Read Online Time to Murder and Create by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online
Authors: Lawrence Block
Ads: Link
conversations resumed once it was established that she wasn't up for grabs.
She slid her coat off her shoulders and onto the back of her chair. She was wearing a hot-pink sweater.
It was a good color for her, and an excellent fit. She took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her handbag. This time she didn't wait for me to light her cigarette. She drew in a lot of smoke, blew it out in a thin column, and watched with evident interest as it ascended toward the ceiling.
When the waitress came over she ordered gin and tonic. "I'm rushing the season," she said. "It's really too cold out for summer drinks. But I'm such a warm person emotionally that I can carry it off, don't you think?"
"Whatever you say, Mrs. Ethridge."
"Why do you keep forgetting my first name? Blackmailers shouldn't be so formal with their victims. It's easy for me to call you Matt. Why can't you call me Beverly?"
I shrugged. I didn't really know the answer myself. It was hard to be sure what was my own reaction to her and what was a part of the role I was playing. I didn't call herBeverly largely because she wanted me to, but that was an answer that only led to another question.
Her drink came. She put out her cigarette, sipped her gin and tonic. She breathed deeply, and her breasts rose and fell within the pink sweater.
"Matt?"
"What?"
"I've been trying to figure out a way to raise the money."
"Good."
"It's going to take me some time."
I played them all the same way, and they all came back with the same response. Everybody was rich and nobody could get a few dollars together. Maybe the country was in trouble, maybe the economy was as bad as everybody said it was.
"Matt?"
"I need the money right away."
"You son of a bitch, don't you think I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible? The only way I could get the money is from Kermit, and I can't tell him what I need it for." She lowered her eyes.
"Anyway, he hasn't got it."
"I thought he had more money than God."
She shook her head. "Not yet. He has an income, and it's substantial, but he doesn't come into the principal until he's thirty-five."
"When does that happen?"
"In October. That's his birthday. The Ethridge money is all tied up in a trust that terminates when the youngest child turns thirty-five."
"He's the youngest?"
"That's right. He'll come into the money in October. That's in six months.
I've decided, I've even mentioned it to him, that I'd like to have some money of my own. So that I won't be dependent upon him to the extent that I am now. That's the kind of request he can understand, and he's more or less agreed to it. So in October he'll give me money. I don't know how much, but it will certainly be more than fifty thousand dollars, and then I'll be able to work things out with you."
"In October."
"Yes."
"You won't have money in your hands then, though. There'll be a lot of paperwork involved. October's six months from now, and it'll be another six months easy before you've got cash in hand."
"Will it really take that long?"
"Easily. So we're not talking about six months, we're talking about a year, and that's too long. Even six months is too long. Hell, one month is too long, Mrs.
Ethridge. I want to get out of this town."
"Why?"
"I don't like the climate."
"But spring's here. These areNew York 's best months, Matt."
"I still don't like it."
She closed her eyes, and I studied her face in repose. The lighting in the room was perfect for her, paired electric candles glowing against the red flecked wallpaper. At the bar, one of the men got to his feet, picked up some of the change in front of him, and headed for the door. On the way out he said something, and one of the women laughed loudly. Another man entered the bar. Somebody put money in
the jukebox, and Lesley Gore said it was her party and she would cry if she wanted to.
"You've got to give me time," she said.
"I haven't got it to give."
"Why do you have to get out ofNew York ? What are you
She slid her coat off her shoulders and onto the back of her chair. She was wearing a hot-pink sweater.
It was a good color for her, and an excellent fit. She took a pack of cigarettes and a lighter from her handbag. This time she didn't wait for me to light her cigarette. She drew in a lot of smoke, blew it out in a thin column, and watched with evident interest as it ascended toward the ceiling.
When the waitress came over she ordered gin and tonic. "I'm rushing the season," she said. "It's really too cold out for summer drinks. But I'm such a warm person emotionally that I can carry it off, don't you think?"
"Whatever you say, Mrs. Ethridge."
"Why do you keep forgetting my first name? Blackmailers shouldn't be so formal with their victims. It's easy for me to call you Matt. Why can't you call me Beverly?"
I shrugged. I didn't really know the answer myself. It was hard to be sure what was my own reaction to her and what was a part of the role I was playing. I didn't call herBeverly largely because she wanted me to, but that was an answer that only led to another question.
Her drink came. She put out her cigarette, sipped her gin and tonic. She breathed deeply, and her breasts rose and fell within the pink sweater.
"Matt?"
"What?"
"I've been trying to figure out a way to raise the money."
"Good."
"It's going to take me some time."
I played them all the same way, and they all came back with the same response. Everybody was rich and nobody could get a few dollars together. Maybe the country was in trouble, maybe the economy was as bad as everybody said it was.
"Matt?"
"I need the money right away."
"You son of a bitch, don't you think I'd like to get this over with as soon as possible? The only way I could get the money is from Kermit, and I can't tell him what I need it for." She lowered her eyes.
"Anyway, he hasn't got it."
"I thought he had more money than God."
She shook her head. "Not yet. He has an income, and it's substantial, but he doesn't come into the principal until he's thirty-five."
"When does that happen?"
"In October. That's his birthday. The Ethridge money is all tied up in a trust that terminates when the youngest child turns thirty-five."
"He's the youngest?"
"That's right. He'll come into the money in October. That's in six months.
I've decided, I've even mentioned it to him, that I'd like to have some money of my own. So that I won't be dependent upon him to the extent that I am now. That's the kind of request he can understand, and he's more or less agreed to it. So in October he'll give me money. I don't know how much, but it will certainly be more than fifty thousand dollars, and then I'll be able to work things out with you."
"In October."
"Yes."
"You won't have money in your hands then, though. There'll be a lot of paperwork involved. October's six months from now, and it'll be another six months easy before you've got cash in hand."
"Will it really take that long?"
"Easily. So we're not talking about six months, we're talking about a year, and that's too long. Even six months is too long. Hell, one month is too long, Mrs.
Ethridge. I want to get out of this town."
"Why?"
"I don't like the climate."
"But spring's here. These areNew York 's best months, Matt."
"I still don't like it."
She closed her eyes, and I studied her face in repose. The lighting in the room was perfect for her, paired electric candles glowing against the red flecked wallpaper. At the bar, one of the men got to his feet, picked up some of the change in front of him, and headed for the door. On the way out he said something, and one of the women laughed loudly. Another man entered the bar. Somebody put money in
the jukebox, and Lesley Gore said it was her party and she would cry if she wanted to.
"You've got to give me time," she said.
"I haven't got it to give."
"Why do you have to get out ofNew York ? What are you
Similar Books
