it was worth
thirty bucks if I was willing to take the train up and the heap back. I told
him, no sir, I wanted forty-five or it was no deal. I knew I had him over a
barrel, you understand? He’d already told me he checked with the local hicks
and none of them felt like making the ride. So he said he would talk it over
with her and get back to me. Well, he called again . . . you know, it burns me
up about the phone company. They ain’t suppose to give out my number like that.
Suppose it was Marilyn Monroe? You think they’d give out her number? I’m gonna
raise a stink about this, believe me.”
“What
happened when he called you back.”
“Well,
he said she was willing to pay forty-five, but like could I wait until July sometime
when she would send me a check because she was a little short right at the
moment. So I figured what the hell, am I going to get stiffed by a dame who’s
driving a 1960 Caddy? I figured I could trust her until July. But I also told
him, if that was the case, then I also wanted her to pay the tolls on the way
back, which I don’t ordinarily ask my customers to do. That’s what the
seventy-five cents was for. The tolls.”
“So you
took the train up there and then drove Miss Davis and the Cadillac back to the
city, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“I
suppose she was pretty distraught on the trip home.”
“Huh?”
“You,
know. Not too coherent.”
“Huh?”
“Broken
up. Crying. Hysterical,” Carella said.
“No.
No, she was okay.”
“Well,
what I mean is . . .” Carella hesitated. “I assumed she wasn’t capable of
driving the car back herself.”
“Yeah,
that’s right. That’s why she hired me.”
“Well,
then . . .”
“But
not because she was broken up or anything.”
“Then
why?” Carella frowned. “Was there a lot of luggage? Did she need your help with
that?”
“Yeah,
sure. Both hers and her cousin’s. Her cousin drowned, you know.”
“Yes. I
know that.”
“But
anybody coulda helped her with her luggage,” Oblinsky said. “No, that wasn’t
why she hired me. She really needed me, mister.”
“Why?”
“Why?
Because she don’t know how to drive, that’s why.”
Carella
stared at him. “You’re wrong,” he said.
“Oh,
no,” Oblinsky said. “She can’t drive, believe me. While I was putting the
luggage in the trunk, I asked her to start the car, and she didn’t even know
how to do that. Hey, you think I ought to raise a fuss with the phone company?”
“I don’t
know,” Carella said, rising suddenly. All at once the check made out to
Claudia Davis’ hairdresser seemed terribly important to him. He had almost run
out of checks, but all at once he had an idea.
* * * *
13
The hairdresser’s salon was on
South Twenty-third, just off Jefferson Avenue. A green canopy covered the
sidewalk outside the salon. The words ARTURO MANFREDI, INC., were lettered
discreetly in white on the canopy. A glass plaque in the window repeated the
name of the establishment and added, for the benefit of those who did not read
either Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar that there were two branches of
the shop, one here in Isola and another in “Nassau, the Bahamas.” Beneath that,
in smaller, more modest letters, were the words “Internationally Renowned.”
Carella and Hawes went into the shop at four-thirty in the afternoon. Two
meticulously coifed and manicured women were sitting in the small reception
room, their expensively sleek legs crossed, apparently awaiting either their
chauffeurs, their husbands, or their lovers. They both looked up expectantly
when the detectives entered, expressed mild disappointment by only slightly
raising newly plucked eyebrows, and went back to reading their fashion
magazines. Carella and Hawes walked to the desk. The girl behind the desk was a
blonde with a brilliant shellacked look and an English finishing
thirty bucks if I was willing to take the train up and the heap back. I told
him, no sir, I wanted forty-five or it was no deal. I knew I had him over a
barrel, you understand? He’d already told me he checked with the local hicks
and none of them felt like making the ride. So he said he would talk it over
with her and get back to me. Well, he called again . . . you know, it burns me
up about the phone company. They ain’t suppose to give out my number like that.
Suppose it was Marilyn Monroe? You think they’d give out her number? I’m gonna
raise a stink about this, believe me.”
“What
happened when he called you back.”
“Well,
he said she was willing to pay forty-five, but like could I wait until July sometime
when she would send me a check because she was a little short right at the
moment. So I figured what the hell, am I going to get stiffed by a dame who’s
driving a 1960 Caddy? I figured I could trust her until July. But I also told
him, if that was the case, then I also wanted her to pay the tolls on the way
back, which I don’t ordinarily ask my customers to do. That’s what the
seventy-five cents was for. The tolls.”
“So you
took the train up there and then drove Miss Davis and the Cadillac back to the
city, is that right?”
“Yeah.”
“I
suppose she was pretty distraught on the trip home.”
“Huh?”
“You,
know. Not too coherent.”
“Huh?”
“Broken
up. Crying. Hysterical,” Carella said.
“No.
No, she was okay.”
“Well,
what I mean is . . .” Carella hesitated. “I assumed she wasn’t capable of
driving the car back herself.”
“Yeah,
that’s right. That’s why she hired me.”
“Well,
then . . .”
“But
not because she was broken up or anything.”
“Then
why?” Carella frowned. “Was there a lot of luggage? Did she need your help with
that?”
“Yeah,
sure. Both hers and her cousin’s. Her cousin drowned, you know.”
“Yes. I
know that.”
“But
anybody coulda helped her with her luggage,” Oblinsky said. “No, that wasn’t
why she hired me. She really needed me, mister.”
“Why?”
“Why?
Because she don’t know how to drive, that’s why.”
Carella
stared at him. “You’re wrong,” he said.
“Oh,
no,” Oblinsky said. “She can’t drive, believe me. While I was putting the
luggage in the trunk, I asked her to start the car, and she didn’t even know
how to do that. Hey, you think I ought to raise a fuss with the phone company?”
“I don’t
know,” Carella said, rising suddenly. All at once the check made out to
Claudia Davis’ hairdresser seemed terribly important to him. He had almost run
out of checks, but all at once he had an idea.
* * * *
13
The hairdresser’s salon was on
South Twenty-third, just off Jefferson Avenue. A green canopy covered the
sidewalk outside the salon. The words ARTURO MANFREDI, INC., were lettered
discreetly in white on the canopy. A glass plaque in the window repeated the
name of the establishment and added, for the benefit of those who did not read
either Vogue or Harper’s Bazaar that there were two branches of
the shop, one here in Isola and another in “Nassau, the Bahamas.” Beneath that,
in smaller, more modest letters, were the words “Internationally Renowned.”
Carella and Hawes went into the shop at four-thirty in the afternoon. Two
meticulously coifed and manicured women were sitting in the small reception
room, their expensively sleek legs crossed, apparently awaiting either their
chauffeurs, their husbands, or their lovers. They both looked up expectantly
when the detectives entered, expressed mild disappointment by only slightly
raising newly plucked eyebrows, and went back to reading their fashion
magazines. Carella and Hawes walked to the desk. The girl behind the desk was a
blonde with a brilliant shellacked look and an English finishing
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