Ed McBain - The Con Man

“Yes,” he said.

“I’m not sure I understand.”

“A small one. Someplace on your hand.” He took her hand again. “Right here perhaps, between the thumb and forefinger.”

“I...I’m afraid of needles,” Priscilla said.

“Then forget it.” He stared at the tablecloth. “Finish your tea, won’t you, darling?” he said, and he smiled up at her, a defeated, boyish smile.

“If I...” She stopped, thinking. “It’s just that I’m afraid of needles.”

“It doesn’t hurt at all, you know,” he said. “I thought perhaps a little heart. With our initials in it. Priscilla and Chris. P-A-C. So that everyone would know. Everyone would know you’re my woman.”

“I’m afraid of needles,” she said.

“It doesn’t hurt,” he assured her.

“Chris, I...I’ll do anything else you want. Anything, really. It’s just that I’ve always been afraid of needles. Even getting a shot from the doctor.”

“Then forget it,” he said pleasantly.

She looked into his eyes. “You’re angry, aren’t you?”

“No, no, not at all.”

“You are.”

“Pris, really, I’m not. I’m just a little...disappointed.”

“In me?”

“No, of course not in you. How could I be disappointed in you?”

“In what then?”

“Well, I thought you’d like the idea.”

“I do like it, Chris. I want people to know I belong to you. But—”

“Yes, I know.”

“I feel like such a baby.”

“No, you’re perfectly right. If you have a fear of—”

“Chris, please, I feel so silly. It probably...” She bit her lip. “It probably doesn’t hurt at all.”

“Not at all,” he said.

“I am...I am being a baby.”

“Forget it,” he said, but there was an aloofness about him that chilled her. Desperately, she wanted to reach him again, wanted to be safe and secure in the warmth of his respect.

“I’ll...I’ll do whatever you say,” she told him.

“No, don’t be ridiculous,” he said. He snapped his fingers and called, “Waiter,” and to her, he said, “Let’s get out of here.”

“I’ll do it, Chris. I’ll...I’ll do it. The tattoo. Whatever you want.”

His eyes softened. He took her hands and said, “Would you, Pris? It would really make me very happy.”

“I want to make you happy,” she said.

“Good. There’s a tattoo parlor right on the edge of Chinatown. It won’t hurt, Pris. I can promise you that.”

She nodded. “I’m petrified,” she said.

“Don’t be. I’ll be right there with you.”

She covered her mouth and swallowed hard. “This food was awfully heavy,” she said. She smiled apologetically. “Very good, but heavy. I feel a little queasy.”

He looked at her, and there was concern in his eyes. The waiter approached the table, quietly depositing the check face down. Donaldson picked up the check, glanced at it, left a tip on the table, and then took Priscilla’s arm. He paid the check at the cashier’s booth.

As they left the restaurant, he said, “Do you know the story about the man who goes to a Chinese brothel?”

“Oh, Chris,” she said.

“He goes there, and then the madam is surprised to see him returning five minutes later. She says to him, ‘But you were here just five minutes ago with Ming Toy, our most beautiful girl.’ And the fellow looks at her and says, ‘Well, you know how it is with a Chinese meal.’”

Priscilla laughed and then sobered almost instantly. “I still feel queasy,” she said.

He took her elbow and glanced at her quickly. Then he quickened his pace and said, “We’d better hurry.”

To say that Charlie Chen was surprised to see Teddy Carella would be a complete understatement.

The door to his shop had been closed, and he heard the small tinkle of the bell when the door opened, and he glanced up momentarily and then lifted his hulk from the chair in which he sat smoking and went to the front of the shop.

“Oh!” he said, and then his round face broke into a delighted grin. “Pretty detective lady come back,” he said. “Charlie Chen is much honored. Charlie Chen is much flattered. Come, sit down, Mrs....” He paused. “Charlie Chen forget name.”

Teddy touched her lips with the tips of her fingers and then shook her head. Chen stared at her, uncomprehending. She repeated the gesture.

“You can’t talk, maybe?” he asked. “Laryngitis?”

Teddy smiled, shook her head, and then her hand traveled swiftly from her mouth to her ears, and Chen at last understood.

“Oh,” he said. “Oh.” His eyes clouded. “Very sorry, very sorry.”

Teddy gave a slight shake of her head and a slight lift of her shoulders and a slight twist of her hands, explaining to Chen that there was nothing to be sorry for.

“But you understand me?” he asked. “You know what I say?”

Yes, she nodded.

“Good. You most beautiful lady ever come into Charlie Chen’s poor shop. I speak this from my heart. Beauty is not plentiful in the world today. There is not much beauty. To see true beauty, this gladdens me. Makes me very happy, very happy. I talk too fast for you?”

Teddy shook her head.

“You read my lips?” He nodded appreciatively. “That very clever, very clever. Why you come visit Charlie Chen?”

Teddy looped her thumbs together and then moved her hands as if they were in flight.

“The butterfly?” Chen asked, astounded. “You want the butterfly?”

Yes, she nodded, delighted by his response.

“Oh,” he said, “ohhhhhh,” as if her acknowledgment were the fulfillment of his wildest dream. “I make very pretty. I make pretty big butterfly.”

Teddy shook her head.

“No big butterfly? Small butterfly?”

Yes.

“Ah, very clever, very clever. Delicate butterfly for pretty lady. Big butterfly no good. Small, little, pretty butterfly better. You very smart. You very beautiful, and you very smart. I do. Come. Come in. Please. Come in.”

He parted the curtains leading to the back of the shop and then gallantly bowed and stepped aside while Teddy passed through. She went directly to the butterfly design pinned to the wall. Chen smiled and then seemed to notice for the first time the calendar with its naked woman on the other wall.

“Excuse other pretty lady, please,” he said. “Stupid sons do.”

Teddy glanced at the calendar and smiled.

“You decide color?” Chen asked.

She nodded.

“Which?”

Teddy touched her hair.

“Black? Ah, good. Black very good. Little, black butterfly. Come. Sit. I do. No pain. Charlie Chen be very careful.”

He sat her down, and she watched him, beginning to get a little frightened now. Deciding to get one’s shoulder decorated was one thing. Going ahead with it was another thing again. She watched his movements as he walked around the shop preparing his tools. Her eyes were saucer wide.

“You frightened?” he asked.

She gave a very small nod.

“No be. Everything go hunky-dory. I promise. Very clean, very sanitary, very harmless.” He smiled. “Very painless, too.”

Teddy kept watching him, her heart in her mouth.

“I use very-deep black. Black no good unless really black. Otherwise is gray. Life is all full of grays, pretty lady. No sharp whites, no sharp blacks. All grays. Very sad, life is.” Chen brought a pencil and a sheet of paper to the table. He drew several circles on it, one the size of a dime, the next the size of a nickel, then the size of a quarter, and lastly, the size of a half-dollar.

“Which size do you want butterfly?” he asked.

Teddy studied the circles.

“Biggest one too big, no?” Chen asked.