Lawrence Block - The Burglar Who Traded Ted Williams

“Is that what I said? Well, you know what I meant. Whatever it is, I want to go do it. It’s been a long day.”

“I know what you mean,” I said. “Just let me make a phone call.”

“Don’t, Bern.”

“Huh?”

“If you were going to call Patience, don’t. I called her and broke the date for you, remember?”

“As if it were yesterday. I wasn’t going to call her, but I suppose I could, couldn’t I?”

“Dont.”

“Miracle recovery, hit me like a ton of bricks and then it was over in nothing flat, blah blah blah. You think it’s a bad idea, huh?”

“Trust me.”

“I guess you’re right. She’d just think I wasn’t sick in the first place, and she’d probably figure I went out with some other woman. And, come to think of it, she’d be right, wouldn’t she?”

I got up and walked past the waiter, who was struggling with a column of figures, and used the phone. When I got back to the table, Carolyn was frowning at the check. “I guess this is right,” she said. “With handwriting like this the guy should have been a doctor.” We split the check and she asked me if I’d made my call. “Because you weren’t on the phone long,” she said.

“Nobody home.”

“Oh.”

“I got my quarter back. But I didn’t get an extra quarter, so I didn’t have to wrestle with a moral dilemma.”

“That’s just as well,” she said. “It’s been a long day for both of us.”

We headed west, crossed Sixth Avenue. As we were passing a quiet bar on one of the side streets, I suggested stopping for a drink.

“In that place? I never go there.”

“Well, neither do I. Maybe it’s nice.”

She shook her head. “I looked in the door once, Bern. Old guys in thrift-shop overcoats, all of them carefully spaced a few stools apart. You’d think they were watching a porn movie.”

“Oh.”

“I don’t think they’d let us in, Bern. Neither of us has been through detox even once. I think that’s an entrance requirement.”

“Oh. How about the place on the next corner? The Battered Child.”

“All college kids. Loud, rowdy, spilling beer on everybody.”

“You’re hard to please,” I said. “One joint’s too quiet and the other’s too noisy.”

“I know, I’m worse than Goldilocks.”

“There’s a phone,” I said. “Let me try that number again.” I did, and nobody answered, and this time I didn’t get my quarter back, either. I hit the side of the phone a couple of times with the heel of my hand, the way you do, and it held onto my quarter, the way it does.

“Dammit,” I said. “I hate when that happens.”

“Who’d you call?”

“The Gilmartins.”

“They’re at the theater, Bern.”

“I know. The final curtain’s not until ten thirty-eight.”

“You really did research this, didn’t you?”

“Well, it wasn’t all that tricky. I went to the play myself, remember? So all I had to do was look at my watch when it was over.”

“So why are you trying to reach them? Am I missing something here, Bern? You decided not to break into their apartment, remember?”

I nodded and lowered my eyes to gaze at the pavement, as if I expected to find my quarter there. “That’s why I’ve been calling,” I said.

“I don’t get it.”

“As soon as they’re home,” I said, “I’ll be able to relax, because I won’t be in any danger of acting on impulse. And as long as I’m with somebody, having a meal or a drink or a cup of coffee, I’m out of harm’s way. That’s why I made the date with Patience in the first place. I figured I’d be with her until they were home from the theater, and then I could go home myself.”

“Unless you got lucky.”

“If I just get through the night without committing a felony, that’s as lucky as I want to get. I thought I’d make sure by having a drink after work, but I made a little too sure and got drunk, and you had to break the date for me. Which I appreciate, don’t get me wrong, because I was in no condition to see her, but now it’s”—I checked my watch—“not quite ten and the play doesn’t end for another forty minutes and God knows what they’ll do afterward. Suppose they go out for a late supper? They might not get home for hours.”

“You poor guy.” She put a hand on my arm. “You’re really scared, aren’t you?”

“I’m making a big deal out of nothing,” I said, “but I guess you could say I’m experiencing a little anxiety.”

“So walk me home,” she said. “You can have a drink or a cup of coffee and watch a little TV. You can try the Gilmartins every five minutes if you want, and you won’t need a quarter. If they make a late night of it you can spend the night on the sofa. How does that sound?”

“It sounds wonderful,” I said. “Thank God you’re a lesbian.”

“Huh?”

“Because you’re the best friend anybody ever had, and if you were straight we’d get married, and that would ruin everything.”

“It generally does,” she said. “C’mon, Bern. Let’s go home.”

At a quarter to twelve I picked up Carolyn’s phone for the umpteenth time—or was it the zillionth? I poked the redial button and listened to half a dozen rings before hanging up.

“I can’t believe they don’t have an answering machine,” I said.

“Maybe they had one,” she suggested, “until a burglar broke in and stole it. Are you about ready to bed down for the night, Bern? Because I’m starting to fade myself.”

“I’m afraid the coffee worked too well.”

“You’re wired, huh?”

“Sort of. But you go ahead. I’ll just sit here in the dark.”

She gave me a look, then turned her attention back to the television set, where Charlie Rose was asking thoughtful, probing questions of an earnest chap who looked terribly knowledgeable and seriously constipated. I paid what attention I could, tearing myself away every five minutes to hit the redial button, and the fourth or fifth time I did this someone finally answered the phone. It was a man, and he said, “Hello?”

“Mr. Gilmartin?”

“Yes?”

“Well, thank God,” I said. “I was starting to worry about you.”

“Who is this?”

“Just someone with your best interests at heart. Look, you’re home now, and that’s what counts. How was the play?”

There was a sharp intake of breath. Then, “Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“I’ve got twelve-oh-nine, but I’ve been running a minute or so fast lately. Hey, lighten up, Marty. I just wanted to wish you and Edna the best. You get some sleep now, okay?”

I hung up and turned to see Carolyn shaking her head at me. “So I got carried away,” I said. “So I had a little harmless fun at Marty G’s expense. Well, I figured he owed me one. Look what I went through just to keep him from getting burgled tonight.”

“I see what you mean. Are you going, Bern? You don’t have to, you can still stay over.”

I thought about it. It was late, and if I stayed the night at Carolyn’s West Village apartment I could walk to work in the morning. But I decided I wanted a change of clothes in the morning and my own bed that night.

Fateful decision, that.

I made a second fateful decision when a couple of drunken tourists beat me to a cab on Hudson Street. The hell with it, I decided, and I walked over to Sheridan Square and caught the subway. I rode uptown to Seventy-second Street, bought a copy of tomorrow’s Times, and waited for the light to change so I could go home and read it.

“Excuse me…”

I turned toward the voice and was looking at a slender, dark-haired woman with a heart-shaped face. She had small regular features and a complexion out of a soap ad, and she was wearing a dark business suit and a red beret. She looked terrific, and my first thought was that I was going to be profoundly disappointed when she turned out to be selling flowers for the Reverend Moon.