Ed Mcbain - Fuzz

Her story this Wednesday was the same story she had been telling every Wednesday for the past four years. Willis took down the information and promised they would do everything in their power to bring this insane womanizer to justice. Sadie the Nut left the squadroom pleased and excited, doubtless anticipating next week’s nocturnal visit.

At a quarter to ten that morning, a woman came in to report that her husband was missing. The woman was perhaps thirty-five years old, an attractive brunette wearing a green overcoat that matched her Irish eyes. Her face was spanking pink from the cold outside, and she exuded health and vitality even though she seemed quite upset by her husband’s disappearance. Upon questioning her, though, Meyer learned that the missing man wasn’t her husband at all, he was really the husband of her very best friend who lived in the apartment next door to her on Ainsley Avenue. And upon further questioning, the green eyed lady explained to Meyer that she and her very best friend’s husband had been having “a relationship” (as she put it) for three years and four months, with never a harsh word between them, they were that fond of each other. But last night, when the green-eyed lady’s best friend went to play Bingo at the church, the green-eyed lady and the husband had had a violent argument because he had wanted to “do it” (as she again put it) right there in his own apartment on the living-room couch with his four children asleep in the other room, and she had refused, feeling it would not be decent, and he had put on his hat and coat and gone out into the cold. He had not yet returned, and whereas the green-eyed lady’s best friend figured he was out having himself a toot, the husband apparently being something of a drinking man, the green-eyed lady missed him sorely and truly believed he had vanished just to spite her, had she known he would do something like that she certainly would have let him have his way, you know how men are.

Yes, Meyer said.

So whereas the wife felt it would not be necessary to report him missing and thereby drag policemen into the situation, the green-eyed lady feared he might do something desperate, having been denied her favors, and was therefore asking the law’s assistance in locating him and returning him to the bosom of his family and loved ones, you know how men are.

Yes, Meyer said again.

So he took down the information, wondering when it was that he’d last attempted to lay Sarah on the living-room couch with his own children asleep in their respective rooms, and realized that he had never tried to lay Sarah on the living-room couch. He decided that he would try to do it tonight when he got home, and then he assured the green-eyed lady that they would do everything in their power to locate her best friend’s husband, but that probably there was nothing to worry about, he had probably gone to spend the night with a friend.

Yes, that’s just what I’m worried about, the green-eyed lady said.

Oh, Meyer said.

When the green-eyed lady left, Meyer filed the information away for future use, not wanting to bug the Bureau of Missing Persons prematurely. He was beginning to type up a report on a burglary when Detective Andy Parker came into the squadroom with Lewis the Pickpocket. Parker was laughing uncontrollably, but Lewis did not seem too terribly amused. He was a tall slender man with a bluish cast to his jowls, small sharp penetrating blue eyes, thinning sandy-colored hair. He was wearing a beige trench coat and brown leather gloves, and he carried an umbrella in the crook of his arm and scowled at everyone in the squadroom as Parker continued laughing uproariously.

“Look who I got!” Parker said, and burst into a choking, gasping fit.

“What’s so special?” Meyer said. “Hello, Lewis, how’s business?”

Lewis scowled at Meyer. Meyer shrugged.

“Best pickpocket in the precinct!” Parker howled. “Guess what happened?”

“What happened?” Carella asked.

“I’m standing at the counter in Jerry’s, you know? The luncheonette?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, with my back to the door, you know? So guess what?”

“What?”

“I feel somebody’s hand in my pocket, fishing around for my wallet. So I grab the hand by the wrist, and I whip around with my gun in my other hand, and guess who it is?”

“Who is it?”

“It’s Lewis!” Parker said, and began laughing again.

“The best pickpocket in the precinct, he chooses a detective for a mark!”

“I made a mistake,” Lewis said, and scowled.

“Oh, man, you made a big mistake!” Parker bellowed.

“You had your back to me,” Lewis said.

“Lewis, my friend, you are going to prison,” Parker said gleefully, and then said, “Come on down, we’re going to book you before you try to pick Meyer’s pocket there.”

“I don’t think it’s funny,” Lewis said, and followed Parker out of the squadroom, still scowling.

“ I think it’s pretty funny,” Meyer said.

A man appeared at the slatted rail divider just then, and asked in hesitant English whether any of the policemen spoke Italian. Carella said that he did, and invited the man to sit at his desk. The man thanked him in Italian and took off his hat, and perched it on his knees when he sat, and then began telling Carella his story. It seemed that somebody was putting garbage in his car.

“ Rifiuti? “ Carella asked.

“ Sì, rifiuti, “ the man said.

For the past week now, the man went on, someone had been opening his car at night and dumping garbage all over the front seat. All sorts of garbage. Empty tin cans and dinner leftovers and apple cores and coffee grounds, everything. All over the front seat of the car.

“ Perchè non lo chiude a chiave? ” Carella asked.

Well, the man explained, he did lock his car every night, but it didn’t do any good. Because the way the garbage was left in it the first time was that quello porco broke the side vent and opened the door that way in order to do his dirty work. So it didn’t matter if he continued to lock the car, the befouler continued to open the door by sticking his hand in through the broken flap window, and then he dumped all his garbage on the front seat, the car was beginning to stink very badly.

Well, Carella said, do you know of anyone who might want to put garbage on your front seat?

No, I do not know of anyone who would do such a filthy thing, the man said.

Is there anyone who has a grudge against you? Carella asked.

No, I am loved and respected everywhere in the world, the man said.

Well, Carella said, we’ll send a man over to check it out.

“ Per piacere, ” the man said, and put on his hat, and shook hands with Carella, and left the squadroom.

The time was 10:33 A.M.

At 10:35 A.M., Meyer called Raoul Chabrier down at the district attorney’s office, spent a delightful three minutes chatting with Bernice, and was finally put through to Chabrier himself.

“Hello, Rollie,” Meyer said, “what’d you find out?”

“About what?” Chabrier said.

“About the book I called to …”

“Oh.”

“You forgot,” Meyer said flatly.

“Listen,” Chabrier said, “have you ever tried handling two cases at the same time?”

“Never in my life,” Meyer said.

“Well, it isn’t easy, believe me. I’m reading law on one of them, and trying to get a brief ready on the other. You expect me to worry about some goddamn novel at the same time?”

“Well …” Meyer said.

“I know, I know, I know,” Chabrier said, “I promised.”

“Well …”

“I’ll get to it. I promise you again, Meyer. I’m a man who never breaks his word. Never. I promised you, and now I’m promising you again. What was the title of the book?”