Ed McBain - Fiddlers

‘By George, maybe we do,’ Meyer said.

‘Just see the club just up the street,’ Carella said. ‘Where the manager took a fall for possession with intent.’

Meyer nodded sagely.

‘You think a judge would grant a search warrant?’ Carella asked.

‘Maybe,’ Meyer said.

‘Have we got probable cause?’

‘Maybe.’

‘Shall we give it a shot?’

‘Nothing to lose,’ Meyer said.

* * * *

Well now, by golly, who’d have thought they were going to make a drug bust at a hangout for geezers? But when you thought of it, what made more sense than strolling up the alley to a nice clean establishment where the elderly sat holding hands at tables in the dark as violinists strolled and meanwhile at the back door a man who’d been convicted of possession with intent was back at the old candy stand again?

La Paglia said they were out of their minds.

But they were there with a search warrant, you see.

Probable cause.

Sixteen-year-old girl in attendance at Grandma’s Bloomers, a club that meticulously IDs anyone seeking entrance, and she later takes a little stroll up the alley to Ninotchka, and yet later is witnessed swallowing two tabs of dust, and then she’s found dead outside Ninotchka, now isn’t that a remarkable coincidence, Your Honor?

Isn’t that probable cause for a search warrant, Your Honor?

Petition granted.

So what say you now, Mr. La Paglia?

‘I say talk to your pals at Narcotics. They’ve been here already. They know the score. Talk to them.’

‘You gonna let us search the premises?’ Meyer asked. ‘Or you gonna give us trouble here?’

La Paglia decided to give them trouble.

He was a big man, not as tall as either Meyer or Carella, but thicker and beefier than either, and he had no intention of going back to jail, especially on charges that might include the death of a sixteen-year-old girl, there was no way anyone was going to put him back in there with all the butt-fuckers, pole-smokers, and peter-gazers. All you had to do was take one look at prison slang, and you figured in a minute that it wasn’t a hell of a lot better doing a grip of time here in America than it was doing it over there in Iraq. There was no way anybody was going to send Dominick La Paglia up again, a three-time loser this time, no way in the world!

He came at them like a bull roaring out of the chutes, looking to gore anybody in the ring. They weren’t used to this sort of activity. Your uniforms, who were there on the spot when a crime was going down, got into physical combat more often than your detectives, who usually came in after a crime was committed. Neither Carella nor Meyer could remember the last time they’d worked out at the police gym. So here came a guy who weighed two hundred and ten pounds, and who was still in good shape from lifting weights when he was on the inside, a guy who’d been paying off Narcotics, and maybe Street Crime as well, and who felt entitled to a little protection here, instead of two starfish assholes waving a search warrant at him. He felt betrayed, and he felt endangered, and besides he felt he had nothing to lose if he could get out of here past these two range queens, so he smashed his fist into Meyer’s face, knocking him off balance and back into Carella, who was reaching for his holstered Glock, when he, too, lost balance.

La Paglia kicked Meyer in the balls, dropping him moaning to his knees. He was about to do the same thing to Carella when the Glock popped into view. He kicked Meyer under the chin instead, hoping this would dissuade the other cop, but the gun was level in Carella’s hand now, pointing straight at La Paglia’s head, and his eyes spoke even before his mouth did, and his eyes said, I am going to shoot you dead.

‘Freeze!’ he yelled.

La Paglia hesitated just another moment. Meyer was lying flat on the floor now. La Paglia brought back his foot to kick him in the head again, just for spite, and then changed his mind when he heard Carella shout, ‘Now!’

He froze.

* * * *

He half expected the number she’d given him to be a fake one, but lo and behold, there was her voice on the phone.

‘Reggie?’ he said.

‘Who’s this, please?’

‘Charles.’

‘Charles?’

‘Remember last Thursday night? You and Trish?’

‘Oh, right, sure. Hi, Charles.’

He still didn’t think she remembered him.

‘You gave me your phone number, remember?’

‘Sure. How you doin, Charles?’

‘Fine, thanks. And you?’

‘Fine. You’re the guy with the shaved head, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Sure, I remember. So what’d you have in mind, Charles?’

‘I bought a new car,’ he said.

‘No kidding?’

‘I take delivery tomorrow morning.’

‘Wow,’ she said, but she didn’t sound at all enthusiastic.

‘What I thought…”

‘Yes, Charles?’

‘If you were free tomorrow…”

‘Yes?’

‘We could go for a ride in the country, have lunch at some nice little place on the road, come back to the hotel for dinner, and then spend the night together. If that sounds interesting to you, Reggie.’

‘It does indeed,’ she said.

‘Well then, good,’ he said, relieved. ‘Where shall I pick you up?’

‘Are you staying at the hotel now?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Well, why don’t I just meet you there?’

‘Fine. Eleven tomorrow morning?’

‘That’ll be a long day,’ she said.

‘I know.’

‘And night,’ she said.

‘I realize that.’

‘We don’t have to discuss money, do we, Charles?’

‘Not unless you want to.’

‘It’s just… it’ll be all day, and then all night.’

‘Yes.’

‘Does five thousand sound high?’

‘It sounds fine, Reggie.’

‘What kind of car did you buy?’ she asked.

* * * *

He wasn’t worried about the money running out. There was enough to last till he did what he still had to do. The home equity loan on the house was big enough to carry him through to the end of this. Just barely, the way he was spending, but that’s what this was all about, wasn’t it? Corrections? Adjustments? Make for himself now the life he should have enjoyed all along? Drive through the countryside with a nineteen-year-old redhead in a leased Jaguar convertible? That’s what this was all about, wasn’t it?

The look on Alicia’s face when he said, ‘Remember me? Chuck?’

Oh, Jesus, that was almost worth it all, he’d been almost ready to quit right then and there! That priceless look of recognition an instant before he shot her. Recognition, and then pain. The bullets smashing home. A pain deeper than his own, he supposed. He hoped so. And she’d known.

They would all know, because he would make sure they knew. Hi, remember me? Long time no see, right? Bad penny, right? So long, it’s been swell’t’know ya!

And bam!

Good.

* * * *

Tomorrow was a school day, and so the surprise birthday party for the twins was an afternoon one, and they were both home by eight that Tuesday night. When Carella came in at nine thirty, April was in the living room with Teddy, still chattering away, her hands moving on the air for her mother to read. Lipstick. High heels. Miniskirt. His thirteen-year-old daughter now. He yelled, ‘Hi, everybody,’ went in to where they were both sitting under the imitation Tiffany lamp, signed, Hi, Sweetie, kissed Teddy, and then kissed his daughter and asked, ‘How was the party?’

‘Cool,’ April said, ‘I was just telling Mom.’

‘Where’s Mark?’ he asked.

‘In his room,’ April said.

‘Everything okay?’

Teddy discreetly rolled her eyes.