Бретт Холлидей - Mike Shayne Mystery Magazine, Vol. 33, No. 2, July 1973

Perhaps it is because we are both predators that I recall another morsel of habit in Gordon’s life. And it is a juicy morsel because it further seals his impending death against possible escape. It is just this. On many occasions Gordon does not even return to the apartment the next morning after an evening on the town. Except on Wednesday nights. On Wednesday nights Gigi Schwartz attends a seminar at a cosmetics clinic and then drives to Long Island for dinner with a sister, to remain overnight. Gordon always spends this night in, gaping at a lengthy string of Busby Berkley musicals and James Gagney gangster films on television’s Classic Flicks. Which means he will be sleeping late. His circumstances surrounding his death are building nicely. Habit and sloth will be his murderers.

Wednesday, April 28: My second day of surveillance in Bryant Park. Again the morning routine of each mentioned tenant is followed faithfully. With one exception, Mr. Bennett returned forty minutes early from his breakfast, at 10:22. This deviation from the norm will constrict my timetable a bit, but not so much that my plan must be scrubbed. At ten sharply, Cory appears on the stoop of the Hellingforth for his squirrel hunt in the park. And at 10:22 Mr. Bennett returns from his breakfast. So the timing for the detonation of tomorrow’s blast is clear. It must occur between 10:01 and 10:20.

In the matter of Mr. Robert Owens, it has been determined that he is a professor of Geological Science at New York University, returning to his rooms at the Hellingforth no earlier than six-thirty in the evening.

There remains now only two final matters: the security of the sixth floor storage room and Mishkin’s fifth floor workshop. No one must be in those rooms when the bomb explodes.

In the case of the first, I repaired to my apartment and there typed notes addressed to all the tenants in the building who do not work during the daytime hours.

On Thursday morning, between 10 and 11, City Engineers will be in your building for the purpose of maintenance repairs on heating and plumbing equipment in the sixth floor unit designating as the storage room. Your abstension from using this facility during this brief period on Thursday, April 28th will be appreciated. (SIGNED) Department of Engineers, City of New York.

Concerning the matter of the workshop I visited Mr. Mishkin.

“Mr. Mishkin, on Thursday morning between ten and eleven, I’m planning to tape record a radio presentation of Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerto No. 7, as well as the New York Chamber Soloists performance of Handel’s Oboe Concertos.”

“That’s very nice, Mr. Freer. I think we should all strive to put class in our lives. This city, it’s nothin’ but a concrete jungle full of animals, you know what I mean? Brutes and animals.”

“But you see, Mr. Mishkin, in order to record, I require something like complete silence.”

“Of course you need silence! I know about tape recording! Most important thing for your recording on tape is silence. So is there gonna be a train wreck in the building tomorrow or something?”

“The workshop, Mr. Mishkin. As you know it is situated directly opposite the wall of my apartment.”

“You want I should make myself scarce in there tomorrow between ten and eleven, right?”

“If you would.”

“No problem, Mr. Freer. Early in the morning, me and the missus is going to visit her sister in New Rochelle. Be there all day... if she don’t start up with me about success and being a crummy super all my life and...”

“Thank you, Mr. Mishkin.”

Wednesday afternoon: I spent these hours at the store, working to diminish my anxiety and tension. At four o’clock, Mr. Dalrymple, my supervisor requested my presence in his office for a discussion of my tardinesses of the past three days.

“Not all like you, Freer. Over seven years service and now suddenly we find — lapses, Freer.”

“I haven’t been feeling at all well these past few days, Mr. Dalrymple.”

“Flu? Stomach disorder? We have our first Spring sales coming up next week and anything less than a full crew will mean an inefficient ship. You take Thursday and Friday off, Freer. Round yourself back into shape. We’ll compute it off your regular vacation time, of course.”

I affected sickliness and contribution. “Yes, sir. That might be the best thing to do, sir.”

“See a doctor, Freer. We’ll be monitored by some regional reps during our sales days and a poor showing could be dynamite.”

I smiled wanly. Dynamite. An apt phrase.

Wednesday, Evening: While Gordon was out, I liquidated. To a female U.N. interpreter living on 58th Street, I sold my stereo, speakers and phonograph records. To a commercial artist in the Village, I sold my decorator couch and arm chair. He told me he had an idea to suspend them on wire from the side of the Allied Chemical Building as part of an ad campaign. I would be traveling light.

When Gordon returned to the apartment and remarked about the skimpy living room furnishings I explained that the recording equipment was out for repairs and that I was having the couch and chair dyed orange on a whim.

Wednesday, Midnight: As expected, Gordon attended his weekly living room film festival. Alone in the bedroom, I got out my bomb, set the timer and activated it for an explosion at 10:05 a.m. I then slipped quietly into Gordon’s room and slipped the old attache case beneath his bed and as I did, checked his alarm clock to make sure he was planning to arise at his usual hour. As I read the lighted dial, my heart stirred with anticipatory triumph. The clock was set for twelve noon. Dobie Gillis would have been proud of Gordon’s slothful regularity. Perhaps they might even meet and take it under discussion in the next world.

Thursday, Morning, April 28: At seven I tip-toed out of the apartment, down the stairs and out a side door of the Hellingforth. Two suitcases and a single diary in which would be recorded one final entry: My witnessing of the blast itself from the bench in Bryant Park. Goodbye Macy’s, I whispered beneath my breath as I made my way for the Mecca All Night Cafeteria five blocks toward the Hudson River. Good-bye, old and faithful sports car, as I made my way past its battered form parked at the curb. Goodbye, Hellingforth, as I acknowledged its ancient brickwork and timeless ivy. And good-bye, New York City, town of infinite pleasures and depthless pains. Good-bye all.

Thursday Morning — Eight o’clock: I have returned from my hasty breakfast and am writing this as I sit on my park bench and wait for the exodus of the innocent. My mind’s eye sees sticks of dynamite lying in perfect repose beneath Gordon, who sleeps on his back with his hands folded across his chest. There is something funereally beautiful in that.

Out they come in perfect, timely order. At 8:12, Miss Ivy bound on birdy legs for the library. At 8:33, the Barbetta’s headed for Greenwich Village and at 8:45, Mr. Owens for his lecture classes at N.Y.U. Shortly before nine, the Mishkins emerge for their trip to New Rochelle and at 9:30 Mr. Bennett for his after-slumber breakfast.

The tenants left behind have received their messages from the City Engineering Department to refrain from using the storage room; and Mishkin’s workshop is vacant and locked. All things are progressing in impeccable order.

There is left now a single occupant to disembark the ship of immovable concrete and ivy across the street: a shaggy, spiritted, lovable St. Bernard dog of uncertain parentage.

While I wait for the safe exit of the last innocent bystander I here reflect on those years of companionship and friendship. I write of Cory’s faithfulness when weather was inclement and foul or when I was ill abed and he would pad the city with a tiny basket afix beneath his chin to fetch medicine or food. I write of the times he routed burglars from the building and I write of the many occasions when he sped after me carrying in his jaws a forgotten scarf or hat or briefcase. I write, too, of his companionship on lonely nights, and more of his kindnesses which in this hour of trouble and impending disaster have escaped my mind.