Richard Hawke - Speak of the Devil

Pretty imagery.

I BROUGHT MARGO WITH ME TO ST. LUKE’S TO MEET REBECCA GILPIN. The cop posted at the door to the actress’s hospital room was none other than the black officer who’d bagged me-literally-the day before.

“Remember me?” I said to him. “I was the kid with the lollipop in your backseat.”

He indicated my shoulder. “We didn’t do that.”

I ducked my head and gingerly removed the sling. I gave the shoulder a few cautious swivels. The muscles weren’t exactly baby fresh, but the level of ache was acceptable. I was sick of the sling already. You look like an invalid, you begin to feel like an invalid. I balled it up and handed it to a male nurse who was passing by. “I found this on the floor.”

Margo asked, “Isn’t that a little premature?”

“I didn’t want it to go stiff from non-use.”

Margo looked at me blankly. Then her cheeks went red. “I just had a naughty thought.”

“Save it.”

This time I got the policeman’s name. It was a lot easier without a bag on my head. The name was right there on the gold bar above his shirt pocket. Patrick Noon. An expression of cautious distrust appeared to be Officer Noon’s mien.

“I’m here to see the lady,” I told him.

“No one sees the lady.”

“I’m not no one. I’m her former bodyguard.”

“No one sees the lady.”

“If you’d just pop your head in and tell her I’m here, I’ll bet-”

He cut me off. “No one sees the lady.”

I turned to Margo. “Is this station beginning to bore you?”

She blinked slowly. “No one sees the lady.”

I was surrounded by pod people.

“Ask her,” I said again to Noon. “Tell her Fritz Malone is here.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got my orders.”

“From Tommy Carroll?”

“It doesn’t matter from who.”

I turned to Margo. “I guess you don’t get to meet the famous star of stage and screen.”

“Officer Noon is only doing his job,” Margo said.

I was just about to ask Noon if he would at least pass on a message from me to Miss Gilpin when the male nurse reappeared. He was carrying a plastic IV bag.

“Excuse me,” he said, and the officer moved to the side. I took a step in the other direction as the nurse opened the door. I could see Rebecca Gilpin in the far corner of the room, propped up in bed. She spotted me and raised a hand in greeting just before the nurse slid the door closed. A few seconds later, the door reopened and the nurse popped his head out. “She wants to see you.”

I turned to Noon. “Who’d have thunk?”

“Five minutes.”

The actress was medicated to the teeth. The smile she tried to give me as I approached the bed nearly poured off her face. She was as pale as her hospital gown. Her right leg was wrapped like a mummy’s and elevated slightly on several pillows. A bandage covered her left cheek.

“You are, thank you… it’s… my thank you.” Clouds drifted across her eyes.

“You’re welcome,” I said. “Listen, I brought a friend to meet you.”

“This was wrong, Fritz,” Margo said. “I shouldn’t be here.” She addressed Rebecca. “Miss Gilpin, I’m sorry for what happened. Best of luck for a speedy recovery.” She turned to me. “I’ll wait in the hall.” She left the room.

The nurse was changing Rebecca’s IV bag. “How’s she doing?” I asked him.

“There’s a lot of pain. The leg’s a real mess.”

Rebecca said, “The bastard who did me I can kill him with…” The rest of her sentence came in an unknown tongue. A pool of tears appeared in each of her eyes. I took hold of the hand nearest me. She closed icy fingers around mine. “I’m beautiful,” she muttered.

“Yes, you are.”

Out in the corridor, Margo was entertaining Officer Noon with her story about getting smashed on martinis with the queen of Denmark while she was interviewing her in a suite at the Plaza several years ago. Margo loves that story. Any one of a hundred cue words will get her rolling with it. Even Noon appeared to be softened up by it.

“You could charm the pants off a statue, couldn’t you?” I said to Margo as we waited for the elevator.

“I wouldn’t want to.”

The elevator arrived. It was the size of some New York apartments.

“Wait,” I said. “I’ll be right back.”

I retraced my steps. Patrick Noon watched me with a wary eye as I approached. “I was just wondering,” I said as I reached him. “Are they going to spell you for the ceremony this afternoon?”

“What ceremony?”

“Cox. The mayor is planning to fawn all over him for allegedly taking out Diaz in Central Park. I was just wondering if you were going to be there?”

“I don’t know anything about that.”

“Nice irony, isn’t it? A cop forgets to do something as basic as pat down a suspect he’s taking into custody, and the next day he’s a hero.”

Noon said nothing.

“I’m just curious. Were you and your partner even on the scene yesterday? I mean officially? Are you supposed to be going along as so-called witnesses to Cox’s so-called shooting Diaz out there by the fountain?”

Noon’s eyes left my face for a fraction of a second. His glance took in the empty corridor. “We weren’t there.”

“Officially.”

He nodded. “That’s right.”

“What do you think about the story of Cox’s shooting Diaz up in the Municipal Building?”

“What am I supposed to think about it?”

“If you’re like me, you’re thinking that Cox was speedy on the draw in direct proportion to Diaz being pathetically slow.” Noon said nothing. “I put myself in Diaz’s position, and I think of at least two things I would have done. The second one is I’m sitting in that room with my pistol out and already aimed at the door five seconds after Carroll leaves me alone. I’m ready to shoot the moment it opens.”

Noon appeared to concede the point. He weighed it with a little ticktock of his head. “What’s the first?”

“The first is I never get into that room in the first place. I’ve just shot up the Thanksgiving Day parade. I’ve killed innocent people. I’ve killed a cop. I’m in custody in a police cruiser with the cop’s partner. I’m screwed six ways to Sunday. But I’ve got a Tomcat strapped to my ankle. I don’t give a damn if I’m cuffed behind my back, I get to the damn gun. I twist around in the seat any possible way I can and I shoot like hell through the gate. I take my chances.”

Noon considered the scenario. Or maybe he was considering what he was going to have for dinner later that night. The man was hard to read.

“Interesting,” he said at last.

“I think so, too. Either of my two stories sounds more likely than Commissioner Carroll’s account. For one thing, why uncuff him and then recuff him with a hand free?”

“You cuff him to a solid object,” Noon said. “That’s procedure. You don’t want him able to move around the room.”

“But you don’t want him to be able to reach for a gun and try to shoot you.”

“They didn’t know about the gun.”

“Right. Of course. Listen. Do you know this Cox guy?” I asked. “I mean, personally?”

“Cox and I are from different precincts.”

“What’s yours?” I asked.

“The Seventeenth.”

“What about Cox and McNally? I heard a reporter asking if they were from the Ninety-fifth.”

Noon hesitated before answering. “That’s right.”

“The Bad Apple precinct. What were they doing all the way in Manhattan?”

“Parade duty,” Noon said. “Overtime. You get cops from all boroughs.”

“So you’re not familiar with Cox? You don’t really know him?”