Lawrence Block - A Walk Among the Tombstones

”Jesus, it was a perfectly good story until I told it to you, Danny Boy.”

”Sorry.”

”His wife didn’t make it out of the country. They snatched her and they killed her.”

”He tried to stonewall? Wouldn’t pay the ransom?”

”He paid four hundred large. They killed her anyway.” His eyes widened. ”Your ears only,” I added. ”The death isn’t being reported, so that part of it shouldn’t get out on the street.”

”I understand. Well, that makes his motive easier to grasp. He wants to get even. Any idea who they are?”

”No.”

”But you figure they’ll do it again.”

”Why quit on a winning roll?”

”Nobody ever does.” He helped himself to more vodka. At both of his regular places they bring him the bottle in an ice bucket, and he drinks great quantities of it without paying much attention to it, just drinking it down like water. I don’t know where he puts it, or how his body processes it.

He said, ”How many bad guys?”

”Minimum of three.”

”Splitting four tenths of a mil. They might be taking cabs a lot themselves, don’t you think?”

”I had that thought myself.”

”So if somebody’s throwing a lot of money around, that would be useful information.”

”It might.”

”And the drug dealers, especially the major players, should get the word that they’re at risk for kidnapping. They might just as easily grab a dealer, don’t you think? It wouldn’t have to be a woman.”

”I’m not sure about that.”

”Why’s that?”

”I think they enjoyed the killing. I think they got off on it. I think they used her sexually, and I think they tortured her, and then when the novelty wore off they killed her.”

”The body showed signs of torture?”

”The body came back in twenty or thirty pieces, individually wrapped. And that’s not for the street, either. I hadn’t planned on mentioning it.”

”I’d just as soon you hadn’t, to tell you the truth. Matthew, is it my imagination or is the world turning nastier?”

”It doesn’t seem to be lightening up.”

”It doesn’t, does it? Remember the Harmonic Convergence, all the planets lining up like soldiers? Wasn’t that supposed to signal the dawn of some kind of New Age?”

”I’m not holding my breath.”

”Well, they say it’s always darkest before the dawn. I see what you mean, though. If killing’s part of the fun, and if they’re into rape and torture, well, they won’t pick some raggedy-ass dope dealer with a beer gut and a five o’clock shadow. Nothing queer about these fellows.”

”No.”

He thought for a moment. ”They’ll have to do it again,” he said. ”They could hardly be expected to quit after a score like that. I wonder, though.”

”If they’ve done it before? I was wondering the same thing myself.”

”And?”

”They were pretty slick,” I said. ”I get the feeling they had some practice.”

First thing after breakfast the next morning I walked over to the Midtown North station house on West Fifty-fourth. I caughTJoe Durkin at his desk, and he caught me off balance by complimenting me on my appearance. ”You’re dressing better these days,” he said. ”I think it’s that woman’s doing. Elaine, right?”

”That’s right.”

”Well, I think she’s a good influence on you.”

”I’m sure she is,” I said, ”but what the hell are you talking about?”

”That’s a nice-looking jacket, that’s all.”

”This blazer? It must be ten years old.”

”Well, you never wear it.”

”I wear it all the time.”

”Maybe it’s the tie.”

”What’s so special about the tie?”

”Jesus Christ,” he said. ”Did anybody ever tell you you’re a difficult son of a bitch? I tell you you look nice and the next thing I know I’m on the fucking witness stand. How about we start over? ’Hello, Matt, it’s great to see you. You look like shit. Have a seat.’ Is that better?”

”Much better.”

”I’m glad. Sit down. What brings you here?”

”I had the urge to commit a felony.”

”I know the feeling. There’s hardly a day goes by that I don’t get the urge myself. You got any particular felony in mind?”

”I was thinking of a class D felony.”

”Well, we got lots of those. Criminal possession of forgery devices is a class D felony, and you’re probably committing that one at this very minute. You got a pen in your pocket?”

”Two pens and a pencil.”

”Gee, it sounds as though I better Mirandize you and get you booked and printed. But I don’t suppose that’s the class D felony you had in mind.”

I shook my head. ”I was thinking of violating Section Two Hundred Point Zero Zero of the Criminal Code.”

”Two Hundred Point Zero Zero. You’re gonna make me look that up, aren’t you?”

”Why not?”

He gave me a look, then reached for a black looseleaf binder and flipped through it. ”It’s a familiar number,” he said. ”Oh, right, here we are. ’Two Hundred Point Zero Zero. Bribery in the third degree. A person is guilty of bribery in the third degree when he confers, or offers or agrees to confer, any benefit upon a public servant upon an agreement or understanding that such public servant’s vote, opinion, judgment, action, decision or exercise of discretion as a public servant will thereby be influenced. Bribery in the third degree is a class D felony.’ ” He went on reading silently for a moment, then said, ”Are you sure you wouldn’t prefer to violate Section Two Hundred Point Zero Three?”

”What’s that?”

”That’s bribery in the second degree. It’s the same as the other only it’s a class C felony. To qualify for Bribery Two, the benefit you confer or offer or agree to confer, Jesus, don’t you love the way they word these things, the benefit has to be in excess of ten thousand dollars.”

”Ah,” I said. ”I think class D is my limit.”

”I was afraid of that. Can I ask you something? Before you commit your class D felony? How many years has it been since you were on the job?”

”It’s been a while.”

”So how’d you remember the class of felony, let alone the article number?”

”I’ve got that kind of memory.”

”Bullshit. They’ve renumbered the sections over the years, they’ve changed half the book at one time or another. I just want to know how you did it.”

”You really want to know?”

”Yes.”

”I looked it up in Andreotti’s book on my way up here.”

”Just to break my balls, right?”

”Just to keep you on your toes.”

”Only my best interests at heart.”

”Absolutely,” I said. I’d set aside a bill in my jacket pocket earlier, and I palmed it now and tucked it into the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, except during those intervals when he swears off and smokes other people’s. ”Buy yourself a suit,” I told him.

We were all alone in the office, so he took the bill out and examined it. ”We’ll have to update the terminology. A hat’s twenty-five dollars, a suit’s a hundred. I don’t know what a decent hat costs these days, I can’t remember the last time I bought one. But I don’t know where you’d get a suit for a hundred bucks outside a thrift shop. ’Here’s a hundred bucks, take your wife to dinner.’ What’s this for, anyway?”

”I need a favor.”

”Oh?”

”There was a case I read about,” I said. ”Had to be six months ago and it could have been as much as a year. Couple of guys grabbed a woman off the street, rode off with her in a truck. She turned up a few days later in the park.”

”Dead, I’m assuming.”

”Dead.”