Lawrence Block - Eight Million Ways to Die

His gaze was calm, steady. "Maybe I'm concerned about my reputation," he suggested.

"How? It looks to me as though your reputation gets a boost. If the word on the street is that you killed her and got away with it, the next girl who wants to quit your string is going to have something else to think about. Even if you didn't have anything to do with her murder, I can see where you'd be just as happy to take the credit for it."

He flicked his index finger a couple times against his empty coffee cup. He said, "Somebody killed a woman of mine. Nobody should be able to do that and get away with it."

"She wasn't yours when she got killed."

"Who knew that? You knew it and she knew it and I knew it. My other girls, did they know? Did the people in the bars and on the street know? Do they know now? Far as the world knows, one of my girls got killed and the killer's getting away with it."

"And that hurts your reputation?"

"I don't see it helping it any. There's other things. My girls are afraid. Kim got killed and the guy who did it is still out there. Suppose he repeats?"

"Kills another prostitute?"

"Kills another of mine," he said levelly. "Scudder, that killer's a loaded gun and I don't know who he's pointed at. Maybe killing Kim's a way for somebody to get at me. Maybe another girl of mine is next on his list. I know one thing. My business is hurting already. I told my girls not to take any hotel tricks, that's for starters, and not to take any new johns if there's anything funny about them. That's like telling them to leave the phone off the hook."

The waiter drifted over with a pot of coffee and refilled our cups. I still hadn't touched my English muffin and the melted butter was starting to congeal. I got him to take it away. Chance added milk to his coffee. I remembered sitting with Kim while she drank hers heavily diluted with cream and sugar.

I said, "Why me, Chance?"

"I told you. The cops aren't going to kill themselves. The only way somebody's going to give this his best shot is if he's earning my money for it."

"There's other people who work private. You could hire a whole firm, get 'em working around the clock."

"I never did like team sports. Rather see somebody go one on one. 'Sides, you got an inside track. You knew the woman."

"I don't know how much of an edge that gives me."

"And I know you."

"Because you met me once?"

"And liked your style. That counts some."

"Does it? The only thing you know about me is I know how to look at a boxing match. That's not a whole lot."

"It's something. But I know more than that. I know how you handle yourself. And I've asked around, you know. A lot of folks know you and most of 'em said good things about you."

I was silent for a minute or two. Then I said, "It could have been a psycho that killed her. That's what he made it look like so maybe that's what it was."

"Friday I learn she wants out of my string of girls. Saturday I tell her it's cool. Sunday some crazy man flies in from Indiana and chops her up, just by coincidence. You figure?"

"Coincidences happen all the time," I said, "but no, I don't think it was coincidence." God, I felt tired. I said, "I don't much want the case."

"Why not?"

I thought, Because I don't want to have to do anything. I want to sit in a dark corner and turn the world off. I want a drink, damn it.

"You could use the money," he said.

That was true enough. I hadn't gotten all that much mileage out of my last fee. And my son Mickey needed braces on his teeth, and after that there'd be something else.

I said, "I've got to think it over."

"All right."

"I can't concentrate right now. I need a little time to sort out my thoughts."

"How much time?"

Months, I thought. "A couple of hours. I'll call you sometime tonight. Is there a number where I can reach you or do I just call the service?"

"Pick a time," he said. "I'll meet you in front of your hotel."

"You don't have to do that."

"It's too easy to say no over the phone. I figure the odds are better face to face. Besides, if the answer's yes we'll want to talk some. And you'll want some money from me."

I shrugged.

"Pick a time."

"Ten?"

"In front of your hotel."

"All right," I said. "If I had to answer now, it'd be no."

"Then it's good you got until ten."

He paid for the coffee. I didn't put up a fight.

I went back to the hotel and up to the room. I tried to think straight and couldn't. I couldn't seem to sit still, either. I kept moving from the bed to the chair and back again, wondering why I hadn't given him a final no right away. Now I had the aggravation of getting through the hours until ten o'clock and then finding the resolve to turn down what he was offering.

Without thinking too much about what I was doing I put on my hat and coat and went around the corner to Armstrong's. I walked in the door not knowing what I was going to order. I went up to the bar and Billie started shaking his head when he saw me coming. He said, "I can't serve you, Matt. I'm sorry as hell."

I felt the color mounting in my face. I was embarrassed and I was angry. I said, "What are you talking about? Do I look drunk to you?"

"No."

"Then how the hell did I get to be eighty-six around here?"

His eyes avoided mine. "I don't make the rules," he said. "I'm not saying you're not welcome here. Coffee or a Coke or a meal, hell, you're a valued longtime customer. But I'm not allowed to sell you booze."

"Who says?"

"The boss says. When you were in here the other night-"

Oh, God. I said, "I'm sorry about that, Billie. I'll tell you the truth, I had a couple of bad nights. I didn't even know I came in here."

"Don't worry about it."

Christ, I wanted to hide behind something. "Was I very bad, Billie? Did I make trouble?"

"Aw, shit," he said. "You were drunk, you know? It happens, right? I used to have this Irish landlady, I came in bagged one night and apologized the next day, and she would say, 'Jaysus, son, it could happen to a bishop.' You didn't make any trouble, Matt."

"Then-"

"Look," he said, and leaned forward. "I'll just repeat what I was told. He told me, he said, if the guy wants to drink himself to death I can't stop him, and if he wants to come in here he's welcome, but I'm not selling him the booze. This isn't me talking, Matt. I'm just saying what was said."

"I understand."

"If it was up to me-"

"I didn't come in for a drink anyway," I said. "I came in for coffee."

"In that case-"

"In that case the hell with it," I said. "In that case I think what I want is a drink and it shouldn't be all that hard to find somebody willing to sell it to me."

"Matt, don't take it that way."

"Don't tell me how to take it," I said. "Don't give me that shit."

There was something clean and satisfying about the rage I felt. I stalked out of there, my anger burning with a pure flame, and stood on the sidewalk trying to decide where to go for a drink.

Then someone was calling my name.

I turned. A fellow in an army jacket was smiling gently at me. I couldn't place him at first. He said it was good to see me and asked how I was doing, and then of course I knew who it was.

I said, "Oh, hi, Jim. I'm okay, I guess."

"Going to the meeting? I'll walk with you."

"Oh," I said. "Gee, I don't think I'm going to be able to make it tonight. I have to see a guy."

He just smiled. Something clicked, and I asked him if his last name was Faber.

"That's right," he said.

"You called me at the hotel."

"Just wanted to say hello. Nothing important."

"I didn't recognize the name. Otherwise I would have called you back."

"Sure. You sure you don't want to tag along to the meeting, Matt?"