The Disappearance of Penny Page 13

  That was all he could think of, not that his daughter was dead — murdered — but that Lassiter might have beat him.

  “Hopkins, didn’t your daughter mean anything else to you other than something else to compete with Lassiter for?” I asked him.

  “How dare you!” he screamed, causing Jackson and Diver to tighten their holds.

  “Po,” Jackson snapped, “get the hell out of here!”

  “With pleasure,” I told him. “The stench in here is worse then manure.”

  Outside I felt the urge for a cigarette, and I hadn’t had one in over three years. Diver was the first one out and I bummed one off of him. It was a non-filter, but it still couldn’t do anything about the bad taste I had in my mouth.

  “What a fucking waste!” I snapped, dropping the cigarette after one drag. How did I ever smoke those things?

  “I know what you mean,” Diver told me, following the cigarette to the ground. “You only took one puff.”

  “Shit.”

  “If you mean the air that turd is breathing,” he remarked, “I agree. However, Jackson didn’t appreciate your tact — or lack of it — in there.”

  “Fuck him, too.” I started to walk away.

  “Hey?” he called. I turned and he extended his hand. “Do you want this back?”

  He was holding my gun.

  I stared at it and the enormity of what I had done the night before suddenly hit me.

  I had taken two lives.

  Granted, I had done it in self-defense, but that didn’t change the fact that I had killed two people.

  Even the thought of touching that gun again made me sick.

  Diver approached me with it and asked, “First time?”

  I nodded.

  He was standing there with my gun in his hand, holding it out to me, and people were passing Hopkins’ stable, staring at us.

  “It will never get easier, Po, but it will go a lot harder on you next time, if you don’t have this piece with you.”

  I looked at the gun in his hand and realized that he was right. If I hadn’t had it with me last night, I would be dead instead of sorry.

  I took the gun and put it in my jacket pocket.

  “Thanks,” I told him, more than just for the gun.

  “No problem,” he answered. He turned and looked at a few people who were staring at us. “Look at them. They see two guys standing here passing a gun back and forth and no one goes for a security guard. Wild, huh?”

  “Crazy.”

  “Look, I’m pretty sure you can go. In fact, I’d advise you to go. He don’t love you like I do, you know?”

  “Sure, thanks, Diver.”

  “Call me Jim — and call me if you turn up anything on that missing jockey.”

  “Melendez? You figure him for this one?”

  “He’s missing, ain’t he? It’s not my case, but from what you’ve told us, he looks good for it. Keep in touch, okay?”

  “I will,” I promised.

  When Shukey and I had dropped Brandy off I told her to meet me at Sally’s. That’s where I headed now. She was sitting at one of the back tables and looked up as I walked in.

  “This is my sixth cup of coffee,” she told me when I sat down across from her. “If I gain weight I’m going to blame you.”

  When I didn’t respond she asked, “Was she there, Hank?”

  “Yeah, she was there. She’d been there for a while.”

  “How was she — you know, how — ”

  “How was she killed? Shot in the head. Diver figures Melendez looks good for it.”

  “Louis? A murderer?” She was obviously unable to comprehend the idea.

  “Who knows. Maybe he just got tired of being strung along.”

  She looked at me for a few long seconds and then asked, “You don’t believe it either, do you?”

  I shrugged and evaded the question.

  “I have my own theory, but I want to think about it a bit longer. You hungry?”

  “Hell, no,” she said, pushing that sixth cup of coffee away from her.

  “Let’s go back to my place and screw around, or something,” I suggested. I felt shitty, emotionally and physically. My head had started to ache again and my stomach felt queasy.

  “Let’s head back to your place so you can get some more rest,” she suggested. She was reading me pretty well.

  We went to the front gate where the cabs hang out and grabbed one.

  When we reached my apartment the phone was ringing. It was Biel.

  “What the hell is going on, Henry? Benny just called and told me that Penny is dead.”

  “Four people are dead, Howard,” I corrected him.

  He was angry about his dead godchild, but that drove the anger out of him.

  “What?”

  “Penny Hopkins was shot, probably on the same day she disappeared. Eddie Mapes was shot and killed last night — ”

  “My god! Mapes? How — ”

  “I killed two of the men who shot him and the third one shot me — ”

  “Jesus H. Christ, Hank, what the hell is happening? Are you all right?”

  “My head hurts, Howard. Would you please hang up and let me get some rest. I’ll come to your office tomorrow morning and explain the whole thing.”

  “But, my God, man — ”

  “Please, Howard. Look, read the afternoon papers, they’ll have the story on Mapes, okay?”

  He hesitated.

  “All right, Henry. Get some rest. I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  “Thank you, Howard,” I said and hung up.

  I looked at Brandy and told her, “Get undressed.”

  “Henry, you have to — ”

  “I don’t want to think, Brandy, not for a while. I need you, right now, for therapy. I want to get lost on you. Do you mind?”

  I thought she was going to cry She came up to me and kissed me, a sweet, warm, long kiss.

  “I don’t mind, Hank. Not at all.”

  We went to bed and didn’t think about anything else for a long time.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  “This all sounds so impossible,” Biel told me the next morning after I’d recounted to him all of the pertinent facts surrounding the deaths of both Penny Hopkins and Eddie Mapes.

  “Do you think they’re connected?” he asked.

  “I don’t see how. The only common denominator is the fact that they’re both racing people. There’s no reason to believe that they had anything to do with each other personally Mapes and I never even really discussed Penny Hopkins in depth. Every time we met, circumstances were such that they never permitted me to get into it with him.”

  “We’re getting very bad press of late,” Biel lamented. He had to think of that as well as everything else. He was, after all, president of the N.Y.S.R.C. He had to be concerned with anything that might be bad for racing in New York.

  It sounded callous just the same.

  The afternoon paper yesterday had carried the headline TOP JOCKEY MURDERED, and mentioned Penny Hopkins later in the story. This morning the other paper had run the headline RACING WORLD ROCKED BY TWO MURDERS. This, on the heels of the Donero thing, plus a trainer being tried for the murder of his girl friend, made for very undesirable press for thoroughbred racing.

  “Maybe you should have hired me as a publicist instead of an investigator,” I commented.

  “Henry, I want you to keep looking into this thing,” he said ignoring my remark.

  “I don’t know, Howard. The police are working on it, and Hopkins insists on holding me responsible. It’s his way of absolving himself of any blame.”

  He waved his hands irritably.

  “Benjamin is a fool. You started this thing as a favor to me. I’d like you to continue, as a favor. Will you do that?”

  I thought about it a moment, forming a compromise.

  “I’ll tell you what I will do, Howard. I’ll keep poking around, but only until the cops tell me to lay off. Then I’m gone. I
don’t want to lose my license. Deal?”

  “Agreed. What about Mapes?”

  I had decided that during the night.

  “That one’s different. I hold myself responsible for that. I’ll poke around in that one as a favor to me.”

  “Benjamin is a fool, Hank, don’t you become one, too. You can’t possibly think that you’re to blame for what happened to Eddie Mapes. You did all you could do to help him — ”

  “Except get there in time to save him. Thanks, Howard, but don’t play psychiatrist with me today, I’m not really in the mood for it.”

  He dropped it.

  “Did the police identify the two men you, ah, the two men who killed him?”

  I’d found out about that this morning, too. Diver had called me with the information.

  “Yeah, out-of-town talent. They can’t be connected with Donero in any way — yet.”

  “Donero?” he asked, surprised. “Is that who you think they were working for?”

  “I can’t see it any other way,” I told him. “The last thing Eddie told me was that he was supposed to lose Sunday’s race. Who’s the most notorious race fixer we know?”

  “That’s circumstantial at best, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, but so is snow on the ground.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “If you look out your window in the morning and find snow on the ground, you didn’t actually see it falling from the sky, but isn’t it reasonable to assume that it did? That’s circumstantial.”

  He stared at me for a few moments. “That is absolutely fascinating.”

  “Thanks,” I said, taking credit for an analogy that wasn’t mine. I couldn’t remember where I’d heard it, or I might have told him.

  “Howard, there’s one more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Keep Shukey in town, will you? I might need her.”

  “There’s nothing pending, so that doesn’t seem to be an unreasonable request.”

  “Thanks.”

  I got up to leave and he walked me to the door.

  “What’s your next step?”

  “I’ve got to cover some old ground, as far as Penny is concerned.

  “The first time around she was missing. Now she’s dead. The reactions might be different. As far as Eddie is concerned, I’m very interested now in what caused his fight with Aiello, and I’m even more curious about the man I saw with Aiello before and after the fight. I’ll keep in touch.”

  The police were also interested in Danny Aiello, as Diver had told me that morning on the phone.

  “Sure we’re going to question Aiello. He’s prime for it. They obviously didn’t get along and he’s on my agenda for today,” Diver had told me.

  “Give me a shot first, Jim” I requested. “If you talk to him first he’s going to clam up. If I try for sloppy seconds I’ll get nothing. I think I might have a better shot at getting something out of him than you do.”

  “You’ll give me whatever you get?” he asked.

  “You’ll get it. If I fuck it up, I’ll bring him to you.”

  “I’ll get everything you get?”

  “I told you, Jim, I value my license. I’m asking you nicely Now if you’d rather I backed off completely, just say the word.”

  “No need for that. You’ve got more input into this thing than we do. You also qualify as ‘track people’. They’ll talk to you more than they will to us. Okay, sure, take your shot at Aiello. Give me a call afterward. If I’m not in, leave a message, I’ll get back to you.”

  “Okay, thanks, pal.”

  So now I went looking for Aiello.

  I tried Sally’s first, and had breakfast while I was there.

  I saw another jockey I knew slightly, Tommy Borelli and sat down with him. He was studying the scratches for the day.

  “Hi, Tommy.”

  He looked at me for a few seconds, squinted and then recognition set in.

  “Mr. Po, right?”

  “Hank”, I corrected.

  “Sure, Hank, I remember. You bailed me out that time the cops thought I copped some cash that didn’t belong to me.”

  The incident Borelli had referred to was a relatively minor thing. Some cash had come up missing from a trainer’s office and the cops made Tommy for it until I turned up a hotwalker with a record. He turned out to be the real thief and Tommy was off the hook. I really hadn’t spoken to Tommy more than once or twice, but I remembered him. I was glad he remembered me. He’d talk to me more freely because of it.

  “Right. I was also down in the jockeys’ room the other day, asking about Penny Hopkins.”

  “That’s right. Hey, what a shame, huh? What a dish she was. How could somebody ice a dish like that? What a waste.”

  “Yeah. Hey, can I see those?” I asked, indicating the sheet he was studying.

  “Sure. You playing these days?” he asked.

  I shrugged, a habit I knew I had to break. “A bit. I’m following a jock.”

  “Who?”

  “The new kid, Aiello.”

  He made a face.

  “Why the face?” I asked. “I heard he was talented.”

  “Oh, he is. He’s got the potential to be a good one, but he’s also got the potential of being a fast-class scumbag. He’s got a lot to learn about treating people, Danny Aiello does.”

  That was almost word for word what Shukey had told me.

  “Eddie Mapes was a particular target of his, wasn’t he?” I asked.

  “Now there is a real fucking shame,” Tommy told me, like the Brooklynite he was. “Eddie Mapes was okay, he was one hell of a rider. He didn’t get the press that some of these guys get, but he could ride with the best of them.”

  Suddenly Tommy got curious and asked, “You working on these things, Hank?”

  “Just curious,” I told him. “My job ended when I found Penny’s body.”

  “You’re the one who found her? Oh, wow, man. That must have been rough.”

  “It was no picnic,” I agreed.

  Aiello was listed for three mounts, I saw, but there were countless “no boys,” which is what they put next to a horse’s name when there is no rider scheduled. A good jock might pick up two or three no boys and end up with a busy day. At least I knew he would be around all day. His third mount was for the ninth race.

  I handed the sheet back to Tommy and thanked him.

  He finished his juice and stood up. “I gotta split. It was nice to see you again, Hank.”

  “Same here, Tommy. Be good.”

  “Sure, take it light. I hope you satisfy your curiosity.”

  Smart kid, and he was a decent rider, too, but it was too bad that was all he’d ever be. He was the kind of jockey who would end up retiring young and making a good trainer.

  It was too bad bums like Aiello were born with the talent, and the nice guys like Tommy had to bust their asses for some kind of a break.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

  The three mounts that Aiello was listed for that day were, coincidentally, all conditioned by the same trainer, Woody Spencer, who placed among the top ten trainers every year. I asked around and was directed to the Spencer stables.

  “Mr. Spencer?” I called. He was talking to someone in one of the stalls, possibly his assistant trainer, and turned when I called his name.

  “Yes?”

  He was a small man, in his sixties, with thinning gray hair and wire frame glasses. He had a distinct southern accent which years of living in the north had been unable to erase.

  I showed him my N.Y.S.R.C. identification.

  “One of Howie Biel’s boys, hey?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What can ah do for ya, son?” he asked.

  “Right now I’d like to see Danny Aiello. I understand he’s listed to ride a few of your horses today. I thought I might find him here.”

  “He shore is ridin mah animals, son. That boy jest maht end up mah regular ridah. You come to the raht place. He
’s inside,” he told me, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “He’s in mah office. We was jes’ gonna have a conference on the ponies he’s gonna ride today. You go raht in, boy, set yourself down. I’ll be in shortly. Ah’d appreciate it if you’d finish yore business Tore ah’m ready to start mine, heah?”

  “I hear, thanks.”

  Most people found his accent charming. I found it annoying, especially since I felt most of it was put on. He’d say two words differently in two consecutive sentences, sometimes remembering the accent, and sometimes not.

  He was just another phony in a world of phonies.

  Like Hopkins.

  Like Lassiter.

  Lassiter … there was someone else I was going to make it a point to see today.

  I entered Spencer’s office without knocking. I didn’t want to announce my arrival.

  “Mr. Spencer,” Aiello began without turning around, “I was thinking about this nag in the third race — ”

  “Save it, Aiello. Spencer will be in to see you later, if you’re still here. Let’s take care of my business first.”

  He turned and demanded, “Who the hell are you?”

  I hadn’t intended to do it the hard way, but the things I’d heard about him kind of brought it out.

  “I’m the guy who’s going to kick your butt all over this office if you don’t answer some questions.”

  He froze up. He knew I was serious, but he didn’t know who I was or why I was there.

  That’s when he made a mistake.

  He decided he knew who I was or, at least, who had sent me.

  “You from Gordie?” he asked.

  “I’ll ask the questions, Danny,” I told him.

  “Look, tell Gordie I did like he told me, but I didn’t know somebody was going to get killed. I don’t want to get involved — ”

  “Shut up!” I snapped. I decided to play along with him. If he thought I was from some guy named Gordie, then that’s who I was from.

  “You guys don’t mind playing along as long as the money’s big and the risk is small, but as soon as somebody’s foot gets stepped on, you want out.”

  “Look, I didn’t sign on for murder,” he complained.

  “What did you sign up for, Danny?”

  “For a career, damnit! I just wanted the good mounts, and now I’m getting them — on my own! I don’t need Gordie’s help anymore!”