Tricks

by Ed McBain

  "What I'm gonna do right now," Forbes said, "is get out of this dress, and put on my own clothes, and then I'm gonna go partying. Alice? You wanna come along?"

  She looked him up and down as if seeing him for the first time.

  Then she shrugged and said, "Sure. Why not?"

  She called her mother-in-law the moment she was in the house.

  The place felt empty without him.

  "Mom," she said. "This is Marie."

  Crackling on the line to Atlanta.

  "Honey," her mother-in-law said, "this is aterrible connection, can you get the operator to ring it again?"

  Terrific, she thought. I'm calling to tell her Frank is dead, and she can't hear me.

  "I'll try again," she said, and hung up, and then dialed the operator and asked her to place the call. Her mother-in-law picked up on the second ring.

  "How's that?" Marie asked her.

  "Oh, much better. I was just about to callyou , this must be psychic." Susan Sebastiani believed in psychic phenomena. Whenever she held a seance in her house, she claimed to converse with Frank's father, who'd been dead and gone for twenty years. Frank's father had been a magician, like his son. "What it is," she said, "I had this terrible premonition that something was wrong. I said to myself, 'Susan, you'd better call the kids.' Are you okay? Is everything all right?"

  "Well hellip; no," Marie said.

  "What's the matter?" Susan said.

  "Mom hellip;"

  How to tell her?

  "Mom hellip; this is very bad news."

  "What is it?"

  "Mom hellip; Frank hellip;"

  "Oh, my God, something's happened to him," Susan said at once. "I knew it."

  Silence on the line.

  "Marie?"

  "Yes, Mom."

  "What happened? Tell me."

  "Mom hellip; he's hellip; Mom, he's dead."

  "What? Oh, my God, my God, oh, dear God," she said, and began weeping.

  Marie waited.

  "Mom?"

  "Yes, I'm here."

  "I'm sorry, Mom. I wish I wasn't the one who had to tell you."

  "Where are you?"

  "Home."

  "I'll come up as soon as I can. I'll call the airlines, find out when there's hellip; what happened? Was it an automobile accident?"

  "No, Mom. He was murdered."

  "What?"

  "Someone hellip;"

  "What?Who? What are you talking about? Murdered?"

  "We don't know yet, Mom. Someone hellip;"

  She couldn't bring herself to tell his mother that someone had chopped up his body. That could wait.

  "Someone killed him," she said. "After a show we did this afternoon. At a high school up here."

  "Who?"

  "We don't know yet. The police think it might have been Jimmy."

  "Jimmy? Jimmy Brayne? Who Frank was teaching?"

  "Yes, Mom."

  "I can't believe it. Jimmy?"

  "That's what they think."

  "Well, where is he? Have they questioned him?"

  "They're still looking for him, Mom."

  "Oh, God, this is terrible," Susan said, and began weeping again. "Why would he do such a thing? Frank treated him like a brother."

  "We both did," Marie said.

  "Have you called Dolores yet?"

  "No, you're the first one I hellip;"

  "She'll have a heart attack," Susan said. "You'd better let me tell her."

  "I can't ask you to do that, Mom."

  "She's my daughter, I'll do it," Susan said.

  Still weeping.

  "I'll tell her to come there right away, you'll need help."

  "Thank you, Mom."

  "What is it from her house? An hour?"

  "Tops."

  "I'll tell her to get right there. Are you okay?"

  "No, Mom," she said, and her voice broke. "I feel terrible."

  "I know, I know, sweetie, but be brave. I'll come up as soon as I can. Meanwhile, Dolores will be there. Oh, my God, so many people I'll have to call, relatives, friends hellip; when is the funeral going to be? They'll want to know."

  "Well hellip; they'll be doing an autopsy first."

  "What do you mean? Chopping him up?"

  Silence on the line.

  "You didn't give them permission to do that, did you?"

  Opportunity right there to tell her he wasalready chopped up. She let the opportunity pass.

  "They have to do an autopsy in a murder case," she said.

  "Why?"

  "I don't know why, it's the law."

  "Some law," Susan said.

  Both women fell silent.

  Susan sighed heavily.

  "All right," she said, "let me call Dolores, let me get to work. She'll be there in a little while, will you be okay till then?"

  "I'll be fine."

  Another silence. "I know how much you loved him," Susan said.

  "I did, Mom."

  "I know, I know."

  Another sigh.

  "All right, honey, I'll talk to you later. I'll try to get a plane tonight if I can. You're not alone, Marie. Dolores will be right there, and I'll be up as soon as I can."

  "Thank you, Mom."

  "All right now," Susan said, "I have to go now. Call me if you need me."

  "Yes, Mom."

  "Good night now, honey."

  "Good night, Mom."

  There was a small click on the line. Marie put the receiver back on the cradle. She looked up at the clock on the kitchen wall. Only forty minutes left to what had been the longest day of her life.

  The clock ticked noisily into the stillness of the empty house.

  The clock on the hospital wall read twenty-five minutes past eleven.

  Lieutenant Peter Byrnes had not yet called the wives. He would have to call the wives. Speak to Teddy and Sarah, tell them what had happened. He was standing in the corridor with Deputy Police Commissioner Howard Brill, who'd come uptown when he'd heard that two detectives had been shot in a liquor-store stakeout. Brill was a black man in his early fifties; Byrnes had known him when they were both walking beats in River-head. About the same size as Byrnes, same compact head and intelligent eyes; the men could have been cast from the identical bullet mold, except that one was black and the other was white. Brill was upset; Byrnes could understand why.

  "The media's gonna have a ball," Brill said. "Did you see this?"

  He showed Byrnes the front page of one of the morning tabloids. The headline looked as if it had been written for a sensational rag that sold at the local supermarket. But instead of

  MARTIAN IMPREGNATES CAMEL or HITLER REINCARNATED AS IOWA HOUSEWIFE, this one read:

  MIDGETS 2 mdash;COPS 0

  POLICE CAUGHT SHORT

  "Very funny," Byrnes said. "I got one cop in intensive care, and another one in surgery, and they're making jokes."

  "How are they?" Brill asked.

  "Meyer's okay. Carella hellip;" He shook his head. "The bullet's still inside him. They're digging for it now."

  "What caliber?"

  "Twenty-two. That's according to the slugs we recovered in the store. Meyer took two hits, but the bullets passed through."

  "He was lucky," Brill said. "They're worse than a goddamn forty-five, those low-caliber guns. Hit a man where there's real meat, the bullet hasn't got the force to exit. Ricochets around inside there like it's bouncing off furniture."

  "Yeah," Byrnes said, and nodded bleakly.

  "Lot of shooting tonight," Brill said. "You'd think it was the Fourth of July, 'stead of Halloween. Your man clean on that other one?"

  "I hope so," Byrnes said.

  "Four teenagers, Pete, the medialoves kids getting shot. What's the report on their condition?"

  I haven't checked it. I ran over here the minute hellip;"

  "Sure, I understand."

  Byrnes guessed he should have checked on those kids before he'd come over here mdash;not that he really caredhow they were,
except as their condition reflected on his squad. On his block, if you were looking for trouble with a cop, you should be happy you found it. But if Genero had pulled his gun without prudent care and reasonable cause, and if one of those punks died, or worse yet ended up a vegetable hellip;

  "How smart is he?" Brill asked.

  "Not very."

  " 'Cause they'll be coming at him, you know."

  "I realize that."

  "Where is he now?"

  "Still downtown. I think. I really don't know, Howie. I'm sorry, but when I heard about Meyer and Carella hellip;"

  "Sure, I understand," Brill said again.

  He was wondering which of the incidents would cause the Department the biggest headache. A dumb cop shooting four kids, or two dumb cops getting shot by midgets.

  "Midgets," he said aloud.

  "Yeah," Byrnes said.

  Tricky, he thought.

  I know that.

  Coming back to the same bar a fourth time.

  But that's part of the fun.

  Look the same, act the same, makes it more exciting that way. Big blond guy is who they're looking for, so Heeeeeere'sJohnny , folks! No description in the newspapers yet, but that's the cops playing it tricky, too.

  Tricks all around, he thought.

  Suits me fine.

  By now they're thinking psycho.

  Some guy who once had a traumatic experience with a hooker. Hates all hookers, is systematically eliminating them. They ought to boot up their computer, check with Kansas City. In Kansas City, it was only two of them. Well, when you're just starting, you start small, right? In Chicago, it was three. Good night, folks! Do my little song and dance in each city, listen to the newspaper and television applause, take my bow, and shuffle off to Buffalo. Slit their throats, carve up their pussies, the copshave to be thinking psycho. I'll do four of them here, he thought, and then move on. Two, three, four, a nice gradual escalation.

  Let the cops think psycho.

  A psycho acts compulsively, hears voices inside his head, thinks someone's commanding him to do what he's doing. Me, I never hear voices except when I'm listening to my Sony Walkman. Comedians. Walk along with the earphones on, listen to their jokes. Woody Alien, Bob Newhart, Bill Cosby, Henny Youngman hellip;

  Take my wife. Please.

  For our anniversary, my wife said she wanted to go someplace she'd never been. I said, How about the kitchen?

  My wife wanted a mink coat, and I wanted a new car. We compromised. I bought her a mink coat and we keep it in the garage.

  Walk along, listen to the comics, laugh out loud, people probably think I'm nuts. Who cares? There isn't anyonecommanding me to kill these girls mdash;

  Ooops, excuse me, I beg your parmigiana. Mustn't get the feminists on my back, they'd be worse to deal with than cops. Next city, maybe I'll do five. Get five of them and then move on. Two, three, four, five, nice arithmetical progression. Keep moving, keep having fun, just the way Mother wanted it. What's the sense of life if you can't enjoy it? Live a little, laugh a little, that's the thing. These women mdash;got it right that time, Ms. Steinem mdash;arefun to do.

  Try to dopethat one out, officers.

  Keep on looking for a psycho, go ahead.

  When all you're dealing with is somebody as sane as Sunday.

  Larry's Bar,

  Welcome home, he thought, and opened the door.

  "What'll it be?" Larry asked him.

  "This guy comes into a bar, has a little monkey on his shoulder."

  "Huh?" Larry said.

  "This is a joke," he said. "The bartender asks him 'What'll it be?' The guys says, 'Scotch on the rocks,' and the monkey says, 'Same for me.' The bartender looks at both of them and says, 'What are you, a ventriloquist?' The monkey says, 'Were my lips moving?' "

  "That's a joke, huh?" Larry said.

  "Gin and tonic," he said, and shrugged.

  "How about your monkey?"

  "My monkey's driving," he said.

  Larry blinked.

  "That's another joke."

  "Oh," Larry said, and looked at him. "You been in here before?"

  "Nope. First time."

  " 'Cause you look familiar."

  "People tell me I look like Robert Redford."

  "Nowthat's a joke," Larry said, and put the drink in front of him. "Gin and tonic, three bucks, a bargain."

  He paid for the drink, sat sipping it, eyes on the mirror.

  "Nice crop tonight, huh?" Larry said.

  "Maybe."

  "What are you looking for? We had a Chinese girl in here ten minutes ago. You dig Orientals?"

  "This samurai comes home from the wars," he said.

  "Is this another joke?"

  "His servant meets him at the gate, tells him his wife's been making it with a black man. The samurai runs upstairs, breaks down the bedroom door, yanks out his sword, yells, 'Whassa this I hear, you make it with a brack man?' His wife says, 'Where you hear such honkie jive?' "

  "I don't get it," Larry said.

  "I guess you had to be there."

  "Where?"

  "Forget it."

  "We got some nice black girls in here tonight, if that's what you're lookin' for."

  Larry was thinking about his twenty-percent commission. Drum up a little trade here.

  "This old man goes into a whorehouse hellip;"

  "This ain't a whorehouse," Larry said defensively.