| |
Try to stay alive ... if you can ...
and if you can’t ...
––––––––
THE SALTY FOG BLANKETING the amusement park at Pier 39 left the joint dark and uninviting. As I turned off the Embarcadero, into the lot in front of the Pier, I shut off the lights and gingerly applied the brakes. The engine was loud, too loud, giving us away if I didn't shut it off as fast as humanly possible. My fingers lifted off the steering wheel as though my very touch would make the car creak or groan or cry out. I don't think Green-eyes or I drew breath for a full minute.
Instead, we stared at the amorphous, black hole of space before us. None of the shops, amusements, or rides had lights on. The diminished city glow failed to crack through the fog or down into the amusement park, leaving only enough illumination to encourage the imagination. Tree tops blended with roof tops and it was impossible to guess how long the park pier was. I knew from experience it stretched out into the bay, a little over half a mile. That was twice the distance they intended but the pier kept getting longer the bigger the amusement park got, the more territory it demanded, the needier the hunger for mindless escapism became.
The Golden Gate fog horns greeted us. The sound of boats bumping into their docks, on-board bells clanging, and fabric whipping in the wind surrounded us. Sea lions barked and grunted occasionally.
His voice wasn’t as assured as before. “You’re the detective — where do we start?”
Good question. “Not up front. Killing needs privacy. They’ll have to get as far away from prying eyes as possible.”
Hayes opened the glove compartment and dug around for a moment. “You are sure about this?”
“One hundred percent.”
His facial expression was a cornucopia of experienced disbelief. I didn't buy it either since nothing was ever one hundred percent. I guess he didn’t deal with gals who were confident. I only wish I really was, and not faking it for his sake. And for mine. I was only seventy percent sure and feeling the percentage points blowing away with each gust of wind.
Until I spotted the Blue Buick ditched, its tail fender showing from the shadows of the first row of shops. I gave the information in a whisper to Hayes, as if I knew it all along, and he nodded in agreement. There was another car there too, I thought, but I wouldn't say until I got closer.
There wasn't enough room to drive on the Pier, which forced everyone out onto foot.
Green-eyes found what he was looking for in the glove box. A rod. A big gun. No Police Special for him — this was a heater made to knock someone down. Hard.
I didn’t know if I was better or worse off with the zapper, but I kept it in my left hand. It was about all my arm was good for. With my other hand, I pulled down on Uncle Joe’s fedora. I wasn’t going into battle without it.
The amusement park was simple in its planning and confusing in its execution. The Pier was long and straight, and during the daytime, visitors sashayed down the center. On either side were three stories of shops selling about anything you could imagine. A lingering fetor of hot dogs, decaying fruit, and something fried hovered near the food stalls.
Every step came with the anxious thought that the wood planking would creak. We didn’t stop.
I sneaked over to the Buick and looked in the window. Nothing. Someone kept their car too tidy. I laid my hand down on the hood — warm. The other vehicle was popping in the cool air and its hood was hot. Whoever drove it, just got here.
Hayes signaled me to start moving into the structures. The aroma of popped corn and sugar drifted over from the closed-up stalls closest to the front. A piece of paper peeled up from where it stuck to the boardwalk and flapped into the air.
Further down, the Pier widened into a courtyard with an enormous carousel, made up of mammals on the middle tier, fantastic birds on the upper tier, and aquatic creatures on the bottom. In the dark, the sharks, tigers, and eagles looked terrifying. The steady ocean-fed wind rocked some of the animals, making it impossible to tell if they were swaying or moving on their own.
The wood beneath our feet creaked. Waves splashed against the pilings under our feet. A sea lion barked.
I listened for human sounds. Nothing.
We approached the carousel, guns at the ready. Hayes placed each step and rolled into the next, maintaining balance and silence. I moved more like the awkward, pre-teen ballerina I tried to be all those years ago.
Sound filled the courtyard. Sea lion or a man? I looked for Hayes but couldn’t see him very well. He was intent on slinking his way around the right side of the carousel. He hadn’t spoken. That much I was sure of.
I listened again, while carefully placing each foot and screwing up my face each time I produced a squeak in the wood.
A bark of sound. Human.
My eyes adjusted to the darkness. I made out more shapes to be anxious about. One looked out of place. Something protruded from the base of the ride. Legs? A seated figure.
As I came nearer, I could see it was a man, leaning up against the base of the carousel. Not moving. Not waiting in anticipation.
Zapper out and stomach contents in, I faced the man.
Rollins.
Bennie Rollins.
He sat there, eyes closed, hands dropped to his sides. I stood there. It was like Uncle Joe. Same final repose. The memory — of Joe. Of his killers. Of being helpless. It all came crashing down on my head. All the smells and sounds dragging memories up from the buried past. I was in New York again. My best friend in the world stared out at me with blank eyes. I never said good bye. I didn’t save him. He was dead. Dead ...
This wasn’t Joe. This was someone I could still save.
I shook my head hard, to get the memories to abandon ship. I reached out to Bennie’s face. Yeah. Wet. Same as Joe. I felt for a pulse, terrified I'd find stillness.
There was something. Slight. I felt for it a second time. Yeah — Bennie had all the luck. Maybe his killer couldn’t see any better than the rest of us and left him for dead.
Hayes was at my side. “Is he?” his whisper caught in his throat.
“No. Lucky him. Can you call for backup or at least a corpsman or ambulance?”
He shook my shoulder in affirmation, slid off his overcoat and draped it on Bennie. Out here, in this cold and damp, plus in his circumstances, Bennie was likely in shock. I covered Bennie’s legs with my coat and made sure his hands were underneath.
The plaintive whine of the fog horn at the Gate cut through the air.
Hayes pushed off my shoulder, apologized before I could tell him to stop in ungracious terms, and used his strange radio dingus. Damn. He couldn’t get a signal. He came back, pointed toward the front of the pier. I knew what he meant. He had to get away from the fortress of shops to get his message out. He then pointed decidedly to me and then the ground. Stay put. It wasn’t a bad idea.
I watched the shadow figure of Hayes hurry toward the park entrance.
Alone. Wasn’t this whole mess started the same way? Me, alone, somewhere I didn’t belong? This time, I did belong here. I listened to the bark of a seal, while wind whistled through the carousel, shaking it and the animals. Staying with Bennie wasn't a bad idea except it left me with two options; leave Bennie or sit there accomplishing nothing to solve the case.
Bennie took a deeper breath. I checked his puls. No, it wasn’t a death rattle. He was breathing a bit better, yet, he wasn’t moving. I should have been here sooner. But 'shoulds' were useless to investigators. Help was coming for Bennie. In the meantime, I was the help that was coming for my client. Bennie would understand, or so I hoped when I picked up the zapper and set out, deciding where to go from here.
A shot rang out and left my every nerve tingling.
Cold rushed up and down my arms.
My client? Elliott?
I couldn’t see if Hayes was returning.
It was only me on the case.
And that would be enough.
Apologizing to Bennie, I took up my zapper and plunged forward toward the shot. Using the buildings as my only guide, I found my way to the end of the pier.
Nothing.
The space was open. Sometimes they let women from a local ladies’ club come here and do interpretive dance. Or local choirs. Or other pass-the-hatters trying to make a buck off of their art. I could see enough to know no one was here. Nor were there any bodies.
One shot. Why only one?
Edging to the back of the pier-end shops, my skin was getting wet and cold.
Who shot whom?
I pushed up against the wall of the cut-through to the back boardwalk.
Someone was moving. I could hear feet shuffling. Moving toward or away from the victim? From me? How many were there, alive or dead?
The fog horn wailed, louder than ever.
The end of the pier faced out to the middle of the Bay, Alcatraz, and Angel Island. Big waves crashed against the pilings and the breakwater about 50 yards away. Wind raced and howled between boats and signs, causing brass bells to clang and sail cloth to snap. Seated on the breakwater was a lighthouse supplied with enough power to provide a reasonable glow across the sailboat harbor and a painfully bright navigation beam. The beam swept the end of the pier, giving me enough extra light to confirm what I didn't really want to know. Lifting my zapper up to eye-level, I didn’t shout, but neither did I whisper. “Is he dead? That’s Willkie Valentini isn’t it?”
On the plank boardwalk lay a figure. Large. One shoe sticking out from the pile of coat, hat, and body. A nicely polished shoe caught the tiniest flicker of light. I didn’t need to guess who it was.
The figure standing over Valentini didn’t move more than his head. He nodded. A second figure, bouncing and anxious, kept backing up.
I started the sentence a couple of times before it came out confidently. “It’s over. You don’t have to kill anyone else. Damn sure Skates Berk, over there, agrees. Won't you, Skates?”
The calm figure kept nodding, though my guess was he was doing it more out of reactive habit than providing an answer.
Skates stepped further into the harbor glow. “I didn’t kill Valentini!”
“No, you didn’t. You set him up though.” I turned to the calm figure, staring down at the body. “Put your gun down. That’s the only right move.”
The figure started to laugh.
His arm raised, pointing his heater at me.
We all waited.
“You won't shoot me.” I said while my feet pressed against the ocean worn boardwalk, ready to run.
“You sure?” the figure asked.
“Yeah, I’m sure. This is where you were planning to ruin my career while committing suicide-by-private-dick, isn't it? Maybe taking Skates out at the same time? No thanks. That’s a job I don’t want.”
“You’re too smart for your own good, Honey.”
“And you’ve been a cop too long. Come on, Detective, you know this isn’t going the way you wanted.”
Somerset looked up at the sky, and then at me. He actually chuckled. “Where the hell did you get a rod like that?”
“Friend of a friend.”
Skates stared at my zapper, eyes wide, jaw slack.
Shuffling to my right drew my attention over to my worst fear. Lockwood sat on the boards, hands cuffed behind his back and something stuffed in his mouth.
“Mr. Lockwood, it’s alright.”
“it isn't alright,” Somerset asked. “I have to finish this, you know.”
“Can’t let you do that.” I shifted a bit closer to the prone body. “Besides — you got your man.”
Somerset nodded robotically again. I guess finally getting what he'd obsessed over for years hadn’t satisfied him as he’d hoped. Never does.
Skates had a heater too, but he wasn’t as sure with it as I’d expected. Some gangster. He couldn’t decide who to point it at. He had three targets. Breathing hard and bobbing his head up and down like a puppet — I guess he’d made up his mind — he pointed it at me. “This is real simple. Valentini took Lockwood away from them, killed the other cop, and then killed Lockwood. Somerset here caught him and plugged him. Me? I ain’t even here.” He licked his lips. “Keep your yap shut, Honey, and this can work out for you.”
“Your plan won't work, Skates. Lockwood isn’t dead, and I won’t let you shoot him.” I looked to Somerset, who slowly glanced my way. “Bennie isn’t dead either. I guess you couldn’t kill your partner, even if you didn’t like him. Even if he figured out what happened and confronted you. Bennie is a good man. He knew your obsession with Valentini was out of control. You’d do anything to take him down. Perhaps kill Frannie and try to frame Valentini for it. Or, maybe frame Skates, now he’s getting the business empire and has plans to keep you in line.”
Skates went rigid and nervously started pointing his heater around.
I needed Somerset on my side. Come on, Milt.
Somerset began to half laugh, half cry. “My partner, Bennie Rollins? He tried to stop me. My partner — and he tried to protect this animal.” He pointed to the pile of clothing that had once been Valentini. "A man should be able to count on his partner. No matter what. He should stand by him. That's what men do."
"And that's what you need to do now," I was pleading with a madman. "Bennie is still alive. You were the good partner. You couldn't kill him. He was looking out for you, not Valentini." Somerset shook his head but I knew I was getting through to him. "He didn't want you ruining your name. And he was willing to stand by you,. That's why he came here. Now you can do one more good thing for him — help him to stay alive. Help yourself by ending this mess now. Lockwood comes with me."
"He ain't clean."
"Yeah I know." I avoided making eye contact with Elliott. Yeah, I knew. I knew a lot of things I never really wanted rolling around in my brain, but none of it mattered now. I didn’t need all the details of how Somerset got Valentini out to the pier. My guess was it had something to do with Lockwood, as Frannie’s only viable kin. It burned me up inside to think it.
Regardless of who capped who over what, the killing had to end. Valentini wasn’t a good man, but I had good dealings with him and I couldn’t help feeling sorry. He died for the one crime he didn’t commit. Lockwood was my problem. And I didn't give a rat's ass about Skates so long as he didn't start shooting.
I kept my zapper pointed at Somerset. While he hadn’t dropped his gun, at least he was moving it away from Lockwood. Okay. Maybe he wasn’t determined to kill my client. Skates was another story, which meant I had to keep prodding Somerset’s honor to get him on my side. “You’re not a very good murderer, Milt. Maybe because you’re a good cop?”
“This ain't murder. Do you know what this animal has done? He's the murderer with all the killing, all the money laundering, all the ...” He choked on his words. “He had to die. I couldn't let him get away. Not again.”
Where the hell was Hayes?
“Milt, did Skates tell you Valentini was quitting the business?” I nodded toward Skates. “You did tell him, right?”
“Of course I did.” Skates was starting to rub his head and face, a little too much.
Somerset’s bitter laugh echoed in my ears. “He told me — he and Frannie were sailing off into the sunset, leaving everything behind? You’re a sap, Honey, if you believe it.”
“Yeah, maybe I am a sap. I like a good love story, but in this case, they were leaving it all behind. Weren’t they, Skates?” I kept my voice calm, even-toned, and non-threatening, which was a miracle to accomplish as I stood there trying my best to contain the shakes, from the cold night air and everything else unnerving me. Uncle Joe warned me. He didn't warn me enough.
Skates bounced his head in a sort-of agreement, lacking so much confidence I expected his next move was to swoon.
When I heard boards creak, I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination or maybe ...
The fog horn sounded, making me shiver involuntarily.
Somerset’s voice cracked a bit. “He was going to escape. No justice. No paying for what he’d done.” Somerset pointed his heater at the body.
For a hot moment I thought he’d shoot Valentini's corpse out of insane spite. “This has gone too far. You need to make things right, even if you have to take the fall. What you do next matters.”
“Nothing else matters. It never mattered. Nothing but taking this goon out and I did it. I did it. I finally did it. All that’s left is cleaning up the mess.”
Now there was a line of thinking I didn’t like. I definitely didn’t like the question it raised about my future health as well as my client's.
Somerset turned his head toward Skates.
“You can’t pin this on me,” Skates shouted at Somerset.
“And he won’t, Skates,” I said, losing my calm control over voice. “Detective, what now? You have the option of letting Mr. Lockwood go, but if you were counting on Valentini taking the fall for all the other killings, it can't happen. It won’t line up. I know you don't think much of me, but if I figured it out, you can bet your last dime on others putting the puzzle together.”
Quiet suffocated the boardwalk.
The wind muffled its rage.
The waves crashed somewhere else.
I thought I could hear Somerset breathe.
“What does a man do when he has had one purpose in the whole world, and has now achieved it?” He looked in my direction. "And yet, there ain't the satisfaction he wanted."
"Because he didn't come by his achievement the right way," I said for him.
"The end ... the means?"
“If he’s an honorable man,” oh please let this work, “then he doesn’t make things worse and faces the consequences of what he has done.”
“You think I’m an honorable man?”
“Actually, yes. Single-minded, but yes, honorable.”
He spoke to the fog, “You have no idea what I’ve done or what I am.”
Talk fast Lou. Skates was getting twitchy too.
“I think I do. When you learned Frannie was running off with Valentini, and he would be out of your reach, you had to do something to get him to stay long enough for you to finally catch him. You chased Frannie into the Bayview area, tipped off she was there for business. That’s when you and I first met. You were the man in the alley, with that knife of yours.” I indicated the knife case on his hip.
“You were wearing a disguise, took me while to figure out who you were.”
“Why you kept trying to keep me out of the case.”
He shrugged.
Deep breath. Cleared throat. “As for you, you killed Frannie to frame Valentini. But you were seen, by Cab Proctor, who knew he might get framed because he was being blackmailed over an album of illegal photographs. That's a good motive for murder and one folks will believe long before they buy into a cop committing murder to frame a gangster. So, Proctor tried to kick the Coventry joint. He broke into the house to steal the photos Frannie held over him, to make sure there was no connection between him and the dead woman. Word got out, mostly because Proctor was a drinker and a bragger, that there had been a witness. Proctor had to be silenced. For that, you needed muscle.”
Somerset chuffed a bit. “Honey, you don’t know the half of it.”
“I do know the other half of the hit squad was Irenie. I know she throws parties that should have landed her in the slammer. It required a Vice Cop on the take to keep her out of jail. She was extraordinarily jealous of Frannie and wouldn’t want to lose control over her. Irenie wouldn’t blink at killing her own daughter or making you do it. Was she forcing you to comply because it would help you frame Valentini or because it would end your career if anyone learned you had been protecting her Salons from the law?”
“Yeah, maybe you do know a thing or two.” He took another, lingering stare at the sky. “You going to keep going?”
“You gonna’ put that heater down?”
Somerset lowered but didn’t drop his gun. “Go ahead. Let’s see what brains you got.”
Admittedly, I was half showing off and half stalling for time. Skates was rock still now, intensely listening to my story, though probably to see where he fit in. For the moment, it couldn’t hurt to keep yapping. “Tonight, you used Mr. Lockwood to trick Valentini into coming out here. Not sure specifically how. Maybe you had my client tell Valentini he could have the engagement ring back? Valentini was a surprising romantic when it came to Frannie. I could picture him wanting the ring.”
“Not bad. With all the moving parts of this ugly machine, I wasn’t sure anyone would keep track.”
“Always get the program guide. You can't tell the players without it.”
“This game is done. All done.”
“Not quite; your partner in Frannie’s murder needs to be brought in, don’t you think?”
When he didn’t answer, I filled in the blank. “Irenie was the one who strangled her own daughter while you held Frannie. Bruises on her wrists showed up post mortem. You really didn’t want to kill Frannie, did you? You did a half-assed job of cutting her up but when it came to the final deed, you couldn’t.”
“Irenie did it without a sweat. She has no heart. She did it like there was nothin’ to it. Any other evening in the City.”
Skates barked out a laugh easily mistaken for a sea lion. “I told you I didn’t whack her. Jesus, her own mother did it?”
Yeah, I wasn’t letting this goon get away, and I think I smiled at Skates while feeling the throbbing pain in my face and shoulder. “There’s one killing we need to account for. Proctor could never be relied on to keep his mouth shut, and it was Valentini’s second, Skates here, who thought up having him killed. Damn near got me at the same time. You know, Detective, you don’t have to take that fall alone.”
I turned my zapper on Skates. “Skates is your man for the Cab Proctor murder. He gave the order. You can at least arrest a big guy who works for him. Can’t miss him, I apparently landed a slug in his arm.”
“You bitch! What is it with dames these days? You shoulda’ kept your nose out of my business!”
On my last words, Skates pointed his rod at me and shot.
I dropped to my left while Somerset fired. Skates flew backward, caught in the head by a .45 slug.
The boardwalk was silent again.
Why hadn’t I fired?
I had a zapper for Christ’s sake. I started to stand up.
Somerset then turned on me.
“Detective?”
“The whole mess has to be cleaned up.”
Oh hell. “Detective, you saved my life. You can stop now. It’s all over.”
“No. I want it to be done. Lockwood ... you ... me. Yeah, me ... we’re the last pieces.”
“Detective,” I lowered my voice and held up my free hand. “Think about this. It is all done.”
He shook his head and aimed his gun at me, at the same time I pointed the zapper at him.
“Milt,” I pleaded, like we were old friends.
Didn’t work. I thought I could see tears on his face.
I grasped the zapper with both hands. Please God ...
He moved.
A ball of light exploded out of my zapper and Somerset stumbled. He looked at me and then the hole forming in his abdomen. The tunnel bore I’d shot through his torso grew bigger by the second.
He screamed and took one more step forward.
A second shot rang out.
By the way that Somerset fell, I knew it wasn’t a bullet from his rod. He fell forward and flopped across the body of Valentini. The shot came from beside him.
Hayes and two government-looking types rushed forward to see what had been achieved. In another moment, they were putting away weapons and getting on their radios. Green-eyes reached down to help me up. My ears rang, all I could see was the smoldering coat on Somerset's back. I thought someone was shouting. People moving. And Hayes's arm around my shoulder, dragging me back to reality.
"Still with us?"
“Did you hear all of it?” I asked, forgetting to breathe. “Please tell me you heard all.”
“Every word.”
I waved him off, or something, I wasn’t sure. Damn it. I stared at Somerset.
I’d killed a man.
No small thing.
Hayes walked over to Lockwood who sat glaring wide-eyed at all this. It took a bit to get the cuffs off, yet with his mouth free, he had nothing to say. Shock.
Hayes came back and stared into my eyes.
I looked at the Agent. “Some ... Somebody needs to go pick up Irenie Coventry. And possibly a big goon with a bullet wound who worked for Skates Berk.” I pointed to what was once Skates Berk.
Nodding to me and wandering closer to the end of the pier, for a better signal, he called it all in on that marvelous personal radio he had. More policemen arrived, a fire department boat cruised near, the ambulance departed, and a coroner’s van took over most of the courtyard inside the pier.
Lights started coming on, illuminating the slick boardwalk and the spraying ocean mist. I guess someone woke up the amusement park manager or found the right switches.
I stared at Lockwood.
“Lou?” He said while crossing his arms tightly and twisting his lips. I could bet he was trying to make sense of what happened. “He planned to kill me. I can’t thank you ...” He reached out to me.
I held up a hand. “No.”
There was a shattering sound I swear came from my heart. I am such a sap. I walked into this hurt with my eyes open, thinking I was ready. Thinking I was oh, so clever. Hey, so he's not innocent, I can handle it, right?
“Of course, I should thank you.”
I felt the heat rising off my cheeks, despite the cold. “I said, no. I don’t want your thanks. You’ve been lucky at best, and you’re going to have to face the consequences of what you’ve done.”
“Lou, I don’t understand.”
I understood. I understood all too well.
And ... I’d killed a man.