Sinner's Ball by Ira Berkowitz

yours.”
    â€œYou’re being very elliptical here.”
    â€œAnother stabbing victim. Especially, down low. Seeing a heap of that lately.”
    â€œAnd you’re going to have the ME do a tox screen to see if there are roofies in his blood.”
    â€œAs soon as they get here and cart him off. Seems this is a busy day at the morgue. Shooting up in Harlem. A couple of domestics where things really got out of hand. And an old guy lost control of his car and took out a flea market in SoHo. Bodies were flying like Frisbees.”
    â€œThe day goes faster when you’re busy. Have you had a chance to look at the tapes from the hotel’s security cameras?”
    â€œYou’re kidding, right? When you get seven, eight bucks a night, and for guests you got zombies with first-run showings of DTs playing in their heads, are you gonna put your money into videotape?”
    Fair point.
    â€œAny witnesses?”
    â€œYeah. Three monkeys. Hear no evil, speak no evil, and the ever popular see no evil.”
    â€œHow about the guy who runs the counter? The manager. Did he notice anyone come in with the vic?”
    â€œHe is the vic.”
    â€œFancy that.”
    â€œName’s Cady. Walter Cady.”
    â€œThe clues just keep on coming.”
    â€œAnd we have something else,” Luce said. “His computer. Which has already been bagged and tagged, and ison the way to Forensics. Never know what those curious little data miners may dig up.”
    â€œAnd, of course, you’ll keep me posted.”
    â€œIt’s what I live for, Jackson. By the way, how’s Dee Dee?”
    â€œGot a boyfriend. Justin Hapner.”
    â€œThe beginning of a lifetime of complications.”
    A cop appeared at the door. He was maybe eighteen, and had the acne to prove it.
    â€œDetective Guidry?” he said. “Hate to bother you. The body baggers are here.”
    â€œMuch as I’d like to spend the rest of the day chitchatting with you, Jackson, unlike you I’ve got work to do. Oh, I almost forgot. We found another one that could be yours.”
    â€œYou’re kidding.”
    â€œFound him in a room in that grubby little hotel on the West Side that’s kinda shaped like a rhombus. Stabbed. In that special place.”
    â€œDid you get his name off the hotel registry?”
    â€œYeah. Millard Fillmore.”
    â€œAny witnesses?”
    â€œIn a hot bed joint? Please! But we’ll run his prints and see what turns up.”
    The murders were tumbling into each other. Not much space between them. It was as if the killer was working herself into a frenzy. And having a hard time keeping it together.
    Luce and I parted company in the street. The crowdoutside the flophouse had thinned to just a few people waiting for the final act before they got on with their day. One of them, an old, disheveled guy with a faded tattoo creeping up his neck, disengaged himself from the small knot of people and walked up to me.
    â€œGot a buck for an old-timer who’s seen it all?” he said.
    The bridge of his nose was flattened. And his eyes were hooded under two thick plates of old scar tissue that sat on what used to be his eyebrows.
    I reached into my pocket and handed him a five.
    â€œWhat’s your name, my friend?” I said.
    â€œThey call me Sailor.”
    â€œSo, what have you seen, Sailor?” I said.
    â€œThings that get into your head and don’t let go.”
    â€œI’m familiar with the experience.”
    He grinned. “Most folks are, but don’t admit it.”
    I jerked my chin at the Majestic.
    â€œYou live there?” I said.
    He rubbed the five-dollar bill between his thumb and forefinger. “Reckon I will tonight. Once the commotion dies down.”
    â€œWhere did you fight?”
    With the pads of his fingers he gently stroked the scar tissue jutting out above his right eye.
    â€œWherever there was a payday,” he said.