Evan Hunter - Every Little Crook and Nanny

“Hello there, Sarah,” he said, “what brings you here to this part of town?”

“Who’s that?” Sarah asked, and peered into the darkness toward the end of the bar where Freddie sat nursing his beer.

“Me,” he said, “Freddie Corriere.”

“Freddie, hey there,” she said, and walked over. “Buy a girl a drink?”

“Sure,” Freddie said, and snapped his fingers at the bartender. “What’s your pleasure?”

“That’s what I’m supposed to ask,” Sarah said, and laughed.

“Oh,” Freddie said. “Yeah.” He laughed with her. He hadn’t quite caught her little joke, but what the hell. “Anyway,” he said, “what would you like to drink?”

“A vermouth cassis,” Sarah said.

“Yeah?” Freddie said.

“What are you having?” the bartender said, walking over.

“A vermouth cassis,” Sarah repeated.

The bartender looked at her malevolently for a moment, shook his head, and walked away to mix the drink.

“I never had one of those, those vermouth cassises,” Freddie said.

“They’re very nice. You should try one,” Sarah said. “I’ll give you a little sip of mine when it comes. Would you like a little sip of mine?”

“Yeah,” Freddie said, and looked up at the wall clock. It was twenty minutes to one. “Anyway,” he said, “what are you doing down around here? I thought you worked uptown.”

“Where there’s occupation, I occupy myself,” Sarah said.

“Yeah?” Freddie said.

“Yeah,” Sarah said.

“One vermouth cassis,” the bartender said. “Only we ain’t got no cassis, so it’s only vermouth.”

“What’s that, that cassis?” Freddie asked.

“It’s a liqueur,” Sarah said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” the bartender said, “only we ain’t got none.” He looked at Sarah malevolently again, and then went to the other end of the bar to watch television.

“Guess nothing’s gonna go right tonight,” Sarah said, and lifted her glass. “Cheers,” she said.

“Salute,” Freddie said. It was one of the two Italian words he knew. The other one was “Vanapoli,” which was three words in itself, but Freddie didn’t realize that. “Anyway, what else went wrong tonight?” he asked.

“Everything,” Sarah said, and swallowed a gulp of vermouth, and then put down the glass and lighted a cigarette. “I was supposed to meet a guy down here at midnight. He never showed.”

“Yeah?” Freddie said,

“Yeah. Got the room and everything.”

“Yeah?” Freddie said.

“Yeah,” Sarah said.

“I don’t see why nobody would stand you up, Sarah,” he said. “Good-looking girl like you.”

“Well, honey, somebody just did,” Sarah said, and blew out a stream of smoke, and lifted her glass. “It’s a shame, too, because I already paid for the room and all.”

“Yeah?” Freddie said, and looked up at the wall clock again. It was ten minutes to one.

“Yeah,” Sarah said. “Oh well,” she said, and swallowed another gulp of vermouth. “What gets me is the room going to waste all night, that’s what gets me.”

“Where is that room?” Freddie asked.

“On Twenty-first.”

“Yeah?” Freddie said.

“Yeah.”

“That ain’t too far from here.”

“It’s practically around the corner,” Sarah said, and crossed her legs.

“I have to make a delivery on Twenty-fourth and Third,” Freddie said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. But after that, I’m free the rest of the night,” Freddie said. “If I wanted to lay you,” he said subtly, “how much would it cost?”

“Well, I already paid for the room, you know.”

“Yeah, how much is that?”

“Twelve dollars.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“And how much are you?”

“I’m twenty-five.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sarah said.

“So that comes to an even thirty-eight dollars.”

“Thirty-seven dollars,” Sarah said.

“Twelve and twenty-five,” Freddie said, and added silently in his head. “Right, thirty-seven. That’s not so bad.”

“No, that’s not so bad. Some of the girls are getting a lot more.”

“Yeah?” Freddie said.

“Yeah.”

“Well, listen, would you like to walk me over to Twenty-fourth while I make this delivery, and then we can go over to that room, okay?”

“Sounds good to me,” Sarah said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said.

Freddie paid for the drinks, and they walked to Twenty-fourth Street, where Sarah waited downstairs for him, and where he again climbed the five flights to Benny Napkins’ apartment. Nobody was home. He went downstairs again, puffing hard. Sarah was leaning against the building, smoking.

“Everything taken care of?” she asked.

“No, nobody’s still there,” he said.

“Well, you can take care of it later, huh?”

“Yeah,” Freddie said. “I tried, didn’t I?”

“Sure, you did. Right now you’re gonna take care of me, huh?”

“Yeah?” Freddie said.

They walked away from the building arm-in-arm. Ten minutes later, Benny Napkins pulled up in a cab with Jeanette Kay, whom he had picked up outside the Trans-Lux 85th Street. Jeanette Kay was anxious to get upstairs because Crime of Passion, with Barbara Stanwyck and Sterling Hayden, was showing on Channel 5.

The Jackass refused to take off his stocking.

“That is a mask,” Bozzaris told him, “and there are laws against people wearing masks.”

“It’s not a mask, it’s a garment.”

“Be that as it may, it is still a mask,” Bozzaris said.

“It’s a stocking,” The Jackass said.

“If you wear it over your face, it’s a mask.”

“If you wear a mask on your foot, does that make it a stocking?” The Jackass asked.

“Don’t be a wise guy,” Bozzaris said.

“I know my rights,” The Jackass said, because whereas he was not too terribly bright, his empirical knowledge of criminal law was formidable and impressive.

“Be that as it may,” Bozzaris said, and decided then and there to advise him of his rights, it being the habit of bums all over these days to complain that this or that thing was not done according to the book. “In keeping with the Supreme Court decision in Miranda versus Arizona ,” he said, “we’re required to advise you of your rights, and that’s what I’m doing now.”

“Correct,” The Jackass said approvingly.

“First, you have the right to remain silent, if you choose, do you understand that?”

“Correct, and I do.”

“Do you also understand that you need not answer any police questions?”

“Correct, and I do.”

“And do you also understand that if you do answer questions...”

“... my answers may be used as evidence against me, correct. I understand.”

“I must also inform you that you have the right to consult with an attorney before or during police questioning, do you understand that?”

“Yes,” The Jackass said, “and I also understand that if I decide to exercise that right but do not have the funds with which to hire counsel, I am entitled to have a lawyer appointed without cost, to consult with him before or during questioning.”

“Correct,” Bozzaris said.

“Do you understand all of your rights?” The Jackass asked.

“I do,” Bozzaris said.

“Do you want a lawyer?” The Jackass asked.

“What?” Bozzaris said, and blinked, and then narrowed his eyes. “Listen,” he said, “don’t be a wise guy. The last wise guy we had in here is right this minute languishing in the Tombs.”

“I want a lawyer,” The Jackass said.

“Do you have any special lawyer in mind?”