Tricks

by Ed McBain

"As soon as we get back to the squadroom," Hawes said, "I'll call Auto again, see if they turned up anything on either of the vehicles."

  He had made a call to Auto Theft from the custodian's office at the high school, reporting both the Citation and the Econoline, but he knew what the chances were of finding either vehicle tonight. He didn't want to tell her that.

  "That would be a start," she said. "If they found the cars."

  "Oh, sure."

  A pained look crossed her face.

  "I'm sure he's okay," Hawes said.

  "I hope so."

  "I'm sure."

  He wasn't at all sure.

  "I just keep thinking something terrible has happened to him. I keep thinking whoever stole the car hellip;"

  "Well, you don't know that for a fact," Hawes said.

  "What do you mean?"

  "Well, that the car was stolen."

  "It's gone, isn't it?"

  "Yes, but hellip;"

  He didn't want to tell her that maybe her husband had driven off on his own, heading for the wild blue yonder. Let the lady enjoy her pizza and her beer. If her husband had in fact abandoned her, she'd learn it soon enough. If he was lying dead in an alley someplace, she'd learn that even sooner.

  He didn't bring up Jimmy Brayne again until after they'd been served.

  She was digging into the pizza as if she hadn't eaten for a week. She ate the way that woman in theTom Jones movie ate. Licked her lips, rolled her eyes, thrust pizza into her mouth as if she were making love to it. Come on, he thought. Strictly business here.

  "He's normally reliable, is that right?" he said.

  "Who?"

  "Jimmy Brayne."

  "Oh, yes. Completely."

  "How long has he been working for you?"

  "Three months."

  "Started this July?"

  "Yes. We did the act at a big Republican picnic on the Fourth. That was the first time Jimmy helped us."

  "Carrying the stuff over in the van hellip;"

  "Yes."

  "Picking it up later."

  "Yes."

  "Did he know where he was supposed to pick you up tonight?"

  "Oh, sure. He dropped the stuff off at the school, of course he knew."

  "Helped you unload it?"

  "Yes."

  "When was that? What time?"

  "We got there about three-fifteen."

  "Drove into the city together?"

  "Frank and I were following the van."

  "And Jimmy left the school at what time?"

  "As soon as everything was on stage."

  "Which was when?"

  "Three-thirty, a quarter to four?"

  "And he knew he was supposed to come back at five-thirty?"

  "Yes."

  "Is it possible he went someplace with your husband?"

  "Like where?"

  "For a drink or something? While you were changing?"

  "Then why was all the stuff on the sidewalk?"

  "It's just that hellip; well,both of them disappearing hellip;"

  "Excuse me," the waiter said. "Officer?"

  Hawes looked up.

  "Officer, I hate to bother you," the waiter said.

  "Yes?"

  "Officer, there's somebody's arm in one of the garbage cans out back."

  It was ten minutes to eight on the face of the clock on the locker-room wall.

  They could have been teenagers swapping stories about their boyfriends.

  Nothing in their conversation indicated they were going out hunting for a killer.

  "Maybe I should've gone down later," Annie said. "The trial ended on Wednesday, I could've gone down then." She stepped into her short skirt, pulled it over her blouse and pantyhose, zipped up the side, fastened the button at the waist. "Trouble is, I wasn't sure Iwanted to go."

  "But he asked you, didn't he?" Eileen said.

  "Sure, but hellip; I don't know. I got the feeling he was just going through the motions. I'll tell you the truth, I think he wanted to go down there alone."

  "What makes you think so?" Eileen asked.

  She was wearing a low-cut blouse, and a wraparound skirt as short as Annie's, fastened on the right-hand side with a three-inch-long ornamental safety pin. The pin would be a last-ditch weapon if she needed it. If she needed it, she would poke out his eyes with it.

  She was sitting on the bench in front of the lockers, pulling on high-heeled boots with floppy tops. A holster was strapped to her ankle inside the right boot. The pistol in the holster was a .25-caliber Astra Firecat automatic, with a two-and-a-half-inch barrel. It weighed a bit less than twelve ounces. Six-shot magazine, plus one in the firing chamber. She would pump all seven slugs into his face if she had to. There was a six-shot, .44-caliber Smith Wesson hammerless revolver in her handbag. Plus a switchblade knife. Rambo, she thought. But it won't happen to me again. She was wearing two pairs of panties under her pantyhose. Her psychological weapons.

  "I just hellip; I don't know," Annie said. "I think Cotton's trying to end it, I just don't know."

  She reached into the locker for her handbag, took out her cosmetics kit.

  Eileen was standing now, looking down into the boots.

  "Can you see this gun?" she asked.

  Annie came over to her, lipstick in her hand. She looked down into the floppy top of the boot on Eileen's right foot.

  "You might want to lower the holster," she said. "I'm getting a glimpse of metal."

  Eileen sat again, rolled down the boot top, unstrapped the holster, lowered it, strapped it tight again.

  "Maybe you should've gone down there, had it out with him," she said.

  "Well, that would've ended it for sure. A man doesn't want a showdown on his vacation."

  "But if hewants to end it hellip;"

  "I'm not sure of that."

  "Well, what makes you think hemight want to?"

  "We haven't made love in the past two weeks."

  "Bert and I haven't made love since the rape," Eileen said flatly, and stood up and looked down into the boots again.

  "I'm hellip; sorry," Annie said.

  "Maybe that'll change tonight," Eileen said.

  And Annie suddenly knew she was planning murder.

  The old lady's name was Adelaide Davis, and she had seen the kids going into the liquor store on Culver and Twelfth. She was now standing outside on the sidewalk with Carella and Meyer. Inside the store, two ambulance attendants were hoisting the body of the owner onto a stretcher. Monroe was watching the operation, his hands in his jacket pockets. A tech from the Mobile Lab unit was dusting the register for fingerprints. The M.E. was kneeling over the second body. One of the attendants said, "Up," and they both lifted the stretcher and then stepped gingerly around the M.E. and the other body.

  A crowd had gathered on the sidewalk. This was still only eight o'clock on a balmy Friday night, a lot of people were still in the streets. The ambulance attendants went past Mrs. Davis and the two detectives. Mrs. Davis watched them as they slid the stretcher into the ambulance. She watched them as they carried another stretcher back into the store. Patrolmen were shooing back the crowd now, making sure everyone stayed behind the barriers. Mrs. Davis felt privileged. Mrs. Davis felt like a star. She could see some of her neighbors in the crowd, and she knew they envied her.

  "I can't believe this," she said. "They looked so cute."

  "How many were there, ma'am?" Carella asked.

  Mrs. Davis liked Carella. She thought he was very handsome. The other detective was bald, she had never favored bald men. Wait'll she told her daughter in Florida that she'd witnessed a murder mdash;twomurders mdash;and had talked to detectives like on television.

  "Oh, just a handful of them," she said.

  "How many would you say?" Meyer asked.

  "Well, they went by very fast," she said. "But I'd say there were only four or five of them. They all jumped out of the station wagon and ran into the store."

  "It was a station wagon
, huh? The vehicle?"

  "Oh, yes. For certain."

  "Would you know the year and make?"

  "I'm sorry, no. A blue station wagon."

  "And these kids ran out of it with guns in their hands, huh?"

  "No, I didn't see any guns. Just the shopping bags."

  "No guns," Carella said.

  "Not until they got inside the store. The guns were in the shopping bags."

  "So when they got inside the store, these little boys pulled the guns and hellip;"

  "No, they were little girls."

  Meyer looked at Carella.

  "Girls?" he said.

  "Yessir. Four or five little girls. All of them wearing these long dresses down to their ankles and little blonde wigs. They looked like little princesses."

  "Princesses," Carella said.

  "Yes," Mrs. Davis said. "They had on these masks that covered entire faces, with sort of Chinese eyes on them mdash;slanted, you know mdash;well, maybe Japanese, I guess. Well, likeyour eyes," she said to Carella. "Slanted, you know?"

  "Yes, ma'am."

  "And rosy cheeks painted on the masks, and bright red lips, and I think little beauty spots near the mouth. They were absolutely beautiful. Like little Chinese princesses. Or Japanese. Except that they were blonde."

  "So they had on these Chinese-looking masks hellip;"

  "Or Japanese hellip;"

  "Right," Meyer said, "and they were wearing blonde wigs hellip;"

  "Yes, curly blonde wigs. Like Little Orphan Annie, except she's a redhead."

  "Curly blonde wigs, and long dresses."

  "Yes, like gowns. They looked like darling little princesses."

  "What kind of shoes, ma'am?" Carella asked.

  "Oh. I don't know. I didn't notice their shoes."

  "They weren't wearingsneakers , were they?"

  "Well, I really couldn't see. The gowns were very long."

  The ambulance attendants were coming out with the second body now. The M.E. was still inside, talking to Monroe. Mrs. Davis looked down at the body as it went past. Before tonight, she had never seen a dead body except in a funeral home. Tonight, she'd just seen two of them close up.

  "So they ran into the store," Carella said.

  "Yes, yelling 'Trick or treat.' "

  "Uh-huh," Carella said. "And pulled the guns hellip;"

  "Yes. And shot Mr. Agnello and the man who was in the store with him."

  "Shot them right off?" Meyer said.

  "Yes."

  "Didn't say it was a stickup or anything, just started shooting."

  "Yes. Mr. Agnello and the man with him."

  "What happened next, ma'am? In the store. Did you keep watching?"

  "Oh, yes. I was scared to death, but I kept watching."

  "Did you see them clean out the cash register?"

  "Yes. And one of them took a bottle of whiskey from the shelf."

  "Then what?"

  "They came running out. I was standing over there, to the left, over there, I'm not sure they saw me. I guess maybe they would've shot me, too, if they'd seen me."

  "You were lucky," Carella said.

  "Yes, I think I was."

  "What'd they do then?" Meyer asked.

  "They got back in the station wagon, and the woman drove them off."

  "There was a woman driving the car?"

  "Yes, a blonde woman."

  "How old, would you know?"

  "I really couldn't say. A sort of heavyset woman, she might've been in her forties."

  "By heavyset hellip;"

  "Well, sort of stout."

  "What was she wearing, would you remember?"

  "I'm sorry."

  Monroe was coming out of the liquor store.

  "This the witness here?" he asked.

  "A very good witness," Carella said.

  "Well, thank you, young man," Mrs. Davis said, and smiled at him. She was suddenly glad she hadn't told him she'd wet her pants when she saw those little girls shooting Mr. Agnello.

  "So what've we got here?" Monroe said. "An epidemic of kindergarten kids holding up liquor stores?"

  "Looks that way," Carella said. "Where's your partner?"

  "Who the hell knows where he is?" Monroe said. "Excuse me, lady."

  "Oh, that's perfectly all right," she said. This was just like cable television, with the cursing and all. She couldn't wait to phone her daughter and tell her about it.

  "Same kids, or what?" Monroe asked.

  "What?" Mrs. Davis said.

  "Excuse me, lady," Monroe said, "I was talking to this officer here."

  "Little girls this time," Meyer said. "But it sounds like the same bunch. Same blonde driving the car."

  "Nice lady, that blonde," Monroe said. "Driving kids to stickups. What kind of car, did you find out?" He turned to Carella. "What it is, the fart at the other store couldn't hellip; excuse me, lady."

  "Oh, that's perfectly all right," she said.

  "A blue station wagon," Meyer said.

  "You happen to know what year and make, lady?"

  "I'm sorry, I don't."

  "Yeah," Monroe said. "So all we got is the same big blonde driving four kids in a blue station wagon."

  "That's about it," Meyer said.

  "There wasn't homicides involved here, I'd turn this over to Robbery in a minute. You better give them a buzz, anyway."

  "I already did," Meyer said. "After the first one."

  One of the techs ambled out of the store.

  "Got some bullets here," he said. "Who wants them?"

  "What do they look like?" Monroe asked.

  The technician showed him the palm of his hand. A white cloth was draped over it, and four spent bullets rested on it.