Sammy two shoes, p.16
Sammy Two Shoes, page 16
Two guys stormed through the doors. They both had guns and the guns were pointed at me.
‘Cigars!’ I said, waving the box. ‘For Tanner!’
I held the box out in their direction.
They stared, frozen.
Then, without fanfare, Tanner breezed in between the two guys, no gun, and sauntered up to me, smiling. He was wearing a burgundy silk robe, the kind a rich society swell might have worn, if it had been 1941.
‘Did you do all this?’ he asked.
‘All the chaos and noise outside?’ I nodded. ‘There’s a gas leak. Can’t you tell?’
‘You mean that smell? Sure, most of my guys went down to see what’s happening. But I always, always keep a couple of guys with me. So.’
‘Well, good,’ I told him. ‘I want witnesses to the fact that I came bearing gifts.’
I waggled the box of cigars.
‘Are those Cubans?’ he asked, eyeing the box.
‘You used to really go for these.’ I nodded.
‘Yeah.’ He sighed. ‘I quit. Gave up smoking. It’s supposed to be bad for your health.’
‘Really.’ I stared at the box. ‘These are all natural. You know. Hand rolled.’
‘Why are you here?’ he demanded.
‘Why would I bring you such a nice gift, you mean?’ I nodded. ‘That’s a fair question.’
‘Especially after I shot up your mother’s home, threatened your favorite aunt, and put a couple of bullets in your old pal Sammy Two Shoes.’
‘Yeah, that’s the point,’ I insisted. ‘I don’t want any more of that kind of thing. My mother is sick, see. She’s got the cancer. And my aunt Shayna, I mean, you know she’s nuts, right?’
‘How do you mean, nuts?’ he asked.
‘I mean she’s not right in the head,’ I said. ‘Flip City. Got all these conspiracy theories in her head. She’s ten minutes away from the loony bin, no kidding, Tanner.’
‘And your mom’s got cancer?’
‘Lymphoma,’ I said.
‘What’s that?’
‘I don’t know.’ I shrugged. ‘Some kind of blood cancer, she says. I want her to live out what’s left of her life in peace.’
‘With your crazy aunt taking care of her.’
‘Right.’ I held the cigars aloft. ‘And this is what I brought so you’d at least listen to what I have to say.’
Tanner shook his head and sighed. ‘Check him,’ he told one of his guys.
The guy moved so fast that I dropped the box of cigars. It hit the floor and opened and several of the stogies rolled out.
Tanner’s goon patted me down and took the .44 out of my shoulder holster but missed the SIG Sauer tucked snugly into my ankle holster.
Tanner turned and walked back into the darkness of his lair.
‘Come on in,’ he called over his shoulder. ‘Let’s talk.’
I swooped up the cigar box, collecting the errant smokes, and followed. The goons followed me.
Tanner’s palace was not what I’d expected. The ceilings were at least twenty feet high. There were wildly expensive rugs on the floors, the kind you’d find in an English manor house. In fact, the whole place looked like that: antiques and fine old furniture everywhere, a Gainsborough and two Turners on the wall, and that was just in the foyer. I expected a butler to come and try to take the cigars.
Tanner wafted into another room, maybe a parlor or a living room, it was hard to tell with the dazzle of finery. I noticed then that Tanner wasn’t wearing shoes. He had on fancy slippers. It seemed hilarious to me that a homicidal maniac would wear such dainty footwear, but I kept the laughs in check.
He sat in a huge leather armchair and pointed to the place he wanted me, one of two upholstered seats, what they called a Queen Anne, high back with wings, overstuffed arms. I sat in the one closest to Tanner. It was unbelievably comfortable.
‘I have to say,’ I began, ‘this is some place.’
Tanner looked around like he was seeing with new eyes. ‘Yeah, it is. I guess I get kind of used to it.’
‘Who did this, all this decorating and collecting?’ I asked, my eyes roaming over beautiful paintings and polished desks and marble statues. ‘Is that an actual Rodin?’
He turned.
‘Camille Claudel,’ he told me. ‘She was a student of Rodin’s. Do you like it?’
‘It’s remarkable,’ I said. ‘But about Sammy.’
‘Right to business.’ He leaned forward and called out. ‘Howard, would you bring us some tea?’
From another room in the place a voice rang out, ‘Immediately, sir.’
So there was a butler. And he was going to bring us tea. The strangeness of it all was just beginning to seep into me.
‘Sammy was sore because you always handed him the crap jobs,’ I said quickly, ‘and you can kind of understand that. He’s got a sensitive soul. You know, being a musician.’
‘Sammy Cohen was a dick with a guitar,’ Tanner snapped. ‘All the girls thought he was something but look at him now. He’s not as smart or as rich as I am, not even close. He’s in that same old salt and pepper suit and I’m in handmade Italian. And his girlfriend works in the theatre. I mean, come on. She’s not even an actress.’
I could tell he was heating up. What was it about Sammy that made Tanner so mad? It couldn’t have been about Emory, not a burn that hot.
‘What did Sammy ever do to you?’ I asked innocently.
‘What did he do?’ Tanner’s voice was almost an octave higher.
Without warning a man in a tailored suit appeared with a tray. There was a tea service on the tray that would have done all right for the Queen, in keeping with the general atmosphere of the place.
‘I took the liberty of croissants,’ said the man with the tray. ‘It’s too late for breakfast rolls and, of course, far too early for a traditional tea cake.’
Tanner turned toward the man and I thought he was about to take the guy’s head off, but instead he let out a long breath.
‘Thank you, Howard. A perfect idea. And Earl Grey?’
‘Of course.’ Howard set the tray down on the table nearest Tanner.
‘Do you like Earl Grey?’ Tanner asked me.
‘Who doesn’t?’ I answered.
It was about then that the extremely surreal aspect of my situation finally kicked in completely. I had a sudden fear that maybe I was still asleep at the Benjamin, that it was the middle of the night and I was dreaming about my encounter with Tanner. All I could do was stare while Howard poured tea. The tray also had a silver butter dish and a basket with a white linen cloth that held, I assumed, croissants.
Howard looked at me then. ‘Sugar, sir? Milk?’
‘Both, thanks,’ I mumbled, still staring.
‘I see you have an eye on the croissants,’ Howard said to me, smiling. ‘I made them myself this morning.’
‘It’s the morning after the night before for me,’ I admitted, ‘and all I’ve had for it is coffee. So a croissant sounds just like the ticket.’
‘Hangover?’ Tanner commiserated. ‘I thought you looked a little blurry-eyed.’
‘This will help,’ Howard said.
He unwrapped the basket, pulled out a pastry, steam rising, and placed it on the whitest plate I’d ever seen. A knife and a third of a stick of butter added, and he handed it to me before the tea.
I took the plate and absently set down the cigar box on the side table. A mistake.
‘Shall I take these cigars to your humidor, Mr Brookmeyer?’ Howard suggested, reaching for the box.
My reaction was stupid and clumsy. I dropped my white croissant plate and lunged, grabbed the box and clutched it to my chest. Before I was finished, I regretted every move I’d made.
I tried to cover. ‘Mr Brookmeyer tells me he’s given up smoking. I wouldn’t want these beauties to waste away in some unused humidor. I’ll take them back to Florida, I guess. I have a friend there who would appreciate them. He’s a Seminole elder.’
But Tanner cut me off. ‘Hand them over.’
He held out his mitt. Howard was already cleaning up my mess and dealing with the plate on the carpet. I thought about it for a second, but what could I do? I gave the box to Tanner.
His bodyguards appeared in the double door frame. Only one of them had his gun in his hand.
Tanner sat back in his leather chair, sighed, and opened the box. He picked out a cigar. He rolled it in his fingers, then he sniffed it, and then he closed his eyes.
‘These actually are Cubans,’ he said softly. ‘You can smell the rum and revolution.’
‘I was serious about making a peace offering,’ I said. ‘I only wanted the best.’
But he wasn’t finished. He rummaged around in the box and took out all the cigars. He put them on the tea tray. It only took him a few more seconds to figure out the false bottom and discover the nifty spy tape recorder. And when he did, it made him smile.
‘There we are,’ he said, delighted. ‘I knew it had to be something. I didn’t figure it to be something this stupid. Have a look, Howard. I think Mr Moscowitz here was going to tape record me saying something incriminating. And then?’
He looked at me.
‘And then,’ I obliged, ‘I would take the tape to Helen Baker, the lawyer for Phoebe Peabody, and let the law handle the rest of it.’
‘Who’s Phoebe Peabody?’ Tanner asked.
‘Sammy’s girl. The stage manager.’
‘Right, right,’ he said quickly. ‘And what were you hoping I’d say, just out of curiosity?’
Howard had frozen in place. His face was a mask, something blank and implacable.
‘I was going to get you to admit that you killed Emory,’ I told him. ‘And that would get Sam and Phoebe off the hook.’
Tanner squinted. ‘Huh. That would have been tough to pull off.’
I shook my head. ‘I can be really persuasive,’ I said. ‘I could probably have gotten you to say something that would have—’
‘No,’ he interrupted, ‘I mean it would have been tough because I didn’t do it. I didn’t pop Emory. I mean, I was tired of her, and I knew she mostly liked me because I gave her free coke, but why would I kill her? I’d just break it off, you know, like a person. You have a very low opinion of me, Foggy, and frankly, that hurts my feelings a little.’
Tanner set the tape recorder down on the side table next to his chair.
I sat back. ‘You didn’t do it.’
‘I didn’t do it,’ he repeated. ‘From what I hear, Sammy and Phoebe did it. Cyanide in her water. Which, if you ask me, was kind of a corny way to do it. It’s just like that play Emory was in with everybody dying right and left. I know Sammy’s not all that bright, but seriously, he couldn’t come up with anything better than that?’
I looked at Howard. ‘Your boss didn’t kill Emory Brewster.’
‘No. Sir.’ Howard was polite about it; he was also firm in his belief.
I held up both my hands. ‘OK. OK. I’ve obviously made a big mistake here. Bonehead mistake. So here’s my thinking: you shot up my mother’s apartment; I stirred up a lot of mayhem around your home. I think we’re even.’
Tanner smiled. ‘You think we’re even.’ He looked at Howard. ‘He thinks we’re even.’
‘Yes. Sir.’ Howard was still frozen in place.
‘I’d like to take another crack at that croissant,’ I forged ahead, ‘and maybe sip a little Earl Grey and then be on my way.’
‘The thing is,’ Tanner said, his voice gone harsh, ‘Emory only liked me because I gave her free coke, as I said, and when I wasn’t around, she two-timed me with half the out-of-work actors in Manhattan. And then your friend Sammy started working overtime to ruin my operation. So, see, I had to do something.’
Howard thawed just enough to swoop up the tea tray and exit the way he’d come in. Tanner’s goons took several steps into the room very suddenly. And Tanner pulled a pistol out of his fancy robe.
‘What did you do, Tanner?’ I asked, staring at his gun.
‘Did you meet Nan?’ His voice was ice.
‘The understudy?’ I nodded.
‘It was easy.’ Tanner laughed. ‘Everybody hated Emory. I guess you found that out. It wasn’t a secret. But Nan …’
He trailed off, and things fell into place for me.
‘Nan is one of your distributors,’ I guessed. ‘She was your way into the lower echelon of the theatrical community. She knew a lot of actors. She’s got a good-sized coke habit of her own, so you were able to suss her out, maybe give her a deal. So when it came time to get rid of Emory, all you had to do was give Nan a special baggie of extra-strychnine cocaine to give to Emory. I’m also assuming that it wasn’t the first time Nan delivered coke to Emory, and maybe other actors, at the theatre. Like, before a show.’
‘Your reputation is really well-deserved,’ Tanner said. ‘You’re a lot smarter than I figured.’
‘All true?’ I goaded.
‘All true,’ he confirmed.
‘And the thing is,’ I went on, shaking my head, ‘I actually gave you a helping hand. The night that Emory died.’
‘What?’ Tanner cocked his head like a dog.
‘I broke Emory’s hand mirror.’
I let it sink in to see if he’d get it. He didn’t. So I thought maybe if I explained it to him, it might give me time to figure out what to do next.
‘Emory tried to Mace me in the dressing room that night,’ I explained, ‘and I knocked the can out of her hand. It broke her mirror. The mirror, incidentally, upon which she did her lines of coke. Anyway, actors freaked out. Phoebe cleaned up. Evidence of the bad coke was gone since, as I said, that’s what she used the mirror for. And Sammy helped you out too. He stuck a pencil in Emory’s neck, right in the jugular, so that the cops wouldn’t look at the poisoned water bottle, but it also kept them from running a toxicology screen on Emory’s body. Because my guess is that Emory was already almost dead at that point thanks to a couple of lines she bumped up before the show started. She was pretty wired when she came into the dressing room.’
‘Let me stop you there,’ Tanner growled. ‘I don’t care. I gave bad coke to Nan to give to Emory. Nan was one of my little elfin helpers. She delivered coke to lots of actors. There. It doesn’t matter. Emory is yesterday’s news. And, by the way, so are you.’
With that he raised his gun and took aim.
My response was easy. I fell out of the Queen Anne, rolled, and came up behind the other Queen Anne with the SIG in my hand.
Tanner fired right into the chair and the bullet barely missed me coming out the other side. I fired back but Tanner was already headed out the door where Howard had gone. The two bodyguards were roaring my way.
They both fired, but I was already on the floor, almost flat. I shot one guy through his shin bone from under the chair. He howled and went crashing down. The other guy was nearly on top of me. I was lying on my back looking up at the ceiling when I saw him lumber over the coffee table, so I fired wildly. It didn’t do anything but put holes in Tanner’s ceiling. The bodyguard’s gun was ten inches from my face. I swatted it out of instinct, and the gun went off, plugging the Queen Anne again.
I rolled, came up on one knee, and fired once right into the bodyguard’s belly. He paused for a second, looked down at the blood that was already there, and shook his head.
He took aim and fired. He would have popped me good if I hadn’t just fallen down again. The bullet zinged past me and into the wall somewhere left of the marble fireplace.
I tried to aim from my position on the floor, but it wasn’t easy. I got off two shots that didn’t do any good and the guy was suddenly standing over me, grinning.
He pointed his gun at my forehead. I pulled the trigger of the SIG, but it just clicked. It wasn’t out of bullets; it just wouldn’t fire. So I did the only thing I could think of. I bopped the guy in his crotch, hard as I could, with the barrel of the SIG. He made a sound like a train coming to a halt on worn-out tracks, dropped his gun, and then went down himself.
I didn’t hesitate. I jumped up, grabbed the tape recorder, shoved it into my pocket, and ran for the exit into the hallway. Just as I got out, something came crashing through the door at the other end of the hall, the door I’d broken so nobody could get in.
A second later there were cops and firemen swarming in. I still had the SIG in my hand. I dropped it instantly and was about to start a very earnest explanation when a guy in a gas mask and a gas company uniform pushed past the cops and grabbed my arm.
‘He’s one of ours!’ he yelled. ‘He’s an inspector!’
I nodded. ‘I think the leak is coming from that penthouse,’ I shouted, pointing to the double doors. ‘Some kind of drug ring. They all have guns!’
Cops ran past me. Firemen began checking something in the hallway ceiling, and the guy in the gas company uniform led me to the stairway and down the stairs.
One flight down and we were alone.
‘Lonnie?’ I asked softly.
He nodded. ‘We gotta vacate.’
That was all. He raced me down the rest of the stairs and out to the alley behind the building. There was a gas company van waiting. We got in and sat on the padded benches that lined the walls.
The van backed out of the alley and headed around the corner and down Columbus. We were five blocks away from the uproar before Lonnie took off his mask.
‘So?’ Big smile.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ I confessed. ‘That was astonishing.’
‘Did it work?’
I pulled out the tape recorder. It was still running.
‘This is an amazing piece of equipment,’ I said, staring down at it. ‘Do you know Ralph? Ralph’s recording studio?’
Lonnie shook his head. ‘But you got what you wanted?’
‘How did you do all that?’ I asked him.
He reached under the bench where he was sitting and produced a blank spray can. One pump and the van smelled like rotten eggs.
‘This is the smell they put in the gas to let you know there’s a leak,’ he explained. ‘Because natural gas doesn’t actually have a smell, so if the gas was on you wouldn’t know it. That’s why they put in the smell, see? It’s called mercaptan.’
