Ed McBain - The Con Man

“It’s not my fault, Claire. Claire, the schedule is made out by Lieutenant—”

“...incredibly ridiculous times for a vacation, June tenth positively wins the fur-lined bathtub!”

“All right,” Kling said.

“All right?” she repeated. “What’s all right about it? It reeks! It’s bureaucracy in action! Hell, it’s totalitarianism!”

“It’s a hell of a thing, all right,” Kling agreed. “Would you like me to quit my job? Shall I get a nice democratic position like shoemaker or butcher or—”

“Oh, stop it.”

“If I were a midget,” Kling said, “I could probably get a job stuffing Vienna sausages. Trouble is—”

“Stop it,” she said again, but she was smiling.

“You better?” he asked hopefully.

“I’m sick,” she answered.

“It’s a tough break.”

“Let’s have a drink.”

“Rye neat,” he said.

Claire looked at him. “No need to go all to pieces, Officer,” she said. “It’s not the end of the world. Worst comes to worst, you can go on vacation with some other girl.”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Kling said, snapping his fingers.

“And all I’ll do is break both your arms,” Claire said. She poured two hookers of rye and handed one of them to Kling. “Here’s to a solution.”

“You just hit the solution,” Kling said, raising the glass to his lips. “Another girl.”

“Don’t you dare drink to that!” Claire said.

“You’re sure finals don’t begin until the seventeenth?”

“Positive.”

“Can you swing something?”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know.” Kling looked into the eye of his glass. “Aw, hell,” he said, “here’s to a solution,” and he threw it down.

Claire swallowed hers without batting an eyelid. “Let’s think,” she said.

“How many tests are there?” Kling asked.

“Five,” she answered.

“When is school over?”

“Classes end on the seventh of June. The next week is a reading week. And then finals start on the seventeenth.”

“When do they end?”

“Two weeks later. That’s when the semester is officially over.”

“June twenty-eighth?”

“Yes.”

“That’s great. I need another drink.”

“No more. We need clear heads.”

“How about you taking your tests during that last week of classes?”

“Impossible.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know. It just is.”

“Has it ever been done before?”

“I doubt it strongly.”

“Hell, this is an emergency.”

“Is it? Bert, Women’s U is an all-girls school. Can I go to the dean and say I’d like to have permission to take my finals the week of the third because my boyfriend and I are leaving on vacation the following week?”

“Why not?”

“They’d probably expel me. Girls have been expelled for less.”

“Hell, I can’t see anything wrong with that.” Kling thought it over for a moment and then nodded emphatically. “There is nothing at all wrong with going on vacation with your fiancé — not boyfriend, if you please, but fiancé — especially if you plan on getting married soon.”

“You make it sound worse than I did.”

“Then your mind is as evil as your dean’s.”

“And yours, of course, is simon pure.”

Kling grinned. “Absolutely,” he said.

“It still wouldn’t work.”

“Then give me another drink, and we’ll resort to all kinds of subterfuge.”

Claire poured two more hookers. “Here’s to all kinds of subterfuge,” she toasted. Together, they tossed off the shots, and she refilled the glasses.

“We could, of course, say you were having a baby.”

“We could?”

“Yes. And that you were going to be confined to the hospital during finals, so could you please take them a little earlier? How does that sound?”

“Very good,” Claire said. “The dean would appreciate that.” She tossed off her drink and poured another.

“Go easy there,” Kling advised. He drank his whiskey and held out his glass for a refill. “We need a clear head here — heads, I mean.”

“Suppose...” Claire said thoughtfully.

“Um?”

“No, that wouldn’t work.”

“Let me hear it.”

“No, no, it wouldn’t work.”

“What?”

“Well, I was thinking we could get married and say I had to miss finals because I was going on my honeymoon. How’s that?”

“If you’re trying to scare me,” Kling said, “you’re not.”

“I thought you wanted to wait until I graduated.”

“I do. Don’t tempt me.”

“Okay,” Claire said. “Whoosh, I’m beginning to feel that booze.”

“Keep a tight grip,” Kling said. He thought silently for a moment. “Get me a pen and some paper, will you?”

“What for?”

“Letter to the dean,” Kling said.

“All right,” Claire answered. She walked across the room to the secretary, and Kling said, “You wiggle very nice.”

“Keep your mind on your work,” Claire said.

“You are my work. You’re my life’s work.”

Claire giggled and came back to him. She put her hands on his shoulders, leaned over, and kissed him fiercely on the mouth.

“You’d better go get the pen and paper,” he said.

“I’d better,” she answered. She walked away again, and again, he watched her. This time, she returned with a fountain pen and two sheets of stationery. Kling put the paper on the coffee table, uncapped the pen, and asked, “What’s the dean’s name?”

“Which one? We have several.”

“The one in charge of vacations.”

“None such.”

“Permissions?”

“Anna Kale.”

“Miss or Mrs.?”

“Miss,” Claire said. “There are no such things as married deans.”

“Dear Miss Kale,” Kling said out loud as he wrote. “How’s that for a beginning?”

“Brilliant,” Claire said.

“Dear Miss Kale: I am writing to you on behalf of my daughter, Claire Townsend—”

“What’s the penalty for forgery?” Claire asked.

“Shhhh,” Kling said. “On behalf of my daughter, Claire Townsend, who requests permission to take her final examinations during the week of June third rather than during the scheduled examination period.”

“You should have been a writer,” Claire said. “You have a natural style.”

“As you know,” Kling went on, writing, “Claire is an honor student...” He paused. “Are you?”

“Phi Bete in my junior year,” Claire said.

“A bloody genius,” Kling said and then went back to the letter. “Claire is an honor student and can be trusted to take her exams without revealing their content to any students who will be tested at a later date. I would not make such an urgent request were it not for the fact that my sister is leaving for a tour of the West on June tenth—”

“A tour of the West!” Claire said.

“...a tour of the West on June tenth,” Kling went on, “and has offered to take her niece with her. This is an opportunity that should not be bypassed, adding — I feel — more to a young girl’s education than a strict compliance to schedule could offer. I hope you will agree the experience should be a rewarding one, and I know you would not put red tape into the way of a trip that would undoubtedly enrich one of your students. Trusting your decision will be the right one. I remain respectfully yours, Ralph Townsend.” Kling held the letter at arm’s length. “How’s that?” he asked.

“It’ll make a fine Exhibit A for the state,” Claire said.

“Screw the state,” Kling said. “How about the letter?”

“My father hasn’t got any sisters,” Claire said.

“A slight oversight,” Kling said. “What about the drama of the appeal?”