The cop cars were nearer.
The manager dived behind the desk. The clerk was there on the floor, tied up and gagged. Heller took the clerk and cut the bonds off.
The manager arranged the bodies in the lobby. He took the gun Heller had used and wiped it off and put it in the hand of the one who had been Heller’s captor.
The cop cars were drawing up. “The (bleepards),” said the manager. “They had the fuzz tipped to rush in and grab me if there was any shooting!”
The manager surveyed the scene, said something fast in Italian to the clerk and was about to tell Heller something, probably to beat it, when a stentorian voice called out from the entrance, “Everybody freeze!” The everybody was the manager, Heller and the clerk.
A police inspector, fronted with two cops holding riot shotguns, was there. He was a huge man, middle-aged, flabby. “All right, Meretrici, you’re under arrest!”
“For what?” said Vantagio.
The police inspector was looking at the bodies. He glared at the clerk. “What happened?”
“Just like you see,” said the clerk. “That one,” and he pointed to the body that was furthest from the entrance, the one Heller had used for a shield, “was evidently trying to get away from the others. And they came busting in the door after him and they all started shooting each other.”
The police inspector examined each of the bodies and the guns.
“They should be arrested,” said Vantagio. “We don’t allow shooting in here!”
“Wise (bleep),” said the inspector. He came over to Heller. “Who the hell are you?”
“He’s a delivery boy,” said Vantagio. “He came in from the back after the shooting.”
“(Bleep),” said the inspector.
“I wish you’d do your civic duty,” said Vantagio, “the ones the taxpayers pay you for and get these bodies the hell out of here. They already ruined one rug!”
“Don’t you touch nothing,” said the inspector. “The stiff team will be here in a few minutes and they’ll want pictures of all this. And you two,” he pointed at the manager and clerk, “don’t fail to show up at the coroner’s inquest! I oughta jail you as material witnesses!”
“We’ll be glad to perform our civic duties,” said Vantagio. “You just make sure you give honest businessmen better protection hereafter!” He glared at the bodies. “Hoodlums running all over the streets!”
The inspector left. A patrolman stood guard over the bodies so no one could corrupt the evidence.
“I’ll take that baggage in my office,” Vantagio said to Heller and beckoned.
Heller picked up his suitcases and the carry-all and followed him in.
Chapter 2
The cleaning woman had finished mopping up the blood. Vantagio turned the air conditioner on to “vent,” probably to clear out the drifting cordite smoke. He seated Heller in a chair and then sat back down at his ornate desk.
“Kid,” said Vantagio, “you saved my life! I never before seen such terrific shooting!” He regarded Heller for a bit. “How did you come to get here, anyway?”
Heller told him he had been looking for a place to live and then quoted his conversation with the taxi driver in which he had asked for a house.
Vantagio laughed. “Oh, kid, you are a greenhorn. Strictly from the backwoods. Listen, kid. In the vernacular of our fair city, the word ‘house’ means a brothel, a bordello, a bagnio, a crib, a sporting house, a cathouse, a whorehouse or, in short, a house of prostitution. And here you are. This is the pleasure palace of the United Nations, the top ‘house’ in all Manhattan!”
He started to laugh again and then he sobered. “But I can thank La Santissima Vergine that you arrived. I was sure my number was up!”
He sat back, looking at Heller, and thought for a moment. “You’re kind of handy to have around. Kid, could I offer you a job? Something respectable like a bouncer?”
“No,” said Heller. “Thank you. I’ve got to get a diploma. People don’t listen to you unless you have a diploma.”
“Oh, so true! I’m a great believer in education! I have my master’s degree in political science from Empire University,” he said proudly, “and here I am at the top of my profession, head of the UN whorehouse!”
At that moment there was a commotion at the door and two very disheveled men rushed in. Although their clothes were expensive looking, they were very crumpled.
“Where you been?” Vantagio shouted at them.
“We got here as fast as we could,” said one. “At dawn that God (bleeped) Inspector Grafferty busted into our apartment and arrested us for vagrancy and littering. It took until just now for the shyster to bail us out!”
“It was a setup,” said Vantagio. “Police Inspector Bulldog Grafferty,” and he spat sideways on the carpet.
“He was right up the street waiting! He got you two gunsels out of the way so the Faustino mob could come in here and put the pressure on. If I’d refused and they’d have killed me, Grafferty was right on hand to prove they wasted me in self-defense. If this kid hadn’t crashed the party, I’d be dead!” And he told them exactly what had happened and what Heller had done.
“Jesus!” said the two men in unison, looking at Heller.
“Now go down to the dry-cleaning room and get yourselves pressed up and get on duty. We can’t have you looking like a couple of bums! This is a high-class joint!”
“Yes, Mr. Meretrici,” they both said and rushed out.
“This really is a high-class joint,” Vantagio repeated to Heller. “The UN crowd is funny. If they thought we pushed drugs, they’d be sure we were trying to bleed information out of them. No, sir. We stay with tradition. We serve bootleg booze. And booze and drugs don’t mix, kid.”
“Lethal,” said Heller, doubtless remembering his book.
“Eh? Oh, right. You sure said it, kid. No gang wars in booze at all these days. And there’s just as much money to be made in bootleg booze as there ever was in Prohibition. Did you know Federal taxes was ten bucks a fifth now? And it’s more respectable. More traditional.
“Now, there are those that will tell you you can’t have prostitution without having drugs. But that’s baloney. The whores go silly. They get all dried up. They don’t last two years. And they’re an expensive investment! We have to train them, send them to Towers Modeling School and hygiene clinics as doctors’ assistants and postgraduate them to an ex-Hong Kong whore. That’s expensive. You can’t amortize it fast enough. Internal Revenue Service won’t let you write off the investment that quick. So, no drugs, kid.”
“No drugs,” said Heller, probably thinking of Mary Schmeck.
“Right,” said Vantagio. “The UN clientele would simply evaporate. And we’d have to pay off the DEA. We’d go bankrupt!”
“Well,” said Heller. “I’m sorry I made a mistake. I’ll be going now.”
“No, no!” said Vantagio in alarm. “You saved my life. And even Clint Eastwood couldn’t have beaten that gun play! You’re handy to have around! Listen, business is slack — the UN isn’t in session and it’s summer and nobody’s in town. You came for a room. There’s two hundred rooms and suites in this building! I got a little room — it was once a maid’s room — up on the second floor you can have.”
“Well,” said Heller, “if you’ll let me pay for it.”
“Pay? Well, how about you just sitting around the lobby now and then, two or three times a week maybe. For just an hour or two. I’ll see you get some decent clothes.”