Lawrence Block - In the Midst of Death

I went home again, showered, shaved, straightened up the room. The maid had given it a cursory cleaning, and there wasn't much more I could do. It would always look like what it was, a small room in an unprepossessing hotel. Fuhrmann had chosen to transform his furnished room into an extension of himself. I had left mine as I found it. Initially I had found its stark simplicity somehow fitting. Now I had long since ceased to notice it, and only the prospect of entertaining a guest within it made me aware of its appearance.

I checked the liquor supply. There looked to be enough for me, and I didn't know what she preferred to drink. The store across the street would deliver until eleven.

Put on my best suit. Dabbed on a little cologne. The boys had given it to me for a Christmas present. I wasn't even sure which Christmas and couldn't remember when I'd used it last. Dabbed some on and felt ridiculous, but in a way that was not unpleasant.

Stopped at Armstrong's. Fuhrmann had been in and out an hour or so earlier. I left him a note. Called Manch, and this time he answered the phone.

I said, "Mr. Manch, my name is Matthew Scudder. I'm a friend of Portia Carr's."

There was a pause, a long enough one to make his reply unconvincing. "I'm afraid I don't know anyone by that name."

"I'm sure you do. You don't want to try that stance, Mr. Manch. It's not going to work."

"What do you want?"

"I want to see you. Sometime tomorrow."

"What about?"

"I'll tell you when I see you."

"I don't understand. What did you say your name was?"

I told him.

"Well, I don't understand, Mr. Scudder. I don't know what you want from me."

"I'll be at your place tomorrow afternoon."

"I don't—"

"Tomorrow afternoon," I said."Around three. It would be a very good idea for you to be there."

He started to say something, but I didn't stay on the line long enough to hear it. It was a few minutes past eight. I went outside and walked down Ninth toward the restaurant.

We sat in a booth. She wore a simple black sheath and no jewelry. Her perfume was a floral scent with an undertone of spice. I ordered dry vermouth on the rocks for her and bourbon for myself. The conversation stayed light and airy through the first round of drinks. When we ordered a second round we also gave the waitress the dinner order — sweetbreads for her, a steak for me. The drinks came, and we touched glasses again, and our eyes met and led us into a silence that was just the slightest bit awkward.

She broke it. She extended her hand and I took it, and she lowered her eyes and said, "I'm not terribly good at this. Out of practice, I guess."

"So am I."

"You've had a few years to get used to being a bachelor. I've had one little affair, and it wasn't really very much of anything. He was married."

"You don't have to talk about it."

"Oh, I know that. He was married, it was very casual and purely physical, and to be honest it wasn't even that wonderful physically. And it didn't last very long." She hesitated. She may have been waiting for me to say something, but I remained silent. Then she said, "You may want this to be, oh, casual, and that's all right, Matthew."

"I don't think we can be casual with each other."

"No, I don't suppose we can. I wish — I don't know what I wish." She lifted her glass and sipped. "I'm probably going to get a little bit drunk tonight. Is that a bad idea?"

"It might be a good idea. Shall we have wine with the meal?"

"I'd like that. I suppose it's a bad sign, having to get a little drunk."

"Well, I'm the last person to tell you it's a bad idea. I get a little bit drunk every day of my life."

"Is that something I should be worried about?"

"I don't know. It's damned well something you should be aware of, Diana. You ought to know who you're getting involved with."

"Are you an aloholic?"

"Well, what's an alcoholic? I suppose I drink enough alcohol to qualify. It doesn't keep me from functioning. Yet. I suppose it will eventually."

"Could you stop drinking? Or cut down?"

"Probably. If I had a reason."

The waitress brought our appetizers. I ordered a carafe of red wine. Diana impaled a mussel with a little fork, paused with it halfway to her mouth. "Maybe we shouldn't talk about this yet."

"Maybe not."

"I think we feel the same about most things. I think what we want is the same, and I think our fears are the same."

"Or pretty close, at least."

"Yes. Maybe you're no bargain, Matthew. I think that's what you've been trying to tell me. I'm no bargain myself. I don't drink, but I might as well. I just found a different way to retire from the human race. I gave up being me. I feel—"

"Yes?"

"As if I've got a second chance. As if I had that chance all along, but you only have it when you know you have it. And I don't know if you're a part of that chance or if you just made me aware of it." She put her fork on her plate, the mussel still gripped by the tines. "Oh, I'm enormously confused. All the magazines tell me I'm just the right age for an identity crisis. Is that what this is or am I falling in love and how do you tell the difference? Do you have a cigarette?"

"I'll get some. What brand do you smoke?"

"I don't smoke. Oh, any brand. Winstons, I guess."

I got a pack from the machine. I opened it, gave her a cigarette, took one for myself. I struck a match and her fingers fastened around my wrist as she got her cigarette going. The tips of her fingers were very cool.

She said, "I have three young children. I have a husband in jail."

"And you're taking up drinking and smoking. You're a mess, all right."

"And you're a sweet man. Have I told you that before? It's still true."

I saw to it that she had most of the wine with dinner. Afterward she had a pot of espresso and a little snifter of brandy. I went back to coffee and bourbon. We did a lot of talking and shared a lot of long silences. These last were as communicative in their own way as our conversations.

It was close to midnight when I settled the tab. They were anxious to close, but our waitress had been very decent about letting us alone. I showed my appreciation of her forbearance with a tip that was probably excessive. I didn't care. I loved the whole world.

We went out and stood on Ninth Avenue drinking the cold air. She discovered the moon and shared it with me. "It's almost full. Isn't it beautiful?"

"Yes."

"Sometimes I think I can almost feel the pull of the moon. Silly, isn't it?"

"I don't know. The sea feels it. That's why there are tides. And there's no denying that the moon influences human behavior. All cops know that. The crime rate changes with the moon."

"Honest?"

"Uh-huh. Especially the weird crimes. The full moon makes people do odd things."

"Like what?"

"Like kissing in public."

A little later she said, "Well, I don't know that that's odd. I think it's nice, actually."

At Armstrong's I ordered coffee and bourbon for both of us. "Because I like the feeling I'm getting Matthew, but I don't want to get sleepy. And I liked the way it tasted the other day."

When she brought the drinks, Trina handed me a slip of paper. "He was in about an hour ago," she said. "Before then he called a couple of times. He's very anxious for you to get in touch with him."

"I unfolded the slip of paper. Doug Fuhrmann's name and a telephone number.

I said, "Thanks. It's nothing that can't wait until morning."

"He said it was urgent."

"Well, that's one man's opinion." Diana and I poured our bourbon into our coffee, and she asked me what it was about. "A guy who's been close to your husband," I said. "He was also getting close to the girl who was murdered. I think I know why, but I want to talk to him about it."