“We are. Think about it.”
She didn’t have to think long, not with those wheels turning like they were. “My God, Mike — your reputation! Your well-deserved, well-known reputation for getting even. Billy’s your friend, our friend. If somebody took Billy out, you’d be all over it.”
“That’s right. Hitting me first, or trying to, was a preemptive attack.”
But she was shaking her head, having trouble making some of the pieces fit together. “Mike, why didn’t that contract killer shoot you tonight as well as Billy? And why not take me down as well?”
I flipped a hand. “Could be a couple of reasons. Maybe it was just a coincidence I happened to be around when the hit on Billy went down, and the shooter knew only that his target was our friend at the newsstand. Or... it could be something even more sinister.”
Her eyebrows took a hike. “More sinister than that?”
“Yup. Keep in mind our friend on the phone last night. He’s been having bad luck with the hired help, in addition to which he’s now deemed me worthy of his personal attention. That may have been him tonight.”
“But he could have killed you, Mike!”
“No. This is a game to him. A challenge. He’s playing with me, Velda. Cat and mouse, and he thinks I’m the mouse. Only he’s got a sewer rat by the tail. He figures he can get to me psychologically. Better men, and women, have tried. I have the same psychology as the .45 in my pocket — set me in motion and I go off.”
The ambulance came screaming up. It was similar enough to the city variety that the two cops thought nothing of it when a pair of attendants in white brought a stretcher out and strapped Billy on and hauled him up and into the back of their vehicle. They’d done enough jobs like this for me, and select others, to know to move fast and give any questions from the cops the most perfunctory answers.
But these cops accepted the ambulance at face value, assuming it was from a nearby hospital. They didn’t notice the upstate plates, or the lack of certain designations on the side panels. Just not plainclothes material.
“Velda,” I said softly, “go home, pack a bag, and drive up to that hospital right now. Get there ASAP, deal with the docs, and camp out in Billy’s room. He may still be on the firing line and will need protection. I’ll see you later tonight or in the morning, after I’ve dealt with Pat.”
Her eyebrows went up again. “You’ve been pushing that friendship to the breaking point.”
I nodded. “It may take some fancy footwork to stay out of stir this time. I really am a material witness on this one.”
She nodded, sucked in damp air, and gave me a kiss on the mouth before heading off to catch a cab.
“Where’s she going?” the fat cop asked.
“Home.”
“You said she witnessed this, too!”
“She did. Why, did you want to talk to her? Oh... well, there’s a Yellow. Guess she’s on her way. Sorry. My oversight.”
“Is that what it is. I wonder if Captain Chambers will see it that way, smart-ass?”
Another patrol car arrived in about five minutes and gave me a lift over to headquarters. This time I only spent fifteen minutes on the bench outside Pat’s office. Not time enough to stretch out for a snooze. That was okay. I didn’t feel like sleeping.
When the door opened, he gave me a long-suffering look and a thumb over a shoulder. I followed him in, closing the door behind me, and slid into the visitor’s chair opposite his desk. He took his time getting to his swivel chair and all but fell into it.
Pat, a consummate professional whose suits were off the rack but well-selected, looked like an unmade bed. He was in his shirtsleeves and his tie was loose and wrinkled. He needed a shave and his eyes were bloodshot.
He growled, “You’re having a hell of a week, Mike.”
“Maybe, but I look better than you.”
He closed his eyes. He opened his eyes. He said, “That’s because you don’t have to go around cleaning up after yourself. You just wait for me and the rest of the NYPD to do it for you, and if you make a remark about being a taxpayer, I’ll slam your ass in the drunk tank.”
“You need to get home and get some rest, buddy. What are you doing here, this close to midnight?” I started to get up. “We can do this tomorrow.”
“Sit!”
“I’m not a damn spaniel.”
“Sit anyway.”
I sat.
“Mike,” he said, “I’ve seen the statement you gave to the officers at the scene. Is there anything you’d care to add to it?”
That statement had been factually accurate. So I said, “No. Other than maybe, for hitmen, these guys don’t seem to be able to hit much of anything they aim at.”
He ignored that. “Let’s say I accept everything in your statement. I may want a more formal one, stenographer and the works, but for now... let’s say I accept it.”
“Let’s say that.” I dug a Lucky out of the deck and lit it up. It wasn’t my fault that having a cigarette in my lips gave me a smirk.
Pat said, “Why don’t you add just one little detail. Why don’t you tell me where Velda ran off to, just after the shooting? She was there when it went down, at Batson’s side just like you were. Where did you send her, Mike?”
I gestured vaguely. “That all-night Rexall’s on Lexington and Forty-ninth.”
“To get you some aspirin?”
“No, to call the incident in.”
“Our dispatcher has no record of that.”
“Velda probably didn’t give her name. She was a little flustered. She likes Billy.”
“Velda. Flustered.” He shook his head. “As it happens, we do have a witness, a pedestrian, who called us from a phone booth to report the shooting, and he did give his name, which wasn’t Velda Sterling.”
“I’d be surprised if it was.”
Pat breathed in and breathed out, like a dragon out of lighter fluid. “Do you think I don’t know that she called some ambulance service you use? Do you think I don’t know that, for some insane reason, you decided to spirit Billy Batson away?”
“I don’t know what you know. What am I, psychic?”
“Skip the psyche. You’re just sick.”
I grinned and the Lucky bobbled. “Decent comeback for a guy who looks about ten minutes shy of passing out. How about some coffee? We could both use it. I’ve got a smoke for you, if you want to start again.”
He reached for the phone like he was going to throw it at me, but instead ordered up some coffee for us. He even made sure mine got milk and sugar. What a pal.
Then he hung up, folded his hands like he was about to lead us in prayer, and said, “I know you have a private hospital you use, somewhere in town, when you want to keep somebody under wraps. You think I don’t, Mike?”
Well, it wasn’t in town, but that was more than I thought he knew, all right.
I just said, “Don’t you know what hospital, Pat? I’d think a detective of your caliber would have learned that by now.”
“A detective of your caliber, which is .45, should know he’s right on the edge of an obstruction of justice charge. If that sticks, you’re out of the P.I. business. You won’t be able to get a license to sell hot dogs.”
“Why, is my fly open?”
He slammed a fist on his blotter and everything on his desk jumped. “You won’t be able to get a hunting license for goddamn ducks!”
We sat and glowered at each other, and I let my smoke exit in his general vicinity. Then an almost attractive policewoman who could use some make-up delivered our coffee. We thanked her. She said you’re welcome and left.