Ed McBain - Fiddlers

‘Nice,’ he said.

‘Yummy,’ she said, and brought the glass to her own mouth. Thick lips, berry ripe with lipstick. Black hair in corn rows. Earrings dangling. Legs crossed, skirt high on her thighs, one foot jiggling a strappy sandal, half on, half off. Low-cut silk blouse unbuttoned three buttons down. No bra. Silk puckered. Nipple on one breast almost showing. Not quite.

‘So what do you do, Bert?’ she asked.

‘I’m a cop,’ he said.

‘Oh dear,’ Sadie said.

‘How about you?’

‘Be funny if I was a hooker, wouldn’t it?’ she said, and winked at Louis.

‘What are you?’ Kling asked.

‘A librarian.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘I’ll bet you’re a cop, too.’

‘You’d win.’

“What are you, Narcotics?’

‘Nope.’

‘Street Crime?’

‘Nope.’

‘Vice?’

‘Nope.’

‘Cause if you was Vice, and I was a hooker, I’d have to be real careful here, you know whut I’m saying?’

‘I guess you’d have to be careful, yes.’

‘Good thing I’m just a librarian.’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And you’re just a plain old cop.’

‘Just a plain old Detective/Third Grade.’

‘Whut precinct?’

‘The Eight-Seven.’

‘You think he’s really a cop, Louis?’

‘Man says he’s a cop, I got no reason to doubt his word.’

‘Let me see your badge,’ Sadie said.

Kling reached for his wallet, opened it to where his shield was pinned to the leather.

‘Gee,’ Sadie said.

‘Told you,’ Kling said, and closed the wallet and put it back in his pocket.

‘Wanna see my library card?’ Sadie asked.

‘No, I believe you.’

‘So what do you think the chances are of a white blond cop meeting a gorgeous black librarian in a bar on the edge of the universe?’

‘Pretty slim, I’d say.’

‘You agree, though, huh?’

Kling looked at her, puzzled.

‘That I’m gorgeous,’ Sadie said.

‘It crossed my mind, yes.’

‘So if I’m not a hooker, why am I sitting here flashing my stuff at you? What kind of librarian would behave like such a brazen hussy?’

‘A brazen hussy, huh?’ Kling said, and smiled.

‘A brazen hussy, is exactly right. Jiggling her foot, letting her boobs spill all over the bar. Lord a’mercy, my daddy would throw a fit.’

‘I’ll bet.’

‘Let me have another one of these li’l mothas, Louis.’

He poured her another drink.

Sadie lifted the stemmed glass.

‘Would you like another li’l taste of this, Bert?’ she asked. ‘I’m assuming you’re off duty, seeing as how it’s a Friday night, and you’re sitting here drinking and all. Another li’l sip, Bert? Another sweet li’l taste?’

She lifted the glass to his mouth again, tilted it.

He sipped.

‘Yummy, ain’t it?’ she said, and raised one eyebrow like a movie star. ‘But getting back, Bert, if I was a hooker, I would have to tell you how much I charge and all that, you know whut I’m saying? And even then, before you could make a vice bust, I’d have to be naked and accepting actual cash, whatever it is these girls charge, a hundred for a blowjob, two hundred for the missionary, five for the whole night, whatever, around the world understood. Then again, you’re off duty, Bert, isn’t that right? My question is: When is an off-duty cop not a cop? And how would he like to make love to a gorgeous black librarian?’

Kling looked at her.

Louis was a discreet ten feet down the bar.

‘Li’l taste, Bert?’ Sadie said.

‘I think…”

She took his hand, placed it on her thigh.

Jiggling her foot.

Eyebrow raised.

He rose abruptly and went to the phone booth.

* * * *

Sharyn answered on the third ring.

‘Don’t hang up,’ he said. ‘Please.’

‘I was in the shower,’ she said. ‘I’m soaking wet.’

‘Get a towel. I’ll call you back.’

‘I have a towel.’

‘Sharyn, I love you to death.’

Silence.

‘Sharyn, let me come there. Please.’

‘No,’ she said, and hung up.

* * * *

Sadie was still sitting at the bar. She ignored him when he sat down beside her. Then she took a long swallow of the martini, draining the glass, and placed it delicately on the bar top, and turned to him, her knees touching his.

‘Mama give you permission?’ she asked.

* * * *

The old lady was walking her dog at almost eleven thirty P.M., not a particularly wise thing to do in this part of the city, but she did it every night at this time, and everyone in the neighborhood knew her, black or white, and she’d never had any trouble so far. When she heard the voice behind her, she was startled, but not frightened.

‘Helen?’

She turned.

The dog didn’t even growl, just stared into the darkness with her.

‘Do I know you?’ she asked.

‘You should,’ he said, ‘it’s Carlie,’ and shot her twice in the face.

As the dog turned to run, he shot her, too.

HE THOUGHT AT first the girl in bed with him was Sharyn. Opening his eyes, first thing that registered was black. Then he realized her scent was different, her hairstyle was different, her face was different, this girl was not Sharyn Cooke. Oh, Jesus, he thought, and felt immediate guilt.

Almost ashamed to look at her.

But kept looking at her.

Black hair in corn rows. Ripe lips, free of lipstick now. Fast asleep, breathing lightly. Looked like a shiny angel. Earrings on the night table beside her. Clothes draped on a chair across the room. The clock on his side of the bed read 6:15 A.M. He was due in the squadroom at 7:45.

Was she a hooker?

In the bar last night… hadn’t there been some talk about money?

He couldn’t even remember which bar it was.

He kept looking at her.

She was quite beautiful.

She couldn’t be a hooker, could she?

Her name was…

Sally?

Sophie?

Whatever her name was, whatever her occupation, she should not be here in his bed this morning. Was someone in Sharyn’s bed this morning?

As if the bed were suddenly on fire, he got out of it fast, and virtually ran across the room to the bathroom. He closed and locked the door. He looked at himself in the mirror.

Maybe you didn’t do anything but sleep together, he told himself.

Buy that one, and I have a good bridge I can sell you.

He kept looking at himself in the mirror. Then he got into the shower, and ran it very hot, and kept thinking over and again, What have I done, what have I done, what have I done?

* * * *

She was sitting up in bed when he came back into the room, a towel around his waist.

‘Hi,’ she said, and got out of bed immediately. ‘Gotta tinkle,’ she said, and rushed past him to the bathroom, long legs flashing, tight little ass, cute little boobs, the door closed behind her. He could hear her peeing inside there. He did not want this intimacy. This intimacy was reserved for Sharyn. But Sharyn wasn’t here, this girl was here, whatever her name was.

He pulled on a pair of undershorts, trousers, threw on a shirt. Should he offer her coffee? Who was she, anyway? Had he paid her for last night? He hoped he hadn’t paid her, he hoped she wasn’t a hooker. He went to the dresser, picked up his wallet, thinking to check the bills there, see if he was now a hundred or so short.

The bathroom door opened.

She stood there naked, hands on her hips.

‘Anything missing?’ she asked.

Smile on her face.

‘You still believe it, don’t you?’

He said nothing.

‘The fun I was having with you last night. In the bar.’