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Authors: Robert Crais
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mailboxes with little masking-tape tags for names and apartment numbers, only Brownell wasn’t one of the names on the directory and the names on the masking tape had faded to oblivion. I said, “Any of you guys know Wilson Brownell?”
The one with the cap said, “Sure. He comes in all the time.”
“You know which apartment he’s in?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s apartment B. On the second floor.” You see how friendly it is in Seattle?
I took the stairs two at a time, then went along the hall looking for B. I found it, but the apartment across the hall was open and an older woman with frizzy hair was perched inside on an overstuffed chair, squinting out at me. She was clutching a TV remote the size of a cop’s baton and watching C-SPAN. I gave her a smile. “Hi.”
She squinted harder.
I couldn’t hear anything inside Brownell’s apartment. No radio, no TV, no voices making furtive plans, just the C-SPAN and street noises. It was an older building without air-conditioning, so there would be open windows. I knocked, and then I rang his bell.
The woman said, “He’s at work, ya dope.” Just like that,
ya dope
. “Middle’a the day, any worthwhile man finds himself at work.” Eyeing me like that’s where I should be.
She was maybe seventy, but she might’ve been eighty, with leathery ochre skin and salt-and-pepper hair that went straight up and back like the Bride of Frankenstein. She was wearing a thin cotton housecoat and floppy slippers and she was pointing the remote at me. Maybe trying to make me disappear.
“Sorry if I disturbed you.” I gave her my relaxed smile, the one that says I’m just a regular guy going about a regular guy’s business, then made a big deal out of checking my watch. “I could’ve sworn he said to come by at two.” It was six minutes before two. “Do you know what time he’s due back?” The World’s Greatest Detective swings into full detection mode to fake out the Housebound Old Lady.
The squint softened, and she waved the remote. Inside, congressional voices disappeared. “Not till five-thirty, quarter to six, something like that.”
“Wow, that’s a lot later than I planned.” I shook my head and tried for a concerned disappointment. “An old buddy of ours is in town and we’re supposed to get together. I wonder if he’s been around.” For all I knew Clark was inside asleep on the couch. You cast a line, you hope for a bite.
She made herself huffy. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t spy on people.”
“Of course.”
“People come and people go. You’re old and livin’ alone, no one gives you the time a day.” She went back to C-SPAN, and now I could smell cat litter and turnips.
“Well, he’s a little shorter than me, thinner, glasses, a hairline back to here.”
She turned up the sound and waved the remote. “People come, people go.”
I nodded, Mr. Understanding, Mr. Of-Course-I-Wouldn’t-Expect-You-to-Remember. Then I slapped my head and made like I’d just realized that I was the world’s biggest moron. “Jeez, he must’ve wanted me to meet him at work! I’ll bet we’re supposed to meet there, then go out! Of course!” The World’s Greatest Detective employs the Relatable Human Failing technique in an effort to cultivate rapport.
The woman frowned at her television, then muted the sound again. “What a bullshit story.”
“Excuse me?”
Her face cracked into a thin, angry smile that said she was as sharp as a straight razor, and if a guy like me didn’t watch out she would hand back his head. “If there’s something you wanna know, just ask. You don’t have to make up a bullshit story about old friends getting together. What a crock!”
I smiled again, but now the smile was saying, okay, you nailed me. “Sorry about that.” Shown up by the Bride of Frankenstein.
She made a little shrug, like it wasn’t a big thing. “You hadda try, you just went too far with it. A guy making out as nice as you wouldn’t be
The one with the cap said, “Sure. He comes in all the time.”
“You know which apartment he’s in?”
“I’m pretty sure it’s apartment B. On the second floor.” You see how friendly it is in Seattle?
I took the stairs two at a time, then went along the hall looking for B. I found it, but the apartment across the hall was open and an older woman with frizzy hair was perched inside on an overstuffed chair, squinting out at me. She was clutching a TV remote the size of a cop’s baton and watching C-SPAN. I gave her a smile. “Hi.”
She squinted harder.
I couldn’t hear anything inside Brownell’s apartment. No radio, no TV, no voices making furtive plans, just the C-SPAN and street noises. It was an older building without air-conditioning, so there would be open windows. I knocked, and then I rang his bell.
The woman said, “He’s at work, ya dope.” Just like that,
ya dope
. “Middle’a the day, any worthwhile man finds himself at work.” Eyeing me like that’s where I should be.
She was maybe seventy, but she might’ve been eighty, with leathery ochre skin and salt-and-pepper hair that went straight up and back like the Bride of Frankenstein. She was wearing a thin cotton housecoat and floppy slippers and she was pointing the remote at me. Maybe trying to make me disappear.
“Sorry if I disturbed you.” I gave her my relaxed smile, the one that says I’m just a regular guy going about a regular guy’s business, then made a big deal out of checking my watch. “I could’ve sworn he said to come by at two.” It was six minutes before two. “Do you know what time he’s due back?” The World’s Greatest Detective swings into full detection mode to fake out the Housebound Old Lady.
The squint softened, and she waved the remote. Inside, congressional voices disappeared. “Not till five-thirty, quarter to six, something like that.”
“Wow, that’s a lot later than I planned.” I shook my head and tried for a concerned disappointment. “An old buddy of ours is in town and we’re supposed to get together. I wonder if he’s been around.” For all I knew Clark was inside asleep on the couch. You cast a line, you hope for a bite.
She made herself huffy. “I wouldn’t know. I don’t spy on people.”
“Of course.”
“People come and people go. You’re old and livin’ alone, no one gives you the time a day.” She went back to C-SPAN, and now I could smell cat litter and turnips.
“Well, he’s a little shorter than me, thinner, glasses, a hairline back to here.”
She turned up the sound and waved the remote. “People come, people go.”
I nodded, Mr. Understanding, Mr. Of-Course-I-Wouldn’t-Expect-You-to-Remember. Then I slapped my head and made like I’d just realized that I was the world’s biggest moron. “Jeez, he must’ve wanted me to meet him at work! I’ll bet we’re supposed to meet there, then go out! Of course!” The World’s Greatest Detective employs the Relatable Human Failing technique in an effort to cultivate rapport.
The woman frowned at her television, then muted the sound again. “What a bullshit story.”
“Excuse me?”
Her face cracked into a thin, angry smile that said she was as sharp as a straight razor, and if a guy like me didn’t watch out she would hand back his head. “If there’s something you wanna know, just ask. You don’t have to make up a bullshit story about old friends getting together. What a crock!”
I smiled again, but now the smile was saying, okay, you nailed me. “Sorry about that.” Shown up by the Bride of Frankenstein.
She made a little shrug, like it wasn’t a big thing. “You hadda try, you just went too far with it. A guy making out as nice as you wouldn’t be
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