A Deadly Affair (7 page)

“You were the one that said it would look bad to phone. Listen, Detective London, I am telling the truth, why don’t you believe me?”

“Jose, the dumber the crook the smarter he
thinks
he is. You think you’re a wiseguy, but you’re merely a dumb Marine Tiger!”

“A what?” the Artie one, who happened to be leaning against the wall at the moment, asked.

London gave him an annoyed look.” Before the plane service, all the Spies from the island used to come up here jammed into a boat called the Marine Tiger. So they call a hick fresh from the island, a Marine Tiger.”

I managed to close and rest my eyes for a moment while London was talking. If he wanted a lecture on the history of my island, he should have my father here. He had all the facts on his finger tips, an
intelectual
with a big mouth, a true
bocon
.

London shook me, to open my eyes to the sharp light. Like a fighter changing styles, he suddenly switched his attack. He said softly, “Jose, there’s no sense in acting
un tofe hombre
with me, I’m tougher. Nor is there any sense in lying. Why didn’t you tell me Louisa was Harry’s girl friend?”

“What had that to do with us playing handball? I have another cousin, in Ponce, Nina, to whom wrong has also been done—should I have mentioned her, too? Also, I do not know for a fact Louisa is—was—Harry’s girl. That is only filthy gossip.”

“But when she came to the handball courts yesterday, why didn’t you give her Harry’s money?”

“What? Louisa never came to the playgrounds.”

London sucked hard on his empty pipe. “Why did you go to see her last night? To figure out how to get rid of the body?”

“I went only to ask if she had seen him since the afternoon. I was worried about Harry.”

“Why were you worried? Did you
know
something had happened to him?”

“No, no. I wasn’t really worried. That is, I was … curious as to what had become of him. He was my friend, willing to sell me his house …”

“Crap! Mrs. Simmons told us Harry didn’t want to sell you the house, he was out to rook you!”

I shook my head, which gave me a bit of relief from the directness of the light. “That is not so. She is the one who was against selling to me. But if I had the down payment, the house would be mine this minute.”

“Yeah? You mean to tell me a bank would let a Puerto Rican mechanic take over a big mortgage on a house in a white area?”

I nodded: that gave no relief. “Harry was to carry the mortgage in his name. Listen, we hadn’t come to that point, gone into all the details.”

“But when he told you he had changed his mind, you got so angry you killed him!”

I groaned, or perhaps it was a weary moan. “No. And would killing him get me the house? I said we hadn’t reached the final—”

“So, you admit killing him!”

I’d left the kind of stupid opening he’d been waiting for. I said, “How can I admit what I have not done? Look, I want to see a lawyer.”

“A lawyer? Why, have you done something wrong?”

“No, but you are trying to twist my words. I keep telling you I didn’t kill Harry, or touch him. Would I have come running to the police if I had done something like that?”

“You were playing it smart—you thought!”

I shut up: there wasn’t anything to say. I tried looking at the floor to rest my eyes but London jerked my head up. Strangely, his hand on my chin was almost gentle. He was a smart one. If he whipped me the judge would be able to see the bruises. But a light in your eyes until it is like rays of red hot steel, the constant questioning … isn’t that also torture? But the bruises of the mind do not show….

“Jose,” London said, in Spanish, “the first time Leon came to the playgrounds—the
first
time not the
last
time—what did you two arrange?”

“Leon?”

“Christ, I’m talking about Louisa’s husband!” he screamed.

I wanted to smile: London was the one swinging wildly now. “I haven’t seen him in years. The truth is, I have only seen Leon maybe five or six times, all told.” I wanted to add, “And didn’t care for him at any time,” but kept my mouth shut.

“Do you know Mrs. Simmons has received threats because of thinking of selling the house to you? Didn’t Harry say that because of this trouble he had changed his mind? Didn’t you get angry and pick up a … something and break his head? Maybe you didn’t mean to kill him, only to hit him?”

“Harry told me nothing. Are the police giving Mrs. Simmons protection against such threats?”

Calling me a black dung-eater, London kicked at the legs of my chair, nearly knocking it over. “Don’t you worry about what we’re doing!” His voice broke with hoarseness.

Artie, who had been in and out of the room, or leaning silently against the wall, now came forward, told London, “Cut it out, Jack, you’re only scaring the kid. Getting yourself upset.” London mumbled something and left the room. Artie switched the light from my eyes, held out a cigarette. I shook my head. He said, “Go ahead, Chico, take a drag, it will relax you.”

“I don’t smoke.”

“Want a drink of water?”

I shook my head. I was wise to him, the old con, the change-up pitch … the big
blanco
bastard was putting on the friendly act … as he called me Chico. But at least my eyes were no longer on fire.

Artie shrugged his big shoulders, his white shirt damp under the armpits, lit a butt for himself. He said gently, “Joe, you must think we’re a couple of hard guys, but you have to realize it’s only our job. London tells me you may become a police officer yourself. I’ll give you some advice: like any other job, it has its good and bad sides. Depends from which side you’re looking at it. Suppose a drunk was annoying your wife, you’d want her to call the police. Right?”

“Yes.” I didn’t know what he was talking about but he expected me to say yes. And the blessed coolness on my eyes.

“Okay, now suppose you were the drunk, out for a little fun, but not meaning any harm. When the police came you’d say, ‘Those lousy cops, giving me a hard time.’ That’s like now. We have to question you because it is part of our job. Nothing personal against you, ya understand, we’d question whoever was the last to see Harry. But you’re making the job tougher for us, and for yourself. You be easy with us, we give you a break, too. For example, there’s such a thing as the unwritten law, a killing that is justified. Say, like self-defense. You come clean with us, maybe we can work something out for you.”

“I have come clean, told you all that happened.”

Smiling, he shook his head. Damn, an outsider seeing his smile would think we were discussing a ball game! He said easily, “Joey, let’s cut the crap and level with each other. We have you, sewed up tight. What’s the sense of lying? We could take you into court this second, with what we have, and get a conviction. Now Harry was a no-good, small-time hustler, and I don’t give a fat damn that he’s dead. But you look like a nice, hardworking kid, smart. Think smart. No jury would ever believe that silly handball story you been handing us. It would have been impossible for Harry to have vanished from the fenced-in court. You never played handball with him yesterday.”

“The sun-bather, Rastello saw us. Why do you believe his lies?”

“Joey, Joey, we ain’t looking for work in the middle of the night. Believe me, it was a cinch to check him out. He’s telling the truth: he never saw you or Harry. I know, I know—his wallet. But what does that prove? You could have picked it up anyplace in town, in the subway. Rastello admits he lost his wallet, but that’s all.”

“You saw the … body. Harry still had his handball gloves on?” I said, almost taken in by the warmth of his voice, wanting to grasp at any straw of friendliness in this evil room.

Artie leaned closer, put his hand on my shoulder, pressed it. I wondered if he was a queer. I could smell the stale tobacco on his breath. “Joey boy, be sensible. Harry could have been wearing a snorkel up on that roof, what would it
prove?
Why keep handing us this fantastic yarn? Honest, it isn’t even a decent lie. Kid, I know you think you’re the smartest cookie out, but you’re old stuff to us … a fact you’ll learn if you ever go to the Police Academy. All amateur killers think they can cook up the perfect crime, that we cops are a bunch of dopes. But crime is our business, what we’re good at. Like you’re good at cars. Look, if for no other reason, we’d suspect you because by your own admission you’re the last person to have seen Harry alive.”

“But I had no reason to kill Harry, or anybody else!” I said, talking into his face, feeling most uncomfortable with him so close.

He chuckled softly. “Reason? Joey, we’ve had cases where some clown merely thought another guy had
looked
at him wrong, and that was reason enough for him to slice the other guy’s heart in two. Kid, don’t be dumb, use reason now. You’re in a bad spot, a very bad spot, and I can help you. I may even be able to get you off free. Don’t you want to go back to that fine looking wife of yours, your kid?”

I nodded.

His hand pressed harder on my shoulder. “Joey, you keep going for dumb, the least you’ll get is jail. Know what that will mean? The old cons will fight over a piece of young boy-ass like you. You want that, for the next ten years?”

I couldn’t keep from shaking. I whispered, “What did you mean by getting me off free?”

He blew some smoke in my face, waved the pack in front of me as if the butts were magic wands. His face was closer—I could faintly smell the after-shaving lotion he had used. “What I was telling you before, the unwritten law. Wise up, son. I’m with you, Joey, but in order to help you, I have to know exactly what happened.”

“I’ve told you and told you what happened.”

“Come on, Joey, let me help you. Tell me.” His voice was so soft, if I closed my eyes I could almost believe a girl was sweet-talking me. “Let’s start with a small detail: how did you get Harry up on that warehouse roof?”

“I tell you I didn’t go up there, never….”

“Aw Joey, why make this rough for both of us? We have to work together. Let’s start again: you saw Harry’s body … how do you think he was killed?”

“I don’t know. Looked a little like he was run over by a tank.”

Artie straightened up. “Yeah? You ever see anybody hit by a tank?”

I nodded. “Some dead guys in Korea. And once on maneuvers a frightened kid jumped out of a trench too soon … he was a mess. Something like Harry.”

“Say, clean forgot about you being a vet,” Artie said, pacing the little room slowly. “Hear you got the Silver Star, too. That may help you. I saw combat in the Normandy invasion myself, as an M.P. Had quite a few Spics in our company, and all good soldiers, too.”

I wanted lo laugh, to cry: how stupid can a
blanco
get? This fool didn’t even know he was insulting me.

“Joey, I see how you worked it. You got Harry into your garage, ran him over a couple of times with a big truck. You must have been real crazy with anger, huh?”

“Policeman, to my knowledge Harry was never in the garage. Mr. Jones is very strict about allowing non-employees inside.”

London must have been listening outside the door, for he suddenly busted into the dreaded room and said, “We talked to Jones. He says you’re on your own there, most of the time.”

“Jack, leave the kid alone,” Artie said, almost pushing London against a wall. “I been telling Joey how we’ll help him get free, if he’ll help us. You agree to that, Jack?”

“Sure, if he opens up, tells us all, we’ll do our best for him.”

Artie was bending over me again, his voice a warm hiss as he asked me, “Whatcha say to that, kid?”

“You haven’t said yet how I can be free of here,” I said, knowing I was a fool for asking.

Artie was so close, the cigarette pasted to his lower lip was nearly burning my forehead as he said, “It’s like I told you before, Joey, the unwritten law. Everybody knows how jealous you Spics are about your dames. So here’s Harry forcing your cousin Louisa to love him because she needed food for her kids. You did the right thing, acted the man, you warned Harry to lay off. Jack says this Louisa is a plump piece too, so Harry couldn’t let go of her. When you warned him for the last time, he laughed at you, maybe even punched you … so you went crazy, flipped, and killed him. Nice combo: a vet nuts with anger over the honor of his women. Hey London, doesn’t that sound like a sure walk-away before a jury?”

“Could be at that. They love a sob story,” London said from somewheres outside the circle of light still around me, if not directly in my sore eyes.

“Sure, we can even make it rape. Harry ain’t here to quibble. Get the picture, Joey? Your dear cousin, hardly more than a big child herself, is being raped by this fat bastard, Harry. When you beg him to stop, he treats it all like a joke, so you go nuts. Being Louisa is only a cousin, it might not be considered a justified type killing, but once we get your story straight, we’ll rush you down to Bellevue for a mental exam. Worst that can happen, you’ll spend a few months in a nut ward. Plenty of rest and you’ll eat better than you’re doing now. Now you got the picture, tell me, what happened yesterday, from the start?”

“I have. We were playing handball—”

“You goddamn dumb black greaseball!” he yelled, and backhanded me across the neck. It didn’t hurt much … nothing really does in a nightmare, I suppose.

Now London came in, like a guy in a wrestling tag team match. He asked with a sneer on his big face, “Did Harry demand to sleep with your Indian wife, Jose? She’s a fine looking hunk of trim.”

For a split second my anger rose and blinded me to all but one very clear thing: even if it meant my death I was going to belt that sneer off his damn face. But a split second isn’t much time—the feeling of pure hate passed. I almost laughed for I knew this was but another trick, like a fellow I once boxed who kept stepping on my feet in the ring, also to blind me with anger. I said to London, my voice cold, “Harry never said one word about loving up his wife, my wife, or even your’s.”

For a bit London too seemed ready to explode, then he shook his head and laughed. “You’re a tough one, Jose. It’s a shame you’re in a jam, you really would make a top police officer. If you’ll only work with us, it may not be too late for that.”