip tighten and I was light-headed, about to pass out.
The next thing I knew, Tanner was sitting back. He’d let go of my throat and he was quiet. It took me a second to catch my breath, and another to clear my eyes.
There was Sammy, face covered in blood, standing behind Tanner with his tie around Tanner’s throat. Tanner’s eyes were wide and bulging a little. Sammy was straining and holding his breath, pulling the tie tight. Tanner just looked surprised. He wasn’t flailing or panicked, he just couldn’t quite comprehend what was happening to him.
I got to my feet about the time Tanner passed out.
‘Let go, Sammy,’ I said.
‘Nuh uh,’ Sammy answered.
‘I don’t want you to kill him in my hotel room,’ I insisted. ‘I like the Benjamin. I might want to come back here one day.’
‘Some hotel,’ Sammy said, pulling harder on the tie. ‘All this racket and not one phone call, no hotel security coming to check on you. Why would you want to come back here?’
And just at that moment there was a knock on the door.
‘Hotel security!’ said a very commanding voice. ‘Open up!’
I smiled at Sammy. ‘Now will you let him go?’
Sammy took a deep breath, unhanded his tie, and Tanner slumped to the floor, unconscious. I looked around, got his empty gun, put it in his hand, and then flew to the door.
‘Oh, thank God you’re here!’ I said as I opened the door. ‘Get the police. This maniac got into my room when the hotel delivered my dry-cleaning. And he shot my friend! Look!’
I stepped back.
There sat Sammy on the bed with his face covered in blood, and there was Tanner on the floor, gun in hand, twitching.
Two guys in weird uniforms burst in at the same time as I flipped on the room light. The place was a mess, but the physical evidence supported my story to the hotel dicks.
‘I’m an investigator working for the attorney Helen Baker,’ I went on, pulling out the card Helen Baker had given me to prove what I was saying. ‘This man is Tanner Brookmeyer, the subject of my investigation. We need to call the police now.’
The hotel guys were surprisingly cogent. They looked around. They assessed. One put Tanner in handcuffs while the other called the cops, and then the hotel’s on-call doctor.
I sidled up to Sammy.
‘He shot you in the head,’ I whispered.
Sammy managed a smile.
‘Tanner came in with the dry-cleaning,’ he whispered. ‘He was surprised to see me. I sat up. He landed on the bed, shoved me down, and put his gun to my temple. The thing is, he was just too loaded. I rolled. He shot. Grazed my sideburn and made the pillow explode. It did look like he’d blasted my brains out, but it was really just bloody pillow feathers. See?’
I looked. He was right. Bloody pillow all over my nice bed.
‘He was also abusing cocaine while he waited for Mr Moscowitz,’ Sammy told the hotel guys, pointing to the coke on the bedside table.
Then they started asking questions. None of them mattered, really. I showed my Florida ID, Sammy showed his driver’s license. They checked Tanner’s. The cops showed up. It was a tedious couple of hours.
But in the end, Sammy was patched up, Tanner was off to jail, and I was relatively happy.