by Ed McBain
“This year?”
“Sure.”
“It’ll fall on a Friday. Check it.”
He checked it.
“Friday is right,” he said. “How about May seventeenth?Next year.”
“Easy,” she said. “A Monday.”
He checked it. She was right.
“Have you got an almanac?” she asked.
“No.”
“Too bad. I could give you the day of the week for any date since we went on the Gregorian calendar.”
“How do you do it?” he asked.
“Do I get the job?”
“Gloria,” he said, “believe me, everything you’ve told me about yourself…”
“Damn right,” she said. “I’ve been driving since I was twelve, did my first wheel job when I was only sixteen. I’ve got the surest pair of hands in the business and the calmest nerves. I can drive through the eye of a needle with one eye shut. I can drive a racing car or a ten-wheeler, and I can outdrive any man in the business. You want me to cut my hair, I’ll cut my hair. You want me to gain a hundred pounds, I’ll gain a hundred pounds. You want me to be a garbage man, I’ll be a garbage man. I need this job. I’ll do anything to get this job.”
“Anything?” the Deaf Man asked.
“Anything,” she said, and looked him dead in the eye.
“Tell me how you do the date trick,” he said.
“Tell me I have the job.”
“Don’t you want to know what it pays?”
“I have a house on the Spit that’s about ready to fall into the Atlantic Ocean,” she said. “It’s gonna cost me a coupla grand atleast to have them shore up the pilings or whatever it is they have to do. I usually work for a percentage of the take….”
“That’s out of the question here,” he said.
“That’s the usual wheel-man fee.”
“Yes, but…”
“A good wheel man always gets a piece of the action. You know that.”
“Sometimes.”
“Any job I ever worked. The beach house cost me half a million. That was my end on a bank job we did in Boston. What I’m saying is I don’t know how much this job is expected to gross, but let’s say the wheel man is worth atleast ten percent of that. So if this is a two-million-dollar job, I’d expect, say, two hundred grand. Which will keep my house from floating off to Europe. If it’s bigger than that, I’d expect more. That’s my fee. That’s what any good wheel man would expect.”
“Too bad you’re not a wheelman ,” he said, and smiled again.
“Right, I’m a wheelwoman . What do you want me to do? Suck your cock?”
“I don’t pay women for sex,” he said.
“Good. Cause I don’t suck cocks for money.”
But she was the one who’d first raised it. He would remind her of that later. When she was tied to the bed and begging for it.
“Cut your hair and put on at least twenty pounds,” he said.
“Okay,” she said.
“A flat hundred grand for all the run-throughs and the actual job.”
“Make it a hundred and fifty. In case they find cockroaches or dry rot when they open up my house.”
“A hundred is all I can pay.”
“Why? Because I’m a woman?”
“No. Because a hundred is what I’m paying everyone else.”
“When do we start?” she said.
“How do you do that trick?” he asked.
AFTER FIVE HOURSof working the door, Eileen now knew that the girl inside there—she couldn’t bring herself to call a seventeen-year-old girl awoman, even if she was married, and even if it meant agreeing with Brady’s terminology—thegirl was named Lisa. She also knew that Jimmy had handcuffed her to the bed in his room, the one adjacent to the one where Lisa slept with his brother, Tom. Jimmy, Lisa, and Tom, nice little family triangle here that had erupted in the middle of the night and that could, if she wasn’t careful, end with somebody getting hurt. She didn’t want the girl to get hurt, and she didn’t want Jimmy to get hurt, either, but most of all she didn’t want herself to get hurt. She’d been hurt once on the job, hurt very badly, and she didn’t want that to happen ever again.
“Where’d you get the handcuffs?” she asked casually.
“Bought them,” Jimmy said.
The door was open some three inches, held by a safety chain. She was standing to the left of the door, unwilling to afford him a clear shot until she knew which way he might go. She couldn’t see him and he couldn’t see her. So far, they were still two disembodied voices, but dialogue was what negotiation was all about. Nobody gets hurt. We talk.
“You’re not a cop or anything, are you?” she asked.
“Shit, no,” he said.
“I didn’t know anybody but cops could buy handcuffs,” she said.
Just talking. Just keeping him engaged. They’d worked up a profile from what the brother had told them, and she knew damn well Jimmy wasn’t a cop. She also knew you could buy handcuffs in any one of a hundred sex shops in the city, and in any number of antiques shops selling junk from your grandmother’s attic. She was just talking. Just trying to get him to talk back. Trying to get his mind off hurting anybody. Raping the girl. Or shooting her. He had threatened to shoot the girl if they didn’t leave him alone here.
“Where can you buy handcuffs?” she asked.
“I don’t remember where I bought them,” he said. “Where areyour handcuffs?”
“I don’t have any with me,” she said.
The truth.
“I told you I’m not armed…”
Also true.
“…and I’m not carrying handcuffs, either. You’re the only one has handcuffs and a gun.”
Notquite true.
All the E.S. cops in the hallway were wearing ceramic vests and they were armed with riot guns. One shot from that apartment and they’d storm the door. You played the game only so far. Then you sent in the bombers. Basic contradiction there, but she figured she could live with it if it worked more often than not—which it did.
“Still snowing outside,” she said. “Do you like snow?”
“Listen,” he said. Edge to his voice. “What are you tryin’a do here, huh? I told you I’llkill Lisa if you fuckin guys don’t leave me alone! So leave mealone ! Get the fuckoutta here!”
But he didn’t close the door.
“Well, you don’treally want to kill her, do you?” Eileen said.
“Never mind what Iwant to do. You’re the ones areforcing me to do it.”
“All we’re interested in is making sure nobody gets hurt.”
“Sure, you give a shit I get hurt or not.”
“We do.”
“Then whyn’tyou come in here take Lisa’s place? I han’cuffyou to the bed, I let her come out, how’s that?”
“No, I can’t make that kind of deal.”
“Why not? You’re so inner’ested in nobody gettin hurt, you come on in here, take her place.”
“I’d have to be crazy to do that,” Eileen said.
“How come? Big brave cop, you come on in.”
“I promised younobody gets hurt,” she said. “That includes me. All we want to do is help you, Jimmy. Why don’t you take that chain off the door so we can talk a little more easily?”
“We can talk fine just the way we are,” he said. “Anyway, there’s nothin to talk about. You get the fuck outta here, Lisa’s got nothin to worry about. You hang around, she gets hurt. You think you can unner’stan that?”
“How do I know you haven’t hurt her already? I told my boss she’s okay, but he’s…”
“Sheis okay, I told you that.
“That’s just what I reported to him. But he’s going to lose patience with me if he thinks I’m lying to him.”
“Who’s your boss, anyway? The bald-headed guy was talking to me before?”
“Yes. Deputy Inspector Brady. He’s in charge of the unit.”
“So go tell him to get every
body the fuck outta here.”
“Well, I can’t givehim orders, he’s my boss. You know how bosses are. Don’t you have a boss?”
“Tommy’s my boss.”
Something there. Something in his voice. She let it sit for a minute.
“Your brother, do you mean?”
“Yeah. He owns a plumbing-supply store. I work for him.”
Older brother working for the younger brother. Younger brother married to a seventeen-year-old girl. Older brother living in the same apartment with them.
“Do you like your job?” she asked.
“I don’t wanna talk about it.”
“What would you like to talk about, Jimmy?”
“Nothing. I want you to leave me the fuck alone, is what I…”
“Have you had anything to eat this morning?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“How about Lisa? She might be hungry.”
There was silence beyond the crack in the door.
“Jimmy? How about Lisa? Do you think she might like something to eat?”
“I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you go ask her?”
“I leave the door, you’ll try to break it down.”
“I promise I won’t.”
“There are guys out there in the hallway with you, they’ll break down the door.”
“No, I’ll ask my boss to make sure they won’t. You go find out if Lisa wants something to eat, okay? Maybe we can get her something to eat. If she’s hungry. You must be hungry, too, you’ve been up half the night. Maybe I can…”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Then go see if Lisa is, okay?”
“You promise me nobody’s gonna break down this door?”
“Jimmy, if that’s what we wanted to do, we’d’ve done it already.”
“Not with me standin here with this gun in my hand.”
“The men out here are wearing bulletproof vests. They could break down the door if they wanted to, Jimmy. That’s not what we want to do. What we want is to make sure nobody gets hurt. Not us, not you, not Lisa. I’m sure you don’t want Lisa to get hurt….”
“I don’t.”
“I know that.”
“Youbetter know it. Why the fuck you think I’mdoin this?”
“I don’t know why, Jimmy. Can you tell me why?”
“Tokeep her from gettin hurt, why do you think?”
“How do you…?”
“Why do you think I chased him outta the fuckin apartment?”
“Your brother, do you mean?”
“Tommy, Tommy, who do youthink I mean? He was beatin the shit out of her last night, I told him to leave her alone or I’d blow his fuckin brains out. I told him to get outta here and never come back. That’s why I got her handcuffed to the bed. For her own good. She lets him beat her black and blue and then they fuck all night long, I’m tryin’ aprotect her, for Christ’s sake!”
“Is that what woke you up last night? Him beating her?”
“Everynight, the son of a bitch.”
“We’ll make sure that doesn’t happen anymore, Jimmy.”
“Sure, how you gonna do that?”
“There are city agencies your sister-in-law can talk to. There are ways to restrain your brother from…”
“I just can’t stand it no more. She’s no bigger than a nickel, he’s always beatin the shit out of her.”
“We’ll put a stop to that, Jimmy. Meanwhile, go ask her if she wants something to eat, okay?”
“I’ll go ask her,” he said, and hesitated. “But I’m gonna close the door and lock it.”
“I’d rather you didn’t, Jimmy.”
“Who the fuck careswhat you want? I’m the one has the gun.”
“That’s why I’d rather you left the door unlocked. I don’t want anyone to get hurt, Jimmy. I don’t want any accidents to happen here.”
“Fuck you and what you want,” he said, and slammed the door shut.
In the silence of the hallway, she heard the deafening click of the lock tumblers turning.
“WHAT I THOUGHTwas we do something new and startlin for the gig,” Silver said.
New and startlin likewhat ?” Jeeb said.
He never liked it when Sil came up with these new andstartlin ideas of his. Like the time he come up with the notion just the two girls rappin infalsetto , their voices weren’t high enough already, right? Sil goes Nobody ever done this before, man, two girls singin falsetto, gonna send chills up ever’body’s spine. Jeeb told him never mind the chills, people don’t like to hear things that’llstartle ’em, they want to hear the same stuff every time out, man, the same beat, the same voices doin the rappin, they don’t want to be no kind ofstartled , man. Only things enjoy gettin startled ispigeons , man, they get akick out of being startled. You gowhoooooo to a bunch of pigeons in the park, they like to wet their pants with joy being startled like that and making them flap up in the air. Butpeople don’tlike to be startled, Jeeb told him. People hear a coupla chicks rappin in falsetto, they’ll think it’s a police siren or somethin, anair -raid siren, they’ll run for cover, man.
Turned out Sil was right, though, son of a bitch wasalways right. Next gig they done—this was in Philadelphia—Grass and Sophie done this song in falsetto, like the song was called “China Doll” and it was about dope comin in from the Orient and pollutin the black youth of our cities, and they rapped it in these high falsetto voices like supposed to be comin from Chinese chicks, you know, these high singsongy voices comin from these two gorgeous black chicks, the crowd went wild. Sil didn’t say I tole you so, though he could’ve. WasGrass did all the I tole yous, cause she was the one sided with Sil from the beginning. More he thought about it, Jeeb figured there was somethin goin on between her and Sil. That was gratitude for you. He’s the one taught the girl everythin she knew aboutany thin, and she ends up beamin at every word Sil utters. Sheer gratitude.
“What’s this new and startlin idea?” Sophie asked.
“Tell us, Sil.”
This from Grass. Beamin at him fore he even opened his mouth. He was prolly gonna ask the girls to sing bass this time. Drop they voices down in they shoes, bust all the woofers. Tell us all about it, Sil. Grass lookin at him adoringly. Tell us your newstartlin and brilliant idea so we can all fall down dead at your feet.
“Before we go into that,” Jeeb said, “I want to tell you ’bout this conversation I had with Ackerman. I tole him there’s been three ads in the papers so far, an none of them mentioned Spit Shine as prominent as the other headliners. This thing’s gonna run for two straight days, he’s booked an even dozen groups, all kinds of rap and all kinds of rock, some of them nobody ever heard of but they mothers. He’s the fuckin puh-motor, how come we gettin dissed like that? He goes Look, fair is fair, Jeeb, onlysome of the headliners got bigger mention in the ads. So I go Look, Mort, maybe you don’trealize how many times wetopped the charts this past year, and he goes Anyway,I’m not the one placin the ads, it ain’t Windows Entertainment takin the ads, it’s thebank , it’s FirstBank. I go Come on, Mort, you’re the fuckin puh-motor, what does the bank know about rock or rap or anything butelevator music, for Christ’s sake! He says he’s tellin me the God’s honest truth, but he appreciates what I’m sayin, and he’ll go to the bank, the guy at the bank who’s feedin the ads to the papers, and tell him he’s had complaints from some of the artists…”
“Whoelse complained?” Sophie asked.
“Group named Double Damn.”
“Never heard of them.”
“I tole Ackerman some unknown group gets its name in the ads same size an prominence as Spit Shine, he’s gonna have an hour an a half, two hours of dead air on that stage, time we’re supposed to be performin. Cause we just won’t show, man, he can let DoubleDamn open the fuckin concert!”
“I’m not even sure Ilike that opening spot,” Sophie said. “Biggest crowds’ll be there at night, we ought to be next to closin on Sunday.”
“
Sunday’d be bad,” Grass said. “People got to get up early, go to work the next day.”
“Who’s got next to closinSaturday night?” Sil asked.
“Guess.”
“Yeah,” Sil said.
“Anyway, Ackerman’s gonna let us know what the bank has to say. I tole him to remind the bank thatwe’re the ones doin the gigfree , it don’t reflect too kindly when a fuckingbank sticks up somebody instead of the other way around. He said he’d tell them. He better.”
“We’ll get the ad,” Sophie said. “Don’t worry.”
“We better,” Jeeb said. “So far, they headlined three other groups, andwe get a half-inch near the bottom with groups like Moses Roses.”
“Who’s Moses Roses?” Sophie asked.
“Who the fuck knows?”
“We get the right ad or we walk,” Silver said, “plain and simple.”
“That’s the onliest way, Sil,” Grass agreed, as if it washis thought and not Jeeb’s. Man.
“Tell us your new idea,” she said, and grinned at him, all eyes.
“We do a love song,” Sil said.
THE PLACEParker decided to take Cathy Herrera to brunch was a steak joint frequented by high-ranking police officers, very few of whom Parker knew. But he thought he would impress her by suggesting that he hobnobbed with rank.
Yesterday, the city’s two tabloids had both done a number on the spray-paint killer, one in its morning edition, the other in its afternoon edition. The morning paper had zeroed in on Peter Wilkins, the dead lawyer, with the headline:
SECRET SPRAYER
…which related to the page-four profile they did on the successful litigator who went around at night spraying graffiti on the walls of buildings.
The afternoon paper’s headline read:
SPRAYER
PREY
BETTER
PRAY
(…who’s next?)
The inside story was subtitledDESTINY WITH DEATH. A lame journalistic exercise, it attempted to show how three people of diverse backgrounds—an attorney, a veteran graffiti writer, and an immigrant novice—had met the same fate at the hands of someone the newspaper called “an obsessed vigilante.” In addition, several men and women in the street had been interviewed regarding the prevalence of graffiti in the city, the question posed to them being:What should we do about graffiti writers? These expert criminologists—a telephone operator, a letter carrier, a construction worker, an obstetrician, and a woman protesting pornography in magazines—had varying views.
