Read Online Keller 05 - Hit Me by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lawrence Block
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strangers—would actually greet you in passing with a smile and a kind word. The ones who didn’t might well draw a gun and hold you up, post-Katrina street crime being a definite problem, but among the law-abiding citizenry you were apt to encounter a high level of politeness and genuine warmth. “Lovely morning, innit?” “Just grand! And how are y’all keeping this fine day?”
New York was at least as much of a city for walkers, to the point where Keller couldn’t understand why some people lived in the city and still felt compelled to own cars. The sidewalks might not be as quaintly friendly as those of New Orleans—there was, after all, good reason for the popularity of the line “Can you tell me how to get to the Empire State Building or should I just go fuck myself?”—but nevertheless it was a walker’s city, and Keller didn’t have to think about it. He left his hotel and started walking.
After his shower, he’d checked in the mirror to see if he needed a shave. He’d decided he could wait until morning, and looked a moment longer at the face Irv Feldspar had been able to recognize. It had changed some since Feldspar (or anyone else in New York) had last had a look at it. Back then his hair had been dark brown, almost black, and it had grown further down on his forehead. When he surfaced in New Orleans, with his face in newspapers and on TV, not to mention on post office walls, he wore a cap all the time, and tried to figure out how to dye his hair gray.
Julia had dyed his hair for him, not gray but a sort of tan shade she called mouse brown. And she had cut his hair short, and had given him a receding hairline. He’d had to shave the stubble where the hairline grew back, but he didn’t have to do that anymore, as Time had worked its own barbering tricks on him. Julia still touched up the dye job periodically, but the dark roots she’d had to lighten were now evolving into gray roots she needed to color.
And yet for all that transformation, worked by Julia and by the years, a guy Keller didn’t recall at all had placed him immediately. Of course he’d seen him in context, he knew him from one stamp auction and recognized him at another, so if they’d run into each other on a subway platform, say, Feldspar might not have given him a second glance.
If he had, Keller could have thrown him in front of a train.
“You may have read about the case,” Dot said. “Or caught it on the evening news. Political corruption in northern New Jersey.”
“I’m shocked,” Keller said.
“I know. It’s almost impossible to believe. Elected public officials taking bribes, laundering money, selling kidneys—”
“Selling kidneys?”
“So I understand, though who’d want to buy a politician’s kidney is a question I’d be hard put to answer. You must have seen something in the paper or on TV.”
“In New Orleans,” he told her, “we don’t pay much mind to political corruption in faraway places.”
“Y’all like to eat your own cooking?”
“There you go,” he said.
“A lot of people got arrested, Keller, and a couple of them went so far as to resign, but most of them are out on bail and still collecting their municipal paychecks. But it looks as though they’ll all have to step down sooner or later, and the abbot will probably have to give up his position, and—”
“The abbot?”
“Well, I don’t see how he can go on heading the monastery.”
“There’s an abbot heading a monastery?”
“Keller, that’s what they do. Not all of them can be partners with Lou Costello.” She paused, and he realized too late that she’d been waiting for him to laugh. When he didn’t, she said, “I don’t know how any of this works. I guess he can go on being a monk, unless he gets defrocked. And as for the other monks, well, I guess they’ll go on doing what they do. What do they do, anyway?”
“Pray,” Keller guessed. “Bake bread. Make
New York was at least as much of a city for walkers, to the point where Keller couldn’t understand why some people lived in the city and still felt compelled to own cars. The sidewalks might not be as quaintly friendly as those of New Orleans—there was, after all, good reason for the popularity of the line “Can you tell me how to get to the Empire State Building or should I just go fuck myself?”—but nevertheless it was a walker’s city, and Keller didn’t have to think about it. He left his hotel and started walking.
After his shower, he’d checked in the mirror to see if he needed a shave. He’d decided he could wait until morning, and looked a moment longer at the face Irv Feldspar had been able to recognize. It had changed some since Feldspar (or anyone else in New York) had last had a look at it. Back then his hair had been dark brown, almost black, and it had grown further down on his forehead. When he surfaced in New Orleans, with his face in newspapers and on TV, not to mention on post office walls, he wore a cap all the time, and tried to figure out how to dye his hair gray.
Julia had dyed his hair for him, not gray but a sort of tan shade she called mouse brown. And she had cut his hair short, and had given him a receding hairline. He’d had to shave the stubble where the hairline grew back, but he didn’t have to do that anymore, as Time had worked its own barbering tricks on him. Julia still touched up the dye job periodically, but the dark roots she’d had to lighten were now evolving into gray roots she needed to color.
And yet for all that transformation, worked by Julia and by the years, a guy Keller didn’t recall at all had placed him immediately. Of course he’d seen him in context, he knew him from one stamp auction and recognized him at another, so if they’d run into each other on a subway platform, say, Feldspar might not have given him a second glance.
If he had, Keller could have thrown him in front of a train.
“You may have read about the case,” Dot said. “Or caught it on the evening news. Political corruption in northern New Jersey.”
“I’m shocked,” Keller said.
“I know. It’s almost impossible to believe. Elected public officials taking bribes, laundering money, selling kidneys—”
“Selling kidneys?”
“So I understand, though who’d want to buy a politician’s kidney is a question I’d be hard put to answer. You must have seen something in the paper or on TV.”
“In New Orleans,” he told her, “we don’t pay much mind to political corruption in faraway places.”
“Y’all like to eat your own cooking?”
“There you go,” he said.
“A lot of people got arrested, Keller, and a couple of them went so far as to resign, but most of them are out on bail and still collecting their municipal paychecks. But it looks as though they’ll all have to step down sooner or later, and the abbot will probably have to give up his position, and—”
“The abbot?”
“Well, I don’t see how he can go on heading the monastery.”
“There’s an abbot heading a monastery?”
“Keller, that’s what they do. Not all of them can be partners with Lou Costello.” She paused, and he realized too late that she’d been waiting for him to laugh. When he didn’t, she said, “I don’t know how any of this works. I guess he can go on being a monk, unless he gets defrocked. And as for the other monks, well, I guess they’ll go on doing what they do. What do they do, anyway?”
“Pray,” Keller guessed. “Bake bread. Make
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