by Ed McBain
"She was a schoolteacher, you know, my mother, did I tell you that?"
Only a hundred times, Eileen thought.
"Put him through medical school, left me with Elga all the while I was growing up, well, listen, I don't blame her for that. She was teaching to support the family, you know, that was a lot of responsibility. Do you know the one about the kindergarten teacher who gets the obscene phone call? She picks up the phone, she says, 'Hello?' and the voice on the other end says, 'Doo-doo, pee-pee, ca-ca,' well, that's an old one, you probably heard it. My mother didn't teach kindergarten, she was a high school teacher, worked in a tough school, long, hard hours, sometimes didn't get home till six or seven, had to correct papers all night long, Ihated Elga. But what I'm saying, responsibility is a two-way street. If my father was laying Elga, maybe part of the fault was my mother's, do you see what I mean? She always said she hated teaching, but then why did she take it so seriously? Her sense of responsibility, sure. But shouldn't she have been responsible to her husband, too? To her son? Shouldn't she have taken care ofour needs, too? I mean, shit, teaching didn't have to become anobsession with her, did it?"
I don't want to be your shrink, Eileen thought. I don't want to hear anything else about you, make your goddamn move!
But he wouldn't stop talking.
"Children sense things, don't you think?" he said. "I must haveknown something was wrong in that house. My father yelling at me all the time, my mother never there, there was tension in that house, you could cut it with a knife."
Silence.
She watched him on the bed.
Hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling.
"I'll tell you the truth, I sometimes felt like killing her."
More silence.
Here it comes, Eileen thought.
"When I was a kid," he said.
And the silence lengthened.
"Fucking dedicated schoolteacher," he said.
She watched him.
"Ignoring the people who loved her."
Kept watching him. Ready. Waiting.
"I tried to make sense of it later, after she died. Left me all that money. This is for Robert's freedom to risk enjoying life. That was guilt talking, wasn't it? That was her guilt for having ignored us both."
Silence again.
"Do you know what she did once? Elga?"
"What did she do?"
"I was eight years old."
"What did she do?"
"She took off her bloomers."
Bloomers. A child's expression.
"Showed herself to me."
Silence.
"I ran away from her and locked myself in the bathroom."
Silence.
"My mother found me in there when she got home from school. Elga said I'd been a bad boy. Told my mother I'd locked myself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out. My mother asked me why I'd done that. Elga was standing right there. I said I was afraid of the lightning. It was raining that day. Elga smiled. The next time we were alone together, she hellip; she hellip; forced me to hellip;"
He sat up suddenly.
"Do you know the one about the guy who goes into a sex shop to buy a merkin? The clerk says, 'Did you want this sent, sir, or will you take it with you?' The guy says, 'No, I'll just eat it here.' " He laughed harshly and abruptly and then said, "How would you like me to eatyour pussy?"
"Sure," she said.
"Then take off your bloomers."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed.
"Come over here and take off your bloomers."
"You come here," Eileen said.
He stood up.
He put his right hand in his pocket.
She thought Yes, take out the knife, you son of a bitch.
And then she thought No, don't, Bobby.
And was suddenly confused again.
"Bobby," she said wearily, "I'm a cop."
"Sure," he said, "a cop."
"I don't want to hurt you," she said.
"Then don't bullshit me!" he said angrily. "I've had enough bullshit in my life!"
"I'm a cop," she said, and took the gun out of her bag, and leveled it at him. "Let's go find some help for you, okay?"
He looked at her. A smile cracked over his face.
"Is this a trick?" he said.
"No trick. I'm a cop. Let's go, okay?"
"Go where? Where do you want to go, baby?" He was still smiling.
But his hand was still in his pocket.
"Find some people you can talk to," she said.
"About what? There's nothing I have to say to hellip;"
"Put the knife on the floor, Bobby,"
She was standing now, almost in a policeman's crouch, the gun still leveled at him.
"What knife?" he said.
"The knife in your pocket, Bobby. Put it on the floor."
*'I don't have a knife," he said.
"You have a knife, Bobby. Put it on the floor."
He took the knife out of his pocket.
"Good, now put it on the floor," she said.
"Suppose I don't?" he said.
"I know you will, Bobby."
"Suppose I lock myself in the bathroom instead?"
"No, you won't do that, Bobby. You're going to put the knife on the floor hellip;"
"Like a good little boy, huh?"
"Bobby hellip; I'm not your mother, I'm not Elga, I'm not going to hurt you. Just drop the knife on the floor hellip;"
"Listen to the shrink," he said. "You're a fuckinghooker is what you are, who the fuck do you think you're kidding?"
"Bobby, please drop the knife."
"Say pretty please," he said, and the blade snicked open.
The gun was in her hand, she had him cold.
"Don't move," she said.
The policeman's crouch more defined now, more deliberate.
He took a step toward her.
"I'm warning you, don't move!"
"Do you know the one about the guy who goes into a bank to hold it up? He sticks the gun in the teller's face and says, 'Don't muss a moovle, this is a fuck-up!' "
Another step toward her.
"This isn't fun anymore," he said, and sliced the knife across the air between them.
"Whoosh," he said.
And came at her.
Her first bullet took him in the chest, knocking him backward toward the bed. She fired again almost at once, hitting him in the shoulder this time, spinning him around, and then she fired a third time, shooting him in the back, knocking him over onto the bed, and then mdash;she would never understand why mdash;she kept shooting into his lifeless body, watching the eruptions of blood along his spine, saying over and over again, "I gave you a chance, I gave you a chance," until the gun was empty.
Then she threw the gun across the room and began screaming.
Some people never change.
Genero didn't even seem to know she couldn't hear him.
He was there at the hospital to tell Carella what a hero he'd been, shooting four teenagers who'd firebombed a building.
He sat in the hallway talking to Teddy, who was praying her husband wouldn't die, praying her husband wasn't already dead.
" hellip; and all at once they came running out," he said, "Steve would've been proud of me. They threw the firebomb at me, but that didn't scare me, I hellip;"
A doctor in a green surgical gown was coming down the hallway.
There was blood on the gown.
She caught her breath.
"Mrs. Carella?" he said.
She read his lips.
At first she thought he said, "We shot him."
A puzzled look crossed her face.
He repeated it.
"We got it," he said.
She let out her breath.
"He'll be okay," the doctor said.
"He'll be okay," Genero repeated.
She nodded.
And then she cupped her hands to her face and began weeping.
/> Genero just sat there.
Annie talked to him in the hallway of the Seven-Two.
"The landlady called 911 because somebody was screaming upstairs," she said. "She caters to hookers, she wouldn't have called unless she thought it was very serious."
Kling nodded.
"She quieted down just a little while ago. She's down the hall in Interrogation. I'm not sure you ought to talk to her."
"Why not?" Kling said.
"I'm just not sure," Annie said.
He went down the hall.
He opened the door.
She was sitting at the long table in the Interrogation Room, the two-way mirror behind her. Just sitting there. Looking at her hands.
"I'm sorry if I screwed it up," he said.
"You didn't."
He sat opposite her.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
"No," she said.
He looked at her.
"I'm quitting," she said.
"What do you mean?"
"The force."
"No, you're not."
"I'm quitting, Bert. I don't like what it did to me, what it keeps doing to me."
"Eileen, you hellip;"
"I'm quitting this city, too."
"Eileen hellip;"
"This fucking city," she said, and shook her head.
He reached for her hand. She pulled it away.
"No," she said.
"What about me?" he said.
"What about me?" she said.
The phone rang at a little past two in the morning.
She picked up the receiver.
"Peaches?" the voice said. "This is Phil Hendricks at Camera Works, we talked earlier tonight."
Him again!
"What I want you to do," he said, "I want you to take off your blouse and go look at yourself in the mirror. Then I want you to hellip;"
"Listen, you creep," she said, "if you call me one more time hellip;"
"This is Andy Parker," he said. "I'm in a phone booth on the corner. Is it too late to come up?"
"You dope," she said.
It was the last trick of the night.
>
FB2 document info
Document ID: 04c6bc4a-98e0-4dbd-b0a1-2cc991123010
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 10.10.2013
Created using: calibre 0.9.22, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software
Document authors :
Ed McBain
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