Robert Alter - 100 Malicious Little Mysteries

Then I got the idea about scaring her. I mean, I wanted to teach her a lesson. Shake her up good. Not hurt her, understand, just scare her. Sure, I had every right in the world to work her over for two-timing me, but I decided not to lay a hand on her. I figured why play it dumb and get myself in hot water with the law.

So I took the stairs up to her apartment. Four flights, just enough to wind me, get me to breathing hard like I was half nuts, you know. Figured that would help.

I tapped on her door, soft, the same way he had. Two shorts and a long. I knew she’d be plenty surprised to see me — and she sure was. She thought her lover boy had come back until she got a look at me. Then she tried to shut the door in my face, but I just pushed hard and forced my way inside.

“Whatta you want?” she says, and starts backing away from me toward the bed.

I didn’t say a damn thing, just stood there looking mean, breathing hard and ragged. She let out a gasp, a kind of little choking sound. Then she dropped on the bed and curled up there, watching me like I was some kind of animal.

I locked the door behind me, then went over to the open window and shut and locked it. Like maybe I was going to do something that I didn’t want anyone else to hear.

Oh, she was scared, all right, plenty scared. She didn’t know what the hell I’d do next. I could see her eyes shining out at me from the bed, wild and wide. She had on a pink and blue shortie nightgown and her legs were all drawn up under it. She looked like a rabbit you catch in the headlights of your car, kind of frozen with fear.

I eased down into a chair by the window, where she could see my face in the reflection of the outside neon. Then I thought of a beautiful touch.

I began to scrape my fingernails. You know, just sitting there quiet in that chair, with the red and yellow neon lighting my face, breathing slow and hard — and scraping each nail with one of those sharp little silver files. Listen, that threw the fear of God into her. She figured I was just waiting till I finished the last nail before I went for her, so she was as still as a cat. Just her eyes moved, watching me.

Well, this went on for maybe ten minutes. Then she began to see I was bluffing, that I wasn’t going to try anything. She sat up and dug out her cigarettes. She lit one, with the pillow propped up behind her. Then she tried some bluffing on her own.

“What’s the idea?” she said. “Why the big spook routine?”

“I know all about your boy friend,” I told her. “I saw him come in and I saw him come out.”

“So what?” she snapped. “So a guy spends a couple of hours in my apartment.”

The goddam nerve of her! Here I’d set her up in this place of her own, bought her some nice clothes and things and always treated her fine. And this is what she gives me. I’m telling you, it knocked me out. Then I asked her if she denied sleeping with this guy.

“He made a few passes and we wrestled around some, that’s all,” she told me.

Oh, sure. I believed that was all like I believed there wasn’t any moon in the sky.

When she saw I wasn’t having any she got sore. Her whole face changed. I mean, she suddenly turned hard, like some two-bit hustler. All the softness went fast and it was like I was seeing her for the first time with the shell off. She knew the game was finished and she didn’t give a damn.

Then I got the full treatment. She began to laugh at me like I was a fool.

“You’re not very bright,” she told me in that new hard voice of hers. “Sure I had some kicks with this guy. Why? Because I’m fed up with playing around with you, that’s why.”

Then she told me that this other guy was a real man — not just a weak excuse for one — and that one like him was worth ten of me.

God, but she had nerve! Wasn’t afraid of me at all by then. Not at all.

And I didn’t intend to touch her. She wasn’t worth it. Maybe I was the dumb cluck she made me out to be. Maybe I deserved what I was getting. I was as sore as hell at myself for playing along with her.

“I’m finished,” I said. “This is the end of the line for us.”

She just kept on laughing. Told me the sooner I got out the happier she’d be.

And here’s where the crazy part starts. I was on my way to the door when it opened — and there, outlined against the light from the hall, was this guy of hers in the blue coat. And right away I saw something glint in his hand and I knew he had a gun.

It was all real freaky. He’d done the same thing I’d done. Come back, I mean. He’d probably seen my car parked in the hotel lot and recognized it. Had come back up and heard our voices outside the door. Figured she was playing him for the chump. Hell, it was all mixed up ten ways from Sunday.

Well, this guy didn’t give either of us a chance to say a damn thing. Just stood there for a split second, long enough to make out the girl good and clear. Then he just pumped two slugs into her, one, two. Just that quick. Slammed the door and he was gone. Only first he tossed in his gun and it landed right at my feet on the rug.

That’s when I really played it dumb. I actually picked the damn thing up and looked at it. Now, I’ve seen guys do that in the movies maybe fifty times and I always figured it was phony. No innocent party, I told myself, would ever pick up a murder weapon and get his fingerprints all over it. But I swear that’s just what I did. Who knows why? Shock, I guess. The shock was terrible, the kind you get after a real bad auto accident. I was trembling, I remember, and weak all over.

I knew she was dead without even walking over to her. Nobody could miss at that kind of range. So I just stood there holding on to that damn gun and looking down at it while the outside hall filled up with people.

Next thing I know, somebody is pounding like hell on the door and yelling for me to open up. Oh, I dropped the gun quick enough then, all right. I knew I was a goner if they found me in here with her body, so I unlocked the window and took off down the fire escape.

What else is there to tell? The cops were waiting for me when I dropped into the alley — and I guess I sure looked guilty enough. I told them about the other guy in the blue get-up, but they just grinned and treated me like I was already on my way to the chair.

Hell, Danny, can’t you find this guy? He killed her, not me. I never even touched her that morning. I don’t know what this guy looks like, but he’s got to be found. What chance have I got without him? Who’s going to believe my story?

I’ll tell you. Nobody, that’s who.

Start looking for this guy, will you? He could be almost anybody. A mutual friend maybe. Hell, Danny, you knew her — and I’ve seen you wearing a dark blue topcoat. And... the guy’s about your height, too.

Just do one thing for me, will you? Quit grinning like that. That’s the way the damn cops grinned at me.

Will you quit it?

When Vince Thompson entered his apartment, he saw the small white square of paper under the door.

Well, he thought, it’s about time. Been a month since the last one.

He locked the door behind him and unfolded the paper. It was like all the others: a phone number and the letter R typed at the bottom. Nothing else. Vince ignited the edge of the paper with his lighter and watched the number blacken and curl into ash. Then he dusted his fingers and reached for the phone.

“Vince?” R’s voice was cold and metallic over the wire.

“Yeah. I just got the message.”

“Ready to go to work?”

“Just fill me in.”