Ed Lacy - The Best That Ever Did It

“What way?”

“Ed was in his car outside, mad as a boil, waiting to see if Cliff came in. Tell you, Mr. Harris, I know lots about men, and with whores they love 'em so much they hate 'em. For a time Ed used to get a bang out of slapping me around, playing tough. Then he started taking my money—got a joy out of leaving me just enough to eat. And that got Cliff so mad he wanted to take a knife to Ed. But after a day or two, Ed would show up with a gift worth twice the dough he took. A diamond ring once, then a watch. I still have the watch, but the ring is in hock. I'll show you the pawn ticket if you want.”

“Not necessary. Tell me more about Turner.”

“Not much to tell. Sometimes he'd be here every day, then I might not see him for weeks.”

“When did you first meet him?”

“This has been going on for about... nine or ten months. He was so funny. Sometimes we'd go to bed and he wouldn't touch me. And at times he'd wake up in the middle of the night and start bawling, mostly about the deal he was giving his wife. Some guys enjoy two-timing their wife; with others, it tears them up. One afternoon he took sixty-two bucks I had and tore out of here to buy a modernistic lamp for his wife—brought it back to show me, as though I cared. It was some crappy palm-tree idea with an ebony trunk and lights where the coconuts should be, only it was all zigzag angles and funny looking. See, he thought he was hurting me, bringing the lamp back to show me, but I couldn't care less—except for the dough. Two nights later he was back with the diamond ring as a gift. Expensive, I got almost a hundred on it in hock.”

She stopped talking and I sat there, trying to think, knowing I had something, but not sure what it was. “What's Cliffs alibi?”

Louise put a hand on my knee, said firmly, “Don't start talking or thinking that. I'm leveling with you, Mr. Harris, and you promised me no trouble. You got an honest face, level with me. Don't tell the cops about Cliff.”

“You can't expect me to keep a thing like this quiet. Hell, Cliff has a motive, a ...”

“No, no, Mr. Harris. Believe me, Cliff didn't do it. He talks tough, but the sight of blood makes him sick. And he has a real alibi. Cliff is smart. Most pimps get sent away because they don't have no visible means of support. Cliff works as a waiter, from eight to midnight, in a downtown night club. He was working that night, honest he was, I checked myself. You can check too. You know what will happen, the cops will find his alibi holds, but in the meantime they'll work him over. And I'll be in a jam. I don't hurt nobody. I'm not a nuisance. I've never been sick. Only got in this racket because I was hungry. Now it's all I can do. If you...”

“But Cliff hated Turner, that's the missing motive. Probably shot Andersun by mistake, or maybe he was trying to talk Cliff out of killing.”

“No, no, don't think that. Not so,” she said in that low steady voice, her eyes on mine. “I trust you. I didn't have to tell you a thing. Cliff is a bunch of bluff, never cut or hurt anybody. Take him to a shooting gallery. I saw it out at Coney Island— being around guns makes him sick. The smell or something makes him vomit. Check his alibi. There was a wedding party that night and all the waiters were working. Believe me, if Cliff was the killer I'd be the first to blow the whistle on him, I'd run a million miles from here. If Cliff did it they'd throw the book at me for nothing. Cliff didn't do it, he couldn't have. I tell you because you look like a man who doesn't think I'm dirt, a freak, because I'm whoring. I can trust you.”

Her dark eyes kept staring into mine until I looked away, felt uncomfortable. “Okay. I believe you, but I can't promise I won't have to tell the cops.”

“If they would only check his alibi and leave us alone, I'd have gone to them myself, but you know what they'll do. Why must you tell them? Sure, Ed was here that night. He was here plenty of nights. But we have nothing to do with what he does, what happens, when he leaves.”

I was still looking away from her eyes. There was no doubt what the cops would do to Cliff—hell, he was the only one who even knew both victims. They'd have to sweat him. I looked into her warm, intensely sincere eyes and asked, “Where were you at the time of the shootings?”

She sat up straight as though I'd turned into a rattlesnake. “Me? Why, you lousy... Don't try to pin it on me!”

“I'm not pinning anything on you. Look, as far as we know Turner and Andersun were complete strangers. Now we have two people who knew them both—two links—maybe the only two we'll have. You claim Cliff has an alibi. What's yours?”

“I was right here. Why else would Ed be parked outside?”

“Louise, right outside of here is where the murders took place. Puts you at the scene of the crime, as they say. Unless you have a ...”

“I had a girl friend with me. Ed'd come busting in that night, fighting mad. He'd had some kind of scrap with his wife and was all set for trouble. Said if he ever saw Cliff again he'd pistol-whip him. I wasn't feeling too well that night anyway— as though I didn't have enough troubles, that was starting. So when Ed left, I got the jitters, called this girl and she kept me company till one, when Cliff came in.”

“What's her name and address?”

“Comes to an arrest, I'll give it, but she's in the business too and I don't want to bring the cops down on her. Mr. Harris, please swear you won't do anything to get Cliff hurt. This is a lonely racket. Every man you meet can't wait to leave you. When a Cliff comes along, even though I'm his meal ticket, or when an Ed comes by, despite all their nasty tricks, you want them around because they're about the only people stay around you. Promise me...”

“I can't promise anything. Ever know a red-haired joker named Brown? He's been in the Grand Cafe a couple of times, talked to Andersun once.”

“Never heard of him. I'm no two-bit hustler working a dump like the Grand. Please, Mr. Harris, with Cliff...”

I stood up. “Honey, I don't hurt people, if I can help it. Not even a Cliff. I have to beat it.”

“I like you, Mr. Harris, and that's no sales talk,” Louise said, walking me to the door.

“You're an exciting woman—in a lot of ways. I like talking to you.”

She gave me that big hot smile. “You're an all-right guy.”

“What's the name of the place where Cliff works? And what's his last name?”

The smile fled.

“You told me to check his alibi, didn't you?”

“The Pigalle on West Forty-third Street. Cliff Parker. Don't make me any trouble. Please!”

“One more thing—take Ed's picture out of here. Been in the papers and somebody might recognize it, get curious. And if it isn't violating any ethical rules—how was Ed Turner in bed?”

“Lousy—kid stuff. What makes you ask?”

“Never know what makes for a clue,” I said, as if I knew what I was talking about. “Maybe see you again, Louise.”

When I drove up to the school Ruthie was waiting, with another kid and her Mama, and the mother gave me that you-poor-noble-bastard smile as she said, “I thought I'd stay around with Ruth till you came. I know how hard it must be for you to come here from business.” This was followed by another sickly grin. I said thanks and Ruthie thanked her and rushed into the car and kissed me, whispered, “I didn't ask her to stay with me. I'm not afraid.”

“Of course not. Only a few minutes late,” I said, driving away.

“Where are we going for a ride—Yonkers or over in New Jersey, Daddy?”

“Downtown. Maybe we'll eat out. Like that?”

“Chinese food?”

“Okay.”

“I like that. You going to train tonight?”