The Smart Guys Marching Society, page
two
"Hey, you okay?" I asked.
"I was just thinking about something," he said,
adjusting his glasses. "All this stuff about unexplained phenomena...It
reminds me of something that happened earlier this week. It's kind of...strange,
that's all."
Fred looked up. "C'mon, tell us. Something at the
paper?"
"Well, I've been doing a series for the Times about
street cops, the nightly grind, you know? I've been riding the graveyard
shift with these cop buddies, Vince and Harry, and a real mess came down
a couple nights back, down on Walnut Street."
"I think I saw that on the news last night." Bill
said. "Some drug dealer got killed--knifed--by a cop."
Mark nodded. "The cop's name is Sergeant D'Amato.
Your basic Neanderthal. Couple of reprimands for excessive force. Always
carries a pearl-handled folding knife in his belt--strictly against department
policy--but everybody knows...
"Well, I've been riding with Vince and Harry's
unit out of D'Amato's precinct, and all I hear the past two weeks is about
D'Amato's obsession with Tommy Slick."
"Who?" Fred asked.
"The victim," Bill said helpfully. "Street dude
right out of NYPD Blue. Your stereotypical snarling, murderous,
gang-connected drug dealer. Pacino in Scarface, without the speeches."
Mark ignored him. "As I was saying, D'Amato's been
trying to bust Tommy for years on a major rap, but Tommy's been too..."
He smiled. "Well let's say Tommy's been too slick for him."
"Tommy Slick," Fred muttered. "His real name's
probably Kablonski or something."
Mark sighed heavily. "Look guy, if I want sidebars
on this story, I'll write 'em myself. Anyway, D'Amato's sure got his reasons
for hating Tommy. Couple years back, Tommy killed D'Amato's partner in
a police raid--"
"Wait a minute! He killed a cop--and walked?"
"Nobody could ID Tommy as the shooter. But D'Amato
swore it was Tommy, that he saw him waste his partner before taking off."
"D'Amato's upset," I mused, "...feels guilty over
his partner's death...He needs to fixate the blame somewhere else..."
"Spare us, willya?" Mark rolled his eyes.
"Yeah," said Bill impatiently. "Besides, this is
all just backstory, right?"
"You could call it that," Mark said. "Anyway, all
this week, the precinct's humming like a live wire...D'Amato's got Tommy's
main squeeze Carla in the strike zone--"
"What?"
"He was grilling her, as they used to say," Fred
explained. "She must have a lousy public defender."
Mark shrugged. "Carla's no deb queen herself. Juvie
hall at thirteen, soliciting and dealing charges--real nice career track,
if ya know what I mean...Anyway, D'Amato's been pushing her hard. A big
deal is rumored to be going down, with Tommy behind it. D'Amato's been
wanting to take him down big-time, and figures this'll do it."
"But why would Carla help him?"
"Turns out she's furious at Tommy 'cause she heard
he was cheating on her." Mark leaned in. "Anyway, two nights ago, I'm in
the patrol car with Vince and Harry, and a call comes in requesting backup.
Seems the girl's taking D'Amato to where Tommy's holed up--"
"We hit the siren and red light, and go jammin'
over to this rundown place on Walnut. D'Amato's in his car with Carla,
who's wailing and crying. We run up to them, Vince and Harry carrying the
heavy artillery. Just then, a window smashes above us, glass showering
down, and a couple of Tommy's guys are shooting at us."
"Jesus Christ," said Bill.
"Yeah, that name came up," Mark said. "I mean,
all of a sudden it's a goddam shootout. Vince is yellin' at me to stay
down--Hell, I've got more combat experience than he does!"
"Finally after about ten minutes of this, D'Amato
tells Carla to stay put and goes chargin' into the place. Vince and Harry
got no choice, they go crashing in after him, with me bringing up the rear."
"What are you, nuts?" Fred stared at Mark, wide-eyed.
"It gets worse," Mark said. "Carla bolts outta
the car, and the next thing I know, all of us, including her, are scurrying
up this darkened stairwell inside the building--Carla screamin' her head
off, trying to warn Tommy--
"Bullets are flying everywhere, and then we're
upstairs, in Tommy's place. One of his gang is heading out the window.
Vince yells, "Freeze!" and the perp drops his gun. The other perp is in
a heap by the bed, covered with blood...."
"Where the hell was Tommy?"
"That's what D'Amato wanted to know. We're all
crouched in the doorway, guns drawn, Carla and me pushed behind the cops.
Vince is covering the perp, still frozen halfway out the window..
"'Where's Tommy, dirtball?' D'Amato yells at this
guy. He doesn't say squat. Suddenly, D'Amato lifts his piece--'I'm sprayin'
the walls, Tommy!'--Vince is grabbing for his arm. Just then, Carla breaks
free, runs into the middle of the room. D'Amato roars like a banshee, goes
right in after her.
"Suddenly, a door flies open--it was a special
hiding place, no bigger than a closet...Anyway, this door flies open and
Tommy's body falls out--right into Carla's arms! She reels back, screaming,
as the body hits the floor. There's a knife sticking out of his chest,
blood seeping through his shirt."
"A knife?" Bill asked, his voice a whisper.
Mark nodded, eyes narrowing. "Carla takes one look
at it and yells up at D'Amato, 'You bastard! You killed him!" Before anyone
could stop her, she pulls the knife from Tommy's body and lunges at D'Amato!
It takes me and Vince to restrain her, Vince finally knocking the knife
loose...We all stand there, staring at it on the floor. Even stained with
blood, there was no mistaking the pearl handle. It was D'Amato's
knife."
"What?" Fred and I exchanged looks.
"Yeah. It was his knife that killed Tommy
Slick. I glanced instinctively at his belt, where he keeps the knife--it
was gone.
"So Vince says to him, 'How'd ya do it, D'Amato?
But D'Amato just keeps staring down at Tommy, his face hard as stone."
Mark sat back, took off his glasses.
"What happened?" I asked.
Mark shrugged. "Homicide and Internal Affairs are
all over it. Vince figures D'Amato did it, but nobody can dope out how."
"What does D'Amato say?"
"'Prove it,' is all he says. 'Maybe my knife wanted
to kill the bastard more'n I did.'"
"He's crazy," said Bill.
"Not so crazy," Fred replied. "I mean, if he did
it, how did he do it?' He turned to Mark. "You say this hidden closet was
closed the whole time?"
"Like a drum. Apparently Tommy had had it constructed
as a hiding place just in case of a raid or something...a little one-man
bunker, just for him."
Bill looked thoughtful. "Maybe somebody else stabbed
him...ya know, earlier, before you guys got there..."
"Vince thought of that. Like maybe one of the other
perps on the scene...Tommy goes in to hide, leaving his two men to shoot
it out with the cops. So one of the gang stabs him. The only problem is,
where did he get D'Amato's knife to do it with?"
"Wait a minute," I said. "We're making this way
too complicated. You said D'Amato grilled Carla for two whole days. What
if she spilled the beans earlier? What if he got the hideout's address
from her, goes over earlier in the day, gets Tommy alone and stabs him,
and stashes him in the secret closet?"
"How would he know about it?" Fred asked. "unless
Tommy conveniently told him, just before getting stabbed."
"Carla told him about it," I said. "So D'Amato
kills Tommy, getting revenge for his dead partner--"
"And where were Tommy's two men while this was
going on, out getting a pizza?"
"I don't know. Maybe. Anyway, D'Amato comes beck,
then he radios for backup and does the big raid charade. Meanwhile, Tommy's
already dead."
"Interesting theory," Mark said, smiling. "Stupid,
but interesting. For one thing, the coroner puts the time of death at roughly
when we broke in there. And, hell, I saw the knife in his chest--that
wound was fresh."
"Okay, let's be logical," Fred said. "It was nighttime,
gloomy...probably the lights were shot out anyway..."
"That's right," Mark said. "And it all happened
kinda fast."
"So who's to say D'Amato didn't somehow get into
the room ahead of you, the cops, and Carla...It would just take seconds
to slip the knife through a door slot, killing Tommy in that hidden closet."
"I'm telling you, that closet was airtight," Mark
replied. "Built flush with the wall, so that you couldn't even see a door
without looking closely. I didn't see it until it fell open and Tommy tumbled
out.--Besides, we all got into that room about the same time. I don't believe
D'Amato could've stuck a knife through the door jamb, even it he'd known
where it was."
"Then what are we left with?" Bill asked.
Mark smiled. "D'Amato's knife magically left his
belt, found its way into a sealed hidden closet, and stabbed Tommy Slick
to death. This in a matter of seconds, in front of witnesses."
"I still think one of Tommy's men did it," said
Bill. "Didn't you say one guy was down but the other one was trying to
go out the window when you broke in?"
"That's right. But according to him, Tommy jumped
into his special hiding place as soon as the shooting started. The guy
swears Tommy was in there the whole time--he never came out, and nobody
went near the door--until Tommy fell out dead..."
"With D'Amato's knife in his heart," I said. "Talk
about your unexplained phenomena."
There was a long silence. Bill frowned at Mark.
"That's it?" he demanded. "What's gonna happen?"
"Who knows? D'Amato won't talk...it's kind of perverse
on his part if you ask me...He's so glad Tommy's dead, and that his knife
was the instrument, it's like he doesn't care now what happens...Though
one of my sources in the department says that if charges are filed, D'Amato
intends to plead innocent."
"Which leaves us nowhere," Bill said. "On the other
hand, maybe they'll charge the knife with murder--and get D'Amato as an
accessory." But no one was smiling.
Suddenly, a voice broke the silence.
"What does he look like?"
We all turned. It was Isaac, comfortably settled
in the armchair, his cherubic face shining. Tell you the truth, I'd forgotten
he was there.
"Look like?" Mark said, with some irritation. "Who?
D'Amato?"
"No, no," Isaac replied. "I mean George, that actor
friend of Bill's."
"Oh yeah, the guy in the locker room," I said.
"What does that have to do with anything?" Fred
asked. He glanced warily at Mark, and then at me.
"Look, Uncle Isaac..." I must admit, I was somewhat
embarrassed.
"I was just thinking, " Isaac went on, leaning
back in his chair. "I mean, about that curious phenomenon of the locker
room. I was wondering what George looked like..."
Bill shrugged. "Very handsome, in that hunky kind
of way."
"If you like that type," Fred muttered.
"You see," Isaac said, "this fellow George noticed
that whatever locker he chose--even if each day he chose a different area
of the locker room at random--another guy would show up, his stuff in the
very next locker. In a sea of available lockers, the odds almost always
favored this coincidence."
"So?"
"So I just thought coincidence--or even the collective
unconscious, or a field of subatomic particles inclined to vibrate cooperatively--might
be nudged along a little if George were a handsome man. Perhaps other men
who might find him attractive would make it a point to pretend their locker
was next to his."
"But George said the guy would show up, open the
locker next to his, and start taking his stuff out--"
"Or start putting it in," Isaac said, "in
such a way that it looked as if he were taking it out. I did that
once in high school--many, many years ago, as you can imagine--when I was
attracted to this girl named Shirley. I opened the locker next to hers,
claiming it was mine, and put a book in and took a book out, while we stood
there talking. Of course, it was the same book. It's really quite easy
to do, especially if the locker door opens toward the girl, so her view
is blocked as to the locker's real contents."
"Look, Isaac..." Mark tried to remain calm. "As
interesting as that is, what we've been talking about is--"
Isaac sat forward, eyes crinkling. "Yes I know.
Very mysterious. Unexplained. Your classic locked-room murder...only in
this case, it's a closet."
"Are you trying to say something, Uncle Isaac?"
I asked.
He shrugged. "Just a question I have. I was wondering
why Carla attacked Sergeant D'Amato."
"She freaked out when she saw Tommy had been stabbed,"
Mark answered. "She recognized the knife and wanted to kill him."
dennis@dennispalumbo.com
