Ed McBain - The Con Man

Teddy nodded.

“Okay. We disintegrate.” He made a large cross over the half-dollar circle.

“Littlest one too little, yes?” he asked.

Again, Teddy nodded.

“Poof!” Chen said, and he crossed out the dime-sized circle. “Which of these two?” he asked, pointing to the nickel and the quarter.

Teddy shrugged.

“I think bigger one, no? Then Charlie can do nice lace on wings. Too small is difficult. Can do, but is difficult. Bigger one, we get nice effect, all lacy. Very pretty.” He cocked his head to one side and extended his forefinger. “But not too big. Too big no good.” He nodded. “Most things in life too big. Gray and too big. People forget blacks and whites. People forget little things. I tell you something.”

Teddy watched him, wondering if he were talking to put her at ease, realizing at the same time that he was succeeding. The panic she had felt just a few moments earlier was rapidly dissolving.

“You want listen?” Chen asked.

Teddy nodded.

“I was married very pretty lady. Shanghai. You know Shanghai?”

Teddy nodded again.

“Very nice city, Shanghai. I was tattoo there, too. Very skill art in China, tattoo. I tattoo many people. Then I marry very pretty lady. Prettiest lady in all Shanghai. Prettiest lady in all China! She give me three sons. She make me very happy. Life blacks and whites with her. Sharp, good contrast. Everything clear and bright. Everything clean. No grays. Big concern for little things. Very joyous, very happy.” Chen was nodding, lost in his reminiscence. His eyes had glazed somewhat, and Teddy watched him, feeling a sadness in the man even before he spoke his next words.

“She die,” he said. “Life very funny. Good things die early; bad ones never die. She die. Life is grey again. Have three sons, but no laughter. No more lights in Shanghai. No more people talking. No more happiness. Only empty Charlie Chen. Empty.”

He paused, and she wanted to reach out to touch his hand, to comfort him.

“I come here America. Very good country. I have trade, tattoo.” He wagged his head. “I get by, make living. Send oldest son to college; he not so stupid, as I say. Younger ones good in school, too. I learn to live. Only one thing missing. Beauty. Very hard to find beauty.” Chen smiled. “You bring beauty to my shop. I am very grateful. I do beautiful butterfly. My fingers wither and dry if I do not do beautiful butterfly. This I promise. I promise, too, no pain. This, too, I promise. You relax, yes? You unbutton blouse just a little, move off shoulder.” He paused. “Which shoulder? Left or right? Very important to decide.”

Teddy touched her left shoulder.

“Ah, no, butterfly on left shoulder bad omen. We do right, okay? You no mind? We put pretty, small, black, lacy butterfly on right shoulder, okay?”

Teddy nodded. She unbuttoned the top button of her blouse and then dipped the blouse off her shoulder.

Chen looked up from his needle suddenly.

The bell over his front door had just sounded.

Someone had entered the shop.

Chen may not have recognized the tall, blond man were it not for the fact that Teddy Carella was in the back of his shop, waiting to be tattooed.

For whereas the handsome blond had been an impressive figure, Chen had only seen him once, and that had been a long time ago. But now, with Teddy in the rear of the shop, with Chen keenly reminded of Teddy’s relationship to a husband who was a cop, he recognized the blond man the instant he stepped through the beaded curtains to confront him.

“Yes?” he said, and he saw the man’s face, and curiously, he automatically began thinking in Chinese. This is the man the detective seeks, he thought. The husband of the beauty who now waits to be tattooed. This is the man.

“Hello, there,” Donaldson said. “We’ve got some work for you.”

Chen’s eyes fled to the girl beside Donaldson. She was not pretty. Her hair was a mousy brown, and her eyes were a faded brown, and she wore glasses, and she peered through the glasses, she was not pretty at all. She also looked a little sick. There was a tight, drawn expression to her face, and her skin was pallid. She did not look well at all.

“What kind of work, please?” Chen asked.

“A tattoo,” Donaldson said, smiling.

Chen nodded. “A tattoo for the gentleman, yes, sir,” he said.

“No,” Donaldson corrected, “a tattoo for the lady,” and there was no longer the slightest doubt in Chen’s mind. This was the man. A girl was dead, perhaps because of this man. Chen eyed him narrowly. This man was dangerous.

“You will sit down, please?” he asked. “I be with you in one minute.”

“Hurry, won’t you?” Donaldson said. “We haven’t got much time.”

“I be with you two shakes,” Chen said, and he parted the curtains and moved quickly to the back of the shop. He walked directly to Teddy. She saw the anxiety on his face immediately. She gave him her complete attention at once. Something had happened, and Chen was very troubled.

In a whisper, he said, “Man here. One your husband wants. Do you understand?”

For a moment, she didn’t understand. Man here? One my husband...? And then the meaning became clear, and she felt a sudden chill at the base of her spine, felt her scalp begin to prickle.

“He here with girl,” Chen said. “Want tattoo. You understand?”

She swallowed hard, and then she nodded.

“What I should do?” Chen asked.

“I... I don’t feel too well,” Priscilla Ames said.

“This won’t take but a moment,” Donaldson assured her.

“Chris, I really don’t feel well. My stomach...” She shook her head. “Do you suppose that food was all right?”

“I’m sure it was, darling. Look, we’ll get the tattoo, and then we’ll stop for a bromo or something, all right? We have a long drive ahead, and I wouldn’t want you to be sick.”

“Chris, do we... do we have to get the tattoo? I feel awful. I’ve never felt like this before in my life.”

“It’ll pass, darling. Perhaps the food was a little too rich.”

“Yes, it must have been something. Chris, I feel awful.”

Carella opened the door to his apartment.

“Teddy?” he called, and then he realized that calling her name was useless if she could not see his lips. He closed the door behind him and walked into the living room. He took off his jacket, threw it onto one of the easy chairs, and then walked through to the kitchen.

The kitchen was empty.

Carella shrugged, went back to the living room, and then opened the door leading to their bedroom. Teddy wasn’t in the bedroom, either.

He stood looking into the room for several moments. Then he sighed, went into the living room again, and opened the window wide. He picked up the newspaper, kicked off his shoes, loosened his tie, and then sat down to read and wait for his wayward wife.

He was dog-tired.

In ten minutes, he was sound asleep in the easy chair.

Bert Kling was making a call on the company’s time.

“How’d it go?” he asked Claire.

“It’s too early to tell,” she said.

“Did she read it?”

“Yes, I think so.”

“And?”

“No expression.”

“None?”

“None. She read it and said she would let my father know. Period.”

“What do you think?”

“I think I love you,” Claire said.

“Don’t get mushy,” Kling told her. “Do you think it’ll work?”

“Time will tell,” Claire said. “I adore you.”

“I adore you, Chris,” Priscilla said, “and I want to do this for you, but I just...don’t...feel well.”

“You’ll feel better in a little while,” Donaldson said. He paused and smiled. “Would you like some chewing gum?” he asked pleasantly.