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Authors: Donald E. Westlake
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very contrite. She met my eye in the mirror and said, “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry,” I said. “You threatened me with a gun, you shot a hole in the roof, you accused me of all sorts of things, and now you’re sorry. Sit back!” I shouted, because she’d started to lean forward, her hand reaching for my shoulder, and I didn’t trust her an inch. That contrite look and little-girl voice could all be a gag.
She sat back. “It made sense,” she said, “before I saw you. Before we had our talk. But now I believe you.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Because,” she said, “if you were having an affair with Louise, and if you did help her kill Tommy, you wouldn’t dare leave me alive now. You couldn’t take a chance on having me running around loose.”
“I can’t take a chance on having you running around loose,” I said. “That’s why we’re on our way to the cops.”
She acted like she wanted to lean forward again, butcontrolled herself. “Please don’t,” she said. “I was desperate, and I did foolish things, but please don’t turn me up.”
Up? Most people would say “turn me in, ” given the situation; “turn me up” was a very insidey gangland way of saying the same thing. And come to think of it, that wasn’t the first odd thing she’d said. Like quoting me twelve to one on my having helped kill her brother. Like talking about seeing who was bluffing when I said I’d take her to the cops.
It looked like she was really Tommy’s sister.
And that might mean, it suddenly occurred to me, that she might know who Tommy’s boss was. Maybe I wouldn’t have to look for Tommy’s wife at all anymore.
This part of Flatlands Avenue is lined with junkyards with wobbly wooden fences. I pulled to the side of the road, next to one of these fences, and stopped the car. Then I turned around and said to her, “I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
She got the instant wary look of the gambler in her eye. “What kind of a deal?”
“There’s something I want to know,” I told her. “You tell me and I’ll forget the whole thing. I’ll let you out of the cab and that’ll be the end of it.”
“What do you want to know?” She was still wary.
“I’ll give you the background first,” I said, and quickly sketched in the incident of Purple Pecunia. I left out the business about the hoods last night, seeing no purpose in opening that can of worms right now, and finished by saying, “So what I want to know is, who do I collect from now that I can’t collect from your brother?”
“Oh,” she said. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around the apartment?”
“I haven’t exactly been hanging around,” I said. “I’ve been over there a couple times is all.”
“Three times yesterday and once today,” she said. “I’ve been waiting in the apartment for Louise to show up so I could confront her—”
“With the gun?”
“With the fact that I know she’s guilty,” she said fiercely.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I told her. “Nobody on earth could do an acting job like that. When Tommy’s wife saw him dead there, she had hysterics, and I mean hysterics.”
“It could have been guilt,” she said. “And nervousness.”
“Sure,” I said. “Only it wasn’t.”
“Then why did she disappear?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe she’s staying with some relative, maybe she doesn’t want to be around the apartment now.”
She shook her head. “No. I called both her brothers and they don’t know where she is either. And I had to make all the arrangements for the funeral and the wake myself.”
“Wake? When?”
“It starts this evening,” she said. “At six.” She looked at her watch.
I said, “What time is it?”
She looked at her watch again. Did you ever notice how people do that? They look at their watch and a second later you ask them what time it is and they don’t know. She said, “Twenty after four.”
I said, “I’m losing a whole
“You’re sorry,” I said. “You threatened me with a gun, you shot a hole in the roof, you accused me of all sorts of things, and now you’re sorry. Sit back!” I shouted, because she’d started to lean forward, her hand reaching for my shoulder, and I didn’t trust her an inch. That contrite look and little-girl voice could all be a gag.
She sat back. “It made sense,” she said, “before I saw you. Before we had our talk. But now I believe you.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Because,” she said, “if you were having an affair with Louise, and if you did help her kill Tommy, you wouldn’t dare leave me alive now. You couldn’t take a chance on having me running around loose.”
“I can’t take a chance on having you running around loose,” I said. “That’s why we’re on our way to the cops.”
She acted like she wanted to lean forward again, butcontrolled herself. “Please don’t,” she said. “I was desperate, and I did foolish things, but please don’t turn me up.”
Up? Most people would say “turn me in, ” given the situation; “turn me up” was a very insidey gangland way of saying the same thing. And come to think of it, that wasn’t the first odd thing she’d said. Like quoting me twelve to one on my having helped kill her brother. Like talking about seeing who was bluffing when I said I’d take her to the cops.
It looked like she was really Tommy’s sister.
And that might mean, it suddenly occurred to me, that she might know who Tommy’s boss was. Maybe I wouldn’t have to look for Tommy’s wife at all anymore.
This part of Flatlands Avenue is lined with junkyards with wobbly wooden fences. I pulled to the side of the road, next to one of these fences, and stopped the car. Then I turned around and said to her, “I tell you what. I’ll make you a deal.”
She got the instant wary look of the gambler in her eye. “What kind of a deal?”
“There’s something I want to know,” I told her. “You tell me and I’ll forget the whole thing. I’ll let you out of the cab and that’ll be the end of it.”
“What do you want to know?” She was still wary.
“I’ll give you the background first,” I said, and quickly sketched in the incident of Purple Pecunia. I left out the business about the hoods last night, seeing no purpose in opening that can of worms right now, and finished by saying, “So what I want to know is, who do I collect from now that I can’t collect from your brother?”
“Oh,” she said. “Is that why you’ve been hanging around the apartment?”
“I haven’t exactly been hanging around,” I said. “I’ve been over there a couple times is all.”
“Three times yesterday and once today,” she said. “I’ve been waiting in the apartment for Louise to show up so I could confront her—”
“With the gun?”
“With the fact that I know she’s guilty,” she said fiercely.
“Well, you’re wrong,” I told her. “Nobody on earth could do an acting job like that. When Tommy’s wife saw him dead there, she had hysterics, and I mean hysterics.”
“It could have been guilt,” she said. “And nervousness.”
“Sure,” I said. “Only it wasn’t.”
“Then why did she disappear?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe she’s staying with some relative, maybe she doesn’t want to be around the apartment now.”
She shook her head. “No. I called both her brothers and they don’t know where she is either. And I had to make all the arrangements for the funeral and the wake myself.”
“Wake? When?”
“It starts this evening,” she said. “At six.” She looked at her watch.
I said, “What time is it?”
She looked at her watch again. Did you ever notice how people do that? They look at their watch and a second later you ask them what time it is and they don’t know. She said, “Twenty after four.”
I said, “I’m losing a whole
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