A Cast of Killers (49 page)

"You help me now or you'll be next," Leteisha
ordered. "So help me God, you won't be able to walk these streets
without wondering when your turn will come."

Auntie Lil was furious, frightened and
indignant. They were arguing over her as if she were the last piece
of bait in some fisherman's pail. She tried to struggle but the
grip of the arm only tightened. If she moved again, all air would
be cut off.

"Screw you. I'm leaving," the blonde decided.
She turned to go and Leteisha gave a low growl. There was no other
way to describe the ugly sound that emanated from between her
tightly clenched teeth. It was a growl and even Auntie Lil, who
thought she was as frightened as a person could be, felt fresh
terror at the unnatural sound.

"You're going to be—" Leteisha's threat was
cut off by the sounds of distant yelling. Startled, she fell silent
and pulled Auntie Lil further into the shadows. The blonde took a
panicked step forward.

"Don't move," Leteisha ordered in a deadly
voice. Auntie Lil could not have moved had she wanted to. But she
listened carefully and realized that the sounds were coming closer.
People were yelling, several people. What was it they were yelling?
Was that her own name?

"Aunt Lil!" she heard a female voice bellow.
Others shouted as well.

It was now or never, Auntie Lil thought to
herself. Do something— anything—or you're going to die. She twisted
with all her might and croaked, "The police!" before Leteisha's arm
cut off any other hope of sound.

It had been enough. The skittish blonde
panicked and ran south along the pier.

"Stop!" Leteisha ordered, but it was too
late. The blonde reached the end of the shadows and fled across a
pool of streetlight, heading for the huge battleship a few blocks
farther south.

"Over there!" a female voice bellowed again.
"There's someone." Auntie Lil felt faint, more from frustration
than physical deprivation. She was acutely conscious that, with
help only a few feet away, she could still easily die if Leteisha
chose.

The shouting grew louder and, suddenly, an
odd parade was running across the highway. Cars honked and brakes
screeched. Auntie Lil stared at the figure in the lead. It looked
like Annie O'Day but, my God, what a frightening figure she
made—all muscle and anger and noise. She held a scalpel straight
out in front of her like a spear and was screaming, "Let her go!
Back off! Let her go!" Her eyes scanned the shadows of the docks in
front of her. She was still uncertain as to where Auntie Lil was
being held.

Not surprisingly, given the determined figure
and the outstretched scalpel, Leteisha chose to do just as Annie
suggested. Cursing, she flung the knife into the black waters of
the Hudson, pushed Auntie Lil to the pavement and began to run
furiously south. Kicking off her heels as she fled, she dug into
the sidewalk with astonishing speed and took off after the blonde.
Auntie Lil fell against the rough surface, scraping her elbow and
one cheek. She lay flat against the concrete, gasping for breath.
Annie O'Day bent over her, the scalpel held high in the air. It
gleamed in a patch of moonlight.

"Are you all right?" Annie asked anxiously,
holding up Auntie Lil's head and checking for cuts or bruises.

Auntie Lil managed a small nod, and saw that
others were heading her way. "Go get her," she told Annie weakly,
pointing south after Leteisha Swann.

Annie took off running into the darkness, the
pounding of her sneakers on the sidewalk echoing eerily in the
silence between groups of cars. The shouting had stopped and there
was only the sounds of heavy breathing and other footsteps
approaching the dark corner of the pier. Auntie Lil wanted to meet
them with head held high, but she felt so weak… the closeness of
the scare had drained her of her remaining strength. She was
scared, damn it, scared and angry at herself and ashamed and
discouraged that her body had proved so frail. The effort was too
much and, dazed, she lay her head back down on the concrete. She'd
just rest for a teensy moment.

Someone was panting heavily just inches from
her ear. "Oh God," she heard the gasping voice say. "Aunt Lil? Aunt
Lil?"

"She's dead!" a voice shouted in sudden
panic.

"Certainly not!" she replied weakly. "I
absolutely refuse to die like this." Her head felt a bit better and
she opened her eyes. It was Theodore, her own dear Theodore.

"Stop fussing, Theodore," she ordered weakly.
"I'm fine. It's just that… just that…" She could not finish the
sentence. She forgot what she was about to say. She was lost in the
bliss of believing that, finally, she was safe. If Theodore was
there, that meant she was safe. Struggling to sit, she curled up
and leaned against him. He held her close and patted her wiry
curls.

"It's okay," he said reassuringly. "They've
called the cops and an ambulance. You're with me now. You're
safe."

She wanted to thank him, but the relief was
too much. Just then, a competent hand took hold of her arm and
checked her pulse. "You're okay, granny," a melodious voice assured
her. She opened her eyes again to find Nellie, the woman who owned
the Jamaican restaurant on Forty-Sixth Street.

"You saw me," Auntie Lil said simply. "I
thought you were going to ignore it."

"I saw you. And I should have done something
right away. I'm ashamed of myself. Trying to look the other way."
Nellie glanced at T.S. "Her pulse is good. She's been nicked a
little in the side and there's blood, but I think that she's mostly
scared."

"I thought you said all little old ladies
looked alike," Auntie Lil joked feebly.

"Not all little old ladies eat three of my
meat pies." Nellie waved two waiting figures over. The funny old
man with the bulbous nose stepped from the darkness and looked down
at Auntie Lil with deep concern.

"You saw me, too?" she asked in deep wonder.
He nodded solemnly and gave her a small smile.

"Tommy saved your life. He came running into
the deli," Billy explained, patting the old man on the back. "It
took us a minute to figure out what he meant. Old Tommy here
doesn't talk."

The man nodded again, smiling more widely
this time.

A small bouncing figure darted out from
behind the old man. "You okay?" Little Pete asked breathlessly. "I
called the cops. They're on their way."

As if on cue, a squad car pulled up by the
sidewalk, siren off. But the lights flashed furiously, casting
multicolored shadows for blocks down the road. Two uniformed
officers stepped from the cars and approached the group cautiously,
their faces obscured by shadows.

Seconds later, an ambulance came shrieking up
and two paramedics hopped out with a stretcher, looked around and,
seeing no one obviously injured, stood to one side and waited for
orders.

Just then, amid much scrambling, deep cursing
and heavy breathing, Annie O'Day appeared from the south. All that
weight lifting and soccer and running and bicycling had paid off.
She had Leteisha Swann firmly by the neck with one hand, while the
other twisted Leteisha's arm tightly behind her back in an upward
grasp.

"Let me go, you big amazon," the prostitute
was arguing fiercely, her whole body trembling. But when she saw
the two officers— one male, one female—she relaxed and her
complaining attitude evaporated instantly. "Officers, these people
are harassing me," she said in a plaintively indignant voice. "On
account of my profession. This wild woman here is assaulting my
person."

"Why, you liar!" Anger gave Auntie Lil
strength. She struggled to her feet and leaned forward, eyes
blazing. "How dare you add lying to attempted murder, you killer…
you, you thief!"

"Let her go," the male officer ordered,
ignoring Auntie Lil. Annie reluctantly relinquished her grip on
Leteisha. The policewoman backed into position behind Annie, as if
she were the troublemaker.

Leteisha took a long time before she spoke,
first primping her hair, dress and gloves carefully back into
place. Auntie Lil was not fooled: she was stalling for time to
think up a story. Oh, how dangerous and cunning this woman was. One
minute she was the quintessential cold-blooded killer and the next
she could be a flustered, slightly dumb, poor little streetwalker
victim of society. One who was obviously friendly with the cops on
the beat.

"Like I say," Leteisha began in a polite,
throaty voice. "This old lady approached me on the street and asked
me for directions to the—"

"You're a damn liar!" Auntie Lil shouted as
she darted forward and flailed at the woman. She had just been
pushed too far. Her punches bounced off the woman's arms—she seemed
made of steel. Before the policeman could interfere or his partner
could get around Annie, Leteisha Swann shoved Auntie Lil and sent
her flying against the concrete wall of the pier front. The fight
only took a few seconds. Auntie Lil bounced off the wall and fell
to the ground, groaning at the shock.

For T.S., it was the breaking point.
Fifty-five years of well-bred behavior disappeared in a single
enraging moment. He felt like he was underwater, swimming up for
air. The breath exploded in his lungs; his ears began to ring. Red
spots swam before his eyes and power surged through his body,
energizing him with unbelievable fury.

"Don't you ever touch my aunt again," he
announced just before he drew back a fist and sent it crashing into
the center of the prostitute's face. He heard a crack as his
knuckles went numb. Leteisha Swann flew backwards, where she hit
the pier railing and crumpled to a silver heap on the sidewalk.

Officer King grabbed T.S. from behind,
locking his arms firmly at his side. The assembled crowd stared at
the still figure of the prostitute in amazement, then turned and
gawked at T.S.

The policewoman calmly helped Auntie Lil to
her feet and bent over to take a look at Leteisha Swann.

"Help her up, too," the male officer ordered
his partner. The policewoman grabbed the prostitute by both arms
and hoisted her upright.

Annie O'Day peered at Leteisha Swann's face
closely. "You broke her nose," she pointed out to T.S. with
undisguised approval.

The policeman released T.S. and took a closer
look. "That's assault and battery," he warned T.S. darkly.

"There's something funny about her," Auntie
Lil declared, glaring at Leteisha as she struggled to catch her
breath.

The prostitute groaned and her head bobbed
groggily. Her hair had slipped wildly to one side.

"That's a wig," Nellie announced darkly. "Not
a good one, either, if you ask me."

Little Pete was staring at Leteisha
Swann.

"What's the matter, son?" Nellie asked him
kindly. She put her hand on the young boy's arm. "You're trembling.
What is it? Tell us."

Little Pete could not speak. He just stared
at Leteisha, then looked to T.S. for help. In a single glance, T.S.
understood. Darting forward before the officers could stop him,
T.S. grabbed at Leteisha's hair. The wig ripped off with a sticky
sound like a zipper, to reveal a smooth brown scalp beneath. Her
head was completely shaved.

Even the jaded officers looked stunned at the
development.

"It's a wig all right," Billy agreed.

"It's a man!" Nellie corrected.

"It's Rodney!" Little Pete announced loudest
of all, fear discarded in favor of anger. He stared Leteisha in the
face. "It's Rodney. The man who beat up Timmy."

The cops stared at one another, uncertain
what to do. Auntie Lil took advantage of their inaction.

"Rodney?" she asked, turning to T.S. for
guidance.

He nodded grimly, sucking at his injured
knuckles. "You know him all right," he told Auntie Lil. He gripped
the long glove that adorned Leteisha's right hand and peeled it
back to her wrist— revealing a large eagle tattoo adorning the
prostitute's lower bicep. The eagle clutched branches in his talons
as he swooped downward in fierce supremacy.

"I give you The Eagle," T.S. told the
assembled group, sweeping his injured hand out like a magician's.
"Behold the disappearing man."

"He is real," Auntie Lil whispered, flushing
as the closeness of her own death was reinforced.

"Damn right I'm real," Leteisha shot back,
struggling to stand upright. Her voice deepened and she grew more
defiant as she gingerly touched her bleeding nose. The game wasn't
over yet and so far as she was concerned, her name was still
Leteisha Swann. "So maybe I was assaulting this lady," she told the
officers. "But I was just trying to get her pocketbook. And I have
no idea of who this Rodney guy is."

This unleashed another round of protests from
the group until the policewoman blew her whistle for silence.
Confused, but still determined to maintain his authority, the male
officer addressed Leteisha Swann. "Robbery is a serious crime," he
began.

"Not as serious as murder," a confident voice
interrupted. The small crowd parted automatically at the sound of
this new voice and Detective Santos stepped through into the
clearing.

"What are you doing here?" the male officer
demanded grumpily. He didn't like someone else taking over on his
home turf.

"I was up the street," Santos explained
tersely, nodding toward The Westsider. "I saw the flashing
lights."

"I called you twice at the precinct like you
asked," Billy spoke up angrily. "Fat lot of good it did her." He
nodded toward Auntie Lil's bleeding leg, but Detective Santos
ignored the jibe. His conscience was clear—he had warned Auntie
Lil.

Santos stared at Auntie Lil then squinted at
Leteisha Swann's eagle tattoo.

"He beat up Timmy," Little Pete piped up
bravely. Nellie patted his shoulder in reassurance.

"That so?" Santos said softly. He scrutinized
Leteisha as carefully as an exhibit in a museum. "Interesting
tattoo. I believe we may have to make that charge murder."