Read Online Time to Murder and Create by Lawrence Block - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lawrence Block
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much?"
"About eight thousand. I haven't had the interest entered in a long time.
You're supposed to take the book in once a year. Somehow I never got around to it.
I could give you what I've got, a down payment."
"All right."
"A week from today?"
"What's wrong with tomorrow?"
"Uh-uh." She shook her head emphatically. "No. All I can buy for my eight thousand is time, right? So I'm going to buy a week with it right off. A week from today you'll have the money."
"I don't even know you've got it."
"No, you don't."
I thought it over. "All right," I said finally. "Eight thousand dollars a week from today. But I'm not going to wait a year for the rest of it."
"Maybe I could turn some tricks," she said. "Like four hundred and twenty of 'em at a hundred dollars a throw."
"Or forty-two hundred at ten."
"You fucker," she said.
"Eight thousand. A week from today."
"You'll get it."
I offered to put her in a cab. She said she'd get her own and that I could pay for the drinks this time. I stayed at the table for a few minutes after she left, then paid the check and went out. I crossed the street and asked Benny if there were any messages. There weren't, but a man had called and not left his name.
I wondered if it was the man who had threatened to put me in the river.
I went over to Armstrong's and took my usual table. The place was crowded for a Monday. Most of the faces were familiar. I had bourbon and coffee, and the third time around I caught a glimpse of a face that looked familiar in an unfamiliar way. On her next circuit of the tables, I crooked a finger at Trina. She came over to me with her eyebrows up, and the expression accented the feline cast to her features.
"Don't turn around," I said. "At the bar in front, right between Gordie and the guy in the denim jacket."
"What about him?"
"Probably nothing. Not right away, but in a couple of minutes, why don't you walk past him and get a look at him?"
"And then what, Cap'n?"
"Then report back to Mission Control."
"Aye-aye, sir."
I kept my eyes facing toward the door but concentrated on what I could see of him at the periphery of my vision, and it wasn't my imagination. He did keep glancing my way. It was hard to gauge his height, because he was sitting down, but he looked almost tall enough to play basketball. He had an outdoor face and modishly long sand-colored hair. I couldn't make out his features very well--he was the length of the room away from me--but I got an impression of cool, competent toughness.
Trina drifted back with a drink I hadn't gotten around to ordering.
"Camouflage," she said, setting it before me. "I have given him the old once-over.
What did he do?"
"Nothing that I know of. Have you seen him before?"
"I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure I haven't, because I would remember him."
"Why?"
"He tends to stand out in a crowd. You know who he looks like? The Marlboro man."
"From the commercials? Didn't they use more than one guy?"
"Sure. He looks like all of them. You know, high rawhide boots and a wide-brimmed hat and smelling of horseshit, and the tattoo on his hand. He's not wearing boots or a hat, and he doesn't have the tattoo, but it's the same image.
Don't ask me if he smells of horseshit. I didn't get close enough to tell."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"What's the story?"
"I'm not sure there is one. I think I saw him a little while ago in Polly's."
"Maybe he's making the rounds."
"Uh-huh. Same rounds I'm making."
"So?"
I shrugged. "Probably nothing. Thanks for the surveillance work, away."
"Do I get a badge?"
"And a decoder ring."
"Neat," she said.
I waited him out. He was definitely paying attention to me. I couldn't tell whether he knew I was taking an interest in him as well. I didn't want to look straight at him.
He could have tagged me from Polly's. I wasn't sure I'd seen him there, just felt I'd noticed him somewhere or other. If he'd picked me up at Polly's, then it wasn't hard to tie him to Beverly Ethridge; she
"About eight thousand. I haven't had the interest entered in a long time.
You're supposed to take the book in once a year. Somehow I never got around to it.
I could give you what I've got, a down payment."
"All right."
"A week from today?"
"What's wrong with tomorrow?"
"Uh-uh." She shook her head emphatically. "No. All I can buy for my eight thousand is time, right? So I'm going to buy a week with it right off. A week from today you'll have the money."
"I don't even know you've got it."
"No, you don't."
I thought it over. "All right," I said finally. "Eight thousand dollars a week from today. But I'm not going to wait a year for the rest of it."
"Maybe I could turn some tricks," she said. "Like four hundred and twenty of 'em at a hundred dollars a throw."
"Or forty-two hundred at ten."
"You fucker," she said.
"Eight thousand. A week from today."
"You'll get it."
I offered to put her in a cab. She said she'd get her own and that I could pay for the drinks this time. I stayed at the table for a few minutes after she left, then paid the check and went out. I crossed the street and asked Benny if there were any messages. There weren't, but a man had called and not left his name.
I wondered if it was the man who had threatened to put me in the river.
I went over to Armstrong's and took my usual table. The place was crowded for a Monday. Most of the faces were familiar. I had bourbon and coffee, and the third time around I caught a glimpse of a face that looked familiar in an unfamiliar way. On her next circuit of the tables, I crooked a finger at Trina. She came over to me with her eyebrows up, and the expression accented the feline cast to her features.
"Don't turn around," I said. "At the bar in front, right between Gordie and the guy in the denim jacket."
"What about him?"
"Probably nothing. Not right away, but in a couple of minutes, why don't you walk past him and get a look at him?"
"And then what, Cap'n?"
"Then report back to Mission Control."
"Aye-aye, sir."
I kept my eyes facing toward the door but concentrated on what I could see of him at the periphery of my vision, and it wasn't my imagination. He did keep glancing my way. It was hard to gauge his height, because he was sitting down, but he looked almost tall enough to play basketball. He had an outdoor face and modishly long sand-colored hair. I couldn't make out his features very well--he was the length of the room away from me--but I got an impression of cool, competent toughness.
Trina drifted back with a drink I hadn't gotten around to ordering.
"Camouflage," she said, setting it before me. "I have given him the old once-over.
What did he do?"
"Nothing that I know of. Have you seen him before?"
"I don't think so. In fact, I'm sure I haven't, because I would remember him."
"Why?"
"He tends to stand out in a crowd. You know who he looks like? The Marlboro man."
"From the commercials? Didn't they use more than one guy?"
"Sure. He looks like all of them. You know, high rawhide boots and a wide-brimmed hat and smelling of horseshit, and the tattoo on his hand. He's not wearing boots or a hat, and he doesn't have the tattoo, but it's the same image.
Don't ask me if he smells of horseshit. I didn't get close enough to tell."
"I wasn't going to ask."
"What's the story?"
"I'm not sure there is one. I think I saw him a little while ago in Polly's."
"Maybe he's making the rounds."
"Uh-huh. Same rounds I'm making."
"So?"
I shrugged. "Probably nothing. Thanks for the surveillance work, away."
"Do I get a badge?"
"And a decoder ring."
"Neat," she said.
I waited him out. He was definitely paying attention to me. I couldn't tell whether he knew I was taking an interest in him as well. I didn't want to look straight at him.
He could have tagged me from Polly's. I wasn't sure I'd seen him there, just felt I'd noticed him somewhere or other. If he'd picked me up at Polly's, then it wasn't hard to tie him to Beverly Ethridge; she
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