Part 29 (1/2)

”Ed,” she said. ”Ed, listen, don't be silly. You're exhausted and you almost got killed tonight and-”

”No.”

”Ed, you're crazy. Oh, you nut. Ed, Ed, you will will sleep on the couch, won't you?” sleep on the couch, won't you?”

I didn't-not on the couch...

SHE FELL ASLEEP RIGHT AWAY. I tossed and turned and listened to her measured breathing, and I wondered how the h.e.l.l she managed it. I closed my eyes and counted fences jumping sheep, and things like that, and nothing worked. I hadn't expected it to. I tossed and turned and listened to her measured breathing, and I wondered how the h.e.l.l she managed it. I closed my eyes and counted fences jumping sheep, and things like that, and nothing worked. I hadn't expected it to.

It was still too tangled up to make any appreciable sort of sense. There were just too d.a.m.ned many inconsistencies. I couldn't figure them out.

Sleep on it, I told myself. Sleep on it, stupid. And, eventually, I did just that.

The morning wasn't too bad. She woke up first, and by the time I opened my eyes she was busy frying bacon and eggs in the kitchen. I showered and got dressed and went in for breakfast. There was fresh coffee made and the food was on the table. She even looked pretty in the morning. It seemed impossible, but she did.

The bacon was crisp, the eggs were fine, the coffee was perfect. I told her so and she beamed. ”I had plenty of practice,” she said. ”I used to cook for Dad all the time, since my mother died.”

It was around ten by the time I got out of there. First we had to go over the ground rules. This time, dammit, she would stay in the apartment. This time, dammit, she wouldn't answer the phone unless it was my signal. Same for the door.

”Ed-”

I was at the door. I turned. Her mouth came up to me and her lips brushed mine.

”Be careful, Ed.”

Outside, the sun was s.h.i.+ning. There was a different doorman on duty. He ignored me-he knew the ground rules there, by George, and the rules said that the doorman took no notice of anyone. They were strictly ornamental.

I hauled out my wallet, dug out the card I'd gotten a day ago. Just a day? It seemed much longer. I studied the card-Phillip Carr. Attorney at Law. 42 East 37thStreet.

I walked to the corner to save the doorman the trouble of hailing me a cab, and to save myself the tip I'd have had to give him. I got into a taxi and told the driver to take me to Fifth and 37th.

It was time to get rolling. Carr and Zucker and the rest of the crooked-card-game set had dealt every hand so far. Rhona and I were just throwing our chips in the center and calling every bet.

You can do that for just so long. Then it's time to deal a hand yourself.

I sat in the backseat and gnawed on a pipestem while the cabby fought his way uptown through mid-morning traffic. Phillip Carr, Attorney at Law. Okay, shyster, I thought. Let's see what happens.

NINE.

The cab dropped me in front of Carr's building about midway between Fifth and Madison on 37th Street. I took an express elevator to the twentieth floor, walked along a chrome-plated hallway to a door with Carr's name on it. I walked in.

The secretary's desk was kidney shaped. The girl behind it wasn't. Her bright red hair had been painfully spray-netted until it had the general consistency of plastic. Her smile was metallic. Her sweater bulged nicely, giving a hint of flesh that the hair and the smile tried to conceal. I told her I wanted to see Carr.

”Your name, please?”

”Ed London,” I said.

She got up gracefully, wiggled her well-girdled hips on the way through a door marked PRIVATE PRIVATE. The door closed behind her. I picked up a magazine from a table, glanced at it, tossed it back. The door opened and the girl came out again.

”He'll see you,” she said.

”I thought he would.”

Phillip Carr's office had framed diplomas on the wall from every college but Leavenworth. He stood up, smiled at me, and stuck out his hand for a handshake. I didn't take it, and after a few seconds he fetched it back again.

”Well,” he said. ”I'm d.a.m.n glad to see you, London. You were pretty hostile yesterday. I guess you've thought things over.”

”Something like that.”

”Cigar?”

”No thanks.”

”Well,” he said.

”I thought it all over. Especially what you said about rewards and punishments.”

”And?”

”I've got a reward for you.”

He didn't get it until I hit him in the face. He'd stood there, hands at his sides, waiting patiently for me to tell him what the reward was, while I curled one hand into a fist, and aimed it at his jaw. It was a nice punch. It picked him up and sent him sailing over his desk, and it dropped him in an untidy pile on the floor.

He came up cursing. He made a grab for a desk drawer, probably to get a gun. I kicked him away from it. He crouched, snarling like a tiger at bay, and lunged for the b.u.t.ton that would summon the secretary. I caught him by the lapels and gave him a little push that turned his lunge into a full-blown charge. He didn't slow down until he bounced off a wall and collapsed onto the high-pile carpet.

”Take it easy,” I said. ”You'll have a heart attack.”

”You son of a-”

I picked him up and hit him a few times. It wasn't a particularly nice thing to do. At the moment, I wasn't an especially nice guy. Try to kill someone often enough and he's bound to get riled.

I hit him in the nose, and some of the cartilage melted down and readjusted itself. I hit him in the mouth and heard a tooth or two snap. He spat them out and stared at them. I hauled him to his feet again and gave him another heave and watched him fall all over the floor.

The secretary never got in the way. Good Old Miss Girdled-Hips-she only came running when someone pressed the little buzzer. She was the soul of discretion. You could murder her boss in his office and she'd never leave her desk.

I picked him up again. He was breathing raggedly and bleeding profusely. I held him by the lapels and gave him my nastiest glare.

”Had enough?”

”Yes,” he panted, fear in his eyes.

I felt a little foolish. Then I remembered the dynamite blast in Rhona's apartment, the tommy-gun in Canarsie, the three punks in East New York. I started to get mad again. That was dangerous-I didn't want to kill the b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I dumped him in an armchair and let him catch his breath.