Robert Tanenbaum - Reversible Error

"No," she said, "to be perfectly honest, this is something I figured out for myself. The connection between the rapes and the murder-the D.A. cops and zone homicide don't buy it."

"Intuition again?"

"No, goddammit! I got a pattern. The guy repeats himself. He picks up women in singles bars, finds out where they live, shows up at their places, and rapes them. The last one went sour and he killed her. But it's the same guy and I can prove it. I got evidence, I got a consistent M.O. in all the cases."

A longer pause. "Ah, Marlene, as much as I'd like to help you out…"

"Oh, come on, Raney! It's no big deal. Look, we'll keep it unofficial: just a lonely cop out on a date with a couple of classy Italian ladies."

"A couple? Who's the other one?"

"JoAnne Caputo."

"Does she put out?"

"For Chrissake, Jim, she's my rape victim. I think she can ID the bad guy."

"A rape victim, huh? It sounds like a real fun evening. What's the boyfriend say about this?"

"The boyfriend doesn't know, not that it's any of your business."

"Ah-hah. This is sort of a little fling before the wedding bells chime."

"Oh, shit, Raney! Be serious! I'm trying to catch a real bastard here, and I got nobody to help me. Except you. Now, please, will you do it?" Marlene felt her voice shaking. Raney heard it over the wire and changed his tone.

"OK, sorry," he said. "What about this mutt? He gonna put up a fight?"

"You'll do it?"

"I'll give it a shot, as long as it's, like you say, unofficial. Besides, I'd like to see you. What about the guy?"

"No problem, I'd say. He won't expect it, he won't be armed. He's out to cruise women, not hassle cops."

"OK. Where and when?"

Marlene gave him the address of Tangerines and they arranged to meet at eight-thirty that Friday night. "Any other questions?" she asked.

"Yeah, do I at least get to cop a cheap feel off you on the dance floor?"

"Sure, Raney. Just keep it professional," said Marlene sharply, and hung up.

When Clay Fulton walked into Logan's, people glanced up, as they usually do when a new person comes into a small dark saloon. Then they all looked purposefully away. Nobody offered to buy him a drink. Logan's is a cop bar on Amsterdam near 145th. Everybody in the place when Fulton entered worked for the police, except the bartender, who was a retired cop, and the scattering of women, who were there to meet cops. People from the Twenty-sixth and Twenty-eighth precincts drank there, and also some from the Thirty-second, to the north. Dick Manning drank there, and was drinking there now, which was why Fulton had come.

Manning was sitting in a booth with his partner, Sid Amalfi, joking with a tan woman wearing skintight electric-blue toreador pants and a blond wig. They fell silent when Fulton walked over to them.

"Hello, Dick, Sid," he said. "Can I buy someone a beer?"

"Not today, Fulton," said Manning, scowling.

Fulton ignored this and slid into the booth next to Amalfi. "You know, that's a shame, because I think we have some business to discuss."

"We got nothing to talk about with you, Fulton," said Amalfi.

"Who's your friend, Sid?" the woman asked.

"He ain't no friend of mine," snapped Amalfi.

Manning stared hard at Fulton, who responded with a wide shit-eating grin. Manning turned to the woman. "Say, Doris? We got some business to discuss here. See you later."

The woman sniffed and made off for a more congenial corner. Manning said, "What the fuck are you doing, Fulton?"

Fulton said, "What, I can't have a drink with my brother officers? Especially since we're in the same line of work."

"What're you talking about?"

"Your moonlighting job. I just had a little chat with a friend of yours-Tecumseh Booth."

"I don't know any Booth," said Manning.

"Yeah. Yeah, you do," said Fulton. He took a tape cassette out of his jacket pocket and placed it on the table. "I got it all here. The Clarry hit. Springing him from jail. Choo Willis and the other hits. Club Mecca. It's quite a story. Sort of old Tecumseh's last will and testament, as a matter of fact."

Amalfi's face had gone dead white. "For Chrissake, shut the fuck up, Fulton! You can't talk about it here-"

"Shut up, Sid!" Manning snarled. Then, to Fulton, "You want to show us some evidence, let's go someplace where we can take a look at it, discuss things-"

"Cut the horseshit, Manning," said Fulton, raising his voice. "What I want is in. You guys got a gold mine working, I got a key to the door, and I want my piece."

Heads turned in the bar. Manning held up his hands placatingly. "OK, OK! Look, no problem-but let's go where we can talk."

They went to Manning's car, a loaded white Trans Am. "This is pretty nice, Manning," said Fulton when the doors were closed. "I might get me one of these, or maybe a Benz."

"I like American cars," said Manning. He started the engine, gunned a couple of times, and peeled off up Amsterdam. "You can't beat the pickup."

"That's a point," agreed Fulton. He pulled the cassette out of his pocket. He said, "By the way, in case you're thinking what you might be thinking, this ain't the only one of these, you know. You guys better pray I stay in good shape, if you catch my drift."

From the back seat Amalfi said, "How do we know you ain't just blowing smoke?"

"Listen," said Fulton. He slid the tape into the cassette player and they listened for a while to the voice of Tecumseh Booth.

Manning ejected the tape. He pulled the car over and parked on a side street. "That's enough," he said. "How did you get him to talk?"

"I shot him in the knee. Then I said the next one I'd blow his pecker off. He came around pretty quick."

Manning chuckled. "You're quite a fuckin' piece of work, Fulton. I never would of figured you for a stunt like that. It goes to show you, you never can tell. So where is Tecumseh now?"

"Well, I didn't lie to him. I put the next one in his ear. He won't be making any more tapes."

Manning and Amalfi both laughed. "You got rid of him OK?" asked Manning. "They can't connect you?"

"No problem. I picked him up from where my guys had him stashed and I told them he ran. He's in a trunk in a crusher yard out in the Meadows. So, am I in?"

"I guess you are. How about your boys?"

"No, I don't want nobody else in this. Keep it simple. And keep the cash." Fulton put an expression of avid greed on his face. "And about that-what does our end come to?"

"We get fifty large a hit," said Manning.

Fulton whistled. "Very nice. But I guess the price gonna go up. Now you got an extra mouth to feed, I mean. I don't want to put my partners out any."

Manning smiled. "No. No problem. You got no idea how much cash is floating around in the coke business. It's like fucking Monopoly money. Makes smack look like kids selling lemonade. But I got to talk to my man about it."

"Who is…?" asked Fulton.

Manning waved a cautionary finger. "Uh-uh. You in, but you ain't that in, man. I'll talk to the man tonight and get back with you tomorrow."

Fulton frowned and thought for a moment. "OK, that's cool," he said. He got out of the car. "See you around, partners," he said, and sauntered away.

Amalfi got out of the back seat and dropped down next to Manning. His face was flushed and angry. "What the fuck, Dick! You really gonna let that shithead in on this?"

"Cool down, Sid," said Manning. "He ain't gonna do nothing without us, and I need time to figure. That tape is bad news."

"Yeah, but we could grab him and make him tell where the other copies are. Like he made Tecumseh."

"We could," agreed Manning. "But I'm also thinking he could come in handy another way too."

"Like what?"

"Like I'm starting to like Lieutenant Fulton for these killings we're investigating," said Manning.