Ed McBain - Hark!

She was thinking that her job today wouldn't be a simple one at all. If she didn't get out of here soon to start lining up her junkies . . .

'The luxury sedan from Regal will be arriving here at half past noon tomorrow,' he said. 'All you have to do is deliver the driver to the Knowlton.'

So what else is new? she thought.

And what will you be doing?' she asked.

Far as she could see, all he'd done so far was sit on his brilliant ass while she ran all over the city doing his errands. And he still hadn't told her what her cut of the big seven-figure payoff would be, if there ever was a big payoff, which she was honestly beginning to doubt, now that he was into palindromes and all. If he was so intent on screwing up the 87th Precinct, why was he bothering with word games? Why didn't he just lob a hand grenade through the front door? Good question, eh, Adam? What is this thing you have with them, anyway?

'What is this thing you have with them, anyway?' she asked, venturing the question out loud, what the hell.

'By this thing . . . ?'

'This messing around with their heads.'

'Let's just say our ongoing relationship has been a frustrating one,' he said.

'Okay, but why . . . ?'

'I wouldn't trouble my pretty little head over it,' he said, a line she had heard in many a bad movie, a line she had in fact heard from the late unlamented Ambrose Carter while he was still training her, so to speak, his exact words being, 'I wouldn't trouble my pretty little head over it, swee'heart, just suck the man's cock.'

'Yes, but I do trouble my pretty little head over it,' she said now, somewhat defiantly. 'Because it seems to me you're spending a lot of time and money telling these jerks exactly what you're about to do . . .'

'Exactly what I'm not about to do is more like it,' he said.

'Whatever,' she said. 'Why are you bothering, that's the question? Why not just do the gig and get out of town?'

'That's precisely what I plan to do. Tortola, remember?'

'Who's Detective Stephen Louis Carella?' she asked, straight out.

'A dumb flatfoot.'

'Then why are you addressing these letters to him? If he's so dumb

'It's personal. I shot him once.'

'Why?'

'He was getting on my nerves.'

'Did he send you away, is that it?'

'I've never done time in my life.'

'Did he bust you? Did you beat the rap?'

'Never. Neither Carella nor the Eight-Seven has ever laid a hand on me.'

'Then ... I don't get it. Why bother with them?'

'Diversion, my dear, it's all diversion.'

'I don't know what that means, diversion.'

'It means smoke and mirr . . .'

'I know what it means, I just don't see how it applies here.'

'Try to look at it this way, my dear,' he said patiently. She did not like it when he got so tip-toey patient with her. It was more like condescension when he got so patient. 'In these perilous times of High Alert, with a terrorist lurking under every bush - please pardon the pun - one can't be too careful, can one? So, even with the assistance of policemen from other precincts, they'll still be too late.'

'Who'll be too late?'

'The stalwarts of the Eight-Seven.'

'Too late for whatV

'The foul deed that smells above the earth - to paraphrase Mr. Shakespeare in his brilliant Julius Caesar - shall already have been done. Too late, my love. Altogether too late.'

'I still don't get it,' she said.

'Well,' he said, and sighed heavily, 'I wouldn't trouble my pretty little head over it.'

Which pissed her off all over again.

THE DRIVER WHO'D been behind the wheel of the limo last Friday was named Kevin Connelly, and he did not appreciate being awakened at seven in the morning. Associating Hawes at once with the bullets that had come crashing into the car last week, he immediately looked into the hallway past him, as if expecting another fusillade. Satisfied that Hawes was alone, he stepped aside and let him into the apartment.

He was still in his pajamas. He threw on a robe, led Hawes into the kitchen, and immediately set a pot of coffee to brew on the stove. Like two old buddies about to embark on a hunting trip, they sat drinking coffee at a small table adjacent to a small window.

'I want to know about the Honey Blair call last Friday,' Hawes said. 'What'd the dispatcher give you?'

'Pickup and delivery for Miss Blair,' Connelly said. 'Same as always.'

'So how come you picked me up on the way?'

'Miss Blair told me to stop by for you.'

'Gave you 711 Grover?'

'No, she didn't know the address of the precinct. I had to look it up in my book. This little book I have.'

'How about 574 Jefferson? Did she tell you we'd be dropping me off there?'

'Yes.'

'How long did you figure it'd take from her building to the precinct?'

'About ten minutes.'

'And from there to Jeff Av?'

'Another twenty.'

'Plenty of time for someone to get there ahead of us.'

'Well, sure. As it turned out.'

'But you and Miss Blair were the only ones who knew where we were going.'

'Until' I called it in to Base.'

'Base?'

'The Transportation office. At Channel Four. I called in to give them the new itin.'

'Who'd you speak to there?'

'One of the guys.'

'Which one?' Hawes asked. *

And after me, I know, the rout is coming. Such a mad marriage never was before: Hark, hark! I hear the minstrels play.

'God, does he know about the wedding?' Carella asked out loud.

'How could he?' Meyer asked.

'He could,' Genero said knowingly. 'He's evil.'

Carella was thinking, It is a mad marriage. Two mad marriages! Like never was or were before. He was already at the computer, searching for the source of the quote. It was eight-thirty in the morning. The other detectives all clustered around the first note that day as if it were a ticking time bomb. Which perhaps it was.

'There's bark,' Willis said. 'I told you it meant listen, didn't I?'

"Hark, hark!'" Kling quoted. 'He's harking us to death.'

'Hokking our chainiks,' Meyer said.

'Which means?' Parker demanded, sounding insulted.

'Which means "breaking our balls," excuse me, Eileen.'

'It's from The Taming of the Shrew,' Carella said. 'Act Three, Scene Two.'

'Think the Minstrels might be a rock group?' Brown asked.

'Here, check it out,' Willis said.

The June 11-18 issue of Here & Now magazine had appeared on the newsstands early this morning. Published every Friday, it covered the city's cultural scene for the following week, alerting its readers to what was happening all around town. Handily divided into sections titled Art, Books, Clubs, Comedy, Dance, Film, Gay & Lesbian, Kids, Music, Sports, and Theater, the magazine offered a neat little guide to all that was going on that week.

The Music section this week . . .

The Deaf Man's note this morning seemed to confirm that his target was a concert someplace . . .

. . . was divided into subsections titled 'Rock, Pop & Soul,' 'Reggae, World & Latin,' 'Jazz & Experimental,' 'Blues, Folk & Country,' and 'Cabaret.' A separate section listed 'Classical & Opera' events. The variety of offerings was overwhelming. For this weekend alone, there were 112 listings in the 'Rock, Pop & Soul' section; this was not Painted Shrubs, Arizona, kiddies.

The magazine's DON'T MISS! column highlighted the 'dashing singer-guitarist' John Pizzarelli and his trio, appearing nightly at 8:30 P.M. in the Skyline Room of the Hanover Hotel; 'soul legend' Isaac Hayes, performing at 8:00 and 10:30 this Friday and Saturday nights at Lou's Place downtown; Kathleen Landis. lovely pianist and song stylist,' nightly at 9:00 P.M. in the lounge of the Picadilly; Konstantinos Sallas, 'renowned violin virtuoso, guest-starring with the Philharmonic' at Clarendon Hall this Saturday and Sunday at 3:00 P.M.; and William Christie leading the Paris National Opera and his 'stellar early-music ensemble' in Les Boreades at the Calm's Point Academy of Music, this Friday at 7:15 P.M. and this Sunday at 2:00 P.M.